The Hunter (39 page)

The metal enclosure was small, smaller than Braldt had
anticipated; there was scarcely room for his shoulders and only by hunching them inward was he able to move forward. Movement
was an awkward business, achieved by punching down with one’s elbows and then pushing off against the metal; the rest of one’s
body was dragged behind.

It was hot in the metal enclosure and it moved constantly, although whether it was from their efforts or the movement of the
mountain, Braldt could not have said. It seemed sturdy enough and that was all that really concerned him. They crawled on
and on, seemingly for hours, pausing from time to time as Batta Flor came to junctions and made decisions as to which way
they should go. In this they were forced to depend on him completely for it was his knowledge of the mountain stronghold that
they were relying on.

The metal enclosure widened into a space roughly four feet by four feet with room for all of them to squeeze together. Batta
Flor was grinning widely. “We have done it,” he chuckled. “We are directly above the control chamber.” He was forced to speak
loudly to be heard over the noise of rushing water. The small chamber was swaying back and forth, buffeted by a constant force
that was extremely unnerving.

“What are we going to do now?” Keri asked, looking around nervously and hugging Beast tightly.

“
We
are not going to do anything. You are going to stay here and wait for me. I am going over there and place this charge
against the wall. I’m going to try and bring the wall down, seal off the water.”

“Where will it go if you seal the chamber,” Braldt asked. “Can it push out through its old channel?”

“I don’t think so,” answered Batta Flor. “We did a good job of bringing the mountain down, but don’t forget that there are
many levels beneath this one. One level down is the launching pad with corridors hewn out of the bedrock. I think the water
will channel itself there although where it will exit I cannot say. Wherever it goes, it will give us the
time we need to retrieve the box and make our way out to safety. Now, stay here, I’ll be back shortly.”

However, Batta Flor’s directive were issued too soon, for the duct that he had intended to follow was narrower than the one
they had entered and no matter how hard he squirmed, it was impossible to fit his bulk through the small channel.

“Give it to me,” said Braldt, reaching out his hand for the device that Batta Flor held so gingerly, “I will go.”

“You cannot, you do not know what has to be done.”

“Then explain it to me quickly, for it seems that I am our only hope.” Batta Flor looked at Braldt and it was easy to read
the indecision in his eyes. Just then a heavy tremor jolted the metal enclosure, one that shook the entire system, setting
it to rattling all up and down its length. Somewhere in the distance, they could hear a great clanging as a section detached
and fell, striking hard and bouncing again and again until they could hear it no longer. Wind whipped through the duct, hot
and stinking of searing heat, burning their faces and stinging their nostrils.

Batta Flor handed Braldt the object, placing it gently in the center of his palm. “This is commandite. You must place it carefully,
press it up against the wall directly above the flood so that it will bring the mass of rock down, shutting off the flow.
Here, I will draw it out for you.” He bent forward, crouching over the metal floor and picking up his dagger, and traced out
the shape of the room that lay below them. It was six-sided. The water had entered on the right and punched a hole directly
opposite. Batta Flor traced out the path of the metal duct, noting that it passed directly above the entry point of the water.

“You must break through the bottom of the duct and through the ceiling panels as well. This will help you in that task.” He
handed Braldt the slender tool he had used to open the duct panel in the hallway.

“How close to the ceiling is the water?” Keri asked, her face pale with fear.

“I have no way of knowing,” replied Batta Flor. “From the sounds of it, I would say that it is quite close.”

“Will the explosion not endanger us? If the water is so close, will the force of the blast not destroy the ducts or at the
very least deafen us?” Braldt asked, fearful of the many flaws in the plan.

“It is quite possible that all of those things will happen,” Batta Flor agreed. “But we will have to take that chance. We
have always known that there were serious dangers involved. It is my hope that the concussion, the force of the explosion,
will follow the outward thrust of the detonation, not implode inward.” He did not share with them his fears that the explosion,
blocked on either side by masses of water, would be driven upward, which would almost certainly mean their death. “You must
set the device and then return to us as quickly as possible. You cannot remain, for you could not hope to live through the
detonation at so close a distance.”

