The weapon in his hand snapped almost without volition and the fargi crumpled and died. Still in the grip of his anger he turned and fired at the next one as well; her mouth still gaping with disbelief as she fell. The third one started to raise her own weapon but she crumpled like the others. He kept squeezing and squeezing on the hèsotan until the fargi corpses bristled with darts. Then it was empty and be threw it down.

“The spear, take it,” Herilak ordered. “Cut me free.”

Inlènu* lurched after Kerrick as he stumbled to the fargi and pulled the spear from her dead grasp. He cut Herilak’s ankles free, then his wrists.

“What is this? What has happened?” Vaintè called out angrily.

Kerrick spun about to see her standing above him, mouth open, teeth shining. And now, for the first time he saw before her in the blur of memory those teeth tearing a girl’s throat out. Saw the rows of teeth above him as she straddled him, roaring with pleasure. Shared pleasure, for he had been moved as well.

Pleasure and hatred now, he felt them both.

She was saying something he could not hear, issuing an order he could not obey, as she turned away and reached for one of the abandoned weapons.

What he did next was so natural, so right that it required no thought or effort. The spear came up, thrust forward, into Vaintè’s side, deep into her body. She clutched at it and it came free. Blood spurted as she crumpled and fell backwards out of sight.

“Run,” Herilak shouted, pulling at Kerrick’s shoulder. “Come with me. You can’t stay here, not after what you have done. You must come with me. That is all that you can do now.”

He took Kerrick by the hand, tugging him towards the dark wall of the forest beyond the glade. Kerrick resisted—then stumbled after him crashing, through the undergrowth, the spear still clutched, forgotten, in his hand, with Inlènu* protesting and stumbling along behind.

Their running footsteps died away as they vanished from sight among the trees. The glade was quiet again.

Quiet as death.

BOOK TWO

CHAPTER ONE

The flock of crows wheeled up in wide circles, cawing loudly before settling back among the trees. There was little wind and the afternoon was close and hot. Under the trees it was cooler, for the leaves were so thick upon the birch and oak trees above that only a dapple of flickering sunlight filtered through to the forest floor below. A moving pattern of light that played over the three figures sprawled on the soft grass.

Even Herilak’s massive strength was spent; his wounds had reopened and blood matted his hair and beard, spread wetly down his side. He lay back, eyes closed, drawing in breath after ragged breath.