The Hunter on Arena Read online

  Strangely, there was no feeling of danger, rather, one of gentle concern, almost pity. He knew in some vague way that his amorphous self had no way of communicating with his slumbering body, to warn it of danger, to urge it to waken, but somehow, there was no feeling of need. As he watched, the creatures lifted his unresisting form between them and carried it away. As they vanished, his vision dimmed and he knew no more.

  4

  Consciousness returned with a sudden, swift rush. Braldt found that he was being carried down a long, brightly lit corridor constructed of the same smooth, shiny, metallic substance as the room he had first entered in this gauntlet of dangers. He studied his captors from beneath his lids while still feigning sleep. He could feel a number of hands or paws supporting his body, yet he could see only the two creatures who carried his legs; he dared not open his eyes further for he did not wish to reveal that he had wakened.

  Neither of those who gripped his legs were human. The thing on the left was squat and blocky with rough, warty skin the color of ochre mud. Its head sat on its broad, muscular shoulders like a boulder. It had a brief, sloping forehead, tiny, round eyes, and no chin to speak of. The entire front of its face was squeezed into a snout that ended in soft, flexible flanges of flesh that probed the air restlessly. The pig-like creature wore two broad, leather straps crisscrossed over its chest and shoulders, and narrow, leather bands held a variety of swords and knives which glinted sharply under the bright lights. The handles were smooth and well worn with use. The creature wore nothing on its ruddy body other than a small, leather loincloth, and its rust-colored flesh rippled with the play of muscles beneath the thick, lumpy skin.

  The creature to its right was little better. This was another lizard-type being, but shorter and tougher looking than Braldt’s first opponent. This one was dark brown in color; the horny, segmented plates that defined its various body parts were burnished a deep mahogany as though the creature spent hours oiling and polishing itself. Its head was broad and flat, its eyes placed on either side of the flat muzzle and hooded by layers of armored scales. The scaly muzzle was edged with sharp, triangular fangs both top and bottom, and the jaws were held slightly agape, revealing a slit tongue that flickered in and out with every breath. Its back was covered with the same heavy, ridged scales and bore a complex pattern ranging from a delicate shade of cream to darkest brown. The mottled complexity of the shadowy pattern deceived the eye and Braldt guessed that it was designed as protective camouflage for the creature’s natural habitat. It wore no clothing, and so far as Braldt could see, carried no weapon. But its digits, all eight of them, were tipped with long, curved, sharp claws that could rip a man from chin to belly as easily as it might gut a fish. Further, the top of its flat head, the length of its spine and broad tail, the crest of its shoulders, and the backs of its hands all bore a prominent ridge of sharp spikes as sharp and dangerous as any knife. The creature had no need for armament, its body provided all it would ever require.

  Braldt could not see who belonged to any of the other hands that gripped him, but from the murmur of voices around him, he knew that his initial count of sixteen was not far from the mark.

  The voices told him nothing and revealed no new information, for they were a babble of unfamiliar sounds that made absolutely no sense to him. He wondered how it was that they were able to understand each other, for no two of them seemed to utter the same sorts of sounds. It was then, as the two creatures holding his legs turned to speak to each other, gesturing ahead, that Braldt saw, for the first time, the tiny, silver circles embedded in the flesh between their eyes. It startled him so that he jerked violently, and the swift movement of their passage faltered as his captors turned to stare at him with suspicion, while reaching for their various weapons. Braldt sighed and allowed himself to go limp, pretending that his action had been but an involuntary sleep motion. He could feel the weight of their gaze resting on him speculatively and he prayed they would believe the ruse, for the odds were greatly against him.

  They spoke among themselves and one of them laughed, a harsh, braying sound with no humor. Reassured, they continued on, jogging along the narrow corridor, bearing him toward he knew not what. A short time later they stopped, and Braldt could feel an air of nervousness, palpable in the small enclosure, rising from their bodies like the stink of fear. There was a shuffling of feet, and then the armored beast banged upon the wall with his spiked fist. Bright light streamed outward as a door slid open, words were exchanged, and they entered, all talk silenced, and Braldt could feel their tension through their grip. He gathered himself, alarmed by their fear, ready to act if the need arose.

