The Hunter Victorious (19 page)

By the time the pelts were secure, the sheep had lost their fear of the strange intruders and merely glanced at them with
the disdainful look one reserves for madmen or children who are misbehaving in public. This was all to the good, for when
Braldt and Septua were finally ready to make their move, several sheep decided that going indoors was also a good idea and
pushed ahead as well as behind them as they passed through the swinging wooden flap.

Their precautions were well founded, for it was immediately apparent that there was a guard posted over this lowly entrance.
Fortunately for them, his intellect was not greatly superior to that of his charges and he barely glanced over at the influx
of sheep as the two intruders entered the mountain stronghold.

They found themselves in a pen that was the mirror image of the one outside. Rock walls composed two sides of the pen. The
third side was a tall metallic device with numerous dials and levers and a wide trough at the bottom which sheep licked even
though it was obviously empty. “Feeder,” Septua said cryptically. The feeder formed the third wall of the enclosure, which
left them only one possible avenue of exit—the one with the guard.

They wandered around the far edges of the pen, beginning to sweat under the heavy pelts and inhaling their own less than fragrant
aroma as they whispered back and forth, trying to decide upon a plan. Septua was all for waiting until the guard fell asleep,
as it seemed he might do, before they made their move. Braldt was far too impatient to put his faith in such a vague possibility.

They were still arguing about what to do when a large ewe who had been eyeing them with distrust suddenly decided that she
did not like their looks. Emitting a deep
baahh,
she lowered her head and came at them, catching Septua in the ribs and tossing him several feet in the air. Braldt’s heart
all but stopped and he reached for the hilt of his sword, even though it gave him a most unsheeply profile.

Fortunately, the guard had been busying himself with his
rations and merely looked up with irritation, grunted “Here, stop that, you stupid cow!” and flung a rock, which missed the
culprit completely and bounced off Braldt’s wool-covered head. All of the sheep began to bleat and mill about aimlessly and
Braldt could do little else but scramble along, helping the winded dwarf to his hands and knees. The ewe trotted up for a
second bash at Septua, a malevolent look in her large brown eyes. Braldt, still feeling the ache of the well-flung missile,
growled at the sheep and fixed her with a look of naked hostility. The sheep bleated and leapt aside, skittering away with
head held high as though she had suddenly remembered far better things to do.

The guard, satisfied that his fluffy charges would not attempt to kill or maim each other for the next several minutes, addressed
himself to the contents of his meal ration. Braldt and Septua took advantage of the man’s interest in his food to draw closer.

He was a large man, taller than Braldt and much heavier. With the guard’s attention focused elsewhere, they were able to approach
without being noticed. Reaching up, Braldt seized the guard’s leg with both hands, pulled him down into the mass of sheep.

Even though he had been taken by surprise, the guard put up a good fight, and if he had not been disadvantaged by Septua’s
flair for dirty tricks, his strength might have won the day. Just as he was opening his mouth, perhaps to yell for reinforcements,
the thief shoved a clod of sheep dung into his mouth, effectively silencing him until Braldt was able to knock him out. They
left him among his flock, securely bound and gagged and wrapped in both fleeces. Unless one entered the pen and examined the
animals closely, he resembled nothing so much as a slumbering sheep.

Before they bound him, they stripped the guard of his
clothes, which Braldt exchanged for his own. A quick wash in the sheep’s water trough and a wipe-down with a handful of rough
hay removed most of the stink from him as well. The dwarf was the problem. There was no way he could have worn the guard’s
immense clothing. He dabbed at the stains on his knees and proclaimed himself fit to travel.

Braldt knew that there was no sense in arguing with the dwarf, who could be as stubborn as he was hardheaded, so he picked
him up without comment and stripped the stinking clothes from his flailing limbs as one might strip the husk from an ear of
corn. This accomplished, he dropped the struggling dwarf into the water tank and refused to let him out until he had scrubbed
himself pink.

The angry thief glowered at Braldt and snarled a wide variety of curses in an even wider number of languages, all of which
Braldt ignored. “Get dressed,” he said, tossing Septua the guard’s voluminous cloak. “We haven’t got time for this. Smarten
up. They would have smelled you coming long before they saw you.”

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Septua asked in barely civil tones.

“We have to assume that they’ll be looking for you—Septua, the dwarf thief,” Braldt explained patiently. “Every one of the
guards will be watching for a dwarf male. The only thing we can do to alter your appearance is make you a woman or a child.
You decide.”

In the end, much to Septua’s disgust, even he had to agree that few children would choose to wear a cloak indoors, and his
baldness would give him away immediately. They cut off the excess length of the cape to make a tunic of sorts and wrapped
a ruff of sheep pelt around his head so that it peeked out beneath the edges of the cape’s hood. Unless one looked very closely,
the dwarf could pass for a gray-haired old granny. Satisfied, if not content with their disguises, they left
the animal pens and followed a corridor which the dwarf assured Braldt would lead to the main concourse.

No sooner had they turned into the corridor than they came face to face with a contingent of fully armed guards, who challenged
them instantly and demanded that they produce their identification.

Barat Krol had talked with Uba Mintch at length, telling
him of his frustrations, his difficulty in speaking with the resident tribe of Madrelli. “I just don’t understand why they
can’t seem to comprehend the danger they’re in,” he said as he paced back and forth in the small chamber that had been assigned
to them.

Uba Mintch watched the young male and wondered what else was on his mind. He was too agitated; something else was troubling
him. He thought about asking Barat Krol directly, but immediately decided against it. Barat Krol was hot-tempered and impetuous,
too young for such heavy responsibilities as had been placed upon him. But with Batta Flor’s death, there had been no one
else. Barat Krol would learn self-restraint in time… if they were given the time.

