The Hunter on Arena Read online

  Keri knew that she screamed, she could feel her mouth open and close, but there was no sound. She saw Beast turning head over heels in the air before her, his body breaking up in tiny dots, drifting away like amorphous threads of storm-torn clouds. She reached for him to draw him back, and to her horror she saw her own hand and arm disintegrating as well. She turned toward Batta Flor and saw him being sucked down into the rapidly swirling vortex. He grimaced. His lips moved but she heard no sound. The visual whirlwind bombarded her, beating upon her skin, passing through her flesh with tiny spears of light, separating her from herself painlessly until she hung suspended, an essence rather than a corporeal body of flesh and bone and blood and then she was caught up in the whirling maelstrom and borne away, down, down, down into black nothingness, and she was no more.

  When she opened her eyes again, it was to that same vision of darkness, a total absence of light. She had felt a moment of utter terror as she relived the memory of her body separating and she wondered if she were dead. Her hands rose to her face and she felt cheekbones and nose, mouth and chin positioned exactly where they were supposed to be. The rest of her seemed to be intact as well. Then she was not dead, but where was she? She cried aloud, calling Batta Flor’s name and Beast’s as well, but there was no reply, only a hollow echo that mocked her efforts. Then had come the long waiting, the fears, and finally, the anger which had sustained her.

  She was in a chamber constructed of some smooth material that was neither metal nor wood. It had no seams of any sort at the juncture of wall and floor or anywhere else that her questing fingers could find, and she had been over every inch of the room a hundred times since her first awakening.

  The room was no more than ten paces in any direction and round in shape. It was neither cold nor hot but perfectly balanced to her own temperature so that it almost felt as though she were enclosed in some giant womb. A steady rhythmic pulsing throbbed through the walls of the chamber, intensifying the sensation, and she soon identified it as a duplication of her own heartbeat which increased with her fears and slowed in sleep.

  Food and drink arrived almost magically, although by what means she had yet to discover, for it was always beside her when she wakened. She had tried to remain awake in order to discover who or what brought the meals, but she had been unable to do so, her eyes growing heavy despite her resolve. She had tried to feign sleep as well, but all in vain. Her wastes were disposed of in a deep depression in the center of the chamber and a bone button torn from her shirt brought no sound of bottom. As the depression was no wider than her arm and would provide no possible route of escape, she ceased to consider it.

  And then the nightmares began.

  They were always the same, bright, blinding lights that she could not escape shining into her eyes, her body unable to answer the most simple commands. She could not even blink. There were questions, or rather the reverberating memory of questions, that hung in the air like angry bees. Nor could she remember their content when she wakened. She was not alone in these nightmares; the presence of others was tangible and she could see their blurred forms bending over her but she was unable to make out their features. They wanted something from her, she knew that much, but she did not know what.

  Slowly, Keri became aware of the presence of another. She could not have said what it was that alerted her, but somehow, she knew it to be true. The hair prickled on the back of her arms and neck and she opened her eyes, willing herself to see through the impenetrable darkness. But to her amazement, the familiar darkness, pressing down on her like a heavy weight, was gone. The chamber was filled with a soft, gray twilight, almost too bright for her stunned senses to comprehend.

  There was a soft groaning exhalation of breath. Keri turned quickly, and there, sprawled on the floor behind her, was Batta Flor and beside him, legs spread awkwardly, tongue lolling between his teeth, was the beast pup.

  Keri bent over the Madrelli, fearful that he was dead. He was alive and showed no sign of injury, but fixed in the middle of his forehead, flush with the tangled, furry skin, was a bright, silver object punctured with a regular pattern of holes each barely larger than a pinprick. Keri reached out with trembling fingers and touched it. Batta Flor moaned and turned his head aside, and Keri darted back, terrified that she had caused him pain.

  Even as she stared at the Madrelli in dismay, she became aware of a dull, persistent throbbing above her own left ear. She raised her hand and probed gently, fearfully, afraid as she had never been afraid before.

