CHAPTER 15
It was such a small thing, a tag of ragged stuff looped about a lengthof splintered sapling. Ross climbed stiffly over the welter of driftcaught on the sand spit and pulled it loose, recognizing the string evenbefore he touched it. That square knot was of McNeil's tying, and asMurdock sat down weakly in the sand and mud, nervously fingering thetwisted cord, staring vacantly at the river, his last small hope died.The raft must have broken up, and neither Ashe nor McNeil could havesurvived the ultimate disaster.
Ross Murdock was alone, marooned in a time which was not his own, withlittle promise of escape. That one thought blanked out his mind with itsown darkness. What was the use of getting up again, of trying to findfood for his empty stomach, or warmth and shelter?
He had always prided himself on being able to go it alone, had thoughthimself secure in that calculated loneliness. Now that belief had beenwashed away in the river along with most of the will power which hadkept him going these past days. Before, there had always been some goal,no matter how remote. Now, he had nothing. Even if he managed to reachthe mouth of the river, he had no idea of where or how to summon the subfrom the overseas post. All three of the time travelers might alreadyhave been written off the rolls, since they had not reported in.
Ross pulled the rag free from the sapling and wreathed it in a tightbracelet about his grimed wrist for some unexplainable reason. Worn andtired, he tried to think ahead. There was no chance of again contactingUlffa's tribe. Along with all the other woodland hunters they must havefled before the advance of the horsemen. No, there was no reason to goback, and why make the effort to advance?
The sun was hot. This was one of those spring days which foretell theripeness of summer. Insects buzzed in the reed banks where a green sheenshowed. Birds wheeled and circled in the sky, some flock disturbed,their cries reaching Ross in hoarse calls of warning.
He was still plastered with patches of dried mud and slime, the reek ofit thick in his nostrils. Now Ross brushed at a splotch on his knee,picking loose flakes to expose the alien cloth of his suit underneath,seemingly unbefouled. All at once it became necessary to be clean againat least.
Ross waded into the stream, stooping to splash the brown water over hisbody and then rubbing away the resulting mud. In the sunlight the fabrichad a brilliant glow, as if it not only drew the light but reflected it.Wading farther out into the water, he began to swim, not with any goalin view, but because it was easier than crawling back to land once more.
Using the downstream current to supplement his skill, he watched bothbanks. He could not really hope to see either the raft or indicationsthat its passengers had won to shore, but somewhere deep inside him hehad not yet accepted the probable.
The effort of swimming broke through that fog of inertia which had heldhim since he had awakened that morning. It was with a somewhat healthierinterest in life that Ross came ashore again on an arm of what was a bayor inlet angling back into the land. Here the banks of the river werewell above his head, and believing that he was well sheltered, hestripped, hanging his suit in the sunlight and letting the unusual heatof the day soothe his body.
A raw fish, cornered in the shallows and scooped out, furnished one ofthe best meals he had ever tasted. He had reached for the suit drapedover a willow limb when the first and only warning that his fortunes hadonce again changed came, swiftly, silently, and with deadly promise.
One moment the willows had moved gently in the breeze, and then a spearsuddenly set them all quivering. Ross, clutching the suit to him with afrantic grab, skated about in the sand, going to one knee in his haste.
He found himself completely at the mercy of the two men standing on thebank well above him. Unlike Ulffa's people or the Beaker traders, theywere very tall, with heavy braids of light or sun-bleached hair swingingforward on their wide chests. Their leather tunics hung to mid-thighabove leggings which were bound to their limbs with painted straps. Cuffbracelets of copper ringed their forearms, and necklaces of animal teethand beads displayed their personal wealth. Ross could not rememberhaving seen their like on any of the briefing tapes at the base.
One spear had been a warning, but a second was held ready, so Ross madethe age-old signal of surrender, reluctantly dropping his suit andraising his hands palm out and shoulder high.
"Friend?" Ross asked in the Beaker tongue. The traders ranged far, andperhaps there was a chance they had had contact with this tribe.
