The Hunter on Arena Read online

  “BEFORE THE GAMES BEGIN, THERE IS ONE BIT OF BUSINESS THAT MUST BE COMPLETED.”

  The regal voice intruded on Braldt’s thoughts, speaking in imperious tones through the silver disc fastened to his skull. “As you will notice, each team consists of five members. Your first task will be the elimination of one member of your team. That choice we leave up to you…”

  A loud outcry rose from the armed gathering while others brandished their weapons.

  “You will choose the member to be eliminated, or we will make the choice for you,” the speaker said, his voice growing harsh and cold.

  Randi moved to Braldt’s side, pressing her lithe form against him. Allo and Septua drew in as well, until the four of them stood back to back in a tight formation. Marin was the odd man out.

  “Marin, we do not have to do as they say,” said Braldt. “Let us fight together. They cannot make us fight each other if we refuse.”

  Marin was crouching low, trident jabbing forward like a tongue of a striking snake, nearly touching Braldt’s chest. In his other hand his net swirled slowly. If he heard Braldt’s words, he gave no sign….

  ALSO BY ROSE ESTES

  THE HUNTER

  Copyright

  WARNER BOOKS EDITION

  Copyright © 1991 by Warner Books, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  Questar Is a registered trademark of Warner Books, Inc.

  Warner Books, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  First eBook Edition: November 2009

  ISBN: 978-0-446-57016-9

  Contents

  ALSO BY ROSE ESTES

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  BRALDT ON ARENA

  1

  Falling. It was not unlike the sudden, frightening sensation of falling that sometimes comes with sleep, followed by the immediate jerk of wakening. This time, however, there was no salvation to be found in wakening or at the end of the dream, for the endless drop persisted, accompanied by strange, flashing lights and a roaring blur of vision and sound that so confused Braldt he was unable to tell whether he was sleeping or awake.

  He tried desperately to grab onto something, to catch hold, to stop the awful whirling that sickened his senses, but his hands caught nothing but air. He closed his eyes, trying to steady himself, to take stock. Where was he and what was happening? Slowly his senses cleared, and with an intense concentration of effort, knowing it was vitally important, he recalled the strange series of events which had brought him to this point.

  He was Braldt the Hunter, warrior protector of the Duroni, chosen to follow Auslic as High Chief. But Auslic had fallen ill, and Braldt and his adopted brother Cam had been instructed to enter the Forbidden Lands to acquire a medicine which would heal Auslic. This command had been given to them by the high priest and was very unusual in that no one, not even the warrior protectors, had ever been allowed to enter the Forbidden Lands.

  Their directive was strange enough, but many things had been peculiar in recent days. The God Lights, the bright display of colors that had always leaped and danced in the night skies over the Forbidden Lands, had mysteriously ceased, revealing a view of stars never before glimpsed.

  There was also the matter of the karks, a lowly and unintelligent race of beast creatures who had begun to invade Duroni lands, leaving violence and death in their wake.

  Shortly after entering the Forbidden Lands, Cam and his sister Keri (who had joined them on their journey) were captured by karks. Braldt and Beast, a half-tamed lupebeast pup who was Braldt’s loyal companion, had to join forces with Sytha Trubal, a kark princess, in an attempt to save Carn and Keri from death.

  Compromises were reached with the karks who referred to themselves as Madrelli and were far from the savages the Duroni priests had led Braldt and the others to believe. Theirs was an amazing story, for they claimed that they were visitors from another world. They had been the minions of a race they called “the Masters,” who had manipulated their genetics, raising them from semi-intelligent, dextrous animals to reasoning, thinking beings.

  But still, they were controlled by the Masters, their every move overseen by machine-like beings known as the hard ones who controlled them through the administration of a pill which maintained their level of intelligence, without which they would lapse into an animalistic state. But their most vulnerable points were their ears which contained fragile, delicate implants which were surgically linked directly into the pain receptors of the Madrelli’s brains. Should they offend or disobey their rulers, punishment by means of hideous pain was their instant reward.

  Shortly before Braldt’s arrival, the Madrelli had been told that their mining efforts were no longer cost effective, and that the planet was to be abandoned and destroyed so that the mineral the Masters sought could be more easily extracted from its ruins.

  The Madrelli had other plans, however, for they had found a shrub on the planet which duplicated the chemical which was so necessary to their survival. They had come to love the planet and to hate their Masters who regarded them as little more than valued slaves. Seeking an alliance with the Duroni, their efforts had been met with violence and death. It was decided that the only way to prevent the Masters from carrying out their plan was to sabotage the mechanism that allowed their ships to come and go unseen by the Duroni and other tribes that roamed the planet. These were the Duroni’s “God Lights,” actually no more than an electrical aurora that masked the coming and going of the great space vessels.

  Braldt and Keri were shaken by the Madrelli’s words, disturbed by the realization that their own lives had been manipulated as well, for it seemed apparent that there was some collusion between their priests and the Masters. Their entire religion, based on the cycles of the moon, was called into doubt and it seemed that many of their beliefs and taboos were conveniently meshed with the needs of the Masters.

