The Hunter on Arena (2 page)

The turn had revealed a long, dark tunnel, black as the darkest of nights, stretching out behind him. This darkness was surrounded
by a corona of bright lights, bright as stars interspersed with wisps of color, the rosy pink of sunrise, the pale, pale blue
of a freshly washed sky and the palest yellow of delicate, mountain flowers. And nowhere had there been any hint of solidity
or end.

And then it seemed to him that he was falling even faster, the sensation even more intense than it had been. Pressure began
to build inside his head and chest and he wondered if he were about to die. His eyes were all but closed against the fierce
pull, and through watering lids he perceived the darkness before him grow smaller as though he were hurtling through space
into an opening too small to receive him.

Fear fought with rage and nausea and he gripped the hilt of his blade even more tightly, wishing that if he must die, he could
do so fighting an opponent of flesh and substance rather than an enemy that could not be seen or felt.

The roaring grew louder as the lights flashed past, searing his eyes and ears with a blaze of brilliant sound.
The music of the stars,
he thought, as consciousness left his body and darkness exploded inside his mind.

The end of the dream state came swiftly and without
warning. One minute Braldt was falling, surrounded by the circle of bright lights and the loud roaring, and in the next,
abruptly and without transition, it was over. There was a hard, bone-jarring thump that stunned him and emptied the breath
from his body. When he shook the dizziness from his head and the ringing in his ears diminished, Braldt found that he was
sprawled on a hard, metallic floor that mirrored his ungainly posture in the silvery shine of its gleaming surface.

Still dazed by the disconcerting turn of events, Braldt nonetheless took note of the unusual floor. He stroked the cold material,
appraising and admiring its apparent strength, surely stronger than the bronze blades to which he was accustomed, but such
contemplation had to be put aside until other, more important questions had been answered. Such as where he was, what had
happened to him, and where were Batta Flor, Keri, and Carn, as well as the lupebeast pup whose loyal presence he sorely missed.
Gripping his knife firmly, he rose to a crouch and looked around him, searching for some of the answers to his questions.

There was little to be seen. He was in a chamber no
more than twelve feet square with bare walls constructed of a firm, ungiving, non-metal material. Braldt withdrew his fingers
and wiped them on his cloak, grimacing with distaste at the feel of the substance, disliking the Master’s choice of building
materials. Other than a doorway set in one wall, there was nothing else to be seen or learned from the room.

Although it was not to his liking, the appearance of the room was strangely reassuring, for it was not unlike other chambers
that he and his companions had discovered in the endless labyrinth of passages beneath the mountain. Perplexed by the question
of how he had come to be there, Braldt hurried to the doorway, calling out Keri’s name, hoping to hear her voice, to find
her somewhere nearby.

Braldt’s heart was pounding and his mouth was dry, and he realized how desperately he wanted to see Keri, to hold her against
him and know that she was all right. Disappointment struck hard as he reached the door and looked out, seeing nothing but
another stretch of empty corridor, unbroken by doors or the sight of any living creature.

Despair broke over him in waves and the feeling of hope retreated. Where were the others? Braldt made his way down the corridor,
determined to find them. Eyes fixed forward, he took no notice of the rows of tiny lights implanted in the walls at waist
level, nor comprehended the ramifications as he moved through the seemingly innocent lines of light, interrupting the flow
of their all but invisible beams.

* * *

Other eyes, however, had no difficulty noticing and correctly interpreting the message. “He is in the passage,” intoned a
voice that resonated oddly as cleverly replicated metal fingers made delicate adjustments to a knob. A large screen crackled
and leaped to life, and Braldt appeared on the face of the monitor, totally unaware that his every move was being observed.

A hand, completely human in appearance, wearing a large, signet ring set with a deep, green stone came to rest on the shoulder
of the robotic figure seated before the console. There was the deep release of a sigh, the sound of relief, perhaps even satisfaction
of a worrisome thing reaching a satisfactory conclusion. The hand tightened on the robot’s shoulder and gave it a tiny shake.
“Good. It is done. And now, let the trials begin.”

Braldt was troubled. There was no answer to his calls. Either Keri and Cam and Batta Flor had somehow been injured when the
lever was thrown, or he had fallen farther than he had first thought. But Beast’s hearing was acute, and if he were anywhere
within hearing range, the pup would find him.

But there was another matter that troubled Braldt even more. The corridor did not resemble any passage they had traveled in
their search for the flooded chamber. Furthermore, it was undamaged, with no sign of flooding or violent, seismic activity
which had been their fearful companion for so long.

Troubling as these thoughts were, Braldt was forced to put them aside, for a new, more immediate danger had presented itself.
The floor was becoming hot.

At first it had been barely noticeable, a mere hint of warmth, certainly not unpleasant. But the temperature had increased
steadily until it could be felt even through the thick layers of hardened leather from which the soles of his sandals had
been fashioned. Furthermore, the smooth walls that lined the corridor had given way to stone. Small, rounded stones, immense
boulders, and craggy blocks rose from the metallic floor to the ceiling, which now held the tiny lights which cast a dim light,
scarcely brighter than stars, in the night sky.

The floor had not changed in appearance in any way, but there was no doubt that it was radiating heat and would soon be too
hot to stand on. Braldt could see no doors, no exit anywhere; the corridor stretched on indefinitely until it faded into darkness
at the edge of his vision. He had no reason to believe that the room from which he had emerged would offer any sort of sanctuary;
there would be no help from that quarter. The walls were at arm’s length on either side. The floor was now painfully hot and
wisps of steam were rising from the edges.

