The Hunter Victorious Read online

  The floor beneath their feet was covered with numerous rugs, both large and small, cushioning the hard stone floor. These were a wide variety of colors and patterns which should have produced a feeling of discord but somehow seemed appropriate.

  There were no lights such as Braldt had seen elsewhere in the city, cold globes of white light that Brandtson had labeled electricity. Saxo’s chambers were illuminated by numerous lamps of a type familiar to Braldt, filled with oil, the flaming wick contained within a glass chimney which imparted a warm, ruddy glow over all.

  There were numerous other pieces of furniture scattered around the room: tables, shelves, hassocks, desks, even some manner of musical instrument, large and bulky and strangely shaped. All of these items were made of wood, also unusual on a world that seemed to value articles made out of hard, cold, unnatural materials. The wood was dark and gleaming, and it was obvious that it had been lovingly tended for many, many years.

  Every flat surface was covered with objects, Braldt guessed the collection of a lifetime of mementos. There were pictures of people dressed in odd clothing smiling out at a room on a world whose soil they had never trod. There were bits of rock and shining crystalline formations, a glass globe the size of Braldt’s fist filled with water and containing a tiny house, people and green triangular trees dotted with snow.

  There were many objects whose use or meaning Braldt could not comprehend, but the most amazing items in the room were things that Brandtson called books. According to Brandtson, no one used books anymore, for they were considered obsolete, replaced by computers, holograms, word speak, and several other use-specific items. But Brandtson still possessed a small number of books and Braldt was fascinated by the pictures and the idea that the small peculiar marks could convey meaning. Saxo’s shelves were lined with books, many of them covered with leather and imprinted with ornate gold letters.

  As Braldt’s eyes traveled over the room, he was startled by a sudden heavy presence landing in his lap. He half rose, his hand going for his blade, the cup of cocoa nearly spilling. He looked down and saw a furred creature with huge green eyes struggling to keep its balance by the painful use of numerous hooked claws.

  “Sit! Sit!” Brandtson chuckled loudly and, realizing that he was in no danger and feeling rather foolish, Braldt settled back in his chair, grimacing as he tried to remove the claws from his flesh.

  “What, what is it?” he asked as he and the furry thing regarded each other with wary mutual distrust.

  “A real live Norwegian Forest cat,” Brandtson said with a chuckle. “Sorry, forgot to warn you about him. His name’s Thorwald Trokenheim, or Thunder for short.”

  The animal stared at Braldt blandly, its lids half closed, hooding the startling green eyes, allowing him to manipulate its paws without comment. Now that he realized that he was not under attack and that the animal had meant no harm, Braldt was able to study it with a bit more objectivity. It was a handsome animal, nearly three feet long from the tip of its pink triangular nose to the end of its huge, plumelike tail. It was thickly furred, the coat heavy enough to keep it warm even in this cold climate. The head was broad and heavy, with clumps of long, fine whiskers at the side of the muzzle that reminded Braldt of a mustache. The upright ears were guarded by tufts of fur which would guard them from the elements. There was a thick, heavy ruff of fur around the animal’s neck and tufts of fur stuck up between its toes. The fur itself was most unusual, striped gray, silver, and black on the surface and more than two inches in length, it was underlaid by a second shorter coat, which was fine, soft, and downy in texture, almost impenetrable.

  The creature had endured Braldt’s examination stoicly and now, seeming almost to smile to itself, settled down on Braldt’s lap, tucking its feet beneath it, and as its eyes closed, it began to emit a deep, contented rumbling sound. Once again Braldt was startled and drew back slightly. The creature opened one eye briefly and gave Braldt a sideways glance that all but said, Oh, be still and let me sleep.

  Brandtson had been watching the silent exchange with a wide grin and regarded his grandson, who was still viewing Thunder with goodly amount of ginger apprehension.

  “Quite a compliment. Thunder doesn’t take to just anyone,” he observed.

