The Hunter Victorious Page 22

  “Uh, it’s a little more complicated than that,” muttered Septua.

  “What my small friend here is trying to say is that no one who enters the spacecraft will arrive at their destination,” Barat Krol stated in quiet tones. “I have long known that they would not take us, the Madrelli, anywhere with them, no matter what world they found. What would be the purpose of taking up valuable space with our large, furry carcasses when they can take but a single container which holds all the Madrelli clones they will ever need? No, I knew they would not include us in their plans. They would leave us here to die, to freeze alone in the darkness. So, I decided, if we Madrelli cannot go, they cannot leave either. We will all die together.”

  Minra gasped. Braldt looked at the Madrelli with sharp eyes. “What have you done?” he demanded.

  “I have fixed the ship so that its course cannot be controlled.”

  “Surely it can be fixed!”

  “Perhaps, in time,” Barat Krol said pleasantly, “but only if they knew about it.”

  “I will tell them!”

  “No, my friend, you will not,” Barat Krol said quietly. “Unless you give me your word, you will never leave this place alive. You will slip and fall, I think, and tragically break your neck. I would not like for this accident to happen, but you must understand I cannot allow my people to be sacrificed, discarded like something that has absolutely no value. If we die, so do they.”

  “What if a way could be found to take all of us back to our world? What then?”

  “Then I would ask you what I could do to help,” said Barat Krol. “And my heart would be happy that you were spared such an untimely death.”

  Barat Krol and Braldt looked into each other’s eyes and smiled. They were cold, knowing smiles that acknowledged the other’s stand. Neither Braldt nor Barat Krol were afraid of the other; in fact, they were well matched physically and any attempt on Braldt’s life would have thrown the Madrelli’s into question. But it was not a contest that either of them wished to enter, for despite their vast differences, they were friends.

  “That be all well an’ good,” Septua interrupted. “But we still gots time to work that one out. What I wants to know is, what be you gonna do about this ’ere wedding?”

  “What wedding?” asked Braldt.

  Septua looked at him with exasperation. “I been in a turrible accident, buried up to my neck in rocks, operated on, stuck ’ere on my bed o’ pain, an’ I still knows ten times as much as you. Ain’t you sumpin’!”

  “What wedding?” Braldt asked, glaring at the little man.

  “The wedding termorrow ’tween Keri an’ the king!”

  Braldt stared at the dwarf, thunderstruck.

  “When and where is this to happen?”

  “I tole you, termorrow mornin’, down at the water, on the king’s boat what he ’ad made special.”

  Braldt’s face was hard, as though chiseled from stone, as he rose and strode away.

  “Wait, come back ’ere! Wotta ya gonna do?” But Braldt did not even slow his pace, much less respond to the dwarf’s question, and then he was gone.

  “Well, wotta ya make a’ that?” asked the dwarf.

  “I think there’s not going to be a wedding,” said Mirna.

  * * *

  The volva paced back and forth in her chambers, ignoring Carn, who sat beside the bed watching her restless figure. He had tried to calm her, tried to reason with her, to tell her that she was wrong, that her importance had not been diminished by what had occurred that morning. But she had struck at him, and from the dark fury that he saw in her eyes he knew that she would not hesitate to kill him if he troubled her further.

  He had not told her the truth. In fact, he thought that what happened that morning had caused her irreparable damage. He had not been fooled by the voices of the gods, recognizing, as Braldt had done, that they were but voices that had been projected, a trick they had mastered early in their young years. But it had served to fool the mass of mourners, sunk so deep in their own grief that they were easy to manipulate.

  By rejecting the sacrificed cock and returning it alive, a trick which he had yet to figure out, the voices had turned the tables on the volva, using her own ploy against her so that it appeared that the gods rejected her and the theories she espoused.

  But Carn had more serious matters on his mind than the volva’s emotional state. Tomorrow was the day Keri was to wed the king. Such a joining was well and proper for one of royal birth such as his sister. Normally he would have been pleased for her success, despite the fact that Otir Vaeng was so very much older than Keri and held no attraction for her. But that too was the least of his problems, for this was to be no normal wedding.

