almost more than he
could do, and he lay quiet as Ennar loosed his feet.

"Up!"

Without Ennar's hands pulling at him, Ross could not have reached his
feet. Nor did he stay erect once he had been raised, crashing forward on
his face as the other let him go, hot anger eating at him because of his
own helplessness.

In the end, Ennar summoned two slaves who dragged Ross into the open
where a council assembled about a fire. A debate was in progress,
sometimes so heated that the speakers fingered their knife or ax hilts
when they shouted their arguments. Ross could not understand their
language, but he was certain that he was the subject under discussion
and that Foscar had the deciding vote and had not yet given the nod to
either side.

Ross sat where the slaves had dumped him, rubbing his smarting wrists,
so deathly weary in mind and beaten in body that he was not really
interested in the fate they were planning for him. He was content merely
to be free of his bonds, a small favor, but one he savored dully.

He did not know how long the debate lasted, but at length Ennar came to
stand over him with a message. "Your chief--he give many good things for
you. Foscar take you to him."

"My chief is not here," Ross repeated wearily, making a protest he knew
they would not heed. "My chief sits by the bitter water and waits. He
will be angry if I do not come. Let Foscar fear his anger----"

Ennar laughed. "You run from your chief. He will be happy with Foscar
when you lie again under his hand. You will not like that--I think it
so!"

"I think so, too," Ross agreed silently.

He spent the rest of that night lying between the watchful Ennar and
another guard, though they had the humanity not to bind him again. In
the morning he was allowed to feed himself, and he fished chunks of
venison out of a stew with his unwashed fingers. But in spite of the
messiness, it was the best food he had eaten in days.

The trip, however, was not to be a comfortable one. He was mounted on
one of the shaggy horses, a rope run under the animal's belly to loop
one foot to the other. Fortunately, his hands were bound so he was able
to grasp the coarse, wiry mane and keep his seat after a fashion. The
nose rope of his mount was passed to Tulka, and Ennar rode beside him
with only half an eye for the path of his own horse and the balance of
his attention for the prisoner.

They headed northeast, with the mountains as a sharp green-and-white