Small village-forts had been linked from hill
to hill by trackways. There were "factories," which turned out in bulk
such fine flint weapons and tools that a thriving industry was in full
operation, not yet having been superseded by the metal imported by the
Beaker merchants. Bronze was still so rare and costly that only the head
man of a village could hope to own one of the long daggers. Even the
arrowheads in Ross's quiver were chipped of flint.

They drew the dugout well up onto the shore and ran it into a shallow
depression in the bank, heaping stones and brush about for its
concealment. Then Ashe intently surveyed the surrounding country,
seeking a landmark.

"Inland from here...." Ashe used the language of the Beakermen, and Ross
knew that from now on he must not only live as a trader, but also think
as one. All other memories must be buried under the false one he had
learned; he must be interested in the present rate of exchange and the
chance for profit. The two men were on their way to Outpost Gog, where
Ashe's first partner, the redoubtable Sanford, was playing his role so
well.

The rain squished in their hide boots, made sodden strings of their
cloaks, plastered their woven caps to their thick mats of hair. Yet Ashe
bore steadily on across the land with the certainty of one following a
marked trail. His self-confidence was rewarded within the first half
mile when they came out upon one of the link trackways, its beaten
surface testifying to constant use.

Here Ashe turned eastward, stepping up the pace to a ground-covering
trot. The peace of the road held--at least by day. By night only the
most hardened and desperate outlaws would brave the harmful spirits
roving in the dark.

All the lore that had been pounded into him at the base began to make
some sense to Ross as he followed his guide, sniffing strange wet smells
from the brush, the trees, and the damp earth; piecing together in his
mind what he had been taught and what he now saw for himself, until it
made a tight pattern.

The track they were following sloped slightly upward, and a change in
the wind brought to them a sour odor, blanking out all normal scents.
Ashe halted so suddenly that Ross almost plowed into him. But he was
alerted by the older man's attitude.

Something had been burned! Ross drew in a deep lungful of the smell and
then wished that he had not. It was wood--burned wood--and something
else. Since this was not possibly norm