Hunter

by Rose Estes

Genres: Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Space Exploration; Space Opera

Synopsis

Ice Age warrior Braldt the Hunter is captured and sold into slavery while searching for a healing crystal, and is forced to fight against creatures from other worlds in an intergalactic coliseum called Arena.

Release date: November 29, 2009

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 210

Sample

The chase had gone on too long. It seemed to Braldt that the lupebeats were growing craftier and more difficult to kill in recent years. Braldt had been tracking this one—from the
depth and spread of its tracks a large, heavy male—for five dawnings and six moonsets, ever since he had discovered what was
left of the kill.


Braldt closed his eyes briefly as though to shut out the sight of what would be fixed forever in his memory. No amount of
blinking would erase the memory of that bright splash of dark blood staining the smooth sandstone upon which the torn bodies
lay, the bodies of Hafnor and Solstead, his two elderly friends whose habit it was to sit on the rocks during the heat of
the morning, absorbing the welcome warmth into their brittle bones. Their presence would be missed at the Council meetings,
but Braldt knew that he would miss Artallo far more.


Braldt clenched his jaw and squinted down at the tracks, now merely faint imprints in the red dirt. He was determined that
he would not lose them, and that he would have revenge on the beast who had robbed him of Artallo’s friendship with one scything
sweep of its immense curving incisors.


There had been little left of the bodies, the flesh gnawed from the bones, even that of the skull, and the bones themselves
had been ground between powerful molars and cracked to extract the last bit of sweet, white marrow. Artallo had been granted
leave following the morning’s exercises and he had been seen in the company of the two older men as they left the camp. Solstead
had been his grandfather.



There had been little left but the torn and blood-drenched robes. There had also been the ring that held the robe at the shoulder,
the ring that Braldt had given to Artallo when he had passed the last of the tests and joined the warrior ranks. Even the
ring, which now rested on Braldt’s third finger, bore the deep imprint of the lupebeast’s teeth.


Braldt had been sent for as soon as the bodies were discovered, but he had been alerted by the outcry and the wailings of
the crowd and had arrived on his own. Little remained other than the torn and blooded robes and broken bones. What clues there
might have been had been destroyed by the footprints of those who had discovered the scene.


Braldt had ordered the horrified onlookers away and had studied what was left, trying to harden his mind against the grief
that threatened to overwhelm him.


Artallo had been the very best of the young men. The best that Braldt had ever seen. His reflexes were sharper and quicker
than others and his strength a match for that of Braldt himself. They had shared an uncommon meeting of minds; to look into
Artallo’s eyes was like peering into his own soul.


Braldt had watched the younger man’s progress over the years and guided his training, hoping that when he passed the final
tests he would be allowed to have the youngster at his side. It would be good to be two, rather than one. But now, that hope
was gone.


Braldt shook himself back to the present and stared around him, studying the harsh terrain. The tracks of the beast had headed
due south following the kill and had never deviated in the days that followed. He had followed those tracks though the undulating
plains that were home to his clan. The land had grown sere and the vegetation sparse as they passed the Guardian Stones that
marked the boundary of their lands, the point beyond which no man might venture without risking the vengeance of the gods.
The land had given way to the soft red dust of the lifeless desert basin. Only the slavers ventured here, perhaps beneath
the
notice of the gods, and, in such cases as this, the warrior protectors.


Still the tracks continued on, the creature who made them always staying far enough ahead to remain unseen. Now the clinging
sands gave way to rougher terrain, the beginnings of the saw-toothed mountains that rose sharply in the distance. The imprint
of the beast’s toes could be clearly seen as the hated creature dug in for greater purchase. Here, the four long claws had
punctured the soil and here was a scraped rock as the beast scrambled up the face of a small outcrop.


Artallo had been sharp of hearing and swift and strong, with short sword and dagger at his waist, yet the sword had been sheathed
and the dagger still in its waist loop when Braldt had examined the bloody remains. So swift and so cunning was the lupebeast,
Artallo had had no time to protect himself or his two elderly companions.


Braldt did not intend to meet that same fate.

The rocks rose up on either side of him now and were drawing close, forming a narrow defile, a perfect place of ambush for
predators. Braldt caught the scent of water borne through the rocky channel by a short-lived burst of cool air. The floor
of the cut had been deeply grooved by the passage of those seeking water. There was no doubt in Braldt’s mind that it was
a site well known by predators and victims alike, the precious water an irresistible lodestone drawing them in, the gauntlet
of predators the price to be paid.


