The Hunter

by Rose Estes

  The inner city with its labyrinth of buildings lay beyond the warren of dwellings, filled with the offices of those who ran the city-state and all their hundreds of minions forever scurrying thither and yon like demented rabbits. Braldt took little notice of them for the thought of them numbed his mind. Not for a heartbeat could he bear to imagine their dull, confined lives. All of his attention was focused on the circular building that rose beyond the conclave of the bureaucrats, and was constructed of shining black stone. It rose three times the height of any other building in the city and surpassed even the ring in size. Only the Temple of the Moon was larger, more imposing. But here was the heart of the city, here was the Council chambers, the place where the full Council convened and where Auslic ruled.

  Braldt passed through the tall, narrow silver doors crowned by the emblem of the full moon, flanked on either side by a trail of stars. This image was engraved upon the metal doors as well as the breast plates of the guards who stood watch on either side, acknowledging Braldt’s presence by the fact that they made no move to stop him from entering.

  He passed swiftly through the empty corridors lit only by silvery orbs of light attached to the walls at regular intervals, priest fire as it was called, and found only in the Council building and the Temple and the priest’s own quarters; homes and offices were lit by tapers and torches.

  Cold black stone surrounded him and gleamed underfoot, unrelieved except for silvery metal insets of the moon in all its phases placed high on the walls, surrounded as always by the stars who offered their attendance in the frieze as well as in nature. The silvery metal, like the shining black stone, was an unknown substance, its source a mystery except, perhaps, to the priests who, of course, had no comment.

  Braldt could hear the murmur of voices rising and falling as he hurried through the empty halls flanked on either side by the dark shining stone, but he could not make out the words.

  Finally, he came to the central arena, the place where all corridors led. Here, as in the ring, were row upon row of seats carved out of the ebon rock descending, rather than rising, where the members of the full Council sat, each representing his own family group. Petitioners and penitents sat as well, waiting the pleasure of the court to beg for some personal favor or the sentence for some indiscretion.

  Now, the rows were filled to overflowing with the members of the full Council, each draped in the robes that designated their status. Crimson red robes for the bureaucrats and green for the merchants and moneylenders, brown for the landholders and pale green for the tillers of the soil. The black robes of the priests were much in evidence, as were the silver robes of their acolytes. And blue of course for the warriors such as Braldt. These last were clustered around the foot of the steps that rose from the very center of the circle, the steps that rose to the highest position of power in all the land, the black stone throne crested by a full moon rising and occupied by the High Chief of all the Duroni. Auslic the Wise.

  As Braldt hurried forward, descending the steps two and three at a time, unmindful of the murmur that arose at his passage, the raised circle of fingers invoking the protection of the Mother Moon against the sight of Beast who now trailed at Braldt’s heels, growling and snarling in all directions. The band of worry that had gripped his chest since hearing Keri’s words loosened. He had arrived in time. Auslic still lived. Wasting no time for the bended knee and slow progression that was the accepted procedure for approaching the High Chief, Braldt took the steps to the throne with the same haste that he had descended, sinking to his knees at Auslic’s feet, equally unmindful of the gasps of horror that accompanied this total lack of propriety.

  Auslic raised his head slowly and looked down upon the young man whom he had come to think of as his son, and his tired eyes filled with gladness. One side of his face twitched with the beginning of a smile, a greeting, and he stirred in his chair. The other side of his face remained frozen, unmoving, dragged down and stiff as though carved from stone. His right hand reached out tremulously to seize Braldt’s own, but his left arm and the hand that wore the great crystal moon ring of his office dangled uselessly at his side.

  “…said you were dead,” Came the voice, a mere whisper of sound, a thread that held no semblance to the hearty, gruff bass that was his normal tone. “… said they had found your bones in the empty lands… lupebeasts.”

  Braldt enfolded Auslic’s hand in his own and pressed it to his chest so that the man might feel the beating of his heart. “I am no spirit, Father. Braldt the Hunter still lives. They were mistaken, as you can see, and I have avenged the deaths of those taken by the lupebeast.”

