CHAPTER 10
Having been cuffed and battered into submission more quickly than wouldhave been possible three weeks earlier, Murdock now stood sullenlysurveying the man who, though he dressed like a Beaker trader, persistedin using a language Ross did not know.
"We do not play as children here." At last the man spoke words Rosscould understand. "You will answer me or else others shall ask thequestions, and less gently. I say to you now--who are you and from wheredo you come?"
For a moment Ross glowered across the table at him, his inbredantagonism to authority aroused by that contemptuous demand, but thencommon sense cautioned. His initial introduction to this village hadleft him bruised and with one of his headaches. There was no reason tolet them beat him until he was in no shape to make a break for freedomwhen and if there was an opportunity.
"I am Rossa of the traders," he returned, eying the man with a carefullymeasured stare. "I came into this land in search of my kinsmen who weretaken by raiders in the night."
The man, who sat on a stool by the table, smiled slowly. Again he spokein the strange tongue, and Ross merely stared stolidly back. His wordswere short and explosive sounding, and the man's smile faded; hisannoyance grew as he continued to speak.
One of Ross's two guards ventured to interrupt, using the Beakerlanguage. "From where did you come?" He was a quiet-faced, slender man,not like his companion, who had roped Murdock from behind and was of thebully breed, able to subdue Ross's wildcat resistance in a very shortstruggle.
"I came to this land from the south," Ross answered, "after the mannerof my people. This is a new land with furs and the golden tears of thesun to be gathered and bartered. The traders move in peace, and theirhands are raised against no man. Yet in the darkness there came thosewho would slay without profit, for what reason I have no knowing."
The quiet man continued the questioning and Ross answered fully withdetails of the past of one Rossa, a Beaker merchant. Yes, he was fromthe south. His father was Gurdi, who had a trading post in the warmlands along the big river. This was Rossa's first trip to open newterritory. He had come with his father's blood brother, Assha, who was anoted far voyager, and it was an honor to be chosen as donkey-leader forsuch a one as Assha. With Assha had been Macna, one who was also a fartrader, though not as noted as Assha.
Of a certainty, Assha was of his own race! Ross blinked at thatquestion. One need only to look upon him to know that he was of traderblood and no uncivilized woodsrunner. How long had he known Assha? Rossshrugged. Assha had come to his father's post the winter before and hadstayed with them through the cold season. Gurdi and Assha had mingledblood after he pulled Gurdi free from the river in flood. Assha hadlost his boat and trade goods in that rescue, so Gurdi had made good hisloss this year. Detail by detail he gave the story. In spite of the factthat he provided these details glibly, sure that they were true, Rosscontinued to be haunted by an odd feeling that he was indeed reciting atale of adventure which had happened long ago and to someone else.Perhaps that pain in his head made him think of these events as verycolorless and far away.
"It would seem"--the quiet man turned to the one behind the table--"thatthis is indeed one Rossa, a Beaker trader."
But the man looked impatient, angry. He made a sign to the other guard,who turned Ross around roughly and sent him toward the door with ashove. Once again the leader gave an order in his own language, adding afew words more with a stinging snap that might have been a threat or awarning.
Ross was thrust into a small room with a hard floor and not even a skinrug to serve as a bed. Since the quiet man had ordered the removal ofthe ropes from Ross's arms, he leaned against the wall, rubbing the painof returning circulation away from his wrists and trying to understandwhat had happened to him and where he was. Having spied upon it from theheights, he knew it wasn't an ordinary trading station, and he wanted toknow what they did here. Also, somewhere in this village he hoped tofind Assha and Macna.
At the end of the day his captors opened the door only long enough topush inside a bowl and a small jug. He felt for those in the dusk,dipping his fingers into a lukewarm mush of meal and drinking the waterfrom the jug avidly. His headache dulled, and from experience Ross knewthat this bout was almost over. If he slept, he would waken with aclearer mind and no pain. Knowing he was very tired, he took theprecaution of curling up directly in front of the door so that no onecould enter without arousing him.