The spear twirled, and the younger stranger effortlessly leaped down thebank, paddling over to Ross to pick up the suit he had dropped, holdingit up while he made some comment to his companion. He seemed fascinatedby the fabric, pulling and smoothing it between his hands, and Rosswondered if there was a chance of trading it for his own freedom.
Both men were armed, not only with the long-bladed daggers favored bythe Beaker folk, but also with axes. When Ross made a slight effort tolower his hands the man before him reached to his belt ax, growling whatwas plainly a warning. Ross blinked, realizing that they might wellknock him out and leave him behind, taking the suit with them.
Finally, they decided in favor of including him in their loot. Throwingthe suit over one arm, the stranger caught Ross by the shoulder andpushed him forward roughly. The pebbled beach was painful to Ross'sfeet, and the breeze which whipped about him as he reached the top ofthe bank reminded him only too forcibly of his ordeal in the glacialworld.
Murdock was tempted to make a sudden dash out on the point of the bankand dive into the river, but it was already too late. The man who washolding the spear had moved behind him, and Ross's wrist, held in a visegrip at the small of his back, kept him prisoner as he was pushed oninto the meadow. There three shaggy horses grazed, their nose ropesgathered into the hands of a third man.
A sharp stone half buried in the ground changed the pattern of the day.Ross's heel scraped against it, and the resulting pain triggered hisrebellion into explosion. He threw himself backward, his bruised heelsliding between the feet of his captor, bringing them both to the groundwith himself on top. The other expelled air from his lungs in a gruntof surprise, and Ross whipped over, one hand grasping the hilt of thetribesman's dagger while the other, free of that prisoning wrist-lock,chopped at the fellow's throat.
Dagger out and ready, Ross faced the men in a half crouch as he had beendrilled. They stared at him in open-mouthed amazement, then too late thespears went up. Ross placed the point of his looted weapon at the throatof the now quiet man by whom he knelt, and he spoke the language he hadlearned from Ulffa's people.
"You strike--this one dies."
They must have read the determined purpose in his eyes, for slowly,reluctantly, the spears went down. Having gained so much of a victory,Ross dared more. "Take--" he motioned to the waiting horses--"take andgo!"
For a moment he thought that this time they would meet his challenge,but he continued to hold the dagger above the brown throat of the manwho was now moaning faintly. His threat continued to register, for theother man shrugged the suit from his arm, left it lying on the ground,and retreated. Holding the nose rope of his horse, he mounted, waved theherder up also, and both of them rode slowly away.
The prisoner was slowly coming around, so Ross only had time to pull onthe suit; he had not even fastened the breast studs before those blueeyes opened. A sunburned hand flashed to a belt, but the dagger and axwhich had once hung there were now in Ross's possession. He watched thetribesman carefully as he finished dressing.
"What you do?" The words were in the speech of the forest people,distorted by a new accent.
"You go--" Ross pointed to the third horse the others had leftbehind--"I go--" he indicated the river--"I take these"--he patted thedagger and the ax. The other scowled.
"Not good...."
Ross laughed, a little hysterically. "Not good you," he agreed,"good--me!"
To his surprise the tribesman's stiff face relaxed, and the fellow gavea bark of laughter. He sat up, rubbing at his throat, a big grin pulling
at the corners of his mouth.
"You--hunter?" The man pointed northeast to the woodlands fringing themountains.
Ross shook his head. "Trader, me."
"Trader," the other repeated. Then he tapped one of the wide metal cuffsat his wrist. "Trade--this?"
"That. More things."
"Where?"
Ross pointed downstream. "By bitter water--trade there."
The man appeared puzzled. "Why you here?"
"Ride river water, like you ride," he said, pointing to the horse. "Rideon trees--many trees tied together. Trees break apart--I come here."
The conception of a raft voyage apparently got across, for the tribesmanwas nodding. Getting to his feet, he walked across to take up the noserope of the waiting horse. "You come camp--Foscar. Foscar chief. He likeyou show trick how you take Tulka, make him sleep--hold his ax, knife."
