The Hunter on Arena (27 page)

The insects fell back and clustered together, their forelegs waving in the air before them, holding the reptiles at bay. Then,
surprisingly, they shot a stream of fine spray at the armored reptiles who screamed and fell to the red sand, writhing in
agony. While their opponents were indisposed, the insects rushed forward and straddled them, spraying more and more of the
caustic substance on their fallen foes. The louder the reptiles screamed, the louder the crowd stamped until the arena reverberated
with the sound.

The segmented creatures slowly lowered their bodies until they were positioned just above the agonized reptiles, and a cloudy,
insubstantial substance began to drift downward. It coated the reptiles with a fine mist which whitened upon contact. Layer
after layer of mist fell upon the fallen reptiles whose movements slowed and grew stiffer with every passing moment.

The crowd quieted inexplicably, for they had never before seen such a technique. The reptiles were all but
buried in the strange, cottony, white swaddling and their limbs twitched and jerked spastically. The insects crouched down
over their hapless prey, and with neat, surgical strokes began to slice off bits and pieces of the armored flesh and consume
it, despite the fact that their victims were still alive.

The guards and robots entered the ring, weapons drawn and ready to herd the jointed creatures from the arena. The insects
did not seem afraid of the guards in the least, but folded themselves down, gathered up the remains of the reptiles, and allowed
themselves to be escorted from the ring.

Next came four amorphous shapes which flowed and stretched like gummy pools of water. They seemed to have no specific boundaries
and defied gravity by flowing horizontally and hanging in mid-air with nothing to support them. They were nearly transparent,
and when the sun shone full upon them, they cast dazzling rainbows of light.

Their opponents were four small, human-like creatures with long, matted, fuzzy hair, their bodies covered with filth. Their
heads were exceptionally large with small foreheads and large jaws; their features were small and nearly flat with little
definition. They wore no clothing at all and it could be clearly seen that their spines continued beyond their bodies, ending
in a primitive, fleshy tail. They bore a variety of clubs and spiked cudgels, and they crept into the ring, their eyes wide
and fearful.

The translucent shapes drifted toward the frightened manthings, grouping together, then drifting apart in no
apparent pattern. As they came close to the men, they rose upward, joining together like a shimmering cloud. The suns rode
high above them and shone down through the crystalline clouds, and as they did so the beams of light that emerged fell upon
the men who instantly began to scream in agony. They swatted at the clouds of light with their clubs, accomplishing little
as the clouds merely drifted aside or temporarily broke apart, only to reform.

The beams of light were constant and it could be seen that the skin on the screaming manthings was blistering and rising up
in bubbles of flesh.

And then the unlikely happened. The sky, which was always clear on Rototara, began to fill with clouds. At first it was the
merest shred of gauze, then, with impossible speed, more and more clouds began to appear until the blood-red sky was all but
filled with them, great, towering, billowing thunderheads which cut off the light of the suns and chilled the ground below.
Vagrant flicks of wind licked downward, as though sampling the earth, spraying the combatants with stinging shards of sand
and stone.

The drifting forms seemed to falter, then sagged lower and lower as the light disappeared from the sky. The suns were obliterated,
covered by dark, threatening clouds. The light faded from the odd, floating shapes, leaving them no more than tiny, pale clouds.
The manthings reacted with surprising alacrity, striking at the clouds with their clubs.

Without the light, the shapes seemed heavier and they moved with difficulty. They were unable to evade the clubs and one of
them was batted out of the air. One
burned manthing screamed and beat the transparent cloud with its club until it was driven into the red earth. The others,
seeing that it could be done, rallied and struck out at the enemy that had inflicted such cruel pain upon them.

A second of the cloud figures was dashed to the ground and disintegrated under the blows of the spiked cudgel. The two remaining
forms did not wait to meet their fate but broke up into countless tiny shreds, too small to be struck by a club, and allowed
themselves to be whisked away by the wind. They reformed at the edge of the arena, and without waiting for the guards to arrive,
drifted through an open arch and were gone.

