The Hunter on Arena (16 page)

Batta Flor turned leisurely and studied the nasty thing as it drew ever closer. Beast growled nervously, showing all of his
fangs, and crouched down ready to spring. Keri shivered with fear as the monster’s ghastly cries preyed on her nerves, but
she drew her sword and fell into a crouch as she had seen Braldt do countless times before.

It was very close now, close enough to see the maddened look in its eyes, small and bright without pupils or the light of
intelligence. Blood-flecked slaver streamed from the edges of its mouth and the nerve-wracking ululation never ceased. It
seemed to have no plan of attack other than to bowl them over with sheer momentum, then savage them with claw and fang.

It was close enough that Keri could smell the hot,
rank stink of its body before Batta Flor reacted, merely reaching out and seizing the thing in mid-air as it leapt for them.
There was a single, high-pitched shriek as Batta Flor’s fingers closed around its throat, then silence as the voice ended.
The large, furred body flailed at Batta Flor’s hand and hammered at his massive forearms. Blood poured from dozens of wounds
as the beast’s claws sliced through Batta Flor’s flesh, but Batta Flor did not waver nor lower the thing to the ground until
it hung limp and void of life, its claws dangling uselessly along the ground.

The lupebeast pup growled and tried to position itself to spring, but it could not seem to work up the courage. Its eyes rolled
and flashed whitely and it whined with anxiety. The sight of Batta Flor’s wounds was frightening and Keri attempted to aide
him, maneuvering herself so that she could plunge her blade through the creature’s body. But Batta Flor turned aside, removing
the beast from her reach and shielding her from the danger of its wildly swinging claws. No matter what she did, he managed
to keep his body between her and the dangerous creature. Only when it was dead did he allow her to approach him and even then
he took the precaution of leading her away from the unmoving corpse. Only when it was dead could the pup work up the courage
to approach the monster, nipping at its still body, then leaping away. When he realized that it really was dead, he fell on
it and savaged it, dragging it around the dirt and growling ferociously.

The crowd had watched the action in near silence, but the intensity of its gaze carried an almost palpable
weight. With the creature’s death, there was a single, collective exhalation of breath emanating from the vast crowd and then
as one, like some enormous, encompassing heartbeat, the spectators began to stomp in a rhythmic pulse on the stone tiers while
humming deep in their throats. It was a disturbingly primitive sound and Keri was stunned by the waves of sound beating down
on her. It was more terrifying than the beast had been, for that was a wild thing with little intelligence and violence and
killing was its way of life, but these were supposedly intelligent beings exhibiting more of a blood thirst than the wildest
of monsters. She dropped her sword and stared up at the chanting spectators, feeling the depth of their passions thrumming
in her blood.

The noise frightened the pup away from the corpse of the monster and it quickly retreated to the safety of its friends. Batta
Flor wrapped his arm around Keri’s shoulders, scooped up her blade, and drew her away. Two hard ones sped toward them across
the loose sands and a tall, majestic, blond male draped in a royal blue robe stood on a platform in the tiers holding two
scarlet ribbons streaming in the hot wind. Batta Flor had other ideas though, and entertaining the Masters further held no
interest.

Gently, Batta Flor guided Keri from the ring, ignoring the hard ones as they circled on their single wheels, metal wands pointed
like swords, as they drew closer and closer, trying to force the combatants back to where their master waited. One came too
close and Batta Flor acted swiftly, jamming his club into the center of the wheel and bracing himself with wideset feet. The
hard one stopped abruptly, jerked forward, and fell face first onto
the red Sand. Batta Flor was on it in an instant, planting his foot at the base of its neck, and yanking his club free, he
brought it down in a crushing blow, shattering the hard covering like a brittle shell.

The crowd rose to its feet in a wave of motion, screaming and yelling with separate voices now, visible for the first time
as individual beings.

