The Hunter Victorious (14 page)

The falling snow imparted several benefits that he had not anticipated. It served as insulation, keeping them warmer than
they had been before, and the constant fall of flakes concealed the rising wisps of smoke from their tiny fire.

The fire was not really necessary, but all of them felt the need, for there was something cheery, alive, in the crackling
flames that drove away the silence and the isolation that
threatened to overwhelm them. They spoke more often than usual, repeating old tales and sharing more recent memories, just
so that there would be something to listen to besides the howl of the wind and the slithery swirl of snow. It was the silence,
the isolation, and the fear of what was happening at home that threatened their equanimity. They were brave and courageous
men, but they were men of action, unaccustomed to silence and waiting, and they fretted under the burden of forced inactivity.
Thunder had no such difficulty and was content to spend most of his time wrapped deep in slumber. Braldt envied him.

They saw no more of Skirnir, although Braldt found himself almost wishing that the grave robber would work up the courage
to return, simply to break the monotony. Neither had they seen or heard from Brion or any of the others. Secretly Braldt began
to wonder if something had gone wrong, if they had been found out.

Thus, when loud and colorful curses were heard on the morning of the seventh day, Braldt was first out of the tiny shelter,
hand on the hilt of his sword, ruing the stiffness that seemed to have settled permanently between his shoulder blades. Saxo
and Brandtson were behind him, peering into the driving snow.

“It’s like trying to breathe water,” Saxo grumbled in a low voice. “And I can’t see a damn thing.”

Neither, it appeared, could the unseen traveler, whose impossible obscenities could be plainly heard nonetheless. Listening
intently, Braldt realized with a shock of recognition that he knew that voice, had heard those same physically impossible
curses before!

“Septua! Septua, is that you?”

“Better my mother ‘ad become a nun than I be fool enough to come out in weather like this for any man!” came the heated reply.
“Where are you? Show yourself, send up a
flare, wave yer arms! Not that any of it will do any good; like as not they’ll find my poor frozen corpse someday, or— ooops!”

There was a solid thumping noise and then silence; everything was still. “Septua?” Braldt said tentatively, taking several
steps forward into the blizzard, wondering what had happened. Where had the dwarf gone? He heard a low moan somewhere off
to his right and, with Saxo and Brandtson following close behind him, he waded through the deep drifts which had piled high
against the wall of urns. He took another step forward and felt his footing give way as he stepped on something soft that
twisted beneath him. Taken by surprise, he tried to save himself but could not and tumbled forward, sprawling facefirst in
the snow.

The snow erupted beneath him in a flurry of arms and legs and glaring eyes. It was several moments before Braldt could separate
himself and the dwarf and extract them both from the clinging snow. Once Septua was righted, it was easy to see why they had
caught no glimpse of him, for the snow was higher than the little man himself!

“It weren’t so bad when I first started out,” Septua explained when at last they had carried him back to the shelter, outfitted
him with dry clothes, and placed a steaming mug into his stiff fingers. “Thought I could make it, no trouble a-tall, but it
kept gettin’ deeper an’ deeper till pretty soon it were ’igher than me ’ead! Kept ‘avin’ to jump up like, to get me bearins,
an’ even then it were a close thing! I were like some kind of mole, burrowin’ through the snow!” The dwarf chuckled at the
rueful image and honked his nose loudly into a bright square of cloth.

“No mole would have been so clever as to have found his way here to us,” Brandtson said. “It could not have been an easy task!”

“Phoo! No self-respectin’ mole would ’ave been so stupid,
neither, to come out in weather like this!” Septua said, adding a few colorful curses on the subject of his own stupidity.

“How is it that you did find us? Why is it that you have come?” Brandtson asked, and alerted by the steely tone in his voice,
Braldt realized that he and Saxo were viewing the dwarf with hostility and distrust. Septua was at best not the most reassuring
of figures, but while Braldt might question the little man’s commitment to ethics, he had no reason to question his loyalty.
Still, he too was interested in learning what had brought the dwarf, who was no lover of physical discomfort, out in such
a terrible storm.