It was still dark when he awoke with a curious urgency remaining from adream he could not remember. Ross sat up, flexing his arms and shouldersto combat the stiffness which had come with his cramped sleep. He couldnot rid himself of a feeling that there was something to be done andthat time was his enemy.
Assha! Gratefully he seized on that. He must find Assha and Macna, forthe three of them could surely discover a way to get out of thisvillage. That was what was so important!
He had been handled none too gently, and they were holding him aprisoner. But Ross believed that this was not the worst which couldhappen to him here, and he must be free before the worst did come. Thequestion was, How could he escape? His bow and dagger were gone, and hedid not even have his long cloak pin for a weapon, since he had giventhat to Frigga.
Running his hands over his body, Ross inventoried what remained of hisclothing and possessions. He unfastened the bronze chain-belt stillbuckled in his kilt tunic, swinging the length speculatively in onehand. A masterpiece of craftsmanship, it consisted of patterned plateslinked together with a series of five finely wrought chains and a frontbuckle in the form of a lion's head, its protruding tongue serving as ahook to support a dagger sheath. Its weight promised a weapon of sorts,which when added to the element of surprise might free him.
By rights they would be expecting him to produce some opposition,however. It was well known that only the best fighters, the shrewdestminds, followed the traders' roads. It was a proud thing to be a traderin the wilderness, a thought that warmed Ross now as he waited in thedark for what luck and Ba-Bal of the Bright Horns would send. Were heever to return to Gurdi's post, Ba-Bal, whose boat rode across the skyfrom dawn to dusk, would have a fine ox, jars of the first brewing, andsweet-smelling amber laid upon his altar.
Ross had patience which he had learned from the mixed heritage of histwo pasts, the real and the false graft. He could wait as he had waitedmany times before--quiet, and with outward ease--for the right moment tocome. It came now with footsteps ringing sharply, halting before hiscell door.
With the noiseless speed of a hunting cat, Ross flung himself frombehind the door to a wall, where he would be hidden from the newcomerfor that necessary instant or two. If his attack was to be successful,it must occur inside the room. He heard the sound of a bar being slidout of its brackets, and he poised himself, the belt rippling from hisright hand.
The door was opening inward, and a man stood silhouetted against theouter light. He muttered, looking toward the corner where Ross hadthrown his single garment in a roll which might just resemble, for theneeded second or two, a man curled in slumber. The man in the doorwaytook the bait, coming forward far enough for Ross to send the doorslamming shut as he himself sprang with the belt aimed for the other'shead.
There was a startled cry, cut off in the middle as the belt plates metflesh and bone in a crushing force. Luck was with him! Ross caught uphis kilt and belted it around him after he had made a hurriedexamination of the body now lying at his feet. He was not sure that theman was dead, but at any rate he was completely unconscious. Rossstripped off the man's cloak, located his dagger, freed it from the belthook, and snapped it on his own.
Then inch by inch Ross edged open the door, peering through the crack.As far as he could see, the hall was empty, so he jerked the portalopen, and dagger in hand, sprang out, ready for attack. He closed thedoor, slipping the bar back into its brackets. If the man inside revivedand pounded for attention, his own friends might think it was Ross anddelay investigating.
But the escape from the cel
l was the easiest part of what he planned todo, as Ross well knew. To find Assha and Macna in this maze of roomsoccupied by the enemy was far more difficult. Although he had no idea inwhich of the village buildings they might be confined, this one was thelargest and seemed to be the headquarters of the chief men, which meantit could also serve as their prison.
Light came from a torch in a bracket halfway down the hall. The woodburned smokily, giving off a resinous odor, and to Ross the glow wassufficient illumination. He slipped along as close to the wall as hecould, ready to freeze at the slightest sound. But this portion of thebuilding might well have been deserted, for he saw or heard no one. Hetried the only two doors opening out of the hall, but they were securedon the other side. Then he came to a bend in the corridor, and stoppedshort, hearing a murmur of low voices.
