'I do not know, Kalus. We made a
hunting camp not far from here. Shama wandered away from it while we
slept..... You must go, brother. If Barabbas finds you here he will
kill you.'
Kalus took his brother's hand in his and pressed it to his heart.
'I go to the northern hills. I will kill the half-breed if I can.
Goodbye.' There was nothing more. He set out.
He made for the north, and so great was his anger and purpose that all
creatures who saw him let him pass unchallenged. He was only dimly
aware that two tribesman, one very large and strong, had passed him to
the west, moving toward the place where Komai stood in lonely vigil. He
did not care.
But as he walked his heart-sickness and rage yielded slowly, reluctantly
to reason. He was not swayed in his resolve to kill Shar-hai---who
might next come stalking one yet dearer---nor spared any measure of the
bludgeoning sorrow and guilt. But with each mile he thought more of
her, and of their indescribable communion the night before. And as the
land became more broken and the granite-boned hills a nearer mark, he
found more and more than he wanted to live, a desire that chafed against
his hatred, and crossed his will to act. He whirled the sword in blind
fury about him, but could not make the conflict go away.
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