The Hunter on Arena (26 page)

“Probably wanted to see what they could do with one of you,” mused Braldt. “No good for morale to have a bunch of blue things
around who make fools out of the guards; might give the rest of us ideas. How do you know that the others are still alive?”

“Why, we speak!” replied the alien, with something close to surprise in its voice. “Much as you and I are speaking now. Distance
does not affect our ability to communicate. Do you not share this ability with your own people?”

“Sadly, no,” said Braldt. “Now tell me, is it not possible that this is not part of the great Yantra’s plan for your enlightenment?
Is it not possible that he would like for you to take some action yourself to get out of this place? After all, what good
will it do if you sit here ’til you rot? What will that teach you?”

“Patience,” replied the blue creature.

“I’d say you’ve already mastered that one,” said Braldt, thinking of the way the being sat day after day in its cell, refusing
to react to anything the guards did to force it to fight. “Listen, aren’t you getting even a little bit homesick? Wouldn’t
you like to see your world again? You can die here, locked away in this cell, but wouldn’t it be nice to go home and pursue
the great Yantra’s teachings?”

“It would be nice to sit in the talek again and discuss the finite ramifications of Yantra’s 1,227 musings,” admitted the
blue alien. “And it would also be pleasant to see Mutar once again, to—to compare musings,
of course,” he added, his skin turning an even darker shade of blue, perhaps the alien equivalent of a blush.

“Of course,” agreed Braldt. “Even an unenlightened one such as I, recognizes the value of comparing musings.” He started to
speak again, but held off as it seemed that the alien was deep in thought.

At last it spoke. “I would have to confer with my brothers. I cannot say what they would do and I am certain there are many
among them who would not wish to regress with such impetuous behavior. But if there are those who agree to join you, what
would you have us do?”

“I’m afraid that all of this is merely wishful thinking,” Braldt said with a sigh. “We would need to find your companions
and think of some way to free them before we could even begin to plan.”

The blue being sighed as well. “I may never reach a state of enlightenment, I fear. Already, I am filled with excitement at
the thought of action, at the thought of being reunited with Mutar once again. Perhaps I should remain here to teach myself
patience.”

“No!” cried Braldt, seizing the bars and pressing up against them. “Freedom first, then patience! Yantra helps those who help
themselves!”

“That is true!” exclaimed the blue rectangle, his perimeter fairly quivering with excitement. “And you know what he says about
self-determination!”

“I will be glad to discuss it later; have you teach me all 1,522 of his musings, but after we are free!”

“One thousand two hundred twenty-seven,” murmured the creature.

“Right,” said Braldt. “Now, how many of you are there and how many can we count on for help, if we can figure out a way to
find them and get them out?”

“There are many of us,” said the blue being. “Not so many as Yantra’s musings, but nearly. Perhaps three-fourths of those
would be willing to assist us, for they are young like myself and not older and wise enough to resist such temptations.”

“Three-fourths of Yantra’s musings!” exclaimed Braldt. “Are you certain? That’s more than all the guards and Scandis put together!”

“Oh, yes, I am quite certain. The barbarians came upon us when we were on a Yantran retreat. They took us quite by surprise,
and while we were trying to decide what Yantra wished for us to learn from the experience, they removed us from the Yanek
and brought us here. And as to freeing ourselves, why that is no problem at all.”

And as Braldt stared in astonishment, the blue alien simply walked through the bars—which passed through its body—and emerged
unharmed on the other side.

“How did you do that!” cried Braldt, touching the bars and finding that they were still as solid as ever.

“It is nothing, merely a matter of concentration and rearranging one’s molecules,” the blue being said modestly.

“Can all of you do this?” asked Braldt.

“Oh, yes. It is quite basic,” replied the being.

“Listen, do what you have to do. Talk to the others and convince them to help us in order to help themselves.
It is nearly dawn and we must go to the ring and fight. But we fight friends and allies who can be counted on to help. If
you can persuade your friends to aid us as well, we can begin to put together a plan. We will talk again tonight.”

The blue rectangle nodded, bending its entire body in a bow, then reversed itself and flowed backward through the bars. Once
in its own cell, it curled into its customary cylinder and was silent, although Braldt thought he heard it murmur “Mutar”
once, in a dreamy tone.

He had intended to tell Allo and the others about the odd conversation, but while he was turning it over in his mind, he fell
into a sound sleep and did not waken until the guards pounded on the bars with the butts of their spears. There was no time
for talk from that point on, for they were shepherded to and from the dining hall and the weapons room by a full contingent
of guards, all of whom seemed to watch them more closely than usual. There was an odd aura of tension in the air and the guards
seemed to look about them as often as they watched their prisoners. It was almost as though they were expecting to be attacked.
Braldt could not help but notice that there were more than the usual number of armed ’bots roaming the corridors as well,
some rolling silently on their heavy, single wheel, other striding about on two legs.

Even though there was much to be optimistic about, Braldt had been unable to eat or drink anything, and his belly churned
with excitement. Randi would not meet his eyes and she seemed more downcast than angry. He tried to speak to her, but the
guards took care to keep them
apart. He wished he had the blue alien’s ability to speak inside his head.

Allo and Septua seemed untroubled; the large furred creature was as mild-mannered and calm as always. Septua appeared slightly
more nervous and flexed his stubby fingers and immense arm muscles to discharge the gathered tension.

And then, as the twin red suns rose above the edge of the amphitheater and the crowds began to stamp in cadence, the horns
blared, and once again, it was game time.

