“No. Not with you here. But the children will laugh at our daughter.”

“No, they won’t. Our daughter could be a son and he could look like me. Did your mother or father have a lip and mouth like yours?”

“No.”

“Then why should our baby? You will then be the only one like that and I am lucky to have one with a face like yours. You should not cry.”

“I should not.” She dried her eyes. “And I should not bother you with my fears. You must be strong when we leave tomorrow when we go to the mountains. Will there really be good hunting on the other side?”

“Of course. Munan has told us so and he has been there.”

“Will there be. . . murgu there? Death-stick murgu?”

“No. We are leaving them behind. We go where they have never been.”

He did not add the dark thought that he shared with no one. Vaintè was alive. She would never rest, never stop searching, not until he and all the Tanu were dead.

They could flee, but surely as night followed day she would follow them.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

On the fifth day the land began to rise; the west wind was cool and dry. The hunters of sammad Har-Havola sniffed the air and laughed aloud for this was the part of the world they knew best. They talked excitedly among themselves, pointing out familiar landmarks, hurrying ahead of the sammads and their plodding mastodons. Herilak did not share their pleasure because he could see from the tracks and signs just how bad the hunting was here. A few times he saw that other Tanu had come this way, once even finding the remains of a fire with the ashes still warm. He never saw the hunters themselves; they were obviously staying well clear of this large and heavily armed band.

The trail they were following took them further and further into the hills, each one higher than the one before. The days were warm, the sun hot, but they were happy to burrow under their furs at night. Then one morning at dawn Har-Havola called out happily and pointed ahead at the place where the rising sun was touching the high white peaks on the horizon. These were the snow-covered mountains they would have to cross.

Each day the track they were following rose higher and higher, until the mountains ahead were a barrrier stretching away into the distance to either side. They looked unbroken, formidable. Only when the sammads were closer could it be seen that a river valley led gently up into their heart. The water ran quickly, cold and gray. They walked beside it, following its turns, until the foothills were lost from sight. The landscape changed as well; there were fewer trees and most of these were evergreens.