Renegadethe Hunter                               	-  -
C. L. Rossman
231-462-3122

86,386 words

PROLOGUE

It took only a moment. Like any mother galaxy-wide, she had just diverted her attention for a moment, and when she turned from her work, the baby was gone.
At first she thought he must be hiding behind the trunk of the huge old tree that centered their new home. The tree (and home) began at ground level, then lofted grandly up through the next two storeys. She and her husband were proud of that tree: it informed their home with a natural dignity reminding them of their heritage…they were intelligent carnivores whose ancestors had hunted from the heights, and whose descendents still did so on occasion. They could see the tree even in winter, when transparent walls closed off the open rooms from it.
Now it was just an obstacle to her.
In a few strides, she rounded the trunk; but the baby was not there.
Then she saw that the folding doors to the lanai stood open.
She froze in-stride. A soft “T’churr!” of worry rose from her throat. Quickly she went to the open doors and looked out, but the lanai too was empty. Her heart began to pound.
She stood outside and gave the soft, warbling call that was her People’s, mother to child, before speech began.  It died in her throat as she looked past the house into the clearing, and saw the wavering trail of newly-bent grass leading to the forest beyond – a track wide enough to be made by a crawling child: her son, at his energetic and inquisitive best.
Near its vanishing-point, the trail showed a faint heat-trace, so he wasn’t long gone. She still might be in time. But the trail led all the way down the clearing to the tangle of trees.
She raced back to the house, ravaged the weapons’ rack—but the laser was gone. Instead she picked up a spear—a spear! She hated primitive weapons—and a wrist gauntlet with killing-knives, and she was out the door again.
With a great bound she cleared the lanai and was on the grass, running. Eyes to the ground, heedless of danger, she ran through the tree cover. Vines whipped before her charge; saplings shattered.
The heat-trail grew warmer. Then she heard him. She slammed to a stop and there it was – a faint babyish gurgle somewhere in the screening brush ahead. Spear clenched in hand, she glided forward, careful now.
The baby’s trail led down a little slope. From the thick brush masking it, she guessed he was in a small clearing beyond. Slowly now…she must not startle him if he was near danger…
Then she heard the creature: a sharp snort, a deep grunt, coming from the same clearing. She did not need to see it to know it was what the People call a kreppa-tsrr, a hoofed tusker, a thing like a great wild boar.
“Baby, no, oh little one,” – she whispered. The spearhead extended and locked as her hand tightened around the shaft. Unconsciously, her thin lip curled and her biting –teeth fixed in a snarl.
Like a stalking shadow she glided forward. The speartip parted the brush before her.
And there he was. Her little Slasher, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet, his tiny finger-talons arched, his milk-teeth bared – his eyes alight with joy.  –The mighty hunter, facing the ravening beast.
The beast rose before him, its rest disturbed, its piggish eyes glaring. Its forehoof scraped the dirt in warning; it champed its great yellow tusks together.  It was four times his size.
 The mother felt despair. The boar stood scarcely a body-length away from her dauntless child; she, three times as far. And all she had was a spear.
Mentally, she cursed the beast, the missing laser, new worlds, the waywardness of children. Her aim must be true.
Time fell down. The baby crowed in glee. The beast roared and charged. The mother sprang, and threw.
All stop. The flashing tusks, the fountains of flung soil, the raging bulk above the fearless child.
The spear drove in. The boar crashed down, its left foreleg pinned to the earth. Not good enough.
And she was there, between the baby and the beast, her right fist plunging down, the wristknives flashing in.
The beast deflected its hatred toward her. Its head ramped up, gnashing. But she would not know until later that the tusks had slashed her leather gauntlet and her forearm too. At the moment of truth she felt no fear and no pain.
The wristknives gaffed the skull and cleaved the brain. The huge beast lurched once – and died.
The mother pinned it there, quivering, until the life went out of its eyes. Then she eased the knives out and herself backward one single step toward the baby, who sat down, hard. He watched with wide eyes.
In one motion she swept him up in her left arm, the right still pointing the beast. Blood streamed down her forearm, but her wrist did not waver.
Not until she was sure, was sure, the beast was dead, and she could clasp her child in both arms, did little Slasher break down and cry. Not until then.
Even then, as they sat there on the ground, the mother could not avoid her thoughts. For her courageous chk-kiy had chosen his future as surely as if she had consulted a shaman or seen it in a vision: He would walk the Warrior’s Way, and she must find someone to teach him.

 

PART ONE…..The Hunt Student

                 “Chance falls for the prepared hunter.”          
                                                         --old hunting axiom

                 “Teach the children to walk the Way, and they will       
                   follow it all their lives.”
                                                       --Exc. from Hunt Law

                “The bonded couple may be the parents of some 
                   children, but the teacher is the parent of many.”
                                                      --Hunt Law

Chapter One…The Old Hunter

HE SENSED someone coming before he could see or hear them, and raised his head to look down the mountain.
Ah.  There they were, two figures, a taller, slender one and a small one, holding each other’s hand as they walked: an adult tautsche and her child. The old hunter kept his head up but remained seated on the stone. Nor would he speak until they came close to him, as was proper.
They knew he was watching and returned his gaze, the huntress not defiant and not humble either, the chk-kiy bright with curiosity. He bounded ahead of his mother, trying to pull her forward, but she held him back at her pace.
The old hunter saw them clearly now and automatically began to place them in his experience: the woman was definitely a huntress—she was dressed so—and she had the female’s long smooth muscle and smaller biting teeth. Her base color was a soft warm yellow on her front parts, with darker brown blotches beginning on her sides, and running so close together on her back, he knew of old that they would form a reticulated pattern, brown threaded by glowing gold.
Clan T’chan’rk, he guessed. The People of the Cloud Forest.
But the boy---he was different. Wiry and alert, his black mane worn loose and flowing in childhood, he shone on chest and stomach with his mother’s glowing gold---and there resemblance stopped. Down his throatlatch and sternum he bore a single black stripe, while a few round black spots dotted his upper chest, and a muted grey overwash crept round from his back, and mingled with the gold on his front.
A hybrid, the old hunter thought; and the stripe lies just over his heart. That’s interesting.
He put down the weapon he was cleaning and prepared to greet the pair as they came and stood before him.
“Esteemed Hunter,” the woman began….
For her part, the mother had been surprised by the sheer size and muscle of the old clan hunter---she knew the Rainforest People ran to height, but he was bigger even than most, certainly bigger than her husband, who was Marsh Clan, with powerful upper body musculature. He seemed to exude an aura of competence that drew instant respect. Physically, his flesh was brick red on his back, arms and legs, turning to broad, blurred stripes, a light buff-orange, on his chest and abdomen. Hairless on the body as were all of the Hunting People, except for the head, he had fixed his mane in hunter’s locks. It was nearly all white, with few tinges of the original brown.
She was startled too, by the fact that his upper canines had been enlarged or budded somehow, so that they emerged as great tusks of double the normal length and thickness. It made him resemble the great sabretooth cat, whom the Hunters think of as one of their ancestors of long ago. This “spear-stretching” was sometimes done by young hunters to make themselves look more fierce and formidable; but she had never seen it in such size and age before.
One of these canines, she noticed, was cracked off at the point –the reward of battling some great prey. He had never had it capped or regrown, so he must be keeping it as a remembrance of that battle.
Her doubts about her actions returned, and she braced herself to address him in the traditional manner:
“Esteemed Hunter,” she began, “I am Kr’ra’klv’tt (Sun and Shadow), now of this world, Arvien 4, and this is my son, Slasher.”
The old hunter inclined his head slightly and replied, “Day’s-light and good hunting, vre’Kr’ra’klv’tt,” –so she does not acknowledge her clan, then—“I am named T’akaion-- (Broken Spear), of the Rydderrak Clan, Homeworld. I am honored by your presence, Huntress”—his eyes sparkled suddenly as he glanced down at her son – “and good hunting to you too, Slasher of Arvien.” His eye-corners crinkled in what verged on a smile.
The boy tilted his head back to look up at the old hunter in awe.
To his mother’s shock, he remarked, “Day’s-light, Elder. T’churr! How did you grow so big? And how did you break that spear?”
“Slasher!” she gasped and gave his arm an angry jerk. Such boldness was very rude. And outright mention of the People’s teeth in polite society was worse. At least he had used the courteous euphemism for the word itself… Broken Spear’s name was in fact a euphemism for his cracked tooth.
“Elder, forgive…” she began, embarrassed.
But the old hunter surprised her again by breaking into a deep rumbling laugh. “It is the nature of the young to be more forthright than we are, Esteemed Huntress. We grow as we are born to, little hunter” – to Slasher now – “and as for the spear, I broke it on a trophy hunt, which I may tell you about sometime, if you learn well.”
He raised his glance again to the mother. The Hunting People see well in a wide spectrum, so they cannot hide their emotions from each other by hypocrisy or by excess clothing; nor do they try. Sun and Shadow’s body heat had risen to her face and her heart was thumping hard.
“I ask your pardon,” she tried again.
“No, don’t apologize,” he interrupted; “The young are also impetuous. I know. My mate and I raised four of them. Discipline comes with time. Forgiven and forgotten. I take no offense.”
Hearing that, the mother warmed to him.
Gently the old hunter blunted her shame by changing the subject: “You are here about the Hunt training?”
Relieved: “Chak.”
Broken Spear rose, towering a full head and shoulders above her. The boy’s lower jaw dropped.
“Then will you honor me by being guests in my hall? “ He indicated the double-storey building behind and upslope from them. Made of natural wood and stone, with a rotunda-shaped entry hall, its sides stretched out at near right angles behind it to conform to the stone; and it seemed part of the mountain itself.
With the mother’s agreement, they walked toward it together. The boy broke free at last and raced on ahead of them, while Broken Spear discovered that his own joints had stiffened sitting out here in the chill morning.
She must see it too, he thought ruefully, and tried to loosen his gait.
He felt her light glance of concern and remarked, “Ah. This is a far cooler planet than Homeworld, and these old bones of mine know it.
    ”Yet it is a warm spring day for this world,” she told him. “My husband and I are still not used to winters here. But my son was born here, and he seems to have adapted well.”
Broken Spear nodded—which involved lifting his chin and holding it up for a beat.
The boy had already reached the hall’s entrance and was waiting for them impatiently.
The old hunter continued, “So your next question, Sun and Shadow, is, why did I choose to come here?”
“Yes; but I would give no offense, vr’Elder.”  She proceeded cautiously in the polite forms of address.
“I take none. Here, dhai tausche, in you go” -- he said as he opened the huge door to the hall. The boy darted in.
The display chamber, or trophy hall, was vast. To their left, whole skeletons of magnificent beasts rose in panoramas, shining in the morning light, some still clothed in their own fur and hide. To the right was a display of trophy heads alone, pedestalled above a long bench. The centerpiece was a huge brown-furred beast, rearing up as high as the old hunter himself, to show its gleaming fangs and claws.
Despite her misgivings, Kr’ra’klv’tt was impressed. These were the trophies of a great hunter, who had defeated the most savage beasts of his time.
“I came here,” he resumed suddenly, “because for the past 200 years I have watched the traditional clan structure give way to a new holism of hybrid freeholds—which is good, I think—" he was leading her through the trophy hall, toward the back— “but as our people explode outward across the stars in a fever of hunting and home-finding, I have seen the growth of a new rashness among us. Too many young hunters come back maimed, or not at all.”
Her green-gold eyes sparked. He had found her objection.
“So my mate and I determined to scout the stars for ourselves; and when we gained enough knowledge of their dangers, we returned to Homeworld so I could teach hunting to all youngsters, regardless of clan or status. I came to Arvien 4 because it is fairly near Homeworld, part of Nine Systems, and has no active clans, only freeholds – come through here, please.”
He conducted her through another doorway at the back of the great hall, which opened into a small, hearthside room. This one, she was pleased to see, not only held large comfortable furniture, but cabinet after cabinet of reading and study materials, computer flat-circles as well as books and loose binderies.
Broken Spear indicated seats near the fireside. Sun and Shadow eased down onto a wide wood chair plush with cushions and many-colored furs. The old hunter sat opposite her.
Slasher had run up to them, full of questions, which the old hunter quelled by asking him to look in a large box in the outer hall: “Where you may find something that interests you.” 
The boy went out again, but not before his eyes scanned this room, too.
“He does not miss much, your son,” Broken Spear commented softly. “Yet it must have been a hard decision for you to bring him here.”
Relief flooded her. How understanding he was! “Yes, vr’Elder, it was. I see you know both my clan and my title. My husband comes from a different clan—the Marsh Folk—and he won the post of Chief Hunter here, which he could never have on Homeworld. Slasher, on-course….” she trailed off.
“Could not be accepted for a ranking no matter how skilled he becomes. I know,” he finished for her. Intently: “I do not make those distinctions here.”
“Good,” she said, and leaned back.
“Will you tell me what decided you to bring him to me?”
Marveling at how such a deep, gruff voice could sound so tactful, she told him about the kreppa-tsrr.
Again she saw the beast charge, tusks flinging up the soil before it. Again her baby toddled to his feet and stood there, tiny claws arched, milk teeth bared, desperately small and completely defiant.
Again she raced in, spear raised—no laser, no hope—she threw…the beast went down…
Broken Spear leaned forward, his eyes bright and feral.
Her knives flashed down.
The beast died.
“Aroah!” her host roared out in approval.  “Two good thrusts, huntress!
“I am honored.” She accepted his praise and sank back to recover herself, her eyes closed. When she opened them again, a fluted cup filled with steaming broth stood on the small table beside her chair, though she had not heard it arrive nor felt the old hunter move.
“My thanks, Esteemed Hunter,” she said. “You move quietly...and…you are far kinder than I supposed.”
The old hunter’s smile was deep and genuine. “You honor me, my lady. Sometimes age brings wisdom, and does not take away too much skill. So. Your Slasher—he never bolted, never quailed? No. He is born without fear then, then, as it was in the beginning. Some still are, before age and circumstance make us tremble.
“Yes, I will take the boy. I will teach him Hunt Law and our Code of Honor. I will teach him whatever he can learn.”
At that instant, Slasher came racing back into the room with the weapon he’d found: a small crossbow.
“Well and good,” said Broken Spear; “Now fit it to your hand, thus, and pull, here….good! Small but strong...” and Sun and Shadow knew he was talking about the boy, not the bow. “You may have that when you start here.”
“Not a laser?” the youngster said in some disappointment.
“No, not yet. I keep those locked away. The laser is as sensitive as thought; you must grow into it.” Then he softened his criticism by adding, “You will do well with this one, Slasher, and there will be a few other young hunters of your own age here, at least one or two.”
There remained the matters of the fee and scheduling. Broken Spear said he would be teaching the youngest ones in the afternoon, so the Hunt training would not interfere with their literacy schooling; and he named a very low fee – “or barter, if you prefer.”
The mother was pleasantly surprised. “So little?” she asked.
The deep laugh burred out again. “I am old in years and experience, my lady, and there is enough game in my holding here to feed me and my students, and to support my ideals at last.”
More seriously: “This I pledge you, Sun and Shadow, that at the end of his training, your son will be fit to take care of himself wherever he goes; and he will learn to use his own judgment as well as his elders’ advice, to live a life of honor and courage wherever the Way shall take him.
“Now,” he continued, “let us finish our drink slowly so we can savor it.”
So they lapsed into a companionable silence, and gradually relaxed enough to become friends. Slasher for once settled down and studied his first weapon intently.
When it was time to go, Broken Spear arose with his guests and walked them outside. Kr’ra’klv’tt thanked him for his hospitality, to which he graciously replied, “It is the guest who brings honor to the host, my lady.”
For Slasher he had one more task. When he learned that their homestead land met the border of his near the mountain’s base, he told the boy, “After you come home from your other schooling, and rest, I want you to run here from your home. All the way, if you can.”
Aside to the mother, he said, “The path is safe; I patrol it daily” – back to the boy—“and soon you will build speed and strength. This is your first lesson. Will you do this?”
“I will, Elder,” the youngster replied.
“Excellent. Now, both of you, good hunting! It would please me to have you and your mate as my guests anytime, Kr’ra’klv’tt. And Slasher, I will see you next Fiveday.”
And he stood there, watching them wind downhill until they entered the trees below.

Chapter Two…Fiveday 

ON FIVEDAY Slasher came trotting into the big training room through a scattering of other students, entering through a side door which did not connect with Broken Spear’s trophy room or living quarters.
       “Everyone gather here and sit down,” the old hunter’s deep voice rumbled an order. “This afternoon we have a full enrollment of all ages, together in one place. I want to tell you something; then we can begin.”
Slasher skittered over the smooth stone floor, his toeclaws sliding. He saw older and taller students—fourteen in all—but no-one near his own age or size.
“Sst! Here!” came from the side. Slasher turned to see a boy sitting crosslegged on the floor. He was a uniform dark gray color, huskier than the young hybrid—and then Slasher recognized him—from the flame red color of his mane.
He scooted down beside the other youngster. “Scr’vk! Aren’t you in my other school?”
“Churr,” the other boy affirmed mildly, “but it looks like we’re the only ones our age here.”
“Students.” The deep voice stilled them. The room silenced. Sixteen hot-blooded young carnivores grew rapt. Such was the old hunter’s power.
He stood tall above them, taking them in, letting them take him in.
He continued: “You are here because you want to learn your ancient heritage and exercise your ancient power. For many of you, formal training has never been available before. You learned to hunt from your parents or on your own. Now, you will learn to hunt correctly.”
A ripple stirred their ranks. Broken Spear allowed it to run.
Then he said, “I know that some of you have lately heard criticism of our age-old ways. To those I say: We cannot quench what is in the blood, and in the bone. We have tried; and we were wrong. Our natural instincts must be as acceptable to us as our learned ones.”
He held up his hands, spread the clawed fingers. “We were born with these gifts, although we now have weapons that far exceed their strengths…yet it is these same weapons, this new technology that puts us in danger of destroying our worlds and ourselves.”
They stiffened in surprise, and he went on: “And it is our so-called ‘baser instinct’ that saved us, forbade us to kill one another, and gave us the stars.”
He lowered his hands. Every eye was on him. Every breath was held.
“So we made the decision, the conscious decision, that we must go on hunting not merely for food or status, but for necessity – and to live by a code of honor – to save ourselves. For Hunter does not kill Hunter. If he does, Hunt Law demands: 'Who takes a life of the People, must yield his own.'
“Yet as a people we are fierce, and proud. And to temper our aggression, we need the Credo and the Code. Hunt Law teaches us to be just, to curb our appetites, to be respectful of each other, and selective of our prey.”
He folded one hand over the other. His great voice softened. “And that is what you will learn from me: To hunt from knowledge, to fight with fairness, to live with honor.” A pause, while this sank in. Slasher and Scr’vk glanced at each other, deeply stirred.
When Broken Spear spoke again, he told them of the skills they would learn and the wilderness tests they would endure. The culmination of their training, he said, would be a solo hunt, called the Master Hunt, which their elders would watch, but with which they could not interfere. And if the students succeeded in that, they would keep their trophies as great kills of record, and earn the title of ‘Esteemed Hunter’. Whatever their future professions might be, this title would stay with them always, a measure of respect.
The two youngest heard little of it. They sat spellbound, their eyes filled with something wild and rare.
They might be unaware of it, but the old hunter was not. He inclined his head. The address was done.
“So,” he said, “a long speech for an old hunter. I will be among you to set you to your tasks.”
And he moved to his two youngest first. When he touched their shoulders to steady them, they startled like frightened kai.
“Young hunters,” he said, his voice gone gentle as the rain, “let us go out onto the training floor,” and steered them there.
				
* * *

   LESSONS---After the speech, Slasher got his first Hunt lesson in a totally unplanned and unexpected way --- the way in which such lessons are most deeply learned.
It happened that same afternoon, while all the students were together in the same room.
Slasher and Scr’vk had just started their assignments when an uproar broke out in the far corner of the room.
There came an angry snarl, then a scuffle, and finally two furious full-throated roars. The boys glanced up, startled.
Two of the older students were actually fighting. With weapons in their hands!
The fight was stopped almost at once.
       “ENOUGH!” Broken Spear sprang between them and knocked them both to the ground. He wrested the weapons away before the two combatants could blink.
“Not in my hall!” His roar shook the room. Everyone petrified in place.
Weapons cast aside, the old hunter seized each youth by his nape, hoisted them as if they were so much dead meat, and marched them outside.
“If you want to fight, you will do so with honor, and where honor demands,” he told them grimly. “Everyone! Follow me!”
He took them to a wide flat rock outside the hall. It rested in the ground, roughly rounded, and looked as if the top five kli had been dug free of the dirt.
He deposited his charges in the middle of this, loosened his painful grip, and stepped back a pace.
“Now,” he said, “when you want to fight, you will do so out here. Without weapons. Unarmed. No short-spears (teeth). No claws. You will begin when I tell you, and you will fight to full Surrender. Understood?”
Both young hunters looked unhappy….”As if they’d rather just forget it happened,” Scr’vk whispered.
“He won’t let them,” Slasher murmured in reply; although he could not have said how he knew.
So it was. Broken Spear glared at the two until they chinlifted their assent. Then he stepped outside the boulder’s rim and said,
“Begin.”
And before the entire student body, they did.
At first tentative, reluctant to engage, they approached each other cautiously.
“Chk-kiy-teh! Are you afraid?” the old hunter goaded them.
And they clashed.
Even two harmless-looking grass eaters locked in combat can tear into a rage. Two magnificently-made and angry carnivores can shake the earth.
Slasher stilled, watching. The roars, the snarls, the power! Muscles straining, sliding, slipping. Claws slashing, bodies thudding on hard stone, they moved at unbelievable speed. And the more intense they grew, the faster and more wonderfully graceful they became.
Slasher’s heart hammered. He could not have looked away.
Suddenly one of them slipped or was thrown. He hit the rock hard. As he lay dazed, the other threw himself on him. 
But the first brought his knees up, almost too late, caught his opponent on them, and threw him aside with a great flex of his thighs.
The second youth went flying out of the circle. The students scattered under him. He landed on his back with a heavy thump. Knocked breathless, he in turn could not get up.
The first youth struggled to his feet in the circle. He saw his chance. A single beautiful spring took him through the air and onto his hapless opponent’s body.
“Unh!” the other gasped. His arms splayed. His head turned aside. His fight was gone.
His opponent straddled him. He raised a hand for the killing-stroke, his eyes aflame.
Across the circle, Slasher saw Broken Spear begin to move. Both boys caught their breath.
The unexpected happened.
The victor was looking down at his victim, claws poised. His canines were bared and ready.
And then…and then his eyes seemed to lose their fire. He stared down at the helpless young man as if he had not seen him before. The arc of his arm softened. Slowly it came down—not on the loser’s throat, but carefully, at the owner’s side.
The winner gave himself a kind of shake. His mouth relaxed and his lower jaw closed. He looked up, around, and finally lifted himself off the other’s body and squatted by his side. For a time he did not seem to know where he was.
Broken Spear was there. He spoke far more softly to them than he had before. Reaching out to steady the winner with a hand to his shoulder, the old hunter also gripped the fallen youth’s arm and raised him to a sitting position. He made another comment, low, to both of them, and watched as they turned to each other.
Even the audience could hear the quiet “Good fight, brother,” and the “Well-fought,” they exchanged. The other students broke out into a spontaneous roar of approval and delight.
Broken Spear stood. Leaving the two boys to recover themselves, he walked to the boulder’s edge and the addressed the rest of them.
“Dhai tautschen…there you see the proper way for the People to settle their quarrels. Without long-range weapons, we can fight talon-to-talon; we cannot distance ourselves from the fight. There you saw a natural Surrender – one had enough, and the other instinctively accepted his surrender. Hunter does not kill Hunter. When we come too close to each other in anger, natural instinct stands in our way. Well done, lads—" to the two.
He leaped lightly off the platform, saying, “Class is dismissed for the day. Come back tomorrow at your assigned times. Good hunting, all.”
It was a vivid lesson which would remain with them all their lives.

Chapter Three…The Hunt is Joined

AFTER THAT first day, Slasher burned with questions, but got little chance to ask them. In the days that followed, Broken Spear found so much for them to do; the two boys scarcely had time to talk to each other…
First there were the strength and stamina-building exercises: the old hunter laid great stress on being at your physical peak. In the late afternoons, the two youngest practically had the training room to themselves, except for four 9-to-11-year-olds at the other end of the floor. But the two youngest also had free access to their mentor’s wide range of modern body-building equipment, which he’d had downscaled to fit all sizes and ages of youngsters.
Along with that went the so-called “agility” exercises --- for “Strength without grace is clumsy,” he told them, “and grace without strength is incomplete.”
He taught them an ancient discipline known as the tch’won, which he’d learned as a child in his clan. It involved a series of fluid bodily movements and the breathing proper to each. These would grow into their armed and unarmed combat skills, he said.
Much to Slasher’s dismay, the closest he came to using a weapon in these early days was to assume a stance, and practice drawing and aiming the bow, over and over again—“Use both hands to pull the sinew back, equal strength,” his teacher told him; “Then raise the bow and center the target.”
When Slasher asked about actually shooting it, Broken Spear merely counseled, “Patience, little hunter. Stamina and the ability to aim are more important. When you can draw the bow one hundred times and come back to center-circle each time, you will be ready.”
And that little crossbow proved surprisingly hard to draw after just a few times.
Even before shooting, the old hunter told the boys they would have to learn the essentials of unarmed combat. This was one of his core beliefs:
“Learn unarmed combat first, with your natural weapons – it will teach you to think in a way using a manufactured weapon never can. For whoever depends on a weapon, soon finds he cannot act without it; and he will lose his life in the field looking for it.”
That was one of his favorite aphorisms, expressed many times in many ways.
“He takes some of them from Hunt Law,” Slasher mused. “I recognize them.”
Dasrylion suppressed a groan and murmured to his friend, “Another old saying! And Hunt Law! He must have a skinful of them!”  
--It took all the old hunter could do not to smile, and to fix the offender with a steely eye.
Yet for all the work the two seemed to do in the four tare’ they spent in class every day, they were never pushed over their limits. Their teacher was careful to gauge the exercises to the youngsters’ own staying powers. He took them to the brink, never quite over it. He gave them short rest breaks between lessons, and tried to insert some actual hunting techniques into the sessions every day.
While by Tenday Slasher could draw his bow only twenty times before his arm muscles shook and he was in despair, he eagerly looked forward to the “real” hunting lessons Broken Spear taught them. These were usually given outdoors, using the natural terrain.
One day they might go into the mountain meadows, where the old hunter showed them what game trails looked like, and how to discover what animal made them. On another, they might climb the rugged hill itself, sit on the stony crest, and learn to decipher their surroundings from on high.
One of their favorites was a ‘game’ which could be played anywhere – in the brush, among the rocks, or down amid the trees. The object was to blend into the landscape so thoroughly you could hide from the teacher, even concealing your body heat, for several kt’tare’ (as measured by Broken Spear’s timer). 
Here, Slasher, with his better natural camouflage pattern, far excelled his friend, if not the old hunter. He took to heart his teacher’s advice: “Hide either above or below your quarry’s eye-height; most animals do not look too far up or down from their own line-of-sight.”
But what amazed the boys was the old hunter’s ability to hide from them. Big as he was, and as brightly-colored, he fooled them time and again.
“It’s like he’s wearing a light-shielded suit,” Slasher muttered to his friend.
“On-target. And when you think of it, why can’t we--?” Scr’vk began—
“Wear a suit instead of doing this?” said the deep voice, as Broken Spear rose from the brush beside them. “You know the answer to that, boys—because if you grow to depend on s weapon or tool—“
“Soon you will be helpless without it. T’chrrt!” two frustrated voices chimed in.
And at that the old hunter did laugh out loud.

***
They got better at the game as soon as they thought to track him. Typically, it was Slasher who thought of looking for his trail, and Scr’vk – of Tracker Clan descent –who was better at it. That earned them some high praise, and a change to new levels in the game.
Broken Spear began by leaving them a heat trail to follow—which simply meant that he let them search for him a short time after he hid himself. Later, he ordered them to wait longer and let the trail grow colder. Later still, he asked them to tell him where he ad been on the mountainside earlier that day.
Even so, Scr’vk could find his trail, every time. Broken Spear was so impressed that he began calling him “Dasrylion,” or Cold Tracker, and the name stuck.
So Scr’vk became the first of the students to get his own true name. Even the older youths were envious.

***

SLASHER’S NAME did not come as soon. Broken Spear had a special feeling about his youngest students: they had the fewest bad habits to unlearn and the greatest powers of concentration. And Slasher, he felt, was a very special case indeed.
If there was a new way to interpret things, or a new twist to an old thought, it was Slasher who found it. Even though his friend Dasrylion was already bigger and heavier than the young hybrid, he looked to Slasher as a leader in their play.
Questions were a particular specialty of the boy’s….
Broken Spear did not hurry his afternoon students off following lessons because he had no classes after theirs. Rather, he let them linger for a while, exploring and play-fighting, and as often as not, following him on his cleanup rounds. Anxious parents became used to it after a time, and flew in a little later to pick up their children, or awaited the old hunter’s call to assure them their chk-kiy-teh had finally left the grounds to run home.
The young hunters especially liked to hover around their elder when he went through the trophy hall, cleaning and checking the exhibits. Then their questions were typical:
“What kind of beast is that?”
 “How fierce was it?”
“What kind of weapon did you use to kill it with?”
But Slasher’s questions were unique. When Broken Spear mentioned something about leaving his clan to visit an outworld, Slasher piped up with, “Were they angry at you when you left them for good? Do you want to go back?”
Broken Spear chuckled; “No, youngster, to both your questions. What even many of your parents don’t realize is that I came here with my clan’s blessing. I spent more than a century as their Chief Hunter; and when the new Clan Leader was chosen, he agreed that I was free to follow my own path. Even our elders thought that too many young hunters were recklessly flinging themselves at the stars with too little training.”
“Truth-seeker” he almost called the boy then, but refrained. Somehow even that name did not encompass all the youngster was.
Slasher had a real penchant for being distracted by his curiosity. He forever wanted to know the how and why of things; and he put together old ideas joined in newer and more interesting ways – then applied them. He was therefore on the edge of trouble as often as not, but Broken Spear did not punish him for it (he did not physically punish any of his students—he remembered his own early training too well). He suspected the boy had a streak of creative genius, and did not want to break his spirit. Besides, Slasher was as sweet-tempered as the morning light. There was no malice in him.
The name would hold its throw, and come when it chose to….

Chapter Four…Naming Day 

ANOTHER unexpected lesson lurked in the undergrowth, waiting for the youngest hunters.
One day, after their vigorous physical exercises, Slasher and Dasrylion were at bath. Personal hygiene was another one of Broken Spear’s axioms:
“After you are grown” (he said) “you will spend long days in mud and blood, and will be looking for a bath wherever you can find one. Cleanliness will help keep you disease-free and at your best on strange worlds – and on this one.”
So after a training session, students were encouraged to use the bathing facilities in the hall. Most did so happily: the colonists’ families often had only limited bathing chambers. Here, the older students had a full steam room complete with hot and cool whirlwater baths, while the youngest had a shallow warm pool to begin with, and low-built rain-chambers to follow.
Today the two youngest were easing their aches in the shallow pool, luxuriating in the warm water, when the chime sounded for them to report to the training hall.
“Vascht! That’s a bad chance!” Dasrylion remarked.
Slasher merely groaned and dunked himself one more time. Then both boys dragged themselves out of the pool and set it to DRAIN. They would clean it with a quick scrub after it was empty.
They collected their loincloths (washed earlier) from the drying racks and slipped them on. 
These simple garments, made of soft felt or leather in front, including a genital-guard, and of shirred cloth or furs in back, along with wrist- and shinguards, are all that male Hunters generally wear in a warm climate, or while training hard. For a species who can see light in many wavelengths, such garments serve mostly for protection, rarely for modesty. A Hunter can quickly scan any body, male or female, and tell you very intimate particulars about that person, including the state of their physical and mental health.
Finished, the two boys raced out into the training room.
To their surprise, the big room was almost empty except for Broken Spear and one small figure. The boys slowed to a walk.
“Young hunters,” their teacher said, “I am sorry that I had to cut short your bathing, but I wanted you to meet someone before you went home—" and he indicated the youngster beside him. “This is Rampage, of the Clan Ser’rk’saana—the Plains People—and he will join your pack tomorrow.”
He said no more, but seemed to wait on their response.
Both boys lit up at the news. They rushed forward; then stopped, uncertain.
For the other boy almost flinched back from them. He seemed to draw himself together like a clenched fist, and watch them warily. 
He seemed to be their age, but his temperament was far different than theirs. Rampage was the youngest—and plainest—of three brothers. From a clan where spots, stripes and dapples abounded, his skin was a uniform medium brown, without markings. Even his long mane was unremarkable, a dark smoky gray. His eyes shone bright yellow with –what? Suspicion? Outright fear?
Sensing that they had to treat him carefully, Slasher eased forward a bit and said, “I—we are Slasher and Dasrylion, of Arvien 4, and we welcome you, Rampage of the Plains.”
Very nice, Broken Spear thought; the lad still surprises me. But Rampage barely uncoiled enough to say, “Day’s-light…to both of you, too.”
The two friends exchanged puzzled glances. They were willing to grant him time, however; and the old hunter dismissed them for the day.

***

RAMPAGE did not unbend over the next Fiveday, despite overtures from both boys. And soon he showed them how he had early on earned his one true name…
They were using the holo projector, the three of them, under the old hunter’s direction. The projector was a training tool. It could display a holographic image so convincing that you swore it was solid. Broken Spear used it to show his students various kinds of animals and their habits.
Today it was set in attack mode. Dangerous beasts from other worlds rushed through the room.
Broken Spear ran it through its program once, showing them Sloth-bears, the canid shakren, raptor-dinosaurs, giant mustelids, and more. Then he shut it off. “Those are predators on their own worlds, some of them at the peak of their food chains, all of them trophy prey.
“Now,” he went on, “I want each of you to stand in the beam. When the projector flashes on, you will have a few moments to decide what techniques you need to meet the creature’s attack—and to defeat it.”
He turned the selector to RANDOM. “This scrambles the program, so none of us will know what to expect. Remember, they will attack. Just counter it, if you can…Dasrylion. You are first.”
The boy grimaced and went over. A flicker—and a giant Sloth-bear towered over him with dripping fangs. He gasped out a thrust to the heart with his wristknives just as the beast crashed down.
“Adequate,” their teacher said. “You might be crushed by the fall, however. I suggest you spring aside after the thrust. Slasher…next!”
Slasher drew a huge diving bird of prey, which he didn’t see until its shadow fell on him. He sprang into a snap-roll just under the talons, then tried to leap up and break its wing with an arm-chop.
“Sound, but slow,” Broken Spear told him without heat. “You probably saved your own life, though. Rampage…to the front!”
Flicker. A half-ten of bipedal lifeforms appeared around him.
Raptors.
“You’re surrounded. Think quick!” his teacher cut in.
He did. Rather, he exploded into action. Twist. Kick. Turn. Leap. Chop. Another leap—hard kick. He whipped into motion like a whirlwind, landing a flurry of blows in the space of a thought.
Off. Darkness. Slasher and Dasrylion exhaled. Rampage stood, the fire slowly dying in his eyes.
“Well.” Broken Spear carefully reset the program. The boys realized that he too was impressed, and were awed. Nor did he stint on praise, when it came.
“A superb fight, dhai tautsche. Your reflexes are superior. –Just one suggestion; and it is a small one. Sometime it is better to escape, and choose your own ground. On that ‘cast, you attack one animal, the weakest, so you can break free. Other that that, well-thrown.”
“Good throw!” the other two echoed his genuine praise.
Rampage came back to them, his usual wary glance tinged with a faint glow of pride.
“…you honor me,” he murmured.
Yet even then, after class was dismissed for the day, when the other two boys tried to engage him in play, Rampage joined in for just a short time before he shouted, “You’re doing it wrong! “and pulled away.
Broken Spear, watching from the threshold, sighed and retreated.
***
SOMETIME LATER, the old hunter sat in his hearth room, going over his daily journal, with stylus on styleboard. He had a small fire crackling on the hearth and his dinner roast turning above it. The room’s outer door was closed. He felt entirely comfortable.
Then he felt a presence. Someone was hovering outside his door. Which one, I wonder—and suddenly he thought he knew.
“Enter, and be welcome at my hearth,” he said, leaning back.
The door slid noiselessly aside, and a small figure came in, the firelight glowing on his pale gold skin in front, the black stripe down his chest like a cleft of night. Slasher. As he’d thought.
The boy faced his teacher, the fire making his eyes into green moons. “Elder?”
“Yes, youngster?”
Slasher drew daring in with his breath. “Why…why does Rampage hate us?”
“Aaah. Perhaps it is not hatred that you see.”
The boy concentrated. Broken Spear gave him time. Then: “You mean…he might be afraid of something? Of us?”
The old hunter nodded. “You are perceptive indeed, little hunter. Yes, he is afraid. Sit down and share meat with me, and I will tell you something—but you must hold the burden of knowing it alone, and of telling him you know if he asks you. Do you agree to this?” And now he will weigh it, and I can trust his decision.
The boy’s eyes grew round. He paused, then slid into the chair nearest his teacher, and said quite solemnly, “Yes, Elder, I do.”
“On-path. It is this: Rampage did not come to us on his own; I sought him out. That is, I recruited him—and not for his fighting ability. I happen to know his family, and I could see that his life at home was…very unhappy.” Broken Spear sighed, leaned out to put more wood on the fire, and cut a slice of roast for Slasher. He resettled, sliding his forearms along the chair’s armrests.
The boy was silent.
His teacher continued: “Rampage is the youngest of three brothers, each of whom is patterned more handsomely than himself – and both of whom are old enough to taunt him about it, and anything else they please. His parents work a shuttle service line between here and Nine Systems Station, and are gone a great deal of the time.
“So Rampage developed a great defensiveness. He could fight his brothers’ teasing by fighting them, and letting his temper bring him to an attacking pitch. The entire family is unhappy now, with quarrels breaking into battles all the time. They had no idea what to do. So I offered to bring him here, and try to help him.”
He rubbed his clenched hands absently against his broken tooth. His gaze was distant.
“You felt sorry for him,” Not a question; a statement.
Broken Spear sighed again. “Yes, little hunter, I did. And if you still want to be his friends—you and Cold Tracker—I would ask you to keep trying. The Great Spirit knows he needs some friends, churr?”
The boy chinlifted soberly and told him, “Yes, I think so too; even if he doesn’t know how to have them. I’ll keep trying, Esteemed Hunter.”
Broken Spear gave him a long look: This from a child?
Then quite seriously he extended both his hands, palms tilted up and away to expose the wrists, and said. “My name to you from this day forward is T’akaion, only. You may be a rebel, but you are a rebel after my own path. Take oath, young Slasher.”
The small hands slid over his mentor’s large ones to grip the wrists themselves. Broken Spear did the same to him, his huge hands gently engulfing the small wrists, in the adult’s gesture of loyalty and greeting.
“Oath taken,” whispered the boy – and at that moment, the old hunter had an inkling of his one true name.

***
IN THE CIRCLE---Over the next few days, Slasher clung determinedly to his word. He didn’t tell Dasrylion anything, except that he thought Rampage needed their friendship, and they should try harder to give it to him.
But for every new attempt, Rampage seemed to back further into his self-created cave. Broken Spear noticed and shook his mane out sadly. The boy seemed to be going away from them faster and faster the harder they tried to bring him in.
By the third day, the strain seemed to be getting to the usually unflappable Slasher: his attention wandered; he seemed particularly bent on daydreaming and on satisfying his inner questioner. Twice Broken Spear had to speak to him about it, and afterward, the boy looked so ashamed of his lapses that the old hunter did not press him further.
At the third day’s end, Broken Spear took the whole class up the mountain side to get them, as well as himself, a taste of fresh air.
Trouble developed almost at once: Rampage tried to push past everybody to get to the front, while Slasher abandoned the approved trail and worked his way to the northeast, where he made a trail on his own. 
Broken Spear felt as if he had aged fifty years in a single afternoon.
As it happened, when Rampage charged up to the summit, he found Slasher already there.
Slasher grinned at him, flushed and pleased with himself, expecting praise.
But Rampage immediately saw the smile as a taunt, and thought the other boy was mocking him.
“That’s not fair! You shouldn’t be first! You took the wrong trail!” he shouted. 
Slasher’s lower jaw dropped. His thin mouth rounded into a startled “O”. “No I didn’t,” he protested. “I found a faster way up.”
“You didn’t! You cheated!” Rampage screamed back.
Never in his young life had Slasher been dishonest about anything, much less cheated. He regarded his effort as creative and logical. This was a grave insult.
His mouth changed from a circle to a taut wide line. His small fangs gleamed within it. His short black mane bristled.
“I don’t cheat. Take it back,” he said in a strange and level tone which none of the others had ever heard from him before. Dasrylion looked alarmed.
“I won’t,” snarled Rampage. You are a cheat.” He advanced a step.
“Take…it…back,,” Slasher actually growled. His entire body went rigid. “—Liar.”
Rampage’s face contorted. He gathered himself.
‘BOYS!”
That shout – and Broken Spear stood between them. His hot stare seared them, and they dropped their eyes.
“You know the rules. We are going back down. Now.”
And he stood there as the two slunk past him to begin their long journey downhill. Neither one would look at him, but he thought Slasher’s eyes seemed wet; and he sorrowed for him. For both of them. What had begun in hope and kindness would end in rage and combat.
What did I do wrong? he wondered wearily
He surveyed the rest of the small pack, the 9-to-11-year-olds and Dasrylion, to see them waiting for his lead. Dasrylion looked especially miserable.
The old hunter clapped him on the shoulder, and gently turned him about.
“Come along,” he told them all, “We have to see this to trail’s end.”

***
SLASHER STOOD facing Rampage at the center of the stone circle. He had come to his senses with that first thundercrack of “Boys!” from his teacher. Now he didn’t want to fight Rampage; to do so would mean that he had failed, failed at his sworn word, failed at everything.
He didn’t want to be here at all. Besides, that berserker would probably rip his entrails out…he would be knocked senseless in the first few k’tarn, and be lucky if they could pull that maniac off him before he had his throat torn out. –Or maybe it was better that way. To die fighting.
Death before dishonor, he thought nobly.
Broken Spear was speaking, reciting the same rules they had heard before. How could Slasher possibly forget them? Only he never thought they would apply to him.
What was his enemy doing? He eyed Rampage resignedly.
To his vast surprise, the other boy was trying to look everywhere but at him. In fact, his body seemed to be covered with a fine sheen, and his blood-colors were erratic…why, he’s sweating! That means he’s nervous too.
Slasher studied him more closely. Yes, there: Rampage had a faint tremor going through his limbs. His first fine anger was gone; his edge had flown.
Somewhere deep down, a wisp of hope began to glimmer in Slasher’s heart. Of all things, one of Broken Spear’s groan-evoking repetitions of Hunt Law popped into his head:
“Know your prey. It carries its own defeat within itself.”
Deliberately Slasher sought his opponent’s eyes. Rampage felt it, glanced at him, glanced uneasily away again.
“The good hunter knows his prey. The great hunter knows himself.”
And Slasher knew he was not trembling; he was standing firm. I must look calm to him, he thought.
Broken Spear was stepping away, leaving the circle to the combatants. Slasher tuned him in at last, and heard: “Settle this, boys. I want no more of it in my hall.”
A long wait. Longer. Then:
“Begin.”
And with a crazy, happy, live-or-die feeling in his heart, Slasher lunged at his invincible foe.
Even so, he almost lost at once. Rampage was as light and quick as he was. Even stripped of his temper, he was good.
He dodged Slasher’s first lunge, and floored him with a neat twist. Slasher rolled out of it, knew he’d fallen, didn’t care. He went in again.
Rampage took to the air, leg out-thrust to kick high. Slasher ducked back under, and his astounded opponent flew past him and landed badly. Before he could recover, Slasher pounced and pulled him off-balance. Down they both went.
Rampage had trouble at close quarters. He needs room for those fancy kicks and jumps, Slasher thought, and stuck to him. Rampage bucked and thrashed, but his stubborn challenger refused to let go.
Suddenly they both rolled over the stone’s rim and hit bottom with a breathtaking jolt. Rampage recovered first and writhed free. He whirled, poised again, and tried to pound a heel into Slasher’s neck.
In dusty disarray, Slasher couldn’t get up or avoid the blow, so he just snatched at the foot and hoped for the best.
Its force drove his hands into his chest. “Uff!” he said, but tightened his grip. Rampage lost his balance and fell.
What a joke this is! No grace about it, Slasher mused, then almost languidly shoved back hard on the foot, bringing himself up and forcing Rampage’s leg up and out at the same time. Slasher lurched forward rather awkwardly and slammed his knee down onto the other boy’s inner thigh.
This brought a harsh cry of pain from Rampage, the first sound he’d made in the fight. Slasher looked over from where he was bending the other boy’s leg back, spreading him, and tried to see his face. But Rampage’s head was arched back, his arms flung out, fingertalons digging in the ground---just like the other one, Slasher thought, beginning to daze.
Rampage tried to turn his eyes toward Slasher, and looked at him. Slasher saw with a pang that the other boy’s eyes were filled with tears, but his jaw was set, despite the pain.
I’m hurting him…I’m hurting him but he won’t surrender. He’ll never surrender. He wants me to kill him instead. Slasher’s throat constricted. He could no more do that than he could fly.
Someone was tapping him on the shoulder and asking him something. Over and over, asking him.
Finally Slasher realized it was Broken Spear, and what he was asking, over and over, was—
“Do you want Surrender? Do you want his surrender?”
“No.” Slasher let the other’s leg go, let it slide through his grasp. Carefully he let the leg slide to the ground, and shifted his weight off Rampage’s thigh, turning way. Behind him he could hear Rampage gasping and sobbing.
“No,” he repeated; “I never wanted that.”
He felt dizzy and remote as if inside a dream. Slowly he got down on hands and knees and crawled over to the defeated youngster’s side, touched him lightly on the shoulder, and when he had Rampage’s attention, said, “All I ever wanted was to be your friend.”
Then he sat on the ground and cried along with him. This is how the other boy felt the first day, he thought. Now I feel it, too.
Dimly he heard Broken Spear remark above him, “A renegade in every way, little hunter,” and heard him disperse the other students, shooing them indoors to their baths. Dully he felt Dasrylion pound him on the back and shout congratulations before he too was chased away. 
Is this how I’ll always feel after a battle? he wondered. What about the triumphant warrior—is it the same with him?
He was vaguely aware of Broken Spear helping them both, raising them to stand, guiding them back toward the hall and the warm, welcoming water.
“Arise, Rampage,” the old hunter said; “Renegade, arise. I would carry you both, but a warrior walks after battle, to show his strength, and you have been warriors today.”
With that, Renegade’s wits returned to him. And so he was named.
***
BROKEN SPEAR was waiting for them after their baths. They came out single-file, Dasrylion first, Rampage next, and he said something to each that made them brighten.
Renegade delayed until they were gone, until dead last, but the old hunter refused to disappear, and waited on him in turn.
Resolutely, the young man straightened his spine and met the old hunter’s eyes. Let’s get it over with, he thought.
“Do you think I failed my oath, T’akaion?” he asked.
Broken Spear stifled his urge to roar with joy. Instead he spoke gravely, “I think you lost your temper – with reason; for there are some things a man may not be called. But I think also that you saved your honor—and his—in the end.”
“Rampage…does he--? Do you think he--?” Renegade could not quite put words to it.
The old hunter gave a startling, dazzling and wholly unexpected smile, and replied, “I think he does. Go and see.”
Renegade passed through the outer door, and there he saw them, Rampage and Dasrylion, waiting for him. He started to run toward them.
“Good hunting!” Broken Spear called out after them, then folded his arms and leaned against the door frame, chuckling. Ah, children, how much I learn from you!
He stood there in silence, caught between amusement and wonder, as the three youngsters ran off to play.

Chapter Five…After the Fight  

AFTER THE FIGHT, Rampage fell in with Renegade and Dasrylion. He clearly held Renegade in deep respect. Dasrylion he merely tolerated at first because Renegade liked him, and only gradually warmed to him.
Broken Spear watched this develop with interest. Renegade, whether he knew it or not, had taken on the leadership of his small pack. Like any good leader, he did not make unilateral and arbitrary decisions about day-to-day matters. The other, instant decisions would come later, when their lives were at stake, and this would tell the trail about the lad’s true capabilities, Broken Spear knew.
Renegade apparently had the ability to keep the hot-tempered Rampage and the more easy-going Dasrylion from squabbling, although Broken Spear could detect some jealousy between them over who would have Renegade’s attention. It never flared into a flight, however, and again the old hunter marveled at Renegade’s unconscious success. There were other personalities developing among his students, but none so interesting as this.
Others noticed the tight camaraderie among the youngest hunters, and began calling them “the Three,” instinctively acknowledging them as a pack.
  
