The Hunter on Arena

by Rose Estes

  It was after one such brief rest that it happened. A sense of dizziness came over him and he braced himself hard against the stones on either side, fearing that he was about to fall. However, the whirling sensation was not a trick of his mind, but reality. The fiery floor suddenly appeared above him, and he shrank back despite himself, fearing that it was about to fall on top of him. In doing so, he lost his hold; his fingers, raw and bleeding from the constant abrasion of the rough rock, were unable to support his weight.

  He fell, twisting in mid-air, throwing out his arms to catch himself, expecting to land on what had been the ceiling only seconds before, the little lights shining up through the darkness below him, but then, an instant before he landed, the lights and the ceiling fell away and once again he found himself falling into nothingness.

  Despair fought with confusion as well as anger, although against whom or what he could not have said, but it was then that he first began to suspect that someone or something was purposely manipulating him, and a resolve grew within him to fight back, not to give in, or to allow them to win, to defeat him. He was Braldt the Hunter, a warrior protector of the Duroni. He would not be vanquished by unseen enemies who played upon his fears of the unknown. Somehow he would survive.

  He had half expected to find himself surrounded once again by the whirling tunnel of bright lights, but such was not the case. Turning in mid-air, he suddenly found himself in yet another corridor. Startled, he barely had time to take a deep breath before he smacked face down in a roaring maelstrom of water which raced through the narrow channel formed by the metal walls. Instantly, he was seized by the turbulent water and flung headlong, only to be pulled beneath the surface by the foaming torrent. He surfaced briefly and sucked in a gasp of air, as well as a mouthful of water, before being dragged under yet again. The current was as fierce below as above, but lacked the violent turbulence which resulted from currents crashing into the walls and rebounding.

  The walls were smooth, without purchase, and he began to grow desperate for it was all but impossible to take in air without swallowing equal amounts of water. Then his fingers found a seam, a narrow, raised edge of the wall, and he clung to it in desperation, meeting the flow of water head on so as to give himself the most leverage; to have turned the other way was to risk being washed away. It was not much, merely a fingerhold, but it was enough to allow him to raise high enough up out of the water to breathe. It also afforded him the first look at his surroundings.

  Initially, it appeared to be no different than the first corridor, other than the race of water. Then, glancing up, he saw that the ceiling was crisscrossed with numerous, thin beams of light. None was even half as wide as his littlest finger, but all of them shone with an unnatural intensity. Above the lights, there appeared to be some sort of metal grid, almost ladderlike in design, perhaps a catwalk that would allow access to the flooded corridor from which he had first fallen.

  His mind racing, Braldt was determined to pull himself from the water and reach the catwalk, although such a thing was surely not intended by whomever or whatever had constructed these unwelcome challenges. Then, perhaps he would have a few surprises of his own.

  By some miracle he had not been parted from his cloak which was still draped over his shoulder, plastered against his body by the press of water. With some degree of difficulty, he was able to pull it free and hold it above the flood. This required that he retain his grip on the crevice with but a single hand. More than once he was nearly pulled away by the force of the water, but he was determined and fueled by anger, and in the end he was able to maintain his tenuous grip while balancing the sodden bundle of material in his hand. Steadying himself, he flung the cloak upward while holding onto the end. The cloak shot upward, but fell short of the ceiling and dropped back into the water, where once again the current did its best to pull it from his grasp.

  Over and over he tried, but to no avail, and despite his resolve, found that he was losing strength. The water, while not actually cold, was chill, and by drawing off his body heat it was leaving him weak and shaking, barely able to cling to his position much less fling the heavy cloth upward. But he would not give up, for he suspected that to do so would spell his doom.

  Braldt wondered if those who had fashioned this torture were watching, unseen. His teeth bared in a grimace of hatred at the thought and the flash of anger gave him the strength to fling the robe farther than before, and he saw that it would reach the ceiling. With luck it would wrap around!… Zooks, what was this! As the robe rose upward it crossed the path of one of the bright, shining lights and the light lanced through it, shearing the robe as cleanly as a knife stroke! The robe dropped into the water and was carried away instantly before Braldt’s stunned eyes. The uppermost bit of cloth fell back through the grid of lights and was sliced apart by the crisscross beams, the remaining bits fluttering down to the water like damaged butterflies to be instantly swallowed by the maelstrom.

  The lights… slicing the robe. Braldt swallowed hard. It could just as easily have been flesh instead of fabric. He looked up at the web of lights, noticing for the first time how there was no space large enough for his body to pass through the grid of bright beams, realizing, if not understanding, that the lights were weapons more dangerous than any blade he had ever known.

  How could he win against such an adversary? “Come out!” he screamed. “Show yourself! How can I fight what I cannot see? Come out and fight me fairly like a man and I will kill you!”

  The water swelled around him, flowing with an even greater force than before, and as his fingers lost their tenuous grip on the tiny edge and he was swept away by the torrent, it seemed to him that he heard a chuckle of laughter.