Saviq was exhausted. Her stubby legs trembled with fatigue and she longed for the comfort of her woolly blankets and her fire.
But there was much to be done before she could sleep. She wondered if she would be able to accomplish all that she had been
charged with. Tears filled her eye even as she snuffled and berated herself for being a silly old woman. She would not fail
Lomi, no matter what it took. Then her single eye filled with tears at the thought of her friend, channeled down her scarred,
lumpy muzzle, and dripped onto the floor. No, she would not fail.

She had refused to leave Lomi’s side, watching the frail chest rise and fall, patting the thin, pale hand with her own scaled
paw until the last breath had passed from the tired body. Saviq had tucked the blankets around her old friend, crooning gently
and cradling the pale, silvery, blond head against her chest, rocking back and forth with the pain and grief that threatened
to overwhelm her. She had stayed there holding the empty body far longer
than had been wise, remembering how very beautiful Lomi had been in her youth, beautiful by Scandi standards. And how very
beautiful her spirit had been by any measure.

She thought it unfair that Lomi’s love had gone unfulfilled, that she had been forced to love from afar one who had barely
been aware of her existence. Yet she had loved long and hard, and even with her death, thought only of Braldt, the child of
her love.

A small smile lifted the lips of her muzzle as she thought about Lomi’s plan. There was irony in it as well as satisfaction.
How odd that those who had destroyed her people and her world would themselves be brought down by one of their own, one who
had been of little importance during her life, but would gain renown with her death. The thought lent speed to Saviq’s tired
feet, and steeling herself for the difficulties that still lay ahead, she hurried forward.

Keri had never seen Batta Flor in such a state. Even
before the suns rose, the Madrelli had risen and begun pacing back and forth within the confines of the cell. And then it
had happened, the thing she had dreaded most. Batta Flor had approached her as she lay huddled beneath her blanket and gently
stroked her hair with one giant paw. She had cringed away from his touch and this had seemed to enrage him. He had swept her
off the pallet and gathered her to his chest. She had cried out with fear and pushed against his mammoth muscles, struggling
to free herself.

Beast had wakened instantly at the first sound of trouble and flung himself at the Madrelli, sinking his wickedly sharp, double
rows of teeth into Batta Flor’s calf muscle.

The Madrelli could not have been hurt by the pup’s attack, for his damaged ear rendered him impervious to pain, but he was
enraged at the defiance shown by the pup, infuriated at any effort to foil him in his intent. He had slapped at the pup with
one fist while holding Keri close to his side. The pup had managed to evade his blow and dark blood poured down the Madrelli’s
leg and pooled on the floor.

Keri continued to beat her fists against Batta Flor’s shaggy hide, knowing she could not hurt him, but hoping to distract
him so that he would not kill the pup. She screamed at him as well, and tears of fear and frustration flooded her face as
hysteria threatened to overcome her.

Batta Flor stopped trying to strike the pup and lifted Keri, bringing her face level with his own. She stared tearfully into
his face, reading fury and confusion as well as hopeless despair in his dark eyes. He roared full into her face, all but deafening
her with the depth of his rage and sorrow, and then he flung her from him, threw her like a useless bit of fluff that he no
longer had need of or interest in. She struck the edge of the sleeping platform and felt the pain of impact across her shoulders
and spine. She scrambled onto the platform and gathered the blankets in her arms, shielding herself as best she was able.

Beast growled a warning, then released the bloody leg, scurrying away from the Madrelli and leaping onto the platform to huddle
next to Keri. His ruff was fully extended, and the line of fur that marked his spine stood straight up, making him look larger
than he really was. His eyes glowed yellow, his teeth were coated with the Madrelli’s blood, and crimson-tinged slaver drooled
from his mouth as he snarled his hatred.

Batta Flor took no notice of either of them, but strode about in the center of the cell, pounding on his massive chest and
screaming in rage and defiance. Then he stopped still, and throwing back his head, bellowed with such sorrow and pain that
Keri nearly forgot her own fear and rushed to his side.

The terrible sound filled the cell and echoed throughout the prison, silencing the usual early morning sounds of activity.
Those who shared their captivity were accustomed to sounds of rage and sorrow, but this cry touched emotions that most of
them struggled to deny. All those within hearing of the terrible cry shivered and fell silent, for the sound mirrored all
too accurately, for prisoners and guards alike, the depth of their own despair.

Horns blared and the crowded tiers echoed with the sound of feet pounding in cadence on the red stone. Tension was palpable
in the chill morning air. The dual suns ascended the crimson sky, bathing the arena and its occupants with a bloody hue, an
omen of what was to come.

The first bout included four reptilian monsters, thickly armored with overlapping, ridged scales who bore no other weapons
than their own four-inch claws and scissoring fangs. Their long, powerful tails ended in a large, solid ball of muscle which
they wielded like a club.

Their opponents were oddly jointed creatures with eight legs who were able to move in any direction with equal dexterity.
Their centrally spaced bodies were small in comparison to their legs and covered completely with a gleaming, metallic carapace.
These creatures bore no weapons at all, but jutting out just above the first segment of each leg was a wicked, curving sickle-like
projection.

The two groups of combatants swept toward each other as soon as the arches were opened, and met with a clash of bodies in
the center of the ring. For a moment it
was difficult to tell what was happening, for the opponents were so closely meshed. Then they swirled apart and it could be
seen that the reptiles were bleeding from a number of wounds while the insectlike creatures appeared to be unharmed.

They came together a second time, and this time the reptiles had learned from their first encounter and struck upward at the
insects’ bellies with their scythe-like claws, drenching themselves in their opponents’ blood which was a pale, watery fluid.
This seemed to give the reptiles an impetus, for they pushed forward, beating the insects back, lashing out at them with claws
and clubbed tails.