Vaintè signed triumph in everything as she lifted her weapon. There was silence, the stillness of horror all about her. Enge could not move or act, gripped hard by the conflict of beliefs and affection. Arnwheet was terrified, Nadaske as unmoving as a statue. Only Akotolp signed understanding, perfection of action.

Nadaske shifted and Vaintè let one wary eye look at him, then back to Kerrick when she saw that the helpless male was turning away from her, unable to watch.

Nadaske faced the frightened boy, placed thumbs of sympathy and understanding on his shoulders.

Vaintè raised the hèsotsan, aimed at Herilak. “You shall be last, Kerrick. Watch your efenselè die first.”

Nadaske lowered his hands, seized the metal knife where it hung on Arnwheet’s neck, tore it free and turned swiftly about.

Thrust it hard into the side of Vaintè’s neck.

Time stopped. Vainte’s eyes were wide with pain, she gasped, shuddered, her hands clamped so tight on the hèsotsan that it squirmed in her grip. Nadaske still held the knife tight between strong thumbs. Blood spurted out as he twisted it.

Vaintè crumpled, fell, turning and firing the weapon as she went down. The sharp crack was muffled as Nadaske dropped on top of her.

Akotolp, never a Yilanè of action, simply stared in horror at the two bodies. Even before she thought to raise her own hèsotsan she had it torn from her hands by Enge.

“The killing is over!” Enge cried out, holding the weapon high over her head, throwing it strongly out into the water.

“The killing is over,” Kerrick echoed in Marbak, placing his hand gently on Herilak’s arm as he grabbed up his bow. “That one is my friend. She does not kill.”

“Perhaps she doesn’t—but what of the fat marag?”

“That one dies,” Kerrick said, the cold of winter in his voice. First in Marbak, then speaking in Yilanè. “You die, don’t you Akotolp? You should have died when Alpèasak died, but I see that you have escaped. Now you are a follower of Vaintè. But she is dead. Your city dead, your eistaa dead. Why are you alive? There is no need to kill you, for now you kill yourself. Follow her into death.”

With a great surge of fear Akotolp knew that the ustuzou spoke correctly. It was the end, the end . . .

Her eyes were glazed as she fell, sprawling hugely on the sand. Still moving: soon dead.

Weeping fiercely Arnwheet ran to his father, grasped him about the legs. Kerrick picked the boy up and held him tightly.