Peleinè stopped her nervous movements when she said this for her speaking was done now, what she had to say had been said. The decision had been made. No, not made, had been forced upon them. What would happen next was up to Vaintè to decide.
Vaintè was as unmoving in thought as Peleinè was in anticipation. They faced each other in immobility, eyes staring, feet splayed. Silent.
This was rebellion, Vaintè thought, and it must be stopped at once. But with the thought came the realization that it could not be stopped, that these rebellious creatures would surely refuse to take up weapons in the future. Death was now her enemy. These misguided females had seen two of their number die and believed it would happen to them. Well, they were correct. Death would come to them with certainty now. They would not fight but they still could die. There was no room for noncombatants in this war. They would be taken care of.
“You are dismissed,” she said. “Go to your Daughters of Death and tell them that they have shamed their city. Their hèsotsan will be taken from them. They will work—but they will not be required to kill.”
Peleinè signed grateful acknowledgment as she turned and hurried away. She should have remained to listen for Vaintè had not finished her speaking.
“Not required to kill. But they will be required to die.” She called her tarakast to her, made the fargi leading it bend over so she could mount the creature by standing on her shoulders. Turned it and ordered it to run, to pass the fargi and the uruktop to the head of the advancing column where she would lead the march.
Armed Yilanè on fast tarakast spread out ahead of the army, while others rode to each side and guarded the flanks. Stallan had studied the pictures closely as always and she pointed the way. It was an easy ride to the planned halting place by the river and Vaintè signaled the stop just as one of the scouts came hurrying back.
“Gone,” the scout said simply, large group and ustuzou in the meaning.
“They will have moved their stopping place again,” Vaintè said, hope-of-this in her movements.
“This may be,” the scout said. “I followed the track as it returned to the stopping place where they stayed before. The track went on along the river and into the river valley and that is when I returned to tell you.”
“They did not turn away or double back or escape in any other way?” Stallan asked, rigid attention in the forward angle of her body.
“Impossible. I followed until the rock walls rose high and there was but one way to go.”
“Trapped!” Stallan said with exultation, pulling her beast close to Vaintè’s in order to pass over a picture to her. “See this, sarn’enoto, see the trap they have entered. The river valley is wide but the walls are high with this single entrance along the river. The river exits here over rocks and through rapids. There is no way out there.”
Sarn’enoto, an ancient title from the half-forgotten past, now revived. A leader in armed conflict—whom all obeyed. Now she must think like such a leader. She held up the picture and touched it with her thumb. “Here, on this side, you yourself showed me a way down into the valley.”
“A way that can be blocked. A force can be bent there to seal the exit, the main force can remain here to attack.”
“It shall be done that way. Issue the orders. In these other pictures I see more ustuzou in the valley.”
“More ustuzou to die in the valley,” was Stallan’s ready answer as she raked her sharp claws into her tarakast so that it reared and hissed with pain. She controlled it easily, turned it and thundered off.
The sun was just past the zenith when Okotsei handed Vaintè the latest pictures, still warm and damp. She looked at them closely, then passed them on one by one to Stallan who stood at her side.
“Everything is now ready,” Stallan said when she had looked at the last one. “There is no escape.” Her thumbs snapped shut and the pictures crumpled and broke. “The cliff path is guarded and sealed. We await your orders, sarn’enoto.”