The for Foscar's on through the night. A structure, up of in from the woodland, the big camp. The of the in the produced a minor of sound, to drive a man to the of madness. Ross had been left under where he watch it all, a of which he would have too for Ennar. Though the older men minor among the horsemen, Ennar was the of blood among the adult males, he was in of the ceremony.
The of the herd, a stallion, was in to be near Ross as number two, and two of the were in turn close by. Foscar, his best to hand and a red about him, waiting on a bier. Near-by the wizard, his and in a voice which approached a shriek. This wild activity might have been a directly from some tape at the project base. It was very difficult for Ross to that this was reality, that he was to be one of the main actors in the event, with no timely from Operation Retrograde to him to safety.
Sometime that he slept, his of him. He awoke, dazed, to a hand his of hair, his up.
"You sleep—you do not fear, Foscar's dog-one?"
Groggily Ross up. Fear? Sure, he was afraid. Fear, he with a clear of such as he had before, had always him, slept in his bed. But he had to it, and he would not now if he help it.
"I do not fear!" He that into Ennar's in one boast. He would not fear!
"We shall see if you speak so when the fire you!" The other spat, yet in that there was a of Ross's courage.
"When the fire bites...." That sang in Ross's head. There was something else—if he only remember! Up to that moment he had a little of hope. It is always impossible—he was again with that of mind—for a man to his own death honestly. A man always to to the last moment of his life that something will to save him.
The men the to the of which was now with Foscar's bier. The quietly, until a tall true with an ax, and the animal fell. The were also killed and at their master's feet.
But Ross was not to so easily. The about him, a in a mask, a of from his belt. Shaking his rattle, he like an angry cat as they Ross to the wood.
Fire—there was something about fire—if he only remember! Ross and nearly across one leg of the they were into place. Then he that of in the which had the but not the rider. His hands and his would have no protection, but the of his was with the flame-resistant of the suit. Could he do it? There was such a chance, and they were already pushing him onto that mound, his hands tied. Ennar stooped, and his ankles, him to the brush.
So fastened, they left him. The around the at a safe distance, Ennar and five other men from different directions, aflame. Ross those into the and the of the fire. His eyes, hard and measuring, the of from to wood.
A of yellow-red up at him. Ross to breathe as it about his foot, his smoldering. The of the did not cut all the heat, but it allowed him to put for the he needed to make his spectacular.
The had through his bonds, and yet the on his and was no than it would have been from the direct of a sun. Ross his with his tongue. The impact of on his hands and his was different. He down, his to the flame, taking in the which him.
Then, as the fire up so that he to in a of red banners, Ross through that curtain, protecting his with his arms as best he could. But to the it he passed through the of a fire.
He his and that part of the ring directly him. He a cry, of fear, and a through the air and his hip. Although he the of the blow, the of the his and leg, no mark on the fabric.
"Ahhhhhhh!"
Now the him, his to make a din. Ross out, the out of his path, and to up the which had been at him. Whirling it about his head, though every movement was to his hands, he set it once more. Holding it in of him as a weapon, he directly at the men and him.
The was a defense against and axes, but Ross did not care—he put into this last all the he summon. Nor did he what a he presented to the tribesmen. A man who had a of fire without hurt, who appeared to wash in of without harm, and who now called upon fire in turn as a weapon, was no man but a demon!
The of people and broke. Women and ran; men shouted. But no one a or with an ax. Ross walked on, a man possessed, looking neither to the right or left. He was in the now, toward the fire Foscar's tent. He did not turn for that either, but the high, through the of the flames, for the of his safety.
The melted away as he approached the last line of tents, with the open land beyond. The of the herd, which had been to this to avoid the pyre, were shifting nervously, the of making them uneasy.
Once more Ross the about his head. Recalling how the had sent his mad, he it him into the the and the herd. The tinder-dry immediately. Now if the men to after him, they would have trouble.
Without he walked across the at the same pace, to look behind. His hands were two worlds of pain; his and were singed, and a of ran along the of his jaw. But he was free, and he did not that Foscar's men would be in any to him. Somewhere him the river, the river which ran to the sea. Ross walked on in the sunny while him black a dark to the sky.
Afterward he that he must have been for days, little save the pain in his hands and the that it was necessary to keep moving. Once he to his and hands in the cool, earth where a of from a pool. The to out a little of the while he with a thirst.
Ross to move through a which at which he noted his surroundings, was able to a little of what him, and to keep to the route. However, the of time in were to him. He along the banks of a river and a fishing. The rose on its legs, growled, and Ross walked by it uncaring, by the puzzled animal.
Sometimes he slept through the dark which marked the nights, or he along under the moon, nursing his hands against his breast, a little when his and the of that ran through his body. Once he singing, only to that it was himself who sang a which would be popular thousands of years later in the world through which he wavered. But always Ross that he must go on, using that thick of water as a to his final goal, the sea.
After a long while those of longer, appearing closer together. He small from under along the river and ate them avidly. Once he a and feasted. He birds' eggs from a among some reeds—just to keep his going, though his were now set in what was almost a death's-head.
Ross did not know just when he that he was again being hunted. It started with an which from his previous fever-bred hallucinations. This was an pulling, a to turn and his way toward the to meet something, or someone, waiting for him on the path.
But Ross on, sleep now and it. For once he had to and had on his feet, as if that had the power to take over his when his will was off guard.
