“We must think about this,” Ulfadan said. “It is a new thing.”
“These are new times,” Kellimans said. “We will do as Kerrick has told us.”
“We will do it,” Herilak said, “but it is I who will serve. Kerrick will tell us about the murgu and what must be done to hunt them and to kill them. He will be the margalus, the murgu-counsellor.”
Ulfadan nodded agreement and stood. “That is the way it must be.”
“I agree,” Kellimans said. “The hunters of the sammad will be told and if all are in agreement we will go south when the margalus says.”
When they had gone, Herilak turned to face Kerrick. “What must we do first, margalus?” he said.
Kerrick pulled at the strands of his thin beard while the two hunters waited. The answer to this was easy, and he hoped that all the other problems would be as simple to solve.
“To kill murgu you must learn about the death-sticks. We will do that now.”
Herilak and Ortnar were armed with spears and bows as always, but Kerrick put his aside and took up a hèsotsan and a supply of darts instead. He led them upstream away from the tents, to a clear space beside the river. The trunk of a dead tree lay trapped here among the boulders, where it had been left behind by the high waters of spring.
“We will shoot at that,” Kerrick said. “If anyone else comes near we will be able to see them. There is death in these darts and I want no one killed.”
The hunters put their spears and bows aside and reluctantly came close when Kerrick held out the hèsotsan.
“There is no danger yet, for I have not put darts into the creature. Let me first show you how to feed it and care for it. Then the darts will be inserted and we will use the tree for a target.”
The hunters were well used to working with tools and artifacts and soon stopped thinking of the weapon as a living creature. When Kerrick fired the first dart they jumped at the sharp crack of the explosion, then rushed to the tree to see the dart stuck there.
“Will it shoot as far as a bow?” Herilak asked. Kerrick thought about it, then shook his head no.
“I do not think so—but it does not matter. There will be no need to kill at a distance if the murgu attack us. When a creature is hit by a dart the poison affects it almost at once. First it falls down, then stiffens, then dies. Now you must learn to use the death-sticks.”
As he began to hand the weapon to Herilak he saw a movement in the sky behind him. A bird, a large one.
“Get your bows, quickly,” he said. “The raptor is here, the one that speaks to the murgu. It must not return. It must be killed.”
The hunters did not question his orders but seized up their bows and nocked the arrows, waiting until the bird swooped low. As it drifted over them on wide-stretched wings their bowstrings twanged at the same instant. The well-aimed arrows flashed upwards, both thudding into the raptor’s body.
It gave a single screech and tumbled from the air, splashing into the river.
“Don’t let it get carried away,” Kerrick called out.
He stopped to place the hèsotsan carefully on the ground, and before he could straighten up the other two had dived into the water. Ortnar was a strong swimmer and he reached the dead bird first, seizing it by the wing and spinning it about in the water. But it was too large for him to handle alone and he had to wait for Herilak to help him drag it ashore. They emerged from the river, their fur garments wet and streaming, pulling the immense bird after them, then letting it drop onto the sand.
“Look there,” Kerrick said, “on its leg, that black creature.”
The bird was dead, but this animal was not. Its claws were locked about the raptor’s leg. The thing was featureless except for a bulge on its side. Herilak squatted to look closer at the beast—then jumped back as the eye opened and looked up at him, then slowly closed again. He reached for his spear, but Kerrick stopped him.