“Staccians, yes.” Skragdal opened his eyes. “These are not. And Yagmar should not have tried to bargain. His Lordship’s orders are to kill them.”

“Yagmar stood this deep,” the Gulnagel said, placing the edge of one hand against his throat. “The river runs fast.” There was a murmur of comprehension among the gathered Fjel. They appreciated the power of the northern rivers, which Neheris-of-the-Leaping-Waters had Shaped herself. Some could be forded; not all, not even by a Tungskulder. And none of them could swim. The density of their body-mass would not permit it.

Skragdal sighed. “So Yagmar tried to take the flask.”

“Yes.” The Gulnagel nodded. “And although it was no bigger than his thumb, it make him sink like a stone.”

“Where are they now?” Skragdal stared at the messenger.

“Fled.” The Gulnagel grimaced. “Away from the river, back into the dry mountains. It is what I am sent to tell you. Yagmar found their trail, but it leads away from water. After a day and a half, he had to turn back.” He pointed at the waterskin slung from Skragdal’s belt. “Neheris’ bounty provides. We do not carry tools for hunting far from her rivers, where only small prey dwells.”

“We are hunting small prey,” Skragdal growled.

The Gulnagel gave another shrug. “What would you have us do?”

Skragdal considered the smaller Fjel, then glanced around at his companions. They returned his gaze impassively. None of them would dare advise him; not even Thorun, on whom he relied as a fellow Tungskulder. Dim light filtering through the air-shafts of the moot-hall glinted on their armor and weapons. This was the third den they had visited since leaving Neherinach. It felt strange to be among free-living members of his own people. They seemed vulnerable to him. It was not only the lack of arms, but the simplicity, the innocence. They remembered Neherinach—but that had been before Haomane had sent his Wise Counselors, armed with the Soumanië. Skragdal remembered what had happened in the Marasoumië, and the blasted node-point they had found, the carnage in Earl Coenred’s hall. Those of Neheris’ Children who did not serve Darkhaven had no idea of the forces arrayed against them.

He wished, very much, to be one of them.

The thought made him turn to the Nåltannen Elders. They were gathered in a group, watching and waiting to hear what he would decide. Skragdal bowed his head and addressed Mulprek, who was senior in this den. She was a female, her withered dugs giving testament to the myriad pups she had born. Her mate, he knew, was some years her junior. “Old mother,” he said humbly. “Give me your counsel.”