“I am told,” Varg rumbled, “the people of Narash and Shuar like to eat.”

Khral sneered. “We are Canim,” he spat. “We need no one to help us attain our destiny. Especially not the demons.”

Varg grunted. “True. We will take our destiny on our own. But obtaining food is another matter.”

“They will turn on us,” Khral said. “The moment they have finished using us, they will turn and destroy us. You know this is true.”

“It is true,” Varg said. “It is also tomorrow. I am in command of today.”

Khral’s tail lashed in irritation. “Once we have separated from the ice ships, we can pick up the pace and make landfall within a week.”

“We can make ourselves into meals for the leviathans, you mean,” Varg replied. “There are no range charts of the sea this far north. We would have no way to know when we entered a leviathan’s territory.”

“We are the masters of the world. We are not afraid.”

Varg growled low in his chest. “I find it remarkable how often amateurs confuse courage with idiocy.”

The ritualist’s eyes narrowed. “We might lose a vessel here and there,” Khral acknowledged. “But we would not owe our lives to the charity of the demons. A week, then we can begin to rebuild on our own.”

“Leave the ice ships,” Varg said. “The same ships that are carrying more than half of our surviving people.”

“Sacrifices must be made if we are to remain true to ourselves,” Khral declared, “if our spirits, our pride, and our strength are to remain pure.”

“I have noticed that those who speak as you do are rarely willing to include themselves among those sacrificed.”

A furious snarl burst out of Khral’s throat, and one paw-hand flashed toward the hip bag at his side.

Varg did not so much as rise from his crouch. His arms moved, shoulders twisting with sinewy power as he flung the Aleran book at Khral. It sailed through the air in a blur of spinning motion, and its hard spine struck the master ritualist in the throat. The impact knocked Khral’s shoulders back against the door to the cabin, and he rebounded from it to fall to the cabin’s deck, making gagging sounds.

Varg got up and walked over to the book. Its leaves had opened, and some of the delicate pages had been harshly folded. Varg picked it up carefully, smoothed the pages, and considered the Aleran creation again.

Like Tavar, he mused, it was apparently more dangerous than it appeared.

Varg stood by for a moment, as Khral’s gagging gradually transformed to labored breathing. He hadn’t quite crushed the ritualist’s windpipe, which was disappointing. Now he’d have to suffer the fool again tomorrow. After surviving today’s conflict, Khral would be unlikely to allow Varg another such opportunity to remove him.