***

SPRING yielded to summer on the land. Broken Spear’s pain from old injuries subsided with warm weather, for which he was thankful. Able to spend more time outdoors with his students, he introduced them to the open amphitheatre he’d had scooped from a natural hollow in the mountainside. It lay north of his hall and faced eastward, mirroring one wing of the hall. Here the students could do their exercises and even practice target shooting.
Summer held landmarks for all of them. The three youngest, now a tightly-knit pack, found their tch’won blending into an unarmed fighting style similar to Rampage’s. Rampage himself discovered that the old hunter actually knew quite a bit more than he did about it, and was able to learn better tactics in close quarters and other valuable techniques from him.
Dasrylion found himself drawn to the trapper’s art. Broken Spear led the boys around the countryside, showing them the likeliest places to put traps and lures.
“The Hunting People enjoy a wide range of natural fabric in their goods, and clothing,” he told them. “Even today, when we have moved our heavy industries out to planetoids and dead moons where they harm no one, we prefer the natural fur and hides. Trappers generally make a good living in barter and coin, and they are able to do quite a bit of star traveling.”
It was early summer when Renegade finally reached his hundredth bow-pull. Without warning, next day he found a half-ten of small, sharp-tipped arrows attached to the quiver on his bow. He glanced around happily for Broken Spear.
The old warrior chinlifted. “Try the target with those,” he said. He watched Renegade almost fumble in his haste to nock the arrows, and smiled.
The youngster was an excellent shot. His long practice of pull-and-aim would put meat on the table. 
Broken Spear gave him a few days with those arrows, then came up and fitted a larger, heavy-headed one into the track on Renegade’s bow.
They were on the open range outdoors. “This, now,” his teacher said, “is partly counter-weighted, but allow for more arrow drop after you fire, at any-route.”
Renegade studied the heavy-headed arrow for a moment, then nocked it, aimed it a shade higher than usual, and let fly.
The dart cut a sizzling heat-path through the air and seemed to sink into the bland-faced target. Then whoomp! it erupted and the target vanished in a sheet of flame,
Renegade rocked back onto his heels, too stunned to speak. Around him he could hear the awed gasps and t’churrs! of the other students.
As the smoke rose and floated slowly away, Broken Spear could be heard to remark, as calmly as ever, “A hair under center, young hunter. You see why I stress aim?”
 “Yes, Elder…” Renegade felt very meek – until be caught the twinkle in his mentor’s eye. He added his rueful laugh to his teacher’s.
Renegade didn’t get any more explosive arrows for a time—that one served just as a demonstration; but he did ’graduate’ to another weapon. 
The old hunter handed him a spear.
“-One made by the most modern technology, though,” he smiled at the boy’s unconcealed disappointment. “It is collapsible into its own shaft—see?—yet it locks together stronger than steel for use. It is made of the lightest and strongest alloy we can devise, and can pierce the armored hide of even a krolf-akai on Homeworld. Practice your stabbing stances and thrusts, first.”
The Three gathered round. All had received new weapons this summer: Dasrylion went from spear to longbow; Rampage was mastering a vai-ator, a boomerang type weapon. Renegade, as usual, had a question:
“But Broken Spear, if we have such modern weapons as rockets and lasers, then why do we need to learn these—krr, old-fashioned ones?”
The old hunter seemed to gather himself, and the Three braced for another adage. But he was merely collecting his thoughts.
“For the same reason we fight each other without artificial weapons,” he said at last, “for closeness—kinship almost—with the prey. With the most dangerous, we tally the weapon to the kill, to make it fast, clean, and merciful,
“But in the rated trophy hunt, youngsters, it is considered the higher honor to go in with as little as the prey. To take down a large and dangerous beast with a spear or the killing-knives will accord the hunter great respect – and a higher ranking in one’s freehold or clan. It marks one’s courage as the best. Remember, Renegade, your mother killed a kreppa-tsrr with a spear and knives…”
The boy lifted his chin. His friends looked at him in awe. He’d never told them.
Their teacher sighed, “For that alone, she should have been raised to warrior rank immediately. I should speak to—" he shook that off and went on with his earlier topic:
“As a final point in their favor, the old weapons are silent, and their use develops your eye-brain-and-hand coordination, which you need so much with the laser and other ‘high-tech’ weapons. Now. Back to practice.” And he left them.

***
   
SOMETIME BEFORE midsummer, the Three earned another tool. Before one of their tch’won sessions, Broken Spear asked them to hold out their ‘master’ arms. Quickly he slipped something over each of them, which extended from wrist to forearm.
The students found themselves staring at smooth leather gauntlets, each topped with two parallel ridges. Shining points, slender and sharp, gleamed from the handward openings. 
“Wristknives,” Dasrylion murmured, nearly in shock, “real wristknives.”
Renegade shared his awe, but Rampage straightened up and gave his arm a flourish, his eyes shining.
“Very good. Now make a fist,” their teacher ordered.
They did – and flinched a bit when two long, serrated-edged blades shot out to extend well past their knuckles.
“Your killing-knives, indispensable on the hunt for close-in kills. From this moment on, you will spend part of every tch’won session making feints and thrusts with these, and learning the killstroke for various creatures.
“That doesn’t mean,” he added abruptly, “that we will stop the unarmed lessons. Those will continue, as you learn new tactics to practice with the old…you do recall the axiom in Hunt Law, don’t you?” His eyes and voice twinkled suddenly.
“Yes, Elder,” they groaned on cue; and he laughed out loud.

Chapter Six…First Hunt

 BY midsummer, Broken Spear had decided to put his students to a minor test. He told them they would be going with him on a wilderness outing, and in two groups. He would take the youngest ones first, for a four or five day trip.
Anticipating Renegade’s question (he was getting better at this, he thought) he explained, “The older students will be playing with greater firepower; and I don’t want them frightening off every game animal in the forest before we get there.”
(He also considered that the youngest ones might run into more dangerous game this way, but Arvien 4 held no major surprises—a few larger carnivores and smaller pack animals along with its wealth of herbivores, and most of them hunting farther away from the mountains at this time of year. He’d also consulted with Renegade’s father, the Chief Hunter Rakul, as to known dens in the area, and gone out on his own reconnaissance. He didn’t think they would meet with disaster. Still, with children…)
He would be very careful, indeed.

***
“Mother! Father! We’re going on a hunt!” Renegade yelled as he raced into the house and up the tree trunk, bark chips flying as he scrabbled upward.
“H’vack?” His mother paused her skinning knife to look at him. “Slasher! Use the tree steps—or you’ll have all the bark off that tree! And I thought it was a campout, not a hunt.”
“Oh, Ma,” his head reappeared over the upper level rail; “You know what I mean. And I’m Renegade now, remember?”
“How could I forget?” she replied in a bemused voice. “Renegade.”
“It fits him like his own skin,” he husband said, dropping a fresh bundle of meat on the block as he came in. He spoke with affection, however, adding, “He’s always been a contrary cub. Brave, though.  …I’ll help you with this if you’ll unload the sled with me. Pact?”
“Pact.” She put the skinning knife down, wiping her hands. “Still, a hunt—“
“I’ve talked to T’akaion, the old hunter. He’s gone over every kri of ground with us, with the ranking hunters, and it seems quite safe to me, my huntress.” Affectionately he took her hands, then wrapped her in his arms, rubbing his chin on her luxuriant black mane.
“It would,” she grumbled, but did not pull away.
Broken Spear had also discussed something else with Rakul, about his wife’s ranking, but the Marsh Clan hunter would leave that to be her surprise, later.
“And I’m impressed with the old fellow,” he mumbled into her hair. “He knows his game – and he also wears a famous name, one that belonged to a Great Warrior of his clan…I doubt it’s the same man, though. They would never let him leave.”
Sun and Shadow relaxed in his arms. She reached around to stroke his broad back. “Chur-rr...our little one seems to have quite a case of hero-worship going. Not that I blame him….”
Her mate lifted his head and craned to look into her eyes.
“T’churr?” he said in amusement. “And here I thought this was due just to my techni—ow!” he yelped, for she had nipped him playfully on the shoulder.
“We can indulge that technique later, in private, my hunter,” she told him, smiling. “Now, about that sled…”

***

INTO THE FOREST---The eight hunters, seven young and one old, gathered for their trek under a lowering sky. The sun had risen less than one-eighth earlier, hung briefly under a lid of purple cloud, then vanished, like the blink of a baleful red eye.
It does not bode well, Broken Spear registered as he helped his youngsters pack. Clear weather had been predicted from Arvien 4’s fleet of satellites. But it’s just a storm, a storm coming, his mind argued in return. And they shall have to grow accustomed to worse when they’re older. So he packed them up and moved them out, hoping it was the best thing to do.
They marched down the mountain on its more-densely forested side. The old hunter went first, then the Three, with the older 9-to-11-year-olds in the rear.
“I guess this is where we start being glad of all those exercises,” Dasrylion told his friends.
“But not the old sayings?” Renegade teased in return. Rampage chortled and Dasrylion choked, while their teacher pretended not to hear.
The boys were carrying their weapons today, along with an amazing conglomeration of tools and equipment wedged into their backpacks: medical kits, waterskins, water treatment powder, folded hammocks to sleep in, auto-compass with setting features, a coil of thin but strong rope, fire-starter disc and tabs, and a cooking and game bag or two. Broken Spear assured them they would need every item of it, and they watched in awe as he loaded himself with even more.
Besides carrying the same standard equipment as his students, Broken Spear packed a full-power shoulder laser with nucleonic computer pack, digitalized mapping equipment, a hand-held laser, and a much more complete med-kit. Both he and the students wore leather body armor on upper arms, chest, thighs and shins. Their feet were bare, to allow the stout toeclaws purchase on the trail.
They entered the forest just as thunder rumbled from the sky. The darkness was even deeper under the primeval trees. It was no match for their superb darksight, however.
“On-stat, everyone---up!” The old hunter led them to a large tree and set them climbing. From this point on, they would travel at their people’s favorite height – treetop level. They were good climbers and had no trouble making their way along these mighty living beams. Up here, the old hunter could keep a sharp eye on both sky and ground.
“Above” looked less promising than “below. Dark gray cloud cover bled into deep purple, and blue-white lightning cracked its whip across the sky.
After some travel, Broken Spear said, “Here we are,” and pointed out their destination just ahead. The Three, trotting along the limb just behind him, stopped to look and said, “Aah…”
They saw the massive rounded crown of an incredible tree. Two or three times the diameter of anything else nearby, it claimed a vast circle of space under its canopy. Limbs as wide as pillars ribbed outward from the massive bole. Under such a tree, one of their oldest legends has it, the World was born.
Broken Spear looked up. The wind howled and rattled the leaves around them. ‘We are just ‘on the nock’,” he commented. “Now, youngsters, find a branch and work your way in.”
One by one they took little jumps from their current tree to that great wheel of wood. They followed the branch-lines like the gills of a vast mushroom, to the bole itself. There, Broken Spear spaced them out a few to each limb, himself on the lowest. While they were pulling bednets from their packs, he ranged from top to bottom and affixed small sensors to the camp’s perimeter.
“These will warn us of anything from creeper to treecat, that may breach our security and enter our camp,” he said. “We will have no fire, though, up here.”
There came a splitting crack! and the rain poured down.
Surprisingly little of it got through the dense canopy. The old hunter chuckled as his students discovered they were still dry.
“A lesson in primary forest habitat, dhai tautschen,” he told them. “Now: Wildfire, Spotted Hand, bring the lanterns. We have a few things to do before we sleep.”
The tiny hand lamps gave enough light to illumine the maps they’d brought with them. Due to their wide range of vision, Broken Spear and his students could already see each other crouched amid the branches, a rough circle of finely-glowing forms, replete in many colors. The lamps destroyed that, but allowed them to read the darkly-printed maps. Keeping his back to the broad trunk, Broken Spear faced outward to distract them with lessons.
“This time, you shall be hunters in truth,” he told them. “Show me where we are on the maps.” And he passed these around without further explanation to let them mark their own camp, and the way they had come.
That done to his satisfaction, he said, “Today you will learn to wear the hunter’s locks…” and he demonstrated how to wind their long mane hairs into the hunter’s braids, which keep the mane out of the eyes and free from tangles.
Hairless except for the great crests of mane which grow on their heads, the hunters claim it is the bequest of their ancestor, the mighty sabertooth. Warriors and hunters traditionally bind the hair, whether twisting each lock into a tight braid secured with colorful bands—or binding it back with a simple hair tail, what we would call a ponytail. 
Broken Spear demonstrated on his own white mane, then moved lithely among them to inspect the results. At the same time, he could unobtrusively check the borders of their camp.
“Do you see what he’s doing?” Dasrylion asked Renegade.
“Churr. Patrolling the perimeters—without making us alarmed.”
“Why? What’s he expect?” Rampage cut in.
“Nothing, I think,” Renegade watched the old hunter stride smoothly along the high wood. “His body heat is normal; and he seems calm.”
“He’s always calm—" came from Rampage.
Not always, thought Renegade. “No; this is just…something he does. Making sure.”
“Chance falls for the prepared hunter,” Dasrylion drawled, quoting Hunt Law.
“Oh, no, not you, too,” Rampage snarled, and Renegade laughed. Their tension washed away.
Broken Spear finished his rounds by telling them, “You may be slightly uncomfortable sleeping with the locks in this way. If so, just fan them out above your heads. Remember, they are part of you now. –Part of who you are, and of generations of hunters and warriors who have gone before you. Wear them and be proud.”
He saw the youngsters raise their heads a little higher then.
“Well and good. Let us plan tomorrow’s hunt.” He retook his old position facing them, and went back to one of the terrain maps. He began to talk about the flow of life around them, and how they were part of it all….

***

THE OLD HUNTER set a watch that night. “Always set sentries, unless you are alone. Then use the sensors,” he said. “New worlds hold many unknowns. And yet…”
--And yet, probably at the worst moment of your life, you will be alone, he did not say. Suddenly he felt all of his 237 years. He finished his speech with something innocuous, and set the watch.
He stood the first and last sentry duties himself to get between them and harm.
None of the Three drew a watch. There were more than enough older students to stand the night. 
Yet Renegade found himself lying in his bedsling, wide awake. listening to the rain pattering on the leaves above, hearing the wind lift and wail.
He glanced around. Both of his friends were already stretched out in slumber nearby; the lanterns had been doused; the camp was quiet.
But he could not rest. He reached out to the branch above him and pulled himself out of the hammock in one fluid motion, then delicately walked the wood until he neared the camp’s outer boundaries, beyond the sleeping crowd.
It was wet out here, and very dark. Renegade checked for a sensor, and lowered himself branch by branch until he could see the ground below.
They were camped above some sort of game trail. Renegade laid himself along the branch and peered down.
At first he saw nothing beyond the faint shapes of the surrounding trees, heard nothing but the wind. Suddenly there came a soft glow up the trail, like candlelight seen from afar. It shimmered and grew brighter. Renegade tensed and leaned forward to see through the branches.
Through the cool darkness they came – a line of softly gleaming figures, slim and graceful on four legs, seeming to float above the darkened ground – some kind of kai or teveh (deer or antelope), made into living lights by their body heat and the contrast of the night.
Renegade’s breath caught. His throat ached. He crouched above them like a dark dream, knowing he could spring down upon them, yet strangely reluctant to do so.
“They are beautiful, are they not?” came the softest of whispers above him. His teacher was near.
“And still we hunt them. And eat them,” Renegade replied, racked between desires.
“You see them as the great sabretooth saw them 20 million years ago.  He is a part of us – but not all of us. We are him, yet more than him.”
A creak of bending wood, and the old hunter swung lightly down next to him from the limb above. “You are wondering whether you will be able to kill them when you hunt, are you not, Renegade?”
The boy sat up. Like the kai, the People radiated softly in each others’ eyes.
Renegade swallowed. “…Yes…” he admitted.
His mentor nodded. “I know, young hunter. Believe me, I understand. Every one of us wonders that the first time….Every one.”
“I didn’t know you thought like that,” Renegade murmured.
“Krr, yes, I do.  I am a nightwalker at heart; and at night I find philosophy. I have questions, too, Renegade: Who are we really? Where is it that we go – and what are we meant for? Does the cosmos lend us meaning – or do we create our own? Those are questions for you….yes…”
“’The good hunter knows his prey; the great hunter knows himself,’” Renegade quoted somewhat wryly.
He sensed rather than saw Broken Spear’s smile. “What the Code does not tell you,” the old warrior said, “is that it will take a lifetime of experience to know yourself, if then. On-path, you will learn more about yourself in the next few days…
More seriously (he could scarcely believe he was talking to s seven-year-old child) Broken Spear said, “Renegade, regardless of where your life takes you, I feel it will not be ordinary.”
The wind gusted around them, and the branches swayed.
The old warrior looked up, reading the wind. “I must complete the circle now; see that everyone is on-stat. Will you stay here?  Yes. Think of this then, young hunter: do you despise the meat you eat, or hate the animal it came from? I think not. Life is a feast, Renegade; its choices are as infinite and glorious as the stars. Do not go empty from the table.”
He laid a hand on the youth’s shoulder, pressed down lightly, let go. “Night’s-rest, son—“ 
And he was gone.
Renegade stayed there, trembling.
But he was not cold.
***

BROKEN SPEAR wakened them all before dawn. He gave them a space to take care of bodily functions, then he got them busy. They did no actual hunting that day, rather a little bit of everything else.
They scouted the game trails, leaving a few people to watch for animals – this time, strictly to observe and to learn their habits.
They wove their way down into a swamp, where Broken Spear told them to listen for bird and animal calls, and try to imitate them. Someday they could call the game to them, he said.
(The Hunters are wonderful imitators: they have a great vocal range, which enables them to imitate every “call” known in nature—and makes them sensational singers as well. Few outside their species have been privileged to hear them sing.)
Finally the remnants of their small pack scouted the best places to lay traplines, and discussed what creatures might be taken.
The students spent an interesting day, even if they weren’t hunting. They were given different assignments: Renegade and Rampage drew the swamp, while Dasrylion and an older youth went to set traps with Broken Spear.
When they gathered for their mid-day or “high sun” camp beneath the tree, they built a fire and everyone took turns describing their discoveries: Renegade told of the gaudy little tree-climbers and gave their shrilling cries; while Rampage described the waterfowl and the few furbearing mammals he’d seen in the swamp.
That afternoon, Broken Spear had them cook up a good meal, and after they had eaten…
The old hunter informed them, “This is the only food we brought with us. If we want to continue eating, we will have to catch something ourselves.”
When they had partly recovered from their shock, he showed them how to dampen their ground-fire properly, how to bury or burn camp debris, and how to wash in limited water. He stressed hygiene even in the wilderness. Nor did he neglect personal sanitation:
“Bury your solid wastes; don’t pollute open water with them,” he said; “and make your liquid wastes off the trail and far from drinking water or runoff.”
---Elimination is one subject Hunters are very private about, perhaps because they are vulnerable while doing it, or perhaps because of their almost fanatical cleanliness…
But when the old hunter brought up the subject, he talked about it in such a matter-of-fact way that they did not feel embarrassed or ashamed.
Finally he chose the next watch and bade the others night’s-rest.
***
THE THIRD DAY passed without incident – or feeding. Renegade was posted in a tree above a game trail, while the others went to help drag in the traps.
They’d actually caught a few creatures: a long lean drab animal which liked their dried meat bait, and a semi-aquatic mammal in an unbaited trap near the water. The students used live-traps, and since one animal was female, with signs of nursing young, and neither one was considered very good eating, they released both unharmed.
The lecture that night was about finding vegetation for food – something they did not relish, since they were carnivores, but would eat if they had to. Hunters find green plant parts almost indigestible, so Broken Spear showed them some edible nuts from local trees, and let them roast the sweet kernels.
That light snack only whetted their appetites for the next day. Stomachs going on two days empty, they were told to take whatever they could, while still following the precepts of Hunt Law.
--“Except for the kai on the game trail below us,” the old hunter told them. “We sleep directly above them, and do not want to leave the scent of fresh blood and entrails on their path.” (That was his admitted reason; but Renegade thought he might have a more personal one.)
Renegade returned to the swamp with Rampage, while Dasrylion went with another boy to check the new traps. 
Renegade noticed a few of the bright tree-climbers, but could not lure them close enough for a bowshot. He was feeling his hunger now, and his attitude was beginning to change.
Rampage meanwhile had failed to take any waterbirds, and the mammals had unaccountably disappeared, Frustrated, he rigged a trolling line and was fishing the deep waterhole under an overhanging tree, about two bowshots away. Both boys felt the bite of failure at their backs.
Renegade’s stomach started to get on his nerves. Youngsters of the People eat more often than their elders, at least once or twice a day---and his empty ache was disturbing his vigil.
He found himself thinking of the kai on the trail – forbidden deer, now – still beautiful; but suddenly he caught himself wondering how good they would taste. He didn’t know whether to be amused or disgruntled with himself for his quick change of interests. His lofty attitude had flown away when hunger crawled in….
So much for your fine ideals, he thought.
At that moment he heard a noise below. Brush crashing and dry leaves crackling. Rampage must be done fishing. But he was making enough noise for ten hunters. Renegade was going to call down to him for quiet—
--When the kai stepped out of the thicket below him.
It was a fine buck, its cup-shaped antlers fuzzy with new growth, its dappled coat shining in the sun. It held its head high and seemed to feel no fear as it walked with long graceful strides toward the water.
Renegade dared not breathe. Slowly, so slowly, his hand slipped an arrow into place. The kai stopped; Renegade froze. He waited until it resumed walking, its back toward him. Then, with exquisite care, he lifted the bow.
The buck bent its neck to drink. Renegade let it have some water—he had the crazed idea it shouldn’t die thirsty. He sighted on it, held his shot. A carnivore from birth, he had never killed before.
His traitor stomach growled. The kai jerked its head up. Its legs bent. In sudden panic at losing it, Renegade let the arrow go.
The kai sprang straight up as if on springs. Then it leaped into the water in two great splashing bounds. Suddenly it dropped and vanished from sight, as if someone had pulled on a rope and yanked it under.
Frantic, Renegade leaped from his tree, forgetting everything he’d ever learned about arrowstruck prey. He plunged into the water after it.
Rampage, coming in at that moment, heard a splashing and thrashing, and he halted, calling, “Renegade? Is that you?”
“Rampage? Rampage!” came a wild shout from the reeds. He saw Renegade surge up, wet and disheveled, then sink back into the water again. He sprang forward.
“Renegade—h’vack? Are you in trouble?" Up to his knees in swamp water, Rampage plowed into the weeds and saw his friend sitting there, with something large and ginger-spotted across his lap.
Renegade stared at him with a wild eye. “Rampage – the kai! It—it’s a buck, Rampage.”
“I’ll say it is,” his friend responded. “Lucky hunter! All I got was a few fish…wh-what’s wrong?”
Renegade looked up at him with sorrow, still cradling the buck. “It--it’s dead, Rampage. I killed it and saw its life leave…”
Rampage paused again. He saw his friend was in distress, but he had no idea what to say to him.
“I…guess you did, Renegade,” he managed at last.
Brush crackled again, from the shore behind them.
“That must be Broken Spear,” Rampage said in some relief. “He’ll know what to do.”
But what parted the thick scrub was not their teacher.
A furry and flattened rectangular head, a square, broad snout, two small, glittering eyes…
….At the end of a long, raddled-fur neck, attached to a short, stocky body with four heavily-clawed feet…
A small-bear – one of their planet’s native carnivores, only a third the size of the great Sloth-bear—
…But big enough.
It had trailed the buck itself, and now, suddenly, other creatures had interfered with its kill.
The boys were petrified. They were caught unprepared: Renegade sitting in the muck with a dead kai on his lap, Rampage with his hands full of fish and trolling lines. At seven years old, the two together were not a match for a small-bear.
It deduced the same. With an angry “Chuff!” and mouth agape, it plunged into the water. It would drive off the intruders, or kill them.
Several things happened at once. Renegade slid out from under the deer and fisted out his knives; Rampage dropped his fish with a splash, and fumbled for a vai-ator disc; the small-bear lunged at them with heavy splashing bounds, reared up as it reached Renegade, who fell back on his haunches, toeclaws slipping in the muck---
When a bolt of solid blue light sizzled into the beast at mid-back.
It fell at once, with a hole in it the width of its ribcage. 
The boys stared at it, stunned.
“Renegade! Rampage! Are you hurt?” Broken Spear’s great voice boomed out as he surged across the swamp toward them. So much for taking care…
He cast them each a searing stare, determined they were all right, and faced around quickly again, scanning the brush.
“Where there is one, there is often another ---Boys!” he snapped them out of their trance: “To weapons! And use your eyes!”
They moved as if he’d struck them. Weapons in hand, they stared into the concealing brush around to their teacher’s unguarded back.
Rampage was horrified to hear a low snarl from the base of the overhanging tree where he’d been fishing….He’d jumped down so unthinkingly.
“Rampage, your side. Ready your throw.” Their mentor’s voice came through very calmly now, as if discussing something in class. “Renegade, string an arrow to cover his backtrail.”
Sure enough, the small-bear’s mate came bristling out of that same clump by the tree. She stopped partway to them, seeing the size of the opposition. 
Suddenly she came on.
“Throw.”  --But Rampage’s vai-ator had already left his hand. It caught the beast just under the shoulder girdle—not exactly where he’d aimed, but—“Good enough,” his teacher said.
A gush of blood, and the small-bear’s head and shoulders parted company with the body. It died instantly.
The young hunters were breathing hard and their hands were shaky, but Broken Spear relentlessly made them search the near edge of the swamp for more predators, while he covered them with his laser. If this pair had cubs, he thought sadly, they also would have to die. Better than starvation, he felt.
When he was satisfied the swamp was clear, he hoisted one small-bear and the kai up onto his powerful shoulders and told them, “Pick up the fish and the other bear’s head, and follow me.”
He led them first to a slightly higher hummock of marshy ground farther out, with nothing but open water around. Bidding them stay there, he left briefly to fetch the other small-bear’s body.
When he came back, he looked at his students, who hung their heads in shame.
“You know, then,” he said. “Tell me.”
“We—weren’t ready,” Rampage gulped.
“We—didn’t even think first,” came from Renegade.
“Correct. You were Chance-favored, though; you lived. The warrior is ready even when he sleeps. I do not think you will make the same mistake again,” their mentor said.
And that was the end of it. The lesson was learned. Broken Spear did not believe in endless blame.
In a much kinder voice, he said, “Now. Let us set to work, keeping alert as we do. These are your original kills? Excellent. Between you, you have fed the camp…and you have your first trophies as well. Rampage—some inventiveness fills the table. Good thought, fine catch. Renegade? This is yours? A fine shot.  The arrow struck the heart, a quick and merciful kill…” he paused as he saw something troubled in the young man’s eyes. He waited on Renegade.
“I saw its life leave it, Elder,” the boy said. It seemed almost a trivial thing now. Almost.
“The spirit, and not the body heat? You are sure?...mmrrr..” the old warrior said thoughtfully.
He stood there a few heartbeats, thinking, then said calmly, “When I was a youngster in my clan, boys, whenever a hunter killed some large intelligent prey, like this one, he would ask the animal’s spirit for forgiveness; and he would thank it and the Spirit-of-all for its sacrifice, so he and his family might live.”
Renegade’s vision cleared. “Yes, that sounds like a good idea, Elder. Thank you.”
Rampage watched with inquiring eyes, until his teacher told him, “And you might thank the Great Spirit for your steady throw, young hunter.”
“Yes, sir.”
That done, Broken Spear turned necessity into a lesson, and showed them how to disembowel the large beasts and fillet the fish. He used laser and wristknives and was clinical and quick about it, to lessen the time they stood there, vulnerable..
“We’ll leave the offal on the far shore; it will feed the scavengers,” he said, neatly packing the carcasses by tying their legs together and slinging three of them from his broad shoulders. He had Rampage carry the fish, and Renegade find some fresh damp leaves to wrap them in.
He talked lightly to them throughout the journey back, telling them their friend Dasrylion had caught a nice string of furs, and another boy had brought down a few tree-dwellers.
When he sensed they were ready to talk, he asked them how they felt about their first kills.
“Good,” Rampage piped up. “For a while there I thought I would have only the fish to take back.”
“Don’t disparage your success,” Broken Spear told him; “You used your wits and caught some excellent food. You did well”—to the youngster’s happy flush.
Then, “Renegade, have you answered that question you asked me the other night?”
Thoughtfully, as if he were a hundred years old, the boy said, “I think so. The prayer helped. Thank you, Esteemed Elder. I am honored.”
Rampage nearly stumbled over that title and the Old Speech, coming from Renegade. It took Broken Spear by ambush, too. He considered passing it off casually, then realized such treatment would only hurt his most unusual pupil.
With quiet dignity, he replied in kind, “I thank you, young hunter, I am honored.”
***

THEY WERE the last ones to return to camp, and all the other students crowded round them to exclaim over their kills. The old hunter had Rampage sear the fish quickly over an open fire, for a delicious snack.
After they all helped devour the fish, Broken Spear introduced them to the business of skinning and butchering. Renegade made a game try at the buck with his wristknives, so Broken Spear set Rampage to help him, then put both of them on one small-bear. He did the other small-bear himself for the students’ benefit, meanwhile instructing Dasrylion on preparing his furs, and the other boy on the tree-dwellers.
Just before sunset he took the three remaining unlucky hunters out again, and posted them over a game trail near a stream, along with a plethora of cautions and advice: “First light and last are the best times for most prey, but you need to be very quiet. Stay within shouting distance of each other – and watch out for other carnivores before you do anything! I will return for you just after sunset.”
Even so, the old hunter did a reconnaissance of the area before he left them.
Back at camp, he had his successful students rack up small-bear and kai roasts, and prepare a tree-dweller and nut stew.
The stag’s head and neck had been severed intact, and Broken Spear cleaned it further, suggesting, “You may want to keep this, Renegade; it is a noble animal, and its spirit might be pleased to be remembered that way.” He helped Rampage also, but did not need to talk him into a trophy, as he suspected.
Renegade agreed with his mentor. He’d been dismayed at the easy way the buck had dismembered, as if with the life gone it was too fragile to hold together. He knew this would count as his first trophy, but now he felt better about keeping it.
Broken Spear watched him. It is getting easier for him; the innocence is fleeing. Next time it will be easier still. I pray he does not lose the sense of kinship, though.
After they packed the meat and skins, he told his students, “When we return to the hall, you learn another of the hunter’s arts: how to make your own clothing from the fur and hides.”
“Sewing?” Rampage cried in disbelief.
Broken Spear laughed. “Yes, sewing, youngster. The good hunter is self-sufficient. He takes and uses what the land offers him, and makes his peace with it.”

***

AT DUSK, their mentor brought the other three hunters back. Two, still unlucky, had only managed one shot at a kai between them. The third, more enterprising, had copied Rampage and run a fishing line and his capture-net down to the stream beneath him, and caught a fish and one huge crustacean, which Broken Spear added to the stew, hollowing out the double shell to save.
The camp ate well that night.
Afterward, they stayed on the ground under the great tree until late, singing, dancing, rejoicing in their victories. The Hunters are a passionate people among themselves, not afraid to be full partners in the dance of life. Their teacher rejoiced with them, feeling the hot blood of youth surge through his veins again.
When they finally spent their energy, they settled round the fire and clamored for stories about their packmates’ hunts – how were they made? How were the kills taken? Were they exciting?
They loved the small-bear story from Rampage, who equally basked in their acclaim. They even liked the trapping and the tree-dweller stories; but they were a little disappointed in Renegade’s. After all, there are few exciting ways to say, “It walked out of the woods and I shot it.”
His teacher laughed heartily at that. “Renegade, Renegade,” he gasped, “You must learn to elaborate your stories. Perhaps even fictionalize them a little.”
“You mean lie?”
“Oh, krr, not exactly,” his mentor said in high good humor; “Although the most truthful hunters I know tend to ‘remember’ details larger than life when they are denned and story-weaving in their own trophy halls.”
Even Renegade had to smile at that.

Chapter Seven…Dreamseeker

   THAT LED the others to turn to Broken Spear and ask for “a hunting story.” He demurred at first, but was secretly pleased to be asked.
“Well,” he agreed, wiping the tears from his laughing eyes, “let me try to keep it free of lies for your sakes, youngsters.
“And it should be short – no, not my Master Hunt – that is a story for when you’ve grown. But I will tell you about my vision quest.
“A vision quest,” he forestalled an outbreak of questions, “is a spiritual journey made by the young clan hunter or huntress long before his or her Master Hunt. From it, the youngster seeks a direction in life, less often a prophecy.
“At a pre-set age, usually eight or ten, the dhai tautsche fasts for nearly a fiveday in camp. Then he goes out into the wilderness, the hunting grounds, basically unarmed except for a simple weapon, and selects a spot to wait and contemplate his request. And wait he does, fasting further, until the vision comes – frequently brought by the young hunter’s spirit animal.”
He paused, scanning their faces. “Ah. I see there are the usual hundred questions. Please hold them until I finish, youngsters.” He gave his customary visual inspection of their perimeters, and then began his story:

Dreamseeker’s Story…So. I belong to the Clan Rydderrak – the Rain Forest Clan – and when it came my time for a vision quest, I cleansed myself and fasted for a full fiveday, and walked out into the wilderness on the sixth. I was allowed one weapon to defend myself, so I chose a spear and took it with me—not a modern newmetal spear, but an old, hand-fashioned, blackbone one from one of our great beasts of Homeworld, the spearhorn.
The rainforests of Homeworld are the hottest and wettest places on a generally hot and steamy world, a vast tangle of rampant growth. But I wanted clear space for my vision; so I chose the highest point of land I knew of nearby – a green mesa – and the highest tree atop that mesa – a great dead krylla-g’k-hoh, whose massive branches rose like a step-way to the sky.
Up there I balanced on the uppermost branch that would bear me, sang my prayers and chants, and waited till wisdom should overtake me.
Another whole fiveday I waited. Ten days now. I had begun to to grow dizzy and faint from hunger, even though I was allowed water, under the fierce power of the sun.
A heavy mist rose around me at day’s end, so I was afraid I might fall and perish before I ever found the turnstone to my life.
Sixday passed again, eleven since I had last eaten. I drank the last of my fresh water, knowing I could not go down for more until this was over. If it ever was.
The seventh day came. The morning fog burned off. High sun approached; the heat beat down relentlessly. I felt my balance begin to go.
The world swam in painful light: white, then red, then grey. I swayed, barely caught myself from falling. I could no longer feel the wood beneath my fingers and toes. So I took off my leather belt, added the sinew thongs from my sandals, and used this makeshift rope to cinch myself to the branch.
This forced me to lie down along the limb. For a while that helped, but soon I was drenched with sweat and further dehydrated. I began to pray as much for the relief of a vision as for its content.
The forest skewed below me; sounds blurred together. As Homeworld’s sun sank in a crimson mist, I began to feel very light. Lighter and lighter I felt, my head rolling with dizziness. The sunset fogs must have closed in, for now I could not tell the difference between up and down. I could no longer see anything but gray.
I felt as if I was floating free, surrounded by a cloud…
The cloud began to change, to condense. Images formed. All was dreamlike, yet not a dream. Never had I dreamed so strangely as this.
Suddenly I saw a figure in the mist. It was my self! I seemed to be climbing something made of many round logs, laid on top of each other – a wooden wall? I strained to see. But I could not. Sharp reports rang out. My climbing self turned to look upwards, and his face was contorted with rage.
Another crack! I felt it – a sharp blow to my upper jaw! My head snapped back. My vision-self flinched and fell. The mists swirled in again, and the image was lost.
What did this mean? Was it a prophecy of my death? My jaw ached terribly. I ran my hand over it, and realized it was my budded ‘spear’ that hurt…it was the grafted small-spear, the left one, that had been hit in my vision. The feeling was so real that I expected to find it shattered where I touched it in this life, but it was whole.
The throbbing spread to my face, then to my entire head. Cramps in my stomach took up the trail from there. I gave an anguished moan, then realized I had returned to the world I knew.
I lay half-fallen from the tree limb, held there only by my belt-strap. Slowly I pulled myself back to horizontal, and lay there, weak and panting.
Something made me look up. The fog had cleared early, and the night sky above was like black glass, studded by the fire-points of the stars. I gazed along the tree limb toward the tip.
Something was up here with me. A big luminous form shimmered near the end of the bough. Two huge golden eyes stared into mine. Two phosphor-white fangs curved from its upper jaw.
(The boys gasped. Broken Spear paused for breath. He did not seem to know they were there anymore.)
It was a great sabretooth. One of the last of its kind in our world, perhaps. And I was defenseless before it. It could take me at any time.
I lay there watching it and waiting to die. My spear had long ago fallen to the ground. I was spellbound.
The great beast seemed to measure me. Then it leaped – I gasped and shut my eyes hard.
But it never touched me. It sprang over me to the tree trunk beyond. It was so close I could hear its claws scratch the bark.
I watched it descend the tree to the ground. There, just as it detached itself and began to float away with long, effortless bounds, three other glowing forms arose from the ground near the tree and glided after it: its mate and two young.
I tried to crane my neck to see where they were going, but such a wave of dizziness swept over me that I clung to the branch, eyes clenched, until it passed.
It seems I had found my spirit animal. Or it had found me. Whether in this world or the next, he had spared me, and I wished him and his family well…..

…The old hunter sighed. He was returning to them.
“I got down from that tree somehow – more falling than climbing, I think. I managed to stagger in the direction of the camp until I collapsed. One of the outer sentries found me, and I lay three nights and three days in the shaman’s lodge, sipping meat broth and babbling fever dreams.”
Someone handed him a water pouch, from which he drank gratefully. Then he tried to answer all their main questions:
--He told them vision quests are still being held today, at least by the clans on Homeworld; and they were one option his students might take.
--Yes, “warrior” is a rank above hunter—two, actually, since an untested hunter usually just retains that title, but one who takes and succeeds on a Master Hunt is called “Esteemed Hunter” ever afterward. Exceptional tautschen become “warriors” as well, renowned fighters who have directly acted in defense of their People and saved lives. A very few have become “Great Warriors.”
--And finally, “In the clan society, all children, male and female, receive Hunt training, regardless of their future occupations. Many form pair bonds that last a lifetime. Fewer women remain active huntresses on their own in the frontier worlds, I think, because there is little or no adult family nearby to help raise the children—although I do not see any barrier to that training in her early years. Females are the original stalkers and killers of prey, as the word tausche suggests. It is our loss, I feel.”
He coughed again. His voice was rusty and rough. After another drink of water, he rasped, “Enough! Off to bed with you! Dasrylion and Renegade, first watch tonight!”
And it was done.
***
A VERY TIRED young hunter eased into his bedsling that evening. Renegade had run at high pitch all day: he had made his first kill, helped to field dress it and prepare a meal from it, policed the camp, sung, danced, and learned about a hidden portion of his teacher’s life. Standing watch had shown him one more thing: the kai still followed their ancient trail through the night. All was right with his world. The universe was unfolding as it should. The kingdom was golden.
He would remember this as the happiest and most wonderful summer of his life…

Chapter Eight…Autumn Approaches

SUMMER, which seems to stretch away forever for the young, finally began ageing into fall. After two warm seasons, Renegade’s literacy schooling ended until the next spring. The hunting classes would continue until early winter, since fall is an excellent season for hunting. In fact the whole little freehold would be consumed by the yearly Autumn Drives – the great fall hunts which supplied extra meat to last through the cold suns.
Renegade began to feel a strange sense of acceleration, as if he couldn’t learn enough, fast enough, before the long winter quarter of the year. He had a sense of something ending, as if it would never return. And he did not know why he felt that way.
It had been a good summer. During the five day hiatus when the older students went hunting with Broken Spear, Renegade had gone to visit his friend Dasrylion at home --- the family’s holding was closer than Rampage’s – and enjoyed meeting his friend’s large, exuberant family, which included parents, four grandparents, three sisters, an uncle and aunt, and several pet birds, brought from Homeworld with them. Clan members frequently “adopt” orphaned young animals, although they keep no domestic ones, hunting in the old fashion.
But keeping animals as pets on a new world had been deemed as too potentially dangerous by Renegade’s parents, and so he had none.
Broken Spear felt the pressure increasing in autumn too. He gave his students as much training as they could handle, hoping to get them a working clawhold on their techniques before winter.
He also communicated with their parents after the short hunting trip in late summer, describing how the students were developing and what stage of training they had reached. He found the best way to do this was by electronic mail; and he was not immune to the irony of the so-called “primitive” hunter using the modern tool…

***

AUTUMN rolled inexorably toward the harvest drives. As Chief Hunter, Renegade’s father was in charge of keeping track of herd sizes, locations, and movements. He and his top ten ranking hunters decided how many animals were needed to keep the colony healthy through winter, and how many individuals could be taken from each herd. These figures he would put before the local Arvien 4 Hunt Council, who would preview them and let him know if they disapproved of any of them.
“Hunting by computer and committee,” Rakul called it, only half-jokingly, to his wife. He also got approval for a very special ceremony, which would be held a day or two before the Autumn Drives; but he kept this a secret to surprise her with later.
Other research did not make him feel even mildly humorous.
“Looks like a bad winter coming, according to the satellite data,” he grumbled to Sun and Shadow. “I’m going to need your help in the drives this fall.”
“You have it,” she said happily – then sobered at once. “But…if we’re both gone for a few days, what about Renegade? Where can he stay? We have no other family here.”
“What about one of his friends? Cold Tracker, say? His father is Reads-the-Wind,” Rakul suggested, before he realized just how impossible that would be,
Dasrylion’s father was Second Hunter, and thus would be part of the drives as his uncle would be, in a lesser way. His mother and aunt would be occupied in the skinning sheds with the kill, as would many colonists’ adult family members. With only the ageing grandparents left at home, Sun and Shadow thought it would be too big a bite for them, to take on five children at the same time.
She was mentally going over a list of everyone they knew on Arvien 4—and it was a short one—when Broken Spear’s report arrived in her computer file. She called it up, and read:

Chief Hunter Rakul and Esteemed Huntress Kr’ra’klv’tt—

I am writing to report your son’s progress in the hunting arts.
I am very pleased with Renegade. He has mastered a number of physical exercises and the use of several weapons: the crossbow, spear and wrist knife.
As you know, he was one of the first students to take down game during our hunting trip this summer…

(Oho, so you admit it was a hunt, old warrior? she mused to herself, and read on)

I would hope you decide to let him continue his training here next spring. Renegade has leadership ability, a creative intelligence, and is quite even-tempered as well.
--This is on-course only the opinion of an old hunter—

(Old hunter indeed, she thought, old tsh’ombre more like—thinking of a small but clever mammal that regularly and successfully robs hunters’ traps)

--and in no way a demand for your action. But know that I would find it most gratifying to go on teaching such a promising youngster. Please contact me if you have any questions or concerns or would like a personal conference.
                         --T’akaion, formerly
                          Chief Hunter, Clan Rydderrak.
                         Now of Arvien 4 Hunt School

“Old tsh’ombre,” she smiled, “you are far too modest about your abilities. You are exactly who you say are, and more. I think I do have some questions – and I’ll want a meeting as well.”

   Chapter Nine…Night of Passage 

BROKEN SPEAR stood waiting on his threshold at the training hall’s entrance for his special guest. Sun and Shadow had requested his help in taking care of Renegade during the harvest drives, and he had agreed.  Last night, she’d notified him that the drive would begin today, and she would bring Renegade over herself, before she left to join the other hunters. 
Now he stood waiting for both of them, watching mother and child jog up the slope in a way reminiscent of the first time he’d seen them a few quarters ago. Only they are both running today, he noted, and the chk-kiy is the faster.
“Broken Spear!”  Renegade loped up to him, his green eyes shining. “My mother says I can stay over tonight! I brought some things in my backpack. Look!”
The old warrior laughed, caught him up, and hoisted him playfully. “Yes! I know! I am glad to have you with me, young hunter. Now go inside – your class is already here…I called them early, since the oldest are helping with the hunt…” He swung the boy down to a ripple of childish laughter, then let him race indoors.
He turned to the mother. She jogged up to him with the long graceful bounds of a panther, her long mane floating to rest behind her back. Unlike her son, she was breathing quickly.
She is glorious, the old hunter thought; her mate is a lucky man.
Aloud he said, “Kr’ra’klv’tt! Greetings! Welcome again to my hearth!” and held out his arms.
She shorted a step, angled sideways, and caught his wrists hard, to steady herself, panting, “Prrt! Day’s-light, tyr rakash. My son can outrun me!” She straightened, held on and looked up at him with sparkling eyes. “Not only that, but he can outlast me—and he can hit center-circle on the target at will. You have done a wonderful job with him!”
The old hunter smiled. “You honor me greatly. It is Renegade who readies himself – I merely guide him…” He released her wrists gently, and asked “Did you have your ceremony yesterday?”
She laughed happily. “Chak! What a wonderful surprise! I never hoped to be named a warrior in my lifetime. My husband is so proud of me! And all his top-ranked were there, along with half of Arvien’s Hunt Council!’
She sobered abruptly and looked at him. “I know the recommendation must have come from you, tyr rakash; but I didn’t see you there…”
He gave the Hunter’s equivalent of a shrug. He decided not to tell her that freehold Hunt Councils are jealous of their power, and do not hold with clan hunters, famous or not.  “An oversight, I imagine. Your husband did send to me and thank me personally, however.”
Then, to wean her away from any indignation, he asked, “Are you running the game yet, milady? Or can you stand an old man’s company for a while?”
She smiled back at him. “Krrr, I don’t have to join the hunt until sometime later today – by high sun, perhaps. We’re starting far to the west of here, with the mighty krolf herds on the plains, where the sun has not yet risen. My husband is still packing things and coordinating his hunters. He said he will call me"--- she touched a small communicator on her belt. “And I would be honored to visit with you again.”
He lifted his chin. “So. Please come inside. I have to set the students to exercising; then we can talk.” He’d noticed her use of his real title, and thought that might be what the conference was really about.
She followed him into the training room. The seven youngest students, including the Three, were already alerted to her presence. Muted attention fairly prickled the air. Her own son gave her a quick glance, then returned to his friends, who obviously were more curious about her.
“You must excuse them, vre’warrior; they usually have no-one here but me,” Broken Spear said.
“Not even other parents?” she asked.
“Except to fly them over for classes and back, no, not even then. Would you like to go on to sit at my hearth, Sun and Shadow? I shall be a moment here.”
She hesitated. “Krr-rr…if it would not disturb you, or them, may I watch?”
Broken Spear’s lower jaw expressed surprise – but pleasantly. “Ah. No. I would be honored.” Then in a slight change of tone, “I am too close to my techniques here to know how they may appear to someone else. You could observe, and tell me.”
She gave a little huh of surprise. “You honor me, Esteemed One. I do not think my slight learning could have—“
He gave her a tsck of gentle reproof. “We can all learn from each other, vre’rakasha. I merely wish to see how Cloud Forest youngsters are learning these days.”
That reconciled her. “Then I would be proud to help.”
And she stood silently as he set up the first group’s exercises—the 9-to-11-year-olds’— on one side of the room. Renegade’s small pack received instructions on the other side.
He would not formally introduce her until afterward, she knew, to keep the students’ self-consciousness in check.
Renegade already had a protest: “Ma! You’re not going to watch!”
“Young hunter,” Broken Spear told him sternly; “You must learn to concentrate, without being distracted from your path. Be aware of other influences around you, but do not allow them to disturb you…observation without distraction.” 
Renegade hushed. His mother listened from across the room. Here was a teacher who could control with voice alone, who would never have to raise a talon to his students.
When Broken Spear rejoined her, she complimented, “There is another way you’ve helped my son. He’s more polite at home now, even courteous. Yet he remains eager and confident. And I can see he respects you. I don’t know how you did it; but my senses tell me you never used force.”
A flush heated the old hunter’s skin under this added praise. “Milady, you give me much honor. I did not wish to break the boy’s spirit—or any of theirs’—his lively intelligence is worth a thousand lapses.”
It was the mother’s turn to blush with reflected praise.
A short time later, the students finished practicing their new techniques, and their teacher showed them how to incorporate them in their tch’won style. While they were busy with that, he looked inquiringly at Sun and Shadow.
“Your system is very similar to the one I was raised with,” she said, “although I didn’t learn to blend it with  the tch’won quite so well…I heard the movement comes from an ancient healing ritual of the Rainforest People.”
“It does,” Broken Spear confirmed. “Literally from how it was named, the Dance of Healing…there are regular chants to go with the music…” his attention seemed to focus elsewhere for a moment, before he came back to her and said in a lighter tone,
“But come, what about the students’ individual movements? Surely you can find something to correct?”
She laughed. “On-stat, my friend. I shall try.”
Broken Spear called for his students’ attention. As they listened respectfully, he introduced her: “Young hunters, this is Kr’ra’klv’tt, Esteemed Huntress of the Clan T’chan’rk and more recently, Esteemed Warrior of Arvien 4. She will help instruct you today.”
The mother cast him a laughing, sidelong glance. You trapped me into this, old tsh’ombre, it seemed to say, but in a good way. Then she went straight to the throat of the matter.
As she worked with the students, Broken Spear informed her, “They had questions for me about huntresses. It seems few of their mothers hunt any more and we have no young women in class, a great pity. I thought it might reward them to actually see an active huntress. One who is now a warrior as well... I hope you are not angry?” The powerful old warrior actually humbled himself before her.
She smiled her approval. “No, honored one, I am not angry. In truth I’m enjoying myself today.
“Although I didn’t have much chance to hide my true identity, as someone did,” she couldn’t resist adding.
“I did not truly hide it,” the great warrior confessed, “I merely did not mention it"--- with a feigned innocence that made her laugh again.
She went through the students’ ranks one by one, accompanied by him, talking to them each individually, showing corrections in stance and thrust – which were not made through any fault of his teaching, but rather their own inexperience. They seemed eager to please, though, and Sun and Shadow felt a sense of belonging she had not felt since she left her old clan for this new world.
She spoke to everyone but her own son, whom old clan custom demanded that an unrelated master hunter must teach. She did give Renegade a quick smile, which meant “well done” and brought him almost off the ground in happiness.
Finally the lesson was repeated and done, and Broken Spear settled the students in front of a video screen to watch a documentary about the major animal species of their planet. 
Then he took Kr’ra’klv’tt aside:
“That will keep them for a span,” he said. “May I show you the rest of the hall?”
They did a brief but complete tour. Sun and Shadow was impressed by the evidence of his prowess, and said so. From the way the old warrior treated her, she guessed he must be lonely here. Once again, his ritual formality had vanished and he spoke warmly and freely.
Poor old fellow, she thought, I wonder if he left all his close family behind when he left his clan. Then she felt amused by her phrasing: the “poor old fellow” topped her height by a good head and shoulders, and must be at least twice her weight; while his battle scars etched his powerful body, running over magnificent muscles that gleamed…
Careful, huntress, she told herself, you have a good man of your own.
The old hunter was the model of decorum with her. After the tour, he checked briefly on his students again, and seeing them still absorbed in the film, conducted her to his inner hearth room, where he offered her a hospitable cup of hot citrus drink.
“Yes, thank you, vr’T’akaion,” She sank into a seat. “The Circle has turned for us since I first met you, but the event is nearly the same: here is the drink, and here I am, and the air has turned chill again.”
“Yes, the same Circle but a different road under us,” he remarked softly, setting her cup down. “Here you are. I hope you have time to savor it.”
“I am honored. Yet I’m surprised my husband hasn’t called yet,” she replied. That made for a good opening, so she plunged on, “You said once you have a family on Homeworld, esteemed one?”
A shadow crossed his face. “I do. Four children, all grown. Following their Ways upon the World. But my mate—wife—of 190 years is gone. That is why you see no likeness of her here,” He indicated the room with a head motion, seeming to read her thoughts.
Kr’ra’klv’tt felt stricken. “Oh, Broken Spear! Forgive me – I didn’t know!” She made to rise, but his hand touched her wrist gently, and forestalled her.
“No, milady; Sun and Shadow, no,” he objected. “You do not give offense; you cannot.” He looked directly into her eyes. “The grief is mine alone. She died just four years ago; and I have not yet recovered. Having this school helps me, though. Please, sit and drink. Keep me company awhile, if you will. I obey the Code; I will not seek to court you.” He took his hand away. She settled back down, her sympathy shining in her eyes.
He gave a little smile. “Although, Esteemed Warrior, if you were unmarried, and I at least 80 years younger, I would ask to pay court to you.”
She radiated at him. “And for my part, if I were seeking a life’s mate, I could think of no better husband, no better father than you – except for my Rakul, whom I love dearly.” She returned his light wrist pressure, and drew away.
Broken Spear did not trust himself to speak. He looked down at his cup.
She rescued him. “After the drives, I want you to come to our hearth, to share meat with us. You must come” – there was the Renegade in her, he saw it now—“For now, let us talk together and be good huntmates and friends,” she added gently.
He looked up at her gratefully and allowed this lovely huntress to soothe him with her speech.
They had almost finished their drinks when a musical tone sounded close by.
She started. “T’chrrt! My beltset!” and plucked it free.
Her long-expected call….  Even as she answered it, an odd sensation stole over Broken Spear, a feeling he’d had only at rare moments of his life...
But one it was dangerous to ignore. It was an ominous feeling, a sense of wrongness. Privately he called it “the Boding,” and never had it led him astray.
Once he’d felt it just as he approached a great fallen beast, a poisonous quadruped on Rahvaan 1. He’d recoiled, and the spiked tail lashed out, missing him by microns, sixteen kret dripping with death. Again, on a lonely stalking, he’d felt it brooding ahead of him on a certain trail – in time to discover the monster lurking for him at the end. Now it sprang up as Kr’ra’klv’tt answered her call….
“Yes. I’m on my way,” she said to the caller, and switched off. As she re-clipped the set to her belt, she said, “I’m sorry, T’akaion, but that was my call. I have to leave now.” Her voice rang with sincere regret.
“On-course,” He seemed subdued.
I’m being rude, she thought. Impulsively she reached out to take both his forearms. “Dear friend, I wish I could stay longer. I feel welcome here.”
Jolted out of his thought, Broken Spear answered, “Ah. I—you are welcome here, milady. You gladden my heart.” He turned his hands over and clasped her more slender arms for a moment before he let go. “I will walk your trail with you as far as the door.” And he did, trying to think desperately of some way he could warn her without sounding irrational. Or was he merely being foolish after all?
The huntress noticed his inner agitation, but laid it to his long grief.
The students’ film was almost over. As she went through the training room, she caught Renegade’s eye and motioned to him.
He slipped quietly out of the group.
She reached down and embraced her son. “Dear heart, I have to go now, and join the hunt. You stay with your teacher and be good, you understand?”
“I’ll be good, taunsche,” the boy said, his speech reverting to extreme childhood, his green eyes somber. “You and Papa—you be good, too, on-stat?”
She laughed. “On stat, little hunter. Good hunting, Renegade. I love you.”
“—love you, too, Mama,” he said, falling back to Broken Spear. Unconsciously, he took the old hunter’s hand.
“I will care well for him, Kr’ra’klv’tt,” the old warrior told her. “You need not worry.”
“I know,” she said gently. “Broken Spear – is there something else?”
Relieved, he told her, “Perhaps nothing; perhaps…something, Kr’ra’klv’tt, when you hunt this time – take more than your usual care. It would…make my mind easier.”
She gave him a searching look. “We had seers in my Clan, as well. Is that the wellspring of your request?”
When lifted his chin slightly, she added, “I see…and I thank you. I will be careful – and aware. I swear it to you. Now, good hunting and night’s-rest, my friend…” Quicker than reflex, her fingers touched his shoulder, then his cheek; and she turned away to descend the mountain.
“Good hunting!" he called after her.
 “May the Great Spirit guide your hand,” he added, low, like a benediction.
“What does that mean, Elder?” the small voice piped up at his side. “Why did you say that?”
Must not worry the child, he thought. “Just a little clan prayer for hunting luck,” he said lightly (and that part was true). “Let us go back inside now, Renegade, and rejoin the others. Target practice outside today!”
As he turned them away from the threshold, from the bright sunlight without, a weight of darkness settled upon him, within….