The second hard one drove straight toward them, the metal rod pointed dead ahead. Batta Flor stood ready, his club in his
hand. Suddenly a loud voice flooded their heads, commanding them to lay down their weapons and return to the dais. Batta Flor
reached up and dug his fingers into the flesh of his skull. Blood spurted, staining his fingers and dripping down his face,
but he gave no indication of any pain as he gripped the round, silver device and wrenched it free, trailing blood and bits
of broken wires. Keri watched in horror as the voice inside her head grew shrill and incoherent, demanding that they come
to the stands.

The hard one stopped, its rod lowered, staring impassively at them with its blank features. Batta Flor placed his arm around
Keri and they made their way from the ring. The Madrelli stepped on the silver circle as they passed, grinding it into the
sands with the heel of his foot. Keri was sick and dizzied by the frenetic screaming inside her head, but Batta Flor would
not allow her to stop; when she stumbled, he picked her up and carried her from the ring.

The cool shadows under the arena were a soothing relief after the stunning glare of the double suns and the voice ceased once
they left the ring, choked off as though
the speaker had become too apoplectic to continue. Keri did not care what the reason was, it was enough that it had stopped.

Blood was dripping off Batta Flor’s chin and trickling down her chest. She reached out to touch the gaping hole in his forehead,
then drew back her hand when he looked down at her. She could see the broken ends of wire still protruding from the raw flesh
like worms emerging from the soil after the grass had been stripped away.

Her face must have betrayed her dismay, for Batta Flor attempted to smile, his face responding somewhat woodenly as he placed
her gently on the ground. “Do not worry, my friend, I feel no pain. Nor could I bear the sound of that one who looks like
Braldt but is not, yammering inside my head. I will fight for them if I must, but I do not want to listen to them.”

The speech, short as it was, was evidently difficult for Batta Flor, for the words came slower and slower and were slurred
and thick toward the end, barely comprehensible, and the stiff smile had fallen from his face. He patted her awkwardly on
the shoulder, then led the way to their cell, swinging the heavy, metal door shut himself before the startled reptilian attendants
could do it for them. The pup had dashed for the safety of the sleeping platform, and huddled silently in the darkest corner.

In the days and nights that followed, Batta Flor sank further and further into an animalistic state, losing all of his more
refined qualities. He ate with hands and fingers, shoveling food into his mouth by the handful, even eating bits off the floor
when he dropped them, grunting and
snorting like some savage beast. He lost all sense of dignity and propriety as well, defecating wherever and whenever the
need struck him, seemingly insensible to the need for privacy. But far worst of all was the fact that he ceased to speak and
when he looked at Keri it was with dull, animal-like eyes.

Such behavior unnerved Keri and depressed her deeply, causing her to feel more alone than ever before. The thing that shared
the cell with her was not Batta Flor, that good and noble being who had risked his life for her more than once, but some primitive
beast who inhabited what was left of Batta Flor’s body.

But despite his descent to base animality, the huge beast was still gentle and considerate in his treatment of her. She might
have been afraid of him had it not been for that. Occasionally he would stop and stare at her, his head to one side, studying
her as though he were trying to remember something. At other times, he would pat her clumsily on top of the head. But still,
there was a sense of protection by being near him. He still guarded her as zealously as ever, perhaps even more so, growling
viciously whenever anyone approached the cell. The beast pup was her only companion.

Batta Flor’s wounds had healed, scabbing roughly in thick, brown welts which he ignored as he did most everything. The blond
men who were not Braldt appeared outside the cell the evening of the fight and studied them through suited eyes, muttering
among themselves. Keri hoped that some hint of their conversation would come to her through the hated, silver circlet, but
it was not to be. Batta Flor shoved her to the rear of the cell and showed
his fangs, daring them to come closer, but they made no attempt to do so, carefully remaining far out of his reach.

They did not replace the silver device that Batta Flor had removed so forcefully, perhaps realizing that it was futile. That
one small fact remained as the single positive note in their existence, allowing her to feel that they had succeeded in thwarting
the Masters’ wishes at least in that small matter.

