The Hunter on Arena Read online

  Braldt’s action seemed to have lessened the hostility of his cellmates, for it was obvious to all that without Braldt’s intervention, they would have gone without water. With little more than token hostility, he was able to fill the bucket and return to his comrades with Marin still at his side.

  The lizard never once raised its single eye, mumbling to itself in a constant monotone as though arguing some ancient, unresolved grievance. Less than half the outstretched cups had been filled before the creature wandered off, wheeling the creaking cart back the way it had come, still reciting its litany of woes. Some of the prisoners beat on the bars and yelled at the retreating lizard, but it paid no attention and plodded stolidly out of sight.

  Allo drank a little of the water, then lapsed into a feverish sleep. His large figure was racked with fits of chills and violent shivering as darkness filled the room. Torches were lit in the corridor but did little to alleviate the deep gloom of the cells. The prisoners seemed to grow more melancholy as darkness pervaded the cells and their cries and shrieks grated on the nerves. A pair of heavily armed guards patrolled the corridor at infrequent intervals, taking no notice of the prisoners’ wails.

  First Braldt and then Randi attempted to call attention to Allo’s worsening condition, but the guards paid them no mind and it became obvious that no help would be forthcoming. It was equally obvious that Allo would die if nothing were done, even though the injury did not seem very serious. Marin had turned his broad back on them and was lost in his own surly thoughts. Randi and Braldt took turns trying to soothe Allo’s restless stirrings. None of them even noticed when Septua crept backward and disappeared into the black shadows.

  The cellblock was far from silent, echoing with moans and groans of pain and misery; somewhere close by a man was weeping in utter desolation. Therefore Braldt took no notice of the occasional cry or curse that rang out in their own cell. Only when Septua crept to his side and pressed a hard crust of bread into his hand and covered Allo with a coarse, stinking blanket did Braldt realize what the little man had done. The lamps flared briefly and the dwarf looked up from the bit of bone he was gnawing and winked at Braldt, a broad grin stretching across his face.

  “What was it Allo said?” he whispered. “Patience rewards victory, right? Well, I were patient and when nothin’ happened, I just thought I’d give it a ’and!”

  Morning arrived after an eternity of the dark night. The guards returned in force, led by the same officer. Braldt and his companions were motioned out of the cell at swordpoint, the other inhabitants cringing back against the walls and making themselves as still as possible, obviously fearful of the soldiers.

  But Braldt and the others stood by Allo’s side and refused to move, although Marin had hesitated for a moment as though undecided. Braldt turned to him and said in a low tone, “Think, this could just as easily be you lying here.” The big man nodded slowly, his small, dark eyes registering the thought, and without a word he turned toward the soldiers and crossed his arms over his chest, completing the unbroken front.

  For a moment it appeared as though the officer would order his men to drag them out by force, then the point of his sword lowered and he spat on the filthy stone floor and gestured toward Allo. “Pick him up,” he said in a guttural tone. “Bring him with. He will be of more interest alive than dead.”

  They did as they were ordered, and staggering under Allo’s great weight, they retraced the steps they had taken the previous day, emerging into the hot glare of the rising suns which quickly burned away the damp chill of the prison. The officer gestured for several of his men to take Allo, but Braldt, distrusting the officer, refused to relinquish the body of his companion who shook beneath his hands with uncontrollable, feverish tremors. The gentle being had lost consciousness some time during the night without muttering a single word of complaint.

  The officer stared into Braldt’s eyes. “If I wanted him dead, I’d’ve stuck him back there or let him die on his own. It don’t take much to kill offworlders; they don’t have any resistance to foreign bugs. But it don’t matter to me one way or the other; give him up or tend to him yourselves.”

  It was clear that Allo would die if he did not receive medical attention and equally obvious that they had no way of administering it themselves. They had no choice but to trust the man. Reluctantly, they stepped back and let the soldiers carry Allo away, although in the end, it took six of them to lift his furry bulk.

  The rest of them were ushered across the red sand of the arena and led through an open arch which bustled with activity. Two forges were situated in the center of the huge room. Heavily muscled men, naked but for leather loincloths and dripping with sweat, beat upon bars of flaming metal with steady rhythm. A lizard creature and a half-man/half-cat being operated the bellows, keeping the coals glowing red. Others stood waiting their turns in long, patient lines, carrying a variety of broken weapons and pieces of armor, all in need of the smithy’s attention.

  They trailed past the waiting lines; curious and hostile eyes assessing them, sizing up their strengths and weaknesses as they made their way into the shadowy reaches under the stands of the coliseum. Leaving the smithy’s chambers, they entered a broad, curved corridor carved from the solid earth, also bustling with activity. Humans, half-humans of all descriptions, and strange animal types that defied description, as well as multitudes of soldiers and hard ones traveled along the corridor in both directions.

  No one took note of their passage as they joined the flow of traffic. By pokes, prods and guttural grunts, they were herded into a good-sized room that smelled sharply of astringent. A number of metal tables of differing sizes and heights were bolted to the stone floor. A line of windows lined the upper reaches of the walls allowing the hot, red suns to till the room with stains of crimson despite the heavy bars across the glass.