  It was there. She was filled with nausea. A sickness rose in her throat all but overwhelming her with a sense of defilement. She fell to her knees, overcome with the desire to retch, and then as she swayed there, her hair sweeping forward to cover her shame, another emotion began to grow. It was a tiny thing at first, no more than a tendril winding in among the clouds of horror, but it grew steadily like a winter storm that sometimes swept in off the plains blotting out the sky from heaven to horizon. Her anger fed on her sense of betrayal, her shame, and her outrage until it burned steadily, a bright fury against those who had used her body for their own purposes.

  She turned her attention to Batta Flor and the lupebeast, contenting herself that they had not been harmed. The beast, while unconscious, did not appear to wear the metallic implant. Keri sat back on her heels and waited for them to waken. While she waited, she laid her plans. They had been taken captive and were at the mercy of unknown others, but they were not helpless, passive creatures to do another’s bidding. They would watch and wait and learn. The three of them had faced the odds before and survived. They would do so again.

  Suddenly there was a soft rumbling sound and a section of the wall began to slide smoothly aside. Brilliant light tinged with red flooded the small chamber. Her eyes were unprepared for such a vivid display and she put her hand up to block the light. As she did so, three figures appeared before her, silhouetted against the bright backdrop, a corona of jewel-like rays outlining their bodies. There was something familiar about the form that halted the scream that rose in Keri’s throat. They paused, and then as her eyes slowly became adjusted to the glare, the figures stepped forward. Keri’s hand dropped from her eyes and came to rest on her throat, daring to hope, yet fearful and disbelieving. She could not believe what she was seeing; her brain and her heart warred with one another and the desire to believe won out over cold intellect. Dropping her hands to her sides, eyes shining, a smile trembling on her lips, she stepped forward, ready and willing to accept whatever would come.

  7

  Braldt had often observed the slavers on his own world as they plied their miserable trade between the various tribes, making certain that they did not enter the city nor attempt to abduct any of the Duroni. He had seen the unfortunate captives beaten and abused, and those deemed to be of little value deprived of their meager rations, dragging listlessly in their chains until they died or were ruthlessly killed. He had seen hideous wounds and grievous suffering during times of war and he had often seen death. But none of it had prepared him for the misery he found waiting for him in his new life.

  Shortly after they completed their tour of the amphitheater, an arched door opened on the side of the ring and a small contingent of warriors dressed in heavy leather and metal armor marched toward them. They were led by a single man, so huge and thickly muscled that his armor creaked and groaned at his every step. It was immediately apparent from their posture and the way they held their weapons at the ready that the warriors meant to take them prisoner and were prepared to do battle if necessary.

  Looking around the circular confines of the amphitheater, the small band of disparate comrades had sought an avenue of escape, all thought of enmity gone as they closed ranks against the common enemy. As though anticipating their thoughts, the warriors had spread out at a signal from their leader, surrounding them, swords and shields held at battle height. Freedom, if such a thing were possible, would be won at a heavy cost.

  Rather than risk
the loss of one of their members, they had allowed themselves to be herded through the dark opening of the stone arch, the cool shadows a welcome relief after the heat of the unfamiliar suns. Surrounded on all sides by the silent but watchful guards, they had filed down a broad corridor lined with barred and hobnailed doors set deeply in the thick, stone walls.

  Furtive faces had peered out at them through small openings tightly gridded with heavy, metal mesh. Fury and rage burned in many of those eyes, but there was also the dull, listless gaze of those who had ceased to hope and the bright, burning light of the hopelessly insane.

  There was a cacophony of sounds as well; the rattle of bars, the pounding of fists and feet against ungiving wood, a litany of curses in a multitude of languages all of which Braldt understood, the growls and demented screams of those who had fallen over the edge of sanity, and numerous, abusive comments upon each of the new arrivals, gauging and wagering on the odds against their survival. Above all there was a wild howling, growling, roar of animals rising from somewhere in the bowels of the earth.

