“Silence!” Kerrick ordered, speaking as mightiest on high to lowest below. “I tell you this now, and will tell him the same words. We will stay together. You will all obey me. You will be my fargi. He will be my fargi. You will be efenselè to each other. This is our efenburu.”

When he had told Ortnar the same thing he turned on his heel and left. Sanone was waiting for him when he came out of the hanalè.

“You leave us,” Sanone said.

“I will come back—with Armun.”

“We all follow the footsteps of Kadair. Do you go alone?”

“Ortnar goes with me. He is a good hunter and knows the path. And we take the murgu to carry food.”

“That is well, for I could not promise their safety once you were gone. We will be here when you return.”

There was little enough to take for Kerrick had few possessions. The unbreakable ring was always around his neck, the little knife and the big one hung from it. He would need all the furs he had for the north and he rolled these carefully and tied them to his pack and pulled it on.

Back in the hanalè he was relieved to discover that his small sammad was still intact—although Ortnar stood against one wall, the two Yilanè against the other. They all moved with relief when he entered.

The word had spread, and it seemed that every Sasku was there to watch the strange procession when they emerged. Kerrick went first, looking neither to right nor left, while the two males stumbled after him, bent under the weight of their packs, fear in every movement of their bodies. Ortnar came last looking as though he wished he were somewhere else. He carried two of the hèsotsan, as did Kerrick—the extra weapons in case the first died, Kerrick had explained. Through the city they went, to the northernmost exit among the fields, where the nenitesk turned placid eyes upon them as they passed. Only when they had marched for some time, were well clear of the city, did Kerrick order a stop. Ortnar merely stood and waited but the males fell to the ground, writhing with expressions of fatigue and despair.

“Death is better—the birth-beaches are better!”

“The hanalè is our home, we belong there.”

“Useless males be still,” Kerrick ordered. “Rest while you can, then we go on.”

“Why do they moan and shake like that?” Ortnar asked.

“They are like children. They have never been out of the city before—nor have they ever done any work like carrying those packs.”

“That is not work,” he said scornfully. “They are big and ugly and strong. We’ll make them work before we kill them.”

“They are my friends—and we will not kill them.”

“Then the winter will. It is the same to me.”