“Didn’t see no way around it,” Septua said, bathing his face in the warmth of the steaming mug, seemingly unaware of their
suspicions. “I ’ad to come. It were me or no one to tell you what be ‘appenin’. ‘Tis nothin’ good.” His mobile features—the
large, woeful eyes, the bulbous nose, wide mouth, and pointy little chin—were almost comical, but Braldt felt his mouth go
dry at the dwarf’s words and his heart began to hammer in his chest.

“What’s happening? Keri? Is she all right?” He grabbed the dwarf by the front of his garments and half raised him from the
ground.

“ ’Ere, ’ere, let me be,” whined Septua, scrambling to save his tea. “It weren’t my doin’!”

“Tell me,” Braldt commanded.

Septua made a great fuss of being offended, all but pouting as he straightened his robes, rearranged himself, and sipped his
tea before he would speak. It was all that Braldt could do to keep from throttling him.

“Went to meet Brion, but ’e weren’t there! ‘Ung around an’ ‘eard some worrisome rumors about this one an’ that bein’ arrested.
‘Ole battalions be disappearin’ just like that!” He snapped his fingers. “An’ there be all sorts o’ ugly rumors floatin’ ’round
the marketplace ’bout ‘ow they was traitors
an’ such like.” He raised a wide, stubby hand with fat little sausage fingers. “I know, I know, Keri.” He looked off into
the whirling snow, unwilling or unable to meet Braldt’s eyes. “She be taken by the king. ’E intends to marry ’er, or so I
‘ear.”

Braldt uttered a curse and rose to his feet as though intending to rush out into the storm, and fought off the hands that
reached to restrain him. He strode out into the snow and then reappeared, lifting Septua under the arms and raising him up
to look him in the eye. “Is this some sort of joke?” He shook the dwarf back and forth till Septua’s head rattled and his
eyes watered. The precious mug lay unnoticed, spilling its contents into the snow.

“ ’Ey! ’Ey! ’Tis no joke. Lemme be!” shouted the dwarf, pummeling Braldt with his fists. “Why would I come all this way to
tell you a bad joke? You think I be crazy? But I knew it be worse if I din’t come, an’ let you find out on yer own!”

Braldt scanned Septua with a searching gaze and the dwarf met his eyes with no difficulty. Slowly, Braldt lowered him to the
ground and once again Septua made a great show of rearranging his clothes and shaking his head and arms as though checking
to make certain that everything was still attached. “Shouldn’t ought to do that. I thought we be friends!”

Braldt did not respond, but merely stood staring into the white distance, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Then he turned abruptly
and began gathering up his weapons. Saxo was the first to realize what Braldt was up to and placed a hand on his arm. Braldt
shook it off without comment. Brandtson and Septua quickly grasped what was happening and both of them moved in to dissuade
Braldt.

“You cannot return. It would be like signing your death warrant,” argued Brandtson. “They are looking for us—all
of us. Have you forgotten? There is no place that is safe in Valhalla, nowhere that you could hide where they could not find
you. Once they found you, you would be unable to save Keri, much less yourself, and they would force you to tell them everything
you know about our plans.”

“I wouldn’t tell them anything,” Braldt said between clenched teeth as he continued to gather up his few posessions.

“I do not doubt your courage or your strength,” said Brandtson. “Otir Vaeng would not use weapons or the threat of pain against
you, but drugs that would cause you to repeat everything you know. You would be powerless to resist. Would you jeopardize
all of our lives, our only hope, on this foolish venture?”

Braldt dropped his hands to his sides and turned to face his grandfather. “I cannot let him take Keri, and do nothing to save
her. Would you have me sacrifice her? Is she to be the cost of our venture? I will not buy my life with hers.”

“She is not giving up her life, merely marrying,” Saxo said, attempting to reason with Braldt. “Despite my own personal opinions,
not everyone considers marriage to be tantamount to death.”