  The stench was indescribable, rank and fetid not unlike the stink of a merebear’s cave after its seasonal hibernation. It was a combination of filthy unwashed bodies, fermenting bodily wastes, and the sweetish aroma of rotting flesh. The only way to endure the hideous odor was to close one’s nostrils and breath through one’s open mouth, mimicking the guards who marched along stolidly, ignoring the insults and curses which were hurled their way without so much as a sideways glance.

  These guards were of varied races, barely half of them human in form, others were a multitude of furred or carapaced creatures with varying numbers of appendages, eyes and body openings in unusual places. The single common denominator was the silver circlet of metal affixed to some portion of their heads as well as the armor and weaponry which so clearly separated them from those they guarded.

  Finally the corridor ended, terminating in a giant, oblong enclosure with bars running from floor to ceiling. The heavy door was unlocked and the guards stood to one side, hands gripping their weapons, eyes hard and watchful, clearly ready for any sign of resistance.

  Braldt paused, knowing the odds were against him but wondering if they would ever have another chance. But before he could act, Allo placed his large, clawed paw on Braldt’s shoulder and murmured into his ear, “Not now, my friend, there are too many of them and they are too ready for just such an attempt. Be patient, victory is patience’s reward.” Still Braldt hesitated, unwilling to calmly enter the cell like some sacrificial offering. The head guard shoved his men aside with the back of his hand and approached Braldt, barreling forward until they stood toe to toe, chests and chins nearly touching. Braldt fought down the need to step back, to reclaim his aura of space, and held his ground, meeting and matching the man’s truculent stare. They stared into each other’s eyes without flinching for a seemingly endless period of time. The noise of the prison seemed to vanish and Braldt was aware of the beat of his heart, the pulse of blood in his temples, and the collective tension emanating from his companions as well as the guards.

  And then Randi was beside him, sliding her cool, slender hand into his. Startled, Braldt broke his concentration and glanced down at her for the merest fraction of an instant. That was all it took; the guard butted Braldt with his chest, knocking him through the door and into the cell. The others were quickly prodded through at swordpoint and the door swung shut behind them with a resounding clang.

  The sound had barely finished echoing in the dark recesses before they became aware of the press of bodies closing in around them and hands reaching out, seizing on Marin’s leather vest and Braldt’s belt as well as Allo’s thick pelt and the silvery fabric of Randi’s close-fitting garment. There was a sudden outcry of pain and a body flew through the air, its arm bent at an angle nature had never fashioned. Marin growled and a space opened around him momentarily only to close in once again, shoved forward by those in the rear who were not in any immediate danger and had no compunction against offering up their comrades for sacrifice. Only by placing themselves back to back and presenting a united front against the wild mob that surrounded them, were Braldt and his companions able to gain a moment’s respite.

  The guards stood outside the cell and watched with obvious interest. Coins changed hands as they wagered among themselves how the newcomers would fare. Braldt had only a moment to observe their interest as well as to conclude that they could expect no help from that quarter no matter what the outcome before the mob closed in on them again.

  This time the crowd was better prepared and brandished a variety of homemade weapons. Those without weapons protected themselves with filthy mattresses leaking lice-ridden straw and crudely fashioned chairs; the legs acting as both weapons and the advance guard.

  They were an ugly group of beings, the dregs of humanity whose narrow brows, jutting jaws, and shambling gaits spoke eloquently of their low breeding and even lower intellect. But what they lacked in evolutionary advancement, they had learned to compensate for in survival techniques. In the blur of time that followed the first opening feint, Braldt and the others were forced to rely on every trick they knew just to stay alive.

  Eventually, due to their superior physical condition and the years of training each of them had undergone, they defeated the mob and sent them whimpering and howling back to their corners nursing their aching heads and bruised and broken bones… but it was a hard-won victory for they themselves had been pummeled and struck hard and often, and bore numerous wounds of their own. Allo was the most severely injured, partially because of his size, for in sheer bulk, he was the largest among them and the slowest moving.