***

THE DOOR to the great hall clanged shut. The last student had gone, except for Renegade, and the school was closed for the night.
“Early dark, and the wind is rising,” Broken Spear remarked to the child beside him. Rain coming, or worse. That means slippery ground and slowed reactions---
He shook his head to clear it, and took the small hand in his own. “Come; let’s go somewhere warm, young hunter.”
Together they walked through the echoing chamber.
“It’s different in here with everybody else gone,” the boy said softly. “Emptier. Lonely.”
“Chak, much lonelier,” Broken Spear agreed. Renegade himself seemed smaller and younger in the darkened corridors. No longer the self-assured young warrior, he looked every bit the child he was, and the old hunter’s heart ached for him.
He forced cheerfulness. “You will feel better in the hearth room, Renegade; it’s much more comfortable than the Great Hall.” He gave the little hand a reassuring squeeze, and tried to rise from his own worries, for the boy’s sake. He remembered how vulnerable small children could be.
All that day, Broken Spear had been able to keep Renegade (and himself) too busy to dwell on their thoughts. Dasrylion and Rampage had stayed a little later than the others to have some playtime together…that helped…and then Renegade trailed his mentor on his rounds of the school, even though the well-taught students did most of their own cleanup before they went home.
Now they were on their own.
Broken Spear took his little shadow to the hearth room, where he had a fire going, and a nice hot meat stew for him. The old hunter had eaten yesterday, but he joined the youngster for a bite this evening, so he would not have to eat alone.
--Still that vrakking doubt kept gnawing at him. If anything, it had gotten worse in the past few tare’. Broken Spear felt a sense of frustrated anger at his own helplessness. The Boding gave him no prescience of how or when it would fall. The only thing he could do was care for the child – and pray for the mother. All his strength, and he was powerless….
“Are you tired yet, Renegade?” the old hunter asked him kindly after their meat-sharing was done.
Renegade blinked. “A little. Are you going to sleep now, Elder?”
“Not yet, youngster. I have to make notes on today’s lessons; and then,” he sighed, “perhaps I could sink into a nice hot bath before I sleep.” –and clean the fantasies from my brain, he did not say.
“May I stay up with you, just for a little while?” Renegade asked politely.
Broken Spear looked at him. He seems so small, tonight. “Yes, I think so. At least-path until I do the bookwork. Then you really must try to sleep, little hunter”…and so shall I.
“Thanks, T’akaion!” Renegade beamed up at him, so uplifted that the old hunter was satisfied with his decision. It had been more than a hundred years since his own children had been young enough to be this vulnerable – he’d almost forgotten how protective they made him feel.
So the night’s long vigil crept on. The old hunter took out his daily journal – he actually wrote in it, with a stylus, Renegade noticed – and began to record the day’s events.
He began to, but he didn’t finish, for somehow the little boy managed to look lonelier and lonelier, until Broken Spear’s heart went out to him. Putting the journal aside, he invited Renegade to sit on his knee, and told him tales of legends and heroes, while holding him gently.
…Until the little one fell asleep in the old hunter’s arms.
Broken Spear smiled. A line had been crossed: they were no longer teacher and student, they were family members now – a beloved grandson drifting off in his grandfather’s arms. Ah….he’d forgotten what that felt like, too.
Carefully he stood up and moved his breathing burden over to the bunkhouse portion of the hall. Never yet used, it was a room with some twenty raised platform beds, each in its own little alcove for privacy, and meant for the older students who might stay at the school fulltime until they took their Master Hunts.
“Another big empty room,” Broken Spear whispered to himself as he deposited the small form on one of the elevated beds. “But perhaps I can fix that” He slung a privacy curtain around the head of the bed, touched a star of light into being on the wall above it. This bed was closest to the entry door, the whole room just down the hall from the old hunter’s own bedchamber. The boy would not be far away
Renegade stirred drowsily as Broken Spear prepared his bed. The old warrior allowed him to wake up enough to learn where he was, and what his situation was…”This is a bunkroom, Renegade…over by that far wall is the toilet alcove, down the hall are my own quarters…there is an intercom, see? You can reach me wherever I am. I think I will leave it on. Are you on-stat, little one?”
  “Yes, Elder,” Renegade mumbled sleepily, and let the hunter slip a fur blanket over him. “Night’s rest, Broken Spear.”
His mentor patted the blanket in place, and the small shoulders under it. “There now, Renegade. Night’s rest to you, too, son.”
The boy was back asleep before he left the room.
Directly across the hall lay the older students’ sauna and bathing chamber. Broken Spear entered and turned the lights on low. There was an intercom in here, too, and he opened it. Just on chance, he told himself.
How his joints ached tonight! The change of weather, no doubt. Once alone, he moved more like a man in some pain – an image he never allowed the students to see. The outdoor cold had returned with a vengeance. He wondered again how hard winter was going to be on him this year, his first on-planet, as he filled the whirl-bath.
Old fool, he reprimanded himself, to take on so much when you ought to be retired as an Esteemed Elder, and letting other clan hunters bring you meat…
…Not to mention his fool-ish thoughts about another man’s wife….
Still, if that had been his path, he would not have his school now, or his students, including Renegade.
--The black despair hit him full-charge, and he groaned. It was even stronger this time, stronger, and formless as the void….
And he could do nothing about it. He didn’t even have enough of an image to give her a specific warning.
“Great Spirit, keep her from harm,” he implored, sinking to his knees. Unconscious of his sudden reversion, he cupped his hands full of the steaming water, then raised them high, letting the water run from his palms.
No one accepted his offering; the darkness did not withdraw; and after few moments, he bowed his head to the inevitable and whispered, “Whatever is Your will….”
Finally he roused himself to move again, standing to strip off his loincloth, then slowly easing himself into the water. His heart was full of pain.
The churning waters brought him some relief from his body aches, if nothing else. The heat steamed away the soreness of a hundred old injuries and soothed his muscles to smoothness again.
He soaked out all the stiffness, and left the water reluctantly. As he stood in the steam jets, drying, he heard the heat click on elsewhere in the building. The great hall was heated mainly by nuclear fusion power, with accessory solar panels. Broken Spear’s fireplace was only a nostalgia piece.
He closed his eyes and leaned back, clearing his mind.
Then the sounds began. High-pitched hisses and snarls like venting steam swiftly changed to full-blooded chords of agony. They came in through the intercom and partially-open chamber door – shocking sounds, battle sounds.
Broken Spear knew the source at once. “Renegade!” he gasped. The boy was under attack! He snatched at a wrist gauntlet as he bolted forward, snared a laser in passing. He flung the laser cylinder on his back even as he sprang out the door and across the hall.
The screams stopped. The boy sat upright in bed, his body taut, his eyes wide but blind to the present. What he saw was not in the room.
His breath sobbed forth, caught, and raced out again. He was saying one word, over and over – “No! --- No! –NO!”
“Renegade!” Broken Spear shouted, clasped him by the shoulder, and gave him a careful shake. He scarcely recognized the boy like this: Whatever else he saw, Renegade had found fear.      “Wake up!”  
The boy’s thin finger talons clutched at him, scratched and dug in. Broken Spear was not aware of anything except a desperate need to reach the child.
Little by little the youngster’s tension ebbed. His harsh breathing slowed to a kind of  breathless gasping. The boy’s head dropped forward; his eyes closed.
Broken Spear shook him once more.
“Renegade. Stay awake!” he commanded.
“…Broken Spear?” came an uncertain tone.
“Yes, son, yes. Here I am. It’s a dream, that’s all, just a bad dream.” The big warrior’s grip slackened. He held Renegade upright without force now. “A bad dream, no more…” –his invocation to a higher power – no more.
“A…dream?” Renegade was coming to himself. “But it was so real.” He looked into the old hunter’s face, his own full of trouble and pain.
Broken Spear held him close then. “Yes; a dream.” Cautiously, “Renegade, do you remember it? Was it…clear?”
“Oh, chak. Some of it, any-path. I was out hunting – only it wasn’t really me – I was somebody else…searching. At first the prey was small, a little beast, far away. Then I got closer.” The tiny claws tightened on his arm.
“I caught up with it. It was still small, but not right, somehow. I raised my spear. It started to turn –“
“And it was HUGE. And there were many, not one. They came at me, like a dark wave—“
“Steady,” whispered Broken Spear. He felt a shade of relief. It seemed to be a version of a common nightmare for carnivores: the small, inoffensive prey, the moment of truth and the beast explodes into something huge and deadly and strong….
Far off, his comset chirruped. Both of them started. Broken Spear heard his call sign. A message was coming through.
He glanced at the boy trembling in his arms. Renegade’s heart was pounding. The dream was still real to him.
“Just the comset,” Broken Spear told him. “Stay here, son, I’ll be just a few moments.” He reached out to twist the intercom louder, so he could hear Renegade even from the other room.
Renegade did not speak, But he seemed calmer. Carefully, the great hands released him. His mentor eased away.
And was gone.
The boy sat staring into the maw of night.
   
***

THE BODING --- “885 – North 1124 – calling 885 North 1124. Is anyone there?” the set squawked relentlessly until Broken Spear snatched it up.
“888 here. What is it?"  he snapped without ceremony.
“Honored hunter? T’akaion?” came a voice, unfamiliar and uncertain.
“This is he. Who’s this?”
“This is—rrr—Khai-ar’myk Scr’vk  -- Dasrylion’s father.”
“Dasrylion? Has something happened to him?"  To him, too?
The man’s voice caught. “—No—aah—it hasn’t .”  He seemed hesitant. Why? “I’m calling instead of…our Chief Hunter..”
Renegade’s father. Broken Spear went cold. He sat down.
“Tell me,” he said, bracing himself.
“There’s been an accident" -- the hunter began, and Broken Spear felt his world veer on its axis.
“What…kind?”
The other told him, and blackness closed down. His head swam; pinpoints of blinding light stabbed under his eyes. For a heartbeat, he could not breathe.
Then…”No…no..” he whispered, echoing Renegade’s words. “Aaah …what else?”
He heard it through to the end. He felt sickened. The receiver bleated. It slid from his hands. “Both of them…both of them…”
When the black cyclone around him slowed at last, he became aware of another sound in the hall. Not from the comset: that had fallen silent. Something else. He did not recognize it at first. Then he did.
It was high-pitched and wailing. So full of anguish and despair that it did not seem something of this world. Rising and falling and rising again…
--A child’s terrible ice-thin version of the adult’s death howl. The keening of a soul in agony.
Thanks to the open intercom, Renegade had heard the full exchange.
Broken Spear lunged off his chair and was out the door and down the hall at flashpoint.
“Renegade!” he cried as he charged into the bunkroom. Nothing. The bed lay crumpled and empty. The boy had fled.
Heat-trail. There. Going…where? It led to the far door at the other end of the bunkroom. A vestibule to the outside, rarely used. He must be there. In a few long springs, so was the old hunter.
A blast of icy rain slashed as him. The outer door stood wide.
“Renegade!” he thundered and sprang out into the gale.
Near-total darkness. Wind sheared the trail away. What lay here? 
His foot slapped on stone. Ah, he remembered. There was a short series of steps leading down to a rock ledge platform eight or ten kri below. After that, nothing. Nothing but the sheer cliff wall.
“Renegade!” he screamed into the wind, and the wind screamed back at him. He took the stairs in a bound, hit the rock ledge, and looked wildly around.
There. A glimmer. Well below the ledge, propped by a protruding stone, a small body lay. 
Renegade had tried to die, but hit the rock spur in falling, and lay stunned several hunters’ lengths below.
Heedless of wind and rain, Broken Spear plunged his upper body over the edge and tried to reach him that way. 
Too short.
With a curse, the warrior swung himself fully over the edge and slid down, using finger-and toe-claws to brake his fall.
He almost missed. He scraped to a stop just below the boy. Renegade stirred. His body heat was growing fainter. But if he awoke, he would try again. The old hunter stretched for him. His great leg and thigh muscles flexed and strove.
There. He had a hand on him. The boy’s flesh was cold, so cold on this bitter night.
Broken Spear pulled himself level with Renegade. Gently he peeled the youngster from the jutting stone, then slung him over one broad shoulder. The boy moaned.
Be still, please stay still, the old hunter prayed. Grimly he gathered his strength, both hands and feet connecting with the mountain now. The rain slapped at him, and the wind howled.
 Broken Spear willed himself to climb the stone. Descendent of the great sabretooth, heir to the ages, he forced the cliff to yield to him.
Micron by micron, hairline fracture by fracture, he pushed and pulled himself up the mountain, his precious burden flung over his shoulder like a wet cloth. Renegade’s weight was so slight that sometimes Broken Spear felt he was carrying nothing at all.
Moments passed, or a millennium. Broken Spear’s searching finger talons found the upper lip of the stone ledge. First the talons, then the fingers, then the whole hand found a grip above his head. He bent one knee and breathed in, deep.
--And heaved himself over the rim. First waist-high, then hip-high, then…over.  Falling flat. Smacking the wet stone hard with his stomach…yet sheltering the child from impact.
They weren’t out of the weather yet. Broken Spear slid the boy from his shoulder to one arm, straining to hear or see a heartbeat.
There was one, but it was thready and weak. He had to get Renegade inside and get him warm. Pressing the youngster to his own chest for protection, the old warrior sprang up the stone steps and through the dark doorway, then hooked the door over, slamming it shut behind him.
The wind and the rain cut off at mid-blast as he slammed the door shut and rammed the lock home. 
He turned and sprinted through the building, with Renegade in his arms.
He reached the steam room, tore open the sauna door and took the youngster inside. Once there, he set the regulator to HOT and touched the lights. Then he sought out one of the hardwood benches and sat down.
There was more to do. First he stretched a soft hide over the bench before him, then laid Renegade upon it. The boy’s skin looked very pale, and his normally light colors almost ghostly. Yet he still breathed. So carefully, even tenderly, the old hunter began to massage the small body in front of him. Slowly, smoothly he went, beginning from his heart area and pressing the circulation the circulation outward, into the arms, legs, neck and head….Outward to the fingers and toes, and lingering there, Broken Spear repeated the circular motions  patiently as steam hissed from the outlets around them, and the room grew hot.
Renegade’s fingers curled. A shiver ran over him as he drew a shuddering deep breath. Broken Spear paused, lifted the boy’s head gently.
Renegade’s eyes blinked open. He seemed disoriented at first.
“Where…?” he asked – and saw his teacher bending over him.  His eyes searched the old hunter’s. “My mother…my father?” he whispered.
The dark brown eyes opposite him started to veil. 
“I am…so…very…sorry,” Broken Spear said.
“N—no,” Renegade stammered. “No!” he cried out and struggled to escape.
Broken Spear held onto him. “Please, chk-kiy…”
“No! Let me go! They’re dead. Let me go! Let me die too!” the boy screamed at him. He began to fight. “Why did you save me? Let me go! I don’t want to be here! They’re dead, they’re dead!”
He had a surprising turn of strength for such a young one, but it was still a hide-scrap compared to the old warrior’s.
He went wild, directing all his pitiful strength at Broken Spear’s big shoulder. He struggled desperately, slashing with his nails, even using his milk teeth to try and break the hold.
“Let me – go.” Renegade strength was failing. “Please…let me go…” reduced to begging now.
“No, child. I cannot let you destroy yourself too. Please, Renegade; I want you to live…” the big hunter placed a hand on Renegade’s back and held him against the wall of his shoulder.
The boy slumped, exhausted. His forehead leaned against the warrior’s chest. “Why?” he asked piteously. “I don’t…want to…” and he began to cry in long shuddering sobs drawn from the depth of his being. He unclenched his hands to wrap his arms around the old hunter’s neck….”don’t want…to live.”
“No, dear child, you mean you don’t want your parents to die,” Broken Spear told him softly. His tears coursed down to join Renegade’s. “You may not think so now, but you will want to live, to go on, later. For now, just know that I want you to live. Give me your trust, son, give me your grief. Life is too great a gift to throw away…your life is valuable, too. What the Spirit-of-all gives, we must not recklessly fling away.”
And as he talked gently and soothingly to the boy, meaning every word he uttered to the depth of his heart, Broken Spear felt his beloved charge pour out his grief and despair for a long, long, time…
Finally exhaustion claimed his tears along with his strength, and Renegade began drifting off. He had reached the bend in the trail, and turned back, Broken Spear felt. Perhaps he could now mourn his parents without trying to join them in death.
Softly he told the half-conscious youngster, “I know what loss is, son, loss too great to bear. I have felt it too. I would have given anything I have, anything I am, to spare you this. But it was not allowed me….Rest now, and stay with those who love you. There are still many of us left, and we love you, Renegade. Stay with us…”
So saying, he eased the boy, talked to him, held him, until, without quite giving up; Renegade at last succumbed to fatigue.
When he was sure the boy was asleep, Broken Spear dried first him, and then himself from the sauna, drew on his own warmer clothing and wrapped a soft fur around Renegade. He took the boy, not to the bunkhouse, but to his own sleeping quarters, arranged the youngster on his own large and comfortable bed, and covered him.
For himself, Broken Spear pulled a bed-net off a shelf, hung it from ceiling hooks in the same room, and prepared to spend the night near Renegade’s side. His own cuts and scrapes began to sting in the cooler air, but he trusted that the steam had cleansed them; he was too tired to do more. They were not and never would be an issue between him and the boy – nor would he even let Renegade bring up the subject, when the boy finally noticed the small wounds, much later.
For the present, until Broken Spear was sure the boy was completely out of danger, he would not leave Renegade alone

Chapter Ten…Stardust 

“IT WAS HERE, ELDER.”
They stood on a windy plain. For hundreds of kri-veh around, the long brown grasses rose and fell like a restless sea. The day dawned so bitterly cold that the wind shook a few ice-flakes from the sky and skirled them through the air.
The freehold hunter had brought the visitors to the spot where Renegade’s mother and father died. He indicated a black burned patch in the grass, as wide as a starship.
“Yes; I see.” Broken Spear stood like a tower of red granite upon the plain. The dire wind whipped his heavy cloak backward, exposing its white fur. 
Renegade was with him, also warmly dressed. The boy stared straight ahead. He stood like stone.
“And it happened how?” Broken Spear demanded.
The freehold hunter was smaller and in some awe of him. Good. He did not feel patient today.
The man inclined his head in acknowledgement. He was handsomely marked in black and brown, but sorrow and respect had paled him. He began,
“Rakul (Renegade’s father) was on the herd’s north flank, well out of range of our scouts, when we drove the beasts over the prairie swell – there. Then for no reason we could see, but as the plains krolf will do, they took fright at something before them and broke apart in a stampede. Rakul was on foot when a group charged toward him...”
“Go on.” Broken Spear monitored the boy with his gaze. Renegade stood silent, his eyes fixed on the far horizon.
“Any-route, to shorten it: No one else was near him except his wife, on a skycycle…”
Kr’ra’klv’tt, a memory now, of whom not even ash remained, not even bone…Broken Spear bared his teeth, but closed his eyes, once.
“She flew her skycycle towards him, to save him. She cut across low – just ahead of the herd. And then…and then… the cycle bucked; we think the rear edge hit the ground and it stalled. She caught his hand; the first beasts reached them, struck the cycle to earth. It burst into—“
“Enough. I see it.” Broken Spear intervened. He stared at the fire circle seared into the grass. She managed to touch him at least; they died looking into each other’s eyes…
“Renegade, are you ready?”
The boy flicked a glance at him. His eyes were green flame.
“Yes, Broken Spear. I am.”
“Well and good.” The old clan hunter turned back to the new freehold one. “Esteemed Hunter, you know what we wish?”
“Yes, but – most of the animals involved were killed in the explosion, tyr rakash. Are you sure---?” there the man stopped. The old one’s terrible eyes silenced him.
“We are. I will be with the boy, as you know. And it is his right.”
“Yes, Elder,” the other submitted. He looked away from them and raised his laser rifle on high.
Overhead from the southeast a scout ship swooped down. It dropped below the horizon abruptly.
Thunder announced its re-appearance. Living thunder, made by the power of many hooves drumming the ground.
The running animals broke over the swell of grassland, the ship darting above them. There were perhaps twenty of them, split from the main herd.
The freehold hunter started to speak, but he saw the elder and the boy standing silent, and he clamped his jaw again. Grimly he held his ground, even though by the look of the weapons the elder was carrying, it seemed enough to annihilate all the beasts…his presence might not be needed, but he would not forsake them.
The scout ship dived at the small breakaway herd of krolf. Expertly it split the dun-and-white animals again, driving all but five of them back to the main herd. These came on, toward the hunters.
“Choose your target.”
Broken Spear spoke to the boy standing about five steps ahead of him. Renegade lifted his chin and nocked one of his “special” arrows. Tears streaked across his face, driven sideways by the wind. He knew it was no good telling Broken Spear to stand back, that he wanted to be alone with this, since the old hunter had already refused. At least he promised not to intervene unless he had to…
The plains krolf galloped closer, their long coats sweeping the grass. They were slowing, and would pass about ten Hunters’ length to the north. 
The mouth of Broken Spear’s rocket cannon glowed red.
The beasts stopped. They’d sighted the hunters and become uneasy, wedged between enemies.
“Chai’ik hai!” Renegade cried suddenly, challenging them.
The beasts’ shaggy tails flipped. One of them snorted and broke free, approaching. It pawed the ground and bellowed. A bull.
Renegade set to his target, aiming carefully.
The bull lowered its head, scimitar horns gleaming.
The arrow flew.
At the last heartbeat, the bull tossed its head, deflecting the dart to its flank. A muffled whump sounded as the bolt struck home.
The bull roared in rage and pain, and staggered, going down to its knees. A dot of red light appeared on its neck.
“No, Broken Spear! It’s mine!” the boy cried. Swift as thought he loosed another arrow. This struck true, between the foreshoulder and throat, and vanished in blood.
The bull lurched once, and died.
Three figures stood upright in the tall grass. The krolf lay where it had fallen, an unmoving mountain.
“Well shot, Renegade,” Broken Spear said, adding, “Your pardon?” meaning his move to interfere.
The boy lowered his bow. Heat flooded his face. “On-course, vr’hunter. And…yours?” – for shouting at him.
“No need. Now. Where are the other four beasts?” Broken Spear was testing him.
 A grim smile pulled at the small mouth. “Run and gone, Elder. I saw them go.”
Broken Spear nodded. “Excellent, young hunter! Well thrown indeed!” He strode up to the boy, gripped his shoulder, once.
Renegade turned a wind-and-water-streaked face to him.
Broken Spear heard a slight shifting in the grass behind them. He turned to the freehold hunter. “And now, Esteemed Hunter, have our thanks for your patience. This is finished. We may begin the other.”
“As you wish, Elder,” the man said, inclining his head. He touched his beltset to signal the others.

***

 THEY HELD the Leavetaking ceremony on the place where Renegade’s parents had fallen, marked by the scorched circle and the body of the bull. Without the kill, Broken Spear thought, there would have been no physical presence here at all. He was glad he had agreed to Renegade’s decision.
Nine other hunters gathered, the rest of the top-ranking ten for this freehold. One by one, each spoke his memories of the fallen, stepped forward, and flung a parting gift onto the burnt grass. Some of these were arrows and spears. A few were the skulls of Plains animals. Dasrylion’s father threw a beautiful spotted cat’s hide into the circle, obviously a personal treasure. Broken Spear was pleased to hear that the mourners did not neglect Sun and Shadow in their Leavetaking remembrances, either.
Beside him, Renegade swayed a little. The old hunter touched his shoulder, his look asking, Are you all right? Do you want to turn away?
The boy made a negative head motion, murmuring, “A warrior…walks, Elder.”
Broken Spear agreed. “Yes – even when he can scarcely crawl. And a warrior stands, even when he would fall.” He left his hand in place and Renegade steadied himself against it.
“Esteemed Elder, Great Warrior.” Another freehold hunter stepped forward. He was tall and broad across the shoulders, his body a dark, glistening gray, his mane ginger: Dasrylion’s sire, Reads-the-Wind: “You are senior here. We would appreciate it – if you gave the Leavetaking.”
“I would be honored,” Broken Spear replied. He stepped forward a pace, leaving Renegade. The boy remained standing, still and strong.
Broken Spear raised his great voice: “Honored hunters all, we come here today to take leave of our cherished companions. It is not a task we relish, and one which I have seen too often – and death came in the field, as it too often does. Both of our friends died nobly, though we would rather still have them with us here, alive.”
Heads were lifting, eyes sheathing, at his words.
He continued, “So I will ask now to give them an honorable passage, and speak our ancient Credo, to remind us of the alliance of all things to each other.”
He paused, breathing deep. Then his voice reverberated to chant the Credo – the code the Hunting People live by:
“Behold; I am the voice of the stars and the call of the distant. I am the Fire of a thousand suns, and chill of space Absolute…
“I am All that breathes, and All that does not. To the rock and the tree and the sunset, I am kindred. And to the hawk, and the high meadow, and the stars of the sea, I am kin. For we are all of one Being and one Becoming. And we are all dust on the road, and the dust of suns. Forever and today, life unending, are we. Let Life Prevail!”
He cried out, “Farewell, good hunters! Brother and sister, farewell!” He took something from around his neck, a gleaming medallion on a golden chain, and tossed it onto the pile. Then he stepped back.
Nine other voices cried, “Farewell!” Laser and cannon nosed down.
They all fired at once. The objects, the gifts in the center circle, the great bull krolf itself, seemed to leap into flame. Fire exploded skyward. A ball of plasma arose, blinding blue-white. It passed, and became a crackling flame that would burn the Leavetaking gifts to ashes, and the ashes to the sky.
A scout ship appeared, ready to check any fire which spread. The encircled hunters stood until the flames guttered down. 
Black and gray ashes sifted with bits of bone were all that stirred there now. The fire had not spread.
The watchers turned away. The ship would remain for a time, but basically, the ceremony was over.
“Their Hunt is done,” Broken Spear said. He put his arm around Renegade’s shoulders and led him away.
“—Elder,” Reads-the-Wind came up to them. They stopped.
“Yes, vr’hunter?” Broken Spear asked.
“Rakul was our leader, Kr’ra’klv’tt our honored partner,” the Tracker Clan hunter began. “And we – the other hunters and I – wonder what will become of their son. Is he provided for? If not, perhaps we can find him another home – and the family has clan on Homeworld…”
Renegade shrank closer to Broken Spear, as if he feared someone would take him away at once. The old hunter’s arm tightened around him.
“I will take him,” Broken Spear said, “and raise him as my own. We are agreed on that. I have had children before, and ere long, the boy would come to live at my hall by any-path. But your concern is most welcome.” More affably, “And your own son’s friendship means a great deal to Renegade. He will need his friends.”
“In truth,” the other agreed. He continued, “You know that his parents had a land-holding here – hunting grounds, home, and all. It goes to him now.”
“He must decide its disposal himself,” Broken Spear said. “He may take it now, or have the Hunt Council keep it in trust for him until he is grown. He will deal with it in time” –after he finishes mourning went unspoken between them.
Reads-the-Wind accepted that. “One more thing, tyr rakash, if you would: the matter of the harvest share...” To Broken Spear’s inquiring look, he explained, “His family’s share of the meat from the autumn drives. We—the hunters and I—have decided to offer it to the boy, and to his guardian or kin. We have ample meat this year…will you accept it in his place? –Not that you need any, a hunter of such renown as yourself…” he cushioned his words against offense.
Broken Spear was touched by their generosity. “I take no offense, vr’hunter. Your offer is compassionate; it will allow me more time for my teaching and planning, and it will feed Renegade well. I thank you – and whenever you wish, I would be honored to have any of you or your families as guests at my hearth.” He finally turned aside. “Good hunting, brother.”
“Good hunting, Elder,” Reads-the-Wind sent after them. He watched them board Broken Spear’s small aircar, and stayed in place until it had flown away.

***

GOING HOME---They sped away north, toward the dark forest nearly half a continent away, to the school’s mountain. The Leavetaking had been held in the morning; Arvien was still rising in the east. It had flooded the plains with morning light; it would warm the south face of the mountain, and banish the snow-wind as it came.
Renegade sat silent throughout most of their journey. Broken Spear did not press him. The Hunting People are comfortable with quiet; and the boy had many things on his mind.
After a while: “Elder?”
“Yes, son?”
“What was it that you threw on the fire?”
“An old medallion – I did not feel I had been able to live up to my oath, as a warrior who protects his people. I thought it fitting to offer.” Broken Spear did not mention that the medallion had been one of his major Hunt awards when he earned his warrior title. He had given it as a Leavetaking gift, and in repentance, not to create a debt.
There came a long pause beside him. Then: “It wasn’t your fault, T’akaion.”
The old hunter sighed. He said simply, “Thank you, Renegade.”
He waited for more questions. When none came, he put one of his own. “Did killing the bull help you, Renegade?”
“Chak. I was angry at them…the herd. Then I killed one – and I’m not angry any more…” His voice trailed sadly away. “But my parents are still gone.”
“I know,’ his guardian said softly. “It does not bring them back. Only your memory can.    …The Leavetaking kill is an old ritual, not much practiced anymore. But I think it has value for the grieving: they at least can slay a part of the rage in themselves by slaying the beast that killed their loved ones – or a beast like it. Then anger dies, and they can begin to heal again.” He was looking down, watching the bronze- and red-leaved forest slide away beneath them.
“We are approaching your old home, Renegade. We can stop in if you like, and you can get some of your belongings. –Or not today. It doesn’t matter.”
Renegade’s mouth tightened. The tips of his canines showed. “We can go in,” he said.
He could bear it, he meant.

***

GOING THROUGH the empty house was a harder thing than he imagined.  It still seemed to echo with his father’s footsteps, his mother’s voice.
Broken Spear remained downstairs while Renegade climbed up to his deserted room to gather what belongings he could carry.
The old hunter carefully put away the daily implements that were lying about, and checked the lower rooms. He reset the exchanger to a lower but still tolerable temperature (the storage batteries held collected solar energy from sunward parts of the house; the geothermal pipes would run unaffected from many lifetimes). The old hunter shut down the well also, an easy flip-switch operation.
After Renegade came down, Broken Spear louvered the transparent walls closed, sealing the house from inside. He would not lock the outer doors – Hunter courtesy demands that the wandering hunter or wayfarer be fed and welcomed if he is lost; and the hunter or wayfarer honors the custom by never taking more than food or shelter.
They were ready to leave.
Silently they re-entered the aircar. Renegade watched a few moments as the home he was born in diminished behind them until it was hidden by the trees. Then he looked straight ahead.
The car’s prow pointed at the nearby mountain, and toward his new life and home.

  

PART TWO…The Hunter

The good hunter knows his prey; the great hunter knows 
himself.

Know the prey; it carries its own defeat within itself.

It is up to you to act honorably; expect no honor from the
prey.
                                       ---Excerpts from Hunt Law

Chapter Eleven…The Long Winter

“’AHAI, Dasrylion! There are some tracks over here!” Renegade, knee-deep in snow, waved to his friend.
“Coming.” Dasrylion plowed through the drifts toward him, to peer under the evergreen tree’s branches – and knocked a load of snow off in the process. “T’chrrt!” he exclaimed, and shook it off vigorously.
Meanwhile, Rampage glowered at them from his perch on a fallen tree. “Hurry up, you two,” he growled, his voice muffled by layers of fur wraps and mufflers. “You know how cold it is out here? I’m freezing!”
“Be patient, Rampage,” Renegade said calmly; “We just have to set these trap lines. I need more furs for Broken Spear.”
“Why? You two must have had forty krolf hides from the drives, along with the beasts themselves. Any-route, you said he didn’t ask you to set these traps.”
“No, he didn’t,” Renegade explained patiently. “But this is his first winter here, and it’s been hard on him. I want him to have more furs to make into some warmer clothes. By-the-path, we sold or traded all those hides except a few he kept for my winter clothes.”
“There. This one’s in place,” Dasrylion said. “Right in the hollow under the branches.”
“It looks good,” Renegade said, and challenged Rampage with, “If you help us, brother, we can get back to the hall – and the baths – a lot sooner.”
“Oh fine. Well and good,” his friend grumbled, sliding off his log. “Let’s get to it, then.”
It was indeed a hard winter. It came early, just a few tendays after Renegade’s parents’ death; and it was staying long.
The severity of it took even the freehold hunters by ambush. If not for Rakul’s forethought, there would not have been enough meat killed and stored from the autumn drives.
Native-born children were genetically adapted to dryness and cold. Outworlders like Broken Spear suffered intensely.
For the old clan hunter, coming to a new world at more than 200 years of age, this was a very harsh time.
Even after a minor salivary glad operation, and altering his battle-worn facemask to increase the flow of warmth and water vapor to his lungs, Broken Spear had to contend with deep snow and bitter air. He exercised faithfully indoors, because he was so vulnerable to the weather outside. He bogged down hip-deep in the same high snow which didn’t slow down the youngsters much; and when he struggled through it, his joints and lungs screamed with pain.
Renegade did not tell his friends this. He knew that Broken Spear carried on valiantly for his sake: the stalwart old warrior refused to reveal his weakness to anyone else, let alone his students. Nor did he ever complain.
But more than once the young hunter had come upon him near his hearth or in his bath, and seen him almost crippled by stiffness and pain. That shocked Renegade; he had been changed by his parents’ death. He still did not fear death for himself – but he was desperately afraid of loss. And seeing Broken Spear in pain on his account had goaded Renegade to action.
Which brought them here, the Three, trudging through soft-sinking snow, setting out their trap lines.
Finally they finished and returned to the hall, much to Rampage’s relief. Of the three, he seemed the most susceptible to the cold – or that’s what he said, least-route, Renegade mused. He wondered if his Plains Clan friend simply complained the loudest.
A noisy cheerful chatter of boys coming indoors made Broken Spear look up from his journal entry and smile. The children would bathe, share a good hot main-meat, and then probably badger him to tell them a story about another of his trophy hunts. He didn’t mind. He’d spent a day confined to business logs and accounting; and the other boys’ presence made Renegade happy. Or relatively happy. The lad was coming around slowly from his double tragedy.
The old hunter was glad the two other youngsters’ families had agreed to let their sons come and visit. Rampage’s parents, while they claimed he was getting easier to live with, still spent a great deal of time away from home. They were grateful to let their youngest son stay at a place where he had friends and could enjoy himself – so was Broken Spear. Rampage was allowed to stay for three full tendays this winter.
Dasrylion had a shorter tether. He was here for just a tenday, and Broken Spear had managed to coax his huge family over to the hall to share meat on the last day. Then he’d juggled arrivals and departures so the Three could be together at the same time. He wished only that they could stay together longer: the three friends had a chance for the boyish play that young carnivores need, and they picked up a little extra skills’ instruction too.
“Grandfather, we’re home!” Renegade called from the threshold.
“So I hear!” the old hunter laughed. “Are you cold enough for a hot bath yet?”
“We vrakking are!” Rampage put in. “Krr…I mean, yes we are, Elder. Thank you for your hospitality.”
That made Broken Spear laugh again. “You are most welcome, Rampage. Now, why don’t you youngsters go ahead and bathe at your own pace, while I prepare main-meat for us all?”
“On-stat!” they shouted and dashed off. Broken Spear overlooked ritual and formality when it came to his own home and family – as most Hunters do – and his young guests were starting to feel at ease with him.
There they go, he thought; now let us see if these old bones can bear me. He pushed himself away from his computer terminal and stood up. This time he felt only one small twinge of pain in his lower back. Better today. He went to the food storage lockers deep inside the mountain, where he kept his frozen meat supplies. His breath frosted instantly in that cold corridor, and the frigid stone floor burned through his thin sandals.
I am pleased Renegade cannot see me like this, he thought as he unbolted the freezer door, his muscles aching. It was bad enough to have him catch me frail and in pain a few days ago: he looked stricken, as if I was about to die…
He selected a roast, and after locking up, strode back along the corridor to warmer quarters as quickly as he could. Despite being sore and stiff, he could still move lightly and swiftly when he willed it. A warrior walks, he rebuked himself.
While Broken Spear was cooking the roast, his young students were playing and splashing each other in the bathing pool. Its heat heightened their skin temperature and made their body colors fairly glow.
“Ah—ulk!” Rampage spluttered as Renegade ducked him. He returned the favor with a vengeance, which sent them crashing into Dasrylion, making him stagger and sit down. They were all gasping and swallowing soapy water, so Renegade called a halt for recovery.
“That’s enough,” he coughed; “I need to breathe air, not water.”
They were thoroughly wet by now, their long hair unbound and trailing in the water, in shades of glistening black, dark smoke, and brilliant red.
They stood filling their lungs for a moment before Dasrylion abruptly lifted his head and said, “Renegade – those furs – I just had an idea.”
Rampage was on the verge of a mocking comment when he noticed Renegade give his whole attention, so he bit it back and listened too.
“My father does a lot of fur trading with outworld traders and with Nine Systems Station,” Dasrylion continued; “And he says they’ve got something new from one of the factory planetoids. I think it might help Broken Spear.”
“Really? What is it?”
“It’s a suit – a whole-body suit, like an old-time camouflage coverall – only it’s made of the lightest and warmest blend of materials there are. It covers you down to your hands and feet, and it was made for weather like this.”
Renegade sparked. “It sounds perfect. How can we get one?”
“—And in three days,” Rampage put in caustically. Dasrylion’s family was coming to the hall in three days, and he would have to leave with them.
The Tracker lad gave him a killing glare. “We won’t have any trouble. My father traded for a lot of them on his last trip out. We still have a few left, even though he says they’re selling like hot steaks in a blizzard. He bought some of the extra-large sized ones for the Tracker Clan people and hybrids we have on Arvien 4, he said.”
“Would he trade with me?” Renegade asked. “For any furs we caught?”
“Sure as sunlight. Especially if he knew it was for Broken Spear. He really admires him, ever since…” he met him at the Leavetaking, Dasrylion was about to add, when he remembered whose ceremony that had been, and he cut it to, “since he met him,” and clamped his jaw.
Renegade went a little pale, and Rampage bristled in his defense, but the trio’s leader recovered with, “I would like that. We could have some more furs stretched and dried by the time your family comes to visit. I have some others I caught earlier, too – and we can talk to your father before then.”
“How?” Dasrylion puzzled.
“On the comset, on-course,” Rampage cut in smugly. “You can call him tonight.” He looked pleased with himself.
“Good throw. Two good ideas,” Renegade congratulated them both, smoothing hackled feelings. “We can try to get away and make that call later. Thanks, brothers.”
Receiving one of Renegade’s now-rare smiles made both his friends feel they had earned a special prize.

***

THE THREE companions ate heartily of krolf roast with a tart berry sauce, and had an imported citrus drink on the side. Dasrylion and Rampage, who had started out shy of sharing meat with their respected teacher, had soon thawed during their visit, and now livened the meal with their cheerful banter. Broken Spear said little but watched them all with benign approval.
He even unwittingly provided them with an excuse for their contrivances when he suggested, “Dasrylion, Rampage, why don’t you call your families on the comset tonight? The set is in my hearth room. Renegade can go with you after main-meat and show you how to use it.” He bent his head to his food the next instant, so he didn’t see the flash of jubilation which sped between the Three…. Although their exuberant cries of “Yes, sir!” and “On-stat!” did strike him as a bit excessive.
Rampage would have rushed right off after eating, but when he saw the other two start to clean up and remove the leavings, he rather guiltily joined in; and they finished quickly.
Broken Spear thanked them and suggested they go on to make their calls. He would join them in a short time, he said, –“Or shall I meet you in the trophy room?”—with a twinkle.
“Trophy room!” the Three chorused as one, Renegade adding, “Yes, please, Elder; and can we have stories then?”
The old hunter laughed. “I thought so. Stories it is. I will see you there, boys,” and he smiled as they sprang away, released.
His hearing was still good enough to catch Rampage’s trailing question as they went down the hall: “Renegade, how come you still call him ‘Elder’ half the time, and ‘Grandfather’ the other half?”
And Dasrylion’s retort on his friend’s behalf: “Because he respects him, slow ‘cast, that’s why. Not because he has to.”
“Who are you calling—“ faded out of ear. Broken Spear shook out his mane over such boyish squabbles even while his eyes glistened. He was deeply touched; and he knew, that just as he had become the center of Renegade’s world, so had the boy, of his…
***

    WHEN THE THREE met him in the trophy hall, Broken Spear switched on the lights by the exhibits, and spread a down-filled fur sack on the floor for them all to sit on.
“Were your calls successful?” he asked, and was surprised by their expressions of glee.
“We reached my father quick-throw,” Dasrylion said, fairly bursting with some great secret.
“Good. And how was yours, Rampage?” the old hunter asked kindly.
But he regretted his question when Rampage’s good humor vanished and the boy muttered, “Why trouble?  My brothers are the only ones home…”
“I am sorry, young hunter, and I ask your pardon,” Broken Spear said sincerely, startling Rampage into a quick “No offense.”
Broken Spear smoothly changed his trail. “Ah. Here are all the trophies, then. Now choose which one, youngsters.”
They dashed off in separate directions considering this one or that of the warrior’s vast collection. One that especially intrigued them was the central figure of a big carnivore, taken with its shaggy fur intact, and its teeth and fore-claws gleaming as it stood erect on its hind legs, tall as a Clan Leader.
“That one is from my Master Hunt,” Broken Spear explained; “I managed to take its full skeleton and hide. It’s a form of vraun (bear), and its size and spirit were impressive.  Yet, I think not. The Master Hunt story is for when you are older: it has some aspects you will find hard to understand…
“…And that one is a dinosaur, young Rampage, a carnivorous one. We have found one world with those animals still living on it, and made it into a sanctuary with limited hunting…”
”What’s this, Grandfather?” Renegade was running his finger-talons over a huge, odd-shaped skull. “It doesn’t feel like bone, and it has such a strange lot of different shapes.”
It was indeed strange – large and wide, its shape something like a uintithere’s or many-horned dinosaur’s on its dorsal side – yet the massive lower jaw opened to reveal row after row of great pointed fangs, far more than a carnivore usually needed to take down prey. It was as if the beast existed just to rend and tear. The whole lumpy skull was not a bleached white or even brown, but shone with a peculiar silver-phosphor-green, and seemed to glow even in death…
“Ah, you are correct, Renegade,” his elder said, thoughtful. “That’s the head of no beast which exists in any natural habitat, on all the worlds we know…  It truly is a monster, and it gave me the worst hurt of my life. The skull there is merely a replica, cast from an impression in metal – for when it died, the creature left no other trace of itself behind. It makes a good, ghostly tale for a winter’s night.”
Of course that was the story they wanted to hear. So the old hunter gathered them round on the fur sack, and told them about the invincible monster from the stars…

Chapter Twelve…The Dead World

IT WAS A triumphant journey. We were returning from our Master Hunts among the stars, all five of us.
We each had been dropped off at a different world, with an elder or two to oversee us, but not to interfere with our hunts among exotic and dangerous beasts on those worlds. We had each spent many tare’ in observing, stalking and finally engaging the most dangerous creatures we could find; and we had all returned alive – and victorious.
So when our Hunt Ship made tie at Nine Systems Station, we were feeling supremely confident and proud of ourselves.

Here Broken Spear paused, remembering, and the youths bubbled with energy. Sensing a question, he said, “Ah, yes, Renegade?”
“Your pardon, vr’Elder,” his young charge said courteously, “But I thought clan members had their Master Hunts only on Homeworld.”
“They used to, son, but the stardrive opened up great vistas for us. Much of this galactic arm is within reach of our ships now, and greater areas are being opened every year. Young hunters of any clan, like most of our People, are eager to go and seek out wonders.
“More questions, chk-kiy-te? No?”--

So then. There we were, we five. Our Chief Hunter was with us.  A mighty warrior, bearing an ancient hero’s name, he had taken over our training in our extreme youth, when he was first named Second Hunter, and saved us from a harsh teacher…but that is another story.
We made tie, as I said, at Nine Systems Station, merely to have our navigation and propulsion systems routinely checked over. That was the rationale – but I think we did so just as much to see what new inventions and weapons were being offered from the factories. For a space station is not just a floating repair shop and defense base, it also contains shop after shop of glittering wares – so it is a crossroads and trading post as well.
No sooner had we disembarked, than the stationmaster asked to confer with our elders. He seemed especially anxious to include our Chief Hunter.
That released the five of us to explore the station by ourselves. What a walk of wonder it was! Unfortunately, we had little to trade with except our Master Hunt trophies – and we wouldn’t be parted from those!—so we had to be content with just looking.
Any-route, our elders reappeared before we had time to see everything; and our Chief Hunter motioned us to him. We quieted down immediately.
He took us to a conference room in an isolated wing of the station. We sensed something important was about to happen.
“Esteemed Hunters,” he addressed us by our new title, “the master of this station has come to us with a problem.
“There is a research outpost on a nearby world. Our People established it when they found this world some years ago, but have only begun to use it recently. The planet holds the remains of vast towers and artificial buildings…”
We tensed in alert.
“…set in groups which seem to be larger than our own gatherings, larger even than some entire Clan territories.”
A ripple of awe ran through us.
“Yet the planet is completely deserted. Not a living thing has been found upon it. The great towers crumble in the dust of eons, but nothing breathes there any longer.
“So when members of the research pack began disappearing recently, their packmates couldn’t account for it. –When they began finding the bodies, they called for help.”
We leaned toward him. We felt savage and powerful. And we knew what he would say.
The Chief Hunter continued, “Our ship happened to make tie here just after the researchers informed the station of their losses. Seeing we are a group of trained hunters, the stationmaster has turned to us for aid. I have already agreed to fly down there myself; but you are young, just returned alive from your Master Hunts; you have nothing more to prove, The choice of go or stay is entirely yours.”
He meant it, too. The Chief Hunter, Devereaux was his name, was an honorable man. He had trained us from childhood; we had accomplished our greatest task. No one needed to do more.

