Sentar immediately turned to their spears, now fallen from the two hunters' hands. He broke first one, and then the other, over his knee.
"Come with me," he said to the young hunter, grunting as he crouched and hooked an arm around the youth's neck. Sentar rose to his feet, pulling the youth along behind him, dragging the young hunter over to the entrance of the log hut.
Sentar still clutched the broken spears in his other hand. Lifting up a leg, he sent his black boot into the door, kicking it open with a crash.
Without waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness within, he tossed in the young hunter. The young hunter wheezed on the floor, coughing; Sentar would find no trouble from that quarter.
Sentar looked around, seeing the red embers of a fire and a grubby house. He wrinkled his nose; the hut reeked of smoke and animal sweat. A woman sat on a chair, a threaded needle in her hand and a furred skin across her lap. Her face registered shock.
Sentar walked over to the fire and threw the broken spears into the hearth.
"Where are your other spears?" Sentar asked.
The woman didn't open her mouth, but her eyes moved, and Sentar saw a place on the wall where two spears were fixed to the wood.
He took the first spear down and held it poised over his knee.
"Please," she begged, "we'll starve."
Sentar broke the spear, quickly following it with the second until both spears were also splinters thrown into the growing fire.
He went back outside and took the old hunter under his arms. The old man was heavy, and Sentar grunted as he pulled his unconscious body into the hut and threw him beside his son, now nearly recovered.
"Tend to your husband," Sentar said to the woman.
She ran over to the old man and brushed the hair away from the wound on his temple. Blood welled from her hands, and tears ran down her face as she sat his head in her lap.
The hunter's son sat up and looked at Sentar with murder in his eyes. "We'll die without our spears."
Sentar crouched close to the youth and tapped his cudgel into the palm of his hand. The young hunter looked on, fear in his eyes.
"So you need new spears, I should think," Sentar said, "from the Akari."
"We don't have furs to trade for them. The weather's closing in. You've killed us."
"No, that's not correct. You have a problem. You don't have any spears, nor will you have furs to trade for them, not for many months. I also have a problem. I must travel to the ice city, but I will need help finding it, and help to survive in this cold. I think we should make a bargain."
"He is an evil man," the woman said from where she tended her husband, directing the words at her son.
"I make opportunities. That is all," said Sentar.
"Druin, please, do not help this man," the woman said to her son.
"Mother, without spears we'll all die."
"A bargain means nothing to one such as him. He'll kill you without a thought."
"If I don't go, we're doomed anyway."
"All I need is for you to guide me to the ice city," Sentar said. "It's in your interests that I arrive there safely. I'll instruct the Akari to give you new spears, and soon you will be back in your hovel."
The light in the room grew as the broken spears blazed.
Sentar smiled as the young hunter slowly nodded. Cunning had won again.
~
AS HE travelled ever onwards into the cold, Sentar realised that for all his abilities he was dying. In the twilight world of Shar he had fought creatures from nightmare, endured horrors beyond imagining, and seen the shadows in his brothers' eyes when all hope was lost. Yet now he was here, returned to Merralya, a world warm and golden in comparison, and he was going to die.
The snow now came up to the top of Sentar's high boots, making each step an agony of effort, dragging at his legs. The wind grew in strength, driving the crystalline snowflakes hard against his face, stinging his cheeks and crusting around his lips. The dim light reminded Sentar unpleasantly of Shar, and shielding his eyes against the wind he could see even the hardy pines were scarce.
The days had become gruelling marches, as Sentar's thoughts became consumed with the simple task of putting one foot in front of the other. The nights were the worst, spent huddled under pine trees if he could find them, where the snow at least didn't fall from overhead. If there were no trees he found icy overhangs and stuffed his hands under his armpits, shivering his way to a twitching sleep.
He had long ago killed Druin, the young hunter who was supposed to ensure his survival. The youth had insisted on turning back, and Sentar knew he needed extra sustenance as well as the young hunter's blankets. Sentar had forced Druin to give him directions before he'd ended the young man's life.
Sentar had now covered such distance that if he tried to return south to warmer lands he knew he wouldn't make it. So he continued onwards, and finally he realised he was going to die.