The Hunter Victorious Read Free Page B

“I thank you for your healing
     skills. I did not want her to see me as I was. She pretends that all is well, but she carries the hurt of Rototara in her
     heart still. Does she know what happened?”
    Brandtson nodded. “I don’t think you give her enough credit. Keri is strong in spirit as well as in her love for you. She
     is scarred but not irreparably damaged. It is better for her to be involved than for you to treat her like an invalid and
     pretend that nothing has happened. She is tending Beast’s wounds. The creature trusts her and I am too attached to my hands
     after all these years to trust them within reach of his jaws.”
    “I feel that I am besieged on all sides,” Braldt muttered. “Otir Vaeng and those who follow him on one hand, and Cam, who
     bears little or no resemblance to the brother I once knew, on the other. All of them would like to see me dead.”
    “Yes,” agreed Brandtson. “You have more enemies than any man deserves. Never have I seen any man, Scandi or otherwise, embrace
     the old gods the way Cam has done.”
    “The old gods’ thirst for blood fits his mood these days,” Braldt said grimly. “His mind has come unhinged. No man valued
     the price of a flagon and a good time more than Carn. Now all he thinks about is religion and death.”
    Braldt turned to his grandfather and said, “I wish I could turn back time, undo all the damage that has been done. I am glad
     that we have found each other, but I would give anything to have things as they used to be.”
    Brandtson studied the young man, who was the last of his line and his hope for the future, and the depth of Braldt’s pain
     touched his heart. Nor was his conscience eased by knowing that he too had played a role in the destruction of Braldt’s life.
    “All may not be lost,” he said at length. “There are things at work, both good and bad, that you should know about. But I
     beg you, remain calm. No matter how upsetting you find the things you see and hear, I ask you to hold your tongue. Say nothing,
     no matter what happens, for our lives may depend upon your silence.”
    It was after nightfall when Brandtson came for Braldt. He was clad in a long black cloak with a hood that completely covered
     his white hair; even his silvery beard had been muted to a dull grayish brown. He handed Braldt an identical cloak, which
     swathed him from head to toe. Braldt opened his mouth to speak, to ask Brandtson where they were going and why disguises were
     necessary, but something in the old man’s demeanor caused him to hold his tongue.
    Beast had remained with Keri, gently sedated to keep him still while his flesh mended. His wounds were deeper than Braldt’s
     and he was bruised and sore as well. It was decidedthat it would be wiser to leave him than to have him accompany them.
    Brandtson stepped outside first, holding Braldt back until he was certain that the way was clear. The hour was late, well
     after starfall, but time mattered little to Valhallans and it was not uncommon to find the streets and corridors nearly as
     crowded at midnight as they were at midday.
    Brandtson led Braldt out along the high, curving edge of the outer balustrade, the exterior walkway that circled the entire
     perimeter of the mountain that served as the central city of Valhalla, curling around the mountain like some giant snake from
     base to peak. Popular during clement weather both for the ease it provided in reaching one’s destination as well as a place
     to see and be seen, it was all but deserted now in the frigid depths of winterfall. The icy winds swept down from the peak
     which hovered above them, clad in a mantle of ice and snow which glimmered blue-white in the reflection of the distant stars.
    Braldt wrapped the thick folds of the cloak around him, swirling the bottom edge over his shoulder as Brandtson had done,
     and burrowed his tender chin down into the folds of the material, grateful for the protection it provided. He had