Braldt was not amused. “Why would Otir Vaeng want to marry her?” he demanded of the dwarf.

“Don’t know,” Septua replied with widespread hands. “Don’t know what’s.goin’ on. No one seems to know nothin’. It’s like them
murders. Otir Vaeng says it be you, but how can that be if you be stuck way out ’ere in the snow?”

“What murders?” demanded Brandtson.

“Dunno. Bunch o’ dead guys. All o’ ’em ’ad somethin’ or other to do with the launch, space an’ all. All of ’em dead—five,
I think.”

“And they think we’re responsible?” Braldt asked.

Septua nodded. “That be what the king be sayin’. An’
since yer not there to say no, he ain’t ’ad no trouble pinnin’ it on you.”

“Maybe he’s taken Keri to force our return,” Braldt muttered as he began to pace back and forth in the small enclosure.

“Mebbe,” agreed Septua, “but still an’ all, I think ’e plans to take ’er to wife. There be all manner of fixins goin’ on.”

“Then he can’t be meaning to harm her,” Braldt said, the tension easing somewhat.

Saxo and Brandtson looked at each other with alarm—a look which Braldt was quick to notice. “What? What is it? Tell me!”

“A wedding is not necessarily a good thing,” replied Saxo. “You see”—he cleared his throat—”in the old religion, in times
of great trouble, the kings were known to petition the gods for favors—bribing them, you might say—with precious gifts, gold
and fine weapons and… and…”

“… and a beautiful young woman as their bride,” Brandtson finished for his friend. “The delegation, consisting of the king,
his bride, the volva, and a mass of commoners will come here to this place bearing food and gifts. The bride will be adorned
with fine clothes and bedecked with gold and precious gemstones. Amid great pomp and ceremony, they will be wed. Then a cock
will be slain, a knife drawn across its throat, and its body flung across the lintel to announce the coming of the bride.
Then the bride will willingly bare her breast and the volva will plunge a blade into her heart. Her body will be carried into
the burial mound and given unto the keeping of the gods. If she is found to the liking of the gods, they may choose to grant
the king’s petition.”

Braldt stared at them in disbelief. “This is nonsense,” he said at length. “This whole religion is nonsense. How can anyone
believe it? And Keri will never give herself willingly! We must do something to stop this!”

“Whether the religion is nonsense or not has no real bearing,” Brandtson said heavily. “People believe what they need to believe
in order to live. They are frightened. Their world is dying and they are afraid that they will die as well. If it eases their
fears to believe that someone or something can be persuaded to help them, to change the future, can you blame them for wanting
to believe that it is true?”

“I can blame them if the cost is Keri’s life!” Braldt said heatedly. “And you can believe this: I will not allow it to happen!”

Otir Vaeng was worried. Too many things were going
wrong.

First and foremost there was the matter of Braldt and the two old men, Saxo and Brandtson. How could they have disappeared
so completely? There was an entire world to hide in, that was true, but they had had no advance warning and no time to gather
the necessary provisions that would enable them to remain at large. He tried, as Skirnir suggested, to imagine them lying
cold and stiff beneath the blowing snows, but an alternate picture kept imposing itself—that of the three of them sitting
warm and snug around a roaring campfire, lifting mugs of wine, toasting their success and laughing at him. It ate at him constantly,
chewed at his innards like a paranoid tapeworm.

When he could make himself think of anything else, he was confronted by other bleak thoughts. The murders. Someone was methodically
killing those most vital to the upcoming launch. To date, five—no, now it was six specialists had been slain. The flight was
still possible—others would take their place—but the flight would be far more dangerous without the benefit of the senior
technicians’ expertise.

The remaining experts had been sequestered in safe quarters under heavy guard and were escorted to and from their work.

It would take an army to break down the defenses guarding
the remaining technicians. But still, he would feel much better if the maniac could be found. Skirnir was in charge of ferreting
out the assassin and the man had ways that had always proved effective in the past.