The sun beat down on Braldt’s head and shoulders from its zenith. It was the time that predators and victims alike were lying
up in whatever bits of shade could be found, waiting for the cool shadows of evening. Dawn and dusk were the prime times for
danger, and there was always the night. It seemed likely that the lupebeast’s lair was somewhere among the rocky crags that
abounded in these rugged outcroppings. Braldt did not think that the lupebeast would be seeking food, for its belly was still
heavy with meat, but still, there was always an abundance of creatures
on the prowl and the lupebeast was not the only danger to be considered.


Turning aside from the narrow passage, Braldt sheathed his dagger and sought for finger- and toeholds in the smooth rock face.
He would not go meekly into that defile like another meat animal going to slaughter; he would take to the rocks himself, for
was he too not a dangerous predator?


Climbing the face of the rock proved more difficult than Braldt had anticipated, and he cursed the nimble agility of the beast
that put his own abilities to shame. When measured from the nose to the base of its tail, an adult lupebeast stood at least
six heads taller than a full-grown human male. Its two long, curved incisors were considered its most dangerous aspects, but
Braldt also had great respect for the double rows of sharply ridged molars that lined its jaws and were capable of cracking
a man’s skull as though it were no more than an eggshell. Its teeth curved backward, which had the effect of setting them
like fish hooks once they had fastened on flesh. They could be removed, but only at great cost. The mouth of a lupebeast was
a filthy thing, with bits of rotting meat caught between the teeth themselves, and the slightest bite always produced a festering
infection that frequently maimed even if it did not kill.


The beast had the odd habit of walking upright when it suited its needs. Others, more superstitious than Braldt, whispered
that lupebeasts were the ghosts of warriors who had dishonored themselves in battle and were forced to wander the world in
animal form until they themselves were killed. Braldt had always been careful not to show his disdain for such thinking, for
it did not do to insult one’s comrades, but the lupebeast did not need such animistic baggage to make it more fearful; it
was a worthy opponent, all on its own.


Grunting with exertion, Braldt dug his fingertips into a thin hairline crack and pulled himself up, scrabbling for a foothold.
Inch by torturous inch, he crawled up the sheer face of the rock, cursing the lupebeast every step of the way. His body dripping
with sweat, muscles corded with effort, he dragged himself over the edge of the precipice and found
himself to be slightly more than two man heights above the narrow trail. The rocky plateau was marked by the imprint of claws,
silent testament to the predators who made it their stalking ground. Here they would lie in wait, choosing their victims as
they passed below and setting up the hunt that would so often end in death.


Plucking his dagger from its waist loop and drawing his short sword as well, Braldt began to stalk the lupebeast. The victim
would become the hunter.


The rock was smooth and gave no hint to the passage of the lupebeast, nor could Braldt be sure that the scrapes he had seen
were those of the creature he sought. But he could not allow doubts to assail him now. The beast had headed directly for this
place and here he would be found.


Braldt crouched behind an upswept pinnacle, one of the many fanciful designs that the cutting winds had sculptured out of
the soft red rock, and studied the landscape before him, his keen eyes of so startling a shade of blue picking out the sites
that a lupebeast might choose for its lair.


The rock was like a red ocean, frozen in midmove, undulating surfaces here, sharp peaks of waves there, and deep swells and
hollows in between. Possible hiding places were legion with gold and yellow and amber striations in the rock melding with
dark shadows and real sinkholes, confusing the eye still further. The place would be a nightmarish deathscape for those who
did not know its secrets.


Braldt isolated two likely lair sites, although he did not anticipate being so fortunate as to find his quarry so easily,
and plotted his course across the treacherous terrain, knowing that any number of other beasts could be lying up in the shadows,
waiting out the worst of the heat before the onset of dusk.


Keeping low to the ground, Braldt slunk toward the two dark openings in a craggy outcrop and did his best to present no clear
glimpse of himself. Briefly, he entertained the thought of waiting until nightfall, but then discarded the idea. If darkness
was beneficial to him, it would aid the
night creatures even more. Best to make his move now when the day’s heat had them slumbering in their chambers.


A sharp hiss at his side drew his immediate attention and revealed a red-banded rock viper coiled and ready to strike, its
tiny, hate-filled eyes glittering like bits of black crystal. Braldt’s hand shot out and seized the snake immediately behind
its head, immobilizing it, its mouth gaping wide and the hot sunlight shimmering on the clear drops of fluid that clung to
the tips of the five fangs. Knowing that even a single drop could fell him on the spot were it to touch his skin, Braldt snapped
the snake’s neck with his thumb and dropped it to the ground with distaste. He wanted to hack it to bits with his sword, yet
he knew that he could little afford the telltale sound.


