For a long time, Po did not answer. Larth saw his eyes flash in the darkness and heard his ragged breathing. Though Po lay very still, Larth could feel the quivering tension of the youth’s body transmitted through the shaft of the spear.

“All of them,” Po said at last.

Larth felt a great coldness descend upon him. Until that moment, he had not been sure of the truth. “Their bodies?”

“In the river.”

My oldest friend, fouled with blood! thought Larth. What would the numen of the river think of him and his people now?

“They’ll flow to the sea,” Po said. “I left no trace-”

“No! At least one of the bodies must have grounded on the riverbank.”

“How can you know that?”

“Vultures!” Larth could picture the scene-blood in the water, a corpse amid the rushes, the vultures circling overhead.

Larth shook his head. What a hunter the boy must be, to stalk and kill three men! And what a fool! Could the people afford to lose him? Could they afford to keep him? It was in Larth’s power to kill him, here and now, but he would have to justify his action to the others. More than that, he would have to justify the action to himself.

At last, Larth sighed. “I know everything you do, Po. Remember that!” He lifted the spearpoint from the youth’s throat. He let the spear fall to the ground. He turned away and went back to his place by the fire.

It might have been worse. If the boy had been such a fool that he killed only Tarketios, then the other two would surely have come after him, seeking vengeance. They would have taken the news back to their people. The knowledge that one of the salt traders had done such a thing would have spread. The consequences and recriminations could have continued for a lifetime, perhaps for generations.