  Carn alone had disagreed, maintaining that the entire tale was a devious kark trick. Braldt and Keri had begged the Madrelli to help them find the medicine that would save their chieftain’s life, but the Madrelli were reluctant to do so, for the medicine was to be found in the very chamber that controlled the arrival and departure of the Masters. And it was that very lever that created the masking aurora that Braldt had been commanded by the priests to pull. The conflict was obvious.

  In the end, the Madrelli won their alliance, and it was agreed that a Madrelli known as Batta Flor would accompany them into the mountain. They would make their way to the heart of the mountain, and if such a thing was possible, they would retrieve the medicine kit, but not pull the lever.

  The journey had been long and difficult and danger had dogged their heels. Carn had become separated from them, and after being severely traumatized, had experienced a religious vision wherein he imagined that Mother Moon had spoken to him directly, commanding him to serve her.

  Braldt and Keri had survived, and had discovered the depth of their feelings for one another along the way. Batta
Flor had not been so fortunate. The Madrelli’s sabotage had blocked the flow of a subterranean river which now seeped into the heart of the volcano, causing a tremendous build-up of pressure which threatened to destroy the mountain. Quakes had become a constant danger and Batta Flor was seriously injured when his ear was nearly severed by a falling panel. This was far more than a cosmetic injury, for the delicate tubes in the Madrelli ears controlled their balance, equilibrium, intelligence, and even the ability to feel pain and procreate.

  Batta Flor, who had hoped to win Sytha Trubal after the completion of the mission, had been strangely calm in the wake of the accident and had brushed aside their concerns, determined to press ahead. They had honored his wishes and found their way to the flooded control chamber. Braldt and the lupebeast had gained access to the chamber, and through the use of explosives had diverted the flow of the underground river.

  Their joy was shortlived, however, for even as they gained the precious medicine which would restore Auslic’s health, a crazed Carn had appeared, and despite their horrified cries had pulled the lever.

  The streaming blur of lights, the dizzying sense of falling, the roar of heavens in his ears… it was no dream, but the result of Cam’s pulling the lever. What did it mean? Was he dead and on his way to take his place with the gods? No, one could not be nauseous and dead at the same time. And if the Madrelli were right, the gods of his youth were but figments of another’s imagination. Who were these Masters and what reason could they have for inventing a religion?

  Braldt fought off the taste of sickness that threatened to overcome him and felt for his weapons. If and when the journey came to an end, he would not be taken unaware. His short sword was gone, the scabbard empty, but his knife was still in its sheath and he gripped the handle tightly. He wondered what had become of Beast and Batta Flor and more importantly, Keri. He tried to look around, but any movement only seemed to make matters worse, sending him careening off balance, head over heels, spinning round and round until he lost momentum and bobbed to a halt like a twig in a stream. He had seen enough to know that he was alone. The thought should have comforted him, but instead he was swept by an incredible feeling of loss. Where was he? What was happening to him and would he ever again see those whom he loved?

  The turn had revealed a long, dark tunnel, black as the darkest of nights, stretching out behind him. This darkness was surrounded by a corona of bright lights, bright as stars interspersed with wisps of color, the rosy pink of sunrise, the pale, pale blue of a freshly washed sky and the palest yellow of delicate, mountain flowers. And nowhere had there been any hint of solidity or end.

  And then it seemed to him that he was falling even faster, the sensation even more intense than it had been. Pressure began to build inside his head and chest and he wondered if he were about to die. His eyes were all but closed against the fierce pull, and through watering lids he perceived the darkness before him grow smaller as though he were hurtling through space into an opening too small to receive him.

  Fear fought with rage and nausea and he gripped the hilt of his blade even more tightly, wishing that if he must die, he could do so fighting an opponent of flesh and substance rather than an enemy that could not be seen or felt.

  The roaring grew louder as the lights flashed past, searing his eyes and ears with a blaze of brilliant sound. The music of the stars, he thought, as consciousness left his body and darkness exploded inside his mind.

  2

  The end of the dream state came swiftly and without warning. One minute Braldt was falling, surrounded by the circle of bright lights and the loud roaring, and in the next, abruptly and without transition, it was over. There was a hard, bone-jarring thump that stunned him and emptied the breath from his body. When he shook the dizziness from his head and the ringing in his ears diminished, Braldt found that he was sprawled on a hard, metallic floor that mirrored his ungainly posture in the silvery shine of its gleaming surface.

  Still dazed by the disconcerting turn of events, Braldt nonetheless took note of the unusual floor. He stroked the cold material, appraising and admiring its apparent strength, surely stronger than the bronze blades to which he was accustomed, but such contemplation had to be put aside until other, more important questions had been answered. Such as where he was, what had happened to him, and where were Batta Flor, Keri, and Carn, as well as the lupebeast pup whose loyal presence he sorely missed. Gripping his knife firmly, he rose to a crouch and looked around him, searching for some of the answers to his questions.

