The Hunter Victorious (26 page)

The cells of the prison emptied around the struggling figures unnoticed, as the doors, secured by powerful magnetic bonds,
broke their seals, the electric currents interrupted by
the more powerful currents of the earth. The prisoners wasted no time in vacating the area, more than willing to take their
chances on falling rock and the dancing ground.

They would have done better to remain in the prison, for it alone had been-hewn from the rock with no embellishments, no high-vaulted
ceilings and loose, heavy objects that could maim and kill. Most of those who escaped soon met with death. Those who were
fortunate enough to survive soon realized that there was really nowhere to escape to.

As the feeling slowly returned to Bakkstrom’s arm, he used whatever came to hand to fend off the crazed Braldt. He had not
been able to reach his knife before Braldt seized him, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing him in a bear hug that all
but paralyzed him. He could feel the oxygen leaving his lungs. As the light began to explode in little red dots behind his
eyes, he brought his head forward with incredible force, slamming it against the bridge of Braldt’s nose. Blood gushed from
Braldt’s nostrils and he staggered back, the pressure of his arms releasing for but a moment.

It was all that was needed. Bakkstrom broke Braldt’s stranglehold on his body and drove his head into Braldt’s throat, pushing
him back against the far wall, anticipating the peculiar cracking sound of the trachea as it was crushed, followed by the
harsh, desperate gurgle, the struggle for breath that would never come.

While they were still a foot from the wall, the floor moved yet again, this time wrenching itself in the opposite direction,
and the walls moved as well, seemingly torn in several different directions. Actually, there was a slight fault, a fracture
in the rock, invisible to the naked eye, that ran perpendicular through the rock which had been hollowed out to form the prison.
When the first tremor struck, a hairline crack raced around the room, defining the area of weakness. When the second jolt
hit, the crack opened, widening visibly. With each
succeeding tremblor, it ground back and forth and up and down like a massive set of hungry jaws, the crack growing larger
and larger until finally it separated totally, one edge grinding against the other, overlapping like a monstrous overbite.

As the rock shifted, cracks blossomed and grew, spreading this way and that, stretching in all directions. Tiny falls of dust
began to trickle down upon the combatants and went unnoticed. Mirna, however, was quick to take note and looked up to see
the labyrinth of cracks widening and shaking loose the bits of stone they encompassed. She was quick to realize the implications.

It appeared that Bakkstrom was winning for the moment, but Mirna was a pragmatist and had no desire to await the outcome sitting
quietly on the sidelines while the room and, for all she knew, the world crumbled around her. Fair contests had never held
much fascination for her, and so without a moment’s hesitation she picked up a convenient chunk of rock which had fallen near
her left foot and brought it down upon the back of Bakkstrom’s skull. Bakkstrom’s eyes rolled up into his head and his body
went limp.

Braldt staggered toward her, his eyes still clouded with a murderous rage. For a moment Mirna thought he would strike her.
She stepped back warily. Braldt shook himself like an animal shedding water. Reason returned to his eyes as he looked at her
and at his fallen enemy, and then, as a chunk of rock fell at their feet and shattered, he seemed to grasp what was happening
around them. Without speaking, he seized Mirna by the wrist, pausing only to relieve Bakkstrom of his knife before exiting
the swiftly disintegrating prison.

Outside, all was chaos. They made their way through a series of antechambers which were used for the business of the state.
Reams of papers and overturned chairs and desks littered the floors. Machines with brightly lit screens and a
variety of knobs and buttons hissed and crackled and buzzed. Some dangled from thick cords and others had severed their connections,
which now writhed across the floor like giant deadly snakes, spitting electrical current. The dead were everywhere, crushed
beneath immense rocks, electrocuted by their own machines, or trampled beneath the feet of their fellow workers. Even the
stoic Mirna was visibly shaken as they passed the silent and occasionally not so silent bodies.

It was better once they reached the circular concourse, the inner artery that wound its way around the interior of the cone.
Here the damage was less severe, although in places chunks of the thick railing had broken away, carrying parts of the floor
with it and raining down on the central area, killing and maiming those who still remained below.

