The Hunter (5 page)

Strangely enough, the bloodwings had done him a favor, for sensing the fresh blood, they had gone straight for his wounded
shoulder. They had robbed him of his blood and they had replaced it with their own fluid that was intended to dull the senses
of their sleeping victims, but in his case served to deaden the pain, enabling him to travel. Braldt didn’t know how long
it would last or if it would have any lasting effects, but he welcomed even the temporary relief from pain.

And then suddenly a path appeared beneath his feet, a deep indentation in the soft red rock that led straight to the edge
of the precipice and then slipped over. Braldt wondered if a section of rock had broken off here as well, but as he drew closer
he saw that the trail descended the face of the cliff at a steep but passable incline that terminated at one end of the stony
amphitheater. There was a large pool of water, deep enough to withstand the worst of droughts, as well as several stands of
small trees, thick grasses, and tall reeds, and a variety of weedy foliage.

There were still the predators to be considered, none of which he cared to meet with the scent of blood hanging heavy about
him. But the small oasis offered all that he needed to heal himself: water, shelter, and the promise of food. Home and safety
lay six moonsets distant and between them lay seventy leagues of danger and harsh, inhospitable terrain. To travel in his
condition was an open invitation to death.

His decision made, Braldt descended the face of the cliff.

Ten moonsets later, well fed and rested, recovering from the worst of his wounds, Braldt and the pup, whom he had
chosen to call Beast, left the spring and set out for home. The jawbone of the he-beast had been stripped of flesh and polished
by an accommodating colony of fire beetles. It now hung from a thong around his neck. The shiny new pink skin of his shoulder
contrasted sharply with the dark, coppery tan of his body, and while it too would darken with time, it would always bear the
scars inflicted by the lupebeast.

Braldt was not concerned with the color of his skin, nor the scars, merely pleased that the arm had suffered no permanent
damage and would still be able to wield a weapon. This had caused him a good deal of concern during his recuperation for he
had trained since youth to be a fighter and a protector of his tribe and he could envision no other life.

He had been right in his assessment of the spring for he had found all the medicinal herbs needed to treat his wounds. Wild
animals and birds had come to the springs at dawn and at dusk in great numbers, braving the gauntlet of predators, and if
some of their numbers fell, they were not missed in the multitudes that depended on the steady source of sweet water that
flowed even in the hot time.

Trees and reeds had provided shelter as well as firewood and the fire burning brightly all night long held the predators safely
at bay. Carefully placed snares had provided fat birds to roast over the fire and a well-thrown rock had brought down a small
desert deer.

He had not forgotten to offer homage to Mother Moon and he sang her praises and offered her homage each night as she rose
majestically over the edge of the plateau by burning bits of flesh to show his gratitude for watching over him and sparing
his life. Beast had added his own quavering tones to his, an eerie combination, but somehow fitting for both had lived despite
the odds against them.

Braldt and Beast had come to know each other better. The pup had accepted him into his world and looked to him for direction,
but there was a fierce burning light that shone from deep within his amber eyes and Braldt knew that for all his apparent
loyalty, this would never be a tame dog to do his master’s bidding.

There seemed to be little need for words between the two of them, the pup needing only to look at Braldt to know what was
expected. They had begun to work as a team, the pup rushing forth barking wildly and scaring the prey within throwing range.
The technique was not perfect for the pup was filled with all the erratic enthusiasm of youth, but Braldt could see that with
his obvious intelligence, the rough edges would soon be honed away.

The pup’s presence and his intelligence touched something deep inside Braldt, something that only Artallo had come close to
touching. Others, more knowledgeable and sensitive to their own needs, would have called it friendship.

As they made their way across the empty Forbidden Lands, back toward the tribal state, Braldt allowed his thoughts to reach
forward and wonder how Beast would be welcomed. It was a foolish question for even though lupebeasts were the sworn enemy
of his tribe and all others, Braldt could have brought a raging merebear into the middle of the city and gotten away with
it. He was the chosen favorite of the chief.

Braldt grinned as he thought back on some of the pranks he had played in his own erratic youth and remembered how Chief Auslic
had tried to keep his face grim and unsmiling while issuing a reprimand. Carn, his younger half-brother and Auslic’s own nephew,
had seldom gotten off so lightly with his misdemeanors. Braldt himself had been adopted by Carn’s family soon after he was
found in the desert beside the bodies of his parents.

They had been strangers, unknown to the tribe, different from them in every way. The dead man and woman had been fair of skin,
their eyes as blue as the distant sea, and their hair as white as the sun that burned in the sky. Braldt grew up in their
image with high, broad cheekbones, straight nose, and wide, flat brow—all flat planes and hard, sharp edges, so unlike the
features of his adopted tribe.

His body developed differently as well. Although he and Carn were nearly the same age, Carn had the slender, wiry build so common
to the tribe as well as dark eyes and skin and curly brown hair. Carn’s strength lay in his endurance
and his burning hatred of failure, and he practiced long hours on the hard-packed earth of the training ring, drilling over
and over the proscribed movements of sword and dagger. Equally long days were spent with bow and arrow.

Braldt grew taller and broader than Carn, taller by a full head and a good deal heavier. His bulk was not excess flesh, however,
for he was solidly muscled and the smaller, thinner Duroni could only look at him and marvel. He was their champion and the
pride of the tribe.

