Almost at his feet, burned and dead with her mouth gaping wide, was Ikemend, the keeper of the hanalè. Behind her were the huddled shapes of her charges. The room was packed with them, now burnt and as dead as their keeper. Kerrick turned away, shuddering, and made his way deeper into the structure.

It was a maze of connecting rooms and passages, for the most part charred and destroyed. Yet further on the wood was greener, this section recently grown, and scarcely touched by the fire. At the last turning he entered a chamber with ornate hangings on the walls, soft cushions on the floor. Huddled against the far wall, their eyes bulging and their jaws dropped in juvenile fear, were two young males. They moaned when they saw him.

“It is death,” they said and closed their eyes.

“No!” Kerrick called out loudly. “Correction of statement. Foolishness of males — attention to a superior speaking.”

Their eyes flew open with astonishment at this.

“Speak,” he ordered. “Are there others?”

“The creature that talks points the sharp tooth that kills,” one of them moaned.

Kerrick dropped his spear onto the matting and moved away from it. “The killing is over. Are you two alone?”

“Alone!” they wailed in unison and their hands flashed the colors of juvenile terror and pain. Kerrick fought to keep his temper with the stupid creatures.

“Listen to me and be silent,” he ordered. “I am Kerrick strong-and-important who sits at the Eistaa’s side. You have heard of me.” They signed agreement: perhaps knowledge of his flight had not penetrated their isolation. Or, more simply, they had forgotten. “Now you will answer my questions. How many of you are here?”