Braldt’s first thought was to cling to the wall and make his way from rock to rock, but this ploy proved impossible, for many
of the rocks were too smooth or set flush against the wall and offered no purchase. But there was no more time for puzzling
the matter through—it had become mandatory for him to get off the floor immediately, for the heat had grown far too intense;
he could feel the soles of his sandals cracking and breaking apart.

Without conscious thought or decision, Braldt stepped up onto a small outcrop that was barely large enough to hold one of
his feet while bracing himself against the far
wall with his hands. Slowly, carefully, he scraped the disintegrating sandals from his feet, and with his feet free to find
their own holds, crept up the wall, hands on one side, feet on the other, until he was safely braced four feet above the floor
which now glowed a dull, cherry red.

It was a difficult but not impossible position to maintain, one that he had used in the past while rock climbing in the mountains.
So long as the distance between the walls remained constant and he had the strength to support himself, he would be safe.

The journey, such as it was, continued for an interminable period of time, measured only by the degree of his exhaustion.
For even though Braldt was in prime physical condition, the activity he was engaged in was most unusual, putting an unfamiliar
strain upon his muscles as he scuttled sideways—hand, foot, hand, foot— resting only when the occasional large stone provided
adequate support. The instant relief which resulted was followed by an involuntary trembling of overstressed, aching muscles.
Then, far too soon, the journey resumed, for to stop too long was to risk exhausted muscles locking up, stiffening, refusing
to function. And beneath him, the floor grew hotter still, now a bright, fiery crimson from which rolled wave after wave of
blast-furnace heat.

It was after one such brief rest that it happened. A sense of dizziness came over him and he braced himself hard against the
stones on either side, fearing that he was about to fall. However, the whirling sensation was not a trick of his mind, but
reality. The fiery floor suddenly appeared above him, and he shrank back despite himself,
fearing that it was about to fall on top of him. In doing so, he lost his hold; his fingers, raw and bleeding from the constant
abrasion of the rough rock, were unable to support his weight.

He fell, twisting in mid-air, throwing out his arms to catch himself, expecting to land on what had been the ceiling only
seconds before, the little lights shining up through the darkness below him, but then, an instant before he landed, the lights
and the ceiling fell away and once again he found himself falling into nothingness.

Despair fought with confusion as well as anger, although against whom or what he could not have said, but it was then that
he first began to suspect that someone or something was purposely manipulating him, and a resolve grew within him to fight
back, not to give in, or to allow them to win, to defeat him. He was Braldt the Hunter, a warrior protector of the Duroni.
He would not be vanquished by unseen enemies who played upon his fears of the unknown. Somehow he would survive.

He had half expected to find himself surrounded once again by the whirling tunnel of bright lights, but such was not the case.
Turning in mid-air, he suddenly found himself in yet another corridor. Startled, he barely had time to take a deep breath
before he smacked face down in a roaring maelstrom of water which raced through the narrow channel formed by the metal walls.
Instantly, he was seized by the turbulent water and flung headlong, only to be pulled beneath the surface by the foaming torrent.
He surfaced briefly and sucked in a gasp of air, as well as a mouthful of water, before being
dragged under yet again. The current was as fierce below as above, but lacked the violent turbulence which resulted from currents
crashing into the walls and rebounding.

The walls were smooth, without purchase, and he began to grow desperate for it was all but impossible to take in air without
swallowing equal amounts of water. Then his fingers found a seam, a narrow, raised edge of the wall, and he clung to it in
desperation, meeting the flow of water head on so as to give himself the most leverage; to have turned the other way was to
risk being washed away. It was not much, merely a fingerhold, but it was enough to allow him to raise high enough up out of
the water to breathe. It also afforded him the first look at his surroundings.

Initially, it appeared to be no different than the first corridor, other than the race of water. Then, glancing up, he saw
that the ceiling was crisscrossed with numerous, thin beams of light. None was even half as wide as his littlest finger, but
all of them shone with an unnatural intensity. Above the lights, there appeared to be some sort of metal grid, almost ladderlike
in design, perhaps a catwalk that would allow access to the flooded corridor from which he had first fallen.

His mind racing, Braldt was determined to pull himself from the water and reach the catwalk, although such a thing was surely
not intended by whomever or whatever had constructed these unwelcome challenges. Then, perhaps he would have a few surprises
of his own.

By some miracle he had not been parted from his cloak which was still draped over his shoulder, plastered against his body
by the press of water. With some degree
of difficulty, he was able to pull it free and hold it above the flood. This required that he retain his grip on the crevice
with but a single hand. More than once he was nearly pulled away by the force of the water, but he was determined and fueled
by anger, and in the end he was able to maintain his tenuous grip while balancing the sodden bundle of material in his hand.
Steadying himself, he flung the cloak upward while holding onto the end. The cloak shot upward, but fell short of the ceiling
and dropped back into the water, where once again the current did its best to pull it from his grasp.

Over and over he tried, but to no avail, and despite his resolve, found that he was losing strength. The water, while not
actually cold, was chill, and by drawing off his body heat it was leaving him weak and shaking, barely able to cling to his
position much less fling the heavy cloth upward. But he would not give up, for he suspected that to do so would spell his
doom.

Braldt wondered if those who had fashioned this torture were watching, unseen. His teeth bared in a grimace of hatred at the
thought and the flash of anger gave him the strength to fling the robe farther than before, and he saw that it would reach
the ceiling. With luck it would wrap around!… Zooks, what was this! As the robe rose upward it crossed the path of one of
the bright, shining lights and the light lanced through it, shearing the robe as cleanly as a knife stroke! The robe dropped
into the water and was carried away instantly before Braldt’s stunned eyes. The uppermost bit of cloth fell back through the
grid of lights and was sliced apart
by the crisscross beams, the remaining bits fluttering down to the water like damaged butterflies to be instantly swallowed
by the maelstrom.