  “Wonderful,” Braldt replied dubiously. “What did you say it is?”

  “A cat. A Norwegian Forest cat. Do you not have cats on your world?”

  “We had many cats on our world,” Braldt said sadly, his hand rising to stroke the cat almost without realizing what he was doing. “But none quite like this, none that lived in our homes. Is this common to your people?”

  “At one time, no home was complete without a cat or a dog,” replied Brandtson, “but as earth began to die, there were too many people and too little food to sustain all the mouths. The pets were among the last to go in the more civilized nations, but when people were forced to decide between their pets and their children, cats and dogs joined the long list of animals that had already been driven to extinction. There are probably no more than a score of these cats left in the world. Thunder has been with Saxo for more than a decade. In his way he can be as fierce as your lupebeast.”

  “Why does Saxo have him?” asked Braldt.

  “Ask him yourself,” replied Brandtson as a door swung open on the far side of the room and Saxo entered. Instantly Thunder leapt gracefully from Braldt’s lap and strode to the old man, winding back and forth between his feet, rubbing his head against his legs with the plumelike tail erect, the rumbling sound now greatly amplified. Saxo set aside his cloak, bent down, and scooped the animal into his arms. For a long moment, man and animal butted heads with gentle affection and communed quietly. Braldt had no need to ask why Saxo would want such an animal. The love and loyalty between the two was clearly evident and its own ample reward.

  “Well, Braldt, what did you make of that bit of nonsense?” asked Saxo as he sank into a chair and gratefully acknowledged Brandtson as he handed him a steaming cup of cocoa. Thunder curled into a huge furry ball in the middle of Saxo’s lap, wrapped his tail over his head, and promptly went to sleep, his contented rumbling undiminished.

  “It… it was frightening, if he truly meant what he said,” Braldt replied slowly. “Would Otir Vaeng really set such a thing in motion?”

  “Certainly. Have no doubt about that. Otir Vaeng has ruled for many, many years, and he has not done so because he hesitated to act.”

  “But I don’t understand,” Braldt argued. “The majority of those who will die will be your own people. I am an outsider, as are Keri and Uba Mintch, and there may be others whose presence I am unaware of, but we are but a small minority.”

  “You don’t understand,” Saxo said patiently, looking down at Thunder and stroking the soft fur reflectively. “This return to the old ways is nothing but a ploy. If it were not religion, it would be something else. This just happens to suit his needs.”

  “You see, Braldt,” said Brandtson, “our sun in dying. Sooner or later, but most probably sooner, this world will die just as surely as old earth did.”

  “Yes, I understand that much,” said Braldt. “But why is it necessary to kill large numbers of people? It seems to me that everyone will be needed to find a solution to the problem.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” Saxo said with a sigh. “You see, there are too many people. Once again, we must leave our world behind, find another planet to call home. There are many, many planets in the universe, but few of them possess the qualities which we require to sustain life. We are already strained to the limit, trying to produce enough food for those who, exist on Valhalla. If we are to migrate to another world and survive, it will not be possible, or even desirable, to take everyone.”

  Braldt stared at the two old men, hearing but scarcely believing the words. “Do you mean to say that Otir Vaeng is using this religion as a cover for eliminating all of those people he does not wish to take to the new world?”

  “That is precisely wha
t we are saying,” said Brandtson.

  “But that is ridiculous!”

  Saxo and Brandtson stared at him without comment.

  “Otir Vaeng has been reviving the old gods for just that purpose,” Saxo said at length. “It is a test, of sorts. All those who follow it are in essence paying him allegiance, accepting his guidance. Those who oppose the gods are declaring themselves against him.”

  “But that is not what it means,” cried Braldt. “It merely means that they do not agree with his choice of religion. What or whom did they worship before Otir Vaeng brought back the old gods?”