It was darker than usual and a heavy veil of dust hung in the air like a cloud across the sun, obliterating what little of
the pale sunlight penetrated the broken crown of the mountain. The dim light, backlit here and there by the occasional fire,
threw eerie shadows against the walls, outlining the drama that took place before it. It looked like a black and white line
drawing of some ancient horror, Christians being thrown to the lions, or a slaughter of innocents—if it had not been for the
screams. The sounds of death were everywhere, surrounding them in horrid intensity, impossible to escape.

As Braldt and Mirna entered the rampway, they came to an abrupt halt, stunned by the destruction that lay before them. For
a moment neither of them could move. Then Mirna took hold of Braldt’s arm and began to tug him to the left, upward and toward
the open air. Only then did Braldt gain control of himself. He resisted Mirna’s pull easily.

“Come,” she urged. “We’ve got to go, got to get out of here before it happens again!”

“Keri.” He said only the one word, but it was enough to bring Mirna to the brink of despair as she pulled on his arm,
trying to stop him as he turned in the opposite direction, down, toward the heart of the destruction.

“No, don’t you understand?” she said, weeping. “Can’t you see, they’re all dead. No one could have lived through that. It’ll
happen again; it’s not done. We don’t have to die. We can live if we get out now. Why can’t you see that?”

He looked down at her tear-streaked face, her beauty marred by her extreme fear. “You go,” he said gently. “I must find Keri.
I cannot leave without her. Go. I wish you well.”

Mirna stared after him as he turned and began to thread his way through the falls of stone and tangle of dead bodies. Her
fears raged inside her. Fiercely independent as she was, she was no match for the forces that opposed her now. Man might bend
to her wishes, but never nature. The thought of being alone was even more terrifying than the thought of what lay below. Sadly,
fearfully, Mirna caught up with the huge man who stalked the dark corridor, and prayed that his strength and courage were
greater than her own.

Keri was seldom alone these days as events moved swiftly around her. She knew that she was the focus of much of what was being
said and done, but no one would tell her exactly what was happening.

Strangely, the king no longer frightened her as he had in the beginning. Rather, he seemed a sad and lonely being for all
his might and power. She did not doubt for a moment that he had done many evil things in his life; you could read it in his
eyes and in the deep lines carved in his face. But somehow it was gone, that evil, and all that remained was the sadness and
the grief that was its legacy.

Otir Vaeng and Skirnir had taken their leave of the adjoining chambers, gone to yet another of the endless meetings. Although
they had not been allowed to see as much of each
other as she would have liked, by some bit of luck Uba Mintch was allowed to remain in her chambers as Skirnir escorted the
king to his meeting. They were alone, save for one of the hated shape-changers, who, as always, guarded the door.

This man, who had no name that Keri knew of, frightened her badly. He bore a bright red weal across the bridge of his nose
and cheekbone. His ear had also been severed and his features were curiously unbalanced. He fingered the ruined ear often
and stared at her with an unblinking, glittering hatred. She avoided his gaze whenever possible.

Keri and Uba Mintch huddled together before the small fire that burned in the grate and spoke of happier times. Keri regaled
him with tales of Braldt and Carn as youngsters and fondly recalled the many instances of mischief that they had gotten into.
Uba Mintch spoke in turn of his long-dead mate, of her beauty and kindness. The shape-changer, crouched in the doorway, hand
on the hilt of his blade, growled his displeasure at their words, or perhaps their memories of happiness.

When the ground began to shake, it was Uba Mintch who was the first to react, having experienced many such incidents at his
home on the flank of the restless volcano. He pulled Keri to her feet and dragged her to the deep doorway that connected her
rooms with those of the king. The shape-changer instantly leapt into the center of the room, drawing his sword as he came,
certain that they were attempting to escape. He had barely taken two steps toward them when a huge section of the ceiling
came crashing down without any warning, and fell directly upon the shape-changer.

Keri screamed and despite the fact that he was her enemy and frightened her beyond words, she would have rushed to his aid
had Uba Mintch not wrapped his furry arms around her and prevented her from leaving the protection of the doorway. As the
tremor intensified, they crouched down and
Uba Mintch used his body to shield her from the rain of rocks that pelted the room.