“But you went!” Rampage burst in as Broken Spear paused.
“Yes. On-course we did. Every one of us, elders included. The track of an unknown prey! Not to go would be unthinkable. It was a tremendous challenge – and our People seem to live for challenges…” A sigh escaped him. He continued:

Devereaux…he had an ancient name, that of a mighty warrior of old. The name’s meaning has been lost in the deeps of time – and it has become one with the warrior’s deeds. Our Chief Hunter was such a warrior: courageous, unflinching, magnificent…I was proud to be his student…even stalking into the heart of danger.

The boys exchanged glances. A finger of apprehension slid down their spines.

But back to the story. We stayed at the station for one sleep, while our ship was being checked over. After we woke, the ship broke tie and we left, bound for the star-world we call Y’tr’klv’kia, the Place of Shadows. It was aptly named.
Within a fiveday, ship-time, we stood off its horizon. From orbit it looked beautiful – brown, red and yellow landmasses set in a blue-green sea. Our pilot radioed down and located the surface party, who said they were barricaded in one of the high towers and we could land on a terrace nearby.
Barricaded! Our People may leave a hopeless fight – or throw themselves into it to the end – but to cower and hide! That was disgraceful!
Yet we went down. We left the Hunt Ship in orbit and took the two smaller scouts.
The scout ships made planetide about fifty kri apart, on a surface made entirely of cracked tiles and concrete. There was no honest ground about it.
It was that way everywhere we looked: some kind of artificial surface covered the good soil. Nothing grew here. It could not. The ground could neither drink nor breathe.
Edifices rose there, too – and they were every bit as tall and grand as we had heard. They could have been built ten years ago – or ten thousand. Except for the drifting dust, you could not tell. They shone in alabaster and marble, concrete and copper, even under a dirty gray sky. Relics of a mysterious past, they almost spoke to us.
Our contacts were in a tower about 200 kri to the south. The tower soared upward in a spire of glass, translucent and beautiful.
Our Chief Hunter had us put on full battle regalia: lasers, facemask, camouflage suits and body armor. He had us adjust the masks to filter out the enormous amount of dust and ash particles in the air, which were irritating but not dangerous to us… and he moved us into the open.
We cat-stepped along, totally alert, but nothing stirred. Only the fine grey dust sifted over the streets of this gathering, tracing meaningless scrawls upon the ground.
--A language of dust, written by the wind….
Our researchers were denned up, as promised, 15 of them inside the glass tower. Not one of them wore a weapon for self-protection, and one of our elders muttered, “If these are the ‘new People’ of the starworlds, then we have become fools indeed.”
Devereaux persuaded them to unbar the doors and let us in…I have never seen such thoroughly frightened beings! I do not wish to name them part of the Hunting People…I felt ashamed for them. We walked into that room like tigers, like members of another race. And they quailed from us, too.
Devereaux conferred with them in view of us all. We learned that their original pack had contained 28 members; now reduced to 15. Since they had made planetfall in this vast city less than two tendays ago, they had been almost constantly harassed. They had not stayed in the same campsite twice since the killings began; but it seems whatever they did, wherever they went, the thing could always find them. One by one, one each night – as if taunting them – it had claimed their lives.
And never left a track of itself behind.
Devereaux was getting excited. He began to feel we were dealing with an intelligent monster, one that had something to make itself invisible, the way our suits did us. Further, it was strong and fast – killing and getting out in mere moments, and perhaps killing from a distance as well. Since no one had harassed it first – or even seen it – clearly it was throwing out a challenge to us. Perhaps it was even one of the original inhabitants of this planet! And it felt its territory was threatened.
They argued a while, Devereaux and the researchers and even our elders – the surface pack wanted to evacuate immediately. Devereaux argued for another night’s stay.
If the creature was intelligent, he said, the sudden departure of one group, and the arrival of another, which was dressed and equipped differently, would be sure to arouse suspicion. If we faced a real emergency, he reasoned, the two scout ships could take off with all of us aboard in a few heartbeats.
Finally he told them that our hunters would completely surround their group, and protect them if attacked.
That must have shamed them at last, because they agreed to spend another night.
Devereaux inspected the tower carefully. He set us to looking for any possible entry points, bolt holes, easy access places or weak spots we could find. Because of the nature of the killing, he assumed we were looking for something fairly large and strong and quick – a deadly combination.
The tower had a very simple design: a central staircase coiling around a hollow metal shaft which apparently contained a liftgate of some kind. But while the stairway was clear, the metal shaft was choked with debris – “to keep someone or something from using it,” he guessed, for the metal doors on each level were welded shut. The tower’s top three floors had outside balconies ringing its circumference
The whole structure was almost as clear as its glassy shell; clear enough to see through, any-path; and Devereaux planned to use that to our advantage. We would turn on our camo-suits even while asleep.
The researchers, by bad Chance, had none.
Once we scouted the building, Devereaux had us put alarm sensors by every possible weak point – at the bottom of the stairs, on every floor level, outside the main entrance, on several of the balcony rails, and even one on the roof. We were not going to be taken by surprise.
Our Elders gathered everyone to the top three levels. We young hunters would sleep on the highest level, suspending our bednets from the roof’s underside on the balconies; the researchers were on the next lower floor, with Devereaux himself; while the Elders took the floor below that. Now, since all of our elders were also experienced hunters, we made a powerful defensive team.
The Chief Hunter placed two final sensors at the head of the stairwell where the survey party lay. And he set up watches for the night, resolved that nothing would get by us.
I slung my bednet up top with my friends, though none of us expected to get much sleep tonight. We were edged for a fight, and sure we would win...

“Excuse me, boys, I need some water,” Broken Spear stopped for a moment. He started to stand when Renegade cried, “I’ll get it!” and darted away.
Broken Spear smiled ruefully. “He does not want me to hurt getting up,” he confided at last. “He is a good and thoughtful lad; but I need a little walk around to limber up.” And he proceeded to take it...
The other two boys widened their eyes at this. Their revered teacher had just offered them a great trust.
Renegade brought back a full thermo-pitcher of water with some fluted cups, and they all had some. Broken Spear thanked him and resettled to his tale again:

We were ready, one of us on guard and the other four trying to sleep. I remember staring out under the eaves, watching the two big moons of Y’tr’klv’kia float up beyond the dust.
I must have slept any-route, because the next thing I knew, the night burst into flashes of light, shouts and cries. A firefight below!
We snapped out of the bednets and onto the balcony rails. Then we dropped from the outside to the next level down, and sprang into the room, lasers seeking.
The stairwell was crossed with bolts of light There came one terrible scream – then silence. The stairwell was empty. We held fire.
Devereaux leaped onto the stairs and stared in disbelief. He saw nothing among us. He leaned down to shout below: “Elders! Where runs the game?”
“Not here,” the call came back. “There is nothing here.”
He whipped around to us. “Hunters?”
We made negative motions. Once young hunter said, “I looked down the stairwell. I saw nothing but your shots below.”
A wild red light glared in Devereaux’s eyes. He paced back and forth in helpless rage.
“There was some creature here! A dark shape, but I saw it. Yet not a sentry saw anything – and all the alarms but one were silent!”
Our elder Walking Fire came up from below. “Enough, Chief Hunter,” he commanded. “There is some mystery here. We must take the researchers up at once.”
Baffled and angry, Devereaux bent to his will. “Chak. You are right, honored one. But the rest of us will stay behind to investigate.”
He jumped down to the second level and almost fell over the body. It was one of the researchers, the one who had been lying just past him and the stairwell.
“Look at this,” Devereaux said. The man had been torn in half. “You know how tough our muscle and bone is—even here, given the lack of training. The sheer force of that blow….”
After a silence, he continued, “Take our fallen brother and freeze him. We must study the wound – Leavetaking can wait.”
Well. The remaining fourteen researchers headed eagerly to the scout ships, with two elders piloting. The ships would return for the rest of us shortly.
Our Chief Hunter divided the rest of us into search teams of two each, with instructions to leave nothing unlooked-at. I drew an elder as my partner, He-is-welcomed, a hale and strong hunter still. We went down to the ground level to begin our search.
We went outside the tower and read the perimeter sensors first, at his suggestion. They registered nothing. Only the sensor at Devereaux’s level had shown a reaction at the moment of attack. And it had met with such a blast of energy that it burned out at once.
“So, vr’hunter,” the elder mused to me; “we seem to have a creature that can slip unseen through our devices, and remain invisible until it kills. Then it vanishes without trace. Are we like that to the animals we hunt, I wonder?” His eyes twinkled. He at least was not afraid.
I was getting there.
“Let us look inside,” he suggested; so we went into the tower again.
We must have ransacked that bare, dusty  lower room for an eternity. We found nothing. The lift-shaft ended here in a transparent cylinder that was filled with broken tiles and chunks of cement.
“Does this stop here?” the elder wondered aloud; “Or does it go on to rooms below the ground?”
That was an idea to ponder. I glanced around the walls, seeking a place where the fit was not “true.” Presently, I saw something.
“Elder,” I said excitedly, “This may be a lead.” I took him to the far wall, where a small rectangle was fixed, high up. The area above and below it did not quite jibe with the rest of the smooth outer wall, which became opaque at that spot.
He-is-welcomed studied it. 
“It is a panel, attached to block something else, see?” he observed. “Can you tear it out?”
“I can,” I said, and did. The rectangle pulled away quite easily once I got my talon tips under it. It was only a thin sheet after all. Behind it gaped a yawn of blackness, stunning against that crystal background.
“It’s hollow,” I said; “another shaft, like the big one only smaller. Do you think an animal could even fit in it?”
“A small one, perhaps. Or something without bones. Let us call Devereaux.”
The Chief Hunter studied our find. “There is one of these on every floor we have searched. The shape I saw was too big for this; still….”
“Perhaps it can change its size as well,” said the elder
suggested, and Devereaux looked alarmed. It would be another incredible talent added to a list of unbelievables.
“Let’s see where this goes,” he said finally. He brought the other hunters down to our level, and everyone watched as he shot a grappling line into the shaft.
We waited. Finally we heard a faint echoing clang.
Devereaux looked at me. “What do you hear, Esteemed Hunter?” he asked.
“Echoes,” I said slowly. “There’s a chamber beneath – a big one.”
“Exactly; and while this shaft may or may not be too narrow for the beast, we have a track of where it may come from. Where it may in fact go to ground.” He tried to peer down the shaft, then straightened. “There may be entrances like this – and larger – all over the ruins. But we would have a hard time tracking it tonight, even if we knew where to look. And this is the time of the beast – it could spring out from any of its boltholes, and take us by ambush.”
“We should go back aboard the Hunt Ship ourselves now,” an elder said, “and return with the morning’s light.” 
“And better equipment,” someone else added.
Devereaux was reluctant, despite his reasoning. He had never run from a fight. But he let himself be persuaded, mostly on our account, I think; and we took the returned scouts back up to the larger ship.
I may have been the only one close enough to hear He-is-welcomed tell our Chief Hunter, “Be sure you bring no extra riders aboard.”

The wind thumped the hall’s great windows and the boys jumped.
“Only the storm,” Broken Spear told them quietly; “But now you know what our reactions were like, down there on the Dead World.” Then he smiled. “Still, I have come back alive to tell you this;” and after another drink of water, he went on…

We spent the rest of the night on the Hunt Ship, at least half of it fervently discussing what we had seen – or not seen. Since we were told the creature seemed to hunt only at night, Devereaux decided we would hunt it during the day.
“Discover the prey’s habits,” he said, “and you will discover its downfall.”
Sometime later, we tried to sleep. Some of us did. Others expected an attack, even here. But none came.
I spent a restless time trying to deal with an ominous feeling I learned to call “the Boding”, and when I finally did sleep, I was troubled by dark, half-remembered dreams.
At first-light in the ruins below, Devereaux woke us. This time he gave us something new. 
“These attachments to your wristbands contain an explosive triggering device, linked to the nucleonic drivers in your backpacks,” he said quietly. “Should you become hopelessly trapped or mortally injured facing the beast…choose to take it with you.”
He drew a deep breath. “Even now,” he told us privately, “none of you need to go back down there. We have a full pack of experienced hunters, with the elders and me – and it will be no dishonor to leave this to us.”
On-course we would not hear of it. All of us, each in our own way, revered this man. We would not think of letting him walk into danger without us.
He accepted it with resignation. “I pray that none of us will need to trigger the device; but with an enemy of such caliber, we may have to – to save our packmates, our Hunt Ship, even Homeworld itself…” 
He regarded us for a long moment. “So. Let the Great Spirit guide your hands. We will go.”
And we descended.
The great encampment below seemed as deserted as the day we first saw it. Fine dust skirled over its pathways. Wind pierced the high towers and made them wail. We split into two packs and began our hunt.
It was a tiresome chore: we had to search every structure, large or small, in hopes of finding a way to the underground chamber. We had echo-sounding devices to help, as well as our keen sight. But every shaft we found was blocked with rubble, or was too small to enter. The red sun was gliding down the sky by the time my pack reached the outskirts of the ruins, and we were getting tired.
“A few more, and we are done here.” Devereaux motioned us over to what looked like twin steel chimneys sticking out of the ground with a booth-like structure between them.
We examined them.
“These are air- or gas-exchange towers,” said He-is-welcomed. “I have seen such elsewhere. On ancient factories on Homeworld.”
“Chak; and if we pry those cupolas off the tops, we might be able to get a line and ourselves down their throats,” Devereaux remarked. “They are three times our height, at least. Dreamsee—I mean T’akaion, what have you found there?”
I glanced over in triumph from the booth-type structure. “A better way down, honored elders. In here is a stairway leading below the ground. See?” and I tore off the metal door which barred the entrance.
They hurried over.
A long series of rather short steps inside the booth slanted down into darkness.
“Excellent find!” Devereaux congratulated me. “These steps are metal, too, like many things here—they could show heat-trace if we close on the beast. I’ll call the other pack to us.” And soon we were all together again.
Before we climbed down, our Chief Hunter made us check lights and weapons. Then he had us adjust our mask filters to admit a little more oxygen, to rejuvenate us and lend us strength for battle.
Finally we climbed down, single file, weapons armed.
We entered a vast, dripping cavern. Our head lamps showed us it was a great concrete tunnel, with a wide flat platform at bottom, running alongside a deeper groove in the ground. The groove held some sort of rail or riding, rusted after ages of neglect.
“This bore a ground cart of some kind,” an elder remarked. “Abandoned, like everything else.”
“Perhaps if we follow its track...” a young hunter ventured.
“Toward – or away – from the ruins?” Devereaux mused, then answered himself. “Toward – the sun is near the horizon; and our scout ships are far away.
“Here, go two by two, well spread out,” he directed. “and I will take the backtrail on the track below. Broken Spear – above me.”
I felt honored. He had chosen me for a partner; and I would walk alone, in the rearguard of our pack, while Devereaux walked the rail below...
An elder and a young hunter took the lead, sighting tracers aimed at opposite walls, wristknives extended. The rest of us followed their example.
We’d gone a long way through the daylight tare’…it finally felt as if we were heading back toward the center of the ruins, as planned…and the only sounds were our own soft footsteps and an occasional creak of leather or scrape of toeclaw. Even those few made us sound like a trampling herd, and we were uneasy.
--Especially in the rear guard. I kept turning to flash my headlamp behind us, but nothing showed, just slimy walls and the tunnel’s endless maw. I felt as if there was something breathing behind us in the dark—but neither my full-spectrum lamp nor my own heat-vision could confirm it. Not a breath of air stirred the tunnel except our own padded steps—yet I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.
“Young hunter.”  A whisper came at my elbow, and I nearly whirled and struck--- “Hsst! It’s only Devereaux,” he calmed me.
He sidled nearer and said, low, “Face front and damp your light for a while.” His light was already out.
I did. We walked in silence, listening. There: I could feel it now – a strong presence in the dark behind me.
“You won’t see it; it does not show on any setting,” he went on softly. “Stay with me; and when I signal, turn on your suit and fall back.”
He called to the others ahead, “It is getting late brothers; take the next stairway up when you find one.” His voice was utterly calm.
He made a slight head motion to me, and we both blinked out. I could hear his feet go still on the rail, and I stopped too. Now the only way the beast could find us was if it had exceptional senses – or stumbled right into us.

The boys craned forward as Broken Spear paused again. They could feel his tension – and a touch of fear.

Slowly I pivoted to face backward. The darkness loomed over me. Something was there, but I couldn’t see it. It gave off no heat, reflected no light, yet I felt an incredible aura of danger. It massed above me and then—
It surged. There was a blinding flash – white teeth, green maw, blazing eyes –
Laser fire. Mine. Another’s.
Then – ah Spirit! – a scream! From the tracks below me. Some great black pulse lashed out and swept him away! I screamed too, fired, fired again.
That lightning-lined beast merely sneered at me – its mass filled the tunnel. Then it seemed to collapse in on itself and streamed out back the way it had come, with Devereaux in its jaws…

Anguished cries broke from the boys around him. Broken Spear’s eyes were shut tight, his breathing harsh…

I hit it. I know I hit it. But the charges just seemed to melt into its flesh.
I couldn’t let it escape. I couldn’t let it have Devereaux, who had been teacher, mentor, and second-father to me. I had to kill the thing – even if he were already dead.
I raced after it, faster than I had ever run, the extra air boosting me to tremendous strides.
Fast as I was, the black beast was faster. When I rounded a curve in the tunnel, I saw a blind wall ahead. It was empty.
“No!” I cried and struck the wall with my knives. The clanging echoes mocked me. The knives embedded and I had to wrench them free. Then…
I noticed a liquid splash of something hot on the floor, running in scattered droplets away from me – and vanishing suddenly. A blood trail, one of ours…
The blood drops led to a circular hole cut into the floor. I had not seen it in my anger. It was a shaft of some kind, and it was open.
I slammed my grappling hook into the floor and jumped in, holding the line. I didn’t stop to see if the line would hold me.
It didn’t. I hit the end of the line and it snapped free. I fell.
I kicked out and my toeclaws scored the shaft’s smooth side. I twisted in air and barely scraped the opposite wall with my wristknives when I hit the bottom, hard.
The impact knocked breath and strength from me, and I felt my right arm give when I landed on it. I rolled in pain, knew I had to stand, and did.
I was in a lighted chamber below ground. All around its walls, for bank on bank, row on row, were machines. Each had one central scale, a long red arc running from up to down and flashing, and double rows of other-colored lights. There must have been a hundred of these machines, and all of them flashed brilliant lights in utter silence.
But where was the monster?
The floor beneath me trembled with the pulsing of some great engine – power pumping deep in the earth.
Finally I saw on open threshold to the far right. A massive metal door was just sliding open into the wall…another room lay beyond. I rushed to the entrance. If the Beast was there, and still had him, I thought it might be visible.
They were there. My heart twisted. Devereaux lay on the floor, fully visible too, his facemask gone, a pool of blood under him. The monster towered over him, at least twice his height and four times his girth. Seeing it was like looking into a black hole. Except for its flash-white fangs and claws and searing red eyes, it was an abyss.
I turned my camo-suit off. I had no idea what I would do.
At that moment Devereaux opened his eyes and saw me. “Son...go from here,” he whispered. “I will…finish this.”
And with a supreme effort he reached over to flick open his new gauntlet. The beast snarled, raised one paw…
“No! Not like this!” I shouted, and fired into the floor. The Beast shrieked in rage and held its blow. Devereaux checked his hand. In agony, he waited for me to flee.
“Come and get me, foulness!” I screamed at the Beast and threw myself backward through the door, slamming the switch plate with my left arm to start it closing.
I stumbled, nearly fell, and lunged to one side as the door slid forward slowly.
The black beast hit the solid metal of the door, not bothering to go through the opening – and burst through it. By sheer good Chance, it missed hitting me off to the side and passed with the heat of a black sun. I had one shot before I died. I turned, aimed the laser—
--And shot into the machines.

“Wha-at!” the three boys practically left the floor. Broken Spear pushed on:

The laser blew a swath through their ranks. Interconnected, when one was struck, they all died…
Even as it raised its armored forepaw to strike, the Beast began to fade...
It seemed to fold in on itself, getting smaller and smaller as one machine after another blew out. I fired and fired again into the machines, until finally, shrunken to cub-size, the monster vaporized and disappeared.

“You shot the machines!” Rampage shrieked for all of them; “and the monster died?”
“Patience, patience,” Broken Spear held up his hand. “Yes. It was not a rational thing to do—but remember how the Beast absorbed my fire before? I could not kill it directly. Later we learned that the machines made the monster somehow, created it from the vast energy in the core of the planet…but to finish my story…”

For a long moment I crouched there, watching the machines spew out smoke and sparks, my right arm hanging useless, the monster’s last bellow reverberating around me. Then I went to the man in the next room.
The Chief Hunter still lay slumped in his own blood. He looked as if the life along with the fluid was leaving his body. His eyes were closed.
Gently I slipped my working arm under his head and whispered his name.
His eyelids flickered. Without looking, he murmured, “Good…shot...hunter,” and went limp again.
I was terrified. I willed him not to die. One-handedly I wrestled my med-kit from my pack and fumbled in it for supplies. I packed the great cutting wounds on his body as best I could with the flesh-building powder I had, then very carefully sealed them with the laser on LOW. I kept talking to him, to myself, and praying that I could take him home.
I doubled our two camo-suits’ netting together to make a sling for his body, and strapped them to my back with the leathers I wore. Devereaux was an adult to my juvenile and bigger and heavier than I was, so I could not carry him quickly, no matter how urgent the need.
I tied him to my back and we shuffled over to the shaft I had fallen down, his feet dragging on the ground. Unless I found help soon, he would die. 
I stared up into the shaft. But the hook was up there, beyond the rim, and the line lay down here, at my feet. It looked hopeless. I could not climb so smooth a tube with my broken arm, and I had no other grappling hook to use. I stood there, despairing.
Then, from above –salvation. I heard voices calling our names. The other hunters – they’d doubled back on hearing our screams, found the same blood trail I had. Now they stood above, many hands strong. They signaled the Hunt Ship itself to come to the nearest surface opening; and threw down a line to me.
They were able to bring us up in time.

***

 The youngsters exhaled.
“T’churr! What a Hunt! What a victory!” Rampage breathed.
Dasrylion said in wonder, “To track a beast that wasn’t there…”
While Renegade asked him, “You got the head imprint from the metal door, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Broken Spear said. “The beast, it seems, was created by the machines from the molten energy of the planet – and it could materialize anytime, anywhere. It drank energy like water. Our presence in those ruins was enough to trigger its release somehow.
“Other research packs later found other such ‘stations’ in different places all over the planet—under the planet, I should say – found and destroyed them. The beast was an invention, designed strictly to kill – anyone or any living thing. Perhaps it began as a kind of guardian, but it was a weapon that turned on its creators, and ultimately on its entire world. A wanton and ruthless killer that destroyed all life on that world."
Renegade had one last question: “And your Chief Hunter, Devereaux. Did he – live?”
Broken Spear smiled. “Yes he did. Thanks to the advanced healing techniques we brought with us on the Hunt Ship and to the superb house of healing located at Nine Systems’ Station, he was able to make a full recovery. In time. As did I.”
His eyes grew distant. “He remained our Chief Hunter for his full term after that, before he retired with extraordinary honors, and named me to replace him. We were the only two members of a single clan ever to receive the exalted rank of Great Warrior at the same time.”
“Krrr,” they breathed.
“And for many, many years, Devereaux was there to help me and others, to train more young hunters, and to be the father I did not have since birth. He died not twenty years ago, that good old man.”
The old hunter sighed and shifted, raising himself to his knees, then, more stiffly, to his feet.  “And that is enough for one night, my fine young hunters. Take yourselves off to bed now, or we will oversleep the dawn, and miss our lessons…” to which they howled in mock-anguish.
He didn’t know whether to be pleased or chagrined when they stayed to roll up the comforter and put away the water bottle for him.
He stood there afterward, listening after they broke away and sprinted down the hall, scuffling and play-fighting as they ran. Then he shut the room lights one by one, and left the hall.

Chapter Thirteen…Visitors

AFTER THE STORM subsided, the Three were able to go out and check their trap lines. Out of twenty traps and an assorted catch, they chose to keep the eleven best furbearers and set the rest free.
They got an unexpected bonus when they were returning from their traps – a kai stumbled across their path, its coat pure white, and Rampage brought it down with a spear-cast and a cry of delight.
“This is better than those little creatures,” he said proudly. “You keep the hide, though, Renegade. Add it to the collection.”
Renegade thanked him warmly, while Dasrylion looked amazed. From Rampage? he wondered.
It took them an entire extra day to skin, clean and stretch all the hides. They told Broken Spear that they were going to give them to Reads-the-Wind to trade – which was the truth, so far as it went. The old hunter suspected something more was going on, but commended them on their catch and said nothing more.

***

DASRYLION’S FAMILY arrived on schedule, just ahead of another storm. Broken Spear and his students had prepared enough of a feast to feed a small clan – which the family resembled – braised krolf ribs, baked meadow birds, smoked small-bear “ham”, and roast venison from Rampage’s kai.
The family members were unusually quiet and rather shy at first, but after Broken Spear gave them the tour, he deposited the smallest children in the training room with a ten or so of toys and rugged exercise equipment to play with, and took the adults to his hearth fire to make them comfortable. Soon there was talk and laughter to warm the great hall.
When he’d first arrived, Reads-the-Wind took advantage of the crowded threshold and multiple greetings to slip a hide pouch to Renegade. 
“Put your furs in that,” he said with a knowing look, “and I’ll see to the trading.”
Main-meat was a great success. Even the old grandparents were cheerful and content. When the feast was over, Broken Spear set up some movies for the small children to watch and retired again to the hearth room with the others. Dasrylion’s mother seemed relieved to have the burden of caring for her large family lifted for a while, and leaned back comfortably in her chair.
Since by then the storm roared full force around the mountain, the old hunter suggested his guests stay overnight to see if the weather improved by morning. “A storm like this is hard to see through, and could throw off the aircar’s instruments as well,” he said. That was his reasoning – but he wouldn’t mind gaining Dasrylion an extra day with his friends, either.
The family agreed; and after a few tare’, the mother began collecting her youngest and oldest charges and herding them off to sleep in the bunkroom.
Reads-the-Wind sat with the old warrior for a while longer, “telling hunting lies” as he put it. He was in the midst of his trail when Dasrylion popped back into the room and gave him a beseeching look.
“Oho,” his father remarked; “The young ones have something prepared for tonight, and I think I’m standing in their path. So I will bid you night’s-rest, Great Warrior, and thank you again for your hospitality.”
“I am honored; and I bid you the same, Chief Hunter,” Broken Spear replied – such was his guest’s new title – and he seems to know mine – “May your sleep be peaceful and content.
“Now,” he continued after Reads-the-Wind had gone, addressing the doorway, “if the three of you would like to show me what you’ve been up to these past few days…”
They all filed in, grinning like sabretooths on a kill.
“Just this, Grandfather,” Renegade said sweetly. “We wanted to give you these” --and he held out not one but two hide sacks.
The surprise was total: the first bag contained a pair of soft leather boots, lined inside with white fur. The front ends had four slits and were reinforced with tough hide to accommodate stout toeclaws comfortably.
“Why, Renegade, why boys – did you make these?”
“He did most of it,” Dasrylion supplied.
“We helped,” Rampage added.
Renegade himself was flushing too hotly to say a word.
As for the second pouch…out of it came the lightest, softest and most intensively-knit coverall body-suit that Broken Spear had ever seen. It was pure white, to match the endless snows; and when he fingered the material, it warmed to his touch.
“What is this? Why, it’s so light, yet so warm” – talking to himself as much as to them – “and here is a hood, with fur around the face opening…
“Why, boys, why chk-kiy-teh,” he looked at them, his voice gruff with emotion. “Is this what the furs were for?”
Renegade lifted his chin. “We got Dasryl’s father to bring us the suit in trade for the furs.”
“We all wanted to be here to give it to you,” the Cold Tracker chimed in.
“And we all put something into it – trapping or skinning, or, krr, different things,” Rampage explained.
For once, Broken Spear lost the power of speech. He had no words. He swallowed, shook out his mane, swallowed again.
“Elder, are you on-stat?” Renegade asked anxiously.
That broke the spell. 
“On stat? On stat!” the old hunter roared, startling them. But he was laughing, or weeping, or both. “Boys, come here!” and he swept them up, laughing, into his arms, and hugged them fiercely amidst the crush of warm furs…

Chapter Fourteen…The Higher Power

THREE YEARS LATER…”Ready? A voice asked behind him, speaker unseen.
The masked and armored figure in the arena replied, “Ready.” He faced ahead.
The target swooped across the face of the mountain. A red beam shot out of the waiting figure’s laser, followed by a blue bolt. Whump! A spar of rock shattered and smoked. The target flew by unscathed.
“Too high! More still-practice for you, brother!” The voice cackled with glee.
Renegade hissed in disgust and pulled his face shield off. “I'll never get this right. It’s too short-triggered. All I have to do is think and it goes off,” said the former best shot of the Three.
“That’s because you think too much, brother,” Rampage informed him. “Our esteemed teacher says you stop and try to think before everything – the best shooters seem to fire by reflex.”
“That is because they have thought first, and are so experienced at the hunt they already have the procedures in their hearts.” A deep voice to the side told them their teacher had entered the argument. “And what is good for one person may not be good for another…” He walked over to stand beside them and continued:
“The single-muscle reflex is good for large prey which you already know to be dangerous. Yet…suppose you are on a new world, and you see some creature ahead of you. It is just standing there, eating, perhaps, and it seems harmless enough…you don’t want to shoot it without knowing its intent. That would be unworthy of you as one who walks the Way.”
He reached toward the youth. “Here, Renegade, let me see your facemask. Perhaps I can readjust the firing mechanism.” As he took it, Broken Spear again considered the two students before him.
At ten years old, they had grown quite a bit, and now stood near his memory of Kr’ra’klv’tt’s height.  Rampage remained thin and wiry, and would probably grow to slightly above average Plains Clan height. Renegade was beginning to put on muscle mass as well as height.
 He will never be very tall, the old hunter thought, probably somewhere between Marsh Clan and Cloud Forest in size –not quite true ‘hybrid height’. But before he reaches his majority at age 32, he will be attractive to the ladies – huntresses of more than game. The elder smiled to himself and regretted once again they had no young huntresses in class. Lasting pair-bonds were often formed early in life.
He handed the facemask back to Renegade. “There. Now it will respond to a slightly different set of muscles, facial and then shoulder – more like the way you think, young hunter. To actually fire the laser, you will have to tense each set in turn. We can always return to the original program as you gain more experience.”
Renegade put it back on. It was custom-fitted to him, a marvelous piece of technology. It provided much more than simple protection for his face; it also filtered incoming air and altered it to suit. Connected to his new backpack technology, it could change the way he saw light, widening even a hunter’s broad-spectrum sight.
It could translate incoming sounds, animal or otherwise, and reel down a projection strip beside his vision field, as well as help him sight on a target and fire the laser.
Learning to use the mask coupled with all its complex assets sometimes felt like the task of a lifetime to Renegade. Just as often, it seemed to read his mind.
“Still-practice only,” Broken Spear told him.
And when Rampage grinned, the old hunter fixed him with a glittering eye: “You take moving target next, Rampage.”
“Go ahead, laugh,” he heard Renegade tell his friend in triumph as their teacher moved away.

***

AFTER PRACTICE that day Broken Spear informed the Three, “You are nearly ready for your first survival test, young hunters.”
They turned somber at once.
“This test I normally give to youngsters in pairs; but since you are such good companions and the only three in your age group, I will send you out together.” He smiled at their obvious relief, but warned them,
“It is still not an easy test. Most Rydderrak Clan youngsters can pass it successfully at age eight or nine. Some of my older students here” (with a twinge of regret) “aren’t able to perform it at the age of fourteen.”
He paused, considering. Finally he continued: “You will be taken to an unfamiliar area on this planet, dropped off, and left to survive on your own for a fiveday; then picked up again.”
A slight tension tightened his lower jaw. “You will have to find your own food, your own shelter, and be able to identify the creatures native to that place. You will be left with two days’ supply of water. After you use that, you must find more” -- and three days without water won’t be quite enough to kill them, if I return on the nock, he thought grimly. “So you would do yourselves a good service if you make your studies very thorough.”
“Will we know where we’re going before we get there?” Renegade asked.
“No,” Broken Spear replied; “but it will be somewhere on this world. Make yourselves familiar with all its habitats.” –And he left them to their practice, before they could see more of his pent-up emotion.
The old warrior had always been close to his pupils. He treated each of them as if he or she had been his own kin – as indeed some of them in his old clan were. Now, with Renegade his son of choice, and Renegade’s friends also close to his heart, he felt especially torn at sending them into danger. The ancient clan practice of allowing your birth-children to be taught by other hunters struck home hard. Broken Spear found his thoughts stampeding through his mind, bringing him images of tragedy and loss. He controlled them with an effort, and moved on.

Chapter Fifteen…Survival Test

THE AIRCAR skimmed low over a harsh land. Dry brown flinty soil, supporting just a few scrubby bushes at intervals, was broken by the humped backs of arid mountains – the only desert on Arvien 4.
The three young hunters watched it flow by in silence. No need to ask if this was where they could take their survival test – somehow they already knew.
Broken Spear, piloting, was silent as well. He had repeated the rules to them; he had made certain they carried their most helpful gear…if he had to say any more, he was afraid of what would come from him.
Spirit of sky and water, I don’t want them to die, he thought miserably; I don’t even want them to be hurt. They are as ready as I can make them – young and strong and healthy, they already spent days camping in the forest – so why am I...never mind, he knew why.
He had felt anxious when his own birth-children had been tested, years ago. Yet he had been younger then, and submitted to the rules without question. And he had not been alone on Homeworld. Here, his students were all the family he had….
The car veered toward one of the low mountains. Looking down, Renegade noticed there was a dense patch of shrubby growth near its forefoot. Water, he told himself, there must be water there, and memorized the spot.
He looked around at his friends, but they were completely absorbed: Dasrylion thinking no doubt about what animals lived down there, and how they could be taken. Rampage seemed frozen in place, his eyes equally distant. If Renegade touched him, he’d probably hit the roof…
The aircar slowed to hover near the southwest side of the mountain. It descended, the pebbly soil crunching under its weight as it came to rest.
Rampage and Dasrylion broke free of their trance; Rampage actually did jump – a little.
Broken Spear stood at the controls for a long moment. He was organizing his thoughts for the farewell.
When he felt composed enough to speak, he turned toward them.
“Renegade, Rampage, Dasrylion,” he said all their names; “Here I must leave you. At low sun of the fifth day, I shall return for you at this same place: it is locked into the car’s memory. If you mark it too, you will be able to find it again yourselves.” His voice roughened a bit. He steadied himself, looked directly into the three young faces before him:
“You know about the water…the vapor attachment on your masks can keep you from becoming too dry for a time. For the rest…I cannot be with you, but my thoughts and prayers go out to you in your trials. Good hunting, my sons, and may the Spirit-of-all walk with you.”
 With silent fervor, he clasped the upper arms of each young man in turn, and then he left them…
The Three watched the aircar rise and bank away from the mountain, until it was gone.
“So. Here we are,” Dasrylion remarked at last.
“Here we are on-track,” Rampage said glumly. “Now what do we do?”
They all turned outward to view the land around them. It was warm, for morning; and a hot, dry wind was blowing. They could feel their mouths and sinus tissues drying already.
“First, I’d say we put on the masks,” Renegade said, “and adjust them for extra water vapor;” matching his actions to his words. A thin flexible hose cinched to the base of each mask near the jaw. More-humid air rushed in.
“Good throw,” Rampage muttered, fixing his own.
“We should mark this spot, too,” Dasrylion put in. “So we can find it later… Where do you think we should put the mark, and how?”
“Side of the mountain – with a laser,” Rampage said promptly. 
A small red dot of light appeared on a nearby slab of rock. 
“Wait; try higher up,” Renegade urged him. “We might have to walk a distance on the flat.”
Rampage grunted and reset. The laser flared, rock-chips flew. When he finished, there was the target symbol for the laser, the sacred circle which figures into so much of the Hunters’ lives:

 -- Only it was slightly askew…
Dasrylion was about to comment on the lack of talent involved when he caught Renegade’s eyes, and clamped his jaw.
“There,” said their wiry friend with satisfaction, as he shut down the laser. “What’s next – food?”
“A secure camp maybe,” Dasrylion finally trusted himself to speak. “And tomorrow we can hunt and look for water.”
“Or even tonight,” Renegade said. “We can last five days without food, but just a few without water – krr, I saw a good place for water, from the air.”
“Where?” burst from the other two.
“To the south, just past this mountain,” Renegade said; “But we shouldn’t be standing here in the open, talking. Let’s climb and make camp, first.”
The other two started for the mountain immediately, Renegade following.
 Sometimes it disturbed him how quickly they followed his suggestions. They could argue with each other for tare’ over the slightest difference of opinion, but they rarely argued with him. Even Rampage only teased him sometimes.
What if I make the wrong decision sometime?  he thought. Their lives would literally be at his talon-tips…
They had nearly reached the ascending rock wall when Renegade abruptly pulled Dasrylion back.
“Hold,” he said. “Look there,” and pointed down.
Across the ground in front of them, almost perfectly blended into the rocky sand, crawled a wafer-thin, fluke-shaped thing.
“A sand-platter,” Dasrylion said, paling. “Deadly poisonous – thanks, brother.”
“No trouble,” Renegade told him. “Remember the First Law?”
“Chak. Watch, and watch---“
“And watch again,” came from Rampage, “and then begin to see. –Now you two have me doing it!” he groaned, dance-stepped over the sand-platter, and lightly made his way along.
Renegade creased his eyelids in pure pain.
For all its massive gauntness, the mountain was not that high or hard to climb. It was more a red rock-fang than a mountain, Renegade thought as they ascended.
They stopped near its pointed crest, not even out of breath, about 80 kri above the desert.
“No caves, no hollows, not even any wide ledges,” Rampage remarked. “Did you see any, Renegade?”
Their leader seemed to thinking of something else, but his friend’s question brought him back. “No, not one. We can use this peak as an observation post, nothing more. The sides are too steep to camp on…Dasryl, can you see anything from your side?” Cold Tracker sat to the north of Rampage, with the best view of the next mountain in line.
“H’vack? –Maybe. There’s another spire of rock sticking out near its base – you see the spot where the two mountains join?” He pointed down.
They did. “That looks promising,” Renegade agreed. “Let’s take an overview of everything from here and then check that out.”
They stayed on the peak long enough to locate Renegade’s clump of water-loving bushes – and to note the utter barrenness of the scrubland around them -- “bad as far as we can see…” Rampage mourned. Then they worked their way down their mountain’s flank toward the lower rock spire.
This trek took something out of them. The sun rose higher in the sky, and the heat grew more intense. By the time they reached the rock spur, they were sweating and the facemasks were stifling them.
“If we’d been born on Homeworld, this heat would be nothing to us,” Rampage pointed out. He pulled his mask off to drink some water.
“If we’d been born on Homeworld, we’d be a lot thirstier by now,” Dasrylion rebuked him, taking off his own mask. Of the three, he seemed the least affected by the heat, still carrying some of his ancestral gifts against high temperatures.
 Rampage bristled at what he thought was a criticism, but Renegade got smoothly in between them by saying, “We’re thirsty enough as it is; let’s all have a drink, and save our masks’ water vapor for the hottest part of the day.” His own mask off, he could at least feel the hot wind fan his face. His enhanced salivary glands had begun working hard; if anything his mouth felt quite damp.
“Let’s explore our stone lodge here,” he suggested. “It looks like it will make us a good watchtower.”
“Watchtower” was an apt word for it: a stone spire upthrust from the mountain’s base, it rose about 28 kri and broke into four separate fang-like tips, pierced by long, narrow arches. When the boys cautiously went inside the arches…
“T’churr! It’s hollow!” Rampage exclaimed, “Like a little house or a hill-fort!”
“A sanctuary after all,” Renegade said with relief. He glanced up at the sky: tall rocky pinnacles surrounded them, at the same time giving them view-slits on the world. “It’s perfect for a campsite. It even has some shade – and we can post sentinels on top the arches.”
“By sentinels you mean us, on-path,” Rampage remarked wryly. 
Renegade smiled. “On-path,” he said.

***

THEY MADE BASE CAMP inside their ring of surrounding stone, and decided to wait out the hottest part of the day until evening to scout for game. Since Rampage was the most restless, he drew first watch.
“Try not to move around too much, brother,” Renegade instructed him; “The heat’s going to be bad…and remember to wear your facemask.”
“Yes, teacher,” Rampage sighed, and bounded lithely up one of the stone towers. Once safely up there, he called down, “Why don’t you just take a nap, Renegade?”
Renegade laughed at this show of spirit and settled into a stone hollow.
“Easy advice if you don’t have to follow it,” he heard Dasrylion grumble off to the side.
His friend spoke truly, Renegade discovered, for the heat soon became blinding. It pressed down on him with a ponderous weight, making his limbs heavy and listless. So far, his throat and lungs seemed all right – a genetic blessing for this world, he thought.
But the terrible heat must be worse even than on Homeworld: it drained his body of strength, and made him weak with languor. He didn’t want to move, much less to sit up or stand; and if he kept his eyes open, the sun’s intensity seared his vision, even sight unseen.
Renegade lay in misery for what seemed days, but soon enough, he felt a gentle yet persistent shake of his upper arm.
“Come on, brother, get up,” Rampage was telling him, worry straining his voice; and wearily he dragged himself to full consciousness.
“You don’t look good,” Rampage was concerned. “Marsh Clan and Cloud Forest don’t like dry heat, I heard. It’s your turn to stand watch, but if you feel sick…”
“No, I’m …just too hot, that’s all,” Renegade told him, sitting up. “Go ahead and take your rest, if you can.”
“On-stat, but... are you sure? Listen, use the mask to dial down the outside light intensity; it helped me.”
“Thanks, Rampage, I will.”
He tried it, and it did help ease his aching eyes and throbbing head. But nothing seemed to help his heat-drained muscles. He stood sentinel anyway, trying to keep a piece of shade between himself and the sun.
The first day passed.

***

THE BLAST FURNACE of the day gave way to the oven of early night…
“I thought the desert was supposed to cool off at night!” Dasrylion moaned in disbelief. He’d finished the last watch and was no longer immune to the heat.
“—Or that we were supposed to thrive in the heat,” Rampage commiserated.
“Let’s have another drink of water, then climb down,” Renegade suggested. Thirsty already, too.
They were silent on the descent to the desert floor. The contrast between steaming rock and sand underfoot and the overheated air above was so slight, they found it helpful to set facemasks to select out only the movement of living creatures, and screen out the rest.
--Not that they saw any other forms of life…
Still, the journey down from their stone watchtower was easier at night than the climb up had been during the day. They moved carefully, their full attention on what lay around them or underfoot.
Renegade had only a rough idea of how far away the green area was from the base of the mountain, so they planned on a long journey.
Even so, half the night was gone before they saw the defile ahead. They walked to the edge and peered over.
“There’s your ‘wetland’,” Rampage remarked bitterly, “at the bottom of a canyon!”
Renegade restrained himself from saying, “It’s not very deep,” and commented instead, “And if we go down into it, it’ll take us all night to get back to our outpost.”
“But there’s a good chance of small game, at least, around water,” Dasrylion pointed out. “And we do need the extra supply.”
“So, what do you think?” Renegade nudged them gently toward the conclusion he’d already reached.
They decided to risk it. First, though, they peered over the edge, searching for a way down. It was all sandstone and grit and very slippery, and they walked farther along near the brink, hoping for some rock ledges. 
The contrast between high and low lessened as they went south, until it became a mild leaning slope. One by one they slid down.
More scrubland – although the brush was a little thicker. But as for the ground at their feet…
“Mud – just cracked mud,” Dasrylion mourned. “The water must have dried up.”
“T’chrrt!” Rampage hissed, too angry to care. He glared at the broken ground-squares before him and kicked them to dust.
Renegade felt a deeper wrong than they. He had not led them well; there was no water, they would—he shook out his mane abruptly and made up his mind.
“Let’s try deeper in,” he coaxed them. “The bushes look taller there.”
Weary and thirsty and discouraged, they followed him.
The brush did grow denser…and thornier. It snagged on their light body armor, on their weapons, on their skin. Their unhappiness increased.
They were at a dangerous low, Renegade knew, too concerned with their own misery to pay attention to their surroundings, and that could be fatal. He tried to watch out for all of them.
Brush soon grew higher than their heads. They pushed into it.
Pfft! Something exploded underfoot. Or rather, several somethings. Dust puffs blew in every direction.
The boys caught just a glimpse of the bounding forms – about small cat-size, hopping away on their long hind legs; they were gone before anyone could react.
“Kre’vck’nn?” Renegade asked Dasrylion. It was the name of a desert herbivore. 
“Afraid so; and a decent meal – if you can catch one,” the Cold Tracker sank gloomily to his knees.
“Ah, vascht!” Rampage sat down hard and wrapped his arms around his knees
Renegade looked at them both in helpless dismay. We’re falling apart – and it’s barely been one day.  He felt the burden of leadership.
“Wait half a span,” Dasrylion said suddenly, staring at the ground. “Here are their tracks – and it’s really muddy here.”
Rampage jumped up with a squawk, feeling the wetness seep onto his bottom. He danced around brushing his backside vigorously and glaring at the others, daring anyone to laugh.
They ignored him, instead crowding around the mucky spot near Dasrylion.
“It’s definitely wet mud," Renegade began; “And where there’s wet mud—“
“There must be water!” Dasrylion finished for him.
 Rampage forgot his insult temporarily and edged closer.
“Good throw, brothers!” Renegade congratulated them. “Help me look, Rampage,” (as if he’d known he’d been there all along). And Dasrylion, why don’t you set up some of those traps?”
Doing something useful cheered them. While Dasrylion cast about for likely sites to set his three collapsible traps, Rampage and Renegade traced the mud to a few dirty pools hidden in the undergrowth.
“Y’cchrk! They’re filthy!” Rampage snapped in disgust.
“But we,” Renegade was sprightly, “have water purifier dust! If we drink this stuff now, we can save our good supplies for later;” and he began gouging muddy water up out of the ground with a spare container. 
Shortly, Rampage overcame his fastidiousness and joined him. They screened and dusted the murky water until it was clean and reasonably clear. After setting his snares, Dasrylion helped too.
The Three drank to satiation that night. It was a slow process, but they stayed with it.
The air around them was finally growing cool when the horizon brightened.
“Sun’s coming,” Renegade murmured. “We’ll have to find shelter here today, maybe against the canyon wall.”
“Ah, well, least-route it isn’t a half-day’s walk away,” Dasrylion said almost cheerfully.
They emerged from the tall brush to the low, toward the jumbled rock of the sandy canyon wall. The morning was getting bright. 
As they walked, heads down, Renegade had a strange sensation. As if…as if… he looked around, puzzled. Forward, back…nothing there. He was about to comment on it when he sensed something brush over him.
A shadow. A shadow overhead.
“Down! Get down!” he shouted, shoving Dasryl away and flinging an arm back toward Rampage.
“What?”—
Snap-roll. Fist. Knives out.
Something sheared across his outflung arm with sudden heat and he heard a startled yelp from Dasrylion. He rolled onto his back.
A canopy of darkness bloomed over him, and the thunder of beating wings. Huge talons came down, reaching.
Renegade thrust out his arm. The knives plunged into softness. A rasping scream – angry jaws snapped. 
A vise slammed shut around his arm.
“Hold still!” he heard from Rampage. A bright disc flashed through the air. It cut between him and the dark canopy. A sudden jerk, and tension released in a spray of blood; his arm pulled back free.
The great wings thundered. The bird-beast lifted away. A blue bolt shot under it: laser, from Dasrylion. Too late Renegade remembered his own. The beast was gone.
The three youngsters lay in the dust, shocked and scared.
“What – was that?” Rampage muttered.
“Desert dragon,” Renegade told him. He pried a taloned foot off his arm. The foot had been severed by Rampage’s vai-ator.
“I owe you a life, brother,” he said; “That was a good throw.”
Rampage made a negative head motion. Renegade’s grace under fire still amazed him. “No; you gave me a life, I think, long ago. Any-route, the shot wasn’t that good. I was aiming at his head.”
They all laughed.
“Bad Chance. We could have had dragon stew,” Dasrylion said. “Didn’t we learn those things are supposed to be carrion eaters?”
“I would say we have some more learning to do,” Renegade answered. “Let’s get under cover.”
“What about your arm?” Rampage asked.
“Let’s get to sanctuary first,” Renegade said.
They did; and afterward Rampage helped Renegade to bind the wound, while Dasrylion crouched on lookout nearby.