  Then, abruptly, in response to another guttural command, he was deposited on a long, cold, metal slab with bright lights beating down on him from the ceiling, and abandoned. The multitude of voices faded away, leaving him alone and unguarded, and strangely, rather than relief, he felt a cold shiver of fear trace itself down his backbone. The beasts had meant him no real harm; they were neutral parties in whatever game was being played, perhaps even unwilling pawns themselves. With their departure, Braldt felt even more alone than before.

  He calmed his mind and forced himself to empty it of fear, allowing his senses to probe the room. There was a soft, continuous murmur, not human, not alive. There was the susurration of breathing, some hoarse and shallow, some soft and deep. Occasionally, there was a thump, then a deep hum followed by a circulating of fresh air. There was no hint of movement. Puzzled by the strange sequence of events, Braldt sighed deeply, then sprawled to one side as though stirred by a dream, allowing his forearm to come to rest along his cheek. With his face thus hidden from view, he opened his eyes and blinked against the bright light flooding the room.

  When his vision cleared, he saw that he was lying on a silvery, metal table in the middle of a large room filled with numerous identical tables. Lying atop many of the surfaces were a multitude of forms. It was a startling sight, one he could barely comprehend, for while some of the figures were human, or at least humanlike, he could not identify any of them. They were unlike any tribe he knew. Others, however, were definitely not human. At first he thought they were all dead, but then as his mind grew accustomed to the sight, he realized that they were not dead, merely sleeping or unconscious.

  A low moan rose from the table next to his and his eyes were drawn to the tall, slender figure of the woman who lay upon the cold surface. She stirred restlessly; her body, clad in some strange, silvery material that fit her like a shadow, heaved with agitation as she fought her way back to wakefulness. Her dark hair was long and thick, and as she turned on the hard table it escaped its bindings and flowed over the edge, nearly brushing the floor. A delicate hand, the fingers long and tapered, the nails neatly shaped into ovals, relaxed, opening like a flower, exposing the fragile wrist with a heartbreaking vulnerability. Braldt found himself drawn to this unknown woman, affected by this unconscious display of helplessness and wishing to protect her.

  She stirred again as though rousing under his gaze, and a low moan escaped her narrow, well-drawn lips. There was the sound of footsteps, and then much to Braldt’s astonishment, two of the hated hard ones, those mechanized men who were the tools of the “Masters,” appeared, laying their metallic hands on the woman, pressing her down against the table as full consciousness returned.

  One of the inhuman creatures began to draw a set of straps across the woman’s body while his companion pressed down on her chest, pinning her against the cold metal. So great was the pressure of this single hand that she could do nothing but curse and beat upon its hard body with her fists. Braldt knew from bitter experience just how futile such actions were. The bodies of the hard ones were far too tough to be intimidated by the blows of soft, human flesh.

  Braldt considered the wisdom of action for a brief moment, knowing that caution was probably the wisest course, lying low and watching to see what became of the woman. But so great was his hatred of the hard ones that he was unabl
e to control his emotions, and wisdom was replaced by the need to act. He leaped from the table without further thought and flung himself on the back of the hard one closest to him, bearing it to the floor with the unexpected burden of his weight. The metallic figure struck the table as it fell, causing the table to roll several feet, and Braldt realized belatedly that all the tables were on wheels.

  The movement disturbed the second hard one’s balance and it stumbled, momentarily losing its hold on the woman. She seized the opportunity instantly, leaping from the table with an agility that startled Braldt as much as the animal-like roar of fury that burst from those same shapely lips he had so recently admired. The woman was a blur of motion as she seized the only weapon at hand, the cart she had so recently rested upon, and began battering it into her opponent. It was not much of a weapon, but she was aided by the element of surprise and she took the hard one off guard as well as off balance and never allowed him to regain the upper hand.