The tailed manthings leaped up and down like animals, banging their clubs on the ground and screaming taunts at the vanished
enemy. Blood and fluid streamed down their bodies, streaking the filth that covered them and painting them in bizarre patterns.
When the robots and guards arrived to shepherd them away, they brandished their weapons and screamed in defiance. They swatted
at the guards’ spears and hurled insults, and were finally brought to bay by the lightning rods of the robots.

Braldt and his group had watched the two contests that had gone before them with fingers of nervousness plucking at their
stomachs. Even though Braldt had assured them that they would be facing friends and not enemies, they could not entirely abandon
their fear. What would happen when the two groups met and would not fight? What would the guards and robots do?

Braldt had tried to explain about his encounter and conversation with the blue being in the adjoining cell, but
the others had stared at him as though he had lost his mind. Septua had gone so far as to suggest that Braldt had dreamed
the entire episode. Braldt could think of nothing that would convince them. He had told them of the 1,227 musings of Yantra,
thinking that such a strange detail would lend credence to his story, but they stared at him even more dubiously. In the end,
Braldt gave up, for it was quite possible that the strange, blue aliens would all opt for learning the value of patience rather
than risk earning themselves yantreks of repentance. Briefly, Braldt found himself wondering just how many yantreks one would
be penalized for killing a robot. But if robots were not living beings, did killing them count as taking a life?

Braldt’s musings were brought to an abrupt halt by the arrival of the guards who shoved them toward the archway, poking and
prodding them with the points of their spears. The door to the arch rumbled upward into the thick, stone walls and the wind
gusted into the chamber, filling it with a stinging haze of red sand. Even the guards were driven back by the sudden, unexpected
assault of the wind.

Then they were being urged into the ring, the guards anxious to be rid of them and out of the force of the stinging onslaught
which scoured their flesh with sharp-edged, minuscule grains of sand.

The door rumbled shut behind them, thudding into the earth with a jarring impact that could be felt through the soles of their
feet. For some reason, it conveyed a feeling of great finality. They looked at one another and drew closer together. It was
impossible to look up into the force of the wind. None of them had ever experienced
weather such as this on Rototara. The days were endlessly alike, one after the other, clear, crimson skies, tremendous heat
bearing down on them from the dual suns, and then cool, crisp, clear nights with the stars of their distant worlds shining
in the dark.

All around them was a world gone mad. The suns were gone, covered by clouds the likes of which none of them had ever seen
before. These were not mere thunder-heads which foretold of rain or even heavy storms, these were the harbingers of some colossal
catastrophe. The clouds were backlit by the unseen suns and glowed an ominous red in their centers, like hot blood waiting
to drip from the sky. The edges were darker, tinged with black and streaks of yellow like old bruises and painful to view.
They roiled and seethed, constantly growing, becoming ever more threatening.

The guards, what few remained around the edges of the arena, were clearly terrified, looking upward, mouths agape, their weapons
held slack at their sides. Septua whimpered in fear and would have run back to the archway, but it had closed behind them.

They could barely make out the tiers of seats for the blowing sheets of sand. The Scandis were cowering beneath their cloaks.
Many were fleeing the stands, others were standing still, staring up in awe and disbelief, as stunned as the guards.

Randi crouched down and curled into a ball, putting her arms over her face and head, trying to protect her eyes from the driving
sand. Allo seemed the least affected, for he was well protected by his thick covering of fur.
Septua scurried over to Randi and squatted down beside her, clearly too terrified to practice any rude behavior.

Braldt wondered why they had been brought into the ring at all during such a threatening bit of weather, but then as the wind
increased, throwing up sheets of red sand and blowing it in horizontal waves across the arena, he began to see it as the opportunity
they had been searching for. They could barely see. The guards and the Scandis were looking out for their own welfare; no
one would abandon their search for shelter to stop and look for them.

Braldt reached down for Randi, grasped her arm, and began to pull her toward him. She looked at him through slitted fingers,
then rose when he gestured urgently. Septua grabbed her leg and she turned to’ smack him, but the dwarf’s eyes rolled in terror
and it was obvious that he clung to her out of fear rather than lecherous thoughts. Allo quickly realized what Braldt was
trying to do and seized the dwarf by the scruff of his neck, dragging him away from Randi. They bent low to get beneath the
force of the wind and hurried forward, running with weapons before them in case they encountered a foolhardy guard.

