When the weather warmed in the spring and the winter storms died away, there was greater activity at sea south of the city. More of the poison plants had been found to the south, though none in the city itself for some undetermined reason. It was as though the Yilanè had made all of their preparations, tested the efficacy of their attack—and were now waiting for some signal to begin. Yet days passed and there was still no sign of it; even Kerrick was beginning to doubt his earlier fears. Not really doubt, just cover up and hide them. He knew that sooner or later the final battle would begin. Vaintè was out there. She would never stop until they were all destroyed. So, despite the complaints, Kerrick saw to it that all of the approaches to the city were watched and guarded, night and day, while armed parties made longer patrols north and south along the shore to look out for any Yilanè activity. Kerrick himself led the sweeps south, he had the certainty that the attack would come from this direction, but other than the ever-growing wall of death there was still no sign of activity on shore. It was a hot afternoon when he returned from one of these scouting expeditions and saw Nenne waiting for him on the trail.

“There is a hunter from the north, a Tanu who has come and says only that he will talk with you. Sanone has gone to him but he will not speak with the mandukto, other than to repeat that his words are only for you.”

“Do you know his name?”

“He is the sammadar, Herilak.”

When he spoke the name a chill of apprehension washed over Kerrick. Armun—something had happened to Armun. There was no reason for this fear, but it was there, filling him so full that his hands were shaking.

“He is alone?” Kerrick asked, not moving.

“None are with him—though it can be seen that there are other hunters who wait outside the city, among the trees.”

Alone, others in the forest, what could the reasons be? And Armun, what of her? Nenne stood waiting, half turned away as Kerrick’s body moved with his thoughts, in the Yilanè way with physical echoes. With an effort Kerrick broke the paralysis of inaction and fear. “Take me to him—at once.”

They trotted through the city, gasping in the hot air, their bodies running with sweat, to the open space of the ambesed where Herilak stood waiting. He was leaning on his spear but straightened up when Kerrick came close, speaking before Kerrick could.

“I have come with a request. It is our death-sticks that are . . .”

“We will talk of them after you tell me of Armun.”

“She is not with me,” he said, unsmiling and grim.

“I see that, Herilak. She is well, the baby?”

“I have no knowledge of that.”