***

THREE thoroughly cowed youngsters spent the day in crevices and under outcrops of the sandstone canyon walls, feeling more hunted than hunter.
Even the usually placid Dasrylion felt depressed. “Broken Spear really gave us a hard track to follow when he put us here,” he said. “It’s the complete opposite of the country we’re used to…”
“—probably why he did it,” came from Rampage. 
Renegade wouldn’t hear any criticism of his beloved guardian. “Maybe. It’s hard here, true, but think: he left us off right near water and shelter – within walking distance of it. And even he didn’t know the desert dragons are active hunters.”
Rampage groaned. “I won’t argue, Renegade; I think I’ll just lie down here and sweat.”
 Since both his friends seemed to be in agreement there, Renegade nominated himself for sentry duty.
The long day crawled by. There was slightly more shade in the canyon, Renegade thought, but once the sun was overhead, the sandy floor turned into a grilling-rack too. He saw a few high-circling shapes in the burning sky, none of them near enough to shoot. He really would have liked to shoot one…he felt like he was hiding in a hole, proud hunter no more, and it angered him.
Ah well, there are still Dasryl’s traps to check tonight, he told himself; that’s something to look forward to…

***

THE TRAPS WERE EMPTY
“Not even fresh footprints, nothing at all.” Even Renegade was discouraged.
“It’s not so bad,” Dasrylion comforted. “Maybe we scared them off yesterday, but most herd animals make ‘rounds’ between feeding areas, and come back every few nights. Or…these are desert animals…maybe they don’t need to drink that often.”
“But we do,” Rampage put in. “Let’s get a drink before that’s gone too.”
He spoke prophecy, for when they searched for the mud holes, the shallow puddles were gone.
“The sun dried them,” Renegade said hurriedly; “At least on the surface. But there might be water farther down. Help me dig, Dasrylion. Rampage, watch our flanks.”
So they dug and scraped and burrowed, until their arms were scummed to the elbows with muck the fastidious hunters could not wash away. Still, they managed about a cupful apiece of the precious water, and were grateful for that.
“Mmrr…” Dasrylion tried to rub his hands clean; the grit under his finger talons especially irritated him. “We’ll have to let this dry; maybe it’ll come off then.”
“Glad I didn’t muck around with you,” Rampage told them smugly.
“You drank it fast enough!” Dasrylion snapped at him.
“He stood guard. He can dig next time,” their leader intervened almost sharply, in a tone he rarely took with them.
Abashed, they backed off.
“You’re right,” Dasrylion muttered, then said to Rampage with his internal good grace, “Your pardon, brother. Can we quit this feud?”
“Who’s – I mean, yes, ah, no offense taken, and – your pardon too, Dasryl,” Rampage swallowed his pride for once; and Renegade felt a wave of relief.
“That’s the way – quarter given, quarter taken,” he praised them. “Now: we know every spring has a beginning. Let’s backtrail this one and see if the headwaters are in the base of the mountain.”
“Good idea,” the Cold Tracker agreed; and they started moving, tracing the wetlands back to their source.
-- Only to be disappointed again. The green lands ended at the mountain’s foot with no hint of running water. They did find one not-quite-vanished puddle, though, and filled their waterskins for morning.
“May as well camp here,” Renegade said tiredly. “There’s cover; and it’s almost dawn.”
“Why don’t you rest first, brother?” Rampage offered. “You took the whole daywatch before. Dasrylion and I can divide the duty now.”
Renegade was happy to oblige.

***

THIRD DAY --- Renegade had slept restlessly in the heat, but he felt better at sunset.
On waking, Rampage said he too had seen the desert dragons wheeling aloft, too far away to bring down. “Let me find Old One-foot again,” he vowed, “and he’ll lose more than a leg this time.”
Dasrylion was anxious to re-check their traps that night, and both the other young hunters said they’d seen life-forms gliding through the brush below.
So the Three slipped quietly along the arroyo, to where the deep brush grew. Tiny foot-tracks glowed lightly before them, but the owners had fled and gone. They would be too small any-path to slake the young men’s hunger.
Dense brush ahead. They filed slowly through it, wishing they’d been allowed to bring camo-suits. But then, Broken Spear deemed high-tech weapons enough for protection on a colonized world…
“Look!” Dasrylion hissed. “Something’s in the trap!”
“I see it!” Rampage cried out. 
“Hold! Slowly!” Renegade cautioned. “It doesn’t look like one of the hoppers.”
They approached carefully, alert to all their surroundings.
The catch proved to be a medium-sized lizard, running frantically round and round the cage.  Seeing them, it raised a startling dorsal crest, and hissed.
“A lizard,” said Rampage flatly. “I suppose it’s poisonous, too.”
Dasrylion studied it. “I don’t think so. This is a crested lizard. We can eat it.”
Rampage greeted this with a dubious stare.
“Let’s take it,” Renegade said, “and check the other traps.”
These yielded nothing. The three youngsters waited by the dying watercourse for more game, but saw nothing larger than a small rodent, so they wended their way back ‘home’.
There they set up a fire-disc – a small unfolding metal dish that held fire tabs to produce a small hot flame. It was normally used only as a fire starter and kept in their backpacks. But set up on a boulder for safety, it made an excellent toasting flame for bits of lizard. Even Rampage overcame his qualms when he got the taste of fresh, juicy meat steaming into his mouth; and he ate his share hungrily.
Afterward they sighed and leaned back in contentment.
“Not bad,” Rampage said from his rocky back support. “Not bad at all.”
The sky stretched above them black as velvet, and spread a panoply of stars along its sweep, and for once it held no fear.

***
 
LATER, when they rested, Renegade took the watch. He climbed above their campsite and stared out into the vastness of the Great Sea. The desert gleamed below him, ghostly with transcendent heat.
This isn’t a bad place, he thought, maybe even a beautiful place, hard to live on, but beautiful, too. A great silence, a great peacefulness, lay upon it. The desert invited solitude, and the deeps of pure thought. You could philosophize here.
Even as he glanced idly over the land below, he caught a glimmer of something moving across the rocks, toward the camp.
He had left his facemask off to adapt his natural sight better to his surroundings; and now he edged forward to focus on what was happening below.
Jhak-ree’ – a kind of desert scavenger – a pack of them – creeping up the mountain at an angle, toward his sleeping friends.
The thrill of tension shot through Renegade. He crouched forward, watching. There were six of them, about 30 kri from his friends – and they were definitely encroaching on the camp.
Scavengers or no, you’re going to die. Some scavengers did not wait until you were dead, merely helpless… Renegade eased on his facemask, clipped the laser connection to it.  In its sights, the jhak-ree’ appeared as flowing bluish blobs with a crimson sphere at the heart. He focused them in better, and the red aiming-circle flared on.
There. Point on the leader. Touch the heart. Fire.
The animal seemed to jump as the bolt hit it. Soundlessly. The five packmates behind it stopped and twitched, undecided. Run or stay?
“Stay,” Renegade whispered, and targeted the next one. The bolt hurled it halfway down the mountainside.
The rest broke into a clamor of yipping and scattered.
Renegade followed their retreat with his laser sights until they were safely off the mountain and fleeing into the brush. Then his concentration expanded to include the uproar at the camp below.
By the time his friends charged up to see Renegade crouching amongst the ruins of the jhak-ree’, they were fully awake and armed; and they could figure out what happened for themselves.
“I see you finally learned how to shoot,” Rampage remarked, grinning.
“-Don’t think we can use the hides, though,” Dasrylion drawled.
Renegade gave them a shrug. “I got tired of being the prey,” was all he said.
While his friends roared and howled and pounded him in glee, Renegade smiled tiredly. His thoughts finished his speech: What do I do when I get tired of fleeing or fighting? Is that all there is for us out there, too? Fight or die?

***            
FOURTH DAY.  They investigated their traps before sunset and found two of them sprung, with hoppers inside. And to make their victory complete, they sighted a low-flying raptor just above the trap line. Rampage scoped it through his mask, and grinned in triumph.
“Old One-foot is mine,” he declared to his friends.
And just as the bird-beast swooped down to grasp the trap-cage, just as it hovered for a heartbeat in midair, Rampage made an amazing cast with his vai-ator.
The spinning sawblade wheeled into a low arc. It spun neatly between the beast’s head and body and cut them apart. Whirling free, it returned to the thrower’s hand.
Congratulations rang out loud that night around a real cooking fire in the depths of the canyon. They admired Rampage’s desert dragon’s head, its long toothed jaw agape, its eyes wide with surprise; and they dined handsomely off Dasrylion’s two kre’vch’nn. Even Renegade found he had his own trophies, when his companions presented him with the cleaned skulls from the two jhak-ree’ he’d slain.
“When did you do this?” he exclaimed.
“While you were asleep, good hunter,” Dasrylion said. “We were too revved-up to wait on watch.”
“And besides,” Rampage chipped in, “these are the only parts of the bodies you didn’t blow away!”

***      
 A SHORT REST after main-meat, and they decided to start walking back around the mountain that same night, to their pick-up spot. They had fed well, were rested, and much more familiar with the desert and its dangers than they had been…and they also thought that their first watch tower, the natural stone fort, was a much more secure place than either the canyon or the mountain’s forefoot. If they walked all night, they calculated they’d arrive before sunrise, and drink the last of their water on the fifth day…
“And go home at sunset,” Renegade said with some relief.
“Krr, I don’t know,” Rampage teased him. “And here I was just beginning to get used to the place!”
“You’ll have more places to get used to as we go along,” Dasrylion reminded him. “After this comes the ten day survival test – all of us together again – then the five day solo, and the ten day solo… and then-“
“The Master Hunt!” Rampage finished for him in a shout.
“With no time limit except what you need to get the job done,” Renegade said.
“Job? The job?” Rampage scoffed. “The qualifying trophy hunt of our lives and you call it just a job….Brother, sometimes I wonder if you know what you really want to do with your life?”
“And you already know?” bristled Dasrylion in defense of his friend.
Renegade laughed and waved them apart. They were back to old trails again…’”Brothers, sometimes I wonder, too.” 
He adjusted his packstraps, sighted through his mask and stepped into the lead with the last word, “Now let’s go home!”
And they followed after him, proud and upright and conquering once more.

                                                     ***

BROKEN SPEAR arrived well before the sun touched the horizon. Dasrylion was on sentry duty and spotted the incoming aircar.  He roused the others, and after a brief discussion, they decided they could leave early, and went down the mountain to meet it.
“Lay sight we look a mess,” Rampage muttered to them, using a gambling phrase. They were all very conscious of the dirt, mud and dried blood caking their bodies.
“And I’ll meet your sight, and say I don’t think he cares,” Renegade smiled. “Look.”
Broken Spear was out of the car, standing tall, watching. His relief at seeing them was obvious, even from that distance. 
Their pace quickened.
He came partway out to meet them.
“Welcome, young hunters, welcome!” he greeted him, then embraced them, one by one, and called them by name, finishing with; “You have done well, dhai tautschen…my sons.” Even Rampage forgot his own griminess and clung to him for a long moment.
He took them home, first to his hall where they could wash, and tell him about their Hunt, in truth, they had been talking about it since the aircar lifted off. He wouldn’t have stopped them for the world. He admired the trophies they had taken; he readily listened to the tales they told over and over, and encouraged them to say even more.
Before he returned the other two boys to their homes, he told them all, “There is one part of your education I have neglected, and I think it is time I added it to your lives.”
To their questioning looks, he explained, “Celebration, lads! Festival! Joy! The completion of your first survival test calls for it…after our next fiveday class meeting, I think we will visit the space station nearest this world. Every tare’ there is filled with wonder amid its shops and delights. Yes; we’ll go there.”
He smiled at their shouts of joy.

***

LATER that evening, after Broken Spear had taken Dasrylion and Rampage home, he remarked to Renegade, “Next year they will come to live here, with us, and ready themselves for the Master Hunt.”
“I’d like that,” Renegade said softly. He fell silent again.
His mentor encouraged him to speak. “Everyone told his story at least twice tonight, son, and seemed very excited. Dasrylion is determined to be a trapper on many worlds, and Rampage can’t see past his Master Hunt, unless it is to bigger trophies beyond. But you have been very quiet, Renegade. Something different happened to you out there. Would you like to tell me about it?” and he waited patiently.
Renegade got off to a slow start, and gradually gathered speed, until he was telling Broken Spear not so much about his hunting or about the desert dragon’s attack, as his reactions to them both. Then he told his guardian about the nights under the stars, and how he’d looked up at them, wondering.
The old hunter was nodding, as if Renegade’s tale struck a chord in him. When the youth ended on a question: “Is the kill the only thing? Do all creatures out there treat us the same, either attack us or run from us?” Broken Spear heaved a sigh that came from the depths of his being.
“Aah… As I suspected, you see things differently. Your life-view is more profound than your friends’. Let me tell you something, son---
“I was somewhat like you when I was younger. Your questions were mine, then. But the clan system is closed to such questions: you are either able to hunt, and eat – or you cannot learn --- and you are a failure. You must learn to hunt first, even if you want to be a clansinger, or an artisan – or you could be exiled, fit only to die.”
He heard Renegade’s sharp intake of breath.
“Chak. You didn’t know that about the clans, did you? I have told you only the best things about them so far. But it was the exiles, the renegades, who discovered our science and technology, who built our ships and gave us the stars.
“When they laid this technology at the various clan leaders’ feet (perhaps in hope of acceptance) we began to travel. Our love of the Hunt has kept our Homeworld pure: we still have great forests and marshlands, clean waters, and vast herds of game. We are a mixture of tradition and technology, and this has preserved our world, and all the worlds we find.
“Well. To return to the trail: We cruised up and down our quadrant of the galaxy, hybrid and clan-bred alike, and discovered some 300 worlds, most of them lifeless hulks fit only for ore and mineral production. We have colonies of various sizes on some 50 habitable worlds – that number will double before you are grown – and we visit half as many more, strictly to hunt them.
“On all those worlds,” he went on, “in that whole sweep of space where we have expanded thus far, Renegade, we have found evidence of civilization on only two of them. One is the Place of Shadows, whose people apparently destroyed themselves.
Renegade’s breath quickened. “And the other?”
Broken Spear shook out his mane sadly. “It is a world similar to this one but smaller, whose inhabitants are still planetbound – and extremely hostile to us.”
“Hostile?  But why?”
“I – no one knows. But we cannot approach them without triggering an immediate aggressive response. Or they flee. Something about us terrifies them…. Perhaps it is an ancient enmity: we are carnivores; they mainly scavengers who taught themselves to kill - or it may stem from their fear and hostility toward every living thing, even themselves.”
“Even themselves?”
“Yes, indeed. They kill each other, Renegade, not by accident, but by design, in every conceivable manner. They have no concept of personal surrender, and no honor – I know, back in history some of our few clan territorial battles were bloody – but these!
“They murder each other on a vast scale, and do unspeakable things to their females and young. It is a wonder they have not yet exterminated themselves –they have totally slaughtered some of their own clans….
“So some of us hunt them.”
Renegade was shocked. “We hunt them? –But you said they were civilized – and if they are people, how can we –“
“Perhaps I should have called them ‘intelligent’ and not ‘civilized’. I know; and I am not proud of our history with them, unlike some hunters. These beings have become trophy specimens to some of our people. Their reasoning runs something like this: the species has doomed itself. It cares so little about its own blood-kind, and its own world, that it should be fair game for all … They act like beasts, so why not treat them as beasts?
“They are magnificent fighters – they are physically smaller and weaker than we, so they have devised killing weapons on a grand scale. Never have I seen such violence and such technology wielded together – but I have seen the results. I fear that instead of growing into worthy companions on the Hunt, they are going the way of the Shadows. And they are taking their entire world with them…”
He paused a moment, then went on, “I have been to the Divided World before, Renegade, and yes, I have hunted them, long ago when I was there. And no matter what excuse I make for myself, self-preservation or revenge – I cannot justify my actions now, and I do not like the person I became, hunting them…”
The old hunter waited, wondering if the boy would ever respect him again, whether he might even lose the love Renegade bore for him…
He was looking down at his big hands when two smaller ones seized them. He looked up. 
“What did they do to you, Grandfather? If they hurt you, then I hate them, too!” the boy burst out.
A child still.
The old hunter pulled the young one to him, held him tight. “No, Renegade; no, son. You must not hate. Hatred is born of envy and fear, unlike honest anger; and it is unworthy of you. That is the lesson I learned on my Master Hunt – and if I have learned nothing else, I have learned that. Let it go.”
He hugged the boy fiercely for a few moments, then released him, looking into his eyes. “I went to that world many years ago, and I never want to go back there again. Someday I will tell you the story – when you are ready for it. For now, let it rest, Renegade. Walk the warrior’s path – the one of honor.”
The youth regarded him soberly for a time. He turned his attention to the great brown-furred beast that centered T’akaion’s trophy hall: “Do they look like that, Grandfather?”
“No, son; that is a vraun, (a bear) nothing more. I do not have one of the others in my hall. I could not.”
More silence.
Finally Broken Spear dared ask him, “Do you feel a little better about this old hunter, now? Or worse?”
“I feel…the same about you, Grandfather. I always will.” The honest green eyes held his.
Broken Spear inwardly thanked the Great Spirit for such a thing as a child’s unconditional love. Outwardly he said, “You honor me, youngster. And perhaps in the future, somewhere out there, we will find someone who follows a Code and Credo like to our own. Perhaps it will be you who finds them, Renegade, For you have a different destiny; I have felt that ever since I first saw you. I only pray that I can help guide you to your Path.”
And as he talked the youngster into contentment again, Broken Spear told himself that, for a not-very-religious man, he’d been doing a lot of praying lately…

Chapter Sixteen…Celebrations

THEY LEFT the aircar at Arvien 4’s only “spaceport,” which was basically a wide flat place on the ground with a small com-tower in the nearby hills.  They boarded a cargo ship leaving on Sixday for Nine Systems’ Station.
(Sixday and Tenday are normally days of relaxation on the Hunters’ calendar. They stem from old religious customs on Homeworld – and the universal feeling that even hardworking hunters should get a day off now and then.)
Broken Spear kept no classes on the those days; and for this special occasion had cancelled the next three days’ meet as well, so they could have enough time for the space station visit.
This cargo ship, their mentor told them, was carrying hides, furs, and some surplus meats to trade at the station for tools, weapons and other high-tech equipment from the factory worlds.
“We feed and clothe the dry worlds – the manufacturing planets and space bases,” he said, “and they make alloys, tools, weapons and starships in exchange. It is one great complex circle economy, in which all are woven together. But while this is done on a planetary scale for worlds like Arvien 4,  there are many individual traders and trade families who take in raw materials as barter for finished goods, and offer those things to other individuals and families both on-planet and at the station, as you will see. There will be artisans and craftspeople there, too, selling their own-made goods.”
The boys probably heard him talking, but their eyes were enthralled by their first sight of deep space. The ship lifted through multi-colored layers of atmosphere surrounding their world, from vivid blue-green to deep violet, then black; and the planet itself shone with coruscating lights, from the pinpoint ‘stars’ of port buildings and far-spread homes to the warm greens and browns and golds of the continents, and the many blues and purples of the sea: Renegade’s whole world, suspended in a viewscreen.
Look away from the planet, and there were the stars! A blizzard-rainbow of them, with all the colors that temperature can bestow.
The boys sat spellbound. Not even Dasrylion, whose father as Chief Hunter traded regularly with the station, had ever been in space. And Rampage felt a pang that his parents in all their traveling had never brought him here.
The ship jumped; the stars smeared and vanished.
“Hyperlight jump,” Broken Spear remarked. “We have left our system behind and will enter the station’s near-space when we fall back. We should make tie in less than a day, star-time.”
On schedule, new stars appeared in their viewscreens, long before the boys got tired of watching, and the ship seemed to glide through a vast bowl of night. The boys strained their eyes, looking for the station.
“Where is it? Can we see it?” they chorused.
“Not yet. Nor is it the only one. Stations have been built at rough intervals of one for every five to ten solar systems of habitable worlds, and a few at the fringes of our frontier, which are called way stations. Our base, for example, shares space with both Arvien’s and Homeworld’s systems. Even though they are some three light-years apart, they are in the same ‘territory’ in space.”
“Are there nine nearby life-systems altogether, Grandfather?” Renegade asked.
“Hmmrr, Correct, young hunter.” Broken Spear sounded pleased. “They are, let me remember…Homeworld, Arvien, the Place of Shadows, Windemere, Taschen, the Dinosaur World’s star, the Place of the White Death...Chareen and its colony of Chareen  3 … and P’taal, the farthest out...”
Only six of those nine suns, Renegade recalled from his lessons, had favorable conditions for his people to live on; the others, whether through temperature or atmosphere, were considered either trophy planets or places to research, only. And the many other suns and the hollows between were filled with worlds where life had never been, could never be, on its own.
“Renegade, look!” Rampage called excitedly, drawing him back to the viewscreen.
One of the fleet of stars outside brightened and became a glowing sphere, then a small world. It glowed vividly from internal light.
“The station,” Broken Spear said. “As we move in closer, you will see funnels inset around the equator – those are docking tunnels for the ships, although not all of the ships can be accommodated, sometimes. We will come in prow first, take on a pressure seal at passenger and cargo bays, then disembark.”
The station swelled immensely as they approached, and they could see the dark cone-shaped holes around its middle. When their ship entered one of them, it was like being swallowed by a world. 
The darkness passed. The pressure tubes ascended, lined with lights. There came a series of clicks and clangs, and they were sealed in place.
“On-stat, young hunters, get ready,” their teacher called to them cheerfully. “Weapons in backpacks, please; there are no weapons worn in the station: it would be a grave discourtesy; and the base can defend itself from without. We will store our packs when we enter, and take only our trade items with us; so we are walking light today. There. Well and good. Young hunters, let us disembark.”
The freighter’s pilot-captain saw them off at the passenger hatch. “A crowd in there today, Elder,” he informed the warrior. “You and your lads should have plenty to see.”
“Ah. My thanks, honored captain,” Broken Spear replied. “We have most of our barter goods with us, except for a slight allowance. Please accept it as my thanks for taking us aboard.”
“Oh, chai! Thank you, vr’elder; that’s very generous of you,” the pilot beamed. He’d noticed the three well-matched snowy kai pelts draped over one of the flight chairs.
The three young hunters were impressed by the fact that Broken Spear’s ranking and status were such that he was ‘entitled’ to a bunk on any passing starship, along with his students. He could request a ship’s services on any voyage without fee, save the Master Hunt, where he might or might not be allowed to accompany his students outbound. Ordinary hunters either had to hire out as ‘ship’s hunters,’ or pay for the trip like everybody else.
Broken Spear felt these professionals deserved the courtesy of at a small share for carrying him; and he was not slow about giving it. That alone made him well-liked by the star captains.
They left the ship. The boys had dressed with some care: leather shoulder-pads and gauntlets, armbands and shinguards oiled and shined, new sandals or boots upon their feet. New lizard hide belts looped through their dyed buckskin breech-and loincloths; and each young hunter wore a neckchain with the skulls of his desert kills on it.
Broken Spear had not wanted them to feel out of place or conspicuous if any of the station personnel were there to greet them. They were hunters; they dressed as such. To keep them company, the old hunter wore his own bronze-shining lightweight leathers, and a new, dyed-green loin-and breechclout linked to his golden-worked belt. Unlike the boys’ his neckchain bore a great medallion, its face struck with precious stones, and embossed with his name and rank. His only other gear consisted of the tall staff he carried and the white fur Sloth-bear cloak he wore – its edges flung to his back now.
The boys left their weapons cased in a storage drawer in the first room they entered from the ship, then went out into a main corridor.
Lights and confusion burst upon them. Noise – so much noise! – the lilting rattlings and ripples, the deep raspings and churlings, the soft-calls and even snatches of song from the People’s voices. The three youngsters, two of them reared almost in silence, stood stunned by it.
So many lights, too…they overlay the dark-carven walls of the station in a reddish mist near the ceiling; while other, brighter, dots and spatters and flashes of light came from everywhere around them. It took a moment for the boys to realize these lights were mainly ornamental, used to bring attention to shops and their wares…
And the Hunting People were everywhere: in groups, in pairs, alone. A couple passed by, their voices low and musical, engrossed in each other. Separate hunters, dressed as their small pack was, stalked by in lithe and muscular pride. Farther off, dallying over some open displays, a bigger group lingered: five children, boys and girls, their mother, father, and several older adults.
Broken Spear moved his charges gently away from the entranceway and let them indulge in their wonder.
“Is that a clan?”  Renegade wanted to know, indicating the larger group.
“Aaah…no, just a big family, much like our Cold Tracker’s…outworlders, I would say. See the different shades and patterns on their bodies—which combine in the children? Don’t stare now, just let your gaze travel…there are many, many, clans represented here…the patterns alone are a feast for the eye, whether clan or hybrid.”
They were indeed. The family group was dorsally patterned in beige and black, with a secondary pattern—the father’s—in rust and cream and gray. The boys looked avidly about as Broken Spear began leading them casually through the area.
What a wonderful assortment! Renegade thought. Here were solid-color people, of tan or black or red or gray; but far more exciting were the majority of others, who were spotted or striped, dappled or “phased” as one called colors which blended at the edges, as his did. Some people were stippled or spotted or “egg-speckled” with tiny dots all over, but he saw no one with a pattern near to his own.
He found himself admiring a young woman, her back turned to him, her blue-black hair knotted in a tail to her waist. On her back was a grand dappling of light tan, russet, rust, yellow-green and brown, over an undercolor of fine clear gold.
He was studying her so intently that she seemed to feel it, for she raised her head suddenly and turned toward him, questioning.  When she saw his youth, she actually gave him a smile, big and understanding.
“Why, day’s-light, young hunter,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
Taken aback, Renegade gasped, and managed to say, “Day—uh—day’s-light to you, my—milady,” as he blushed to the width of his chest.
Broken Spear nudged him reprovingly. “Forgive him, milady, he is very young.”
“So I see, honored one, and understand,” She gave Renegade a final dazzling smile; “But very sweet, also!” and she laughed and moved fluidly away.
“Renegade,” Broken Spear said in wry good humor, “if you are going to stare at a huntress, at least learn how to speak to her.” Suddenly he chuckled, “Another oversight of mine, I see,” and led them away.
Renegade had to endure several kt-tare’ of sly pokes and gibes from his much-amused friends before new marvels distracted them.
“This is the trading area,” Broken Spear told them, “a favorite of every traveler. You may find everything from weapons to trinkets here, and you can trade those furs of yours for anything they will buy.”
With a head motion, he indicated the many booths and display areas, counters and thresholds. Some were quite a bit larger than the others. “After you have looked around, you may see something you like. If so, you are free to bargain for it.” He watched as Dasrylion stopped before a woven-cloth display where the colors were iridescent, the patterns and designs complex and imaginative.
“These are beautiful!” Dasrylion exclaimed. At first he thought they were strange and wonderful kinds of furs. “Esteemed trader, what are these?”
The dark red individual inside the alcove had been politely disinterested before; now he came forward. “Young hunters – and Esteemed Great Warrior” (his eyes widening just a fraction )–“those are hand-stitched cloth from Krt’chr 3.”
“They are machine made, are they not?” Broken Spear put in.
The trade looked a bit crestfallen. “Yes, sir, they are…but my wife hand-casts the designs herself, and applies them to the cloth. We buy the material direct form the factory; it is made of all-natural fiber – a blend of animal and plant – but the designs are hand-worked and shaped, honored sir…” somewhat reproachfully.
“As you say.” Broken Spear did not back down. “It is just that the boy is new to bargaining, and he has some excellent furs.  I would like to see him get full value for them.”
The other man stiffened. His head came up, his black mane bristled, his eyes flashed. The points of his biting teeth showed.
“Sir! I would not cheat him! I may do a small trade, but I’m not a”-- Then he caught sight of the crease in the big hunter’s eyelids and the easy curve of his jaw, and he simmered down. “You –krr, you are testing me, tyr rakash?”
“Indeed I am,” the old warrior said; “and you show the reactions of an honest man. I commend you, honored trader.”  Gracious again.
The boys were watching this exchange almost bug-eyed. It was like some kind of volleying fire between the two.
The trader tried to apologize for his outburst, but Broken Spear assured him it was the very reaction he’d been seeking, and made the other man feel comfortable again. He introduced himself and asked, "May we know your name?”
“On…on-course,” the trader replied, still flustered. “It is He-Walks-Lightly, of Krt-chr 3, Five Systems. Great Warrior, I know something of furs also. May I see the young hunter’s? I could evaluate them and let him know the fair market worth.”
“That would be helpful, He-Walks-Lightly. If young Cold Tracker agrees.”
“Oh, on-stat – I mean, I do agree. Here they are, good trader,” and Dasrylion passed over his bundle.
They had barely begun when they heard a mighty, “Ho! Warrior!”
Broken Spear glanced behind him and further down the corridor.
“Ah,” he said with pleasure, “an old friend. Young hunters, He-Walks-Lightly, pardon my absence for a while. Go on and look around, boys; I will track you when I am finished ….and good hunting!” 
He left them, disappearing into the river of the crowd.
“You have a good friend there,” He-Walks-Lightly told them as he went over the furs. “Your enemy is his – and would not walk away with a scolding.”
He selected four brown-speckled white skins from h’vatka – coney-like beasts that remained active in winter... “These four are nearly perfectly matched. You could buy a decent weapon with them. They are worth about 50 krehn in starship tender – a nice sum.”
Dasrylion looked pleased. Those were the same furs Broken Spear had picked out as his best. He felt new confidence in the trader.
The next-most valuable were the double-ten or so little tree climbers’ skins: “They are so bright and colorful they would make a good cloak even if they don’t match.” 
The least valuable, the trader said, were the “ordinary” skins of a mixture of small animals.
He-Walks-Lightly offered to do the same service for the other two young hunters and they allowed it. He liked Rampage’s two excellent white kai hides best, and rated Renegade’s well-prepared soft buckskins and nine silver k’chiara furs as his best.
In the end, Dasrylion decided to trade his tree climbers’ furs to He-Walks-Lightly for a whole round of cream-colored cloth shot through with red, gold, and silver lightning designs. The trader told them his wife worked many old-time designs into her materials, and each had a separate meaning: “The lightning stands for ideas and power as well as being the ancient mark for a storm.”
He seemed grateful for their business. “My wife will like these furs; it has been a long time since she had good fur to work with,” he said almost shyly.
They thanked him and walked on.
“Did you see how he looked at us?” Dasrylion asked.
“Churr,” said Renegade, “So – wistfully, as if he envied us. Poor fellow, he has nice goods but doesn’t seem to get much trade. I suppose that’s why you bought the cloth?”
“That – and because my mother will like it. She and my grandparents make a lot of our clothing and bedding and such; and she complains that she hasn’t made a garment of ‘real cloth’ for a long-throw.”
“Yes, yes,” Rampage cut in impatiently. “Let’s go see some weapons now. Look, there’s a whole display of them! A whole storeful!” And he hurried them over to see.
It was a whole shopful, an entire store devoted to weapons and hunting gear, with wide display panels set to either side of the entrance. On these hung lasers and rockets, camo-suits, body armor and kits for the ubiquitous backpacks. There was even more variety inside.
The boys lingered, craned to see everything. This was the busiest shop in the corridor; and the youngs hunters found themselves mingling with some heady company: adult hunters, dressed in stalking gear, save for the weapons, their faces alternately serious or jovial, exchanging news of the Eternal Hunt.
While Rampage ogled a set of golden-bronze body armor, weighing that against a proton-cannon of imposing size, Renegade found himself listening to snatches of trail-talk, bits of life on many worlds all come together here between the stars:
“Arah, Sure-cast! Good hunting to you! I haven’t seen you since the night of Firefall on…”
“—and there it was, in the clearing, a beast as big as a house, with horns like—“
“You can’t shoot them in the heart, you know; they have two…”
“Tschk! Windemere – that bloody blasted place – half rock and half swamp…”
“—Bugs so big they’d drain you of blood in—“
Someone bumped into him. “T’churr! Careful there, lad.”
“Your pardon, Esteemed Hunter,” Renegade apologized, looking at the stranger without fear or challenge, even though the other man was half again his size and powerfully built.
The other stared back at him, reading his expression, then said, “No offense taken, young hunter. You are well-spoken for a cub…and this is an exciting place, t’churr?”
“Chak!” Renegade agreed emphatically. 
The grown hunter laughed and moved on.
Better get a clawhold on yourself, Renegade thought, and began edging out of the mainstream to find his friends.
Dasrylion was settling for an arrow-holder for his bow; while Rampage was complaining about the prices on both the body armor and the big cannon.
“I got these instead,” he showed Renegade three new throwing discs, complete with diamite sawteeth and chip memory, and coated in silicone. “They have more range than my old ones and they come with a ‘caster. –Aren’t you going to get anything, Renegade?”
“I haven’t really looked yet,” Renegade said. He’d been captivated by the hunters’ talk around him.
All three youngsters alerted as they sensed something major happening behind them, near the entrance, and turned to face it.
The other hunters were parting like a river around a rock, to make way. Their heads were high, and while they showed no subservience, their attitudes held respect. 
Somebody important coming, Renegade thought. The Three stood undecided, not knowing which way to go.
“Good hunting, brothers and sisters,” said the deep, affable voice they knew so well. They exchanged a look. Broken Spear?
“They stood aside for him, to let him through,” Dasrylion’s whisper echoed the awe the others felt.
“Ah, there you are, boys,” Broken Spear said pleasantly as he strode through the pack with his great cloak swirling behind him. “I thought you might be here.”
“—the only place for fine young hunters to be!” boomed from somewhere further behind him.
The boys looked, then looked UP.
At the largest hunter they had ever seen. Half a head taller than even Broken Spear, topping four kri, and as powerfully built as the old hunter himself, the giant carried a bone staff with a dagger-toothed reptile skull on top, and wore a felt cloak of silver with a blue reverse. His coloring was spectacular: his great braided mane white-silver, his body an extraordinary glowing gold marked with silver, copper, and white…while a chain of savage skulls and stunning medallions hung on his chest.
The Three were struck speechless. They had never seen a clan leader, but knew they were seeing one now.
He stopped alongside Broken Spear, and swept them with a burning gaze.
Their teacher prompted them: “Boys, this is High Sun, leader of the Dinosaur Clan.”
Dinosaurs! Despite the hundred questions which went off in his brain, Renegade took a grip on his courage, stepped forward a pace, and said, “I am honored to greet you, Esteemed Clan Leader. I am Renegade of Arvien 4;” inclined his head once, and stepped back.
Behind him his two friends rallied their senses and imitated him.
High Sun took this all in before replying. His eyes were like burning glass. Finally he replied:
“So. Renegade, Dasrylion, Rampage – all of Arvien 4. You honor me, young hunters.”
They relaxed slightly; although he wasn’t through with them yet. “You use no clan affiliation, yet you wear your first test kills around your necks properly. Let us see…” and he reached down to touch a jhak-ree’ skull on Renegade’s chain. “And what is this, young hunter?”
Renegade held himself steady and told him. He did not falter. Already his interest in High Sun had defeated any anxiety he held. The golden giant listened closely; then he did the same thing with the other two youngsters. Though Rampage showed a touch of defiance, and Dasrylion grew pale, they both acquitted themselves well. Broken Spear’s sympathetic gaze went out to them like a lifeline.
The clan leader straightened.
“So, Great Warrior, these are your students. They handle the rituals properly; and this one” –indicating Renegade –“you are a hybrid are you not, young hunter? Ah. How appropriate a name!” Aside to their teacher: “You have proven your premise here. These three will not disappoint; and the one will stand when all others fail. He has the look. My congratulations to you, T’akaion.”
What look? Renegade wondered. He longed to ask, but held his throw. High Sun did not seem to be someone you could freely interrupt.
“I am honored, High Sun,” Broken Spear said respectfully. “I am already proud of them” (they straightened their spines) “so you know why I cannot accept your generous offer.”
“T’chrrt!” the Clan Leader scoffed good-naturedly. “I thought not; but it could not hurt to try my throw.”
He turned to address the boys directly. “I am here in search of a Chief Hunter, young ones. Ours is in need of retiring. He has earned being a respected elder twice over; and our other hunters are either too old, or lack seasoning. I asked your Great Warrior to take the post, but, alas, he has refused me – so it seems I must seek among the trophy hunters at large. New ways for new People, as they say.”
At this a ripple went around the crowd, whose presence had been totally eclipsed by the clan leader’s.
“You may have some to choose from now, High Sun,” Broken Spear remarked with a smile
“So I may. Well, I regret your refusal – but I invite you to visit us again soon, my brother. Bring your students with you. Our herds increase yearly; and dinosaurs have always been popular trophies.”
He reached out one-handed to clasp their mentor’s forearm. “Good hunting, old friend. May the Great Spirit guide you – and you, young men of Arvien.”
“Good hunting, honored leader, in the field and on your quest,” Broken Spear returned the parting, and the Three echoed it after him.
Then the magnificent being was gone, and an eddy of hunters in the shop swirled after him. The store cleared in moments.
“Well, young hunters, at least we can now have the view to ourselves,” Broken Spear told them, with the mouth-twitch that translates as a wink in tautschen.
They finished their inspection of the armory in a leisurely pace. Renegade found himself talked into buying a unique arm weapon: a wristband that shot small but deadly darts – sharp-tipped in newmetal, armor piercing, or even explosive, depending on the prey you were hunting. Blunt-tipped darts were available to knock down birds in flight without damaging their feathers.
Rampage gave a last lingering look at his two favorites; while Dasrylion decided that he could use a few more traps.
The other two youngsters finished their tour of the trade area without getting anything more, but Renegade browsed in an electronics store until he came up with a set of computer discs about journeys to alien worlds –“By the original discoverers,” he told his friends’ “Most of them were hunters, too!”
“Did you know that even expedition ships use hunters to set ‘first foot’ on new worlds, after they’ve been surveyed from orbit?” Broken Spear told them. “Chak; it is the hunter’s keen observation and trained self-defense that they value.
“Now I want you to see something else,” he continued, and took them out of that section and down another curving corridor. 
They passed meeting rooms and store rooms. These hallways were almost deserted, except for station personnel, who seemed overdressed in dark red or dark blue coveralls and who always seemed to be in a hurry.
Students and teacher descended through another airlock and found themselves looking at a collection of starships outside, through a viewport. The ships hung in empty space “below” the station.
“They are in stationary orbit, not really drifting,” Broken Spear told them. “Look at that smaller one over there”—he pointed to a dark red, almost maroon-colored one about two-thirds the size of the others.
“That is our new school ship,” he said proudly.
The Three whipped round to face him.
“Ours!” “For us?” “School ship?”
Enjoying their surprise, Broken Spear said, “Yes, ours. I have wanted to have our own ship, to take us where and when we would go, for some time. This one is modeled after a regular Hunt Ship, though it is a bit smaller. It can hold up to twenty people at once, yet land easily anywhere on our planet, even in the hall’s amphitheatre, if necessary.”
“It’s a great ship,” Rampage enthused. “But who’s going to fly it?”
“Why I am, on-course,” their teacher told them matter-of-factly. “And later on, any one of you.”
         ”Any of us?” they gasped.
“Really, youngsters, you are going to have to save your mimicry for the trail,” Broken Spear told them sweetly. “A good hunter should know something of everything, including the ability to fly himself in and out of planetide. You will need to learn some things first.”
“You’re going to get us pilot lessons?” Renegade deduced. “You’ll teach us, Elder, or someone here, at the station?”
“Yes to the first. No, unfortunately, to the second. I do not suffer through flying lessons well,” he said with a glint of humor. “There are several good pilots for hire on Arvien 4 who are in need of their work. You will begin spending one day every fiveday at our local spaceport next summer. I will have to schedule your related education to fit your new classes.”
“This is wonderful, Elder,” Dasrylion said; “but if a Great Warrior can get a berth on any ship, and take shares for his trouble, why…” he paused, not wanting to seem critical.
“A sharp point, youngster. I have many reasons, not the smallest of which is that the true warrior is self-reliant. He walks the Path in his own way. With our own ship we may go anywhere at any time; and the whole sweep of space is open to our lessons. For another reason, we can go hunting all winter long during the cold suns”—and he laughed suddenly, “—and more selfishly I can be free of that deep freeze on Arvien 4, and still keep running the school.” His eyes twinkled as he enjoyed his little triumph.
More seriously he went on, “With pilot and navigational training, you each will be free to chart your course in future, from steering a short-hop in a shuttle or scout ship, to piloting a starship. Trained Hunt Ship pilots are at a premium in the cold worlds.”
“Can we go out to the new ship now, Grandfather?” Renegade asked.
The old warrior made a negative head motion. “Not yet. In a few tare’, after we are finished at the station. A shuttle will take us to it; then we can breaktie with the station and go home.”
The mention of “home” brought some dejected faces, so Broken Spear assured them, “But first we have more sights to see. Shall we go, young hunters?”
And they continued their tour.

***

WALKERS OF THE WAY---With the stationmaster’s permission, Broken Spear was able to take his charges through both the control rooms of the station, and through its hospital.
The “House of Healing’” as the Hunters call it, took up two levels of the station.
“It has a laboratory also, like University on Homeworld, where organic matter can be evaluated,” the old warrior said. “’Organic’ means everything from blood samples and waste to new strains of bacteria and viruses found on the star worlds. You saw we had to enter this section after being showered with ‘above-blue’ light? That is just for the healing part. The research area is more rigidly controlled. We could not get in there. Come: what I want to show you is ahead.”
“Ahead” consisted of a series of small private rooms made to house just one individual at a time. Their mentor told the boys that family members could stay one or two at a time with the injured if extra bedding was brought in, or, larger families could rent sleeping quarters in the station itself.
“We will not go in most of these,” Broken Spear said, indicating the small, closed-off rooms. “Our People are very private individuals, especially when injured or ill. They do not like being on public display; so they recover in their own rooms with at most some family or close-chosen for company. There are a few exceptions…”
And he took them to see one of those “exceptions”.
An adult hunter was in the room they visited, lying on the sensor-bristling bed. He sat up on hearing Broken Spear’s soft scraping at the door’s scratch-pad, and let them enter. He was a bright red with buff undercolor and blurred frontal bars, much like Broken Spear. The old hunter greeted him as “Steady Hand.”
He seemed genuinely pleased to see Broken Spear, and was genial with the boys.
“Steady Hand is recovering from a hunting accident,” Broken Spear told them; “He is a former clan student of mine.”
“You look like an interesting pack, young hunters,” the injured man said to them. He had perked up with company; you could see the change in his blood colors. He asked them about their adventures on Arvien 4, and even told them about his accident: A huge, hoofed creature with four sharp horns had gaffed him in the leg up to the thigh when his laser misfired on a trophy hunt.
The boys stared in awe and sympathy at the long swollen packing which immobilized his left leg from calf to thigh.
“Due to the healers’ arts here, I can expect to recover completely, with time,” he told them.
“I am thankful for that, Steady Hand,” Broken Spear told him.
The wounded hunter looked up at him gratefully. “And I am thankful you taught me the martial arts, Esteemed Elder. They saved my life when the beast charged – and left me with this instead of a stab to the heart.”
“It is why I taught them to you. Praise the Great Spirit they worked for you, young hunter.”
“Good old Broken Spear! I suppose I shall always be a ‘young hunter’ to you!” Steady Hand grinned at him, and they all laughed comfortably.
A short time later, they bid the clan hunter night’s-rest and left his room.
“Another side of hunting – the injuries,” Broken Spear told his students. “They can be grievous, even mortal. Few escape them. I just wished to remind you that your destiny is not fixed; you may choose not to be a career hunter at any time.” His mouth-set softened, “And I wished to see an old student of mine, once I knew he was here.”
“My nephew,” he admitted, and they gawped at him.
On their way out, they went through a different section of the healing house. “This will be a more cheerful sight before main-meat,” he promised.
It was a more comfortable-looking section, the walls done in rich warm colors with designs and murals upon them, casual seats with cushions, even a few holograms of firesides, forests, and meadows.
Here the boys saw mainly couples and babies, and a few lone huntresses, also carrying infants. Even the solitary women looked benignly at them, and wore their manes loose and flowing, while their bodies gleamed.
“The most beautiful sight in creation, to these eyes at any-route,” the old warrior said softly; “Mother and child. Yes, this is the birthing section…some of our people are spaceborn, and come here. In other places, such as the clans, we still have the assistance of our clan shamans and healers. Freeholders often have their own healers on-planet with them.”
He was happy yet remote, thinking of another time. “It is a poor cast of Chance that you have no young huntresses in your class; that would give you the opportunity to form a true pair bond, with all the intimacy and love that can bring.”
He sighed to himself. I suppose I shall have to teach them about the bonding ritual too… especially my two ‘orphans’…ah, well.
He took them to share meat in one of the secluded dining alcoves the station offered. The Hunters are more relaxed eating with close friends and family – another private area of their lives. Even clans have all but the festive meals among their own immediate families.
The Three had scarcely ordered their meat when they besieged their teacher with questions.
“Mercy! I surrender!” he laughed. “One or two apiece, for now. This poor old throat needs rest.”
While Rampage and Dasrylion beleaguered him with question about weapons and star-hunting, Renegade chose his single question with care. Much as he wanted to know about “the look” the clan leader had mentioned, he thought that would be too self-serving, so he asked instead:
“The Dinosaur Clan Leader was the only one here with such spectacular colors, Broken Spear. Where else are there people like that? On Homeworld?”
“Ah…nowhere else, Renegade. The Dinosaur Clan is unique, one of the most beautiful of our many patterns and colors, I think. When they lived on Homeworld, they were called the Clan of the Sunlit Mountains, which is still reflected in some of their names.
“They suffered a terrible catastrophe one season: a massive land-breaker struck their plateau, followed by mighty avalanches which killed three-quarters of the clan members in winter camp. It was over in moments, but more than two thousand People died in that violence.
“Now they have special dispensation to settle the Dinosaur Planet and rebuild their numbers. Along with a small research station, they are the only ones permitted to live there, and watch over the herds, although many off world hunters come to take trophies there. High Sun tells me his clan now numbers about 1800 members and is growing annually. I am glad to hear it – and that’s why he takes the untravelled path of seeking an out-clan Chief Hunter.”
While Renegade pondered this, their meal arrived, rising through a slot in the tabletop; and Broken Spear told them in mock ferocity, “No more questions for now, boys. I need to eat in peace!”
***

SHORTLY AFTER main-meat, the old warrior arranged to board their new starship, and they went home. They learned that while they had spent a day, station-time, in happy exploration there, their travel time had taken two days on their own world.
This was their first lesson in space-time mechanics, and their teacher told them: “You yourselves are only one day older. So you see, space travel keeps you young.”
--Only one of the many experiences they had to wonder over on the Path they had chosen….

THE MASTER HUNT

“Beware the Beast beyond the fire”—
                                               --Hunt axiom

Chapter Seventeen…Decisions

THE NEXT five years passed swiftly and happily for Renegade. His two friends came to live at the trophy hall to continue their education. They now took all their primary education, as well as the hunt training, at the great hall. Broken Spear became teacher, father, counselor and caretaker to his three youngest students.
The Three remained a tightly-knit pack, holding almost exclusive possession of the great lodge. Only two of Broken Spear’s other, older students had gone on to the Master Hunt (and passed it)But not much was expected of them—they each did a standard  hunt on Arvien 4. The rest learned to survive and feed themselves in the wild, and went for further schooling in other careers. The Three alone seemed to share the old warrior’s dream of high achievement in the Hunt.
Broken Spear was withholding any new enrollments for a time, until his youngest had passed their final test. His earlier two graduates had done a fair job, not making too hard a hunt of it right here on Arvien 4, and been received with guarded enthusiasm by the Nine Systems Hunt Council – he got the impression the council would be expecting greater things in the future.
Sometimes he still considered retiring (after his youngest were masters, of course; he had a special feeling about them). He told himself that he was 245 now, an age when many tautschen started to fail, especially old hunters who were lucky enough to live that long. But he remembered his mission, given so long ago, in another age, and he knew he would go on as long as life remained to him.
Today the old hunter was in his hearth room, writing in his more-or-less daily journal. Currently it read like a chronicle of just three lives: Renegade, Rampage, Dasrylion. As their list of achievements grew longer, his stylus seemed to move more and more slowly to the one remaining conclusion.
Over the last five years, the Three had passed all their qualifying tests: they had been out in a pack for five and ten days, and alone for equal tracts of time. They had survived – and triumphed – in every environment on the planet, from desert to deep forest, from high mountains to tall-grass plains. (Broken Spear figured that “arctic wastes” were covered by living through every winter on this benighted globe.). Well.
The Three were each proficient in the use of a half-ten or more weapons, primitive to high-tech, and they each excelled in the martial arts. He had taught them to move and to hold, to attack and defend, and, he hoped, to stop and think as well.
Each young hunter was outstanding in some skill in his own right: Dasrylion was the best tracker; Rampage; the best unarmed fighter; but Renegade had emerged as the best all-around hunter of the three. He nearly matched the other two in their specialties, and surpassed them in everything else…so his mentor rated him as the best overall student he had.
When the trail was told, Broken Spear felt he had kept his word to the long-lost Sun and Shadow, the word he’d given years ago, before her beauty was dust…her son could now survive in any environment he chose; he was self-sufficient and strong. She would have been proud.
There remained one more thing.
The slowing stylus stopped again; and the old warrior sighed.
He forced it on to write: The Master Hunt. It is time for them.
There. It was written. He put the stylus down.
If he had not been quiet himself, he never would have heard the almost noiseless way the far door opened and slid back, nor almost soundless footsteps that followed, coming in. On grass, he would not have heard them at all. I taught them that much, he mused with satisfaction.
“Grandfather?” Renegade’s normal voice, coming from the trophy hall.
“In the hearth room, son,” he returned.
The Three appeared like shadows across his threshold.
“I’m finishing my journal entry,” he said, looking up. “Did your flying lessons go well?”
Three tall young carnivores beamed at him from the doorway.
“Very well,” Renegade said. “Our instructor is letting us do solo hops into orbit and back.”
“He says we can learn more only by going interstellar,” Rampage added. “He expects to do that and get us our pilot approval in about 20 days.”
“Ah, good. Because in about that time…” How do I tell them, so plainly?  “…you will be ready for something else, too.” He folded his arms, glanced down at the words he had written.
“You mean our Master Hunt?” Rampage blurted out.
When Broken Spear looked up at them again, he saw three different expressions: Rampage – excitement, eagerness, as expected; Dasrylion – relief, get it done at last; and Renegade – what was that? Ah. Acceptance. He accepted the inevitable, now it was come. There was a sense of competence and confidence about him.
“Actually,” the old hunter went on, “you are ready now. You three have excelled in everything I can teach you. I only wished to delay until you could learn starflight before I released you to other world. Three tendays will be about right: You can finish your pilot training and I can take the extra time to get information on what worlds are available, file a flight plan with the Hunt Council, and cajole a few Elders to travel with us. They will observe you in action, but they will not interfere.”
“On-stat. Broken Spear!” Rampage cried out in glee. “I can hardly wait!” He slapped Dasrylion and Renegade on the shoulders, could hardly keep himself still.
He pushed out of the doorway crying, “Come on! Let’s start checking what weapons we want now! Maybe we can hop over to the station and get some new ones!” and he half-dragged Dasryl out with him. Renegade was a bit beyond his reach, having come further into the room.
The trio’s leader prepared to follow, but as his guardian expected, turned to him at the last moment. His long, steady gaze searched the old hunter’s.
“Grandfather,” the young man said finally, “is there anything wrong?”
His elder gave a wry smile. “You are perceptive as always, Renegade. No, nothing is really wrong; you just see my feelings getting in the way of my judgment. ‘Let fall Chance,’ trophy hunters say; yet…I feel like a father to you all. When I send you out there on your Master Hunts, I will be sending you into the jaws of fortune, without aid, after very dangerous game – for which you are ready. There is truly nothing more I can teach. The rest you must learn alone.”
He sighed, rubbed the broken end of his tooth, as he was wont to do when upset or anxious. “Become a parent, and it is a hard thing to do, so very hard.”
Renegade crossed the room and took him by the shoulders, become his comforter now.
“Don’t worry, T’akaion, dear Grandfather and Elder, we won’t fail you. We’ll finish the hunt and return to the hall alive. I know it. I can feel it.” And he embraced the old hunter.
As the old warrior returned the clasp, he thought, Ah let it be so! Then he released his favorite son to the journey.
Let fall Chance.

