The Hunter on Arena (3 page)

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.

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 creature. 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.