  According to the plan that had been conceived by the volva and the prime minister, immediately following the wedding ceremony, Keri was to be sacrificed to the gods, an act of propitiation and supposedly an ancient custom of their people to gain favor with their gods.

  Carn stared into the flames that burned on the hearth and wondered if he would be able to do it. Keri was his sister, he had loved her all his life, but she had turned her back on him and on their gods, choosing to love Braldt and casting aside Mother Moon and the other deities they had worshiped, simply because Braldt had done so.

  She had actually dared to laugh at him, to chide him for his beliefs after he had been shown the miracle at the heart of the fiery mountain, a miracle which had scarred and hideously disfigured him. By laughing at him, she scorned their gods as well. Carn’s heart had ached at her laughter; he had trembled under her casual dismissal of that which they had held holy all their lives.

  He had waited for the gods to strike her down for her impertinence and when they did not, he knew that it was his commandment to punish her for her sins. He grieved under the heavy penalty, but never once did he question the rightness of the action. Keri must die, and by his own hand. There was no other way.

  Keri stood tall and proud under the busy fingers of the seamstresses. The dress, more lovely than any she had ever possessed, brought her no joy. The purest of white silks, it fell from her shoulders in soft gathers, gently draping the swell of her breasts and then cinched at the waist with a wide belt which was worked with gilt embroidery in a pattern of flowers and leaves. The blossoms and buds of the flowers were gemstones, pale blue, soft pinks, and glowing reds. The skirt was full and fell to her ankles in heavy folds. The hem was worked in gilt and precious gems as well and was heavy and awkward to walk in, swinging around her legs like a great bell.

  Her hair had been lathered and rinsed and perfumed with a flowery attar before it was pinned to her head in a mass of dark curls which framed her face and hung down over the nape of her neck. She wore around her brow a gold diadem set with a single large moonstone that reflected the firelight in its milky depths, seeming to burn with a life of its own.

  Her ears were hung with tiny chains of gold and around her neck was clasped a wide gold band, nearly the width of her hand, from which a second enormous moonstone was suspended, easily the size of an egg which rested between her breasts. Her arms and wrists and fingers were heavy with gold and silver and precious gems as well. She caught a reflection of her image in the mirror and had it been Braldt she was marrying, she would have taken joy and delight in her appearance. As it was, she barely noticed.

  Keri could not understand why it was happening. Why would Otir Vaeng want to marry her? It made no sense. He was old and sick and perhaps even dying, thanks to the wound that Beast had inflicted on him. By all rights, he should hate her, not want to marry her.

  It did not really seem as though he wanted to marry her. He seemed curiously devoid of any desires other than sitting before the fire and looking into the dancing flames as though they held some secret message, some vision that only he could see or hear.

  The wedding had to be the idea of Skirnir, that disgusting worm of a man. Keri felt her temper begin to rise at the thought of the man. She hated him far more than
she hated Otir Vaeng. The king elicited her sympathy despite the evil he had caused in his life, but Skirnir… she wished she could step on him as one might squash a poisonous bug. He was that loathsome.

  She could not expect any help from Otir Vaeng, who seemed to lack the energy necessary to take a stand, any stand. Nor could she expect any help from Skirnir, who she suspected was at the bottom of this ill-conceived marriage. But what about Carn, and most of all, what about Braldt?

  Her brother’s actions puzzled her. It was clear that his mind had been severely affected by his ordeal at the heart of the volcano. He had come away damaged, not only in the flesh, but also in the mind. He had babbled some nonsense about Mother Moon revealing herself to him.

  She had tried to reason with him, tried to convince him that their entire religion was a sham, put in place long ago by the Scandis to prevent them from straying into lands which they were using for their own purposes. But Carn had reacted violently to her words and refused to listen.

  Since that day he had looked through her whenever they met and refused to speak to her. It almost seemed as though he hated her. And the volva—Keri shuddered. That terrible woman had a hold on Carn that Keri knew would be difficult to break.

