Night came all too slowly in the little canyon valley. Wearily the two men from Rhilg lay in the rear of the servants' cave, their necks chafed and bloody from the heavy collars. The cold scraps of meat lay heavy in their stomachs, and the foul stench of the stew they had forced themselves to gulp down pervaded the cave's thick atmosphere.
By the fire the other slaves chattered. Their collars were smaller and their spirits unhurt. If they worked loyally for their owner they might be taken into the tribe or freed. And they were well fed and warm. Noch was a good master.
"How are we to escape?" whispered Besan. "This yoke is too heavy and clumsy and the entrance is barred at night."
"If we can get a knife and cut the lashings.... They're like iron now that they've dried but a knife could slice them. And the slaves must sleep soon."
"And Relsa Dav ... that brute taking her!"
"Ssst!"
"Someone coming, Nard?"
"I heard nothing, Besan. I thought it was you."
A hoarsely feminine voice broke in. They shifted to face the rear of the cave where a small section of rock had disappeared.
"I am Lifa," said the voice, and then the woman's face emerged into the fire's half-light. "I wish to revenge myself on Detch. And on Noch who is my brother. They have driven me from the caves."