It was near dusk when Harl pulled himself up onto the earthen wall, looked around and beckoned Kerrick forward. The hèsotsan were thick in the shallow water below and on the sandy bank. Kerrick threw clods down to chase the active ones away, then jumped down into the pit. There were hèsotsan close by on the sand, feebly moving their legs and unable to escape.

“These are the ones we want,” he said. “I’ll hand them up to you.”

He passed up as many as they could carry easily, then took Harl’s hand and pulled himself out. The hèsotsan hissed weakly when they were bound and tried to snap at their fingers. It was quickly done. They slung the bundled creatures over their shoulders and seized up their weapons.

“We have done it!” Kerrick said, already feeling the tension drain away. “Now—let’s get out of here.”

Harl led the way in an easy lope, back along the track they had followed when they had entered the city.

As he came around the end of the embankment there was the sharp crack of a hèsotsan and he collapsed. Dead before he hit the ground.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Kerrick stopped, fell backward, huddled against the earthen wall. Harl lay crumpled just before him. His mouth hung open and his eyes stared sightlessly at the sky. The bundle of hèsotsan lay across his chest with the creatures writhing slowly against their bonds.

Harl was dead. Killed by a hèsotsan. A Yilanè, it had to be a Yilanè who was out there, lying in wait. It had been a neatly planned trap. There was no way out of it. If he moved or tried to retreat he would be exposed. He could not go forward—and there was no way back. The instant they saw him they would shoot: a marauding ustuzou would be killed on sight.

Then he had to be Yilanè again.

“Attention to speaking!” He called out. Then added, “Death . . . negative!” It did not make much sense, but he wanted those who were waiting out there to hesitate before they fired. He laid the bundle of hèsotsan aside, rose slowly to his feet—then stepped out of cover calling out loudly as he did, his arms and thumbs held in the form of submission.

“I am unarmed. Do not kill me,” he said as firmly and clearly as he could. His skin quivered, expecting the dart that would bring instant death. The Yilanè stood just ahead of him in the dense shrubbery. She had emerged from the shelter of the trees. Her hèsotsan was aimed directly at him. She appeared to be alone. All he could do was stand rigidly still, signing submission.

Intèpelei looked at him, never moving her weapon. But she did not fire.

“You are the ustuzou who is yilanè. I know of you.”

“I am Kerrick who is Yilanè.”