“Ulfadan, Kellimans,” he said quietly. “Go among your hunters and ask their names. When you are sure that they are all gathered here come and tell me.”
They did not talk or move about while they waited, for they were hunters. They squatted in silence, weapons ready, waiting for orders from Herilak, the sacripex, ready for battle. Only when he had been assured that they had all arrived did Herilak tell them what they were to do.
“We must strike as one,” he said. “We must kill without being killed for their darts are instant death. In order to do this we will spread out in a single line, with each sammad taking half of the beach. Then we must crawl forward silently until we are in the grass above the beach. The wind is from the water so they will not smell us when we draw near. But they can hear, and hear well, so there must be nothing for them to hear. You must each take your position, and your sammadar will be sure that you are in the correct place. When you are there you will wait and you will not move. You will look at the beach. You will wait until you see me, Ulfadan and Kellimans as well, appear before you on the beach. That will be your signal to come forward. Slowly and silently. With your spears you will then kill murgu, remaining silent as long as it is possible.”
Then Herilak reached out with the butt of his spear and touched the nearest hunter with it just below his chin, while all of the others strained forward to see what he was doing.
“Try to stab the murgu in the throat if you can, for that is where they are most vulnerable. Their ribs are many and unlike the animals we hunt their ribs cover the entire front of their bodies and do not stop just below the chest. A strong blow will penetrate, but a badly aimed thrust will be deflected by the bones within. Therefore — the throat.”
Herilak waited while they thought about this, then continued.
“We cannot hope to kill them all in silence. As soon as the alarm is raised we will shout as loudly as we can to cause confusion. And keep on killing. If they run use your bows. Arrows will stop them. Do not hesitate, do not tire, but keep on killing. We will only be finished with them when they all are dead.”
There were no questions. What they had to do was very clear. If any of the hunters felt fear they did not show it. They lived by killing and were very experienced at it.
Silent as shadows they moved through the trees, left the darkness of the forest, and crawled in equal silence across the grass above the beach. Kerrick was still on watch. He looked away from the sleeping fargi and started as he saw the moving shapes. There was not a sound from them, not the slightest. Herilak appeared among them and slipped forward. Kerrick touched him on the shoulder, then leaned close to breathe the words into his ear.
“Their leaders must be among the first killed. I want to do that myself.”
Herilak nodded agreement and moved away. Slowly then, a step at a time, Kerrick moved back from the edge of the bank and along it to the position he had marked earlier.
A night bird called from the trees and he froze, waited a moment then moved on. The only sound now was the lap of small waves on the sand. Other than that the night was still as death.
And death was on its way.
There was no impatience. Once they were in position not a hunter moved, nor was there the slightest sound to reveal their presence. Their eyes were on the lighter gray of the sandy beach, waiting patiently for the expected movement.
Tension twisted a tight knot in the pit of Kerrick’s stomach. He was sure now that too much time had gone by. Something had gone wrong. Herilak and the sammadars should be on the beach. If they delayed any longer it would be light and they would be the ones who would be trapped…
He knew his fears were groundless, but that knowledge did not take them away. His fists were clenched so tight that they hurt. Where were they? What was happening? Clouds were thickening in the sky and obscuring the stars. Would he be able to see the figures when they did appear?
Then they were there, so silently and suddenly that they might have been shadows. Moving shadows that were soon joined by other shadows, until the dark line of half-seen forms stretched the length of the beach.
They stayed ahead of Kerrick because they could move quickly in absolute silence. He had to feel his way forward, lacking their skill at silent stalking of prey. He was well behind them when the line reached the first of the sleeping fargi. There were some muffled grunts, nothing more.
Now Kerrick could feel the soft sand beneath his feet, he could go faster. He ran forward, raising his own spear. He had almost reached the mound of supplies that were his marker, behind which the Yilanè lay, when a terrible screech of pain cut the silence of the night.
It was followed instantly by more screams and shouts; then the beach was alive with moving forms. Kerrick shouted as well, leaping around the stacked supplies and stabbing down at the Yilanè who was just standing.
She shrieked hoarsely as the point imbedded in her flesh, pulled away. He thrust again into her throat.
It was yelling, running, falling, dark butchery in the night. The fargi were awake instantly, but were panicked and frightened and in absolute confusion. If they remembered their weapons they could not find them in the blackness. They ran and sought safety in the ocean of their youth. Yet there was no safety even there for they were speared when they ran by, while sharp arrows flew after those who reached the surf. It was slaughter without mercy. The Tanu were efficient butchers.
Yet the fargi were so numerous that some did manage to escape, to reach the sea and splash in panic through the dead bodies there, to dive and swim to the boats. The hunters waded after them into the breaking waves, their bows striking death until their supply of arrows was exhausted.
The killing stopped only when there was nothing left alive to kill. The hunters walked among the heaped bodies, kicking at them, spears stabbing down at any sound or movement. One by one they stopped, exhausted, silent — until a hunter shouted a cry of victory. They all joined in then, an ululating call that was more animal than Tanu, a cry that carried across the water to the surviving fargi in the boats who moaned and cowered with fear.
The first light of dawn revealed the gruesome details of the night of slaughter. Kerrick looked about in horror, shuddering away from the dead that were heaped on all sides, tumbled one on top of the other. This sight did not seem to bother the hunters in the slightest. They called out happily, bragging of their exploits while they waded among the corpses in the surf to cut their arrows free. As the light grew Kerrick saw that his hands and arms were thick with blood; he went along the beach away from the fargi bodies and washed them clean in the sea. When he emerged Herilak was waiting for him, shouting with jubilation.
“It has been done! We have hit back at the murgu, struck them down, avenged the sammads that they destroyed. It has been a good night’s work.”
Out to sea the boats were fleeing south — most of them empty, or with just one or two fargi aboard. The slaughter had been most efficient.
Kerrick felt drained of hate and fear, exhausted. He sat down heavily on the heap of bladders of preserved meat.
Herilak shook his spear after the fleeing boats, shouted after them.
“Go back! Tell the others what happened here this night. Tell the rest of the murgu that this will happen to all of them if they dare venture north again.”