  Allo was stretched out on the largest of these tables; it was barely long enough for his immense form. A man wrapped from head to toe in a single, form-fitting garment with a large, glass lens strapped over his eyes, was bending over Allo, probing his injuries with gentle hands.

  The rest of Braldt’s group was examined less than gently by a man with a healer’s touch, but lacking his caring concern. Their clothing was stripped from them and their bruises washed with foaming suds and rinsed with a stinging antiseptic. Their bodies were explored from head to toe, eyes, nostrils, mouths, ears, and other orifices clinically inspected despite their protests. Ever present were the guards with their swords and their watchful eyes, waiting for the slightest sign of rebellion. The officer remained by the door, discussing them with the primary healer, making notations in a small book.

  When the ignominious inspection was over they were taken, still naked, to a much smaller room. The sight of his own body and those of Marin and Septua were of little concern to Braldt, but he could not help but notice that Randi’s slender, muscular build in no way detracted from her attractiveness. Feeling his eyes upon her body, Randi blushed deeply, then raised her chin and glared at him defiantly.

  Before he could speak, a tall and impossibly slender being that resembled nothing so much as a leaf-eating insect grown to gigantic proportions entered the room and began to measure them with a strange, silver square that emitted a thin, red beam and registered an ever-changing stream of figures on its face. Even though it bore the now-familiar silver implant, its voice and language were little more than a series of querulous chirps and clicks.

  It seemed aggravated when they did not understand its commands to lift their arms or legs or turn as directed. It aided their comprehension with sharp pinches from its ratcheted pincers and flailed them with its whip-like antennae if they did not move quickly enough. The resulting bruises and stinging, red welts were painful as well as unexpected, and provided the guards with much cause for merriment. They quickly learned to anticipate the creature’s demands, and with the exception of Septua to whom the bug-like being seemed to have taken a special dislike, they escaped with
out further injury.

  But Septua was not entirely without means of his own, and as they were about to leave the room, the little man leaped on the back of the unsuspecting insect, wrapped his thick, muscular legs around its chest and squeezed, bringing it to its double-jointed knees, gasping for breath. The guards sprang forward, then stopped, eyeing the rest of them nervously. It would be necessary to break through their ranks if they were to rescue the insectman. Perhaps he had caused them pain in the past, for after a quick glance among themselves, they stood their ground. They did not retreat, but neither did they go to the insect’s aid.

  Septua took advantage of their brief hesitation and his thick hands flew. When he sprang aside wearing a wide grin, releasing his prisoner, the unfortunate creature lay gasping on the ground, its delicate antennae tied in a series of complex knots, the fragile length forever broken and bent.

  The soldiers grinned at Septua, all but slapping him on the back, and made no attempt to help the fallen insect as he lay there chirping in distress. Nor did they interfere as their prisoners put on their clothing; Septua’s action seemed to have won them a small amount of approval.

  Their next stop was an armory, and here they were let loose to wander among an impressive array of weapons, many of which were entirely unfamiliar to Braldt. He was immediately drawn to a rack filled with swords of every description, crafted of gleaming metal completely unlike the dull, bronze weapons he was accustomed to. These weapons were bright and shiny and bore a razor-keen edge that would deflect the hardest blow without sustaining damage. There were short swords and long swords, curved blades, tiny, wavy-edged daggers, and immense, two-handed swords that even Braldt with all his strength could not have lifted.

  Randi showed no interest whatsoever in the swords, dismissing them with but a single glance and then hurrying toward a glass-fronted case displaying an odd assortment of dull, black objects whose use Braldt could not even guess at. She lifted the glass top and reverently took out one of the bulky objects, gripping it with her hand and inserting her index finger into a small hole. She hefted it appreciatively and sighted down its length, thumbing back a small protrusion on its upper surface and nodding happily.

  Marin had made his way to a rack of lances, all tipped with wicked-looking metal points and barbs. He tried a number of them, dropping them on the ground with a growl when they failed to meet his approval. At last he found one that satisfied him, fashioned of dark wood, as dark as his own gleaming skin and longer than he himself by half a body length. It was tipped with a large, metal point and vicious-looking barbs were embedded in its sides for more than half its span; the base of the lance was sheathed in metal. Nor was the big man finished. He stalked the aisles of weapons and accessories, choosing a small, metal trident which he tucked into his belt like a dagger and a rope net weighted at the edges with heavy, metal discs.

  Septua was sitting crosslegged on the floor crooning happily, sifting through a pile of objects like a child playing in a sandbox. He had accumulated a sling and a large sack filled with round, metal marbles, a wooden blowpipe, two boxes of sharp-tipped, feather-edged darts, an unusual dagger with a twisted corkscrew of a blade, and a handful of prickly, metal things, each no larger than a thumbnail that looked like sandburs with wicked hooks on each point. Chuckling to himself, the dwarf scooped up the strange items and poured them into a leather sack which he knotted and hung around his waist, with the exception of the dagger which he carefully sheathed and attached to his belt.

