Once he recognized where they were he realized that little or nothing had changed in the years since the city had grown. The trees were larger and there was different undergrowth, but everything was basically the same. His arms and legs moved as he thought of the familiar Yilanè expression—tomorrow’s tomorrow will be like yesterday’s yesterday. Grown to a plan and a model the city would stay that way as long as it existed. He should have remembered this. The areas that had died, or been destroyed by the fire, had been regrown exactly as the original. He had walked this same path as a boy. He tapped Herilak’s shoulder and pointed, spoke in a whisper.

“There are groves just ahead. The murgu go there to gather fruit for their deer, other animals. Unarmed ones do the work, but there will be guards with death-sticks this far from the city center.”

The field was still there, rotting fruit lying on the ground, but empty now of any Yilanè. Kerrick led the way through the scattered trees to the far side.

“It is not too distant from here now. See, that high bank there? It is just on the other side.”

Herilak bent to examine the ground. “Tracks, very fresh.”

“What kind of animal?”

“The murgu who live in the city now. Very recent, since the rain last night.”

He led the way, silent as a shadow through the trees, with Kerrick following carefully, looking at the ground, trying to walk as quietly. They came around the bank just as the others were coming towards them. There was no way back.

Two fargi with burdens, eyes wide with astonishment.

The Yilanè with them raised her hèsotsan. Herilak was faster, fired first. She doubled over and fell.

Kerrick cried out, but he was too late. Herilak’s weapon cracked again sharply, twice, and the fargi were dead as well.

“You didn’t have to kill them. They’re harmless.”

“Can they speak, those two?”

“They could have, I suppose. You’re right. They saw us. They are workers so they can understand and speak well enough to take instructions. They could tell what they saw.”

“Stay here—there may be more.”

Herilak slipped under the trees, ran silently past the bodies. Kerrick looked at them, eyes wide with death, mouths dropped open. Each of the fargi had been carrying immature hèsotsan he saw, and these had been spilled on the ground. Their legs twitched feebly and they crawled off slowly through the grass. Kerrick remembered that he used to collect them as well at this stage, when they could not escape easily. He went and gathered them up, six of them: their tiny legs scratched at his arms but they could not escape.

“There were just the three murgu,” Herilak said, then saw what Kerrick was carrying. “You have them! The death-sticks that we need. We must leave before more murgu come.”