  Braldt. Keri’s heart lurched sickeningly when she thought of Braldt. Was he still alive? She had had no word of him since he had first disappeared. Skirnir had told her that he was dead, but she tended to disbelieve whatever Skirnir told her. Braldt could not be dead; something inside her would know it if he ceased to exist. But if he was still alive, why had he not come for her? Had he stopped loving her? Keri could not believe that that was so either; something in her would have known that as well, had it been true. But if he was alive, where was he and why had he not come to her aid?

  It was time. She could hear the women coming. A wave of desperation swept over her. What was she to do? Was there no one to help her? Even Uba Mintch was gone, taken away by the guards. Only Beast remained, and he only because it would have been necessary to kill him in order to separate him from her. Not knowing what to do, at the last second Keri snatched up a small knife, a tiny thing with a blade no more than three inches long, its hilt the head and neck of a horse worked in gold. It was a woman’s knife, one of the seamstresses’, unlikely to cause serious damage, but it possessed a keen blade and would serve to slice her wrists. She would not be wed to Otir Vaeng if Braldt still lived. If he did not come, if he did not rescue her from this marriage, she would do whatever was necessary to free herself.

  She stood tall and proud as the women flitted around her, commenting like foolish, twittering sparrows about her beauty and how happy and honored she should be. Nonsense, all nonsense. They led her to the door and then escorted her out of her chambers with Beast slinking at her heels, growling and snarling. They gave him a wide berth but still circled her completely. Once outside the chambers, standing on the broad concourse, she could see for the first time the incredible damage that had occurred.

  Her view was short-lived, for almost immediately a large platoon of heavily armed guards took up positions surrounding the bevy of handmaidens, and the entire party made its way slowly down the winding concourse.

  Here and there Keri saw eyes gawking at her, children clinging to pillars and calling down excitedly to report what they saw, but she herself could see nothing and no one. Braldt himself might have been standing there and she would never know. Her heart wept inside her, despite the fact that her face was stony and set in a rigid mask. She would never let them know how she felt. They might force her to do their will, but her thoughts and her feelings were her own.

  The procession paused before the great doors that led to the outer world. The musicians, who had joined them at the same time as the guards, increased the tempo of their music—horns blared and cymbals and drums tinkled and thumped. A sense of gaiety prevailed, even though Keri doubted that any among them truly shared that emotion.

  She was draped with a heavy fur-lined cloak and high furred boots were placed on her feet over the thin golden slippers. She felt like a large doll, dressed and prettied for another’s pleasure.

  The blast of intensely cold air that rushed in as soon as the second set of doors were opened brought the first sense of reality to the unnatural scene. She felt her eyes water and sting with the bitter cold, but it felt good. She welcomed its frigid touch.

  She was not allowed to walk, but was placed upon a litter and swaddled in furs and polyskins. Beast trotted beneath the litter, growling and snapping at ankles that dared to come too close to his fearsome teeth. From her vantage point, Keri could see a second litter ahead of her which she guessed held the king, whom she had not seen for several days.

  For a time there was nothing to be seen but the cold snow-covered peaks which surrounded them. Then a sharp scent came to her, borne on a wind which seemed more moist and temperate than it had been only moments before. She lifted her face to the wind. Yes, it was so! There was definitely a tang of salt on the wind and moisture in the air.

  The procession rounded the flank of a mountain and as they began to descend the foothills down to the plains, she saw it: a vast body of water, perhaps a lake, but most probably an ocean, for the taste of salt was heavy on the air. It stretched as far as the eye could see. Its surface was dotted with ice and snow, some small clumps that bumped together’on the lift of the waves, other drifts of ice the size of houses which bobbed atop the gray waters like ships.

  They appeared to be making for a small bay, and tied to the shore was an immense ship, unlike anything Keri had ever seen before. Its prow was high, nearly as high as its masts, as was its stern. Both prow and stern had been carved in the likeness of a fierce beast, not serpent, not lizard, but a combination of both. Its head was proud and arrogant, its eyes hard and cold. Its jaws were agape and a forked tongue and carved flames emerged between the cruel fangs. This hideous creature was carved in wood, as was the entire ship, but was painted so realistically that Keri would not have been surprised if it had turned its head around to glare at her. It was a frightening apparition and she was glad that it was not alive.

