Stallan came one evening when she was there, bringing newly arrived pictures that she wanted to compare with the physical record. Vaintè seized the pictures eagerly, examining them as well as she could in the failing light. Though there was never any spoken agreement, once Stallan had discovered that Vaintè was there at this time of day, she herself came most days bringing new pictures of the ustuzou movements. In this way Vaintè knew as much as any other in the city about the creatures she had sworn to destroy.

Whenever there were new pictures of the valley ustuzou in the south she examined them closely; she was not surprised when one day the skin shelters and large beasts were gone. Kerrick was not waiting for her return. He was gone. But he would appear again, she was sure of that.

All that long summer she studied the model, kept to herself—and waited. She followed the movements of the various packs, saw that one of the larger packs of ustuzou was moving steadily east. When this ustuzou pack actually left the shelter of the mountains and approached the ocean shore, she waited and said nothing. When they stopped, well within reach of attack from the sea, she still waited. Her patience must be the greater. Stallan reported worried talk among the Yilanè, with the ustuzou this close, anger as well that they were not attacked. Malsas< would hear this talk as well, would see the pictures, would have to do something. The pressure was upon her now, not Vaintè, and this fact enabled Vaintè to control her impatience. It was still a very hard thing to do. But she had everything to gain and little to lose. When the fargi came for her she concealed her elation in unmoving stolidity.

“A message, Vaintè, from the Eistaa.”

“Speak.”

“Your presence is needed at once in the ambesed.”

“Return. I come.”

Vaintè had given much thought to this moment, considered how long an interval to leave between the message and her departure. Not long; there was no need to anger Malsas< without reason. She had considered applying formal arm designs, but then had rejected the idea. There must be no obvious display. She simply took a few drops of scented oil on her palms, rubbed some into her crest so that it shone slightly, used the rest on her forearms and the backs of her hands. With that she was done. She left then and did not hurry, but she did take the shortest route to the ambesed. There, in the heart of the city, she had once sat as Eistaa. She returned now—as what? Penitent, supplicant? No, not those, she would die before she asked a favor. She went prepared to accept commands, to serve Alpèasak, nothing more. This decision was in every movement of her body as she walked.