The Hunter Victorious (6 page)

“But there is so much time!” Braldt said vehemently. “I have heard it said that this sun will not fade for many thousands
of years. Is it not possible to send everyone? The most important workers go first and then the others in turn according to
the needs of the world! Would that not work?”

“If indeed we had the amount of time that you are suggesting,” said Saxo, “such a thing would indeed be possible.
But we are working against a much more difficult time frame.”

“I do not understand.” Braldt frowned.

“The solar flares,” said Brandtson. “Yes, the sun will most likely exist for many thousands of years to come, but all life
will have been extinguished long before that time, quite possibly in the next few years … or months.”

“What do you mean?” Braldt asked, leaning forward and staring intently at the two old men.

“The solar flares,” Brandtson repeated. “We still have no reliable method of predicting when a solar flare will erupt. Even
worse than the flares are the solar storms. The level of radiation and ultraviolet rays that bathe the planet during those
times are lethal. Those who are not fortunate to be killed instantly die hideous, painful, lingering deaths. We do not have
the luxury of time on our side.”

Braldt stared at the two men, absorbing their words, seeing that they were utterly convinced as to the truth of their words.
“Who will be chosen?” he asked at last.

“All those who are willing to commit to Otir Vaeng heart and soul,” replied Saxo. “It is from their numbers that he will choose
his vanguard. We will not be among them.”

“Why not?” Braldt asked in astonishment. “You are two of the highest ranking members of the Council of Thanes, as well as
the most respected!”

“That is precisely why we will not be chosen,” said Saxo, his fingers tugging gently at Thunder’s thick fur. “He cannot risk
having loyalties divided. He cannot be certain of retaining control unless his is the strongest voice.”

“But you were both at the meeting tonight. He saw you; surely he does not question your loyalty!”

“No, he does not question our loyalty,” Brandtson replied with an ironic grin as he looked over at Saxo. “He knows all
too well that we have minds of our own and are not afraid to speak out against him if we are so moved. Saxo and I are undoubtedly
at the top of his death list.”

Braldt was horrified. From all that he had observed during his time on Valhalla, it had seemed that his grandfather was much
loved and respected and held a position of honor in the council of his peers. And Saxo … he sat at the king’s right hand and
opened and closed every council meeting. Surely he was untouchable! “Are there others like yourselves?” he asked quietly.
“Others in positions of power whom the king views as the enemy? If so, we must seek them out, tell them what you have told
me and—”

Suddenly the calm quietude of the room was shattered by an eerie wolf howl that filled the air and electrified their senses.
Thunder leapt to his feet, his ears plastered flat against his head, an impressive mouth full of fangs bared in an angry hiss,
green eyes blazing. The three men rose from their chairs, cups and their contents tumbling forgotten to the floor. Saxo and
Brandtson stared at one another. “So soon.…” Saxo murmured softly. Then, even as the howling increased and furious blows rained
upon the inner door, Saxo looked around the room in sorrow, seized Thunder and his cloak in one swift motion, and exited by
way of the outer door, followed by Brandtson and Braldt. As the door swung shut behind them and a series of bolts thunked
into the stone walls, they could hear the crazed baying of wild animals and splintering of wood behind them.

The ice storm had increased in its intensity and that was
their salvation, for as the three men hurled themselves out of the outer door, they were met by powerful buffeting winds
that drove snow and sleet against their unprotected flesh like frozen arrows. To a man they doubled over instinctively, in
an attempt to present as small a target as possible to the winds. By doing so, they saved their lives, as several shadowy
forms, barely visible in the dense obscurity of the storm, staggered forward and swung their blades. Had they been upright,
they would have been cleaved apart.

Steel rang out against stone, sending vibrations traveling up the cold metal and into the attackers’ arms. Braldt knew well
what that would feel like, for a brief moment vicariously imagining the tingling numbness that inevitably followed such a
mistake and left one vulnerable to retaliation, for one’s hands and arms were momentarily useless, unable to respond to the
brain’s shouted commands.

Braldt did not wait for his opponents to recover but flung himself upon them with his own blade hacking and flashing. It was
all over in an instant, the three would-be assassins lying dead on the icy path. Braldt knew that he and his companions had
been lucky, for the men were undoubtedly chilled to the bone and moving far more slowly than they normally would have.

Saxo laid a hand on Braldt’s arm and opened his mouth to
speak, but before he could utter a word, shouts and muted words coming from both above and below them on the steep mountain
path, indicated that their attackers had not been acting alone. The three men drew together, hastily donning their cloaks
and drawing their weapons. Braldt was at a loss for what to do; their attackers were closing in on both sides and the door
behind them shook beneath a heavy battery of blows.

Brandtson and Saxo had grasped the situation as well, and to Braldt’s complete amazement, after a brief silent exchange followed
by a single nod, they both sheathed their swords, gathered their cloaks around them tightly, and stepped to the balustrade.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Do you plan to take your own lives? Surely we can make them rue their foolishness in attacking
us. If we must die, let us take as many of them with us as possible!”

“We do not mean to die, although that may well be the outcome,” Brandtson said as he threw a leg over the stone rail. He looked
at Saxo, whose white-bearded features were already beginning to blur in the driving snow, and the two old men grinned at each
other, a look that contained a lifetime of memories, bitter as well as sweet.

“We have done this many times before as boys,” Saxo said as he struggled to straddle the balustrade while tucking an unhappy
Thunder securely inside his garments. “Although I had fewer fears in those days and my bones were less brittle.”