  “Most worshiped and believed in little,” replied Brandt-son, “although there were those who still clung to a number of more established earth religions. Technology and science were the death knell of most organized religions after the year 2000. The more we learned about the universe and the more difficult life became on earth, the easier it was to disbelieve in the old gods, for what merciful and all loving god would allow his followers to die in such agonizing ways?”

  “The unanswerable question of the centuries,” murmured Saxo.

  “But it makes no sense,” Braldt protested. “The sun will not die for many years to come. Nor has Otir Vaeng found another planet to migrate to. Why, he could use every single pair of hands. It is insanity to even think of killing so many people!”

  “You do not understand the logistics of such a move,” Saxo said patiently. “It is not like moving a family or a village or even an entire city from one location to another. When one leaves a planet and colonizes another, each person has been carefully chosen for the skills he or she possesses. There is slim margin for error. Who knows what the conditions of the new world will be? Who knows how long it will take to set up a food chain that will provide for all? Every mouth is a liability.”

  “But there is so much time!” Braldt said vehemently. “I have heard it said that this sun will not fade for many thousands of years. Is it not possible to send everyone? The most important workers go first and then the others in turn according to the needs of the world! Would that not work?”

  “If indeed we had the amount of time that you are suggesting,” said Saxo, “such a thing would indeed be possible. But we are working against a much more difficult time frame.”

  “I do not understand.” Braldt frowned.

  “The solar flares,” said Brandtson. “Yes, the sun will most likely exist for many thousands of years to come, but all life will have been extinguished long before that time, quite possibly in the next few years … or months.”

  “What do you mean?” Braldt asked, leaning forward and staring intently at the two old men.

  “The solar flares,” Brandtson repeated. “We still have no reliable method of predicting when a solar flare will erupt. Even worse than the flares are the solar storms. The level of radiation and ultraviolet rays that bathe the planet during those times are lethal. Those who are not fortunate to be killed instantly die hideous, painful, lingering deaths. We do not have the luxury of time on our side.”

  Braldt stared at the two men, absorbing their words, seeing that they were utterly convinced as to the truth of their words. “Who will be chosen?” he asked at last.

  “All those who are willing to commit to Otir Vaeng heart and soul,” replied Saxo. “It is from their numbers that he will choose his vanguard. We will not be among them.”

  “Why not?” Braldt asked in astonishment. “You are two of the highest ranking members of the Council of Thanes, as well as the most respected!”

  “That is precisely why we will not be chosen,” said Saxo, his fingers tugging gently at Thunder’s thick fur. “He cannot risk having loyalties divided. He cannot be certain of retaining control unless his is the strongest voice.”

  “But you were both at the meeting tonight. He saw you; surely he does not question your loyalty!”

  “No, he does not question our loyalty,” Brandtson replied with an ironic grin as he looked over at Saxo. “He knows all too well that we have minds of our own and are not afraid to speak out against him if we are so moved. Saxo and I are undoubtedly at the top of his death list.”

  Braldt was horrified. From all that he had observed during his time on Valhalla, it had seemed that his grandfather was much loved and respected and held a position of honor in the council of his peers. And Saxo … he sat at the king’s right hand and opened and closed every council meeting. Surely he was untouchable! “Are there others like yourselves?” he asked quietly. “Others in positions of power whom the king views as the enemy? If so, we must seek them out, tell them what you have told me and—”

  Suddenly the calm quietude of the room was shattered by an eerie wolf howl that filled the air and electrified their senses. Thunder leapt to his feet, his ears plastered flat against his head, an impressive mouth full of fangs bared in an angry hiss, green eyes blazing. The three men rose from their chairs, cups and their contents tumbling forgotten to the floor. Saxo and Brandtson stared at one another. “So soon.…” Saxo murmured softly. Then, even as the howling increased and furious blows rained upon the inner door, Saxo looked around the room in sorrow, seized Thunder and his cloak in one swift motion, and exited by way of the outer door, followed by Brandtson and Braldt. As the door swung shut behind them and a series of bolts thunked into the stone walls, they could hear the crazed baying of wild animals and splintering of wood behind them.

