The Hunter on Arena (24 page)

“Stop that, old fool,” Saviq snarled. “Stop that or I will eat you,” she said, although she would never have done such a thing.
The woman ceased her screeching instantly. “Better. Now take me to the Lady Lomi, and no tricks or I will nibble your fingers
one by one. Understand?”

The woman nodded, her head bobbing up and down rapidly, her eyes as big as the saucers she had dropped. Together, the old
serving woman and the ancient reptile made their way down the darkened hall.

“We must get rid of him; there is too much danger in
allowing him to live.” There was a murmur of agreement.

“How would it be done?” asked one of the men gathered around the circular table, quirking one perfectly shaped blond eyebrow.

“I say make no fuss about it, quick and simple, do away with him. It does not matter how—poison, a knife in the back, or for
that matter, transport him out to space,” said another, smoothing his already immaculately groomed pale, blond hair back from
his high forehead.

“I don’t think you understand the delicacy of the problem,” said the first speaker, who appeared on the top step of the dais
every game day, the man known as Kiefer.

“Why don’t you explain it to us, Kiefer,” said Jorund as he smiled at his superior, the man who was in charge of the entire
installation on Rototara.

Kiefer frowned at Jorund, unable as always to decide whether his second-in-command was being purposely disrespectful. But
Jorund met his gaze openly and smiled encouragingly, leaning forward as though anxious to hear what words of wisdom Kiefer
might convey. Kiefer frowned again, wondering for perhaps the millionth
time how he had been so unlucky as to be saddled with one whose loyalties he did not command.

In Jorund’s youth, there had been that business with the rebels. The association alone would have condemned a lesser man to
dismal duty on some farflung outpost, but Jorund had been powerfully connected, his father being old Brandtson’s best friend
and a highborn Thane himself. The two old men had protected Jorund from the reprisals that had shaken the Council following
the uprisings and they had guided and safeguarded his career ever since.

Jorund had never given Kiefer any reason to distrust him, following his every order with alacrity, but still, there was no
sense of camaraderie with the man, no real friendship, and always, there was the suspicion of mockery. It made a man uncomfortable.
Now, here was a challenge of sorts, having to explain himself when just the order itself should have been sufficient. Still,
the older men would probably need to have it spelled out for them.

“I do not believe that it is wise to make a martyr out of this man, this Braldt,” Kiefer said smoothly. “If he were to die
under suspicious circumstances, who knows what mischief might arise because of it.”

“What are you saying, Kiefer?” demanded one of the oldest members of their circle, his bushy eyebrows lowered in a dark scowl.

“I’m saying that even after all these years there are those who still remember and would rally around the cause if they were
given the opportunity. I’m sure that I do not need to remind you that we are not without our enemies, those who would welcome
the chance to bring us down.”

Another of the older members cleared his throat
nervously and stroked his white beard. “You think they still live, those who believed in this business?’

“I am certain they still live,” replied Kiefer. “Many of them were highborn and protected by their birth. Their identities
were unknown to us in most instances. Many years have passed since those days, but I do not doubt that they still harbor their
beliefs. Many of them have doubtless inherited or attained positions of power in the intervening years. They will be more
powerful and more difficult to vanquish this time. That is why I believe that we must arrange it so that this Braldt dies
in the ring, having been given a fair chance to survive.”

“How will you arrange that?” asked Jorund. “After all, he and his team have been quite successful at staying alive, and far
longer than the norm, I might add.”

“Thank you for that observation,” Kiefer said dryly. “Yes, it’s true that he and his team have defeated others whom we thought
would put an end to them early on. It has surprised many of us who wagered against them. They’ve managed to develop an effective
technique that has served them well against all manner of opponents. Furthermore, none of them are stupid and this has been
an advantage over those who depend on sheer strength to win. But I have a plan that I do not think can fail. I think it’s
rather clever, if I do say so myself, and if we are lucky, the problem will resolve itself.”

“What is this final solution?” asked Jorund, tenting his fingers and resting his chin upon them.

“The Madrelli,” Kiefer answered. “As you know, we brought the apeman through the transmitter shortly after Braldt arrived.
A woman was with him, a woman
whom we believe this Braldt cares about. Putting the two teams in the ring together should give us a fairly good chance of
them killing each other off.”

“Am I missing something here?” rumbled the older man with the beard. “If they are friends and lovers, why would they fight,
much less kill each other?”

“Forgive me,” said Kiefer. “I have been following this matter so closely, I forget that the details are not more widely known.
But again, that is to our advantage.

“As you know, the pain center in the Madrelli is located in a narrow channel in their ears. Our ancestors designed them this
way when they first manipulated their genetics to give them a way of controlling the beasts; pain is a most effective control.
But the Madrelli was injured shortly before he left K7; one of his ears was torn off, making him impervious to pain.

“Also, he has gone without formicase, the additive which make the Madrelli sapient and tractable. He has been without it now
for more than a month. Our doctors have been most interested at the speed with which he has regressed. He is now barely above
his natural animalistic state, which as you know is very quick to anger and easily driven into manic rages.”

“Interesting,” murmured the older man. “But what does the woman have to do with this and why should young Braldt fight the
Madrelli? There is nothing wrong with him and he has no reason to fight one who has been his friend.”

“Another interesting turn of events,” said Kiefer. “As the Madrelli lapsed into his primitive state, he
seemed to forget who the woman is or what she had meant to him. He forgot that they were platonic friends.”

“Surely you don’t mean that—that!…” exclaimed the older man, half rising to his feet.

