He moved aside as others came to probe with their spears. One grunted as his tip found something more solid than frozen snow. Grunted again as he thrust harder, the grunt turning into a shout as, beneath him, the snow erupted in a burst of savage fury.
A beast half as large again as a man. One with thick, matted fur covering inches of fat. The limbs were clawed, the jaw filled with savage teeth, the short tail tipped with spines. A predator woken from somnolence by the prick of spears. Enraged and seeking blood.
A hunter screamed as closing jaws shattered the bone of his leg. Screamed again as the tail dashed the brains from his splintered skull. Another, foolishly courageous, tried to fight. A paw knocked the spear from his hand, returned to tear the hood from his head, the flesh from his face. Blinded, shrieking, he died as a blow snapped his spine.
The rest began to run, two falling beneath the predator, another stumbling to sprawl on the ground as Dumarest thrust the shaft of his spear between his legs. Bait for the beast should it come after him; one opponent the less to worry about if it did not.
The wind rose a little as he raced on, stinging particles filling the air, blinding, confusing his sense of direction. In the distance he could hear shouts as a hunter tried to gather the rest to form a mutual protection. He moved away from the sound, halted, waited until the wind fell and the air grew clearer. The sun was low now and he moved on, away from it, relaxing as, far ahead, he saw a winking glow.
The light of the beacon which spelled safety.
Men rose from the snow as he neared the hut on which the beacon was mounted.
He slowed as he saw them; hunters lying in wait, now closing in for the kill. Three of them and there could be more. His back prickled to the warning of danger and he guessed others were behind him.
Blood spilled by the awakened predator had stained his furs and Dumarest staggered, limping, a man wounded and in pain. He halted as the others came close, one hand lifting to gesture at his rear.
'A beast,' he gasped. 'It came out of the snow. Killed the quarry and got two others. We scattered. I was hurt but-'
'Your name?'
'Ellman.' Dumarest muffled the sound but knew better than to hesitate. 'Brek Ellman.'
A gamble-one he lost.
'Liar!' The hunter lifted his spear. 'He sold his place to me!'
Dumarest dropped, the thrown spear lancing above his head, turning, rising to meet a furred shape rushing at him from his rear. Wood made a harsh, cracking noise as he parried the other's thrust, his own blade darting forward to penetrate the open hood, the flesh beneath. As the man fell, screaming and clutching at his face, Dumarest snatched up the fallen spear, hurled it at another hunter, followed it with a savage lunge. One which penetrated fur, hit metal, the point glancing upward. Dumarest continued the motion, coming close, feeling the cold burn of steel as a blade gashed his side.
As the man tried to strike again Dumarest ripped the hood from his face, jerked free his spear, sent the blade deep into the throat.
As carmine gushed to fill the air with a ruby rain he turned to face the rest.
Three of them, two closer than they were before. One had thrown his spear and now, weaponless, backed away. He would try to rearm himself but, for the moment, could be ignored. The others meant to kill.
Dumarest acted while they were still cautiously advancing. The wound in his side was leaking blood and the cold was a mortal enemy. To wait too long was to waste his strength and he had none to spare. He stooped, snatched up the dead man's spear, ran forward with one in each hand.
The hunter nearest to him backed, holding up his weapon. A man afraid; quarry should be helpless, cringing, easy to kill. A hunter's sacrifice dispatched at a safe distance with bullet or laser-burn. Now he faced a man, hurt, stained with blood, armed as well as himself, intent on taking his life. Too late he realized that he had to fight to save it. Fight and win. He decided to run and died as steel found his heart.
As the unarmed man died as Dumarest threw his other spear; receiving the same mercy as he would have given.
'Fast.' Carl Indart threw back his hood. 'Fast but a fool. You've disarmed yourself.'
He stepped closer, feeling safe against an unarmed man, his face ugly with a gloating satisfaction. A man confident of victory. One who felt the need to talk.
'You're good,' he said. 'I knew it from the first. What you did to Albrecht proved it. But, as good as you are, I'm better. This proves it.' He lifted his spear. 'Steel against flesh-what odds would you give on your survival?'
Dumarest said, 'You killed Claire Hashein. Why?'
'Does it matter?'
'To me, yes. Was it orders or-'
'No one gives me orders!' Rage flashed like a storm over Indart's face. 'No one!'
'Who sent you after me? The Cyclan?' Dumarest read the answer in the shift of the other's eyes. 'You fool. Didn't they tell you they wanted me alive?'
Talk to distract as he eased forward. Words which stung and diverted the hunter's attention. Made him forget the speed on which he had commented. Even so, native caution made him wary. Steel shimmered as he moved the spear in his hands.
Shimmered and flashed as Dumarest lunged.
He felt the kiss of it as it brushed his cheek, the burn as it sliced through fur to hit his shoulder then the shaft was in his hand, the fingers of his other stiffened, stabbing at Indart's throat, hitting the chin as the hunter lowered his head. A wasted blow, followed by another to the eyes, hitting the brows, the heel of the palm following to smash against the temple.
As Indart fell Dumarest jerked the spear from his hand, twisted it, thrust the tip of the blade beneath his chin as together they hit the snow.
'Talk, you bastard! Talk!'
'Go to hell!'
Indart was stubborn to the last. Lifting his hands, his arms to rest above his head, writhing as the steel drove into his throat. Dying as the woman had died-but slowly, slowly.
Chapter Five
Hagen stormed his fury. 'You lied! You cheated! You made me look a fool! A finish like that and I missed it! How could you be so wrong?'
Karlene watched as he paced the floor, hands clenched, mouth cruel in his anger. A man who had hinted at his love for her now betraying his true motives.
She said, 'You know I can never be certain. I've told you that again and again. I scent a node but time is a variable. The one to the west might happen next week or within the next few days.' Or never; she had lied as to the scent. Deliberately she let anger tinge her voice. 'You demand too much. I gave you the beast-killing. You had scanners set for Albrecht's death.'
'Trivialities.' With an effort he calmed himself. 'Good but not enough-to those who follow the games the end is all-important. I was sure it would happen to the west. I had Thorn set up the scanners. I even told-' He broke off, shaking his head. He had almost said too much. 'Five dead,' he moaned. 'The quarry victorious. And I missed it.'
'You had one scanner, surely?'
'One,' he admitted. 'But the coverage was poor.' And would continue to be so without her help. A consideration which smothered his diminishing rage. A mistake, it had to be that, but there would be other opportunities. Smiling, lifting his hands toward her, he said, 'Forgive me, my dear. I know you did your best. Blame the artist in me-an opportunity to record a finish like that comes but once in a lifetime.'
The artist in him and the greed she could recognize. The tapes he wouldn't be able to sell and the money he had to return to the hunters who, trusting him, had loped to the west. Money in bets and money in blood-God, how had she been so blind?
'You look tense, my dear.' His concern was as false as his smile. 'You need to relax. A hot bath, perhaps? A massage? Some steam?'
