Kerrick raised his spear, his hèsotsan forgotten, pushed it hard at Stallan’s body. But Stallan knew wild animals well and moved aside so it slipped past her harmlessly, hurled herself on Kerrick and bore him to the ground. Her thumbs clutched into his hair and pulled his head back. Her solid muscles were rock-hard, he struggled but could not move. Straight at his neck she lunged, jaws gaped wide, rows of pointed teeth plunging down to tear his life out.

Herilak’s spear hummed past, caught Stallan full in the mouth, in between her jaws and into her brain. She was dead even before she slumped to the ground. Kerrick pushed her gross weight from him and climbed shakily to his feet.

“Well thrown, Herilak,” he said.

“Get down, move aside!” Herilak shouted in return, tearing his bow from his shoulder. Kerrick turned about and saw Enge climbing to her feet.

“Put your bow up,” Kerrick ordered. “All of you, lower your weapons. This one will not hurt me.”

There was a heavy splatter of raindrops, then more and more, then a downpour of rain. The threatening storm had finally broken. Too late to save the city of Alpèasak. Now it thundered down, a heavy tropical rain, hissing into clouds of steam when it struck into the smoldering ruins.

“You have brought us death, Kerrick,” Enge said, her voice loud enough to be heard above the hammering rain, sorrow in her every movement.

“No, Enge, you are wrong about that. I have brought life to my ustuzou, because without me creatures like this dead meat before me would have killed us all. Now she is dead and Alpèasak is dead. That uruketo will leave and the last of you will be gone. I will bring my ustuzou here and it will be our city. You will go back to Entoban* and you will stay there. They will remember with fear what happened here and will never come back. You will remind them about the death here. See that they never forget it. Tell them how they all burned and died. The Eistaa, her advisors, Vaintè . . .”

“Vaintè is there,” Enge said, indicating the ship. Kerrick looked but could not tell her from the others who were climbing onto the creature’s broad and wet back. She had not died after all. The one he hated the most, still alive. Yes, he hated her—then why this sudden feeling of pleasure that she had not died?

“Go to her,” he shouted, the loud words drowning out his mixed feelings. “Tell her what I have told you. Any Yilanè that comes here again shall die here. Tell her that.”

“Can I not tell her that the killing is over? That there is life now, not death? That would be best.”