  “… showed me your ring…” muttered Auslic and using the fingers of his right hand pried open the tight grip of the left hand to reveal Braldt’s own emblem ring, that which usually held his own blue robes at the shoulder, the ring which had mysteriously vanished from his room more than a fortnight ago. Braldt had wondered at its absence and had assumed that he had lost it, although such a thing seemed unlikely. Its appearance now, under such strange circumstances, was peculiar, suspicious in nature, and Braldt stared about him at the cluster of upturned faces, wondering who, if any among them, had cause to wish him ill, then shook the thought from him and turned his attention back to Auslic for that was all that really mattered.

  “How do you fare, Father? Why are you in this place? Let me take you to your bed where you may rest more easily and heal yourself.”

  “Now you are here… not enough time… Carn… tribe… much to say… I will send you word… you will understand and forgive me…” Auslic held Braldt’s hand in a tight, almost painful grip and uttered his words in a fierce whisper intended for Braldt’s ears alone although there were many who crowded near. Braldt brought his ear close to Auslic’s lips to catch the slightest word, but even so, the words were disjointed and were more a puzzle than an explanation. “…stand up,” Auslic said clearly, his eyes blazing with determination, and Braldt hurried to obey, feeling the strange stiff flesh and slack muscles move beneath his hands as he raised and steadied Auslic.

  “By right of the Moon Mother, I, Auslic the Wise, of the royal House of the Moon, declare Braldt the Hunter to be my heir and take my place as the High Chief of the Duroni!” Struggling, he drew his ring off his finger and placed it on Braldt’s. Next, he slid the heavy silver chain up over his head from which dangled the face of Mother Moon herself, a diadem of crystal stars crowning her silvery head, and hung it around Braldt’s neck as well.

  These words and actions, even more electrifying than the startling sight of their chief standing erect when he had seemed so close to death only heartbeats before, shot through the crowd like a lightning bolt, bringing them to their feet—clerks, Councilman, and priests alike to stare at the outsider who had usurped the most powerful seat in all the land.

  Their roars of protest drowned Auslic’s voice, although it could not undo the words or the deeds, for it was Auslic’s right and his right alone to name his successor. So loud was their outcry that none of them noticed when Auslic slumped against Braldt and fell senseless into his arms.

  The healers had gathered at Auslic’s bedside, as well as the highest ranking members of the full Council, and a complement of black-robed priests, all doing their best to edge Braldt away. But Braldt stood like a rock by Auslic’s side, refusing to be moved, keeping a sharp eye on all who approached, and trusting none of them.

  Those gathered in Auslic’s chambers Came together and formed groups, odd combinations of men who had much to lose and would forge whatever alliances deemed necessary to prevent unwelcome change. And despite their many differences none of them had any doubt that Braldt as High Chief would bring about great changes in their lives for he was outspoken in his criticism of the system by which the city-state operated and the widespread practice of graft and corruption that greased the wheels.

  A small group approached Braldt as he hovered next to Auslic’s side, Beast growling ominously at his feet. Braldt
allowed them to come within ten paces and then raised his hand to indicate that they should go no farther. Beast’s growls and twitching lip added further weight to his wishes.

  Braldt eyed the group with disfavor, noting Envelius, a healer who enjoyed more success than failure among his patients, Ypren, a wigged and furred merchant who controlled much of the inter-state commerce with other tribes, and Antiqus, a highly respected elder member of the full Council. Envelius raised his hand, palm up, invoking the benediction and protection of the Moon Mother, before he spoke as though to give his words religious significance.

  “Glorious Son, we welcome your return and are glad that the rumor of your death was no more than false words. We could only wish that the occasion were happier and that you had found our glorious leader in full health and possession of all his faculties instead of sick onto death and uttering foolish words in his delirium. We can only imagine what he might have meant had he not been so ill, his words misunderstood…”

  Braldt stepped forward, his eyes narrowing, Beast keeping pace, the tenor of his growls becoming more fierce and his eyes glowing yellow. Envelius fell back, his words shriveling on his tongue as his hand darted to his throat.

