The Hunter (19 page)

“You know that I have not forgotten Auslic, but even he would wish that we learn all that there is to know about this matter.
Can you not see that it affects the Duroni as well as the Madrelli?”

“Are you saying that you believe them?”

“I don’t know, but, yes, I think I do believe that it is so, or at least that they believe it is true. What reason would they
have to tell us this story?”

“To keep us from pulling the lever and getting the box!”

“But, Carn, they don’t know our mission, as you yourself have said. How could they have known?”

“What is this mission you speak of?” Uba Mintch looked from one man to the other and so noble did he seem in his grief that
he brought Auslic strongly to mind. The two men, so different and yet so alike, Braldt knew that given the opportunity, they
would be able to span the differences and find only that which they held in common. In that
moment, he made his decision. Before Carn could object, he told Sytha Trubal and Uba Mintch of their mission and of the medicine
box they sought.

For a moment there was silence and then Uba Mintch spoke. “Do you realize what this means? It means that your priests have
knowledge of this place, knowledge of the destruction, of the lever, and of this box as well. It can only mean one thing,
that they are in league with the hard ones and the masters as well.”

“It doesn’t have to mean that,” Keri said, her face pale and drawn. “Couldn’t it just mean that they have visions, visions
that tell them things? After all, they are priests.”

“I think not, child,” Uba Mintch said kindly. “If it were just a vision it would have directed them to the medicine box and
no more. But in directing Carn and Braldt to throw the switch, they have revealed themselves as minions of the masters. Why
else would they want the lever thrown, it benefits no one but the masters.”

“And us,” Carn said defiantly, rising to his feet and standing before the old man. “The box will save our leader’s life and
nothing you can say will stop us.”

“It is possible that the contents of the box might contain something that will aid his recovery, but I find it doubtful,”
Uba Mintch mused. “More than likely it is but a ruse to have you do their bidding. But the entire matter is out of our hands,
there is no way that you can reach the lever or the box, for the chamber has been flooded and cannot be reached at all.”

Even Carn was silenced by this bit of news, for they had never considered the possibility that their mission could not be carried
out.

“You are certain of this?” Braldt asked in a whisper.

Uba Mintch bowed his head, his grief resting heavily on him. “Batta Flor has told us of the destruction of the chamber. He
was the only one to escape with his life. The great river now flows through the chamber and only yesterday did it deliver
up my son’s body. There is no way that the chamber can be entered.”

“But in the vision, there was no water. Perhaps…” But whatever Carn had been about to suggest remained unknown, for at that
moment the door burst open and crashed against the walls. The high, shrill voice of the serving maid was heard protesting.
Then, even as Uba Mintch and Braldt rose to their feet and turned toward the door, Batta Flor entered the room with the serving
maid following close behind.

Batta Flor was no longer the somber, controlled figure he had been at the edge of the bluff. The wild-eyed creature who stood
before them with his pelt rough and ungroomed, reeking of liquor, bore no resemblance to that proud leader. He started toward
Braldt with hatred brimming in his red-streaked eyes, the stripes of his muzzle vivid red and angry purple. Braldt eyed the
creature with alarm, his hand creeping toward his sword, but he made no overt move and did his best to conceal his concern.

Batta for stumbled then and might have fallen had Sytha Trubal not caught him and stood between his swaying form and that
of Braldt.

“G’out of my way, Sytha… won’t hurt him, yet. Can’t take him to mate…‘s wrong… Arba Mintch my best frien’… can’t let you do
this. Not right. Love you. Always loved you… even ‘fore Arba Mintch. Never told you, ‘s all. Arba Mintch would unnerstan’…
he would want me to take care of you an’ the little one. Sytha…” He put out a trembling hand and touched her cheek gently.
“Don’ do this thing.”

“Batta Flor…” Braldt began, thinking that he could make his feelings known, allow the man to see that Sytha had only claimed
him as mate to prevent their deaths. Thinking perhaps that this was the proper moment to straighten things out. But he was
not given that opportunity.

Batta Flor straightened and thrust Sytha Trubal aside at the sound of Braldt’s voice and closed the distance between them.
His small, dark eyes glittered like chips of the shining, black stone and the air between them fairly vibrated with hostile
emanations.

Without taking his eyes off Braldt, Batta Flor reached behind him and drew a blade that had hung unseen between
his shoulder blades. Carn shouted a warning, but before Braldt could react, Batta Flor flung the long knife between them where
it stood quivering, its blade buried deep in the joint between two stones. Braldt heard Sytha Trubal’s cry of dismay but dared
not take his eyes from the man who stood before him.

“Challenge!” snarled Batta Flor. “I, Batta Flor, challenge you for the right to claim Sytha Trubal to mate.”

“No, you cannot do this thing!” cried Sytha Trubal, and she clung to Batta Flor’s arm, begging him to reconsider.

“Please,” said Uba Mintch, his voice quivering with emotion. “We cannot lose you too!”

“It is my right to challenge all suitors,” replied the Madrelli, suddenly sobered by his action. “Nor will I lose. It is the
two-foot who must prepare to die. Sytha Trubal will be mine.”

Batta Flor’s words had caught them off guard and they
stood there, frozen in place like a strange tableau as the Madrelli turned away and left the room, slamming the door behind
him, the still-quivering blade a silent reminder of his angry words.

The sound of the door shuddering in its frame released them at last and they all spoke at once, their voices jumbled together
until Uba Mintch raised his hand and silenced them.

