“I know of two more like this,” Herilak said.

“An illness of some sort,” Kerrick said. “Perhaps it spreads from one to the other. We must keep them apart.”

“What if more of them die. What then?”

“Then they die. We do not need them for hunting.”

“No, but we need them to kill murgu.” Herilak looked grimly across the water to the land beyond. “Another of the large murgu crossed over last night. The mastodons heard the thing, or smelled it. Hanath heard their noise and he killed it before it got among them. It is twice as big as a mastodon—with teeth as long as your arm. You cannot kill a marag like that with an arrow or a spear.”

“One death-stick is dead. We have others.”

“And others have the grayness already. If they all die . . .”

Kerrick could think of no easy words to say, was as worried as Herilak by this possibility. “We could trek north in the spring, go where the murgu cannot go, to the snow and the mountains.”

“We could do that—but for how long? The winter that never ends still holds the valleys. Those Tanu who still hunt there will not welcome us. Tanu have killed Tanu before—and it will happen again if we go north. We can live well here, the hunting is good. But only if we have the death-sticks.”

This fact was so obvious that they did not want to talk about it. Only when two more of the death-sticks sickened did Herilak send for the sammadars. They gathered about the fire, speaking quietly. There were few smiles, no laughter. They grew silent when Herilak rose and faced them.

“You all know of the trouble with the death-sticks. One is dead, two more have the grayness upon them.”

“Three,” Har-Havola called out. “It is upon mine today as well. If they all sicken, all die—what then?”

“All of them are not even sick yet,” Kerrick said. “Do not kill them that quickly.”

“But it could happen, what if it does happen? How will we then kill the murgu?”

There was much cross discussion with nothing of importance said. It was Merrith, standing with the others beyond the circle of sammadars, who grew impatient and called out.

“You cackle like birds on a nest—and do not even lay eggs. Where do the death-sticks come from? From the murgu, we know that. Can we get more if ours die?”

They all looked to Kerrick for an answer to that. “Not easily. If they even suspect we need more death-sticks they will be very pleased. They will not give us any, that is certain.”

“Capture them then,” a hunter called out.