“No, no,” said Kiefer. “Not yet, at any rate, although I would not doubt that such a thing might eventually happen… but you
see, that’s just the point. The Madrelli no longer recognizes the woman, so there is no reason to think that he will recognize
young Braldt, he will merely see an enemy who must be killed if he himself is to live.”

“But the woman will recognize Braldt,” said Jorund.

“Precisely,” said Kiefer. “Now do you understand? The woman will see Braldt and attempt to go to him. The Madrelli will do
everything to stop his woman from leaving him. And if she succeeds and makes her way to Braldt, well then, the Madrelli will
be more determined than ever to kill Braldt and get her back.”

“But there are four on Braldt’s team and only two on the other.”

“It will not matter,” Kiefer said with a humorless smile. “The Madrelli is unbelievably strong, stronger than all four of
his opponents added together.”

“But they are armed with blades and the Madrelli has never used more than a single club!” protested the older man.

“With the Madrelli’s longer reach,” Kiefer explained patiently, “he can keep the others at bay so that they cannot use their
weapons, and bash their heads in before they can think of another plan.”

“If he succeeds in killing them, this Madrelli,” the
older man said thoughtfully, “what will we do about him and the woman? Will we have to kill them, too?”

Kiefer shrugged. “We will not have to kill him. All we have to do is continue to withhold the formicase. Soon he will regress
to a total animal state. He has already lost all but the most primitive bits of language; in a short time, he will have lost
even that. How can he do us any damage if he cannot speak?”

“But the woman has not lost intelligence or the ability to speak,” Jorund pointed out helpfully. Kiefer shot him a black look.

“I think our young beauty will have her hands full,” said Kiefer. “Having won her away from Braldt, the Madrelli will surely
claim her as his own. No, I do not think she will have time for talking.”

The news of their next bout was delivered to them by the captain of the guards, that same overly muscled hulk who had seldom
missed the opportunity to make their lives miserable. It sometimes seemed that he resented their success and the fact that
they were still alive. He stood in front of their cell smiling at them in a manner that boded no good.

“You fight in the morning,” he said in the odd, sibilant garble that was the language of his home world. The translating device
issued the pronouncement inside their heads in clipped, accentless tones. “You will not be so lucky this time, I think. I
think I will see none of your faces here tomorrow night. At least they will no longer look like the same faces!” He laughed
uproariously at his own humor.

Randi blanched, but took care not to let her fear show. “What is so special about this fight?” she asked casually. “We have
fought many opponents—most of whom you bet upon—and we defeated them. Why should tomorrow be any different? We will win again,
as always.”

“Ho, ho, I think not,” laughed the guard. “This one is undefeated as well, and from what I hear, you don’t stand a chance.
He’s fighting for his mate, too, so that should make him twice as mean. Good luck, or I think I will say, good-bye!” His laughter
bounced off the walls and echoed back as he walked away.

“Do you think it’s true?” Septua asked anxiously, his face puckering up in a grimace of worry.

“He has no reason to lie,” Braldt said with a shrug. “He hates us because he has bet against us and we have always won. He
would tell us the truth if it made us unhappy.”

“Well, who is it, do you suppose?” Septua persisted. “I thought we were the only ones undefeated. How come we have not met
this one as yet? I thought we knew everyone there was. Why are they adding someone new to the games now?”

“I have heard that there was another,” Allo said thoughtfully. “I heard the healers speaking of him when they were working
on me. They either did not know or did not care that I was listening.”

“What did they say?” Septua asked impatiently.

“I did not understand a lot of what they said,” Allo said slowly, casting his mind back to that time of pain. “They spoke
about an injury to the creature’s ear. Some grievous accident had occurred to the ear and they seemed
to regard it more seriously than I would have expected. After all, an ear is only an ear and not as important as an arm or
a leg. They talked about it a good deal.”

Braldt began to smile. “If it is the creature I am thinking of, an injury to its ear would matter greatly and also explain
why it is undefeated. The Madrelli’s ability to feel pain is governed by delicate crystals in their ears. If the ears are
damaged, or in this case all but removed, the Madrelli are incapable of feeling pain. Their strength is legendary. I fear
that our good friends the Masters are in for a surprise, and once again, the captain has bet on the wrong side, or the contestants
will be the only winners in this bout.”

“What are you saying?” Randi asked.

“This one with the injured ear can be none other than my good friend, the Madrelli, Batta Flor. I myself would be willing
to bet on it. Somehow, he came through the transmitter after me; perhaps it sucked him through. By the gods! That means… I
wonder if Keri and Beast!… Allo, did the healers mention any others who might be with the injured one?”

Allo shook his head in the negative and Braldt looked downcast. “Still,” he said, “having Batta Flor on our side can only
be a positive step. We must try to think how we can turn this to our advantage. With Batta Flor fighting alongside us, we
cannot help but win. If Keri and my lupebeast are with him, we will be invincible!”

“Who is this Keri?” Randi asked, and Braldt realized that while he had told the others the story of how he had come to be
on Rototara, for some reason he had made no specific mention of Keri, at least not by name. He
could not explain the strange omission, not even to himself. With Randi’s large, green eyes studying him intently, he stammered
through an awkward explanation, stressing the fact that Keri was his adopted sister. The more he tried to explain, the more
awkward and uncomfortable he became. Randi said nothing, but her eyes seemed to spark with anger. Braldt’s voice trailed off
and he wondered why he felt as though he had done something wrong.