The games continued, and with them came continued success. Their opponents were as varied and numerous as the stars in the
sky. Sometimes they looked almost human and fought in a familiar fashion with weapons that Keri could recognize. But often,
they were life forms that were unlike anything she had ever seen before, even in her worst dreams. These were indeed the things
of nightmares, fanged and clawed and open mawed, oft times possessing weapons that were not even recognizable or could be
given a name. These were the most frightening opponents, for it was impossible to know how they would fight, what manner their
attack would take. But it did not matter—regardless of their methods, Batta Flor killed them all.

As the games went on, they were at times confronted with more than one opponent, frequently they came at them in groups of
four. When they fought one on one, Batta Flor refused to allow Keri to fight, but as the odds and the opponents increased,
he was forced to do so.

Keri was frightened at first, but then strangely, she began to feel a sense of power, a fierce joy flowing with each confrontation,
a joy that increased with each victory. She wondered why she did not feel more of a sense of
kinship with her opponents, more of a sorrow at their deaths, for they were prisoners as well, and not really the enemy. But
it was not so, she felt nothing but triumph when they died.

With the passage of time, even the lupebeast pup grew more and more daring until he was holding his own against all human
types and many of the smaller animal beings.

The conclusion of every bout ended the same way, with Batta Flor and Keri making their way from the ring without pausing and
without acknowledging the roars of the crowd or receiving their awards which awaited them at the dais.

The crowd by this time had come to expect an unusual show whenever they appeared, and the arena was always filled to capacity.
The roars began before they even emerged from the darkness of the cells and continued undiminished until they left the ring.

Keri had fought awkwardly at first—“like a girl” as Braldt would have said—with her heart pounding in her chest and her knees
feeling soft as jelly. But she swiftly realized that the majority of her opponents felt exactly the same and that knowledge
gave her strength and courage. On days that games were not held, she began to practice in earnest and her time in the ring
reflected that effort as she did her best to remember everything that she had ever heard Braldt and her brother discuss about
fighting. Soon, she became a formidable opponent in her own right and was less and less willing to allow Batta Flor to bear
the brunt of the battles.

Engrossed as she was in her own problems, Keri
never stopped thinking of Braldt, wondering if he still lived and if so, if he still thought of her.

Braldt’s thoughts rested often on Keri and he carried the memory of her around like a weight in his chest. But other thoughts
vied for his attention, thoughts of survival.

The games had begun in earnest, each of them a terror-filled, sickness-at-the-pit-of-the-stomach, gut-wrenching confrontation
that ended in bloody death. So far they had survived the deadly games, pitted against less skilled adversaries, but with each
round of combat, the chaff was being weeded out; soon only the toughest would remain and the victories would be harder won.

None of them had suffered anything more than surface wounds and a variety of painful bruises, but even these trifling injuries
were enough to remind them of the fate that could so easily befall them.

Their last contest had very nearly been the end of them. At first, it had seemed that it would be their easiest one, for their
opponents were four humans, albeit primitive in the extreme who wore no clothing other than leather loincloths and carried
no weapons other than spears and knives; they had painted their lean, muscular bodies in bizarre colors and patterns. Their
eyes and cheeks were a solid band of black and red stripes running horizontally through the eyes from brow to chin. Their
long, black hair was caught up in twisted knots and fastened with vertebrae bones. Other bits of bone and claws were fastened
at neck, wrist, and ankle with strips of leather. Since they were only human and not one of the more frightening alien creatures,
Braldt and his com
panions made the mistake of thinking that the contest would be easy. It nearly cost them their lives.

From the beginning, the primitives had split up, circling round and round in a dizzying circuit, weaving, darting, never remaining
in one place long enough for Randi to fix them in her laser beam. The ground was pocked with the impact of misfirings and
the primitives were untouched. Emboldened by their luck, they grew ever more frenetic, darting in unexpectedly and striking
out with the tips of their razor-sharp spears, drawing blood with every coup and screaming all the while, which served to
further unnerve Braldt’s group, especially Randi.