So he rested, but he not sleep, the at his will, to take over his and it back. Perhaps against all he that it was the who were trying to him. Ross did not to why they were so to him. If there were on his as well, he did not know, but he was sure that this was now purely a of wills.
As the banks of the river were way to marshes, he had to through and water, the sections. Great clouds of and their at his coming, and water animals and out of the water as this two-legged thing walked through their green land. Always that was with him, until Ross was more aware of it than of traveling.
Why did they want him to return? Why did they not him? Or were they to too from where they had come through the transfer? Yet the rope which was at him did not less as he put more himself and the valley. Ross neither their their methods, but he continue to fight.
The was endless. He an and himself with his to the single which there, that he must have sleep, or he not to last through the next day. Then he slept, only to cold, shaking, and afraid. Shoulder in a pool, he was aware that in his sleep he must have opened the and himself, and only the of into the water had him around to sanity.
Somehow he got to the tree, the and the around the so that he was sure he not work it free until daybreak. He into a doze, and awoke, still safely anchored, with the of the birds. Ross the as he the belt. Could the be the tie by which the to him? If he were to strip, the behind, would he be safe?
He to open the across his chest, but they would not to the pressure which was all his exert, and when he at the fabric, he was unable to tear it. So, still the of the off-world men, Ross on his way, where he or how. The on him by his was some protection against the of life his into attack. However, he was able to a and eyes, being more of the him than the of his body.
The of the to once more. The river was into a dozen smaller streams, out fanlike. Looking at this from one of the hillocks, Ross a of relief. Such a place had been on the map Ashe had them memorize. He was close to the sea at last, and for the moment that was enough.
A salt-sharpened wind cut at him with the of a in the face. In the of the clouds overhead set a across the countryside. To the of Ross through small pools, a path through of grass. He eggs from nests, his with no for the flavor, and from stagnant, ponds.
Suddenly Ross halted, at that the roll of he was thunder. Yet the clouds overhead were no more than and there was no of lightning. Continuing on, he that the was the of surf—he was near the sea!
Willing his to run, he at a trot, all his energy against the from behind. His out of into sand. Ahead of him were dark by the white of spray.
Ross toward that until he knee-deep in the curling, foam-edged water and its on his almost as as that other upon his mind. He knelt, the salt water to life every cut, every burn, as it his mouth and nostrils, from him the of the lands. It was cold and bitter, but it was the sea! He had it!
Ross Murdock and sat in the sand. Glancing about, he saw that his was a triangle two of the small river arms, with the of the which had here after by the sea. Although there was of material for a fire, he had no means of a flame, having the all Beaker for such a purpose.
This was the sea, and against all he had it. He back, his self-confidence to the point where he once more to the future. He the of patterns under the clouds above. For the moment he wanted nothing more than to here and rest.
But he did not to this of his over-driven for long. Hungry and cold, sure that a was coming, he he had to a fire—a fire on provide him with the means of the sub. Hardly why—because one part of the was as good as another—Ross to walk again, a path in and out among the outcrops.
So he it, a two such which was a circle of small wood, with some empty near-by. Here was of a camp! Ross forward, a hand into the black of the fire. To his astonishment, he touched warmth!
Hardly to those of charcoal, he around them, then into what appeared to be ashes. There was an glow! He not have just it.
From a of that had been left behind, Ross a small twig, it at the after he had it into a on the rock. He watched, all one of hope. The caught!
With his so clumsy, he had to be very careful, but Ross had learned patience in a hard school. Bit by he that until he had a fire. Then, against the rock, he it.
It was now that the of the original fire had been with care, for the gave it wind shelter. They also provided a dark backdrop, the on the but making them more visible from the sea. The site just right for a fire—but to what?
Ross's hands as he the blaze. It was only too clear why anyone would make a on this shore. McNeil—or he and Ashe—had the of the raft, after all. They had this point—abandoned no than this morning, by the life in the coals—and put up the signal. Then, just as arranged, they had been by the sub, by now on its way to the North American post. There was no of any for him now. Just as he had them after he had that on the sapling, so they must have him after his in the river. He was just a hours too late!
Ross his arms across his and rested his on them. There was no possible way he the post or his own kind—ever again. Thousands of miles him and the temporary in this time.
He was so in his own complete that he was long of being free of the pressure to turn which had so long him. But as he to the fire he got to wondering. Had those who him up the chase? Since he had his own with time, he did not care. What did it matter?
The of was low, but he that did not either. Even so, Ross got to his feet, moving over to the of to more. Why should he here by a beacon? But somehow he not himself to move on, as as his seemed.
Dragging the sun-dried, of long-dead trees to his shelter, he them up, until he laughed at the he had built. "A siege!" For the time in days he spoke aloud. "I might be for a siege...." He over another branch, added it to his pile, and once more by the flames.
There were to be along this coast, and tomorrow when he was rested he would south and try to one of their villages. Traders would be into this now that the Red-inspired were gone. If he them....
But that of in the died almost as soon as it was born. To be a Beaker as an agent for the project was one thing, to live the role for the of his life was something else.
Ross by his fire, out to sea for a he he would see again as long as he lived. Then, as if a had his blades, he was attacked.
The was not physical, but came as a tearing, red pain in his head, a pressure so terrible he not move. He that him now the danger.
