meal and drinking the water
from the jug avidly. His headache dulled, and from experience Ross knew
that this bout was almost over. If he slept, he would waken with a
clearer mind and no pain. Knowing he was very tired, he took the
precaution of curling up directly in front of the door so that no one
could enter without arousing him.

It was still dark when he awoke with a curious urgency remaining from a
dream he could not remember. Ross sat up, flexing his arms and shoulders
to combat the stiffness which had come with his cramped sleep. He could
not rid himself of a feeling that there was something to be done and
that time was his enemy.

Assha! Gratefully he seized on that. He must find Assha and Macna, for
the three of them could surely discover a way to get out of this
village. That was what was so important!

He had been handled none too gently, and they were holding him a
prisoner. But Ross believed that this was not the worst which could
happen to him here, and he must be free before the worst did come. The
question was, How could he escape? His bow and dagger were gone, and he
did not even have his long cloak pin for a weapon, since he had given
that to Frigga.

Running his hands over his body, Ross inventoried what remained of his
clothing and possessions. He unfastened the bronze chain-belt still
buckled in his kilt tunic, swinging the length speculatively in one
hand. A masterpiece of craftsmanship, it consisted of patterned plates
linked together with a series of five finely wrought chains and a front
buckle in the form of a lion's head, its protruding tongue serving as a
hook 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 shrewdest
minds, followed the traders' roads. It was a proud thing to be a trader
in the wilderness, a thought that warmed Ross now as he waited in the
dark for what luck and Ba-Bal of the Bright Horns would send. Were he
ever to return to Gurdi's post, Ba-Bal, whose boat rode across the sky
from dawn to dusk, would have a fine ox, jars of the first brewing, and
sweet-smelling amber laid upon his altar.

Ross had patience which he had learned from the mixed heritage of his
two pasts, the real and the false graft. He could wait as he had waited
many times before--quiet, and with