***

BREAKTIE---The school ship lifted off, broke its gravity “tie” with Arvien 4, and soared off on its longest patrol. It carried six people: two Elders of the Nine Systems Hunt Council, three young hunters bound on their hardest journey, and one older hunter, still regal and strong, but silent now.
Broken Spear wore his ceremonial regalia like a mask, his face turned outward toward the stars. He was taking his Three to their greatest ordeal, from which they might not return. He had briefed them before the voyage about what was expected of them, as much as he was allowed. Now he did not want to talk at all. Especially after what happened after he made his request to local Hunt Council.
Nine Systems had intervened, and over-ridden the local board. They had insisted on setting the Master Hunt destinations themselves – and now no-one familiar except the old hunter rode with the boys to their destinations. He would not think: to their doom.
Rage flowed strong within him. It shook him like a land-breaker, He did not trust himself to speak, and still obey the Code. So he remained silent and left the Hunt Council members to their own devices.
They conversed a bit with each other, and one of them talked to the young men. Wisely, they left the old warrior alone.
The Three stayed together in their own little pack. For all they knew, this might be the last time they would be all together – and whole. Lives changed with the Master Hunt, for better or worse; destinies were set – or foundered.
Earlier, Broken Spear had told them” “You will be dropped off separately, in different environments or worlds. You will not know exactly where you are, but I am allowed to tell you something of what you will be facing.
“An Elder each will take a shuttle or scout ship to oversee your hunt, but he cannot help or direct you in any way. Now. These are all charted worlds– two even have settlements on them – so you will not need to carry the self-destructive device. 
“Instead you will each have a small belt comset with you – you may activate these when you finish your hunt – and at no other time.”
He sighed then, and his voice grew heavy. “Should the worst happen, your watching Elder may find you…or your body...by activating your key signal from aboard ship. We will pick you up if you are gravely wounded, too, so long as the hunt is done. You do not have to die of your wounds, if we reach you in time…and that is a welcome change from the old practice.”
Their eyes had grown wider and they showed more tooth at each sentence. He‘d hoped he was frightening them—fear would arm them as much as any weapon…
Finally he told them: “This much I may say, and no more. Except – I pray that the Great Spirit watch over you and protect you from harm, my beloved sons.”
With that he had to stop, or he would have been overcome.

Chapter Eighteen…Cold Tracker

THEY MADE their first stop over a planet swathed in white cloud and storm – the site of Dasrylion’s Master Hunt.
The elder (really just a mature hunter) named “Kreh-t’vyk” took Dasryl down to his drop-off point in a scout ship. They fell from the starship in a stomach-lurching drop, and plunged into a wind shear of blinding white.
“We need to make an instrument approach,” the Elder told Dasrylion, speaking in a friendly way.
No response.
Kreh-t’vyk flicked a glance over at him: the husky young hunter had turned from dark gray to ash. “Broken Spear told you to bring warm clothing?” he asked sympathetically.
“Chak, and cold weather gear – but I never expected this!” the youth finally answered him without turning from his view of the blinding white waste.
The elder felt for him; he had not been one of those who favored extreme harshness in this trial. He found himself trying to explain:
“The locations for the Master Hunt usually come from your local council. But Nine Systems – that’s us, I confess – intervened in this case, because of your teacher’s fame…and the vote for greater than normal hardship prevailed….  Why don’t you dress for the weather now, dhai tautsche?  We have a few moments to planetide.” He almost said “I ask your pardon,” but checked himself in time. He was not supposed to vent his own emotion here.
Dasrylion accepted his suggestion and dressed in silence. He was mulling over the news that some kind of interference had occurred and a vote been taken on their hunt. He knew Broken Spear had been angry, was still angry about it – and had done something he perhaps shouldn’t have: he warned them all, giving no specifics but extra precautions, just before the Hunt Council members arrived.
Mentally he thanked the old warrior for insisting he take his winter-white thermal suit like Broken Spear’s own, as well as his camo-suit, and for suggesting a number of other deep-cold items as well.
This Elder with him seemed talkative and friendly enough—but Dasrylion cautioned himself to remember that he too sat on the Hunt Council; and who could tell what his vote had been?
Kreh-t’vyk was speaking again: “There is extreme interest in the outcome of this Master Hunt – of all three, I should say. T’d’faal, there is a High Clan warrior involved, teaching young freeborn hunters. We didn’t think he would succeed with the first two, but he did—some said they didn’t get a big enough challenge. This hunt is being closely watched.”
“Broken Spear is a High Clan warrior? You mean a Great Warrior?” Dasrylion sounded offhand as he pulled on his boots. He wasn’t sure what the council member meant.
“Didn’t he tell you? Oh, chak, he is – or rather, he was – one of those in direct line for the Rydderrak leadership – as well as being one of the best warriors his clan has ever had. His reputation as a hunter and warrior spreads across the stars. That’s why you have such high-ranking officials with you today.”
When Dasrylion turned a curious eye in his direction, Kreh-t’vyk gave a “T’churr!” of half-humorous irritation and said, “That old shakran! Didn’t he tell you anything about himself?’
“Nothing like this,” returned Dasrylion sweetly, thinking, Renegade would love to hear this.
The other man made a tsck-ing sound of annoyance and said, “No doubt. He is very modest, your Great Warrior. Young hunter, you’ve drawn the best of Nine Systems Hunt Council on this flight. I am the Deputy Director, assigned to you; your thin Plains friend has a whole colony waiting at his target site – and the Hunt Council Director himself rides with your other friend—“
“Renegade,” Dasrylion supplied for him, and straightened up. “His name is Renegade.” He almost laughed out loud. He cared nothing for council politics or for its members either, but he felt a surge of triumph at the thought that the Three and their teacher had managed to blunt so many spears by their mere existence.
Good for old Broken Spear!  he thought. And good for us!

***

THE WHITE DEATH--- Dasrylion stood in a near-complete whiteout where the scout ship left him. Before breaktie, the council hunter told him, “There’s a big rock outcrop about half a kri-veh northeast of you. It might be useful as a landmark. Good hunting, youngster.”
After I make it, he’ll call me Esteemed Hunter, Dasryl thought. He cued his compass reading in his mask, and headed northeast. 
As he plowed through the blizzard (much worse than the ones back home) he was grateful again for the coldsuit and boots, and the reminder to take them. He could sense the sheer frigidity even through them, but not keenly. Broken Spear had told him something else, too, just before the Elders came:
“It will be extremely cold where you are going, and the creatures that live there exist by burrowing underground.”  Then with peculiar emphasis, “Make your camp on solid ground, son.”
There. He was at the rock, which looked more a frozen white mass than honest stone. It cut off the wind instantly, though; and he could stand without being buffeted to his knees. ---Someone had had a viperish bit of fun with his name, Cold Tracker, he thought, in sending him here. He’d lay sight on it.
He leaned back against the rock. He couldn’t see anything in this icy blast—was it like this all the time here?—and decided it would be better to wait and begin his hunt after the storm subsided. At least-path he hoped it would die down…
He had a few dried provisions and some powdered drink to mix in melted snow-water…he was allowed that much before he had to live off the country. He could just spin out his fire-starter disc, warm his food – and wait. He unpacked his med-kit and supply sack to get set up.
And made a serious mistake.
He unrolled the fire-starter disc on the snow directly before him. A tiny blue flame piped up, and Dasrylion took a small wrapped packet of dried meat from another compartment in his backpack. He knelt by the fire.
There. Good. His gloves weren’t quite as insulated as his suit, because his talons poked out, and the tendril of heat rising from the fire felt warm under his fingers.
He was fanning a strip of jerky over the flame when he felt the ground shiver. He frowned. The shiver increased to a tremor. A landbreaker?
It occurred to him there might be a mountain a little distance beyond this rock – and an avalanche coming down. With a start, he leaped to his feet, and half-twisted his body, looking around the side of the boulder—
--And saved his life.
A wet slap! struck him in the face and along one side of his visor. He twitched back in reflex, wiping at the lenses. It seemed like the snow beneath his fire boiled up, white whirlpool turning to
white whirlwind – hung, long, furred…the fire disc flew up in the air, the food-pack vanished, something towered over him.
And dropped to its forepaws, its flattened wedge-shaped head whipping around, glaring with mad red eyes.
     “Kkk!” he cried out, unaware he uttered an ancient warning.
 The triangular head veered toward him, bigger than his own. The serpentine body arched – and shot forward in less than a breath.
Unthinking, seeing only through a blurry wetness, Dasrylion thrust out his fist. The wristknives flashed –
-- And he was knocked violently to one side, thrown to the ground. He gasped as he felt something at his side tear. Then a warm spatter struck the side of his face. He heard a shriek higher than the wind’s, and he thought he should—
The laser. The suit.
He fumbled at his other wrist for the buttons, pushing himself backward with his legs. He found the controls, and blinked out. Thank the Spirit. He was now invisible.
He shoved himself into a sitting position and tried to focus the laser through the distorting muck that had slopped his visor.
He heard a soft snarl, saw a kind of big white hump on the ground – which suddenly flattened out and vanished back under the snow from which it had come.
Frightened, confused, heart pounding and breathing ragged, Dasrylion was alone in the snow.
In that moment he knew what he was hunting, or rather, what was hunting him.
A huge mustelid – a giant weasel – that burrowed and lived beneath the eternal snows of the planet Ssh’ryllios-vah-tak’, the Place of the White Death. A prime trophy planet, but because of the cold, there was no colony here.
This entire world was covered with deep ice and snow: it was a planet of carnivores, small to large, each size feeding on the next smallest. The White Death fed on them all.
Even Dasrylion’s calm nature contracted at what he’d been dropped into here. For several heartbeats he cursed the planet, the Hunt Council, and especially the giant weasel.
His left side began to ache, and he remembered the tearing sensation. Blue crackles of electricity danced along his limbs and he recalled that the camo-suit was short-circuited by large amounts of water.
There was enough water in a slosh of blood to account for it nicely.
He crawled back into the shelter of the rock and gently ran a hand over his side.
No pain, just a great jagged tear in the fabric of the coldsuit where the creature’s teeth had torn it.
That kind of exposure was close enough to a death sentence in this cold, never tallying in the beast itself. He could take the time to sew it up, but not out here in the open, where the beast might spring up from nowhere again. He had to get to shelter, fast.
Grimly he wiped the slush from his facemask, and noticed something else. The splashes on it weren’t his blood; they were yellowish-white…and there, by the creature’s burrow, were more dots of them, white heat on white cold that only a heat-seeking eye could see.
Wounded it. Wounded it and sent it back to its lair.
Dasrylion felt an enormous surge of hope. If he could follow it into its tunnel and kill it, he could get this over with and go home quickly. It was dangerous, yes, but he and his friends had faced dangerous beasts before: they’d hunted Sloth-bears and kreppa-tsrr on Arvien 4. This was no more dangerous than that. Just another animal, that was all.
On the attack again, Dasrylion peered into the beast’s tunnel. Seeing the trail lead away, he slid into the burrow headfirst…
…and kept sliding. The first twenty kri or so were nearly vertical and smooth as glass.
Another mistake.
He dug in, trying to overcome his momentum with finger-and toeclaws. 
No chance. He shot down the shaft, which tilted suddenly and brought him to a breathless halt, horizontal again. The laser’s red circle speared ahead – but there was nothing there.
“Well and good,” Dasrylion muttered to himself. The beast had kept on going; blood trail and heat trail both lined away from him into the ice-blue distance.
He crawled along on elbows and knees. Careful. Steady now. The beast might turn and backtrail at any time.
The tunnel was not actually dark. Light from the planet’s surface infused it with a bluish glow. It looked eerie and cold; and suddenly the young hunter had doubts about whether he should be in it at all. What if there was more than one giant hstae lurking about? He remembered reading that his people, the tautschen, hunted them at least in pairs, better still in packs of hunters, but he didn’t remember if the weasels ganged up…he thought they had a good sense of smell, too; which meant using his camo-suit would be useless (his attacker had fled because it was hurt, not because it couldn’t sense him, he realized now). So the suit wouldn’t help him.
Some ice-edge shard grated along his ribs and a sharp bright pain went through him. The tear in his coldsuit! He’d forgotten about the ripped fabric, and now... he felt backward cautiously: the torn area was wider than before. His wild downhill slide had done that. 
And his flesh was numb to the touch.
Dasrylion suppressed a groan. He had to fix the suit. If he didn’t do it soon, frostbite would burn his flesh like fire, seriously injuring him. Yet if he did stop to fix it, he might lose the White Death’s trail; and it would recover from the wound, and turn on him.
He tried to push the fabric back in place temporarily, where it would cover most of his side as he crawled. Then he dragged himself forward again, hoping for a wide spot in the tunnel. If he couldn’t find one, he considered blasting one out with his laser, even though it might bring every carnivore within kri-veh down on him.
And the laser might ricochet off these smooth walls like a snap-trap, idiot. 
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He wasn’t thinking clearly.
When he opened them, he noticed that the tunnel no longer seemed open a distance ahead. What was that? Blue ice wall? No, a bend in the tunnel. Go slowly here; check it out; creep close and listen.
Moments passed. No sound from the other side. No sound but his own thumping heart, his own gasping breath, that is.
The tunnel curve seemed clear; his laser flickered on again as he pulled himself up around the curve.
Ah. The shaft dropped down again, toward darkness below. A hole or cavern, perhaps. Dasryl eased one glove off, then the other. This was not going to be another free-fall. He flexed the wristknives out: they were longer than his own talons and could get a better clawhold. He writhed forward, hooking into the ice.
And the White Death fell on him from above.
Dasryl heard scratching overhead, felt the heat as it poured down from the unseen connecting tunnel in this one’s roof.
And he gave a back-wrenching twist, flinging his arm up in front of his face, firing the laser at once.
A roar, a scream, a furious mass of hot white heavy matter struck him, jaws first. The impact jolted his body clear of the bend and 400 mearn of hunter and beast went hurtling down the chute.
Dasrylion was pinned motionless under the hard heavy head of the beast. Its savage red eyes glared into him; along his body its short forelegs scrabbled and tore. They fell down the shaft and plummeted into a great domed cavern, half-rolling as they fell.
They struck the ground together. The young hunter was knocked breathless. His consciousness swam.
Only his first, well-trained movements had saved him above. The White Death had charged at the first thing it saw in the tunnel: his hands and arms. It had not struck his head. In twisting over onto his back, he’d managed to present his knives so that they skewered the beast’s lower jaw. Its own force and speed slammed the jaw shut as they fell.
The beast recovered first. The young hunter felt himself hauled off the floor at rocket-speed, then shaken like a rag and flung bodily across the cavern floor as the knives wrenched free.
A hideous howling reverberated through the underground. 
 Dasrylion was shocked to land in water – warm water – and he went under immediately.
That brought him to his senses. He could deal with water: Broken Spear had taught all of them to swim, a much easier task while wearing a facemask and automatic air feed. He struck out for the surface with a powerful kick of his legs…
--No, wait. Think. The beast saw him go in; it might be waiting at the same spot for him to come out. He changed course, taking several strokes underwater in a different direction.
He broke surface and looked for a target.
The White Death was there, on the rocky shore.
It was sitting up on its haunches and clawing frantically at its lower jaw, which ran with blood.
Even preoccupied, it heard him come up. It stopped pawing at its face and swiveled in his direction, like a giant snake. It saw him and gave a terrific hiss, gathering itself.
The laser-bolt took it square in the chest, blowing a hole through it.
Such was its fury that it still streamed forward into the water, trying to reach him in its dying breath.
Water and white blood splashed over him.
Treading water, Dasrylion waited a long. long time to make sure it was dead. Finally he swam toward it, his feet touching ground as he approached.
Very cautiously, Dasrylion waded around behind it; he could see a second laser wound, where he’d fired blind in the tunnel. The bolt had sheared the top of one shoulder off.
“This looks a lot like your two jhak-ree’, Renegade,” he mused to himself. “Pity most of that fur can’t be salvaged.” He decided to take the skull first, and try to get enough fur scraps to close the hole in his suit.
To work without interference, he dragged the carcass wholly into the water and over to a large flat rock protruding a little way farther out. Here he quickly skinned the head and steamed the bone: the skull was big; he had to twine his packstraps through it to carry it.
Now I can get out of here, he thought with relief. Never had he made so many mistakes in a single hunt. Chance must be running with him, he thought, or he would not still be alive. Yet he’d better stand his own sentinel from now on – he couldn’t rely on fortune to save him.
He realized that this flat rock just might be a good place to wait, if more giant weasels inhabited this cave. So it was back to the shore with the rest of the beast’s carcass, to dump it on the stony ground. There wasn’t much useful fur left on it, he mused. The trapper part of his training took over then, and he thought he might get some good furs if he set traps by the dead beast’s body; He took a few kt’tare’ to do that; and afterwards swam back out to his rock.
There. Sprint time, he thought, and done. Am I glad of that! As he rubbed his hands together to rid them of  blood traces, he happened to glance down.
The front of his suit was shredded, as was the camo-suit netting over it. The White Death’s clawing forepaws had torn it to rags.
No sooner had he noticed this than he felt a dull throbbing ache on his chest, and realized he had suffered damage there, too. Carefully he peeled off what was left of the coldsuit and netting, lifting then replacing the backpack and laser pad on himself.
Thin lines of his own blood oozed from the long scratches on the front of his body, more than ten of them. They didn’t look serious, but they stung, and Dasrylion knew he’d have to treat them, too.
At least the water was warm – must be volcanic—and that gave him another idea. Do it properly this time, hunter, or you’ll be meat on something else’s hook…
He reached around behind to pull the med-kit free of his pack. From it he extracted water purifier dust and a test strip.
Dunking the test strip in the lake showed him the water was somewhat alkaline, but safe. Good. Now he’d just call the scout ship back to pick him up on the surface, and he’d soak in the water a bit to treat his wounds – provided there’s nothing hostile in there, too.
He activated the little call-com on his wristband. A light blinked on immediately.  NON-FUNCTION it said – and Dasryl’s blood ran cold.
“What do you mean NON-FUNCTION?” he whispered; “You’re all I’ve got to get out of here.” He lifted it, held it out at arm’s length, and swung it around full-circle, panning the background.
As it moved past the main shore, the light blinked out once, and a steady point appeared – ON – then disappeared again.
Suddenly the young hunter knew what was wrong. “It doesn’t work underground!” he shouted, and jumped at the echoes. He switched to silent: Great. That means I have to get onto the surface again, and call from there. And wait. You’d think anybody who designed star travel could make a decent—then he remembered the camo-suit and grinned, shaking out his mane. Scratch that notion.
Still, I don’t have anything warm to wear… his thermal suit lay in shreds. He glanced again at the dead hstae. Just maybe… he could salvage some scraps of that fur, enough to go around his heart area and sensitive parts, any-route. 
Then he’d have to crawl back up that long ice-chute to find his way out again.
So. In we go, he thought, unslinging his pack and his laser to lay them on the rock. He made sure he kept his killing-knives and capture-net gauntlets on, and lowered himself into the pool.
Aah…better. The wounds stopped stinging as soon as the bath-temperature water washed into them. He soaked for as long as he dared, keeping a wary eye out for shadows in the water, then pulled himself up onto the rock.
He was rubbing antibiotic into the scratches when he heard a clicking sound from the shore, He tensed, motionless.
From somewhere off to the side they came, four of them, round, dumpy, bear-like animals a few kri in length, their long curved claws making the clicking sound on the stone. There must be another side tunnel I can’t see, Dasrylion thought.
They made for the carcass without hesitation. Free meat, folks, Dasryl prodded them mentally, unaware he now sounded like Rampage. 
Sure as sunlight, they waded into it. That answered another question of the hunter’s: What do the smallest beasts feed on? The big dead ones, on-path. Though if you considered these creatures “small”….
Three of the traps sprang. They were simple snares, and took hold firmly. The fourth animal, hearing its kin’s alarm cries, yet not sighting an enemy, snatched a mouthful of meat and shambled off in the direction it had come.
Dasrylion laughed silently and let it go. He took a few moments to record the alarm cries, re-linking his pack computer with his facemask, then shouldered his laser and jumped into the pool feet-first and made for shore. He had to dispatch the trapped animals quickly, before their calls alerted something else to feed.
On shore, he discovered there were two side tunnels at this end of the pool. One was hidden by a flange of rock. He’d have to be fast.
He skinned the smaller animals and was working on a mostly intact flank of the big weasel when he heard it – the lightest, softest scraping of ice imaginable… Slowly he began to turn his head, one side to the other, to pick up peripheral vision in the mask’s lenses.
Large glows of heat – one to either side – and he was between them. Carefully he lifted his wristknives from the carcass and addressed the farther beast, began directing the laser sideways to scope the nearest one.
They charged. Both at once.
Dasrylion had one chance – he threw himself off the carcass and into the water in a tremendous leap. He landed hard in shallow water, hands and knees taking the shock. He was up and facing the shore in an eyeblink.
White Deaths, two of them. But he was no longer in the middle and the beasts abruptly had new targets – each other. They were snarling over the remains, upper bodies bent into sinuous curves.
Lucky jump, he told himself, aimed, and took one in the throat. It dropped. The other decided to pay him more attention, snaked its wide, flat, snarling head at him and lunged in one fluid motion. 
They’re so fast – Dasrylion fired on reflex: the head filled his screen, then exploded.
The beast died at his feet.
The young man abruptly backed up a step, then sat down splash! in the water, when his shaking legs refused to hold him.
On second-throw, he mused, this whole thing seemed pretty comical…wet pratfall among the monsters of death and all that… Dasrylion started to laugh, or maybe to sob. On any route, it took him a little time to calm down enough to try his legs again.
He took the least-damaged of the two white furies and skinned it with knives and laser as fast as he could. He did not want to spend any more time here: the cavern was a veritable feast of carnage.
Back to his rock he went, where he red-lighted the remaining scraps of flesh and skin from the great hide to cleanse them. He took the three skins from the smaller beasts also, thinking like a trapper even now: Uninhabited deadly planet; these ought to be worth something…
He stitched together a rough (very rough) hooded garment from the White Death’s hide. That ought to cover most of me, he thought, slipping the backpack and laser over it to hold it in place, then sewing it across the front of his body in wide, clumsy stitches. Now let me out of here; I just want to go home.
He didn’t dare use any of the side tunnels. It had to be straight up the one where he’d fallen in; he didn’t trust the others . . . They might lead to the bowels of the planet, never out. Or they might take him straight into the jaws of more carnivores. 
It took two shots of his grappling line to hook the inside of the tunnel. He yanked on it hard, and when it held, he began the arduous climb to the hole in the cavern’s roof.
The climb up was torture: a nearly vertical shaft, no good footholds because his boots limited the flexibility of his feet and hence his toeclaws…so it had to be hand-and knife-holds mainly. Dressed in that rough skin, with the unwieldy skull dangling and bumping at his back, Dasrylion had to stop to rest frequently, catch his rasping breath, draw on his shaking arms, and rest again.
It seemed to take an eternity before he gained the ice tunnel and reached the juncture of the cross shaft above it, and the slightly farther bend in the tunnel. He crept under the connecting shaft, thought Carrion take it! and fired the laser directly up into it. There was a flare, a whump, a hiss of thawing water – and nothing else could fall on him from there.
From that point on, it was easier…although for the exhausted hunter even “easier” had become a mortal torment. He kept feeling that something was creeping up on him from behind. Because of his burdens, he could not see well in back.
When he sank the grappling line into the last short vertical shaft near the surface, and began hauling himself up hand over hand, he had an idea. Halfway up the shaft, he braced shoulders and knees at right angles, and fired his capture net off one wrist to stick below his position.
Its metal spikes drove outward to stretch it across the mouth of the shaft and, he hoped, to prevent anything from crawling up after him.
He was the first one to slip back into it, of course.
“Uhnh!” he gasped. “Well, now I know it works, churr?” and he began his painful ascent again.
The howling wind met him at the tunnel’s mouth. It blew the makeshift hood off his head, and nearly lifted him bodily from the shaft. Still storming out here. There was one difference in the world outside, though. It was night.
Dasrylion was moaning now, moaning and crawling on his belly to the shelter of the great rock where he’d first met the White Death. He made it, knew he’d have to do one more thing: climb the rock. Make your camp on solid ground, son.
“I—can’t,” he sobbed. And he seemed to hear his old teacher’s reply: You must.
So, exhausted beyond all definition of the word, gasping and sobbing and glad no one was there to witness his loss of control, he did.
Exposed to the storm’s full fury up here, feeling as if every micron of bare skin was torn and stung by driven ice, Dasrylion fumbled out his transmitter in one last gesture. If it didn’t work up here --- he shuddered.
It did work, a nice clear signal going out. Dasrylion thanked whoever or whatever watched over him and slumped onto the rock, his stamina finished. Soon he didn’t even fell cold anymore.
He was lying there, and he felt something coming. Some great fanged thing was creeping up the rock after him. He tried to stir, and could not. Closer it came. Get up; get up, his frantic brain ordered him. His overstressed body could not obey.
It was at the edge of the rock. Its huge gnarled hands reached to pull it up, fraction by fraction. Then its head loomed up with the terrible burning lamps of its eyes!
Dasrylion jerked and shuddered. He woke, trembling, from the dream. But the brilliant lights were still there! He shook like a grass blade in a high wind – before he realized they were landing lights -- the scout ship’s landing lights.
Someone had come back for him.

***

FORTUNATELY THE Council Elder saw the young man lying on the rock before he landed on top of him, and managed to swing to one side and set down.
He could hardly believe the signal had come so soon: he hadn’t left here but a half-day ago. The boy must be in trouble – he looked like he was in trouble and serious trouble too.
“Too bad,” the councilor muttered; for he’d really wanted the lad to succeed. The boy might get another throw at Chance in the future; but a failed Master Hunt went badly against you even if you lived – especially if you lived.
Still, the scout ship set down next to the rock, almost the same height, and he could gather the youngster in by leaning out of the canopy. He pushed the canopy’s transparent bubble up and leaned out, stretching forth his arms.
The young hunter stirred, lifted himself and struggled over to the councilor.
“Steady now, chk-kiy,” the older hunter said. “Let me bring you in. So you failed this time, youngster; krr, bad Chance; but you’re still” – and the words died in his throat.
For Dasrylion was sliding himself in, looking Kreh-t’vyk in the eye; and he was wearing some wild, half-raw fur pelt; and as the older hunter got him entirely aboard and turned him towards a seat, a great bone shape bumped out from behind his back. A toothed skull.
Dasrylion looked at the older man with eyes that were tired but fully aware. 
“The skull – the trophy,” he said clearly, “and the fur are from two different animals. I left a third lying dead in the cave. If you want to, you can go down and verify it, for there he lies still.”
“My – I…urrr…”  Kreh-t’vyk stumbled over his own mistake. “I never expected”--
“Obviously not.” Dasrylion loosened the skull from his straps and let it slide to the floor. Then he sank into the seat, leaned back, and closed his eyes. Enough. He wanted to rest.
As he sat there, he heard a very chastened and very humbled man say to him, “I most respectfully ask your pardon, esteemed one and Master of the Hunt. It was my error. My life is yours” – the most abject apology he could make.
Master of the Hunt – I like that: Dasrylion turned it over in his mind. And what else? Ah, yes. He lifted one heavy eyelid.
The Deputy Director was standing before him with bowed head. He had just given the age-old apology that meant surrender as surely as if he had been beaten in battle – as a penitence for committing the grave discourtesy of doubt.
Dasrylion sighed. “Churr, never trouble, honored elder. It was a mistake; I take no offense. Just – can we get going? What I would really like is a good hearth fire and a nice warm bath….” His voice trailed away and his eyes shuttered again.
He heard the other man laugh outright with relief. “And you shall have them! At the nearest space station, as fast as we can travel. We may actually overtake your esteemed teacher T’akaion. Even he could not expect such results so soon. Let’s go!”
And as the little scout ship flamed away into the black-and-white sky, Dasrylion wondered how his friends were doing….

Chapter Nineteen…Rampage

RAMPAGE WAS the second to be dropped off for his Master Hunt. They’d left Renegade and a Hunt Council member aboard the starship; while Dasrylion and the other elder took a scout for his planetide. Broken Spear used the second scout to take Rampage down to a brassy-looking plain, on a planet he did not know.
Rampage stared hard out the canopy. All he saw was a vast savannah, grasses mixed with scattered brush and trees, with stony hills tumbled about here and there. It was a scene he felt strangely familiar with, although he had never been here.
They landed softly.
Broken Spear spoke for the first time: “Rampage, I am going to tell you where you are; because in order to succeed in your Master Hunt, you will need to know beforehand.”
Rampage glanced at him sharply. His lower canines showed as his jaw opened in surprise.
The old hunter held up his hand to stop the outburst. “No, youngster, hear me out…sometimes it is permitted. The Council has given you three a harder hunt than most, not through any fault of your own, but because of me – of who I am. So I may at least tell you this:
“You are on the DinosaurWorld” -- Rampage almost spoke, caught himself – “and there are many, many trophy species here, from armored vegetarians to savage carnosaurs. You are placed in the midst of a great choice – and also a great danger.” He leaned forward, took the young man by the elbows, and spoke intensely:
“Rampage, young hunter, son, you have each been set on a hunt which will test some weakness against some special talent of yours to the utmost. Remember this one thing: you know there is a clan here; they are permitted to guide and advise you if you seek them out. But it must be your decision – to seek them out. Do you understand?”
Rampage lifted his chin. “Yes, Elder…” he almost whispered. He suddenly looked very young and vulnerable, his façade broken.
Broken Spear thought, This is the boy as he was meant to be, before he was hammered hard.  He sighed and let the youngster go. “That is all I can tell you, Rampage, except – I will return here with the Hunt Ship itself when you are ready to leave. Use the transmitter. Until then: good hunting, son, and may the Great Spirit guide your hand.”
And he watched till the young man disembarked and moved ahead. Then he raised the ship and left him.

***

RAMPAGE stood alone. His teacher’s warning had scared the heedlessness out of him, as was intended. His first move was to flick on this camouflage suit; his next, to seek higher ground. Cautiously he walked through the tall grass. He saw no living thing, but an overlook would tell him more.
He climbed lithely up one of the closest stone tumbrels, and considered. This world was warm and pleasant, the gravity a bit more than his birthplace, but not oppressive. He began to think he wouldn’t have much trouble here.
That was his first mistake.
His stony outcrop rose above the grasslands like a thick pillar. He looked around expectantly, invisible to the average eye.
--And found his dinosaurs. A lot of them, everywhere. To the west, south and east of his outpost he could see great herds of moving shapes, dust billowing under their passage: sauropods due south, their long necks higher than this hill. They were making for water in the afternoon sun. To the far west, he saw a lake, its shores dappled with two-legged herbivores, drinking and browsing. And further to the west and south – an enormous coniferous forest formed a tree-blanket stretching down to the edge of the plains, where it frayed and broke into little knots of blue-green. Horned four-leggers moved there.
Only the north looked barren, with more lowly stone hills set closer together. Rampage stared in that direction for a long time before he realized he was seeing some kind of stone city set into the hills themselves, and fading out of sight in their rounded hollows… was the home of the Dinosaur Clan.
He’s put me down near enough to them, Rampage thought; but I studied the Dinosaur World. Why would he think I need help? Nevertheless, he filed the information away in his brain, just on Chance…
Yet he preferred to finish his Master Hunt using his own wits, without help, as he had conducted most of his life before he met his only two close friends… (The old hunter was more his friend than he knew)
But he wasn’t thinking of that. He was thinking, do it alone, the ideal warrior, even without—
Renegade, Dasrylion…his thoughts brought their names to mind, and he felt a pang of loneliness – he, who had never needed anyone…
They’re not with me now; and I don’t need anyone else, he decided proudly.
That was Rampage’s worst mistake. He made another, a few days later.
For the present, he set his course toward the lake, along higher ground to avoid herds of traveling brontosaurs. There were tall trees near the lake, two or three times the height of the biggest on Arvien 4. From a perch on one of them, he reasoned, he could follow the rules and observe his intended prey first, whatever it might be.
***
     
THOSE enormous trees made excellent observation posts. For the next two days, Rampage spent his time nimbly moving around in them, and watching dinosaurs.
It was almost too easy. His presence caused little if any alarm. The big ground-dwelling dinosaurs could not see much above them, while the sauropods, after a few curious stares, disregarded him as too small to hurt them. He used his camo-suit for a while before he realized how far above harm’s ways he was, perched up here.
He had a ready food supply too: smaller dinosaurs and half-avians that frequented the trees. The little ones would scatter if his vai-ator killed one of them, but in a short time, the whole flock would be back in the same general area. Rampages believed they would have acted the same if he turned the suit off; but chose to keep it on almost continuously. He had taken part of his mentor’s advice strictly to heart. But he was able to feed himself nicely on small dinosaurs and the occasional egg. He never took more than two eggs from a clutch, nor killed more than one small dino from a “flock,” in accordance with Hunt Law.
As to his trophy, he weighed the sauropods and found them too large and too slow – their heads were ridiculously tiny, besides.
Farther off on the savannah, he could sometimes home in on herds of horned dinosaurs. They were not as large as the sauropods, but did have massive crests and shields along with spear-length horns. They were admirably quick to charge, too…
They were herbivores, though, and Rampage had rather set his sights on the fiercer and more highly-regarded meat eaters. Some of those were supposed to be quite large. Trouble was, he hadn’t seen any yet.
Late on the third day, he did. It was totally unexpected and very impressive.
He’d been watching a colony of hadrosaurs that nested on the far side of the lake. These big animals, larger than a scout ship, scooped up mounds of mud, shaped them into tall hollow cones, and laid their eggs in the hollow. Every time they lowered their massive bodies down to ‘sit’ on the eggs, he expected to hear shells crack and shatter. None ever did.
Rampage had no intention of killing one of them. He obeyed the Code, and took no families with young if he could help it. But the beasts were interesting to watch.
He was observing them idly when a sudden commotion broke out among them. One moment most of the mothers were sitting decorously on their nests, tails stretched out behind, and the next –
They were all up and dashing about. Clouds of dust kicked up by panicking dinosaurs almost hid their big bodies from view. Rampage could make out that many of the sitters were off their nests and running about, honking.
He unreeled the translator-tape in his facemask and learned that these were alarm calls (obviously, he thought).  The animals were half-mad with fear. Of what?
He quickly found out. Something broke away from the main heard – one of the bachelor males, he thought. It thundered off toward the northern side of the lake, separating itself from the others. Several small two-legged forms went racing after it, even jumping at it now and then. What were they?
The hapless victim reached the lakeshore. But instead of plunging in the water, it made the mistake of stopping to look back.
That was fatal.
Suddenly the much bigger hadrosaur was surrounded by a pack of silent leaping shapes…Rampage focused on them.
Raptors! From their comparative size, they must be close to his own height; they were running and leaping swiftly on two legs, had a long, stiffened tail for balance, and an oval head filled with glittering teeth.
Not the teeth, but the footclaws were their main weapons: each foot had one stout curved talon, much larger than the rest. They held this off the ground when running, and swung it into play when springing up at their prey.
With lethal results.
The raptors sliced open and struck down the bigger hadrosaur with a speed and efficiency that was breathtaking. They worked in a deadly cooperative pack with one or two distracting the larger dinosaur by feinting at its head while the others disemboweled it from the side.
Within moments the hadrosaur was down, honking dismally. The raptors sprang in and began feeding without waiting for it to die.
Rampage was staggered. He physically pulled back from the scene, a “Kkk!” of agitation escaping him. With a pounding heart, and adrenaline flooding him, he could think of only one thing:
This was a trophy worth having!
He returned his attention to the fray. The raptors ate very quickly, as they seemed to do everything else. Soon the pack pulled away as if they were one animal, and trotted off. Curiously, they hadn’t swallowed much of the meat. Rather, they had bulges in their throats. They were holding the meat in their gullets. Why?
To feed their young. Rampage nearly jumped as the idea struck him. The hadrosaurs were nesting; maybe the raptors were too…only they had hatchlings. And they were taking the partially-digested meat back to the nest site to feed them.
He decided to follow them. They were winding along broken ground just to the east of his tree stand now. They would go through more grassland before they came to some heaped-up piles of stone farther on. And with Chance at his side, Rampage might be able to tell male from female at the nest, or before.
He wondered if this was an all-female pack, and whether the males were casual visitors or breeders only. Dinosaurs’ reproductive organs were like those of birds – enlarged only during the mating season, scarcely visible at other times…
He shinnied down the tree and, checking to make sure his camouflage suit was on, jogged lightly over to follow the pack.
As predicted, they kept to open country, going first north, then almost due east. Rampage tuned his facemask to “normal vision”: he was using it mainly as protection and for its computerized features.
It looked as if the pack was fanning out ahead. –No, not really, he decided on second look. Instead they seemed to be setting “outriders”, one to either side of the main body. The lookouts, Rampage guessed. On scope, he saw that one of the raptors had a flat gullet. Did that mean it was a male? Or maybe a barren female? Either would be legitimate prey. He should get a closer look…
He scanned the rest of the pack. Yes, there were two others with empty gullets among the eight pack-members. Rampage felt a surge of excitement: he should be able to take one of them!
Carefully, still keeping a good distance away, Rampage began to jog around to the side of the pack where the first unburdened raptor was…He had to increase his speed and the noise he made, though. It was unavoidable, running.
At least-path there was a fair east wind in his favor.
I hope I can lure this one away soon, he thought; this is a pretty fast pace…a few more kri-veh and it’s going to wear me down.
His rough plan began to work itself out. As he drew closer to the outlying raptor, it flicked its head back and forth. Apparently it could hear him rustling through the grass. But it couldn’t see him, and it was puzzled.
Unbelievably, it began to slow. A chirrup came from one of the pack members: Question—what’s wrong?
The outlier chirruped in reply: Don’t know. Finding out. It angled off from the pack, walking now. Then it stood still.
Rampage timed his stop to the raptor’s own. Now they stood about 30 kri apart.
The raptor’s head came up. It listened.
Rampage moved toward it for a few slow, silent strides. The raptor cocked its head. It looked incredibly bright and alert.
Rampage noticed the rest of the pack hadn’t gone far, just another thirty or so strides…that was unusual. He’d assumed they would continue on after their sentinel went to investigate.
Well, when he killed this one, they would probably leave.
That was his other mistake.
The lone raptor was coming warily in hi s direction, quartering through the grass, every sense honed.
Rampage planned to take it with the vai-ator. That would kill it almost instantly, leaving the head intact. The laser would have left a huge, irreparable hole, possibly ruining the trophy, if he wasn’t pinpoint accurate – and it was moderately noisier than the flying disk.
The raptor lowered its head, peering down at the ground. It paused.
“Don’t do that,” Rampage whispered. “Come on, come ON!”
The raptor’s head snapped up. Clearly, it could hear him. It began to move toward him in long sure strides. It’s pointed me, he thought. His mouth went dry and his arm flexed – that high-held head was his target.
It sprang.
It shot across the last ten paces at incredible speed. Caught by surprise, Rampage reacted and threw. Those huge footclaws were aimed right at him…
The vai-ator met the raptor in mid-flight. Instead of severing the head, it slashed through the mid-section. A gout of blood and bowels splashed out.
The raptor fell dead at his feet. But the wave of blood and gore sloshed over him. Rampage fended it off his eye-lenses in time and stood there blinking, stunned. He hadn’t figures on such a straightforward attack against something it couldn’t see – know your prey – but he’d pulled off the kill, any-route…
A crackle of blue sparks ran along his upraised arm.  To the camo-suit, it didn’t matter if the water came from a lake or rain, or was contained in blood. Wet was wet. It fizzled out.
A high-pitched kekeke sounded. Rampage jerked his arm down. The raptors were surging toward him – and he was completely visible to them.
Less than 20 kri away now, the pack was spreading out on both sides and in front of him. In a few moments they’d have cut off his backward retreat too – and then they’d bring him down, the same way as the hadrosaur…
Rampage had one flash of blind panic – this was real. Then he whipped around and sprang for the closing hole behind him.  Go for the weak point.
A raptor raced him to it. Rampage spun the disc at him --- low! It cut off one of the beast’s legs and buried itself in the ground. The raptor dropped, shrieking.
Rampage’s slight pause cost him. Something struck him a terrific blow in the back and sent him rolling. He kept rolling, praying it was in the right direction. Trigger laser. Flip – roll to your feet. Fire!
The laser burnt through the beast that was almost on top of him. It fell, blocking the ones behind it.
Suddenly another one came at him from the left side, and took to the air. 
Rampage dropped to his right; the laser-bolt went high. 
The terrible claw hit him in the shoulder, and he felt a tearing shock, then fell twisting, as the raptor’s claw ripped off his laser and most of his body armor.
Lucky! ran through his head as he hit the ground again. He had a flash-glance of the leather gear flapping in the beast’s foot. It was big enough to look like prey – and it was distracting the others from their pursuit as they rushed to aid the attack.
This time Rampage belly-crawled through the long grass, hoping he could get far enough away for a running start while the pack tore up his laser and padding. A shiver ran down his spine; he expected another blow at any time.
Whuff! Chuff! Disgruntled snorts from the pack. Found out their mistake. Now they’ll come…
Rampage jumped to his feet, grabbing another vai-ator – his next to last. He whirled toward them, spinning the disc at arm-height.
Their heads were up. They saw him. The nearest one was leaning in to sprint when the disc sailed in.
Unbelievably, it lunged for the disc and caught it in its jaws. The vai-ator hit the back of the jaw-hinge and was stopped by the powerful bite of the raptor’s jaws.
The raptor jerked and danced around, trying to control the momentum.
Rampage turned and ran for his life.
The four unoccupied raptors lost a little ground swerving around their head-jerking packmate, but they made it up swiftly. And after another moment, the disc-catcher got the upper hand and flung the sawblade sideways into the ground. It shook off a little blood, then joined the chase.
Now, millennia ago, the Hunters’ ancestors used to overcome their prey by a short burst of speed or a single pounce – they are built for tremendous strength and a quick sprint, not for sustained speed. Their powerful musculature doesn’t allow anything faster than a slow jog for distances, although their hands remain wonderfully fast.
But Rampage was lightweight and wiry, like most of the Plains Clan. If any Hunter could run at a sustained high speed, he could.
And he was running for his life
The raptors were faster.
The thump-thump-thump of their feet pounding the ground sounded ever louder in his ears.
He came up with a desperate plan. When he heard one set of feet leave the earth, he swerved sharply left.  
The creature overshot him so close he could feel the wind of its passage. An angry “squawk!” told him it had missed clean.
He crouched forward, put everything he had into it, palmed the last vai-ator as he did so. To his dismay, he saw he was heading away from the savannah trees and toward the farther rocky slopes and outcrops, where the raptors came from…
In that moment, Rampage knew he was going to die. The clever beasts were driving him right where they wanted him to go. A terrible sense of anguish flooded his heart: he didn’t stop trying to flee – he would fight to his last breath – but he was doomed.
--All because he couldn’t wait to study the beasts thoroughly; or even speak to the resident clan about them. If he had, he would have learned how intelligent they were, and how relentless.
Another leaped. Rampage ducked his head and swerved sharp right this time – then curved into a long sloping left.
The airborne raptor missed him, and the one that cued left to cut him off came up short.
They learned that, too, Rampage thought in despair.
Wildly he looked at the terrain ahead. –Not a single tree – not…hold, there was some kind of high-pointed dirt mound, several of them, between him and the tumbled hills. The running youngster racked his brain – some kind of insect mound, built of mud and dirt, baked in the sun…
…until it hardened like stone.
It was nearer to him than the raptors’ lair. Was it high enough to be safe from their high jumps? Did the insects bite? No matter. He had no choice.
He began angling right, away from the mound, drawing the savage pack after him. They anticipated his running curve and moved to intercept.
A grinning head loomed off his right shoulder. Forget the hind claws: they were just going to run him down now, and use their teeth to finish him.
The beast lunged in—
Rampage slashed at it with the vai-ator. A spurt of blood from its snout, and it flinched away, howling. Another packmate collided with it and they both went down. A third and fourth jumped over the tangle and resumed pursuit. The fifth angled short and went around, but it never lost sight of its prey. The sixth was well clear and running.
Rampage gained precious heartbeats of time. He used the momentum of his right arm, spinning the disc to whip himself around to the left. Then he dug in and flew.
He was panting and his legs were tiring, but he drove them, drove himself, ran as he had never run before. The insect mound wavered up and down to the beat of his running strides. He tore off his mask to give himself more airflow, drew in warm air in great gasps, pumping up his oxygen.
Forty strides behind him an angry kekeke split the air: the pack had re-formed and was after him in force. Thirty – they were crashing through the grass behind him –twenty – did they never give up? – 10 – hold, hold – now!
Rampage made a magnificent running high jump – the ground tower rushed to meet him –
Slam, He hit it full-force, like slamming into a wall. Arms and legs out flung, he hooked in hard, lest the rebound throw him to the ground. Halfway up the side, the breath stunned from him, his body jarred to a stop. He hung there.
-- Until a terrible blow struck him from behind, and tore a line of fire down his back.
Rampage screamed, his back arched in agony. A scream of rage answered him, and with the last stamina he possessed, the young hunter dug in his claws and scrambled to the tip of the mound.
They hit me, his mind was swimming; they tore my back open with one of those claws. No more. Please no more. And he hung from the tip of the cone, arms wrapped around the narrow end, legs clinging below, while something hot and liquid ran down his back and over his sides.
Rampage knew what it was. The raptors were dancing and screaming below. With no weapon left, and no strength to use one, Rampage waited to die.
The raptors leaped again and again, great talons flashing, savage jaws snapping. But they could not jump quite that high. The wounded figure was just a few hand-spans above their raging jaws, In a fury, they attacked the mound itself, trying to tear it down.
Bits of dirt chipped and flew, but the mass of material had set like stone. The raptors clawed and squalled and screamed in frustration, making other creatures keep a wide berth, but they could not reach their prey…
Good, thought Rampage, his consciousness going, at least I’ll die outside your yapping jaws. Maybe some huge carnosaur will come and pluck me off of here, take me in one swallow…
The outside world was failing, in fact as well as before his eyes. Murky lights swirled before him…he wished he had his transmitter, so they could find his body, give it a proper Leavetaking – but the little comset was gone; it was all gone, scattered across the plains in his desperate run.
As the world tilted around him and finally deepened to black, Rampage’s last thought was that he would never see his friends or his teacher again. I’m sorry…I wish I could…and the thought was gone.

***

THE RAPTORS circled around stubbornly for a time. One or another would try a leap; but the prey lay motionless up there. It did not come any lower, and it had a grip like death upon the cone.
Only when this world’s sun slid into the far hills and twilight filled the sky, did the tenacious beasts remember that they had nests nearby and young needing care. Reluctantly but finally, they regrouped and went away.
The wounded youngster hung there alone.
And with the twilight, other hunters came.