  Despite his impressive build and the wicked-looking claws, it was obvious that Allo lacked the vicious temperament that combined with his size would have made him a dangerous opponent. He had suffered a long, ragged gash across the upper back that had peeled back the thick pelt exposing the bands of muscle. He had also been cut above the left eye, and while the wound was not deep, it bled profusely, matting his fur together and dripping off the ends of his moustaches and beard.

  Braldt, who was still taking stock of his own inventory of bruises, did what little he could for Allo, but other than requisitioning a half-filled pail of murky water that was meant to serve the entire cell, he had no means of cleaning and dressing the wounds. In the end, he could do no more than swab out the cuts and draw the edges closed by tying strands of Allo’s own fur together tightly.

  Randi had begged the guards for assistance, but they had ignored her request, even those few who had wagered on her and won. Evidently more than a few of them had been misled by Allo’s appearance and had bet on him and lost heavily. Disgruntled over their loss, they did not bother to reply. Several of them showed their displeasure by spitting on the ground before walking away.

  While they were tending to Allo’s injuries, there was a clattering at the bars and once again the inhabitants of the cell surged forward. Braldt and his companions fell into defensive postures and only when derisive laughter broke out did they realize that food was the attraction and not a second attack.

  By the time they realized their mistake, the single bucket which was meant to feed the entire cell had been scraped clean of the last scrap of food. Watchful eyes regarded them above closely guarded containers, and from the grim expressions in their eyes, Braldt knew that what had gone before was merely entertainment and that his cellmates would fight in earnest should any attempt be made to separate them from their rations.

  An uneasy, guarded truce descended upon the cells as the inhabitants took stock of their injuries and pondered the strange turn of circumstances. The day passed slowly, the time made even longer by the unrelieved ache of their wounds and the discomfort and horror of their surroundings. The single tiny window set high on the wall was stained crimson with the light of the sinking suns when the denizens of the cells once more stirred to life. Seizing various cups and gourds, they pressed forward toward the barre
d door. Braldt and Marin worked their way forward, earning themselves the hiss of bared teeth and open hatred, but the pitiful collection of prisoners chose not to fight and Braldt edged his way to the entrance.

  A creaking, wooden cart came into sight. It was little more than two large wheels, a small platform, and a ladderlike back supporting a large barrel dripping with moisture. The primitive device was propelled by an odd, lizardlike creature swathed from head to toe in a long cloak. Little could be seen of its features other than a single hooded eye and a long snout. It trudged along the corridor, pushing the heavy barrel before it, muttering to itself and seeming almost unaware of its surroundings. It seemed to carry on an angry, querulous dialogue with itself, all of its attention focused inward instead of on its duties. The cart rolled past a cell, unmindful of the extended arms which waved wildly in an attempt to catch the water carrier’s attention. Nor did the harsh clatter of metal cups banged against the bars break into its sorrowful litany.

  It appeared quite possible that the water bearer would pass them by as well, and Braldt’s throat constricted, making him aware of his need for water. His arm shot out between the bars, and lunging hard against them, he succeeded in grabbing onto the water carrier’s cloak. Twisting his fingers into the fabric, he jerked the lizard to an abrupt halt.

  There was no noticeable difference in its demeanor. The creature did not appear angry at such a rude interruption; it made no hostile move, but merely swung about and trundled toward the cell where it filled the waiting containers with an absent-minded air, all the while muttering to itself. Braldt studied the water carrier with interest, noting that beneath the heavy cloak, it had but a single eye, almost covered by an opaque membrane; the other eye was missing entirely, with nothing but a scarred hump to show where it had once been. Its gray muzzle was crisscrossed with ridges and welts of horny scar tissue. He also noted with interest the heavy ring laden with keys that swung from a belt at the reptile’s waist.