Silently he crept on, alert now for the red-banded rock viper as well as its many deadly relations. Another pinnacle loomed
up before him and its shadow sheltered a sleeping merebear surrounded by the bones and hooves and bits of fur from its last
meal.


Braldt slipped past the creature, willing to permit it to live in order to accomplish his task. He was not deceived by the
childlike posture of the beast, twisted in its sleep with hind paws and rounded belly upturned, its head turned to the side,
and its muzzle wrapped in its forepaws. Its soft dense fur and short stature gave it the appearance of a cuddly child toy,
but Braldt knew that even though the pads and toes of the paws were pink and babyish, the retractable claws were sharp enough
to sever his head from his shoulders, and should it be awakened, there would be nothing cuddly in the red death rage that
would fill its eyes. The merebear was a fierce and relentless predator and Braldt was glad that it was not his quarry.


Two omnicats, slinky bodies twined around each other, peered at him over a ledge to his left and then withdrew hastily, spotted
ears plastered flat against their broad flat skulls, hissing hatefully as their amber eyes narrowed to slits. And then they
were gone with only a white tufted flick of a tail to show where they had been.


Braldt reached the mouth of the first cave that was
taller and wider than he had originally realized. The stink of the carrion cat hung heavy on the hot air and Braldt knew that
no other creature would share its quarters. A great accumulation of its offal was strewn before the opening, a disgusting
but effective boundary marker to its territorial claim. Mixed in the dung itself and everywhere in between were the grisly
remains of past meals, everything from beetles to bullocks. Carrion cats would and did eat anything that moved.


The second opening, some distance away and upwind from the carrion cat, gave no clue as to its occupant, but Braldt was not
so foolish as to enter in order to learn its identity.


He quartered the area, hoping to pick up some tracks or a scat, even loose bits of fur, anything that might tell him what
lay inside the dark opening. Finally, on the sharp rocks that formed the irregular opening, he found bits of black fur that
clung to both sides as well as the uppermost curve of the rock that was a full arm’s length above his head.


Braldt backed off swiftly, knowing that the cave housed one of the most dangerous of all beasts, the dread nightshadow, said
to be a cross between a cat and some larger beast, but none knew for certain for no one had ever lived through a nightshadow
attack and returned to tell the tale.


The sun was falling swiftly off to his right and shadows were creeping over the rock, precursors of the darkness that was
soon to follow, and the lupebeast still eluded him. The cold, calculating portion of his mind told him to retreat and to do
so quickly before the denizens of the rock wakened for their evening’s hunt. But the hot flame of rage that had fed his desire
for revenge since discovering Artallo’s body argued otherwise. He knew that if he left off now, he would never find the lupebeast,
and it would merely vanish and Artallo’s death would be unavenged.


Braldt did not possess Solstead’s calm logic, nor. Hafnor’s ability to separate out everything that was not important, leaving
only the kernel of the matter. Braldt was first and foremost a hunter, a killer, a warrior, and faced with the
wisdom of retreat, he chose otherwise, preferring to die rather than relinquish his revenge.


He used the shadows to his advantage, slinking from one dark patch to another, disturbing a meandering rock vole that peered
at him vaguely with minuscule eyes, rising up on its hind legs to wave hairless pink paws at him while scenting the air with
its long, sensitive probing nose. Scenting danger at last, it dropped to all fours and hurried away, waddling comically and
squealing softly to itself.


Braldt smiled, imagining the tale it would tell its mate, then chided himself for not killing the vole. Small as it was it
would have provided a mouthful of energy. But the small, dim voles and their earthen cousins had provided him with many moments
of cheer when he was young and alone with little cause to smile and he could not bring himself to harm them. They had far
too many other enemies who were willing to feed on their soft defenseless bodies for him to add himself to their numbers.


The ledge had been rising steadily underfoot and now it rose up before him, suddenly steep and unscalable, and swept toward
the edge of the precipice. He was left with nowhere to go except back the way he had come, or across the defile, if he could
make the leap.


Braldt had no wish to return, for the plateau would be thick with animals wakening and ready for the hunt. It did not seem
that he could scale the ledge, for exposed to the constant wash of the winds, it was smooth and unbroken without handholds
or footholds. Nor did it seem that he could cross the defile for it was more than two man lengths wide at this point, certainly
farther than he could jump.