  Braldt would have liked to have watched the woman. He had never heard of a woman warrior, and her technique was unusual to say the least, but his own opponent gave him no opportunity for such a leisure activity, as it was already rising to its knees.

  Imitating the woman’s plan of attack, Braldt hurled himself on the hard one’s back, driving it to the floor once again with his knees planted between its shoulders. He seized the smooth roundness that was its head and twisted ’til it turned at an angle that would have broken a man’s neck. There was no welcome crack of vertebrae, instead, a thin, human voice trickled out of a round, silver plate set in the metallic head, shocking Braldt with the unexpected sounds so that he nearly lost his hold.

  The voice was imperious, commanding, and speaking in a language he could understand. “Cease your attack! Stand back and no harm will come to you. Do as you are told, immediately!”

  Braldt was accustomed to obeying Auslic, the chief and leader of his tribe. He was also accustomed to doing the bidding of his commander, but he felt no such allegiance to the disembodied voice. It only served to anger him further, for this must be the voice of the “Masters,” those who contrived to destroy his world to satisfy their own selfish needs. Locking the creature’s head between arm and body, he pried at the silver disc until it came free, trailing the multicolored entrails which Batta Flor had called wires, behind it. Braldt wrapped them in his fist and yanked them free. The voice squawked a single protest, then fell silent. Braldt banged the metallic head against the floor, maintaining and increasing the awkward angle until at last some critical connection separated and the head flopped forward. Limbs constricted, fingers clutched, and its metal heels beat a staccato tattoo upon the floor as it shivered its way toward death.

  Braldt looked upon his work with satisfaction as the thing slowly died. Fingers closed upon his arm and he jumped back, thinking that more of the metal men had joined the battle, but it was only the woman, staring at him with impatient eyes, her mouth stretched taut into a grim line of anxiety. Looking around the room with alarm, she beckoned for him to follow as she turned and ran toward a door set in the far wall.

  Braldt followed her without hesitation, for as the heat of battle faded from his mind he realized the folly of remaining. The Masters knew that something was wrong, it would only be a matter of time before they were pursued.

  If only he could find Batta Flor and Keri!

  As they made their way across the room, they heard the pounding of steps in the corridor at the other end of the room. The woman seized his wrist tightly, banged her fist twice upon a silver plate set into the wall at head level, and pulled him through the door as it hissed open. Once through, she turned and pounded once on an identical plate set in the wall on the opposite side. The door hissed closed. A small, metal object no higher than knee height, stood a short distance away. The woman grabbed it, broke off the dish that was attached to the slender column, and began to pry at the edge of the plate that operated the door. Angry cries could be heard approaching on the far side.

  The silver plate was attached to the wall with four small screws which had not been designed to resist attack. They gave way easily, revealing their own set of coiling wires. The woman smiled and ripped them from the dark opening, setting off a shower of sparks that cascaded harmlessly to the floor. Heavy hands pounded on the far side of the door, but it did not respond to their demands.

  The woman leaned against the door and looked at Braldt. Her dark eyes, sparkling with intelligence, tilted up at the corners. She grinned at him, a crooked, lopsided grin that was somehow self-mocking as though she did not take her own efforts too seriously. Her face was narrow and foxlike, with high, rounded cheekbones and a delicately pointed chin. They gazed at each other for a moment longer, the woman not bothering to hide the fact that she was as curious about Braldt as he was about her. Evidently what she saw was to her liking, for after a moment she nodded. She spoke to him urgently, and with a sinking heart, Braldt heard words and sounds like none he had ever heard before. They were musical sounds, pleasant to the ear, a combination of trills and clicks and soft sibilants completely unknown to him. He shook his head.

  The woman stared at him impatiently as though wondering at his lack of comprehension. She uttered another sequence of sounds, this time obviously a question, and tilted her head as she waited for a reply.