And then the skies opened, parting with a thunderous crack that all but knocked them from their feet with the force of its
impact. With that, bolts of malevolent, red lightning zigzagged from the pregnant underbellies of the clouds and struck the
ground of the arena, as well as the tiers and whatever high points rose into the dark sky. There were screams of fear and
cries that ended abruptly as the bodies containing them were struck down and scorched to shriveled husks.

Bolts slammed down on either side of the fleeing group and behind them as well, one coming so close that they could smell
the acrid, bitter stink of it and feel its heat upon their flesh. It lent speed to their feet.

Then, before they could take another step, the clouds delivered their load, and rain, rain such as they had never seen before,
began to pelt down, striking them with tremendous force, each drop painfully felt, like sleet. They stopped and stared at
the moisture coating their bare arms. It was a clear fluid, but as red as blood and unpleasantly warm as well. The chill wind
blew against them, causing the drops of red rain to course in rivulets, looking too much like blood for comfort. It coated
their heads, soaked their hair, and dripped down into their eyes, nostrils, and mouths. It had a salty, coppery taste, much
like blood itself. It was unsettling. Braldt could feel the fear rising in all of them, feel his own anxiety, and knew that
he had to get them out of there quickly before their fear immobilized them.

Braldt literally jerked Randi off her feet. She was standing still, looking down in horror at her silver uniform which ran
red, seemingly dripping with blood. She looked up at him with wide eyes that did not seem to see him. He shook her hard, and
slowly, reason came back into her eyes. She blinked and nodded, giving him a weak grin to show that she was all right. Allo
was shaken, but his phlegmatic nature prevented him from lapsing into hysteria. He stroked his moustache and tried to keep
it from sticking together. It was a comic sight under the circumstances.

It was the dwarf that worried Braldt the most.
Septua was obviously stricken by the sight of blood coating his flesh. He kept turning his hand over in front of his face,
riven by the horrific sight. Braldt wasted no time in subtleties, but slapped the dwarf hard across the face, then seized
him by the nape of the neck and propelled him across the arena, leaving the others to follow.

They had nearly reached the other side when a figure loomed up out of the rain and wind-driven sand in front of Braldt, a
huge, dark figure. Braldt grasped his sword and tried to get a firm grip on Septua while changing his course. He would much
rather avoid an encounter—which seemed possible given the circumstances— than fight. The dark figure altered its course and
moved directly into his path. Braldt cursed, wondering if it had been intentional, then shifted again. But the earth was growing
slippery, the red sands soaking up the warm, red rain, becoming glutinous, and his feet slipped, causing him to lose his grip
on the dwarf’s neck. Septua wrenched free and slipped away from him, vanishing behind the curtains of rain without a backward
glance, running like a rabbit runs from the lupebeast. Randi and Allo crashed into Braldt’s back and the three of them struggled
to keep their footing.

The dark figure moved toward them as they did what they could to regain their balance, draw their weapons, and choose a battle
stance, for they had lost the opportunity to drift away under the cover of the rain.

The wind, which had died down once the rain began to fall, rose in a capricious swirl and blew aside the
heavy folds of moisture, revealing the figure behind it. Batta Flor.

Braldt had never been so glad to see anyone in his life. The huge, shaggy Madrelli was the most welcome of sights. His heart
leapt within his breast and he strode forward with a smile on his lips.

His steps faltered and he stopped and took a second look at the Madrelli, taking in many details that had escaped him at first
glance. The Madrelli wore no sign of welcome on his face which was fixed in a dark scowl. One lip was raised, exposing a long,
sharp incisor. But it was his eyes that caused Braldt to grip his sword more tightly and bring it up across his chest. The
Madrelli’s eyes gave no hint of warmth, of the deep friendship that had existed between them, no sign of intelligence. They
were the eyes of an animal, the eyes of a dangerous animal, one who would attack and most certainly kill.