  There was little to be seen. He was in a chamber no more than twelve feet square with bare walls constructed of a firm, ungiving, non-metal material. Braldt withdrew his fingers and wiped them on his cloak, grimacing with distaste at the feel of the substance, disliking the Master’s choice of building materials. Other than a doorway set in one wall, there was nothing else to be seen or learned from the room.

  Although it was not to his liking, the appearance of the room was strangely reassuring, for it was not unlike other chambers that he and his companions had discovered in the endless labyrinth of passages beneath the mountain. Perplexed by the question of how he had come to be there, Braldt hurried to the doorway, calling out Keri’s name, hoping to hear her voice, to find her somewhere nearby.

  Braldt’s heart was pounding and his mouth was dry, and he realized how desperately he wanted to see Keri, to hold her against him and know that she was all right. Disappointment struck hard as he reached the door and looked out, seeing nothing but another stretch of empty corridor, unbroken by doors or the sight of any living creature.

  Despair broke over him in waves and the feeling of hope retreated. Where were the others? Braldt made his way down the corridor, determined to find them. Eyes fixed forward, he took no notice of the rows of tiny lights implanted in the walls at waist level, nor comprehended the ramifications as he moved through the seemingly innocent lines of light, interrupting the flow of their all but invisible beams.

  * * *

  Other eyes, however, had no difficulty noticing and correctly interpreting the message. “He is in the passage,” intoned a voice that resonated oddly as cleverly replicated metal fingers made delicate adjustments to a knob. A large screen crackled and leaped to life, and Braldt appeared on the face of the monitor, totally unaware that his every move was being observed.

  A hand, completely human in appearance, wearing a large, signet ring set with a deep, green stone came to rest on the shoulder of the robotic figure seated before the console. There was the deep release of a sigh, the sound of relief, perhaps even satisfaction of a worrisome thing reaching a satisfactory conclusion. The hand tightened on the robot’s shoulder and gave it a tiny shake. “Good. It is done. And now, let the trials begin.”

  Braldt was troubled. There was no answer to his calls. Either Keri and Cam and Batta Flor had somehow been injured when the lever was thrown, or he had fallen farther than he had first thought. But Beast’s hearing was acute, and if he were anywhere within hearing range, the pup would find him.

  But there was another matter that troubled Braldt even more. The corridor did not resemble any passage they had traveled in their search for the flooded chamber. Furthermore, it was undamaged, with no sign of flooding or violent, seismic activity which had been their fearful companion for so long.

  Troubling as these thoughts were, Braldt was forced to put them aside, for a new, more immediate danger had presented itself. The floor was becoming hot.

  At first it had been barely noticeable, a mere hint of warmth, certainly not unpleasant. But the temperature had increased steadily until it could be felt even through the thick layers of hardened leather from which the soles of his sandals had been fashioned. Furthermore, the smooth walls that lined the corridor had given way to stone. Small, rounded stones, immense boulders, and craggy blocks rose from the metallic floor to the ceiling, which now held the tiny lights which cast a dim light, scarcely brighter than stars, in the night sky.

 
The floor had not changed in appearance in any way, but there was no doubt that it was radiating heat and would soon be too hot to stand on. Braldt could see no doors, no exit anywhere; the corridor stretched on indefinitely until it faded into darkness at the edge of his vision. He had no reason to believe that the room from which he had emerged would offer any sort of sanctuary; there would be no help from that quarter. The walls were at arm’s length on either side. The floor was now painfully hot and wisps of steam were rising from the edges.

  Braldt’s first thought was to cling to the wall and make his way from rock to rock, but this ploy proved impossible, for many of the rocks were too smooth or set flush against the wall and offered no purchase. But there was no more time for puzzling the matter through—it had become mandatory for him to get off the floor immediately, for the heat had grown far too intense; he could feel the soles of his sandals cracking and breaking apart.

  Without conscious thought or decision, Braldt stepped up onto a small outcrop that was barely large enough to hold one of his feet while bracing himself against the far wall with his hands. Slowly, carefully, he scraped the disintegrating sandals from his feet, and with his feet free to find their own holds, crept up the wall, hands on one side, feet on the other, until he was safely braced four feet above the floor which now glowed a dull, cherry red.

  It was a difficult but not impossible position to maintain, one that he had used in the past while rock climbing in the mountains. So long as the distance between the walls remained constant and he had the strength to support himself, he would be safe.

  The journey, such as it was, continued for an interminable period of time, measured only by the degree of his exhaustion. For even though Braldt was in prime physical condition, the activity he was engaged in was most unusual, putting an unfamiliar strain upon his muscles as he scuttled sideways—hand, foot, hand, foot— resting only when the occasional large stone provided adequate support. The instant relief which resulted was followed by an involuntary trembling of overstressed, aching muscles. Then, far too soon, the journey resumed, for to stop too long was to risk exhausted muscles locking up, stiffening, refusing to function. And beneath him, the floor grew hotter still, now a bright, fiery crimson from which rolled wave after wave of blast-furnace heat.