“And we had not a single glimpse of a murgu—they have learned to keep their distance.”

“The dam could be torn down . . .”

“Why? It would only be grown again. While here the vines are closer to the valley floor every day. It must be said. The murgu have learned how to defeat us at last. Not in battle—but with the slow and ceaseless growth of their poison plants. They will win in the end. We cannot stop it any more than we can stop the tide.”

“Yet each day the tide retreats again.”

“The murgu do not.” Herilak dropped to the ground, feeling defeat, feeling as old and tired as the mandukto. “They will win, Sanone, they will win.”

“I have never heard you speak like that before, strong Herilak. There is still a battle to be fought. You have led us before, you have won.”

“Now we have lost.”

“We will cross the desert to the west.”

“They will follow.”

Sanone looked at the bowed shoulders of the big hunter and felt the other’s despair, shared it despite himself. Was it Kadair’s will that the Sasku be wiped from the face of the land? Had they followed the tracks of the mastodon only to find extinction waiting at trails end? He could not believe it. Yet what else could he believe?

The excited shouts cut through the darkness of his thoughts and he turned to see what was happening. Hunters were running toward them, pointing, shouting. Herilak seized up his death-stick, leapt to his feet. There was a splashing roar as a wave of water rushed down the dry riverbed toward them, yellow with mud, quickly filling the banks. The terrified Sasku and Tanu scrambled to safety as the wall of water thundered by.

“The dam has been broken!” Herilak said. “Are all safe?”

Sanone watched the muddy water rush through the valley, saw no bodies—only tumbling shrubs and other debris. “I think they are, the river is staying inside its old banks. And, look, the level has dropped already. It is just as it always has been.”

“Until they rebuild the dam, regrow it. This means nothing.”

Even this welcome sight could not touch Herilak’s despair. He had gone beyond hope, was ready for his life to end. He did not even lift his head when others called out, only looked up, blinking, when Sanone pounded on his arm.

“Something is happening,” the mandukto cried, hope in his voice for the first time. “The vines, look at the vines! Kadair has not deserted us, we follow still in his tracks.”