For him the long arduous hours of practice were unnecessary, for the moves came as naturally as though they had been born
a part of him like the knowledge of breathing and walking, and while he practiced alongside Carn and the others, it was for
him a joy, a pleasure to be indulged rather than a chore. In the end, he outstripped them and all that his mentors could teach
him. He knew more than his teachers and ventured into unexplored areas of expertise on his own. He developed a method of training
that allowed him to practice alone, to compete against himself, for the others were unable to keep up with him and to attempt
to do so was to show them their shortcomings. So he practiced alone, and even though they admired him and praised him and
boasted of his prowess, a distance had sprung up between himself and his former playmates. He could call none of them friend.
Except for Auslic.

Lines of worry creased Braldt’s forehead as he thought of Auslic, for while he was still chief in every meaning of the word,
he was by far the oldest member of the tribe and had grown noticeably frail. Braldt knew that the deaths of Hafnor and Solstead
would be harsh blows, for they had been Auslic’s oldest friends and strongest supporters in the Council, that body of men
who governed the tribe. With their deaths, Auslic’s power would be greatly diminished.

Braldt pondered the problem as his legs rose and fell tirelessly. Auslic was old, it was true, but still the best qualified
to govern the tribe. Over the years he had dealt with rival tribes who had sought to rob them of their rich farms and grazing
lands and their ample water rights as well as the constant onslaughts of the primitive beastmen, the
karks, those strange creatures. They were neither man nor animal but something in between with their manlike features, clever
hands, and shaggy, powerful bodies.

He often wondered if it would be possible to speak to them, to communicate, but there had never been an opportunity. Whenever
they met, which was but seldom, it was in battle. Little was known of the karks for they came out of the east, out of the
Spirit Land, lands that were forbidden to enter, even to such as Braldt. But the karks came and went with impunity and the
priests said that they were unclean and not loved by the gods and that the gods were offended by their presence and much honor
fell to those who killed them. Braldt had killed many of the karks who fought bravely and died with eyes filled with hatred,
and yet, still, despite the assurance of the priests, Braldt wondered…

He also helped to defend the tribe against the periodic raids of the slavers who traveled in darkness and secrecy, slipping
in whenever possible to steal children or breeding-age women or strong, able men and disappearing swiftly, leaving little
or no trail to follow. But such matters were routine and little affected the working of the city, and under Auslic’s long
rule the clan had grown and prospered. It was hard to remember a time when Auslic had not ruled. For many, he was the heart
of the tribe itself.

But others, Carn among them, whispered that Auslic had ruled too long and should give way to a younger more vigorous leader,
by which they meant themselves.

Braldt could imagine no chief other than Auslic and he had taken it upon himself to remain at the old man’s side whenever
possible, lending him strength by his presence. For him it was a silent statement that not all the young men wished him to
be gone. Auslic, while never commenting on his presence, seemed to enjoy having him at his side and made a place for him at
the Council, beside his chair of state, which earned Braldt many a dark look from Carn and his followers. Braldt had not thought
to speak to Auslic before leaving to seek out the lupebeast, never realizing that the deed would take him so far nor keep
him away so long.

His concern for Auslic and what might be happening in
his absence drove him on long after his lungs and muscles burned with fatigue and begged for respite. The pup had fallen behind
that first day, whining piteously before the sun had even reached its peak in the hot white roof of the sky, and Braldt had
been forced to carry him in his robes, further adding to his exhaustion as he ran on through the long hot day and into the
night.

The leading edge of the sun was dimpling the horizon, tinging the pale grey mists with pinkish hues, when Braldt passed the
great standing Guardian Stone that marked the southernmost boundary of the Duroni lands. He had run throughout the night,
without cease, taking advantage of the absence of the burning sun that scorched the lands during the day, and his body throbbed
with exhaustion.

Beast stirred within his robes and chirped softly. Braldt slowed and came to rest against the intricately carved face of the
Guardian Stone. No man knew the meaning of the carvings that marked its face, not even Auslic for they were ancient beyond
memory.

In places, the stone was worn as smooth as a baby’s cheek, the stark runes all but obliterated. But when viewed from an angle,
the outlines of a manlike being could be seen underlying the carving, stern, blank eyes staring forward into the hot empty
desert lands as though standing silent guard against unseen invaders. Braldt had often been found at the foot of the stone
in the early days, staring upward at the cold, chiseled stone, for he imagined that he saw something of his own features in
that hard rock, and it was just beyond the stone that he and his dead parents had been discovered.

He had stared at the runes over the years, trying to decipher their meaning, hoping that in some way they would explain his
own mysterious origins, but understanding continued to elude him, and eventually he had come to accept the futility of his
actions. But the stone still drew him, for it was a tenuous link with his unknown past, and he felt none of the fear that
it engendered in the rest of the tribe, and to it he returned in times of trouble or loneliness.

The feel of the rough stone under his hand was comforting
and he stood there, breathing deeply, body slicked with sweat, watching the sun burn its way through the mist barrier, as
he had done so many times in the past. Beast had wandered away to squat in puppy fashion behind the stone and suddenly came
bounding stiff-legged back toward Braldt, ears and eyes focused on the stone, tail standing straight up, his sharp yips breaking
the dawn’s sweet silence.

Instantly alert, Braldt drew his short sword and gestured to Beast to be quiet. The pup fell back behind Braldt, growling
low in his throat, willing to relinquish the lead, but unable to still his voice.

Braldt crept forward, wondering what manner of creature Beast had flushed out of hiding, perhaps a desert cat or a rock lion,
both of whom occasionally ventured into Duroni lands in search of a fatted bullock or a careless herdsman.