If he had used a hunter's tricks of silent tread and vigilant warinessbefore, Ross was doubly on guard now as he wriggled to a point fromwhich he could see beyond that turn. Mere luck prevented him from givinghimself away a moment later.
Assha! Assha, alive, well, apparently under no restraint, was justturning away from the same quiet man who had had a part in Ross'sinterrogation. That was surely Assha's brown hair, his slender wiry bodydraped with a Beaker's kilt. A familiar tilt of the head convinced Ross,though he could not see the man's face. The quiet man went down thehall, leaving Assha before a door. As he passed through it Ross spedforward and followed him inside.
Assha had crossed the bare room and was standing on a glowing plate inthe floor. Ross, aroused to desperate action by some fear he did notunderstand, leaped after him. His left hand fell upon Assha's shoulder,turning the man half around as Ross, too, stepped upon the patch ofluminescence.
Murdock had only an instant to realize that he was staring into the faceof an astonished stranger. His hand flashed up in an edgewise blow whichcaught the other on the side of the throat, and then the world cameapart about them. There was a churning, whirling sickness which gripedand bent Ross almost double across the crumpled body of his victim. Heheld his head lest it be torn from his shoulders by the spinning thingwhich seemed based behind his eyes.
The sickness endured only for a moment, and some buried part of Ross'smind accepted it as a phenomenon he had experienced before. He came outof it gasping, to focus his attention once more on the man at his feet.
The stranger was still breathing. Ross stooped to drag him from theplate and began binding and gagging him with lengths torn from his kilt.Only when his captive was secure did he begin looking about himcuriously.
The room was bare of any furnishings and now, as he glanced at thefloor, Ross saw that the plate had lost its glow. The Beaker traderRossa rubbed sweating palms on his kilt and thought fleetingly of forestghosts and other mysteries. Not that the traders bowed to those ghostswhich were the plague of lesser men and tribes, but anything whichsuddenly appeared and then disappeared without any logical explanation,needed thinking on. Murdock pulled the prisoner, who was now reviving,to the far end of the room and then went back to the plate with thepersistence of a man who refused to treat with ghosts and wantedsomething concrete to explain the unexplainable. Though he rubbed hishands across the smooth surface of the plate, it did not light upagain.
His captive having writhed himself half out of the corner of the room,Ross debated the wisdom of another silencing--say a tap on the skullwith the heavy hilt of his dagger. Deciding against it because he mightneed a guide, he freed the victim's ankle bonds and pulled him to hisfeet, holding the dagger ready where the man could see it. Were thereany more surprises to be encountered in this place, Assha's double wouldtest them first.
The door did not lead to the same corridor, or even the same kind ofcorridor Ross had passed through moments earlier. Instead they entered ashort passage with walls of some smooth stuff which had almost the sheenof polished metal and were sleek and cold to the touch. In fact, thewhole place was chill, chill as river water in the spring.
Still herding the prisoner before him, Ross came to the nearest door andlooked within, to be faced by incomprehensible frames of metal rods andboxes. Rossa of the traders marveled and stared, but again, he realizedthat what he saw was not altogether strange. Part of one wall was aboard on which small lights flashed and died, to flash again in winks ofbright color. A mysterious object made of wire and disks hung across theback of a chair standing near-by.
The bound man lurched for the chair and fell, rolling toward the wall.Ross pushed him on until he was hidden behind one of the metal boxes.Then he made the rounds of the room, touching nothing, but studying whathe could not understand. Puffs of warm air came in through grills nearthe floor, but the room had the same general chill as the hall outside.
Meanwhile the lights on the board had become more active, flashing onand off in complex patterns. Ross now heard a buzzing, as if a swarm ofangry insects were gathered for an attack. Crouching beside his captive,Ross watched the lights, trying to discover the source of the sound.
The buzz grew shriller, almost demanding. Ross heard the tramp of heavyfootgear in the corridor, and a man entered the room, crossingpurposefully to the chair. He sat down and drew the wire-and-disk frameover his head. His hands moved under the lights, but Ross could notguess what he was doing.
