Vaintè expressed cold amusement at the obvious and presumptuous anger of a mere male. Signed coarsely that she would be happy to send him to the beaches again, instantly if needed. But her attention was on Arnwheet who stepped back, eyes wide with fear, looking from her to the other murgu that came down the slope. The two of them who held hèsotsan moved with harsh angularity, not at all like Nadaske. He took another step backwards but stopped when the first one signed cessation of movement.

“I heard you speaking to this male. You are yilanè and that is unusual/impossible. But it has happened. Approach me, that is a command. Do you understand?”

Arnwheet shuffled forward, shivering with fear, signed understanding of meaning. Vaintè bent close, he could smell the foulness of her breath, reached out one thumb and touched the metal knife that hung around his neck.

“What does this artifact of metal signify? This one is smaller, but I have held another like this in my hand. And this smaller one, I have held it too, long ago. I was sent the larger one as a sign I should end the war that I was winning. It hung from the neck of the ustuzou of death, Kerrick. Explain instantly.”

Arnwheet understood what this Yilanè was saying, although he did not understand the name she mentioned since the way Vaintè spoke Kerrick was incomprehensible. But the meaning was clear.

“There is only one other knife like this. It hangs about the neck of my . . . efenselè.” This was the nearest he could get, could think of no term for father in Yilanè.

“Then you are efenselè of the one I seek. But where is he, why are you here alone? Inform me quickly of the meaning of this, male,” she ordered, looking at Arnwheet with one eye, Nadaske with the other.

Nadaske did not bother to answer. Freedom was ended, life was ended. This was Vaintè, known for her cruelty. She would be immensely displeased at his escaping the hanalè and the death of the city, then living as free as any female. She would see that he suffered in many ways before he died on the beaches. All was ended. There was a movement in the shrubbery and he glanced that way. An animal of some kind, it did not matter, nothing mattered now.

Kerrick and Herilak had just reached the inlet when Dall burst from the bushes on the other side and hurled himself into the water, thrashed across it sobbing and gasping. Herilak pulled him from the water and shook him.

“You were beaten before for coming here. Now you will have a beating . . .”

“Murgu—out there! They come from the sea, murgu—”

Herilak took him by the jaw and pulled him close. “What kind of murgu? The kind that kill with death-sticks?”