As he was pondering the problem, the red orb of the sun fell behind the shoulder of the ledge; the shadows lengthened and
darkness descended with the finality of death.


Blinking to adjust his eyes and take in what little light was available, Braldt backed up against the ledge, knowing that
it would provide the only protection available. The ledge was too high to permit an animal to drop down upon him. If he could
edge as close as possible to the precipice he
could only be approached from the front and the right, narrowing the odds somewhat. But as his fingers felt their way along
the rock, the rock fell away suddenly several paces short of the edge of the plateau.


Braldt whirled, wondering if his eyes had been tricked by the shadows, had missed the opening of a cave where some creature
might even now be waiting to spring. There was no cave. What there was, what Braldt’s eyes had failed to find, was a slender
trail that led along the edge of the precipice, flanked on one side by the steep rising cliff and on the other side by empty
air. The trail was narrow, but it was wide enough for a lupebeast… and wide enough for Braldt to follow.





The ledge rose steadily beneath Braldt’s feet. As warm as it was during the day, the temperature fell swiftly when the sun went down, and the cold night air came out of the north
and swept around him, cutting through his thin blue robes and chilling him to the bone. Worse than the cold, the wind ushered
his scent before him, announcing his presence to any who might lurk in the darkness.


The smell of water was stronger now, reminding Braldt of his own hunger and thirst. It had been two days since he had last
eaten, and that had been a small ground squirrel eaten raw. His only moisture had been that which he was able to extract from
the bitter, oily leaves of the ciba, a skeletal, thorny bush that grew in the dry red desert sands. But he put the thought
from him, knowing that he could drink his fill after the lupebeast had been found. For now he concentrated on keeping his
footing. The edge of the trail crumbled beneath his weight and the darkness of the defile yawned, waiting for his first and
last misstep.


Then, suddenly, the cliff fell away beneath his fingers and there was nothing before him but cold, empty darkness. Fighting
down the panic, his questing fingers sought the solid comfort of the rock and found it curving away at a sharp angle to his
left. The trail itself had ended for there was nothing but empty space beyond. Clinging to the rock and pressing his back
hard against the cliff, he peered around the abrupt corner and saw that the trail resumed on the far side. Starlight and the
rising crescent of moon revealed a fresh scar where a large section of rock had broken away carrying the trail with it.


Braldt inched backward until he reached a relatively
wide spot. He turned so that he faced inward toward the cliff and then retraced his steps. It would be tricky, but if he could
retain his footing and straddle the open space, perhaps he could gain the other side.


His fingers seized a bit of rock that seemed firmly bedded in the cliff, and placing all his weight on his left foot, he moved
his right foot out over the broken trail, searching blindly for the other side, and found nothing. Sharp, stinging sweat dripped
into his eyes and his stomach fluttered nervously. A rock stinger skittered toward him, head down, death-dealing tail coiled
above its back, defying gravity. Braldt bared his teeth in hatred and flicked the creature away before it could inflict its
painful sting. But where there was one, there would be more. Determined, Braldt moved to the very edge of the chasm and shifted
his weight to the right, clinging to the rock by his fingertips as his feet desperately sought secure footing. Rock crumbled
and fell beneath the weight of his foot and then held just as his numbed fingers could hold no more.


He flattened himself against the rock and breathed deeply, feeling the cold night air rasp painfully against his dry throat,
wishing that he could somehow quench his thirst. The smell of water hung heavy in the air, tormenting him. Lifting his head,
he saw by the light of the swiftly rising moon that he was in a natural amphitheater, circled on all sides by steep walls
of rock. At the base of the rock lay a large and black pool, which seeped from the rock itself and contained an image of the
rising moon. More important for his purposes was a dark opening, a cleft in the rock, just ahead that could be the lair of
the crafty lupebeast, for they were most cautious where they denned. Having no wish to meet the beast on the narrow ledge,
Braldt crept forward on silent feet, once more gripping his weapons and trusting his footing to the gods.


The cleft opened into the face of the cliff and disappeared into utter darkness, giving no clue as to its inhabitant. A rush
of fetid air swept overhead, swirling about his head like a strong current, filling his nostrils with the stench of rotten
meat and his head with shrill, piercing whistles. Bloodwings!
Braldt crouched low, waving his short sword above his head, but he hideous things were gone, sweeping into the night in search
of larger prey whom they would settle on and drain of their life’s blood, overwhelming the victim by the sheer weight of their
numbers.