The captive at Murdock's side tried to stir, but Ross's hand pinned himquiet. The shrill noise which had originally summoned the man at thelights was interrupted by a sharp pattern of long-and-short sounds, andhis hands flew even more quickly while Ross took in every detail of theother's clothing and equipment. He was neither a shaggy tribesman nor atrader. He wore a dull-green outer garment cut in one piece to cover hisarms and legs as well as his body, and his hair was so short that hisround skull might have been shaven. Ross rubbed the back of his wristacross his eyes, experiencing again that dim other memory. Odd as thisman looked, Murdock had seen his like before somewhere, yet thebackground had not been Gurdi's post on the southern river. Where andwhen had he, Rossa, ever been with such strange beings? And why could henot remember it all more clearly?
Boots sounded once more in the hall, and another figure strode in. Thisone wore furs, but he, too, was no woods hunter, Ross realized as hestudied the newcomer in detail. The loose overshirt of thick fur withits hood thrown back, the high boots, and all the rest were not of anyprimitive fashioning. And the man had four eyes! One pair were placednormally on either side of his nose, and the other two, black-rimmed andmurky, were set above on his forehead.
The fur-clad man tapped the one seated at the board. He freed his headpartially from the wire cage so that they could talk together in astrange language while lights continued to flash and the buzzing diedaway. Ross's captive wriggled with renewed vigor and at last thrashedfree a foot to kick at one of the metal installations. The resultingclang brought both men around. The one at the board tore his head cageoff as he jumped to his feet, while the other brought out a gun.
Gun? One little fraction of Ross's mind wondered at his recognition ofthat black thing and of the danger it promised, even as he prepared forbattle. He pushed his captive across the path of the man in fur andthrew himself in the other direction. There was a blast to make atorment in his head as he hurled toward the door.
So intent was Ross upon escape that he did not glance behind but skiddedout on his hands and knees, thus fortunately presenting a poor target tothe third man coming down the hall. Ross's shoulder hit the newcomer atthigh level, and they tangled in a struggling mass which saved Ross'slife as the others burst out behind them.
Ross fought grimly, his hands and feet moving in blows he was notconscious of planning. His opponent was no easy match and at last Rosswas flattened, in spite of his desperate efforts. He was whirled over,his arms jerked behind him, and cold metal rings snapped about hiswrists. Then he was rolled back, to lie blinking up at his enemies.
All three men gathered over him, barking questions which he could notunderstand. One of them disappeared and returned with Ross's formercaptive, his
mouth a straight line and a light in his eyes Rossunderstood far better than words.
"You are the trader prisoner?" The man who looked like Assha leaned overMurdock, patches of red on his tanned skin where the gag and wrist bondshad been.
"I am Rossa, son of Gurdi, of the traders," Ross returned, meeting whathe read in the other's expression with a ready defiance. "I was aprisoner, yes. But you did not keep me one for long then, nor shall younow."
The man's thin upper lip lifted. "You have done yourself ill, my youngfriend. We have a better prison here for you, one from which you shallnot escape."
He spoke to the other men, and there was the ring of an order in hisvoice. They pulled Ross to his feet, pushing him ahead of them. Duringthe short march Ross used his eyes, noticing things he could notidentify in the rooms through which they passed. Men called questionsand at last they paused long enough, Ross firmly in the hold of thefur-clad guard, for the other two to put on similar garments.
Ross had lost his cloak in the fight, but no fur shirt was given him. Heshivered more and more as the chill which clung to that warren of roomsand halls bit into his half-clad body. He was certain of only one thingabout this place; he could not possibly be in the crude buildings of thevalley village. However, he was unable to guess where he was and how hehad come there.
Finally, they went down a narrow room filled with bulky metal objects ofbright scarlet or violet that gleamed weirdly and were equipped withrods along which all the colors of the rainbow ringed. Here was a rounddoor, and when one of the guards used both hands to tug it open, thecold that swept in at them was a frigid breath that burned as it touchedbare skin.