  3

  Water poured down Braldt’s throat and seeped into his nostrils. He choked and coughed, gasping for air, and the powerful current seized its advantage and flung him headlong into the wall. Stunned, he slid into the depths and found almost by accident that here the current ran slower, with none of the surface violence. With luck, he found another crevice which allowed him to rise and fill his lungs with air, then descend to the more peaceful depths and make his way to the next handhold. In this odd manner, Braldt was able to progress, swimming along with the flow of the water, rising whenever possible to search for a way out. No such option presented itself nor did the bright grid of lights diminish.

  After a time, it seemed that the rate of the flow was growing more swift and it became increasingly difficult to maintain his grip when he surfaced for air. Braldt grew worried and he wondered what new torment would be thrust upon him and how he would find the strength to fight it. Then, before his exhausted mind could conjure up any new horrors, the current suddenly plunged downward, wrapping him firmly in its grip and carrying him with it, helpless to resist.

  He felt as though the life was being sucked out of him. The pressure was intense, squeezing him on all sides, immobilizing the rise and fall of his chest. Blackness and pain were everywhere, shot through with lines of crimson. He wondered if he were dying and an image of Keri came to him. The thought of her gave him new strength, for he was unwilling to die now that he realized the depth of his love for her.

  The weight of the water was like a giant fist closing around his chest, holding him tightly, suffocating him. He yearned for the cold, sharp sting of air, and then, as though his prayers had been answered, he felt himself released, shooting upward, carried along by a great outwelling of water rushing toward the surface. He caroomed out of the water, sucking precious air down into his starved lungs, gasping and choking as he fell back into the water, limbs flailing, unwilling to be swallowed up again.

  Gradually his panic diminished as he realized that the water was calm and placid and no longer appeared to offer a threat. Floating atop the still waters, he saw by the dim light that filled the chamber that he was in the center of a large pool of water contained by naturally formed rock walls. He swam to the edge of the pool and hoisted himself out onto a rough
ledge with the last of his strength and lay there, studying his surroundings while regaining his strength.

  There were no bright beams of light crisscrossing the chamber, nor was there any other sign of danger. Braldt was not fooled into relaxing his guard. Whatever this place was, it was no haven of safety.

  The water eddied gently as it lapped against the edge of the pool, then slowly slid along to the right. Following the current with his eyes, Braldt could see that there appeared to be a stream of water flowing out of the chamber; it was from this exit that the diffuse light emerged. Chilled by his long immersion in the water, Braldt could feel his muscles tightening, growing stiff, and he knew that despite his exhaustion, he had to move now or soon he would be unable to rise.

  Creeping along the edge of the chamber, he made his way toward the stream of water as it flowed out. Now he could see that the water ran between two steep banks and then passed through a narrow aperture. It was from this opening that the light came.

  It was a perfect trap. If there was danger waiting for him, it would be found on the other side of the narrow channel, but it appeared to be the only way out of the chamber other than the way he had arrived. From the ache in his muscles, Braldt realized that he did not have the necessary strength to fight the current, had he wished to do so. He could not stay in the cave; it would serve no purpose, and the longer he worried about what might be on the other side, the harder it would be to act.

  Braldt tested the stream and found that it flowed deep between the ledges that contained it. The ledges were broad, broad enough to walk along or cling to as one crawled through the opening out of the darkness of the chamber and into the bright light streaming from the other side. The light would be blinding after the darkness of the cave. Braldt had no way of knowing for certain that an enemy waited on the other side of the wall, but all his senses and his training told him that it was so.

  The only thing to do was the last thing that was expected. Taking a deep breath to fill his lungs with air, Braldt submerged and dove for the bottom, allowing the current to guide him as he passed through the narrow channel into the light beyond. He did not surface then, but swam along the bottom until his lungs were screaming for air. Only then did he reach for handholds to pull himself slowly to the top, permitting only his nostrils to break water. Once his lungs had ceased burning, he lowered himself and swam along the bottom until his outstretched fingers bumped into a solid wall and he could go no further.

  Quick, cautious trips to the surface allowed him to spy out the situation. Once again he was in a chamber fashioned of rough boulders. The stream flowed through the center of the chamber; from a wide, circular disturbance on the far side, it appeared to exit through some underground device. Braldt had no desire to explore this avenue; he was more than ready to leave the water. This cavern, with its broad, flat, hard-packed earth lying on either side of the stream, was larger than the room he had left.

  But it was neither the whirlpool nor the earthen floor that attracted his attention. He had not been wrong to sense a trap, for poised at the edge of the water flow, far enough back so that its shadow would not announce its presence, was a creature such as Braldt had never seen before—a creature straight out of a nightmare.

  It was tall and broad, taller than Braldt by a full head, and its shoulde were half again as wide. Its arms were long and muscular and its chest corded with sinew. It had no skin, but was covered with dark, green scales, and a ridged crest of some hard, horny substance ran from the top of its narrow skull to a point midway down its back. Its hands and feet were webbed and the digits tipped with long, sharp, ivory-colored claws. It wore no clothes other than a sword belt strapped crossways about its chest; a long knife hung from this belt. The sword was gripped in its hands, cleaving fashion, above the watery opening. The hideous creature was bathed in a pale, glowing light that followed its every move. Braldt traced the light to its source and found that it had its origin high up on the rough, rock walls, emerging from a perfectly round aperture.

