The Hunter on Arena (5 page)

The silver plate was attached to the wall with four small screws which had not been designed to resist
attack. They gave way easily, revealing their own set of coiling wires. The woman smiled and ripped them from the dark opening,
setting off a shower of sparks that cascaded harmlessly to the floor. Heavy hands pounded on the far side of the door, but
it did not respond to their demands.

The woman leaned against the door and looked at Braldt. Her dark eyes, sparkling with intelligence, tilted up at the corners.
She grinned at him, a crooked, lopsided grin that was somehow self-mocking as though she did not take her own efforts too
seriously. Her face was narrow and foxlike, with high, rounded cheekbones and a delicately pointed chin. They gazed at each
other for a moment longer, the woman not bothering to hide the fact that she was as curious about Braldt as he was about her.
Evidently what she saw was to her liking, for after a moment she nodded. She spoke to him urgently, and with a sinking heart,
Braldt heard words and sounds like none he had ever heard before. They were musical sounds, pleasant to the ear, a combination
of trills and clicks and soft sibilants completely unknown to him. He shook his head.

The woman stared at him impatiently as though wondering at his lack of comprehension. She uttered another sequence of sounds,
this time obviously a question, and tilted her head as she waited for a reply.

“I do not understand you,” Braldt said gently. “Do you not speak the language of the Duroni?” The woman stared at him blankly.
Braldt then tried the language spoken by the traders, a bastardized idiom widely used among the various tribes that populated
the world. The
woman did not respond. In despair, she, too, attempted another language, speaking slowly and carefully. It was incomprehensible
gibberish. The two of them stared at each other in dismay, realizing that while they had formed a desperate alliance against
the enemy, they could not understand anything that the other said.

The woman made an impatient gesture with her hand, then seized Braldt’s wrist and began dragging him down the corridor. Looking
up, she stopped abruptly as she saw the now-familiar clear circles of light set in the walls at regular intervals. Her lips
drew back in a grimace, revealing tiny, white teeth. She spat a curse, then swung the metal column which she still held, shattering
the brittle, transparent covering. Instantly, the beam of light winked out. Smiling with satisfaction, the woman proceeded
down the corridor, destroying each of the tiny windows of light.

Surprisingly, there was no sound of pursuit. The door behind them remained sealed, although Braldt had expected to see it
pried open at any moment. Ahead of them, they could see that the corridor was intersected. Beyond, there was a heavy door,
unlike any of the others they had encountered, and Braldt sensed that this door would lead outside. He yearned to breathe
crisp, fresh air again, rather than the dead air of the corridors. The need was great in him to see something green and alive
instead of mile after mile of dead, unnatural, unfeeling substances composed of strange materials that had never known life.
He moved ahead impatiently.

The woman put out a slender arm, her hand resting lightly on his chest, stopping him. She put a finger to her
lips, then pointed to the corners of the intersection, her bright eyes conveying a silent, urgent message.

Braldt knuckled his forehead, berating himself inwardly for ten kinds of stupidity. He should not have needed the woman’s
warning to alert him to the fact that the intersection was a logical place to expect an ambush. He nodded his understanding
and the two of them crept forward silently. The woman looked up at the unblinking circles and made a moue of distaste, for
there was no way she could disarm them without announcing their presence to whomever might be waiting for them.

They stopped just short of the passageway, and although nothing and no one could be seen, an unknown presence was palpable
in the air. They divided—Braldt on the left, the woman on the right—and edged forward until they reached a point where stealth
would no longer protect them from those who might watch and wait. Their eyes sought each other and there was a sense of companionship
even though they had no words to express themselves. The woman nodded, and brandishing her silver column, rushed ahead, screming
the astounding barrage of sound that had so startled Braldt.

Braldt was no more than a step behind her, although he had no weapon other than his strength and determination to remain free.

They had guessed correctly. As they approached the meeting of the corridors, six humans stepped forth to meet them, three
on either side. They were human, that much was clear, but what tribe or race of men could not be told, for they were clad
in an unfamiliar type of armor that obscured much of their features.

They stood quietly, not the least concerned, waiting for Braldt and the woman to reach them, and it was their air of confident
calm, more than the swords they held, that gave Braldt his first twinge of doubt.

The woman slowed as well, and it was obvious that she shared his concern. Without speaking, they moved closer until their
shoulders brushed against one another. The waiting warriors made no move toward them, nor raised their swords in readiness,
but merely watched as they approached.

They were clad in metal-edged, leather armor. Their heads were covered in form-fitting helms that extended over their ears
and down the nape of the neck, leaving nothing exposed. A spine of metal sheathed the crest of the skull and ran down between
the eyes and the length of the nose. The shiny metal reflected the light into their eyes, an effective weapon in itself. Their
chests and backs were covered with heavy, leather plates fixed together with a free-moving mesh of fine, chain links and held
together at the sides; this extended the full length of the body, ending just above the knees. Their arms and legs were also
sheathed by bands of leather and metal, leaving little flesh vulnerable to attack. Braldt could but admire the cleverness
of the armor while seeking some little advantage, but even if he had been armed, there appeared to be no chink in the protective
gear, unless the weight of it could be used against those who wore it.

Strangely, the warriors made no move to attack them as they edged ever closer. As they drew even with the silent warriors,
the men moved aside, allowing them to pass. Braldt exchanged a brief, puzzled glance with the
woman, but there was no answer to the unspoken question. Nor could they stop to wonder why if their freedom was to be gained.
Back to back, facing their gauntlet of armed watchers, they made their way to the door.