  “What Envelius means to say…” Ypren said in tones which fell on Braldt’s ear like the harsh clamor of winter birds.

  “I know what Envelius meant to say and I know what you will try to say as well. All of you! You may save your voices and eat your words for I obey no man but my master, my father, Auslic the Wise who has commanded me. I have no wish to take on this office, but if it is his wish that I do so, it shall be done and nothing you say will stop it. It is his right to choose his successor and he has done so. Only he can say otherwise. Take yourselves away and leave us in peace. You are not welcome in this house and I bid you to go.”

  Braldt’s eyes were ringed red with exhaustion and sorrow clung to him like a robe, but none gathered in Auslic’s chambers doubted that he would kill them if they failed to obey him. One by one they filed from the room, glancing furtively over their shoulders to make certain that none were lagging behind, in order to forge a secret deal.

  Finally, the last of them passed through the door and only then did Braldt sheath his sword and bar the door from within. Otius and his wife, a shy, gentle woman by the name of Jos, emerged from one of the inner rooms, Jos bearing a steaming kettle of fragrant broth. Keri and Carn were there as well, Keri’s exhaustion obvious in the lines at the corners of her mouth and the fine coating of dust that lay thick in the folds of her clothing. Braldt was glad to see them and opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped by the look of naked hatred that distorted Carn’s features.

  “Well, ‘brother,’ so you’ve got what you’ve wanted all these years, may you rot and die before it brings you pleasure!”

  “Carn!” Jos said in horror, her hand raised to her own lips as though she could scarcely believe what she was hearing. “Why do you speak so to your brother? Are you mad?”

  “I am not mad, Mother, and this is no brother of my flesh. Do you doubt my sanity? Can you not see that it has always been his plan to take the place that is rightfully mine? He has worked his way into Auslic’s heart from the very first. Always there when the old man wanted someone to listen to his stories. Always there when there were errands to be run. Yes, Father, no, Father, toadying up to him in order to rob me of my birthright. Can you not see what he has done? Has he fooled you as well?”

  Carn’s voice was low-pitched and conversational in tone, but each word was formed in hatred and laced with the bitterness of gall. His eyes shone bright with rage.

  Braldt was stunned, the malevolence of Carn’s words striking him like a blow and robbing him of words to reply. Carn was his brother! He above all men should know that he had no desire to sit as High Chief! The allegation was terrible in itself, but the depth of Carn’s obvious hatred was far worse. How long had he felt this way? How could Braldt who prided himself on being observant have failed to notice?

  Otius spoke then, placing himself between the two men he had raised as sons, loving both with equal measure, and tried to calm Carn, but Carn would not listen and continued to spit abuse at Braldt and his parents as well.

  Keri pushed her way into the fray, shoving Carn hard with both hands thrust upon his chest. “You are stupid, Carn. Do you know? You’re stupid. Always have been and always will be. Can’t you see that Braldt has no interest in being chief? All he wants, all he’s ever wanted, was to be free to wander wherever he will. You’re imagining things, seeing plots where there are none, putting your own desires in his mind. Can’t you see that he had nothing to do with this? Auslic likes him, that’s all. You had the same opportunity, you could have spent time with him, he’s your uncle, too. But you were always too busy, the old man was too boring if I remember your words. So do not blame Braldt for your own shortcomings.”

  Two bright spots formed high on Carn’s cheekbones, burning there like firespots, and Braldt stared at them, wishing that none of this was happening, wishing that he could erase the words and deeds that had transpired, yet knowing in his heart that whatever happened, nothing could ever be the same again.

  “At least I am not in love with him,” Carn said, spitting the words out like arrows that seemed to pierce Keri’s heart for she staggered back as though she had been struck. “For all the good it has done you, little sister, for he has no more interest in you than a rock.”

  Keri covered her face with her hands and rushed blindly from the room, her mother calling her name and following after her.