  Braldt was tired. He had no wish to fight the creature, but it appeared that there was no way to escape it. He pulled himself up out of the water slowly and crept toward the enemy, searching for a weapon, for even his knife had been lost to the raging current. There was nothing, other than the occasional rock, and he picked up several, although what possible effect they would have against this armored monster, he could not have said. His only advantage was surprise. And then, as though growing restless, still unaware of his presence, the hideous creature lowered its head and peered into the water, probing the depths with its blade. It was too great an advantage to miss. Braldt rushed forward, abandoning all pretense of stealth, catching the beast off guard and more importantly, off balance. As it turned its head, startled at the sound behind it, Braldt hit it at chest level. It was like running into a stone wall, but his impetus and the element of surprise combined were enough to throw the creature off balance and slowly, waving its arms futilely, it toppled into the water.

  Braldt wasted no time. Before the monster could regain its balance or its senses, Braldt wrested the sword from its grasp and plunged it into its body. Then, to his astonishment, the creature vanished! It did not writhe in agony or collapse amid gouts of blood as might be expected, it simply vanished! One moment it was there and the next it was gone, leaving Braldt standing there holding a sword and feeling extremely befuddled. For a moment, he wondered if he had imagined the whole thing, but there was the sword in his hands, reassuringly heavy, gleaming brightly along the honed edges, solid evidence that he had not dreamed the monster. Even as he stood looking down at the sword, he heard a low, rumbling growl behind him. Cold dread filled his chest, and gripping the blade, he turned. There, standing no more than six paces behind him, was yet another horrific apparition. Even as he wondered how it could have approached without being heard, the thing began to move toward him.

  Braldt backed away slowly, edging the stream, his feet sliding along the smooth surface of the rock ledge as he gauged this new threat. It resembled a lupebeast in that it was wolf-like with double rows of jagged fangs set in its elongated muzzle. Its coarse fur was mottled black and gray and brown, and it sported a long, whip-like tail that curled up beneath its belly. As with lupebeasts, the thing was able to walk on hind legs and its head was even with Braldt’s. But unlike a lupebeast, the creature clasped a double-edged sword in its paws and from the manner in which it swung the blade in great scything motions, there was no doubt that the beast knew how to use it. Its eyes glittered darkly with intelligence and hatred as it advanced steadily. The first monster had been dispatched with relative ease. Braldt feared this one would be more difficult.

  The contest began and it was as Braldt thought; his every move was matched by the hideous creature, in a classic, precise technique that mirrored his own training. In fact, the creature matched him blow for blow, wearing him down while itself exhibiting no signs of weariness.

  Already tired from battling the fierce currents, Braldt knew he could not continue the battle for long. Sword-play, while looking graceful and light to the casual observer, was hard work that quickly exhausted the participants as they wielded the heavy blades. And yet, despite his determination, Braldt could seize no advantage; it was as though the creature knew his every move before he made it.

  Braldt began to wonder how it was that the thing knew how to fight him so precisely. There were many different forms of swordplay and no two masters followed the same technique. It was almost as though this creature had trained under Braldt’s master… or… a startling thought came to him. Perhaps it was exactly that, a mirror image of his own efforts. He feinted to the right. The creature feinted as well. He swung his blade overhead only to be matched by an identical move by his opponent and the two blades clanged off each other with a bright flash of sparks.

  Braldt circled out of his opponent’s reach while his questing eyes sought and found what he suspected he would find—a pale aura of light bathing the cre
ature. Tracing the light to its source, Braldt saw that it originated as a narrow beam from a tiny opening set between two boulders high on the rocky wall of the chamber.

  Anger burst over him in a fiery rush, and ignoring the sword-bearing wolfthing, he turned and ran toward the beam of light, smashing at the tiny opening with the hilt of his sword. There was the sound of breakage, a gratifying tinkling, and the feel of something shattering beneath the force of his blows. He heard the creature grunt and growl behind him, felt its paw close upon his shoulder, felt its hot slaver drool down upon his back, and then the light blinked out and there was nothing. Nothing at all. Braldt turned and found that he was alone. The monster was gone, vanished as though it had never existed. And his hands were empty; the sword was gone as well.

  Braldt slumped against the wall, exhausted, allowing his eyes to close, admitting the bone-deep fatigue that filled his body. Thoughts cartwheeled through his head, filling him with confusion. Where was he and what was happening? He was being manipulated, that much was clear, but by whom or what—that was the question. Weariness seeped into his limbs, weighing them down, and his eyes closed as though of their own accord, even though he knew that the danger had not been eliminated with the destruction of the mirror beasts. His breathing slowed and Braldt fell into a deep and bottomless sleep.

  It seemed to him that he dreamed, but it was an odd dream, like nothing he had ever experienced before. It seemed that he was floating bodiless, hovering just below the rough ceiling of the cave, looking down on himself as he slept. As he watched, the walls seemed to open behind his somnolent body and a host of monsters crept forth. He counted sixteen in all, each more hideous than the last. The wolfthing and crested lizard were there as well.