The last shred of
clothing from the ship was gone, now; he was clad in a sleeveless tunic
of skin and horsehide buskins.
Analea no longer walked beside him; eight years before, she had broken
her back in a fall. It had been impossible to move her, and she stabbed
herself with her dagger to save a cartridge. Seldar Glav had broken
through the ice while crossing a river, and had lost his rifle; the next
day he died of the chill he had taken. Olva had been killed by the Hairy
People, the night they had attacked the camp, when Varnis' child had
been killed.
They had beaten off that attack, shot or speared ten of the huge
sub-men, and the next morning they buried their dead after their custom,
under cairns of stone. Varnis had watched the burial of her child with
blank, uncomprehending eyes, then she had turned to Kalvar Dard and said
something that had horrified him more than any wild outburst of grief
could have.
"Come on, Dard; what are we doing this for? You promised you'd take us
to Tareesh, where we'd have good houses, and machines, and all sorts of
lovely things to eat and wear. I don't like this place, Dard; I want to
go to Tareesh."
From that day on, she had wandered in merciful darkness.
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