“Have no worries on that score,” said Braldt, “I too would like to grow old with my grandchildren. Now, show me what it is
that I must do, how the device is activated.” Batta Flor obliged, drawing his instructions on the soft metal and soon after,
with only a single soft kiss as farewell, Braldt set off down the narrow metal channel.

Braldt soon began to suspect that the ceiling had been ripped away beneath him for the sound of rushing water was clearly
audible, echoing loudly in the metal chamber. Furthermore, the duct was wracked by constant spasms that seemed to stress it
to its limits. There was a steady metallic scream, thin and shrill, of metal pushed far beyond its normal limits. Braldt wondered
if it would hold, for it seemed that the added weight of his body had introduced the final insult. He could feel the duct
sagging beneath him and he moved as swiftly as possible, knowing that if the metal gave way, plunging him into the torrent
that raged beneath him, he could not hope to survive, and with him would die
the hopes and the future of the Duroni and the fate of the Madrelli.

He had counted the sections as Batta Flor had instructed him to do and came to a halt at the spot the Madrelli indicated would
place him directly over the breached wall. If he had had any doubts, they were gone now for he could clearly hear the hissing
roar of the water as it forced its way through the gap below him. The duct was vibrating wildly, and a high-pitched hum emanated
from its fastenings, which did not appear to be holding very fast at all. Braldt could see spaces between the junctures as
they shook on a continuous basis. It was not the least bit reassuring.

Braldt did not feel good about removing an entire panel. The entire structure was too weak as it was; if he removed a panel,
it would weaken it even further. He was glad now that he had not given up his dagger. Pulling it free of his belt, he marked
out a small square with the aid of the light beam and punched a small hole through the thin metal. Immediately he was wetted
down by a spray of water. Hot water. It was as he had thought, the ceiling had been ripped from its moorings.

He continued working, sawing away at the soft metal, forcing the sharp edges down, away from the opening. More and more of
the scene below was exposed and it was a terrifying picture, dark water rushing, no, hurtling past at a dizzying speed that
he had never before seen in nature. It was an awesome as well as a stupefying vision, one that numbed his senses as eyes and
brain tried to encompass what it was that he was seeing. But there was little time to be wasted on watching the water, it
would serve no purpose other than to frighten him and that was something he didn’t need.

He finished cutting out the square of metal and watched as it fell the several feet that separated him from the maelstrom
and was instantly whipped away, sucked beneath the water and vanished from sight the instant it touched down. He swallowed
a shiver of fear that inched up his spine and pressed himself flat against the opening before he
could talk himself out of it, supporting himself with his hands braced against the sides. He lowered his head and looked not
at the water but at the wall that was exactly where Batta Flor had said that it would be, no more than an arm’s length away.

The water rushed through the opening that was beneath the surface and then thrust itself upward, impelled forward by the press
of the water behind it. Occasional splashes struck the wall that was streaming with moisture and Braldt could only wonder
if water would affect the performance of the explosive device. Such a thing was entirely beyond his comprehension and he had
only Batta Flor’s word that it would even work. It had been found in the workroom. Braldt wondered what they would have done
had the device not been there. But such worries served no purpose and Braldt put them out of his head, concentrating on placing
the device and activating it as per Batta Flor’s instructions.

He leaned forward with the object in his hand, holding on as best he could with his free hand as well as bracing his legs
against the sides of the duct. It was a greater distance than he had anticipated and he found that while he could touch the
wall, he could not bring his weight to bear to press it into the wall. He would need to get closer. He inched himself forward,
placing far more of his body than he would have liked over the gaping hole, but it could not be helped.

He stretched out his arm, reaching, reaching for the wall, and then, just as he touched it, the entire duct was struck by
a powerful tremor that wrenched the metal chamber hard to one side, throwing Braldt off balance. He clung to the metal walls,
feeling the thing shake and tremble beneath him like a living creature in torment. The shaking did not cease but went on and
on, and Braldt knew with a sense of impending doom that whatever was wrong with the mountain was fast approaching crisis level.
If this deed was to be done, it had to be done immediately.

