“Different as well,” Stallan said, poking the head with her hèsotsan. “See how dark the fur is. This is a new type of ustuzou. All of the others had white skins and white fur. This one is dark. But these creatures also had sticks with sharp stones attached to them, wore scraps of dirty fur about their bodies.”
“Ustuzou,” Vaintè said firmly. “In need of killing.”
She dismissed Stallan with a movement of her arm and looked about at the organized bustle of the fargi. The sun was still well above the horizon, as it always was now when they stopped for the night, for there were many preparations to be made. While the uruktop were being unloaded and fed, other fargi were spreading the sensitive vines out in circles around the camping place. Nothing could approach now in the dark without being detected. The light-creatures had been bred to be much brighter now, and were slightly sentient so that they pointed at the area that had been disturbed, washing it with eye-burning light. Of greater interest were the bundles of melikkasei that the fargi were carefully unrolling beyond the vines. A new development, plants that were photosensitive and harmless to handle during the daylight hours. But after dark poisonous thorns sprang up from their recesses, the death in their sharp tips ready for any creature that might touch them during the night. They retracted only when the sky was bright again.
A squat Yilanè slowly approached Vaintè. Okotsei, slow and ugly with age—but possessing a brain second to none. It was Okotsei who had developed the creatures that could see and record images by starlight. She had been improving the process ever since, so that now she had her flying beasts in the air night and day—and the pictures they brought back were available almost as soon as they had returned. Okotsei extended a handful of flat sheets as soon as she had caught Vaintè’s attention.
“What is this?” Vaintè asked.
“What you requested, Eistaa. These were taken soon after dawn this morning.”
Vaintè took the pictures and looked through them carefully. There was no change. Long shadows stretched from the skin cones by the river, reaching out as well from the mastodons in the field nearby. No change. The fears that had possessed her three days ago when the camping place had been discovered empty had proven groundless. The brutes had not fled but had just moved from one site to another. They were not alarmed; the presence of her striking force was still undetected.
“Show me this same place on the larger picture,” she said.
The birds flew by night and by day, close to the ground and high in the sky. There was no escape for the ustuzou now. This new picture, taken by a high-soaring raptor, revealed vast stretches of river, the river valley as well, and large parts of the surrounding countryside. Okotsei tapped it with her thumb.
“This is the place where we slept last night. Now this is the ustuzou lair that was destroyed, where that head in the dirt came from.” Her thumb moved. “We are at this place now. The ustuzou you are searching for are here, by the river.”
“They are the ones I seek, you are certain of that?”
“I am certain only that they are the only group on this side of the snow-mountains that have mastodons with them. There are other ustuzou packs here, here and here. A larger group is in this valley by the river. Further to the north, beyond this picture, there are more of the creatures. But nowhere, except in this one place, are there any mastodons. On the eastern side of the mountains, yes, there are many groups like this. On this side—just the one.”
“Good. Take these to Stallan so she may plan the attack in the morning.”
The fargi whose duty it was brought Vaintè the evening meat and she was scarcely aware when she seized it and ate it, so great was her concentration on her plans. Her thoughts were all on the multifaceted labors that had brought her and the armed fargi to this place at this time. Once again she went through all the parts to be sure that none were missing, no work incomplete, no detail forgotten. All was as it should be. They would attack in the morning. Before the sun had set Kerrick would be dead—or in her hands. Better in her hands, her thumbs opened and closed with the thought, far better in her hands.