The flies were already swarming over the tumbled bodies on the rocks below. Nothing moved other than the flies, their buzzing loud in the silence. Kerrick took a handful of darts and began to push them, one by one, into the hèsotsan.
“They have run away,” Sanone said, cautiously raising his head to look.
“The fight hasn’t started yet,” Kerrick said. “They were just probing to test our strength. They’ll be back.” He turned to look at Sanone and froze. “Don’t move! Stay where you are.”
He reached out a steady hand and plucked the dart from Sanone’s headscarf. “If this had gone through you would be dead.”
Sanone looked down calmly at the deadly bit of thorn and leaf. “Our cloth has values I never thought of. It will not stop a spear—but is proof against this inurgu poison. Perhaps we should wrap ourselves thickly and survive in that manner.”
Kerrick threw the dart away. “That is why we are safe behind these boulders. Only when the darts fly like leaves in the autumn will we be in danger.”
He turned to look at the hunters sprawled along the top of the barrier. They were all armed with hèsotsan and had made good use of them, conserving their arrows and spears. The spear-armed Sasku were on the rear of the barrier and on the ground, ready for support if they were needed. Now all that they could do was wait.
Herilak stood on the summit of the rock wall and was the first to see the attackers.
“They come again,” he called out, then dropped into concealment himself.
“Do not waste darts,” Kerrick ordered. “Let them get closer this time before you fire.”
He knew that this was the correct thing to do. When the first attack had come someone had fired his hèsotsan far too early when the murgu were still out of range, and the others had begun firing as well. This was a waste: the supply of darts was adequate, but the hèsotsan tired and did not react quickly when used too much. This time the defenders would wait until the fargi were climbing the rocks.
They were closer now—and Kerrick suddenly realized that those in front were unarmed. What did this mean? Was it a trick of some kind? It did not matter, in fact it was better for it made them easier to kill.
“Now, fire, now!” he cried out, squeezing his hèsotsan and sending death biting into the skin of the nearest attacker. The Tanu were shouting and firing and still the enemy came on. There was an occasional scream, but for the most part they died in silence. It was the defenders who were making the noise so much so that Kerrick did not hear the voice calling out at first. Then he made out the words.
“The river, there, in the water!”
Kerrick turned, stared, recoiled. Dark spots in the rushing water, more and more of them, some being swept towards the bank. Yilanè, swimming with the flow, dark lengths in their hands, hèsotsan, coming ashore…
“Spears, arrows, kill them in the water!” Herilak called out, leaping down from the barrier, his great voice rising above all the other sounds. “Kerrick, stay there with the killing-sticks. They will attack now in force. Stop them there.”
Kerrick turned away with an effort, saw that Herilak had divined the enemy’s intentions well. Behind the unarmed attackers, now heaped in piles of dead, more and more fargi appeared, firing as they came.
“Don’t let them through!” Kerrick shouted. “Stay here, keep firing.” He fired himself, then fired again, the fargi so close that he saw the dart grow suddenly from her throat, saw her eyes widen as she fell backwards down the slope.
Now the living were climbing over the dead, using them for cover, firing themselves. The battle was no longer one-sided. One hunter was hit, then another. Kerrick’s hèsotsan writhed in his hands when he squeezed it and it took him long moments to realize that it was empty of darts. And there was no time to reload. He seized up his spear, stabbed upwards at the fargi who had clambered to the top, sent her falling backwards and shrieking with pain.