“Armun will be under my care,” Herilak said. “If you do not wish to come with us she will be safe in my sammad until you return.”

“I cannot leave yet. The time is not ready, it requires thought.”

He was speaking to their backs. The decision had been taken, the talking was finished. The battle was done and the hunters were free again. They followed Herilak in silence down the path through the trees.

And none glanced back, not one Tanu. Kerrick stood and watched until the last of them were gone from sight, felt that some important part of him had gone with them. What had turned his victory into his defeat? He willed himself to follow them, to plead with them again to come back, and if they did not he wanted to join them on the trail, the trail that led to Armun and his life.

But he did not. Something equally strong kept him here. He knew that he belonged with Armun, with the Tanu, for he was Tanu.

Yet he had talked with the foolish male Yilanè, had commanded them as a Yilanè, had felt the strength and power of his position. Could that be it? Was he at home in this ruined city as he had never been among the sammads in the north?

He felt pulled in two directions and could not decide, could only stand and look at the empty trees, torn by emotions he could not understand, taking in breath after shuddering breath.

“Kerrick,” the voice said, speaking as though from a great distance and he realized that Sanone was talking to him. “You are still margalus. What are your orders?”

There was understanding in the old man’s eyes; the manduktos of the Sasku knew the hidden secrets of others. Perhaps he knew Kerrick’s inner feelings better than he did himself. Enough. There was much to be done. He must put all thought of Armun from him now.

“We will need food,” he said. “I will show you the fields where the animals are kept for slaughter. Surely they could not all have been burned. And all of the dead here, something must be done with them.”