Only when the last tremor had faded away did he allow her to go to the man. He was pinned beneath a gigantic slab of rock,
far too heavy for them to move, with only his head and shoulders and one hand protruding. He twisted his head to look up at
her and the burning eyes searched her own. She extended a trembling hand to do something, stroke his brow, when the air began
to ripple and shimmer. Impossibly, the man’s head began to quiver, and then before her horrified eyes, it changed. It elongated,
the head itself stretching out longer and thinner, and still the burning eyes held her transfixed. The air seemed to grow
thicker and then the man’s head grew angular and lean, and fur appeared and covered the terrible visage.

Keri shut her eyes to. remove the terrifying sight and when she opened them, the transformation was complete. What had been
a man was now a wolf, but in some horrible way they were one and the same. The same glittering, hate-filled eyes still glared
out at her, only now they were yellow instead of brown. The scar remained, crossing the bridge of the creature’s muzzle, deeper
and more disfiguring than on the man. The ear was lopped in half, the remaining portion raw and festering.

The horrible creature glared at her, only at her, and its long claws scrabbled and clacked against the floor as it attempted
to free itself from the huge weight. Its long red tongue lolled between sharp, glistening teeth and it snarled at her, a promise
of its undying hatred, as though it blamed her in some way for the pain it was suffering.

Suddenly there was a gray blur of movement streaking past her. Beast! All but forgotten in the quake, Beast had never taken
his eyes off the shape-changer. Trained not to assault humans unless commanded to do so, Beast had no such compunctions
against four-footed enemies, and at the first threat to Keri, he seized his opportunity. Unburdened by human ethics, Beast
had no problem in attacking a trapped enemy; what mattered was winning.

The battle was short but fierce. Despite the fact that its lower body was pinned beneath the rock, the wolf still possessed
razor-sharp teeth and fearsome claws capable of disemboweling a careless opponent. But Beast was swift and had powerful jaws
and claws of his own, and the battle soon began to go against the hapless wolf.

Perhaps realizing that it could not hope to win, the creature began to transform, to change back to human form. Already, even
as the air began to ripple, its paw crept down to the hilt of its sword. But Beast had no intention of allowing his enemy
to escape, and he lunged forward, jaws agape, and seized the throat of the wolf. A terrible howl erupted from the creature.
The air ceased its shimmering and, with a final shaking wrench, Beast ripped the throat out of the wolf.

A spray of hot blood drenched Keri and spurted into the air as the life blood pumped from the fatal wound. There was a final
gasping sigh as the furred head fell back upon the floor. As it died, the air wavered once again, and as it cleared there
appeared the head of a man, the dead eyes still bright with hatred, the lips drawn back in a snarl. Beast threw back his head
and howled in triumph. Keri sank to the floor, one hand pressed against her chest. Braldt had told her of these men who were
not men, but in all truth she had not believed him.

Uba Mintch gathered her to him, cradling her head upon his huge, shaggy chest. Keri sobbed into the gray, grizzled fur, huge
gulping sobs like those of a child. “I want to go home,” she cried, feeling foolish at her words but no longer caring, speaking
what was in her heart. “I want to go home.”
Uba Mintch shushed her gently as he rocked back and forth and patted her, trying to ease her pain. “Come,” he said. “We must
leave this place. It is not safe.”

“I want to go home,” Keri repeated softly. “I want to go home.”

When the earth began to shake, Carn leapt from the volva’s bed, the silken sheets still tangled around his legs. For one fearful
moment, he was back in the nightmare of the fiery caldron where the gods had first revealed themselves to him in all their
terrible splendor.

Slowly, his senses cleared. His eyes told him that he was in the volva’s bedchamber, not inside the burning mountain. But
still the ground shook beneath his feet and he brushed a trembling hand across his scarred brow, tasting the oily residue
that so often furred his tongue these days, and wondered if the volva had caused this to happen. She was still reclining on
her silks, seemingly unconcerned with the violent movement that was destroying the room around them. Perhaps he was only imagining
it. A book struck him on the shoulder and he raised a hand to fend off the tall, narrow case that had once contained it. No,
he was not yet mad: It was real, it was happening.