The warriors closed ranks behind them. Strangely, it seemed that they were barring the way behind them as though there was
some reason they would want to return! The door was within reach now. Without taking her eyes from the armed guard, the woman
reached up with her fist and pounded twice upon the silver square fixed to the wall. There was a moment of heart-stopping
panic when it seemed that nothing would happen, then there was a low hum and the door swung smoothly open. Sweet, warm air
flooded into the chamber, surrounding them with its fragrance. Birds could be heard twittering in the distance and they could
hear the wind soughing through the branches of unseen trees.

Braldt was overwhelmed by the desire to turn and run, to embrace the world after the long, enforced confinement in the strange,
unnatural surroundings. His heart began to race at the thought that soon he would find Batta Flor and Keri, and be able to
return to his tribe and tell Auslic all that had transpired, and seek wisdom in understanding the strange events. And then
there was the woman. A way must be found to communicate with her to reassure her. But most importantly, there was the matter
of the strange beings who had somehow infiltrated their world—a way must be found to deal with them. They…

As the door slid closed, cutting them off from the silent guard, Braldt became aware that something was
wrong. The woman was lowering her arm, the silver staff dangling useless at her side as she looked around in bewilderment.
Braldt looked up to see what it was that troubled her and was stricken with a sense of numbing horror. The sky above was scarlet
red, lit from behind low, crimson clouds by dual orbs that rode heavily above an unfamiliar horizon.

Braldt and the woman turned to each other in horror. A low hissing filled their ears, and as their senses dimmed and they
collapsed onto the blood-red earth, they knew without a doubt that wherever they were, it was not a world they had ever known
before.

Consciousness returned slowly, filtering through the
heavy darkness as though he was rising from the webs of a dream. Braldt clung to the illusion, for the reality of wakefulness
was far worse than any imagined nightmare. Shutting out the waiting world, he went over the sequence of events in his mind,
beginning with the sterile room that had begun the gauntlet of horrors.

One thing had become increasingly clear. He was no longer on his own world. Somehow, the act of throwing the lever that had
prevented the Masters from traveling between worlds undetected, had transported him off his world and into theirs. His mind
told him that this was true—there was no other explanation for the events that had transpired—but stubbornly, his heart resisted
accepting this fact. Would he ever see Keri again or hold her in his arms? The sense of loss was overwhelming and his chest
hurt as though he had suffered a mortal wound.

His entire body throbbed with a dull, feverish ache, and as full consciousness returned, he realized that he was experiencing
actual pain. Concentrating, he shook off the last, foggy vestiges of the drugged sleep and took stock of his body. His head
was radiating the pain outward in waves.
He raised a hand and gingerly touched his skull with fingers that felt as thick and sensitive as rope cables.

He found no evidence of a wound and that was reassuring. The worst of the pain seemed to be focused behind his right ear.
His gesturing fingers reached and found a circlet of hard metal lying flat against his skull! A current of fear lanced through
his body and he sat upright, even though the movement set off ripples of nausea.

His vision was blurred and a sea of red dots obscured his sight. His fingers sought the object again and felt along the edges.
There could be no doubt—whatever it was was firmly embedded in his skin. He dug into his flesh, trying to remove the disc,
but it did not move and the effort caused him such severe pain that he nearly retched. He collapsed, his head swimming, tears
running from the corners of his eyes, gagging as the pain slowly ebbed away.

“The pain is not good, but it will pass,” said a low voice coupled with a wry chuckle that contained no humor.

Braldt turned slowly toward the sound of the voice, breathing deeply to quell the pain and nausea, trying to clear his vision.
Slowly things took shape around him. He was lying on a hard mat, similar to those he had once trained on.

Next to him, head resting on the palm of its hand, reclining leisurely on an identical mat, was a manthing, clearly not human,
but not animal either. It was taller than Braldt, but possessed the same body structure. There, however, the similarity ended,
for the being was covered with a dense shag of orange fur from the top of its squarish head to its claw-toed feet. Its eyes
were large
and bright with intelligence, its nose (no nose in the sense that Braldt was accustomed to) was a series of flanged openings
spread across the center of its face that opened and shut in random sequence as it breathed. Its mouth was quite human in
shape and quirked up at one corner in a wry, mocking grin. The orange fur that cloaked its face was neatly parted below the
multiple nostrils and swept down like two giant moustaches on either side of the mouth. It re-formed at the chin to form a
sharply pointed beard which the creature stroked reflectively with a clawed hand. A bright silver disc had been implanted
in the being’s forehead, the fur neatly trimmed along the edges. Other than a tight-fitting, silver, metallic collar that
extended in a downward point nearly to the center of its furry chest, the creature wore no clothing.

“I know it hurts,” the manthing said sympathetically, “but it’ll pass soon enough. Lie still and breathe deep; moving just
seems to make it worse.”

“Who—who are you?” Braldt asked, his tongue moving sluggishly, the words emerging thickly.

“I am Allo,” replied the furred one as he sat up and placed a large hand with immense curved claws on Braldt’s chest. “Be
still. I am not your enemy. You have nothing to fear from me.”

“The woman… my companion,” Braldt said, struggling to rise, but helpless against the pressure of the creature’s hand and the
weakness that filled his limbs.

“She is here beside me, as are two others,” said Alio. “They are stirring and will waken soon. We must help them to accept
what has happened.”