  The rest of the ship was no less curious. Long and narrow, it was widest at the middle point, and here the gunwales appeared to spread themselves as though some giant had reached down out of the sky, seized the prow and stern, and squeezed slightly, forcing the middle outward. All along the sides of the ship were shields, each bearing an emblem in its center. These were emblems that Keri had seen before: the head of a horse, an eagle with widespread wings gripping a pennant in its claws, the head of a wolf, and that one there, a lightning bolt, a brilliant silver against a dark blue background. She knew without being told that these were the shields, the emblems, of the various houses or clans who served the king.

  The pace increased, as well as the wind, which streamed off the water bearing pennons of salty spume. Because of the angle of their descent, Keri could see that the musicians led the procession, followed by a phalanx of guards, then the volva and Carn, both of whom were dressed in skins and primitive amulets. Keri felt a moment’s unease at the sight of her brother, who now even dressed like the fearsome woman who had him in her thrall. Could he not feel the emanations of evil that all but dripped from her?

  The king’s litter was next, guarded on all sides by his own personal batallion as well as two slouching figures of the shape-changers, who presented the single largest danger to Beast, for they matched him in size and ferocity and there were two of them to his one.

  Her own litter followed that of the king, and behind her came representatives of the various houses, preceded by their flags, although it seemed to Keri that their numbers were greatly reduced, and many of those who trailed behind their flags were bandaged and bruised and wore grim expressions.

  Behind the clans came the mass of common people who belonged to no house but were separated into noisome groups of artisans. Only these people, necessary for their skills and bound by few social restraints, exhibited any
of the joy normally associated with such an occasion. Many, it seemed obvious by their gay demeanor, had already partaken of some form of liquid happiness. She wished that she could feel some of their enthusiasm, even as her eyes searched the crowd for one who might be Braldt. But of him there was no sign.

  She wished that the journey could have taken longer, wished that it was but the first leg of a longer voyage. But such was not the case and all too soon they arrived at the shoreline at the base of the great ship, which rose and fell on the waves. It was easy to believe that it was a live creature. Keri could feel its baleful yellow eyes glaring down at her, could almost feel its hot breath on her shoulders, feel the touch of its flames on the nape of her neck. She dared not look up lest the strength of her fears somehow bring it to life.

  A small boat was tied to the shore, anchored by a rock, and Keri and Otir Vaeng took their places on narrow seats while Carn, Skirnir, and the volva seated themselves in the stern. Beast whined and paced at the foam-flecked shore, obviously afraid of the water, but as the boat began to pull away, rowed by four strong oarsmen, Keri cried out to him— “Beaasst!”—her voice betraying the depth of her fear and despair, and forgetting his own fear, Beast leapt into the water and swam to the boat, pulling himself inside and dropping to Keri’s feet. Pools of icy water dripped onto Skirnir’s feet and he pulled a dagger that hung at his side as though to strike at Beast.

  Otir Vaeng roused himself from the deep mood of contemplation that enveloped him and placed his good hand upon Skirnir’s arm. Nothing was said. There was no need; the look that passed between them was more than enough. Skirnir sheathed his blade and seemed to shrink inside himself, but his eyes, which flicked at Keri like the tongue of a serpent, were filled with dark hate.

  She felt a surge of gratitude, even caring and concern, for Otir Vaeng at that moment. She studied the face of the man who was soon to be her husband. It was a noble face, the brow high and wide, the cheekbones cleanly etched, the nose slender and straight. His mouth was turned down with exhaustion and pain, but it was shapely and well formed. His jaw and chin were clean and noble. Even though she knew that his apparent youth was a falsehood, his life artificially extended by the healers, Keri felt her heart stir for this man. He had power, he had wealth, both beyond measure, he had led a long and busy life and had controlled the lives of a nation and now a world. But for all that, what had it come to? A marriage to a woman who did not love him, surrounded by a people he could not trust, who would kill him in a second if they could attain his power.