There were more darts in the container suspended from the harness she wore. The ones she had expended in the battle must be replaced. The hèsotsan had been well-fed and should be able to fire for some time yet. She prodded it with her finger until the loading orifice dilated, then pushed the darts into their correct positions inside.

The first stars were appearing now, the last red of the sky fading behind the hills. She needed a cloak from the boat. She signaled a fargi to bring one to her and was wrapping herself in its warm embrace when the survivors were brought before her.

“This is all?” she asked.

“Our warriors were hard to control,” Stallan said. “Once you start killing these creatures it is hard to stop.”

“Full well I know that myself. The adult ones—all dead?”

“All dead. This small one I found hiding and brought it out.” She held the thing by its long hair, shaking it back and forth so it wailed with pain. “This very young one I found inside another’s coverings.” She held out the infant, a few-months-old baby that she had pulled from its wrappings, that had been held tight in its mother’s dead arms.

Vaintè looked at the tiny hairless thing with disgust as Stallan held it towards her. The hunter was used to touching and handling all kinds of repulsive creatures; the thought of doing it herself sickened her. Yet she was Vaintè, Eistaa, and she could do anything any other citizen could do. She reached out slowly and took the wriggling thing in both hands. It was warm, warmer than a cloak, almost hot. Her disgust ebbed for a moment as she felt the pleasant heat. When she turned it over and over it opened a red and toothless mouth and wailed. A jet of hot excrement from it ran down Vaintè’s arm. The instant pleasure of the heat was replaced by a wave of disgust.

It was too much, too revolting. She hurled the creature, as hard as she could, against a nearby boulder. It became silent as she went quickly to the water to scrub herself clean, calling back to Stallan.

“It is enough. Tell the others to return to the boats after they have made sure that none live.”

“It will be done, Highest. All dead. The end of them.”

Is it? Vaintè thought as she plunged her arms into the water. Is it the end? Instead of elation at the victory she found herself sinking into a dark depression.

The end—or just the beginning?

CHAPTER EIGHT