Braldt watched them go with a shudder, knowing that he had been lucky, then turned his attention back to the cave, wondering
if it was home to more than the bloodwings. The moon, rising majestically on its course, chose that moment to illuminate the
mouth of the cave, revealing bloodwing droppings and numerous tracks imprinted in the dust, tracks of the lupebeast whom he
had been seeking. Braldt raised his face to the Moon Mother and let her benedictions shine down upon him, knowing that she
could safeguard him with her blessed presence only so long as he was within her radiant sight.


Glancing upward one last time, taking courage from the siiver-white globe that was his god, Braldt crept through the narrow
opening and paused, allowing his eyes to become adjusted to the darkness within. To his surprise he found that the cave was
larger than he had anticipated, spreading away before him in all directions with a multitude of ledges and nooks that would
provide comfortable dens to a score of more lupebeasts. The cave itself was well lit, for the brightness of the Moon Mother
filtered down through numerous long cracks that dimpled the surface of the low roof, and he nodded to himself, comforted by
this omen that his god was with him. The roof was obviously unstable and at some point in the near future, it would fall,
but with any luck, the lupebeast would have no further need for its shelter.


A long, low, rumbling growl filled the cavern, raising the short hairs on the back of his neck and turning him toward the
sound. Braldt saw not one but five pairs of green eyes glowing at him out of the darkness! Crouching low, crossing the sword
and dagger before him, he tensed for the attack, wondering bitterly how it was that he had failed to consider that the den
might be shared by more than one beast.



There was no more time for thinking for the beast was upon him, springing out of the darkness and landing behind him rather
than before him at the mercy of his weapons.


Braldt whirled and raised his sword as the beast sprang forward, paws extended, hoping to pin him to the ground. Braldt slipped
to the side and lunged forward, trying to end the battle quickly for its companions would undoubtedly join the battle soon,
dragging him down by sheer numbers. The lupebeast leaped aside as soon as it touched down, easily evading Braldt’s charge.


Braldt and the beast circled, eyes locked upon each other, searching for a weakness. Braldt feinted left and the lupebeast
countered, malevolent intelligence glinting in its eyes. It almost seemed as though the animal was laughing at him, toying
with him before the audience of others who had not joined the fray but lay watching from a ledge like spectators at the games.


The lupebeast darted forward and slashed at Braldt’s leg. Braldt sliced downward, but the beast was already gone, circling
behind him and then dashing in to rip at the other leg before trotting away contemptuously with its back to him as though
he offered no danger at all. Braldt felt the blood pouring down his legs, the pain burning hot along the edges. He knew that
this battle could not be won by strength or power, but by cunning.


Crying aloud as though he had been grievously wounded, Braldt allowed the dagger to clatter to the ground and then, clutching
his leg, curled up in a pathetic fetal bundle, whimpering and whining in pain.


The lupebeast circled suspiciously, sniffing the air as though sniffing out his intent for surely it had known that he was
not seriously injured. Closer and closer it came, head extended, sniffing at him, almost touching him and then retreating
to stare in puzzlement. Braldt shrieked loudly each time the beast drew near and made no move to reach for his dagger that
lay in plain view. This at last seemed to convince the lupebeast. It gathered itself and sprang forward, striking Braldt full
force. But Braldt was prepared this time and rolled onto his back, stabbing upward with his
sword, stabbing upward with all his might between the legs of the beast, grim satisfaction filling his heart as he felt the
blade pierce the thick sternum and penetrate the hard, fibrous muscle of the heart itself.


Hideous shrieks erupted from the mouth of the beast as it flung itself backward in agony, its efforts serving only to impale
itself farther on the blade. Mortally wounded, it slavered and bit at its body, rending its own flesh in an attempt to rid
itself of the offending blade. Hot blood pulsed down upon Braldt with every beat of the dying heart, and he held the sword
with grim pleasure, savoring each convulsion and utterance of pain, unaware that his lips were drawn back, bared in a grimace
of a smile.


And then it was done, with a final tormented shudder. The beast hung heavy and unmoving on the blade. Braldt flung it from
him and scrambled to his feet, scooping the dagger from the ground, ready for the others that would surely come now. Blood
poured down his body, drenching his robes, blood of the lupebeast and blood of his own from a score of long furrows inflicted
by the dying creature’s claws. His legs shook with tremors of nervous shock as his body reacted to the great surge of adrenaline
that had carried him through the initial attack. He fought it off, waving the blade before him, waiting for the next attack,
. . .