“You must go to him, you must stop him!” Sytha Trubal said anxiously. “He will kill this one!”

“I am not so easily killed, Sytha Trubal,” protested Braldt, all the while remembering the powerful shoulders and the long,
sharp incisors that could slice through human flesh so easily. “What are the rules for this competition?”.

Beast walked up to the upright blade and sniffed it curiously, his lips curling back to reveal snarling teeth, and he retreated,
pressing himself against Braldt’s leg, growling low in his throat, perhaps scenting the bitter hatred that clung to the weapon.

“There are no rules,” Uba Mintch said heavily as he sank into his chair, cradling his head on his palm as though it were too
heavy to remain erect without assistance.

“No rules? Why that’s crazy, barbaric!” yelled Carn. “Are you saying they just face off and fight until one of them is killed?”

“Basically, that is the way it is done,” replied Uba Mintch. “But no weapons are allowed, the fighting is hand-to-hand. Generally,
the combatants are more evenly matched.”

“This is no even match!” Carn said hotly, advancing toward Uba Mintch until he stood directly before the old man, shaking his
hand under his nose. “That kark will kill Braldt, tear him apart with his bare hands! His arms are longer and more powerful.
Braldt won’t stand a chance, you have to stop this!”

“I cannot,” Arba Mintch said in a low tone. “It is his right to demand the competition, it is the way of the Madrelli.”

“But it is not our way, sir.” Keri joined her brother, still holding the small infant who looked from one adult to the other
with a doleful expression, sensing that something was amiss and trying to decide whether or not to cry. “You are the chief,
surely you can stop this fight, the people will listen to you.”

“No, it would only make matters worse.” Sytha Trubal came forward and took the baby from Keri. “You don’t understand. Uba
Mintch is not chief. Arba Mintch was chief, and now with his death, the tribe is without a formal leader. I am regent only
until I marry. The man I marry then becomes chief. Uba Mintch is a respected elder, a past leader, but he does not have the
power to stop the fight.”

“Well, then you stop it!” said Carn. “You picked Braldt to be your mate. Unless you put a halt to this, you’ll have two dead
mates.”

“There is nothing I can do,” said Sytha Trubal. “My title is in name only, I have the power to choose my mate, nothing more.”

Braldt spoke then, interrupting the conversation. “Is it allowed to make wagers, add to the stakes so to speak?”

“Wagers are not unheard of,” allowed Uba Mintch, “although competitions such as this are infrequent. Why do you ask?”

“I am not as certain as all of you that such a contest will end in my death. There is always the possibility that I will win.”

“Unlikely, unlikely,” said Uba Mintch. The stripes of his muzzle had now become a dull, uniform shade of brown and his eyes
were dark and joyless. “What your companions
say is true. Batta Flor is the very best among us, more powerful and cunning than any two Madrelli. You cannot hope to win.”

“Even better,” muttered Braldt. “Then, surely he would not refuse an additional wager if he is as confident of his skills
as you are.”

Everyone looked at him, wondering what he had in mind.

“What I propose is this. If I win, Batta Flor will guide us to the cavern where the lever and the medicine box are to be found.
If I lose, not only does he gain the right to take Sytha Trubal to mate, but all of our edged weapons as well.”

His words were met by an immediate outcry.

“You’re not pledging my weapons!” cried Carn, turning on Braldt, his hand clutching the hilt of his knife. “What happens to
us if you die and we’re stuck here with no way to protect ourselves? Forget that!”

“Braldt, think of what you’re saying,” Keri pleaded, her eyes large and full of fright.

“What you are proposing is madness,” said Uba Mintch, shaking his head from side to side.

“But is it allowed?” Braldt persisted. “Am I within my rights to demand such conditions?”

The old Madrelli and Sytha Trubal exchanged glances. “Yes,” Sytha Trubal answered reluctantly. “Yes, it can be done, conditions
are often set by the combatants.”

“Good, I thought as much,” said Braldt, clearly wrapped in deep thought. “How can I make my conditions known to Batta Flor?”

“I will see that it is done,” Uba Mintch said quietly, then added, “there is always the possibility of flight. Conceding the
battle to Batta Flor without contest and retaining your life as well.”

“But not my honor. No, that is not the way of the Duroni. Deliver the message and do not despair for it is I who will be the
victor.”

The silence that followed his words told him of their lack of confidence, but after a long moment of silence, Uba
Mintch said, “I will do as you ask and may your gods watch over you.”

“Those same gods that you say do not exist,” murmured Braldt, feeling more alone than ever before in his life.

Messages were exchanged between the various parties, and as Braldt had hoped, Batta Flor agreed to the terms of his challenge.
The time and place were established as well, the arena at the far edge of town, two dawnings hence.

Keri and Carn did their best in the small amount of time allotted to them to change Braldt’s mind, trying to convince him
that there was no dishonor in slipping away under the cover of darkness and continuing their mission. Even Sytha Trubal added
her voice to theirs and their despair and desperation weighed heavily on Braldt, but he stood fast and would not give in to
their demands.

“We cannot run, do you not see that? It is useless. We do not even know the way to the cavern, whereas they know the way well.
Should we attempt to flee, it would be but a simple matter to hunt us down and slay us like low-bellied cowardly snakes. They
will find us no matter if we advance or retreat, it is their country, not ours, and if Uba Mintch is to be believed, we do
not even have the protection of the gods to guide our steps. We cannot do anything but that which I have done. Don’t you see,
we need Batta Flor to take us to this cavern. He is our only hope.”