  “That’s enough, Carn, say no more.” Otius sank down upon a low bench, watching his son with saddened eyes. Carn turned on him swiftly, ready to spew more poisonous words, but Otius silenced him with a look for there was much of his brother’s regal bearing about him when he chose to use it. “Every man writes the book of his own life, my son, and if the story does not go as you wish it, you have no one to blame but yourself.”

  “But Braldt…”

  “…did nothing but love your uncle and all of us, yourself included, as his own flesh. His only fault being that his love and his caring are of a better quality than your own. I have often thought, may the Moon Mother forgive me, that you love no one so much as you love yourself. Braldt has received no more than he deserves and he brings much honor to our House. I ask you to swallow your words. This is a time for prayers and reflection, there is no room for anger or ambition. Come to your senses, lad, that is your uncle lying there, have you no feelings for him?”

  Carn stared at his father, his face flushing darkly, then growing strangely pale. A pulse throbbed at his temple, the only sign of the emotion that raged within.

  “I care. More than you will ever know. But believe me when I say that Braldt is no brother to me, no son to you, and will always be what he is… an outsider. And I promise you that I will die before I see him become High Chief, on this you have my word.”

  5

  Braldt and Carn stared at each other, rediscovering old familiar features and reinterpreting them in different ways, taking each other’s measure. Beast, sensing the hostility that lay heavy on the air, intensified his throaty growls and slunk forward, inching his way toward Carn on his belly, looking no less dangerous for all his obvious youth.

  The door to the outside swung open without the customary announcement stating the caller’s name and the name of the person he had come to see. Such an abrupt entry was both rude and offensive to custom, but it served to distract Carn and Braldt from an open confrontation that seemed inevitable.

  Braldt turned his eyes away from Carn and silenced Beast with a hacking motion as he studied the old man who had entered the room accompanied by Attruk, High Priest of the Temple of the Moon. Braldt, who had no love for the priests who governed and guided the tribe through every facet of its existence, averted his eyes from Attruk, whom he had seen no more than twice in his lifetime. The High Priest spent all of his time locked away in the highest tower of the
shining black Temple. There were as many opinions of how he spent his time as there were stars in the sky, but no one knew for certain. Braldt did not care.

  He did care for the old man who accompanied the priest, an ancient healer, perhaps even older than Auslic himself, a man named Tarn who had never shown him anything but kindness since his earliest days. At times, Braldt had felt the weight of the old man’s eyes upon him and looked up to discover a look of pity in the old, rheumy eyes. The look had vanished as quickly as a cloud drifting across the moon, leaving Braldt none the wiser. But Tarn was a staunch friend of Auslic’s and Braldt was glad for his presence.

  “Greetings, good sir, father priest, I bid you both welcome to this House. I can only wish that it were under happier circumstances.” Otius took Tarn’s frail hand in his own and led the ancient healer to a cushioned bench. To the priest he nodded, for no man was allowed to touch a priest. The priest nodded silently in return, his features hidden completely by the enveloping folds of the heavy black cowl. He took his place beside the healer, standing there like a dark shadow. A feeling of heavy watchfulness fell upon the room and even Beast kept silent and huddled at Braldt’s feet.

  Tarn took a cup of Jos’s steaming broth with a grateful smile. She offered the tray to the priest who stared through her without even acknowledging her presence and she hurried away gladly, while chiding herself for feeling afraid.

  Tarn swallowed the last drop of the rich broth and carefully placed the cup to one side. Looking up, he stared at Otius, Carn, and Braldt each in their turn, studying their faces. Otius raised his head and met the old man’s gaze and then faltered and turned aside; Carn flushed darkly and stared at the floor angrily. Only Braldt was able to look into the old man’s eyes, and this time he saw many things, the glimmer of hope, the warmth of caring, and a deep sadness tinged with unmistakable overtones of pity. This, all in an instant. Yet the look had been open and frank, with no hint of dissembling. The old man had meant for him to see his true feelings.