Ogatyr was close to the water when they landed, could see them clearly. He knew them for what they were.
“The ones we killed, on the beach…”
The nearest marag raised the length of stick and squeezed with both hands. It made a loud crack and pain struck Ogatyr’s chest and he fell.
Other sticks were cracking now and above the sound were the human cries of pain and terror.
“They flee!” Vaintè shouted, waving the attackers forward. “After them. None shall escape.”
She had been the first ashore, had fired the first hèsotsan, had killed the first ustuzou. Now she wanted to kill more.
It was not a battle but a massacre. The Yilanè butchered all the living creatures indiscriminately: men, women, children, animals. Their casualties were few. The hunters had no time to find their bows. They had their spears, but while a thrown spear could wound or kill, most of the hunters held their spears as they rushed in and were shot down before they could use them.
All that the Tanu could do was flee—followed by the killers from the sea. Frightened women and children ran past Karu and the mastodon raised his head high, trumpeting in fear as well. Kerrick seized handfuls of the beast’s thick hair so he wouldn’t be hurled off, then climbed down the wooden shaft to the ground, running to grab up his spear. A strong hand seized his shoulder and spun him about.
“Run!” his father ordered. “Escape to the hills!”
Amahast turned about swiftly as the first of the murgu came around the bulk of the mastodon, jumping over the wooden pole. Before it could aim its weapon Amahast pierced it through with his spear, wrenched it free.
Vaintè saw the murdered fargi fall and was shaken by the need for vengeance. The blood-dripping point was swinging towards her—but she did not flinch away. She stood her ground, raising the hèsotsan, squeezing off quick explosions, dropping the ustuzou before it could reach her. She had not noticed the small one, didn’t know it was there until pain lanced through her leg. Roaring with agony she struck the creature down with the butt end of the hèsotsan.
The wound was bloody and painful—but not serious, she could see that now. Her rage died away as she examined it, then turned her attention to the battle raging around her.
It was almost over. Few if any of the ustuzou remained alive. They lay in tumbled heaps among the baskets, limp corpses on the skins and poles. The attackers from the sea were now meeting up with the others who had moved up the river to attack from behind, an encircling movement they had used in their youth to catch their prey in the sea. It had worked as well on land.
“Stop the killing at once,” Vaintè ordered, calling out to those nearest her. “Tell the others. Stop now. I want some survivors. I want to know more about these fur beasts.”
They were just animals who used sharp bits of stones, she could see that now. They had a crude social organization, rough stone artifacts, and even made use of the larger animals that were now being killed as they fled in panic. All of this indicated that if there was one group this size—why then there might very well be others. If that were so then she needed to find out everything she could about the creatures.
At her feet the small one she had struck down stirred and whimpered. She called out to Stallan who was near by.
“Hunter—tie this one so it cannot escape. Throw it into a boat.”
There were more darts in the container suspended from the harness she wore. The ones she had expended in the battle must be replaced. The hèsotsan had been well-fed and should be able to fire for some time yet. She prodded it with her finger until the loading orifice dilated, then pushed the darts into their correct positions inside.
The first stars were appearing now, the last red of the sky fading behind the hills. She needed a cloak from the boat. She signaled a fargi to bring one to her and was wrapping herself in its warm embrace when the survivors were brought before her.