Ross hesitated. This Tulka seemed friendly now, but would thatfriendliness last? He shook his head. "I go to bitter water. My chiefthere."
Tulka was scowling again. "You speak crooked words--your chief there!"He pointed eastward with a dramatic stretch of the arm. "Your chiefspeak Foscar. Say he give much these--" he touched his coppercuffs--"good knives, axes--get you back."
Ross stared at him without understanding. Ashe? Ashe in this Foscar'scamp offering a reward for him? But how could that be?
"How you know my chief?"
Tulka laughed, this time derisively. "You wear shining skin--your chiefwear shiny skin. He say find other shiny skin--give many good things toman who bring you back."
Shiny skin! The suit from the alien ship! Was it the ship people? Rossremembered the light on him as he climbed out of the Red village. Hemust have been sighted by one of the spacemen. But why were theysearching for him, alerting the natives in an effort to scoop him up?What made Ross Murdock so important that they must have him? He onlyknew that he was not going to be taken if he could help it, that he hadno desire to meet this "chief" who had offered treasure for his capture.
"You will come!" Tulka went into action, his mount flashing forwardalmost in a running leap at Ross, who stumbled back when horse and riderloomed over him. He swung up the ax, but it was a weapon with which hehad had no training, too heavy for him.
As his blow met only thin air the shoulder of the mount hit him, andRoss went down, avoiding by less than a finger's breadth the thud of anunshod hoof against his skull. Then the rider landed on him, crushinghim flat. A fist connected with his jaw, and for Ross the sun went out.
He found himself hanging across a support which moved with a rockinggait, whose pounding hurt his head, keeping him half dazed. Ross triedto move, but he realized that his arms were behind his back, fastenedwrist to wrist, and a warm weight centered in the small of his spine tohold him face down on a horse. He could do nothing except endure thediscomfort as best he could and hope for a speedy end to the gallop.
Over his head passed the cackle of speech. He caught short glimpses ofanother horse matching pace to the one that carried him. Then they sweptinto a noisy place where the shouting of many men made a din. The horsestopped and Ross was pulled from its back and dropped to the troddendust, to lie blinking up dizzily, trying to focus on the scene abouthim.
They had arrived at the camp of the horsemen, whose hide tents served asa backdrop for the fair long-haired giants and the tall women hoveringabout to view the captive. The circle about him then broke, and menstood aside for a newcomer. Ross had believed that his original captorswere physically imposing, but this one was their master. Lying on theground at the chieftain's feet, Ross felt like a small and helplesschild.
Foscar, if Foscar this was, could not yet have entered middle age, andthe muscles which moved along his arms and across his shoulders as heleaned over to study Tulka's prize made him bear-strong. Ross glared upat him, that same hot rage which had led to his attack on Tulka nowurging him to the only defiance he had left--words.
"Look well, Foscar. Free me, and I would do more than _look_ at you," hesaid in the speech of the woods hunters.
Foscar's blue eyes widened and he lowered a fist which could haveswallowed in its grasp both of Ross's hands, linking those great fingersin the stuff of the suit and drawing the captive to his feet, with nosign that his act had required any effort. Even standing, Ross was agood eight inches shorter than the chieftain. Yet he put up his chin andeyed the other squarely, without giving ground.
"So--yet still my hands are tied." He put into that all the tauntinginflection he could summon. His reception by Tulka had given him onefaint clue to the character of these people; they might be brought toacknowledge the worth of one who stood up to them.
"Child--" The fist shifted from its grip on the fabric covering Ross'schest to his shoulder, and now under its compulsion Ross swayed back andforth.
"Child?" From somewhere Ross raised that short laugh. "Ask Tulka. I beno child, Foscar. Tulka's ax, Tulka's knife--they were in my hand. Ahorse Tulka had to use to bring me down."
Foscar regarded him intently and then grinned. "Sharp tongue," hecommented. "Tulka lost knife--ax? So! Ennar," he called over hisshoulder, and one of the men stepped out a pace beyond his fellows.