“Do not judge them so harshly,” Uba Mintch cautioned. “They have not been given the same opportunities that we have.”

“What opportunities do you speak of?” Barat Krol said bitterly. “The opportunity for self-rule until our masters decide to
blow us and our world into dust? Sometimes I wonder which of us is more unfortunate. Their ignorance is their protection.”

“I know that it is difficult to view the matter without emotion, but try to set aside your anger and view the larger picture,”
Uba Mintch said when the younger male ran out of
words. “We owe the Scandis a great deal.” He raised a hand to silence Barat Krol. “From their viewpoint, it is their right
to do whatever they choose with us. No! Listen to me! Who is to say where responsibility begins and ends?

“At first we were no more than animals. Our brains were no better developed than those of intelligent dogs. But we had one
advantage, one gift of nature that elevated us, separated us from all the other beasts: We had opposable thumbs. It doesn’t
sound like much, but that single difference was the reason that the Scandi biogenetic engineers chose us and not dogs to bless
with the gift of intelligence.

“We were taken from the wild and our genes were manipulated and augmented to produce the beings we have become today. When
necessary, our diets were also augmented so that our bodies grew apace with our new intelligence. We were able to think and
reason and solve problems whose existence we had never before even imagined. We became the strong right arm and brain of the
Scandis, succeeding and failing, living and dying, on hostile planets with deadly environments to accomplish their deeds.

“They learned from our mistakes and altered our genetic makeup still further until we evolved to this point, a species capable
of creating their own civilization, independent and self-ruled.”

“Don’t you understand what you have said?” Barat Krol burst out, unable to hold his tongue any longer. “Think about your words.
By your own admission, they have used us like laboratory animals! We’re no more than experiments to them, possessions! They
don’t think of us as living, thinking beings with the right to freely exist. We’re possessions that merely happen to be alive!”

“I understand precisely what I have said,” Uba Mintch said gently. “Do not allow your emotions to overwhelm you. You are right,
they do view us as possessions. But who is to
say that they are wrong? One owns pets, does one not? Even we Madrelli have been known to harbor singing birds and small furry
creatures in our own homes. In the beginning we were no different. Intelligence, the ability to even imagine the concept of
freedom and self-rule, came from the Scandis. They birthed us; they are our creators, our parents. We owe them a great debt
for the gift of intelligent life.”

“That debt, if there ever was one, was paid in full with the blood of all those Madrelli who died under their knives in the
laboratory, who gasped for clean air on poisonous planets, who were blown to dust with our world. We have paid the price and
now we are free. And our less fortunate brothers must be freed as well. We must discover how to share this dubious gift with
them. I will not rest until it is done. Nor will the Scandis discard us like cast-off garbage when they take their leave of
this world.

“You must decide where your loyalties lie, Uba Mintch—to the Scandis or to your own people. I have revered you and followed
you without question all of my life, but here is where we must part. If you are not with me in this, then I have no choice
but to consider you the enemy.”

Uba Mintch stared at the young Madrelli as he considered his words. There was much truth in what he said. He thought of all
those who had died, including his son and, with the extinction of his world, all those he had personally held dear. The price
was indeed dear. He lowered his head. “I am not the enemy,” he said softly. “I am with you. Tell me what you would have me
do.”

“… make me come lookin’ for you like some kind o’ child! Keepin’ the captain waitin’! What were you thinkin’ about?” Quick
as a flash, as soon as Septua caught sight of the approaching guard, he had reached up and seized Braldt by the nose and pulled
him down so that his face was hidden
from view. He began speaking in a loud, shrill, womanish voice, badgering the astonished Braldt in an unceasing diatribe about
his many supposed vices. As they came closer to the equally astonished contingent, Septua twisted Braldt still further till
his nose all but touched his knees. Braldt’s eyes watered from the pain. When he got his hands on the dwarf… !

“What be you lookin’ at?” screeched the dwarf, halting directly in front of the sergeant of the guards. Braldt could do nothing
but look at the man’s shoes and curse silently.

“Identification?” the man said, the word spoken almost apologetically in the face of the dwarf’s invective.

“Got no time for such nonsense. This one ’ere be wanted by Captain Bakkstrom hisself! Gone an’ wagered an’ lost all ’is wages
to that worthless lout what minds the sheep. I’d wager them sheep ’as got bigger brains than the two ’o them. What the captain
will do ain’t ’alf as bad as what I ’as in mind.…”

The dwarf rattled on and on, jerking Braldt forward by his nose as he spoke, sounding incredibly like a shrewish wife. Despite
himself, Braldt cried out in pain as the sensitive cartilage was bent and pulled. He batted ineffectively at his tormentor.
Much to his astonishment, he saw from teary eyes the feet of the guards part before them, shuffling aside to allow the shrill
harridan to pass. Braldt felt his face flush with embarrassment and shame even as he told himself that it was but a clever
ploy.

Septua kept up the tirade until the guards had been left safely behind. Only then did he release Braldt from the painful position.
Braldt staggered about for a moment, wiping his streaming eyes and clutching his throbbing nose. “Wads thad really nedcessary?”

“Got us past ’um, din’t it?” the dwarf replied cheerfully. Braldt could only hold his nose and glare. He had to admit,
it had been an unusual and effective deceit. “Dodn’t eber do thad agaid,” he growled.

Septua only smiled, then led the way briskly forward. “Com’mon. Let’s get out o’ ’ere before they decides to go congratulate
the winner!”