  5

  The ice storm had increased in its intensity and that was their salvation, for as the three men hurled themselves out of the outer door, they were met by powerful buffeting winds that drove snow and sleet against their unprotected flesh like frozen arrows. To a man they doubled over instinctively, in an attempt to present as small a target as possible to the winds. By doing so, they saved their lives, as several shadowy forms, barely visible in the dense obscurity of the storm, staggered forward and swung their blades. Had they been upright, they would have been cleaved apart.

  Steel rang out against stone, sending vibrations traveling up the cold metal and into the attackers’ arms. Braldt knew well what that would feel like, for a brief moment vicariously imagining the tingling numbness that inevitably followed such a mistake and left one vulnerable to retaliation, for one’s hands and arms were momentarily useless, unable to respond to the brain’s shouted commands.

  Braldt did not wait for his opponents to recover but flung himself upon them with his own blade hacking and flashing. It was all over in an instant, the three would-be assassins lying dead on the icy path. Braldt knew that he and his companions had been lucky, for the men were undoubtedly chilled to the bone and moving far more slowly than they normally would have.

  Saxo laid a hand on Braldt’s arm and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, shouts and muted words coming from both above and below them on the steep mountain path, indicated that their attackers had not been acting alone. The three men drew together, hastily donning their cloaks and drawing their weapons. Braldt was at a loss for what to do; their attackers were closing in on both sides and the door behind them shook beneath a heavy battery of blows.

  Brandtson and Saxo had grasped the situation as well, and to Braldt’s complete amazement, after a brief silent exchange followed by a single nod, they both sheathed their swords, gathered their cloaks around them tightly, and stepped to the balustrade.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. “Do you plan to take your own lives? Surely we can make them rue their foolishness in attacking us. If we must die, let us take as many of them with us as possible!”

  “We do not mean to die, although that may well be the outcome,” Brandtson said as he threw a leg over the stone rail. He looked at Saxo, whose white-bearded features were already beginning to blur in the driving snow, and the two old men grinned at each other, a look that contained a lifetime of memories, bitter as well as sweet.

  “We have done this many times before as boys,” Saxo said as he struggled to straddle the balustrade whi
le tucking an unhappy Thunder securely inside his garments. “Although I had fewer fears in those days and my bones were less brittle.”

  “But surely you do not think that we can climb down,” Braldt protested even as he heard the first of the enemy approaching, desperately hoping that he could dissuade the two old men from what would surely be suicide.

  “Come, Braldt, we know what we are doing,” Brandtson commanded in a tone that brooked no argument. “Follow us. Do exactly as we do.”

  Braldt hesitated, then threw one last look over his shoulder as a tight group of shadowy figures emerged from above, the steel of their blades catching the dim light. He could hear a steady stream of curses flowing from the other direction, and at that very moment the outer door to Saxo’s chambers burst open, revealing a horde of men outlined in the light of the room they had just vacated. The odds were too greatly stacked against them. Feeling a sense of hopelessness, Braldt stepped over the balustrade just as a hand darted forward and seized his ankle. His sword flashed and was greeted by a horrified shriek and a hot stream of gushing blood as the hand released its grip and the arm, greatly shortened, jerked away.

  Braldt felt his cloak yanked and he stumbled and nearly lost his balance before sitting down hard on the steeply slanted flank of the mountain. “Wrap your cloak around you as tight as possible,” Brandtson whispered harshly. “Lay as flat as possible and keep your feet pointed down. Use your hands if you need to brake, but whatever you do, do it slowly, for sudden moves will break your bones or flip you over.”

  “How do we avoid hitting rocks?” Braldt asked, the foolhardiness of the scheme seeming only one notch lower than intentional suicide. But if two old men were willing to risk their lives in such a venture, could he do otherwise?