“The killing has stopped,” Kerrick said wearily. “It is over, done, finished. We have won. We have slain the murgu, burned their city.” He pointed to the smoking trees behind them. “You have had your vengeance. For every one of your sammad that they killed you have burned a hault of murgu. You have done that. For every hunter, woman, child dead, you have killed murgu to the count of a man. That is enough. Now we must forget dying and think about living.”

“You talked with one of them, let it escape. My spear hand trembled—that was not a good thing for you to do.”

Kerrick was aware of the other’s anger and his own rose to meet it—but he kept it under control. They were all tired, close to exhaustion after the events of the day. And he must remember that Herilak had obeyed his order not to slay Enge when he talked with her.

“To you all murgu are the same, all to be killed. But that one, she was my teacher—and she is different from the others. She speaks only of peace. If the murgu listen to her, believe her, there could be an end to this war . . .”

“They will return, return for vengeance.”

The tall hunter was still possessed by anger, shaking his blood-drenched spear at the vanished, vanquished enemy, his eyes, burnt by the drifting smoke, were as red as his spearpoint. Both hunters were filthy with soot, their blond beards and long hair thick with pieces of ash. Kerrick knew that it was Herilak’s hatred speaking, his need to kill murgu and to go on killing, time without end. But Kerrick knew as well, with a sick feeling that gripped his insides, that Herilak was also speaking the truth. The murgu, the Yilanè, the enemy, they would be back. Vaintè would see to that. She still lived, and while she lived there was no safety, no peace. When he realized this the strength went out of him and he swayed, leaning on his spear for support, shaking his head as though to clear away the vision of despair from before his eyes. He must forget Vaintè and forget the murgu, forget all about them. Now was a time for living; the dying was over. A shout cut through the blackness of his thoughts and he turned to see the Sasku hunter, Keridamas, calling to him from the blackened ruins of Alpèasak.

“There are murgu, still alive, trapped.”

Herilak wheeled about with a cry and Kerrick laid a restraining hand on his arm.

“Don’t,” he said quietly. “Put your spear down. Let me see to this. The killing must end somewhere.”

“No, never, not with these creatures. But I stay my spear because you are still margalus, our war counsellor who leads us in battle against the murgu, and I still obey your command.”