  Braldt could not help but wonder what the purpose was of arming them with the weapons of their choice, for what was to prevent them from attacking the guards? But no sooner had the last of them made their choices than the guards moved in, surrounding them on all sides and relieving them of their weapons at swordpoint. Marin growled and raised his spear, but in an instant four swords pricked the skin of his throat.

  Then the captain, with his sword at Marin’s throat, said, “Do not throw your life away for nothing. The weapons will be given back to you in good time. It is nothing to me if you choose to die. If you want to make a fight of it, we will gladly spill your blood here and now.”

  Marin hesitated and then, a contemptuous sneer twisting his lips, he dropped the lance to the ground with a clatter. Brushing the swords aside, he swaggered toward the door, forcing the guards to hurry after him.

  This proved to be the end of their outing and they were marched back to their cell following the curve of the passageway as well as a labyrinth of dark, twisting corridors. It was apparent that the arena and its surrounding environs consisted of a far larger area than any of them had realized.

  Throughout the entire journey, there had been the rumble and shriek of wild animals, sometimes distant and at other times seeming quite close. Several times they had intersected corridors that sloped down, and the sounds were loudest of all at these junctures as was the stink of wet fur and offal.

  “I don’t understand,” Braldt said to Randi as the door to the cell clanged shut behind them and they settled onto the cold, stone floor. In their absence, the water bucket and the flea-infested blanket had been reclaimed by the inhabitants of the cell.

  “What don’t you understand?” Septua asked, casually resting his hand on Randi’s thigh.

  “I don’t understand why they took us through all that nonsense. What is it they have planned for us?” she replied with a frown, lifting the dwarf’s hand off her thigh and placing it firmly in his lap.

  “I think we are to fight, to provide entertainment for these so-called Masters,” Braldt said slowly. “Remember what they said, we are to fight or perish.”

  Marin smiled, an unpleasant grimace with no hint of humor in it, and he cracked his knuckles as though wishing it were someone’s neck. “I will fight for them gladly,” he said, the points of his teeth visible behind his bared lips. “And maybe I will kill a few of them along the way.”

  Septua’s mobile face brightened at the thought of reclaiming his deadly assortment of toys and he nodded his approval. “When we are armed, they cannot stand up to us, I think. After we kill a few of them, then we will escape!”

  A shrill cackle interrupted their conversation. A small, withered figure wrapped in rags, its gender and even its race indeterminable, wiped its rheumy eyes as spittle drooled from its toothless mouth. “Escape you say? Why, you fools, don’t you know that the only way you’re likely to escape this place is feet first, if you still got any feet left when they be done with you?”

  “What are you saying?” Marin demanded, seizing the ragged creature and shaking it violently. The old man’s hand streaked inside its mantle of filthy rags and withdrew a homemade blade, slashing Marin across the wrist. Marin released the stinking bundle with a curse and clamped his hand on the wound which was already coursing with streams of bright blood.

  “You are fools,” the old one said bitterly as he scrambled backward out of Marin’s reach. “No one gets out of here alive. No one. We exist only for the pleasure of the Masters. When you cease to amuse them you will die just like all the others. They will feed you and dress you and arm you and set you against each other. You will vow undying friendship and loyalty to one another, but in the end you will betray each other. Some few of you will remain loyal and those will die soonest. The others, those with the least amount of loyalty or trust, will live longer, but in the end, they will die, too. Death is the only escape from the arena.”

  8

  “It cannot be true, nor would I believe it had I not seen him with my own eyes,” the man said in a whisper as he turned from the narrow slit in the wall and sagged against it in despair.

  His companion stepped forward and peered through the narrow crack, no more than a chink between the stones unless one knew what to look for. He wore a troubled expression on his lean face. “Perhaps we are mistaken. Maybe we are imagining it simply because we wish it to be so,” he said in a low voice.

  “Think what you are saying, Erte. Why would we wish to see Joc
obe here in this place, a prisoner, fodder for the games? No one misses him more than I, but surely he is better off in exile, far better anywhere than here. To be here is death. And if it is Jocobe, where is Mirim? No, I think we are deceived. This is merely one who looks like Jocobe through some trick of fate.”

  “I have never known another race that looked like us,” Erte said softly, laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We are unique in the universe as well you know, Brit. This is Jocobe; it can be no other. The question is, what shall we do about it?”

  “We cannot let them put him into the arena,” Brit said despondently, sinking back against the wall. “Dare we risk rescuing him? How could he have fallen into their hands a second time? I thought he was safe from harm on that speck of a world. How does he come to be here?”

  “It has been twenty years and more since we saw him last,” said Erte. “Anything could have happened on that distant world. One of us had best attend a Council meeting; they cannot keep from gloating, and one of them will say something and tell us what we wish to know.”

  “They will not talk with us there,” Brit said bitterly.

  “No, Brit, you are wrong. That is precisely why they will talk,” argued Erte. “They always suspected that we were sympathetic to Jocobe and Mirim’s cause, even if they could not prove it. They will not miss this opportunity to let us know that he is in their grasp again.”

  “But how, Erte, how could it have happened? All these years, with all the defeats, at least I have been able to think that they were safe and well, living their lives in peace, that our efforts have not all been in vain. My little sister… and the child? What of the child?”