He was shorter and much younger than his chief, with a boy's rangyslimness and an open, good-looking face, his eyes bright on Foscar witha kind of eager excitement. Like the other tribesmen he was armed withbelt dagger and ax, and since he wore two necklaces and both cuffbracelets and upper armlets as did Foscar, Ross thought he must be arelative of the older man.
"Child!" Foscar clapped his hand on Ross's shoulder and then withdrewthe hold. "Child!" He indicated Ennar, who reddened. "You take fromEnnar ax, knife," Foscar ordered, "as you took from Tulka." He made asign, and someone cut the thongs about Ross's wrists.
Ross rubbed one numbed hand against the other, setting his jaw. Foscarhad stung his young follower with that contemptuous "child," so the boywould be eager to match all his skill against the prisoner. This wouldnot be as easy as his taking Tulka by surprise. But if he refused,Foscar might well order him killed out of hand. He had chosen to bedefiant; he would have to do his best.
"Take--ax, knife--" Foscar stepped back, waving at his men to open out aring encircling the two young men.
Ross felt a little sick as he watched Ennar's hand go to the haft of theax. Nothing had been said about Ennar's not using his weapons indefense, but Ross discovered that there was some sense of sportmanshipin the tribesmen, after all. It was Tulka who pushed to the chief's sideand said something which made Foscar roar bull-voiced at his youthfulchampion.
Ennar's hand came away from the ax hilt as if that polished wood werewhite-hot, and he transferred his discomfiture to Ross as the otherunderstood. Ennar had to win now for his own pride's sake, and Ross felt_he_ had to win for his life. They circled warily, Ross watching hisopponent's eyes rather than those half-closed hands held at waist level.
Back at the base he had been matched with Ashe, and before Ashe with thetough-bodied, skilled, and merciless trainers in unarmed combat. He hadhad beaten into his bruised flesh knowledge of holds and blows intendedto save his skin in just such an encounter. But then he had beenwell-fed, alert, prepared. He had not been knocked silly and thentransported for miles slung across a horse after days of exposure andhard usage. It remained to be learned--was Ross Murdock as tough as healways thought himself to be? Tough or not, he was in this until hewon--or dropped.
Comments from the crowd aroused Ennar to the first definite action. Hecharged, stooping low in a wrestler's stance, but Ross squatted evenlower. One hand flicked to the churned dust of the ground and snapped upagain, sending a cloud of grit into the tribesman's face. Then theirbodies met with a shock, and Ennar sailed over Ross's shoulder to skidalong the earth.
Had Ross been fresh, the contest would have ended there and then in hisfavor. But when he tried to whirl and throw himself on his opponent hewas too slow. Ennar was not waiting to be pinned flat, and it was Ross'sturn to be caught at a disadvan
tage.
A hand shot out to catch his leg just above the ankle, and once againRoss obeyed his teaching, falling easily at that pull, to land acrosshis opponent. Ennar, disconcerted by the too-quick success of hisattack, was unprepared for this. Ross rolled, trying to escapesteel-fingered hands, his own chopping out in edgewise blows, strivingto serve Ennar as he had Tulka.
He had to take a lot of punishment, though he managed to elude thepowerful bear's hug in which he knew the other was laboring to engulfhim, a hold which would speedily crush him into submission. Clinging tothe methods he had been taught, he fought on, only now he knew, with agrowing panic, that his best was not good enough. He was too spent tomake an end. Unless he had some piece of great good luck, he could onlydelay his own defeat.
Fingers clawed viciously at his eyes, and Ross did what he had neverthought to do in any fight--he snapped wolfishly, his teeth closing onflesh as he brought up his knee and drove it home into the bodywriggling on his. There was a gasp of hot breath in his face as Rosscalled upon the last few rags of his strength, tearing loose from theother's slackened hold. He scrambled to one knee. Ennar was also on hisknees, crouching like a four-legged beast ready to spring. Ross riskedeverything on a last gamble. Clasping his hands together, he raised themas high as he could and brought them down on the nape of the other'sneck. Ennar sprawled forward face-down in the dust where seconds laterRoss joined him.