***

MIST…yellow mist swirling…
Scent…strange sharp scents, curling into his throat. He drew them in with his breath.
And over and beyond that a throbbing, a beat in the mist…the fog swirled and spun…the beat became a chanting, sonorous and strong…it made the mist throb to its rhythm…louder…were those words?
Then the mist darkened and the chanting faded, and the world went dark again…

***

ANOTHER dark interval. Then light returned, soft and golden. The crisp, spicy odors drifted on the fog…the world did not move, now.
He was…lying down? Yes. Lying face down on something smooth and soft, deep-layered, with a hard platform beneath.
Rampage tried to raise his head – and such a flash of white-hot pain shot along his back that he dropped down with a groan.
A shadow hovered over him. It blocked the light. Someone was standing there.
A deep voice spoke. “Lie still, young one. You are greatly hurt, and we have little for pain…” A hand lay on his shoulder, steadying him.
Rampage’s throat worked. “Who…I’m – alive?” he tried; but he was dry and his voice cracked.
The hand on him remained firm. The deep tone urged, “Rest. Lie still.” Then it called out something to someone else in the same room. Was it “Kor? –Kor—ryn--?” something? 
Rampage couldn’t hear properly, and his will began to slide.
The last words he sensed were: “—be here soon….” Then the fog rose around him.
He slept.

***
HE WOKE again to the chanting, deep and powerful. Another shadow blocked his vision, and suddenly he was physically pressed down flat on his platform…
…and something warm and fluid poured over his back.
Rampage shrieked. He arched his neck, tried desperately to thrash free, but powerful hands pinioned him. Blood – blood pouring over him – spilling down his back, the terrible great wound…
“Hvaah-haah, hush now, it’s only a potion, something to help you. Hvaah...” a lighter, sweeter voice broke his panic. Rampage, lying with his face turned to one side, his cheek pressed to the skins under him, blinked and focused his eyes to see…
A young woman’s face. She knelt or sat beside him, and she was unlike any female of the People he had ever seen. He skin shone gold, delicately marked by blended shapes of silver-white, copper, and bronze. Her eyes were sea-green –like Renegade’s – and her long gold-and-silver mane crowned her head and flowed down past her shoulders.
She was breathtaking. Certainly she took his breath away. And she was the first living being Rampage saw clearly as he came out of his pain-filled stupor. So enthralled was he that he didn’t even feel the great hands above release him and begin to rub the lotion in all along his spine and directly into the wound.
Seeing him alert, the young woman smiled gently and said, “There, you see? It’s just a healing potion our shaman has made for you. Here; I have something else – water. Father told me you would be thirsty;” and she held up a wide bowl for him to see. Cool water lapped to its rim.
Rampage swallowed hard. “That…looks good. But…the bowl,” he rasped, “I can’t…drink.”
She already knew. “It’s on-path. Look. Sip it, through this” – and she brought forth a hollow reed, placed one end in the water, and offered the other end to him. Delicately she guided it into his mouth, into the gap between one incisor and his lower jaw.
Rampage closed his larynx and drew in water.
And it was good, and cool, and pure. As it washed into his dry mouth and down his throat. Rampage thought he had never tasted anything finer. 
“That’s it. Drink it all. It will make you feel better,” she encouraged him. So he swallowed the sweet lovely water and kept gazing at the sweet, lovely face before him until his thirst was slaked and weariness closed his eyes…

***

THE NEXT TIME he woke was when they pulled the stitches out. It took only a few quick yanks of the sinew binding his wounds to twang him to consciousness.
“He wakes,” rumbled a deep voice.
“Steady, steady, young hunter,” came a second voice, an older man’s, and full of compassion. Rampage thought he recognized it… 
“I am just removing the sinews that closed your wound,” this voice continued. “There will be pain – you may cry out – but try to hold still;” and he popped another one.
“Uhnh!” grunted Rampage, bracing.  The second speaker wore a long ceremonial scarf worked with ancient symbols. His belt held many pouches of medicine. The shaman, Rampage thought.
Then he saw the first speaker, standing behind the shaman and towering over him – a golden giant of a man – the Clan Leader High Sun. He was watching Rampage, his expression remote.
Shame washed over the young hunter. He remembered all his mistakes and all his pride.
“Honored Clan Leader,” Rampage whispered, his eyes stricken. “Why didn’t you leave me to die?”
He heard a startled chk from the shaman.
The clan leader’s face altered subtly. “For one, we thought you already dead,” he said flat out.
Rampage closed his eyes. He was too ashamed to speak.
High Sun continued: “For another, where there is life, we believe in preserving that life, in any of our people. But we will speak of that later.”
“And now I suppose you want me to leave, so you can berate this youngster in private,” the shaman spoke up, partly amused, partly annoyed. Rampage was shocked at the familiarity. “But I intend to finish this healing session first.”
High Sun did not seem to take offense. “As you wish, old friend. And I will not berate him.”
Another chk, and the healer said, “Very well, but I would hope that whatever you say to him does not make him worse. I have struggled long and hard for his life.”
What Rampage couldn’t see was how the clan leader turned away to stifle a laugh. He tolerated a great deal of lese majeste’ from his chief healer.
The shaman applied more potions to Rampage’s back, and wrapped his upper body in long clean bandages. Finally he left, remarking, “At least see the boy gets something to drink, High Sun.”
The clan leader did laugh, then. “D’asault, you old scoundrel, you will snap at my heels, won’t you?” he chuckled. “Do not fear; I am not going to bite him” – to the shaman’s royally-retreating back.
High Sun watched him go. Then he sighed. Now to the prey in hand… He crossed the small room and went to the fire, where he added some fuel and set a pot of broth to boil. For all his attention, Rampage might as well not have been in the room.
When the expected barrage did not begin, Rampage opened his eyes again and looked for his inquisitor. The giant clan leader had his back turned to him, and was tending to the fire.
I’m not even important enough to look at, or tell off, Rampage thought miserably. I’ve failed, failed everyone. I’m a disgrace, and he wants me out of his camp.
A terrible sense of forsakenness swept over the young hunter. He wished they had left him on that earth mound. Surely he deserved to die. Tears choked his throat.
Then Rampage did the hardest thing he had ever done, the worst task he had ever undertaken…he was going to apologize.
Stiffly he slid from the platform. He hit the ground clumsily, tried to stand, but the sheer agony forced him to his knees. So he crawled the rest of the way over to the clan leader.
High Sun heard him coming. But he did not look at him. The next move was the boy’s. On it, his own decision would be made.
Not until he heard a wobbling voice say, “E-esteemed Clan Leader, noble High Sun?” did he look around to the speaker.
Rampage was on hands and knees beside him. As High Sun glanced at him, the boy bowed his head deeply, exposing his neck; he bowed to the ground, his spirit humbled. He whispered, “I have disgraced my teacher and myself, honored one. I have failed in my quest. I am not worthy to live. Please, take this wretched being before you, and judge him. My life…is yours. Do with it what you will.” And there he stayed, great silent sobs shaking his body.
It was some time before High Sun could trust himself to speak. He was a hard man; he needed to be, for his people’s survival. But he was not a cruel one.
Rampage stayed bowed to the ground, waiting for the condemnation. Finally, through a blur of tears and misery, he heard:
“Rampage – I know your history. My friend, your teacher Broken Spear, told me of you. He said that you were proud, and impatient, and did not take direction well.”
Something reached out and touched Rampage. High Sun had placed a hand on his trembling back.
Rampage heard him say, “He also asked me and my clan to help, as much as the Code allows – if you asked for it. But you did not ask.”
Another sob broke through. The clan leader could stand it no longer. He placed both hands under the young man’s shoulders and raised him up. Rampage, blinded by guilt and grief, did not understand.
“Rampage, hear me: He not only told me about how you are by nature; he also told me why you are that way…and I understand. I understand.
“By this act now, you have atoned the past. I do not need your life, young hunter; I have seen too many lives sacrificed to honor, or to the hunt. Come and sit by the fire with me.” And he lifted the boy into a sitting position.
“I also saw some things about you for myself the other day. A pack of hunters including myself was out tracking game when we heard the raptors screaming. They were attacking something – you. So we followed you and them at a distance, torn by the desire to respond and the command of Hunt Law to let be.
“We followed, I say, and even had to stay away from your sanctuary until the raptors left you. On a normal hunt, we would have intervened at once. In truth, some of our hunt pack were wild to go to your aid…
“When we finally could approach you, every one of us there was gladdened to see you still lived.”
Rampage stared at him, the tips of his canines exposed as his jaw sagged. They had been there all the time? He wanted to speak, but thought better of it.
High Sun fixed him with that burning gaze: “In tracking your battle, I saw one of the finest young warriors I have ever seen, running fighting, outwitting his challengers. By the time it was over, even my Chief Hunter wanted to intervene. Under the old system, that is forbidden.”
He did allow himself a slight smile then. “I repeat – you do not disappoint. You made some deadly mistakes in judgment but you managed to overcome them. You are welcome to our hearth, young hunter.”
For a moment Rampage looked radiant. “I – thank you, Clan Leader. I am honored,” he said in the Old Speech. 
But his vision soon clouded and his eyes lowered again. “But I...I failed my Hunt. My Master Hunt. I’ll have to go back as a failure. I don’t even know how – my transmitter is gone, too…” he was stumbling for words, adrift.
The deep, serious gaze quieted him. High Sun spoke again: “We found many of your things scattered along your path. You may on course go home now.” He paused, and Rampage found himself hanging on his next words –
“Or you may stay. Until the hunt is done.”
“Clan Leader, you mean, you mean...” from weeping to shaking with joy…
High Sun gave a slight chinlift. “When you are healed, you may try again. We have sent no message out. The hunt is not over until you say it is.”
Then he told the dazed, exultant, and exhausted young man, “I suggest you drink some broth now, and go back and lie down. It will help you to heal sooner.”
Rampage took that suggestion and did not shy from the mighty warrior’s help in getting back to his examination table/bed afterward, where he fell immediately asleep.
He was learning.

***

ON THE SIXTH day of his recovery, Rampage emerged from the steam lodge still damp and feeling cleansed. Steam, rather than the hot water baths, had been prescribed for him. He stood erect, his legs did not falter, and his arms were strong.
In all, he’d spent two full days unconscious in the clan leader’s lodge, three days recuperating after that. He was young and healed rapidly. On the fifth day, he’d felt well enough to continue his hunt, but the old shaman warned him that the tender muscle tissue still needed a few days to re-knit properly, and with an honest attempt at patience, he had submitted.
Finally, this morning, the healer told him he might take up his hunt in another day-span, with daily bathing…so here he was.
He had respectfully requested permission from High Sun also, but that awesome warrior merely told him, “If our shaman says you are ready, then so do I, young hunter. I see you are learning patience. Good.”
And Rampage, embarrassed, merely nodded and said, “Yes, Honored Leader.”
He realized only now how much Broken Spear had softened his criticism of his students, how gently he had brought them on…Clan leaders are very blunt, he decided.
High Sun did not release him just then, however. He had another suggestion: “You might seek the counsel of our Chief Hunter also, Rampage. He and his pack had good hunting yesterday, and he will probably be in his lodge today.”
After Rampage thanked him, the clan leader actually smiled and wished him a booming “Good hunting! You will have it this time, I think.”
With that over, Rampage stood here, freshly bathed and newly-healed, dressed in his re-stitched leathers, but carrying no weapons except the wristknives. He scanned the stone dwellings to either side, distinguished by their different ancestor-poles made of dinosaur bone, found the one he needed, and set off to the Chief Hunter’s lodge.
This would be the new Chief Hunter, he realized; High Sun must have found his candidate since we saw him at the space station. The ancestor-pole in front of the lodge bore that out: it was one of the shortest and most newly-made in the camp.
As he walked, Rampage looked around for a glimpse of the young woman who’d helped tend him. He’d seen her only once more, when he’d emerged from yet another drowsy interval: she was helping the shaman change his dressings and then bathe him. Rampage was torn between pleasure and acute embarrassment – but she had smiled directly at him with acceptance and kindness – and Rampage felt his heart expand toward her.
They hadn’t been able to talk however, because of the old shaman’s presence. He guessed she was his daughter, and busy learning his trade.
Like today, for instance. She was nowhere in sight.
Rampage resigned himself to disappointment. He reached the Chief Hunter’s stone threshold. There was no scratchpad above it and the doorway was open. He’d have to use his voice, he guessed.
“Esteemed Chief Hunter,” he called softly. “May I speak with you?”
“On stat! Please enter and be welcome at my hearth,” a hearty, cheerful voice came back to him. 
Rampage leaned forward, blinked in the semi-darkness, and stepped inside.
His eyes adjusted and he could see the Chief Hunter in one corner of the small entry-room. He squatted there with a long spear balanced partly on the ground, partly on his knee. The room had no window and was lit only by a small oil lamp on the floor near him.
The man looked up, tossing aside a resplendent golden mane worn free of hunter’s locks. “Ah! Our young visitor! Please come over and sit down here – my ‘hearth’ is still in the construction stage. Pardon my task – I’ll be done soon.”
“I’m honored,” Rampage replied and crossed over to sit on his heels near the other man…He’s nearly as big as Broken Spear, and what terrific markings! “I’m called Rampage, vr’Chief Hunter.”
“Ah…Rampage. The honor is mine. My name is Flashing Sky,” the other grinned at him frankly. “Your name fits you, young hunter,” -- said with easy trophy hunter familiarity.
“So does yours, sir,” Rampage blurted, then blanched and started to apologize – you don’t mention s stranger’s markings in polite conversation.
But the other hunter stopped him. “No offense taken, youngster; I accept that as a compliment. Anyone can see I’m not from this clan.” He didn’t stop smiling; and Rampage thought, What a good-hearted fellow he is! He liked him at once.
And a very striking one, too. For his coloring was as ebony black as the Dinosaur Clan’s was gold, and his magnificent mane matched any of theirs, though it seemed more brilliant by contrast. 
But it was his markings that stood him apart: his obsidian skin was regularly striped with silver-white, in wide and sometimes forked stripes reaching around his chest and stomach. A few narrow ones crossed his face at cheek line, symmetrical on each side. A flashing sky indeed, Rampage thought with admiration.
“No, lad,” Flashing Sky was continuing, “I won this position I hold; I was only a wandering trophy hunter until I arrived at Nine Systems Station one day, and learned there was a clan leader actually seeking an out-clan Chief Hunter. I had an audience with him, and then proved myself against almost a double-ten of other hunters here on this world. Good ones, too.”
“I know!” Rampage burst out. “I mean – I was there – with my friends and teacher T’akaion, on the same day that High Sun was, and we met him!”
Flashing Sky looked interested. “Were you now? And with Rydderrak Clan’s Great Warrior? I am impressed, young hunter – I thought you showed superior technique. It was your ability and his teaching that saved you, you know.”
“I know,” Rampage admitted softly. “I owe him a lot.”
The other man chinlifted. “A clan leader’s hideshare, I would say.” He gave the spear-tip a finishing swipe and cased it. “I can see we must talk, you and I. Come along; this is done; we can go into my hall and speak, hunter to hunter.” He rose, and Rampage followed him.
The trophy hall was a great round chamber in the mountain, still partly under construction. A fluted ceramic chimney came down from the roof and marked where the future hearth would be. 
Flashing Sky had already mounted some of his trophies in this room; and Rampage admired the strange skulls as well as the obvious dinosaurs: a giant pteranodon, a three-horn shieldface, and yes, a raptor too.
“This hall isn’t finished yet,” Flashing Sky told him. “I lose half a year when we move to winter quarters. And it took two years just to complete the bedchamber and cookroom…Yes. That’s a raptor; but there is the animal that won me my post”—and he pointed to another shield from a great horn-face, which had six huge spikes sticking up out of its rim like spears.  “The armored herbivores are often under-rated as trophies, but they move fast, have hard-to-penetrate armor, and are willing to give you a hard fight…well…take a seat, Rampage, and we’ll talk.”
Rampage was hesitant at first, but Flashing Sky’s easy manner and personable character soon made him at home. He finally told his story, freely admitting his mistakes, and leaving nothing out.
The Chief Hunter heard him through, nodding and commenting with interest.
“May I see the scar?” he asked at one point.
Rampage agreed and turned around slowly. He still had soreness and a ‘pulling’ sensation there.
Flashing Sky looked carefully but did not touch it. “It missed your spinal cord by half a kli. The shaman has managed to close most of it and re-knit the muscles…you are Chance-favored, my friend: You will be able to move freely and still have an impressive scar to show the young huntresses…” teasing him a little. 
He was surprised when Rampage flushed and made a mental note of it, deciding not to tease him further. “Tell me again how they attacked you on the ground,” he asked instead.
Rampage did so, his voice steady and remote, as if he was someone else, looking on.
At last he finished his story and Flashing Sky told him, “On course, young hunter. So you know what mistakes you made, and were able to learn from them,” in a matter-of-fact tone. “And you say you still want to go after a raptor.”
“More than ever,” Rampage growled with fire in his eyes.
Flashing Sky chuckled. “That was to be expected! “
More seriously he continued, “Then maybe my information will be useful to you. You know the outcrop of stony hills the pack was pushing you toward? Krr, that’s where they have their nestlings, as you guessed.
“To the trail then: I know that a pack of adults goes out every day at dawn to find food for their hungry young. They are gone most of the day, and leave only one only one or two other adults to guard the entire site, usually barren females…” He saw Rampage’s eyes brighten…”We think alike here, dhai tautsche, for if a hunter was to climb the encircling cliff from behind, in say, early morning, and lie in wait there to see if only the sentries were left; then he might get close enough to shoot or spear a good-sized adult, and be gone before the pack returned home.  You track me?”
“On-track, good hunter!” Rampage exclaimed. “And I thank you! I can go tomorrow morning.”
Flashing Sky smiled at him. “You have healed enough, then, Rampage? Good. It’s only a mischance you don’t have your trophy already, you know. When we trailed you, we picked up only your lost equipment as we went. When I finally had time to backtrail you later, after the others took you away to camp, I found that carrion-eaters had already made off with your legal prey. Otherwise you would have had your Master Hunt trophies, and be on your way home now. You killed them; and you survived. That was all you needed to do, lad.”
Rampage was stunned. He had won…and then he’d lost, because of his injury – and my stupidity, he thought.
“Well, Chance falls where it may,” the Chief Hunter remarked philosophically. “How is your laser? Working?”
“No; they chewed it up pretty thoroughly. I have the vai-ators and the wristknives left.”
“No trouble. Here,” and Flashing Sky handed Rampage the spear he’d been working on. “Can you use this?”
“Yes, I know how…but, Flashing Sky, it’s yours; I can’t just take it,” Rampage protested.
The Chief Hunter pressed it firmly into his palms. “You can. Because it’s yours now, young hunter. It has given me many good kills…it can pierce the toughest hide. Call it a trade, if you wish: and next time you’re planet-hopping in our direction, bring me some furs from Arvien 4. I miss the rich pelts, out here.”
Rampage balanced the gift on both hands. It was newmetal, lightweight but strong and deadly. He was overcome.
The Chief Hunter knew it, and understood. “Now to the trail with you, youngster; you have some tare’ left to practice your throw before sunset.” He ushered him gracefully in the direction of the outside and the target range there. “And good hunting tomorrow, Rampage! I speak for us all.”

***

THE SECOND MASTER’S--- Rampage was on his way across country at pre-dawn gray the next morning. He moved at an easy jog-trot across the broken lands between the raptor hills and the Dinosaur Clan’s camp. He traveled light: he had forsaken his damaged laser and camo-suit, his backpack, and his undamaged facemask for the repaired body armor, three recovered vai-ators, and the Chief Hunter’s metal alloy spear.
The spear cast technique came back quickly to Rampage during his practice yesterday, and the weapon handled well. Flashing Sky had given him a rich gift. He hoped that he wouldn’t misuse his second chance at a trophy. He’d been given good advice, and this time he was going to use it.
The sun had just cleared the horizon and the sky turned bright pink and gold when he finished climbing the raptors’ fortress from the outside. Carefully he eased himself across the crest to get a good view into the bowl of the small canyon.
Rampage liked technology. All his weapons would have been high tech if he’d had the choice; and without his camo-suit he felt vulnerable. His back wound ached from the climb.
But Flashing Sky had told him last night after practice, “Your natural coloring should blend well with our landscape here. Stay low and be quiet, and you’ll have an advantage.”
Looking down now, at first he saw nothing inside the small canyon except a few ledges and crevices in the ring of rock. There was a shallow pool on the canyon floor, he saw, so the raptors had their own water supply, too. He glanced around the rock walls – only one entrance in or out. A box canyon.
--Movement down there. A brownish head eeled out from a crevice near the valley floor. It called “Kukukuk!” and another voice answered from higher up. Rampage located it about five or six kri off the ground, near a tiny cave-mouth. The second raptor called again, then made an easy two-footed leap to the ground.
Two so far. But no young with them. Are they inside the caves? Rampage sat tight to see what developed.
The two raptors joined forces and went over to the water. One drank; the other watched. Then their roles reversed. Curious beasts. Very careful.
After they drank, one of them returned to a hole in the rocks, this time on the ground floor. I’ll lay trace it’s a labyrinth in there, thought Rampage.
He watched the outside raptor. It began circling the pool – coming my way. Slowly he began to ease himself lower down. Stay away from the caves; collect your trophy and go. And stay above jumping height.
       It was a painstaking descent, micron by micron, with the dinosaur converging below. By the time he’d descended to within throwing range, the raptor had passed his point on the wall and gone on to investigate the canyon’s sole opening to the outside.
There it stopped dead-still, its head high and taut.
Not there, Rampage told it; Behind you! – and the golden disc spun from his hand.
It was a perfect throw. The raptor’s side-vision didn’t even pick up the blade until the last moment. Its head just started to turn—
--When the disc sliced it neatly off above the shoulders. 
Rampage flung up his arm, triumphant. “Got you!” he hissed, and forcibly restraining himself, caught the vai-ator on the backswing and hunkered down, watching for the second raptor.
It did not appear. The kill had been so clean, so perfect, that the prey had not had time to call out an alarm.
Rampage felt vindicated. Yet he exercised extreme caution going down to collect his prey. He edged along the high part of the cliff, spear in hand, disc affixed to his other wrist, guiding himself along till he was just above the dead raptor. Now he would descend to it.
He was about three body-lengths up and ready to climb down when the canyon entrance went dark – he looked at it, surprised.
A great bulk filled the entrance, as if its walls had been closed by a door. But the thing gave off heat. A huge three-toed foot came forward; and nearly five kri above that, a great wedge-shaped head followed, with jaws like a cutlery. The ferocious hooded eyes came into view next, then the rest of the massive body. It strode on two legs; and it was hunting.
Rampage froze to the stone. A giant carnosaur! Its rough, pebbled skin, its tiny arms, and ist long heavy tail, along with the fearsome head, identified it for him.
It snorted, loud as a wind-gust, and scanned the rock walls. Its gaze came to rest on the still-quivering body of the raptor near its feet. To Rampage’s dismay, it lowered its huge head almost idly, picked up the body, and bolted it down in two big bites.
Now the head, he thought bitterly, then me. He began to seek his escape route.
His plan and the carnosaur’s meal were interrupted by an outraged scream. The second raptor flung itself out of a hole a body-length above the ground and only twice that far away, straight at the giant meat-eater.
The bigger beast was taken off guard. The raptor leaped up under the raised head and slashed at the underparts with its footclaw. The carnosaur lowered its head sharply, crashing the raptor to the ground, then bit down.
The raptor rolled – almost a snap-roll, Rampage thought – out from under the clashing jaws, was on its feet neatly, and swinging in to the big carnivore’s side.
The larger dinosaur wheeled with it, its tail slamming into the stone wall, shaking it. Rampage knew he should run, but to be able to see this--!
The raptor screamed and dodged away from the beast’s shoulder, going for the belly again. But against something as huge and strong as this, even the greatest courage had no chance.
The carnosaur’s jaws caught it in mid-leap, there was a sickening snap, and the giant flipped its head well up, preparing to toss and break the raptor further.
The back of its head rose mere kri from Rampage’s perch. He saw the slight hollow in back of the skull where the spine connects, and his special vision saw the brainstem, hot and vulnerable within. All the nerve ganglia connected here…
In a flash, the metal spear was launched with all the force Rampage could give it. It had just a short space to go – “It will pierce the toughest hide” –
And it did.
The carnosaur stopped in mid-bite; the raptor’s lifeless body fell from its jaws. A thunder-bellow shook the sky.
-- And choked off as Rampage landed behind the spear, using his full weight to ram it home.
The spine was split. Like a toppling mountain the great beast began to fall. The earth shook – or the beast below him did – the mighty tail began to lash; the mountains shivered.
Rampage found his balance. He pushed against the curving neck and threw himself far from the falling giant, lithe and certain.
His toes touched down; he rolled, using his momentum, and jumped again –
Right in the shallow pond. The water broke his fall with a heavy slap! Next his tucked legs found the bottom, then his arms…
He managed to stand in the next motion, a vai-ator to hand, ready for enemies.
None came.
Other than the dying reflexes of the giant flesh-eater thumping the ground, nothing else stirred. Rampage heaved a huge breath. He tried to look everywhere at once. No other raptors rushed in through the entrance or from the caves. There had been only two guardians after all.
The giant beast’s tremors subsided. Its head was nearly severed. Rampage’s heat-vision could see the big heart beat its last. The creature died.
He let out that breath; and it was shaky. There was a kind of ache down his wound where he had strained it, but the worst was over; the hunt was done.
Rampage never thought he would feel relief when his Master Hunt was over…
Now he had another problem: How to get his trophies home?
The half-devoured raptor posed no problem; the head fixed quickly to his belt…it was only about one kri long.
The giant carnosaur’s head was another track entirely. It was nearly as long as he was, and heavy. He had an idea, and set to work…

***

THE SENTRIES outside the Dinosaur Clan camp reported a strange sight late that morning:
-- A bodiless giant carnosaur head apparently was floating along above the tall grass. The sight was so eerie that no scavengers, not even the voracious pteranodons, attacked it.
The sentries’ alarm brought a host of clan members to the rim of their rock fortress. As the strange thing came nearer, their eyes picked out a second-shape, obscured by the tall grass, running below.
When it left the grassland and ran out onto stony ground, the watching clan could see it plainly: Rampage, jogging along, with the head of a tyrannosaur set on his spear.
A ripple of excitement ran through their ranks. Both their Clan Leader and their Chief Hunter came out, and led them below, to the open ground below their canyon gate. 
…So that when a tired but victorious Rampage came loping up to the camp, he found an assemblage of nearly 500 souls come out to greet him, including the Clan Leader, Chief Hunter, and High Shaman.
Approaching, Rampage slowed to a walk. His tread grew statelier. He marched over to the Clan Leader bearing his main trophy as if it were a krolf-tail on a staff. Flashing Sky stood watching beside his leader: he knew whose spear that was; and his eyes glistened with pride.
In silence, all the clan watched. They appreciated a noble drama, and this promised to be one.
Rampage stood before the clan leader. He set the spear-butt into the ground before him. He looked up into those fiery eyes, now alight with joy, and slowly, almost elegantly, sank to one knee before the leader and said,
“Most Esteemed Clan Leader High Sun, and honored ones all, this day I have made a fine kill, and in gratitude for the aid you and your clan have given me, I would be honored to share it with you.”
A roar swelled 500 throats, rolling and growing into a great tidal wave of approval and salute.
High Sun flung back his head and thundered, “I am honored! Stand, Esteemed Hunter, and kneel no more. Your victory is complete!”
As Rampage stood and clasped forearms with the leader in the greeting of equals, he could hear above it all Flashing Sky’s wild “Whoop!” of celebration and delight.

Chapter Twenty…Renegade

RENEGADE’S hunting ground was a world both familiar and strange.  Familiar, because it was a world of rolling forested hills, of snow-topped stony mountains with deep valleys creviced in between…
…Strange, because its trees bore blue-lavender and green-purple leaves. Some lower-lying plants were deep magenta, close to black.
Unlike his friends, Renegade had made his journey to planetide in almost complete silence. The Elder dropping him off had introduced himself briefly as K’vash, Director of the Nine Systems’ Hunt Council. He’d accepted Renegade’s awed and respectful self-introduction in a curt silence.
So the young hunter mirrored his aloofness. He sensed the titled director did not like him and did not want him to succeed. Renegade was puzzled by that: he didn’t know the man and certainly had never done him wrong. But he had enough self-dignity not to show his anger, and instead practiced his tch’won breathing to achieve the heightened state.
Now he stood on this new world, knowing only that it orbited a hot blue-white sun; it was called P’taal 5; and it had a few small freehold colonies of the People., and ancient forests with unknown trophy animals in them – his textbooks had been rather vague on descriptions.
His mentor Broken Spear had been able to speak to him alone for only a few moments before leaving Arvien 4. And he’d looked hard into the young man’s face, his gaze so intense that Renegade was impressed to silence.
“Son, listen: The assignments have been determined…. Your trophy test will look deceptively simple, but do not trust in appearances. There is a danger there greater than you know. You will need all of your intelligence, Renegade, to overcome this test. I -- wish you good hunting, son.” And he turned away, his eyes filled with love and pain. 

***

SO. This world looked like his own, and peaceful, but maybe that was deceptive, too. Renegade stood at the apex of a sharply-descending path that led into a mountain valley.
       He was too exposed here. He switched his camo-suit on.
Light-shielded, he moved off-center of the path so any onlookers wouldn’t be able to strike him on the same spot where he’d just been standing. He scanned the valley below.
And saw how the dirt path ran into it. The path wound around the base of a protruding mountain to the left, and vanished into the forested inverted-triangle of the valley to his lower right.
No other signposts or markings led from the pocket-sized alpine meadow where Renegade had been landed, as if starships were unknown here, but civilization went on elsewhere, down a slope, around a curve. The leaf colors had instantly given him this world’s name, but he didn’t know what else he was supposed to do here. He would have to ask someone about what kind of trophy beasts this world held. And that meant seeking out one of the freeholds.
Renegade decided to follow the leftward bend of the footpath around the mountain curve, to a place where he could see better. Broken Spear had implied there was something wrong with this world; but he didn’t know what that was – not yet. 
When came abreast of the path’s division, he looked in both directions. He saw that the leftward curve led to an immense tract of alpine forest, in a valley five or six times the other one’s size, and when his superb vision pierced the farthest trees, he saw sources of light in the forest.
“Buildings, homes,” he murmured. “Am I near a settlement then?” This was the direction to take.
But he remembered the warning and moved with care. He scanned the ground at both sides of the trail – no hidden heat sources – so no hidden snares, at least not recent ones – and he walked along the north side of the trail, not on it, toward his goal.
He reached the forest’s edge without incident. The path wove its way into the trees, but Renegade decided to take the high road so many of his people favored. With an easy spring, he vaulted into the stately firs. From there, he followed the path as he might a game trail – from above.
Small creatures chittered and jumped among the branches: Renegade focused on them, but his computer-pack backed up his own eyes – they were small mammals, nothing more. And not at all aggressive.
Yet their behavior was unusual: At home, wearing a camo-suit meant you could virtually walk up and touch an animal if you were quiet enough. Here, even the slightest shifting of a branch under his foot cleared the whole tree. That was disturbing.
A sound ahead. Renegade paused, then crouched down on a large branch which would mask him from below.
Footpads. The soft creak of leather. All muffled, all – stealthy even. Renegade slid his length along the branch and looked down.
The walker came into view. Renegade’s heart leaped; he quieted it. It was another hunter, on the path below. It was a man, an adult, somewhat taller than he, with unbound black mane rustling at the slightest movement. His markings were light grey on the back “phased” into pale gold before. He was leading a platform sled and looking around warily. 
His coloring was so similar to Renegade’s that the young hunter leaned forward in interest.
The branch creaked under his weight – and the adult hunter froze where he stood. He began glancing around wildly; he even called out an alarm, “Kkk!  What is it? Who’s there?”
Why, he’s afraid! Renegade realized in shock. Of what? A branch in the wind? To reassure him, he started to call out, “No harm, brother! I am –“
-- When the other’s laser sought him and the target-circle bracketed his branch.
Renegade threw himself out of the tree and hit the ground rolling as the laser-bolt split the limb in two.
Renegade crashed to earth a hair’s-width from the shooter. His reflexes worked despite his shock and rage: he rolled, gathered his legs and sprang into the other man’s knees from behind, knocking him down.
It takes a moment to aim the laser. Only the very experienced can do it without the facemask…and Renegade moved too fast for the other man, who had landed face down and twisted over.
In two quick strikes, Renegade ripped the laser off his shoulder, and slammed a forearm into his neck while putting him flat on his back. While the other hunter choked in surprise, Renegade grabbed his up-swinging right wrist, bent it sharply away, and wrenched it, as he thumped down on the other’s chest with both knees.
-- Days and days and days of tch’won practice – till it moved like music now…
Renegade had both the other’s wrists pinned to the ground and he was screaming at the fallen man, “What’s the matter with you? What are you doing? Are you insane?” when he saw the hunter’s flesh blanch almost to white, heard and saw his heart try to hammer its way out of his chest, saw the mortal fear in his eyes…
“Oh blast it!” Renegade snarled to himself. He was still “in-camo” of course. Holding the other man’s wrists firmly in one hand, he used the other to turn the suit off.
The downed hunter’s eyes and mouth widened even more. His chest heaved under Renegade as he tried to draw a breath. “You – you are—“  
“I am not your enemy,” Renegade told him, simmering down. “I’m a hunter, here after game.”
He watched the other closely. That terrible fear – he wasn’t feigning it. 
The man under him gasped out, “You…appeared from nowhere…you have—“
“A camouflage suit, that’s all.’ Renegade felt some remorse. “T’churr, I’m sorry I startled you. But why did you shoot at me? If I let you get up, will you agree not to attack me?”
The other’s eyes closed. He let out a long sigh of relief. “Oh…yes…. I thought…you were…something else.”
“Something else? Hold a moment; I’m going to take these off you…”  and Renegade slipped off the other’s wristknives. He still didn’t trust him. “But you shot at me, even after I spoke to you. Why? What did you think I was?” Slowly he backed off the other man’s chest, carefully easing his arms forward, to sit him up in the same motion.
“Hold. Let me…sit a moment. Thank you.” The hunter stayed upright, breathing deep, his legs sprawled in front of him. He looked so far from threatening that Renegade let go of his wrists, though he remained in a tense crouch, just on Chance… Anyone who shot at another person…Was that what Broken Spear meant? Were they all mad here?
Finally the other man seemed ready to talk. “Your question…You must be... from off-world…” he panted. “No one told us…of a hunter…coming here.”
The Director didn’t tell them? That vrakking-- Renegade controlled himself to answer, “Yes, I am from off-world, from Arvien 4. But answer my question first,” he persisted.
“I thought you were – a dangerous being of our planet…a terrible creature…a monster…” Even the words seemed to frighten the stranger. He faltered. “Some say – a demon.”
There it is, Renegade thought. “There are no demons,” he said bluntly. Yet he had never seen a fellow hunter so overcome by fear, so mindless of shame. “It must be an animal of some kind.”
“No, I—you don’t know this – thing,” the man rasped out. “I—don’t, I cannot—speak its name…but our people had a hideous battle with it more than a century ago. With them,” he amended. “We second-generation freeholders had just…convinced ourselves they were legends, until…”
His troubled eyes met Renegade’s. Every body-tone said he was telling the truth. “Will you come to our gathering, noble hunter? I can speak more freely there – and others can tell you, also...” For a moment Renegade thought he was going to beg, so the young man spoke up, to spare him:
“I would be honored to be your guest. My name is Renegade; how may I call you?”
“Your pardon; I’m Summer Rain, of Freehold 3, P’taal 5.” He got unsteadily to his feet, then remembered his laser. Renegade held it up, and after a slight pause, handed it and wrist gauntlet back to him.
“The laser should be on-stat,” the younger man said. “I took it off its mooring, that’s all.”
Summer Rain chinlifted. He glanced back along the path he had traveled. “The gathering lies that way.”
And they don’t expect me there…. Renegade had to ask, “Where were you going before I, ah, interrupted you, Summer Rain?” Do I call him ‘honored hunter’ or what?  He’d given no indication.
The man made a head-gesture back along the dirt path. “I was going to the outer ranks of this valley, and the cleft valley beyond. I have a trapline to check, and wood to bring in.”
Ah, a trapper. Like Dasrylion.
“Well and good, honorable trapper. I wouldn’t like to keep you from your hideshare. Perhaps I cold go with you. I’m seeking trophy prey here; and your advice would be most welcome.”
Summer Rain looked at him sadly. “You are well-spoken, Esteemed Hunter; but you do me an undeserved honor. I – I am not a warrior like you, not any more. I am too much a coward to refuse your company.”
Shocked, Renegade protested his words. But Summer Rain was adamant. He had lost all confidence in himself.
As they walked toward the trapline, Renegade wondered what terrible beast indeed could make a strong carnivore sink into such mindless fear.

***

SUMMER RAIN’S trapline was made up of old-fashioned bites-leg traps – perhaps inherited from his father – and it yielded pitiful results. Only four of almost 30 traps had any kind of prey in them.
Summer Rain’s attitude didn’t help When ever he came upon a sprung trap, or one that some animal had rifled, she showed such trepidation that Renegade finally urged him, “What’s wrong, worthy trapper? Everyone has a bad run now and then.”
“Your pardon, vr’hunter,” the other replied nervously, “but you don’t understand. This may be…its…work.”
“It? Your mystery beast? But Summer Rain, look – this trap was sprung by a small creature that shied away in time – mark its trail. And the looted trap back there has a weak catch – I saw it myself.”
        The man looked so crestfallen that Renegade regretted his words. “Forgive me, trapper; I spoke too harshly. Maybe you’d better tell me about this creature – slowly – as we go along.” He kept urging until the other relented, and finally eked out the story from him as they finished the run…
When the Hunting People surveyed the planet more than a century ago, according to Summer Rain, they found it habitable and even welcoming. Rich with life, holding plenty of game species, it needed only a few adaptations by the civilized carnivores themselves to survive and flourish. Eventually four colonies developed, all freeholds, two near the equator, two in northern lands, settled by Rydderrak and Tracker, Marsh Clan and Cloud Forest hybrids respectively.
The two northern-most freeholds were about 180 kri-veh apart. Summer Rain’s settlement had counted 300 people originally.
No sooner had the colonies been fairly started, than tragedy struck the two northern ones, a little less than a century ago. Hunters working together from both camps discovered an isolated forest unusually desolate of game animals – “of any animals,” the trapper corrected himself.
It was ringed by a cordillera of high steep mountains; and the hunters laid the lack of game to this fact.
But when the joint explorer-packs left the isolated forest, something followed them… After the packs split for their respective gatherings, Freehold 4 was hit the same night that the hunters returned. It was devastated in a single night and day. Sentries either lived to say they saw and heard nothing – or were slaughtered before they could speak. Families were attacked in their homes while they slept.
From 250 inhabitants, their numbers were decimated, down to fewer than 100 people, following that first attack.  When the traumatized survivors tried to piece together what happened by getting together for an emergency council, they too were massacred.
The last 35 survivors of the onslaught fled to Summer Rain’s freehold, scarcely aware of what was killing them.
“This time, the beast was seen – or rather, its tracks were,” the trapper went on. “There seemed to be a pair of creatures, hunting in deadly harmony. They were so subtle, so well-camouflaged, and so merciless in their attacks – they always seemed to come up behind you – that they were named ‘the thing that walks behind you’ by our stunned people…”
“Were there more than two?” Renegade cut in.
“Not that the hunters could tell. But now our hunters attacked; they tracked and killed one beast finally, belatedly, after eleven more deaths… It flung itself mortally-wounded off a cliff-face. Its bones still lie below.
“The second beast was more cunning. It hid and slew, hid and slew. The more we learned of its habits, the more it changed them, from night to day-hunting, from ground to tree-top – it even dug under our walls – and it never seemed satiated. It does not reflect or give off light – and it kills wantonly, excessively…” 
(And here Renegade thought the trapper might be mixing the present with the past; clearly he was too young to be part of that original colony. Had he been born here?)
Summer Rain was continuing, his voice fervent: “We are killers, yes; but what we take, we use. We select our prey for food, and even trophy hunters set limits to their kill, and leave females with young alone….and we do not devastate whole species….”
His mouth was stretched tight, showing the tips of his biting-teeth: “But this attacks as if it had a personal vengeance against us – and every other living being…” and he finally paused for breath.
Renegade could not imagine leaving a creature of this description to rot on a hillside – but there were other emergencies to occupy these people at the time; and he could understand how it might have slipped by them…
“Your pardon, but how old were you at the time, Summer Rain?”  he asked instead.
“I? Not even born yet—at the time of the first attacks—later, I was about 17…”
“You mean there were other attacks?” Renegade cut in, forgetting to pardon himself.
Summer Rain stopped walking and sighed. He turned to face Renegade, his features heavy.
“Chak,” he confirmed. “Some 50 years ago, our hunters finally pursued the creature back to the Desolate Mountain, where it vanished without trace. Meanwhile, we changed too… our life habits, our dwellings…and as for our courage…” he looked directly at Renegade with such an expression of shame that the younger man felt sorrow he’d condemned him…”You see what happened to that.
“At any path, I drew in frightening stories with my mother’s milk; and our two northern settlements were reduced to one; where about 100 of us remain today.
“The second outbreak…” he drew a deep breath, “happened some years after the first…I was 17, as I said. The killings resumed, more subtly this time: small packs being attacked or followed as they went into the forest; individuals vanishing as if the ground swallowed them…We knew it had come back.”
Summer Rain’s eyes grew distant. As he drew into himself, Renegade took a barely detectable scan of their surroundings: They were in a clearing, and a small wind lifted the tree’s leaves…nothing else.
Summer Rain went on: “This time, we set a trap, using ourselves as bait – and we were ready for them.”
“That took courage,” Renegade said softly. “But – ‘them’? How many?”
“Five, or rather, the mother and her young.”
“Aah,” breathed Renegade; “so it was the female who escaped the first time.”
“Yes; we think so, for her pugmarks are the same as the animal’s before – she’d lost a hind toe – any-route, the ambush was a success. Finally we had them and slew them – even though it cost us dearly – my father died in that hunt…” more softly still.
“I understand; and I grieve with you,” Renegade spoke from the heart.
The Marsh Clan trapper braced himself, went on: “The adult thing is at least a match for one of us physically; and it mimics some of our ways, even our voices.
“After the ambush, we thought we had won, yet when the battle ended, the mother and three young lay dead.”
“And the fourth?”
“—retreated to its mountain fastness…we burned the forest behind it; we were as destructive as the beasts; but we think that one escaped us again.”
He fell silent. His aspect was full of such distress that Renegade waited before asking him gently, “And how long ago was that, good trapper?”
Summer Rain sighed. “Some 15 years ago. But it lives, it lives still – and the killings have begun again. Just this spring, it took a man, a hunter…then…a mother…and her child…” his voice roughened, choked off.
“Ah, no,” Renegade breathed. Suddenly he knew whose wife, whose child, that had been. He reached out to touch Summer Rain on the shoulder, moved by deep sympathy, and the trapper allowed it, steadied himself against the younger man’s hand.
When he felt that Summer Rain had recovered himself somewhat, Renegade asked him, “Do you think – another female with young…?”
The other hunter made a negative head motion. “No. The young we slew were immature, and we have found only one other set of tracks this time…the beast seems to take a long time to grow…”
Renegade was thinking of the wanton killer Broken Spear had slain, on the world of shadows, as he asked, “Tell me, is there any evidence of another race, another technical species, on this planet?”
“We found none…I know – I know of what you speak…when we learned of the monster the great Rydderrak warrior slew many years ago, packs from our freehold and the two southern ones searched long and hard, including the underground. There was nothing, not even a hearth-ring, of artificial make, let alone a machine. It must be a natural creature here.”
He inhaled deeply, gathered himself: “Now the signs appear again, esteemed hunter; a few of us have been murdered, and the game disappears in the forest...and...we are afraid, brave hunter; we are afraid.”
Renegade jerked his chin up. “You have cause, then, Summer Rain—and I’m just called Renegade, please. Are we going to your gathering next?”
“Yes, after these trees,” Summer Rain said, and started off at a brisk walk, almost a run. “Will you stay to share meat with us, honored…uh, Renegade?  We requested help from Homeworld, but we expected them to send a complete hunting pack, when they replied.” (Renegade had a sudden twang in his gut: was he supposed to be the help?) 
Summer Rain was going on with barely-concealed eagerness. “Will you stay with us, vr’hunter? There is plenty of room: we are fewer than a hundred now.”
“On-course, brother.” Renegade felt such compassion for this man that he grasped Summer Rain by the upper arm briefly, adding, “You go ahead, but wait for me at the gathering’s boundary. I think I’ll mark your backtrail.” They had been standing in one spot for some kt’tare’; he thought it best to make sure nothing was following them.
Before the other hunter could humble himself still further by effusive thanks, Renegade vaulted into the trees with an easy leap, and disappeared.
The trapper stared after him, his biting teeth showing in wonder. How lithe and easy this stranger moved! And his base colors were Marsh Clan, like his own. Summer Rain started again for home, new hope in his heart.

***

THE ‘GATHERING’, or main camp, was extraordinary for a Hunters’ colony. For a hundred kri around it  there was a circle of scorched earth, where nothing grew. The trees had been cut to the ground, and the ground itself burned, to make a clear field of fire.
In the center of this ring stood a wood-and stone-walled fortress – no other word could describe it – three or four times a hunter’s height, with a wooden walkway just inside the topmost portion wide enough for two sentries to patrol abreast. It made a rough, five-sided building, with observation and firing towers spaced at the corners along the edge. Electrified glass-wire was strung above the walls; with alarm sensors set at close intervals.
Summer Rain was standing outside the freight platform, waiting, when Renegade materialized beside him. The trapper flinched.
“No harm; it’s me, Renegade,” his visitor said gently. “This is not a place for a free people,” he remarked scanning the high walls. “It’s like a trap, with the beast outside, and you in.”
“We have grown into it,” said Summer Rain; “but we are not happy here. – Here’s the liftgate. Will you come with me?”
“I will.” Renegade stepped onto the wide platform with a little trepidation of his own. What if…?  He was gambling with his life on a frightened man’s honesty. He hoped he had judged correctly.
But there were welcoming calls from topside, and a cluster of fellow settlers who seemed genuinely glad to see both of them. They stood at a respectable distance; yet right away they had to know if Renegade was a hunter, was the hunter.
They must think I’m an accomplished hunter, Renegade mused, a Master at least. I should let them know – 
His best intentions were never vocalized, however; for at that moment someone came running along the high walkway, shouting, “It’s been in the pen! There’s another ek’r’val slaughtered!”
Summer Rain literally went white. He gasped to Renegade, “Our tame beasts! Will you--?” a plea in his voice.
“I’ll come. –Tame beasts?” Renegade got out before they went racing off. “Pets?”
“No,” panted Summer Rain between strides. “Meat – animals …down here, hunter – we keep – them for…bad days.”
They dashed down a rampway almost stride for stride, until they were standing on the ground in front of a kind of rough-hewn log fence. Four other tautschen joined them, another ten or so were already there, peering inside the fence. Everyone looked anxious and uneasy, glancing about, shifting weapons in hand or on-shoulder.
Renegade saw one furry heap lying in the dirt inside the fenced enclosure, and a huddle of perhaps eight or ten others crowded in the farthest corner they could find. They were odd-looking creatures, long-necked, lop-eared, with heavy woolly coats. Their barrel-shaped bodies sat on rather short stumpy legs. Those legs and their long, prehensile tails marked them as some strange mix of ground dweller and tree-climber…
“When did this happen?” Renegade heard himself asking. No one else had spoken. They all seemed stupefied with fear. 
“Just a few kt’tare’ ago,” someone finally informed him.
“Then the beast may still be here.” Renegade’s matter-of-fact statement drew a collection of alarmed Kkk’s from the onlookers. 
He looked around, taking them in. “Who is your Chief Hunter?”
More agitation, then, “No – no one, Esteemed Hunter – he --- rrr -- was killed this year, right before Summer Rain’s…” and the speaker trailed off.
Wife and child. Of course. That would explain much. Renegade looked to the trapper, whose eyes were downcast. These people are in real trouble.
Gently but firmly, Renegade gripped the trapper’s forearm. “I grieve to hear this, Summer Rain. But I need to get in there, to see the tracks.” The fence was jump-able, but there were too many crowded round for Renegade to take it…
“On-path,” the trapper murmured. He led Renegade to a gate, opened it. “Take care of the back swing.”
“Come with me. Keep your weapon trained,” the younger man told him. Great Spirit, now I’m giving orders, too. Renegade started to enter, and glanced back at the pressing crowd.
“Are the sentries at their posts?” he said sharply. “If not, this may be just a diversion.”
A flare of revelation ran through them.
“He’s right,” said a short, dappled-grey hunter. “We need to get back to the walls, and stand sentinel;” and he hustled several of them off. “Our thanks, Esteemed Hunter.”
But Renegade was already kneeling beside the corpse while Summer Rain, his courage gathered like a knot in his stomach, looked nervously on. “Keep yours sights hot,” Renegade told him.
He pointed out the scuffle marks in the dust. “Here’s the attack pattern, very straightforward. It left strange tracks, rounded foot in the hind; longer foot, with spike claws, in the fore. Is this your unseen beast?”
“Yes,” whispered Summer Rain. “It walks behind you. Yes.”
“It’s no spirit then. It’s an animal – maybe a very intelligent animal – but a beast all the same. Look, it doesn’t even attempt to conceal itself; it comes at the prey directly…from there.”
 He was on his feet again, following the pugmarks back to a corner of the fence, just as it abutted – “the outer wall,” Renegade murmured, “and a hole dug under the wall, a short tunnel. It digs well. Outgoing tracks? Ah…mingled here, with your beasts’…then – did it get back out this way?” His backpack computer was recording, clicking and filing as he spoke. “How does it cross without being seen? You say it’s camouflaged? How?”
“Perfectly,” the trapper answered. “Its mimicry is as good as our own camo-suits – and as hard to see.
“Ah. And you think that this is cold-blooded as well?”
“We think so. It gives off very little except for friction heat – and reflects nothing. We see it – just as it strikes,” Summer Rain said bitterly. “So its temperature must match its surroundings.”
“Or it sheds or shields the heat, somehow; or bends light in some other way,” Renegade muttered. Know your prey…and how little he had to go on, here! “Another question: How long since its last known kill, before this one?”
Summer Rain struggled. “At Tenday. Before that, twenty-one.”
“The kills are far enough apart for even a reptile to get hungry.” Renegade moved back toward the slain beast. “Yet this isn’t touched, not even an attempt to drag it back through that hole…” he nodded toward the outer wall. “On-course, brother; the wall could use an interior ring of sharp stakes, plunged at least two kri into the ground, made of metal or hardwood.” But he was searching for another idea. He stared at the body.
“So either the beast was interrupted, or this …is a ruse…Summer Rain!” he almost shouted. “What else lies against the outer wall in your camp – storeroom or entry halls…anything with a window?”
“Great Spirit!” Summer Rain blanched. “—Our smoke room, and Kyva – someone’s working in there today!”
“Show me! Let’s go!” Renegade cried, and they were running.
Summer Rain had the presence of mind to call to their onlookers, “Someone seal up that hole! Call everyone to arms!” as they left.
Then he sprinted like a madman, Renegade close behind.
 Sky and water! I’m glad they didn’t put the nursery along here! Renegade thought as they flew along. They had built this place while they were benumbed by shock, and the creature was reaping their errors
The trapper raced up a ramp back to the second level. They were pounding along a wooden walkway when a scream shrilled out.
“That door!” Summer Rain gasped. “-- Two ahead.” 
“Break it!” Renegade shouted, and surged up beside him.
The heavy wooden door shattered as they hit it together.
Smoke boiled out. Smoke and low fires funneled by a wide chimney at the far end filled the room. A wide chimney, a huge hearthside. Renegade snarled and pulled down his mask, cued it to “motion.”
A woman staggered into their sight suddenly – leaning backward, her hands gripping the air above the back of her neck, as if she was wrestling something.
“Down, huntress!” Renegade roared. “Your front to the floor!” and he leaped past Summer Rain, his fist clenched.
She was sinking backward as he reached her. Rough with haste, he snatched her elbow, thrust her forward, and plunged the knives into the air above her back.
A buzzsaw snarl – and the horrified trapper saw a bulky shape materialize above the woman’s spine. She fell; it reared up. It was as big as a great bear, with the face of a demon, its fangs dripping phosphor.
Renegade thrust hard, put his back into it, twisted the knives free – and then the red circle from the laser appeared on the creature’s face.
It dropped its head at once, turned, and crashed through the firewall, not bothering with the chimney. Boards splintered and coals flew.
“ROT YOU!” Renegade’s rage shook the room. He sprang to the hole in the wall in time to see a slither of heat friction and a vague shape thud onto the outer wall. It seemed to flow upward and was gone, blue electric sparks jumping as it burst through the wire.
Renegade looked hard at the hold in the wall’s edges. Think. – Claw marks and – ah! liquid. Got you! he grinned savagely, then spun around to the two other people.
As he strode toward them, both seemed to shrink back in awe. Renegade enraged was a powerful sight.
He saw their reaction, collected his fury, and controlled his voice to lower it.
They were both on the floor, clutching each other like children. The huntress, barely more than a girl, looked alive and unharmed. She was brown and gold with gray markings – part Cloud Forest and part Marsh Clan, smaller than Summer Rain.
“Are you hurt, milady? I’m sorry for my haste.” …The temperate voice, coming from the fearsome warrior’s façade, took her own voice away. She managed a negative head motion, staring.
Summer Rain found his lungs. “No…the thing – she heard it behind her and started to stand. It hit her too high at first to do damage – and then we came in.”
“Well-met,” Renegade said to the trapper. “Summer Rain, listen. I’ve wounded it” -- and the woman’s eyes lit up – “and it’s running. I have to pursue it while it’s leaving a blood trail. It can’t disguise that. Can you take care of things here?”
“Yes, Renegade,” he said; “But don’t go alone. The Gets-Behind-You…it does – you don’t know what it can do.”
“I don’t. But I have to follow. Now. Wish me good hunting, brother and sister,” and he rose to leave, went to the wall.
As Renegade gauged the jumping distance from the hole to the out stockade wall. Summer Rain called, “I’ll make up a pack and follow you! Mark your trail! And good hunting, warrior!”
Renegade flashed a quick head-jerk at them – approval? Farewell? Then he sprang through the firewall and was gone.
Summer Rain and Kyva stared after him. Even as the trapper helped her to her feet, she could not stop watching the space where he had been.
“Who is he?” she whispered at last. And she did not even look at Summer Rain.