“But surely you do not think that we can climb down,” Braldt protested even as he heard the first of the enemy approaching,
desperately hoping that he could dissuade the two old men from what would surely be suicide.

“Come, Braldt, we know what we are doing,” Brandtson
commanded in a tone that brooked no argument. “Follow us. Do exactly as we do.”

Braldt hesitated, then threw one last look over his shoulder as a tight group of shadowy figures emerged from above, the steel
of their blades catching the dim light. He could hear a steady stream of curses flowing from the other direction, and at that
very moment the outer door to Saxo’s chambers burst open, revealing a horde of men outlined in the light of the room they
had just vacated. The odds were too greatly stacked against them. Feeling a sense of hopelessness, Braldt stepped over the
balustrade just as a hand darted forward and seized his ankle. His sword flashed and was greeted by a horrified shriek and
a hot stream of gushing blood as the hand released its grip and the arm, greatly shortened, jerked away.

Braldt felt his cloak yanked and he stumbled and nearly lost his balance before sitting down hard on the steeply slanted flank
of the mountain. “Wrap your cloak around you as tight as possible,” Brandtson whispered harshly. “Lay as flat as possible
and keep your feet pointed down. Use your hands if you need to brake, but whatever you do, do it slowly, for sudden moves
will break your bones or flip you over.”

“How do we avoid hitting rocks?” Braldt asked, the foolhardiness of the scheme seeming only one notch lower than intentional
suicide. But if two old men were willing to risk their lives in such a venture, could he do otherwise?

“Pray,” Brandtson replied with a short barking laugh, and then, whooping into the wind, he was gone, followed immediately
by Saxo, their voices trailing behind them as they descended into the dark night.

Still Braldt hesitated, holding fast to a rough icy outcrop, afraid to let go. Then the attackers were there above him, swords
flailing the air in an attempt to reach him. One assailant, bolder than the rest, leaned far out over the edge and
struck at Braldt. Braldt could easily have slain him had his blade been drawn, but it was sheathed and pinned beneath his
leg. The steel struck the ice beside his head, and a shower of icy chips flew up as the blade clanged off, rebounding and
passing so close to Braldt’s face that he could feel the wind of its passage.

He could hesitate no longer, yet opening his hand and letting go was one of the most difficult things he had ever done. No
sooner had he released his grip than he began to slide. His first, automatic inclination was to sit up and dig his heels in,
but Brandtson had specifically cautioned him against doing such a thing.

The angry voices faded behind him as he picked up speed, plummeting down the face of the mountain with dizzying speed. He
could see nothing; the world was a blur of blackest night, white snow, and gray ice. He could only begin to guess at the rate
of his progress by the feel of the ground passing beneath him. It was a terrifying and rough passage, and yet after the first
rush of fear he began to feel a sense of exhilaration, and almost without thinking, he let loose a joyous whoop that was instantly
returned to him in the wind, although whether it was an echo or an answer from his companions, he could not have said.

Faster and faster he hurtled down the steep incline, bouncing from one icy projection to another, at times actually leaving
the ground and flying through the air before landing heavily and picking up speed once more. He struck no actual rocks and
he could only guess that they were safely buried under a layer of snow and ice. The days were warm enough to melt the uppermost
surface of the snow layer, which promptly froze again at night, providing them with the means for escape.

The voyage seemed to last forever and he could not help but wonder how it would end. Then suddenly disaster struck;
his feet struck a ridge of snow and ice and he felt himself changing direction, sliding sideways, losing what little control
he had possessed. For one frightening moment he was skidding down the mountain sideways. Then his shoulder struck a mound
with a jarring blow and he tilted still farther, unable to free his hands from his cloak to try to brake his impetus. Then,
somehow—he was never quite certain how it had happened—he flipped over in midair and landed on his stomach, racing down the
mountain headfirst!

If the journey had been scary laying on his back, there were literally no words to express the terror of flying forward face-first
with his hands pinned beneath him, tangled in his cloak.

He was traveling so fast that he could no longer tell whether it was snowing or whether the flurry of flakes shooting up alongside
his head was caused by the speed of his passage. He raised his head as high as it would go in a futile attempt to see what
was coming, but obstacles loomed up out of the blurry darkness and were gone almost before his eyes and mind could comprehend
them, much less think of a way to avoid them. The night had become oddly clear and he could see the dark night sky sprinkled
with glittering stars stretching above, calm and peaceful and still.

The voices of the enemy had long since vanished in the night; he could hear nothing but the whistling wind and the schuss
of snow beneath him. Then out of the darkness there arose some sort of barrier stretching before him in an unbroken line.
He could not tell what it was, but it was unmoving and it seemed quite likely that he would meet it with great force in the
next few seconds if he did not manage to somehow stop his furious descent.

He struggled against the folds of cloth now stiff with cold and an accumulation of ice and snow. He dug his toes into the
snow and did his best to drag them, to slow his progress, but they too were numb and stiff with the cold and obeyed
his commands sluggishly, only to be battered and bruised by the rough surface and a multitude of unseen obstacles.

The barrier was approaching ever more swiftly and fear rose in his breast as he struggled to free himself and halt his descent,
but his clumsy attempts merely sent him spinning ever more swiftly. Fear rose up in his throat like a dark wave. He screamed.

Then, seconds away from disaster, he felt himself seized on either side, stopped with an abrupt finality that was no less
shocking than the dizzying descent. His head spun and his senses were awhirl. He thought for a moment that he was going to
be sick as his mind and body slowly adjusted to the fact that he was no longer moving, and to the even more remarkable fact
that he was still alive and intact.