Throwing caution to the wind, Braldt braced his thighs against the rough opening, ignoring the pain as the sharp
edges cut into his flesh. He leaned his upper body forward parallel to the dizzying flux of water rushing just inches beneath
his body and planted the device against the stone wall, pressing it firmly into place, feeling the sucking grip as it adhered
to the damp stone, and knew that it would not pull loose. There was but one final thing to do; he pressed his thumb down atop
the device and depressed a button that Batta Flor had already programmed to explode, giving Braldt only enough time for the
return journey.

Then, disaster struck, just as he was pulling back, his upper body supported by nothing but his own strength, a crest of water
rose up out of the darker mass and slapped him down as casually as he might have swatted at an annoying insect.

Braldt tried to save himself; he grabbed for the rough opening and missed. He dug in desperately, clinging to the smooth metal
with his feet, but the water seized him then, slamming into him with a force that drove the breath out of his lungs. He reached
for the open duct as the current grabbed him, but it vanished from sight as he was dragged beneath the surface of the water
and sucked into the main force of the current. He had barely had time for a breath before he went under, and he tried to keep
his wits about him as he was tumbled head over heels by the fierce flow. He would not have enough air to last until the explosion,
and even though he was not versed in such things, he could imagine what would happen to him if he were in the water when the
device went off.

Suddenly he was struck a heavy, glancing blow on the top of his shoulder, and looking up into the dark water, he felt rather
than saw a large object falling past him, banging him on the knees and shins before it vanished. The duct! It too had fallen
or been ripped from its place! Had Batta Flor and Keri fallen too? Desperation and fear battled inside him and he struggled
against the burning in his lungs, the need for air, the need to open his mouth and breathe, sucking in only dark water as
he was carried to his death.

The water bucked and heaved around him and for a moment he thought that the device had exploded, but it was too soon, and
as darkness began to crowd in on his thoughts, he thought that it would be a wonderful bit of irony if the mountain self-destructed
before the explosion went off.

He strained to remain conscious, to remain upright, but he had lost all sense of where he was and could not tell if he was
even in a vertical position. The current had him in its grip as firmly as a lupebeast held its prey; there was no getting
loose.

He felt himself blacking out, losing purpose, when suddenly he was slammed into something hard, something unmoving, and pinned
there by the force of the water, unable to move. He fell slowly, pushed down the face of the wall where he had struck until
he touched bottom, and then the current swept him up again and hurled him through a chaotic race of conflicting currents.
He lost all hope then, as he was flung about, arms and legs, head and body, pulled in various directions as though the water
would divide him up with a bit here and another bit there until he was torn completely asunder.

And then it was over as quickly as it had begun. His body floated upward, water trickling in through his nose and mouth, darkness
fogging his mind. Then, suddenly, he bobbed to the surface and he breathed in air, glorious sweet air, instead of water. He
bumped into an object floating atop the dark water and pulled himself aboard with the very last of his strength, his back
rubbing against the rough surface of the ceiling that was no more than a foot above the water.

He could hear the rush of the torrent close by and could tell by the violent action of his rough raft that it was very near,
but somehow it floated free of the main channel. A corner of the raft touched the greater turbulence and was flung sideways
in a dizzying spin.

The raft careened across the water and bumped hard against a stone wall, nearly throwing Braldt from his precarious perch.
His fingers tightened, determined not to be
thrown into the dark water again. As he pressed himself against the wood surface of the unseen object, there was a dull
whumph
and the water punched upward, heaving Braldt and his raft against the ceiling before dropping them down hard atop the water.
His ears rang as air was displaced by the force of the explosion and he felt his body compress, the air forced from his lungs
as well. He clung to the raft, a sick feeling sweeping over him, and for the second time in as many minutes, he struggled
to retain consciousness, but this time he did not succeed.