  “I do not understand you,” Braldt said gently. “Do you not speak the language of the Duroni?” The woman stared at him blankly. Braldt then tried the language spoken by the traders, a bastardized idiom widely used among the various tribes that populated the world. The woman did not respond. In despair, she, too, attempted another language, speaking slowly and carefully. It was incomprehensible gibberish. The two of them stared at each other in dismay, realizing that while they had formed a desperate alliance against the enemy, they could not understand anything that the other said.

  The woman made an impatient gesture with her hand, then seized Braldt’s wrist and began dragging him down the corridor. Looking up, she stopped abruptly as she saw the now-familiar clear circles of light set in the walls at regular intervals. Her lips drew back in a grimace, revealing tiny, white teeth. She spat a curse, then swung the metal column which she still held, shattering the brittle, transparent covering. Instantly, the beam of light winked out. Smiling with satisfaction, the woman proceeded down the corridor, destroying each of the tiny windows of light.

  Surprisingly, there was no sound of pursuit. The door behind them remained sealed, although Braldt had expected to see it pried open at any moment. Ahead of them, they could see that the corridor was intersected. Beyond, there was a heavy door, unlike any of the others they had encountered, and Braldt sensed that this door would lead outside. He yearned to breathe crisp, fresh air again, rather than the dead air of the corridors. The need was great in him to see something green and alive instead of mile after mile of dead, unnatural, unfeeling substances composed of strange materials that had never known life. He moved ahead impatiently.

  The woman put out a slender arm, her hand resting lightly on his chest, stopping him. She put a finger to her lips, then pointed to the corners of the intersection, her bright eyes conveying a silent, urgent message.

  Braldt knuckled his forehead, berating himself inwardly for ten kinds of stupidity. He should not have needed the woman’s warning to alert him to the fact that the intersection was a logical place to expect an ambush. He nodded his understanding and the two of them crept forward silently. The woman looked up at the unblinking circles and made a moue of distaste, for there was no way she could disarm them without announcing their presence to whomever might be waiting for them.

  They stopped just short of the passageway, and although nothing and no one could be seen, an unknown presence was palpable in the air. They divided—Braldt on the left, the woman on the right—and edged forward until they reached a point where stealth would no longer protect them from those who might watch and wait. Their eyes sought each other and there was a sense of c
ompanionship even though they had no words to express themselves. The woman nodded, and brandishing her silver column, rushed ahead, screming the astounding barrage of sound that had so startled Braldt.

  Braldt was no more than a step behind her, although he had no weapon other than his strength and determination to remain free.

  They had guessed correctly. As they approached the meeting of the corridors, six humans stepped forth to meet them, three on either side. They were human, that much was clear, but what tribe or race of men could not be told, for they were clad in an unfamiliar type of armor that obscured much of their features.

  They stood quietly, not the least concerned, waiting for Braldt and the woman to reach them, and it was their air of confident calm, more than the swords they held, that gave Braldt his first twinge of doubt.

  The woman slowed as well, and it was obvious that she shared his concern. Without speaking, they moved closer until their shoulders brushed against one another. The waiting warriors made no move toward them, nor raised their swords in readiness, but merely watched as they approached.

  They were clad in metal-edged, leather armor. Their heads were covered in form-fitting helms that extended over their ears and down the nape of the neck, leaving nothing exposed. A spine of metal sheathed the crest of the skull and ran down between the eyes and the length of the nose. The shiny metal reflected the light into their eyes, an effective weapon in itself. Their chests and backs were covered with heavy, leather plates fixed together with a free-moving mesh of fine, chain links and held together at the sides; this extended the full length of the body, ending just above the knees. Their arms and legs were also sheathed by bands of leather and metal, leaving little flesh vulnerable to attack. Braldt could but admire the cleverness of the armor while seeking some little advantage, but even if he had been armed, there appeared to be no chink in the protective gear, unless the weight of it could be used against those who wore it.