***

THE PURSUIT---The beast was spraying deep ironish blood, leaving a strong trail. Renegade leaped the outer wall after it, over the wire, and slid down the outer wall to the ground. He sprinted across the firing-field as the trail headed for the forest beyond.
If he could catch it before the bleeding stopped, all its lizard-like changeability would be lost. Yet he was mindful of what Summer Rain had told him: it would change its tactics constantly, confusing and ambushing the best of hunters…
Ambushing…he saw blood spots on the forest floor for about 15 kri ahead, then…nothing.
On-course, my enemy, he thought, let’s change my tactics, too; and he sprang up the bole of a tall evergreen, climbed as high as the tree would allow, and maneuvered over the spot-trail. 
He saw the flash of friction out of his enhanced side-vision. The thing veered around the top of the tree at him – and Renegade countered the great claws with a blow of his knives.
Metal screamed and sparks flew as the wristknives deflected the huge armored paw. Renegade’s right-shoulder recoil brought up his left-mounted laser after it.
Fire.
A thunderous howl split the air. The beast, ducking away, had been grazed on the slope of the shoulder. Burned – but cauterized as well. It peeled out of the tree and toppled, branches and beast crashing down together.
Renegade half-slid, half-jumped down after it. He landed and almost saw it – a huge needle-strewn shape at least the size of a Sloth-bear – with a jaw like a dinosaur’s, all long curved teeth, saber-sharp. The hunter’s second laser-bolt exploded a pile of branches and moss and the creature vanished like water.
Renegade tracked the fine spray it left behind it.  How did it shed heat that fast? Why couldn’t he see even a glimmer of its daylight shape? He could see many reflected colors as well as heat-generated ones—his normal vision was quite good…but this thing didn’t make sense, unless it bent light even better than his suit did. He regretted that a keen sense of smell was not one of his virtues.
The suit. While running he flicked it on. Let the beast have a little trouble seeing him, too.
Right now he was chasing a ripple of motion and a lot of noise. It’s fast, he thought; he had to race to keep up with it, but he dare not stop. The beast had too many advantages, judging by what the freeholders told him. He had to keep pressing it, never let it rest.
His own endurance wasn’t unlimited, either. And by the way the beast was moving, it must have lain-up for a while before it attacked the fortress, gathering its strength. Renegade at 15 years of age, and barely half the weight of an adult hunter, had inborn speed and been trained for stamina and endurance. He would need every bit of that training and that birthright now.
As they careened through the forest, he tried to second-guess its destination…it seemed to be making for the head of the large valley to the east, opposite the alpine meadow where he’d been set down. And then what?
The Desolate Mountains. To the north and east. On stat: the thing was running for its birthplace and home – where the earlier beasts had been followed…and lost.
It had gained a little distance on him. Instead of a dead run, its pace had changed to a dodging, swerving movement around the trees.
It’s trying to get behind a tree, climb it or ambush me again. Let’s see if I can out-guess it -- left swerve, right swerve, left, and left again…
Suddenly he recognized the place and took a flying leap off the ground. Two metal jaws clanged shut beneath him, touched off by the lightest brush of his foot.
Summer Rain’s traplines! He realized in horror. It knows where they are – and tried to lead me right into them!
“Too smart,” he muttered; “You’re too smart to live – off of us.”
The creature ahead snarled as if it understood him. It scrambled to the right around a large tree trunk.
Renegade sheered left, seized a lower branch with his right hand to balance, and straightened his left, pointing down.
“My turn!” he snapped, and a double-tipped dart shot from his left gauntlet. It slammed into something – a hind leg, Renegade saw – as the creature stumbled, then bellowed and reared up. It whirled on him, eyes blazing with hate.
Renegade shot again.
Up came that knived paw, fast as thought. It deflected the oncoming dart into a tree – an incredible move.
“I’m impressed,” said Renegade, dropping to his feet. “Catch this” – the laser sight glowed red.
For a fraction, he thought the beast would charge: it was beside itself with fury. But even as he triggered, it flicked aside, behind a tree, and the bolt smoked through, empty.
He went for the beast, and it fled. The chase resumed.
He could not stay as close to it as he would have liked. It was just too fast and it knew the terrain. But neither did it open up any greater interval between them. His latest hit had slowed it down.
By the time they crossed over to the smaller valley, east and northward of his landing site, he was getting tired. He could only hope the Gets-Behind-You was, too. And daylight was failing – not necessarily a handicap to him. He might even be able to see it better.
He was impressed with the creature’s repertoire’. So far it had tried to ambush him from a tree, lead him into an artificial trap, and most recently, across a deep stream by stepping on submerged stones – then through a swampland filled with quicksand. His legs were starting to ache; but he knew the only way he could keep on top of its bag of tricks was to stay on its tail, harry it, make it move without time to plan ahead.
No false-trace about it, the beast was running for the Desolate Mountains. It was making for a saddleback pass a few hundred kri above them, on whose far side, Renegade guessed, lay the deserted forests of its home…
They slewed abruptly due north, out of the valley. Stumble-sized rocks got underfoot; and Renegade glanced upward. The beast was now making for steep mountain walls just left of the pass.
It was twilight here in the mountains’ shadow. Night comes early in the mountains, he thought, and if night worked to his advantage, so would this climb…
Renegade kept his eyes on the scrambled-up dust and scratch marks appearing above him. He found an out-jutting spar of rock and sprang to the top of it.
Now he had the beast in silhouette, its friction passage framed against the bald mountainside, with nowhere to hide.
“Your mistake,” he whispered, and lined up his sight.
As if it understood him, the beast turned and slowed. Perfect.
The creature’s outline flexed and folded, then surged outward.
Renegade centered it – the bolt flew –
-- Straight into the shower of stones the beast had dislodged.
“Krrh!” Renegade gasped. A small avalanche, aimed directly at him! No time to dodge: he quick-fired the laser at the stones rolling down – once, again, again. Then he flung up his arms and crouched in self-defense.
A fine spray of rock dust and pebbles spat down on him. He took two or three hits from larger rocks the laser hadn’t managed to vaporize – upper arm, hip, lower leg – but nothing serious. His actions had saved him again – barely.
He stayed in a crouch as the dust cleared, squinting to get a fix on his enemy. This would be a prime chance for it to turn and charge him.
Moments passed. Nothing happened. Renegade straightened up. He felt a sinking sense of dismay. Where are you?
Nothing. His choices came down to – stand here and watch and wait for it to break cover first, or go after it.
His gut feeling told him to chase it. This episode had been merely a trick to delay him.
He gathered himself and lunged up the cliff wall, every armament on hair- trigger. He pulled himself up to the beast’s last-seen location, by the tumbled rocks.
Nothing there.
“No!” he shouted in frustration. Quickly his increased the laser sight to HOT – hot enough to singe a creature lying low – and played it over the mountainside like a lamp.
Again, nothing. He switched it down before the rocks could overheat and leave a false trail. “No,” he whispered, baffled and angry. If he lost it now…
It must be here, hiding. He began a swift but methodical search beyond his position, traversing the mountainside to left, right, up and down, looking for claw marks, blood-spill. For anything.
Dusk gathered around him.
 Just by chance he saw something: the narrow ledge he was standing on showed faint scratches to the left of the loose-rock area. He felt them. Perhaps claw marks. Perhaps rock scrapes.
Then, just a short distance over from those, he saw a two-pronged glimmer. His dart! Excited, he bent to it. Yes – the tips were a little darker than the rest, and beyond them he saw a few drops of blood-spatter. There and there…
He came upon an amazing thing: the droplets seemed to stop and the narrow ledge end at a sheer inclined plane of the mountain wall, like a waterfall of stone.
Yet…the plane was really a fluted hollow curve, if you looked closely… the ledge ran inside, between it and the wall proper. And within the inclined plane…
There was a cave mouth nearly nine kri tall.
I’ve got you! I’ve got you now! he exulted silently. He flattened himself next to the cave slit, scanned it with mask and laser – this was a good place for an ambush too.
“Renegade! Ho, Renegade!”
The clear-carrying call startled him backwards; he sprang away from the opening, facing out toward the sky.
Here they came, the hunters from the settlement, mounted on skycycles and searching the rockface for him. He remembered he had his camo-suit on, and switched it off. They saw him at once and dove toward him. Only two hunters rode cycles, he noticed: they towed three others on platform sleds behind them.
Skycycles and sleds hovered in mid-air before him.
“Hunter!” Summer Rain called to him. “We came as soon as we could. We had to mount a repair crew first, then get volunteers. We couldn’t follow its trail from above, but we found yours, we have come to aid you.” The Marsh Clan hunter wore facemask and body armor now; and even though Renegade couldn’t see his eyes, there was new fire in his voice – the eagerness of the active hunter, no longer the prey.
“Where runs the game?” asked the dappled hunter.
“Gone to ground,” Renegade nodded at the concealed cave. “In there. And I have to go after him.”
A sudden unease flowed through the other five men. Still afraid.
“I must go now,” Renegade insisted, “while the trail is still fresh. Some of you need to scour the mountain, to see if the beast emerges somewhere else. A few can follow me – it may be a rat-warren in there.” He gave them a curt chinlift. “Good hunting, brothers,” and strode into the cave’s mouth.
Summer Rain and his companions looked at each other. Finally the dappled hunter, Clouded Sky, said, “You heard him. Let’s hunt.”

***

RENEGADE fine-tuned his mask to “All Available Light” when he went in, and that helped. He used the laser-sight like a hand torch, not running it too long, but long enough for his own vision to adjust.
As he’d thought, the trail was growing cold. The creature’s main wound was sealing itself off, the splashes growing faint and few. And the leg wound was minor enough: a few drops, then it was done.
The cave was a rat-warren. It led to a labyrinth deep in the mountain; and Renegade began following faint claw-scratches with the friction heat dying in them.
Shortly, he came to a kind of crossroads – or rather, multiple maze…the corridor widened out and he faced a pudding-stone bulge with as many round holes in it as a scatter-shot blast.
It could be anywhere, Renegade thought. He hunkered down and scanned the lowest ones with eyes and laser-sight. He tried to reason it out: the creature seemed at least his size, probably larger. It hadn’t changed that in flight; so the holes he himself could walk or crawl through were the likeliest ones for it to use.
He began judging them for size.
There were five he could fit in, none of them big enough to stand upright in – two he could enter only on his hands and knees. In the other three, he’d have to crawl.
Renegade swallowed hard. Here was the most dangerous part of the hunt – tracking a wounded animal into cover. With a beast as smart as this one, it could happen that the predator became the prey, and lose his nerve – or his life.
Before the first could happen, Renegade chose a bolthole which seemed to have the freshest claw marks around it, (they all came up cold) and forced himself to go in. This was a crawler: he keyed himself to the highest sensitive pitch he knew, and went in.
As he wriggled slowly along, trying not to make a sound, he looked about for other openings to this tunnel – above, below, and to the sides. He also took a compass reading, then locked in the location on his computer. No sense finishing the hunt, and being lost forever in the mountain…
The narrow tunnel seemed to be ascending. Renegade hiked himself along grimly. He was losing his edge; the long hard chase was taking its toll. He couldn’t remain on full alert forever.
Oh yes you can, he told himself, pressing on. He remembered Broken Spear telling them: “Charge your mind for victory, or your doubts will defeat you first, long before you meet the prey”…Broken Spear…how far away and long ago the last eight years of his life seemed now, along with his kind old mentor and his friends!
Renegade pulled up his mind sharply: he was cloud-lofting; and this bolthole was getting larger…
It became high enough to kneel in, and then to stand in…finally it became a small chamber.
-- With outlets to three other holes…
Renegade suppressed a groan, took a stride forward. Now he’d have to inspect each of these.
-- When he felt it. A tingle between his shoulder blades, the strongest sense of being watched he’d ever had in his life…
It gets behind you –
Renegade threw himself to the ground in a ball, knees doubled under, onto his back. He squeezed out the knives, and triggered.
A tremendous weight crashed down on him, slamming him into the stone. It slid off the knives and pinned him. Renegade fired blind through fur.
The beast yowled. Its bulk shifted. Renegade shoved hard with his knees, twisted the knives to make contact, trying to throw it off. It was very heavy,
Then he was free. He spun to a sitting position, whipping up his dart thrower to shoot, triggering his laser in a heartbeat. 
But the beast had vanished again, this time through one of the feeder holes in the rock.
This time you’re hurting. Renegade could see a spray of blood on the floor from where the knives had sliced flesh, leading all the way to the bolthole – the more serious laser wound had self-sealed, of course; but the cave floor shone with the bright-spattered first spray. What does it take to kill you? he wondered as he looked behind him. A rock ledge shelved out above his entry tunnel; it had crouched and jumped him from there.
Clever coward, he thought; a Sloth-bear would meet you straight on.
Yet how had it seen him with his suit on? – Until he remembered he’d turned it off to meet the hunters…He laughed at his nearly-fatal mistake. On-path, I will hunt you this way, he decided. I will not be deemed a coward too.
With a grunt, he shifted to his knees, faced its escape-hole – the one on the right – gathered his balance, and launched himself into it, on knees and elbows now. He felt on fire, revved-up; his second strength had come. He had met the monster and bled it, until it ran before him. He was closing for the kill.
This tunnel curved. He worked along it for a short time until he realized it was heading back the way he’d come. Go swifter, hunter. Check the walls, the ceiling, the cracks in the floor.
A roaring shriek burst through the stone. The very rock rang with it. Renegade froze.
This was not the beast’s call – unless it could sound exactly like on of the People in intense anger and pain…
 The freehold hunters. They must have come in – or it’s a trap. Renegade flexed his knees, dug himself in with his toeclaws, and forced himself along faster, trying not to neglect caution. Beware of a trick.
Yes. There. Ahead…an opening into a pool of pale light: the original chamber he’d discovered when he first came in.
He pushed himself to the entrance and peered out. What he saw made him haul out in a rush. 
“Summer Rain!” he cried out, and ran to the other’s side where he lay curled against the far wall. The trapper hugged one arm to himself, hurt somewhere – the other arm stretched out before him. That hand held a spear, whose tip glistened…
“Summer Rain, brother,” Renegade knelt beside him. “Where are you hurt?”
“R-Renegade,” the other rasped. He looked up, unfolded slowly. “In – my side. Renegade, it was here!”
“Yes; it doubled back,” Renegade agreed. His fingers were busy probing the wound. It was wide but shallow. Not too dangerous.
“I…I was waiting, watching your backtrail. I had the spear in hand – when It came out of the wall, too fast to shoot. And I stood, Renegade, I stood! It plunged onto the spear, on its shoulder, then pulled back – ran away – into there!” He jerked his chin at a large bolthole – in his face was a crazy-happy glow, his eyes were bright, his teeth bared.
Renegade looked at him. “You stood. You didn’t run. You turned it for me – and drove through year fear – into courage.”
He laughed abruptly, rocked back on his heels. “Well-thrown, honorable hunter!” He slapped Summer Rain’s unhurt shoulder and grinned at him. “I’m proud of you!” They grinned at each other, fierce and proud together. 
“Now, brother, let me fix this for you,” and he took his med-kit from his backpack, prepared to bind the wound.
“H’vack-hah! What happened?” the dapple-grey hunter charged into the chamber. “What happened here?” He saw them both on the ground and dropped down beside them.
“Summer Rain, are you injured? Where?” he demanded, and flame lit his eyes.
“Here; it’s nothing. I’ll be on-stat,” said the trapper. He put a hand on Renegade’s arm and told him, “Honored warrior, the quarry’s afield. Clouded Sky can bind this for me – but the game is running; and it is yours. “
Renegade exchanged the grip of equals with him. “My thanks, Esteemed Hunter,” and made for the last tunnel.
“Summer Rain, what -- ?” Clouded Sky began again.
“No.” Renegade turned briefly from his path. “Summer Rain no more. Stands Fast is his name.’ He smiled and glided into the tunnel and out of sight…
-- With his new friends’ “Good hunting!” ringing in his ears.

***

 ON HANDS AND KNEES --- quick-pace now. A few moments lost – but the blood trail was wet again. The Gets-Behind-You carried three fresh wounds – two open – and could not conceal its track
Renegade’s own blood was running high in his heart. The prey could not escape; it had gone to ground, even to its lair; and no matter how strong, no matter how smart it was, it would be his in the end. This was what he was born for.
The tunnel walls lifted around him and he was crouching, then running upright. The tunnel grew even wider, and he could see, he could feel – 
Stop! In the last moment life or death each awaits you. Make sure you choose Life.
He pulled up short. “Thank you, Broken Spear, thank you, my Grandfather,” he breathed, “for reminding me.”
He stood still to listen. He had an idea – it was a risky one, but – he paused for a few heartbeats to re-adjust his laser.  Then he took out his spear, uncased it, and spear in one hand, wristknives out on the other, and his emotions in control, he walked on.
The tunnel became a large tubular cave. It slanted right and down, a few rough ledges shelving away like stairs around a jumble of fallen stone. Scattered boltholes appeared high in the cavern’s walls behind him. Renegade was aware of them, but not distracted by them.
With soft, slow measured strides he descended the ledges. Down there at their base lay a kind of shallow pit; and the pit was lined with –
As he bent forward slightly to see, the Boding came on him again. He stayed in position, tensed.
There came the slightest scrape of claws on stone, and the sense of danger overpowered him –
He fired once, twice, again, as fast as he could trigger the laser pointed backwards on his shoulder.
Thump! Thump! Thump! And an earsplitting AAAROOARAH bellowed out – as a mass of muscle and fur and bone smashed down on him from behind and knocked him into the pit below.
His head and shoulder struck the ground hard, and whitefire sparks starred his eyes. Then they went dark.

***

HE LAY THERE, stunned. He must have hit the ground hard enough to black out. He tried to focus his eyes; blurry…clearer…clear…oh, the mask was off…what was in the pit under him? Something soft. He blew out a breath, and a cluster of soft, glassy hairs arose and began dancing before his face.
What was this? Groaning, he pushed himself up on his hands and looked around: he was lying on some kind of fur, nearly transparent, like soft fibers of glass…
He tried to move his legs and gasped. They were pinned down by some enormous weight.
He twisted around to look. And there was It-Gets-Behind-You, behind him still, but moving no more. It was visible now, a great mound of shifting colors, its glasslike fur changing, splitting light like an Archway in the Sky, dying with the beast itself.
Gingerly he slid his legs out from under it. “Aaah,” he sighed, dragging himself up to sit and leaning back. Amazing how shaky he felt!
So he sat there and studied his fallen prey. Was it truly dead? Yes, indeed; he could see the powerful heart now, and it beat no more – even the lungs were still; and heat oozed like blood from its brain. It had been a warm-blood after all.
 What else? How did it stay invisible like that? The fur was remarkable, and yet…he looked down the length of its body – bigger than a Sloth-bear -- came to its midsection – and stopped.
Well, Renegade, he told himself wryly, you’ve earned your name all over again, it seems. The Hunt Council won’t like this at all.
Just then, his name rang out in force, “Renegade, Renegade!” They came in running and shouting, all five of them, Stands Fast holding his side, but gamely keeping up with Clouded Sky.
“Here!” he called to them. He began to stand, and his legs went rubbery, so he sat down again.
Running feet pounded down the stone ledges. “Renegade, brave warrior, where…?” and they stopped in shock. The pack hunters stared at the fallen beast, saw its colors shift and change…
When they got over their astonishment, their faces changed. They lifted their heads and in one voice, gave forth a resounding victory roar. It rebounded from the walls until the cavern rang.
Renegade leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Let them do the honors for now, roaring out their newfound courage to all who could hear. It felt right; it felt good.
Whatever the verdict, his hunt was done.
***

IN THE FORTRESS--- “Blast him! Blast and burn him!”
Stands Fast burst out of the conference room and slammed the doors for emphasis. He nearly strode into Kyva standing in the hall. He braked in time. “Kyva! Your pardon!”
“What is it, Stands Fast? What’s wrong?” she asked him.
He fumed again. “It’s that double-charred, bone-headed carcass of a Director, that’s what’s wrong. He doesn’t want to give our young hero his credit for the Gets-Behind-You because it was a female and carrying young. The fool!”
“But doesn’t he know what those creatures have done to us? How even this one alone killed my husband and your family?” she protested.
Stands Fast glared around the hall furiously. He looked as if he could spear the Council Director himself, straight through the door.
“Know? On-course he knows! He read the reports! He knew our history here…why, he even sent young Renegade down here on his Master Hunt – one man, alone! – without telling him anything about it—maybe hoping he would be murdered, too. Renegade’s lucky he wasn’t killed at once!”
“Not so much lucky as skilled, I think,” Kyva put a hand on his arm to calm him. “Only he could have done what needed to be done….We owe him so much. It’s hard to believe is barely 15 years old…”
Stands Fast gave a startled laugh. “Chak, it is, isn’t it? Owe him? We owe him our souls, Kyva. He gave them back to us.” He turned her hand over in his, thoughtfully.
“Did you know the laboratory at Freehold One found out this creature can be parthenogenetic?” she told him. “It could reproduce even in the absence of a male? All four embryos were female, too, with their mother’s exact genotype. So in a few more years – or even a few tendays – we could have been over-run, and the rest of us slaughtered as well. This mutant species could be fairly on its way to destroying all animal life on this planet. Honor Renegade? By the stars above, they’d better honor him!”
“And if not, or even if so, there is another way we can,” she murmured thoughtfully, looking down at their joined hands.
Stands Fast gazed at her, trying to decipher her meaning. “You mean besides naming the freehold after him?”
“Yes, another way. Something of life itself,” she said.
The trapper was about to inquire further when a huge figure loomed up behind her.
“Honored Hunter and Huntress,” the deep voice boomed.
Stands Fast looked up into the eyes of the biggest warrior he had ever seen – the man was flame-red, frontally-barred in tan, with battle scars from a hundred years on his body…and had two enormous biting teeth sprouting from his upper jaw.
“Yes…sir?” Stands Fast breathed.
Kyva started. “Oh, your pardon, noble one, I heard the news and forgot…Stands Fast, this is Broken Spear, Great Warrior and Esteemed Hunter of the Clan Rydderrak” – and she gave him a significant look: “Renegade’s instructor.”
“I am deeply honored, sir,” the freehold hunter said slowly, rather stunned at both the introduction and the knowledge that Kyva already knew him.
“As am I,” the warrior acknowledged him “I bring with me another former pupil, now Master Hunter, Dasrylion of Arvien 4,” and he indicated someone behind him. Stands Fast had to crane for a glimpse, even though the other student was not small… “And Kreh-tyv’k, Deputy Director of the Nine Systems Hunt Council.”
“Honored, also,” Stands Fast gave polite greetings to the two people in the big warrior’s shadow, then returned to attention.
“Now tell me,” Broken Spear was saying in that deep, even, utterly calm voice of his, “what is this about the council not honoring Renegade’s kill?”
“—Because I’ll have something to say about that!” burst from the Deputy Director.
Stands Fast nodded grimly. “So will everyone in this freehold, esteemed ones. So will we all;” and he filed them in quickly, standing out there in the hall. 
“And where is the Director now?” Broken Spear inquired after he was done.
Kyva shivered. …There was something about the way he said it…
Stands Fast lifted his chin toward the doors he’d recently slammed. “In that conference room, arguing with Clouded Sky and our other hunters.
“Arguing, is he?” muttered the Deputy Director.
Broken Spear did not look at him. Deep in those dark brown eyes something went feral, and seemed to glow.
“I. shall. Speak. To him.” Each word came out ominous with meaning.
Stands Fast unclenched his jaw. “I’ll point you there,” he said, backing to the doors and pushing them apart.
The Great Warrior strode into the chamber, his retinue following.
Stands Fast returned to grip Kyva’s hand. “Now let us see who holds his throw!” he whispered to her in delight, and led her in. 

***

	RENEGADE AT REST---Renegade lazed in a hammock on the fortress ramparts. A scarcely-tasted cup of broth sat on the wall beside him. The late afternoon sun poured over the wall and he basked in it gratefully.
It was the first time in three days he’d been left alone, except for sleeping. People wanted to be near him, to do this for him and that for him, to offer him gifts and services, to make him comfortable almost incessantly.
He’d returned from the hunt with the creature’s entire carcass towed on one sled by Clouded Sky, and he and an injured Stands Fast and the other three hunters on the second cycle-and-sled combination. They were greeted by a maelstrom of welcome and rejoicing, and the uproar in the fortress had kept him busy for the rest of that night.
Finally he’d managed to get away long enough to bone and skin his beast, salvaging what part of the fur he could, pack the rest for the lab, bathe himself (a lukewarm rinse at best) – and be intercepted on his way to his sleeping quarters at least twenty or thirty times, and then, and then, be left at last to sleep. 
Instantly. Soundly. Deeply. For the next entire day.
By the time he woke, an engineering party had gone off to the beast’s hideaway lair with enough explosives to bring most of the mountain down; and the Hunt Council director had descended from on high after no fewer than nine tare’ (maybe hoping I was dead already, Renegade thought) and was in conference with the freehold’s hunters.
And a remarkably vehement conference it was, too. Renegade found he didn’t care; he’d done something vital, something that mattered to the people here. Let the council deny him. These people believed in him.
So here he lounged, sunning himself and relaxing – and far enough away from the conference to be free of the noise and the debate…and…
“Aren’t you going to greet an old friend, noble warrior?” a familiar voice teased him.
Renegade snapped his eyes open and half turned over.
“Dasryl!” he shouted, nearly falling out of the bedsling. He landed on his feet, grabbed his friend by the shoulders and shook him till his teeth rattled with the strength of the greeting.
“Brother, brother,” he laughed, or cried, or both, torn by emotion. “You’re here?”
“In real time, brother,” Dasrylion laughed with him; then stepped away. “And so is someone else…”
“Broken Spear! Grandfather!” and Renegade threw himself across the catwalk at the old warrior.
“Son, oh son,” Broken Spear embraced him, and his voice grew very soft. “Thank the Great Spirit we are together again. The Council…” his voice broke, and Renegade looked up at him, concerned.
“The Hunt Council did us a carrion trick, brother,” Dasrylion supplied for him.
“You mean – “
“They put us in the worst situations they could find, set us at creatures fit for experienced trophy hunters only… played on what they thought were our weaknesses—“
“But you turned them into strengths,” Broken Spear filled in, his emotions steady again.
“So that’s it,” Renegade said with satisfaction; “I knew there was some bad meat involved.” He looked at both of them quickly. “And Rampage --?”
The old hunter made a negative gesture. “We have not heard from him yet. I can only hope that means he is heeding my advice and taking his time for this hunt. As soon as this ‘conference’ is done, we will go in search of him, on the Dinosaur World.”
“Dinosaurs!” gasped Renegade; “but he’d love that!”
“The situation is made to prey on his impatience,” the old hunter said. “Yet I have an ally there, if Rampage only thinks to seek him out…”
His eyes sought a far horizon. “Until then, Esteemed Hunters, we can only wait, and pray.”

***

OF LIFE AND DEATH---Renegade had one more surprise on this world of P’taal 5, and it shook him more profoundly than even the Master Hunt.
It came on their last night at planetide – his, Dasrylion’s, Broken Spear’s. The two Nine Systems Hunt Council members had been packed off earlier that day on a starliner making tie briefly at Freehold One.  When asked whether they had reached some agreement, Broken Spear merely smiled and said, “Oh yes, an agreement indeed,” and would not be further cajoled.
The two new Master Hunters and their mentor had been sitting in the hearth room of the fortress as night fell. The large room was cozy with small electric lights, even if the “hearth” itself was an artificial one; and the latest awed group of freeholders was finally breaking up and going off to night duties or to bed. Dasrylion himself concealed a yawn, told his companions he needed some rest before morning, and left the room.
Now only the old hunter, Renegade, and the two colonists Stands Fast and Kyva remained. Renegade was gazing absently at the Gets-Behind-You’s skull and spine temporarily mounted on one wall of the room. Tomorrow he’d take it down and pack it into the school ship, and they’d leave this world behind, probably forever. In a way it was a relief: he wouldn’t have to tell his Master Hunt story yet again to the latest rapturous group of visitors. In another way it was not: he’d grown genuinely fond of some of the people here, particularly the couple who remained in the room…
He gradually became aware of a low-toned conversation centering about his mentor. Stands Fast and Kyva were apparently talking to him about something, and keeping their voices very soft. He heard a questioning tone, then a surprised inflection, and finally a louder, “But he is very young; you know that.”
“Yes, Elder, we know. But he is probably capable, and this means a great deal,” came Kyva’s slightly higher pitch…there was a little more exchange, whispering…and then Broken Spear’s,
“Our Master Hunter must decide this for himself, young as he is.”
Now fully awake and alert, Renegade was leaning forward to listen when he heard his name spoken, followed by, “—would you come here, please, son?”
“On-stat, Elder.” He got up and went to the little group across the room. Broken Spear was sitting straight up in his chair, Stands Fast and Kyva standing before him – almost in postures of supplication, he thought.
Puzzled, Renegade acknowledged them and sat in the chair indicated by his guardian. He glanced at the huntress, and she gave him a warm smile. She looks different tonight, he thought.
Broken Spear raised his hands from the chair arms to interlock the fingers and rub the tip of his broken tooth between them – a gesture Renegade had seen him use only when uneasy or deeply unsure.
“Renegade,” he began; and paused as if reluctant to speak. Finally he continued:
“These two of our people, whose lives you have affected so greatly, have come to me with a request…which I have said they should make of you. But I thought it best I remain here and help to explain and guide the transaction, if necessary. It is a ceremony called the ashe-k’var” – and he stopped abruptly.
Renegade merely looked bewildered. The words in the clipped Old Speech meant “warrior’s gift,” but other than that, he attached no meaning to them.
The old hunter nodded to Stands Fast, who cleared his throat and took up the trace:
“Noble warrior, Kyva and I are the only two survivors of the Beast’s latest attacks on our families; and we have decided to be married.”
“Ah, good! I’m happy to hear that,” Renegade said, and was about to add What does that have to do with me? when Stands Fast hurried on:
“And it is an ancient rite among all clans of the People that when a mighty out-clan warrior had aided them deeply – but must soon leave them – that they might make a request of him.”
“A very personal request,” Kyva took her turn. Her large, light amber eyes were moist, almost glowing in the room’s dim lights… some kind of aura about her….  She reached out to touch his hand, and Renegade, while startled, did not draw away.
‘Honored hunter,” she continued, “first among us, defender of mine and of all our lives, we – I – desire to have a child by you.”
Renegade’s jaw dropped. His muscles bunched. “A…a child?
But I – but…”  He wanted to jump up, run away, stay, shout – his confused range of emotions flushed across his body for them all to read.
Kyva reached out with her other hand, and rested this one on his chest. She could now feel his heart pounding, as well as see and hear it, and she said, “Dear friend, I have some experience in pair-bonding. You and I would be alone, together; and I would allow nothing wrong to happen between us.”
Renegade looked up at Broken Spear beseechingly. Gentle as the huntress’ touch was, he could not have moved from under it.
The old warrior saw this, and felt both happy and sad. Happy, because it would be a good lovemaking for Renegade; sad, because, afterward, the boy he had raised and trained and protected would truly be gone – in his place, the man.
He sought to explain: “Son, this is to be your choice, and only yours. You may agree to it or deny it, and the decision will not be held against you.”
Both Stands Fast and Kyva agreed vehemently. “Only yours, Esteemed Hunter, and no fault after.”
Since Renegade himself seemed incapable of speech, Broken Spear spoke for him: “So. You know Renegade is too young to marry. Who then speaks for this child?” –harshly now.
“We do!” the two people said as one.
Stands Fast spoke directly to Renegade, “The child will be raised as our own.”
“To love and to treasure,” Kyva affirmed, “for all our lives.”
“The child is not the father,” Broken Spear bore on. “Will you accept its life, whether male or female – whatever that life shall be?”
“We will,’ they chorused again.
“Then let the warrior decide,” Broken Spear leaned back and closed his eyes.
Kyva took another track then: she lifted Renegade’s hand, with hers inside it, to her face, touched it to her smooth cheek, down along her throat, and slipped it inside her breast-wrap to above her heart and under one of her small round breasts.
“Here,” she said softly. “I have come into season now, as women of the People do many times a year – and also if they feel something extraordinary outside of that. If we fall in love… That is what happened to me…I love you, but I cannot have you, and so – and so – if you give me just one night…there will be a child, a part of you left with us as a symbol of our hope and our salvation.”
Renegade heard her sweet speech. He felt the soft fullness of her breast. She freed his hand, and he closed it slightly: her nipple exuded wetness, a few drops of her milk. He was on his feet without realizing it; and his breath went ragged; his chest heaved with something vast and powerful struggling inside.
Broken Spear was not watching them; he was watching Kyva’s soon-to-be husband. He detected no jealousy there. Stands Fast looked radiant and proud. They both love him, the old hunter thought; it is a perfect ashe-k’var. He looked next at Renegade.
“Ah.” he said softly, “the decision is made. Son, remember we do not enter lightly into this pact.”
“I’ll…remember,” Renegade murmured. He had taken both of Kyva’s hands in his, and was regarding her with a kind of loving wonder.
“Then let it be done,” the old warrior said. “Honorable trapper, it is time for us to depart.” He rose, and Stands Fast started to leave with him.
As they passed the couple, Renegade once again sought his mentor’s eyes; only this time his expression did not ask, What shall I do? but rather, Will it be all right?
“It will be all right,” the old warrior clasped his shoulder gently and smiled. “You have learned how to take life; now you shall learn how to give it. Have a good bonding, children.”
And they were left in the room alone.

***

ONCE THE OTHERS were gone, Kyva led Renegade to her own quarters, her own sleeping alcove, and he allowed it. He was quite different from the fierce and self-sufficient warrior now; he was more uncertain and vulnerable, and she loved him for it.
In this at least, she could guide him.
She took him to the wide raised bed, under the light of one small lamp. There, her fingers slow but sure, she undressed first herself, then him.
Standing there with a vague sense of unreality, Renegade felt that this moment could be imprinted on his memory for the rest of his life…detached as he himself seemed to be, every other detail stood out sharp and clear around him, every movement, every sound.
He watched her slip out of her two simple garments; saw her body fully revealed in its many depths of heat and color, without clothing to blur the effects.  Her breasts were more prominent – radiants of milk streamed within them to reach the nipples; her heartbeat quickened, driving hard; while below her navel he could see the heat from her uterus within her flesh, the ovaries glowing like coals. When a huntress comes into her season, a pregnancy is assured…
And when she delicately loosened his loincloth and let it fall, and he stepped away from it and against her, he felt as if he was burning and freezing together.
She put her arms around him and ran her hands up and down his body; and he closed her within his arms to feel the warm smoothness of her, the long bow of her back, the round fullness of her buttocks. She sighed, and leaned into him, her face resting against his chest; and he ran his finger-talons gently through the long thick lustrance of her mane…
Then he felt her hand reach down low, to his genitals, and gasped when she touched him there. His organ was erect, and he pressed to her, pulling her closer still, unsure of how to do this, but knowing he had to, he must get to her…
“Here, Renegade, sweet warrior,” she whispered, “Lie down with me.” Then it was her turn to gasp as his strong young arms lifted her bodily and laid her down on the bed…his hips pressed against her hard, no long asking…
Her legs slid apart under him. One moment her hand was wrapped around his phallus, a warm dry band of strength – suddenly he was pulled forward, and plunged into heat and moisture. He was enclosed, enveloped, welcomed. A long groan came from the depths of his soul.
He thrust deep, deeper; she received and welcomed him – wonderful,, fantastic sensation! 
“Kyva!” he cried out; and she moved under him, her arms wrapped around him – all that warmth, all that softness. He bound her to him. Pushed again and again, and she began to cry out, a high-pitched “Kykyky!” like a bird, a wild bird calling… They struggled to come closer, to bind tighter, and he held her as if he would fuse with her.
Her head fell back, exposing her throat. Her talons raked lines of fire down his spine—he never felt them. He burrowed his head into the soft gape of her neck beneath the chin and pressed his young teeth to her throat, gripped her with them, just holding, not biting—
-- and she stiffened and screamed, a good scream of great joy, and Renegade felt something rush through him like tidal waves, one after another, and pour forth from him into her, his life emptying into her…a wild ululation burst from his throat to join her own piercing call, and mingle together into the sky…
That was the young hunter’s introduction to bonding. It took him like a storm and swept him away…and after the first breath-taking rush subsided, they did it again, more slowly and sensuously, as she led him to it, over and over, until he lay exhausted with his lady, late into the night.
It stunned him more than a hundred hunts had done, left him both terribly tired yet vibrantly alive, unlike anything he had ever known before.
They finally fell asleep in each other’s arms, blissful for different reasons: Renegade for the wonder and intimacy of the act itself, for the unparalleled closeness before and after; and Kyva, because no matter for how brief a time, she had won her warrior at last. For this one night, he was only hers…

***

THE NEXT MORNING --- the old hunter was out in the pre-sunrise gloom, stowing gear into the school ship outside the fortress walls, when he heard a slight movement behind him.
It was Renegade, carrying his own equipment, a distant expression on his face. He almost didn’t notice Broken Spear until the old hunter said softly, “Day’s-light to you, son.”
“Oh – day’s-light, Grandfather,” the young man looked up, came into focus with an effort. “I’m not being very aware, am I?”
“It is understandable. How are you this morning, Renegade?” – A not-too-intrusive question…so he can talk about it if he wants to…
The young hunter flushed, but not with shame, with pleasure. “I – it was wonderful… But I had a hard throw…leaving her –“ (Kyva had looked at him with her soul in her eyes as he dressed, so he’d sat back down and held her for a while longer) “Stands Fast arrived just as I went out. He said he’d stay with her.”
Broken Spear chinlifted in understanding. “They will be good for each other, and for the child. And your bloodline will run through this world like a golden cord.” He sighed. “Renegade, normally the first woman you bond to intensively would be your own mate for life. The ashe-k’var is hard on the untried young. Someday you will find a huntress who will have your heart as well. This – what happened to you here, is a very rare thing. I did not think they even knew the custom, these freeholders.”
Now for the inevitable rain of questions. The old hunter braced himself.
There was only one: “Grandfather? Did you--?” – Here it comes – “Did this ever happen to you?”
The old warrior cleared his throat. “Twice. That I accepted. Actually I had a number of requests for the ashe-k’var. This was in the old days when the custom was better known… But I accepted only two – one I did not realize until...after…” He fell silent. Renegade sensed there was pain here and did not press him.
“I was young, like you, for the first,” he said at last and did not elaborate.
“I have been remiss with you youngsters” he continued ruefully; “I should have taught you more about our courting customs. You know the intimate act is done usually only in the last stages of the betrothal and for marriage itself? And it is a gift asked more frequently of the male warrior…the female warrior would not choose to burden herself with a child during her active career. She would life-bond with the man of her choice. Although,” he went on more hesitantly, “I know of one great female warrior who gave the gift – to the one she thought was worthy of her…”
He paused, his throat completely dry, and waited.
“I understand, Grandfather,” Renegade said. His honest green eyes met his mentor’s. “And after last night, I do not think I could – leave – again.”
His guardian nodded, reprieved. “Good, son. I lost track of my other partners for long years. Further contact was forbidden then, under clan rules. And I wonder, even today, what happened in those years that are gone.” This was a hard trace to follow; he hoped the questions were done.
Just then they were saluted by a cheerful, “Day’s-light, you two! Did neither of you sleep much last night?”
“Not much,” Renegade’s mouth corners twitched. “Day’s-light, Dasrylion – awake at last?”  He glanced at Broken Spear. “Do I – tell him?”
“Only if you wish. It is an honorable practice.”
Renegade lifted his chin slightly and greeted his friend with as much normality as he could muster. He was saved from making a quick decision by the sound of the ship’s comset, chiming with a message received.
Broken Spear went to answer it. When he returned, his face was grim. “That was a message from High Sun, the Dinosaur Clan Leader,” he told him. “It was scrambled from interference, but the main thrust seems to be that Rampage has been badly hurt. We are to come there.”
Both young hunters’ looked horrified. Rampage – hurt? Rampage – possibly dying? Suddenly their celebratory mood went bleak, the very air darkened. The nature of the Three itself was threatened.
“Get on board ship,” Broken Spear tersely. “We break tie at once.”
And they left with the sunrise.

***

RAMPAGE – DINOSAUR PLANET --- The Dinosaur camp rang with the sounds of celebration. An open firepit burned at the center of their gathering, great roasts of tyrannosaur baking within.
Rampage was the hero of the day – and he loved it.
“You shall have your unofficial ceremony with us,” High Sun declared. The clan had spent the afternoon of his return in butchering and hauling back the giant carnosaur; only they reached the box canyon twice as fast as Rampage had, since they used skycycles and power sleds.
“They have lasers and rockets too,” Flashing Sky told him; “I’ve found that clans use whatever technology suits their purposes.”
Some thirty of the Clan members went, including the leader, and they amazed Rampage by the speed with which they cut up and packed the carcass. They had posted four guards, but still finished well ahead of sunset and the other raptors’ return. Eleven young raptors found in the caves by clan members were left unharmed.
No one did anything the night they returned to camp but prepare meat or fix weapons. They were resting up for the next night. This one.
Now it was festival time in the camp of the Dinosaur Clan. They sang, offered thanks, and took part in pulse-pounding dances and chants. They urged Rampage to join in, and despite his very public reserve, finally he did.
During one particularly wild spear-dance, he discovered he was enjoying himself; and as he flashed from partner to partner making light feints and thrusts, he spun past the girl who’d tended him. 
She cried out, “Hraak-hah, Rampage! Well-shot!” and raised her spear in salute. 
His move echoed hers and he shouted, “Wait! I don’t know your name!” But the pace of the dance claimed them, and she whirled away, laughing.
The old shaman D’sault, watching the dance with High Sun, remarked, “There has been too little joy in that one’s life, it seems.”
“Churr,” High Sun agreed. “We will make up for that tonight.”
Only the Chief Hunter, who was leaving this dance to the well-rested, noticed the slight byplay between the two youngsters, and interpreted it correctly.
He paused, a cup in hand. “Arah! Young warrior,” he roared, and chuckled softly.

***

AFTER DANCING, there came feasting. They ate in the old manner, all seated cross-legged in a long oval around the central fire, and shared the meat by passing it around the ring. It was an active ring, people coming and going all the time, children running and shouting around the circumference. Some of the older children were drafted to serve the drinks: cool water and hot spicy wine.
Rampage had received a high place sitting next to the Chief Hunter. Flashing Sky was up and down before he ate, changing his sentinels at short watches so that everyone might take part in the feasting.
At the near bend of their oval, Rampage noticed, the Clan Leader sat with his wife. Then came the Chief Hunter, and next the Elders and their mates. (Esteemed Elders were both male and female, he noted)  Rampage’s seat was to the leader’s left hand, just after Flashing Sky’s and before the Elders. To the right of High Sun sat his wife, then – a surprise! The young healer! – next to her father the High Shaman, with more elders to follow. Ranked hunters, all ten of them, took up on the Chief Hunter’s side where the elders left off.
But Rampage barely noticed them. He had eyes for only one person…
Flashing Sky slipped back into place beside him.
“More short watches later tonight,” he remarked. “Have you danced up an appetite yet, Rampage?”
“Have I!” Rampage exclaimed. “Look – here’s some of this sirloin; it’s really good---krrrr…Flashing Sky?” 
The Chief Hunter was helping himself to some of the proffered meat. “Yes, Esteemed Hunter?” he said jovially, making the young man flush with pride.
“I’m honored – it’s just Rampage, please,” he said. “What I wanted to ask…ah…see that girl over there? By the shaman?”
Flashing Sky knew what was coming, but he didn’t tease. “Chak, Rampage. You mean: do I know her?”
“You know her name?”
Flashing Sky smiled gently. “You aim high, Rampage. Her name is K’orrynia…”
“K’orrynia…’beautiful girl,’” the young man repeated – and sighed.
“—and she is the Clan Leader’s daughter—“ 
Rampage’s jaw dropped. “H’vack-hah!’
“His only daughter. She’s learning the medicine trade.” He watched the young man’s expression change to dismay.
“I thought…I thought…even the shaman’s daughter—“ he stumbled – might be above my reach went unsaid.
Flashing Sky picked up the unspoken part as well. He put a hand to Rampage’s shoulder, firmly. “Listen, young hunter, Esteemed Hunter, do not undershoot yourself.”
“But – I’m so plain..”
He must have heard that from childhood. Flashing Sky felt for him.
“In this clan, merit matters more, Rampage. And you certainly do not look unhandsome. You are thin and muscular – and fleet of foot. These are all good things – so again, don’t undershoot yourself. The World bends to the will of the bold,” and he gave the shoulder a little shake. 
The young man seemed unconvinced so the Chief Hunter kept trying: “Rampage, know I speak from my heart. You are very young, and so is she. But in about five years, come back and speak to her and her father. You are acknowledged now; you have a rank and honor – You will be more honored in future: I feel it. I would return if I favored her.”
Rampage gave a thin smile. “You would have a better chance than I do.”
Flashing Sky burst into laughter, startling Rampage, until he explained, “I said if I favored her --- and I am nearly old enough to be her father, besides. I already have a Betrothed in the clan, Rampage – I cannot wed her till alter the fall drives; so you haven’t seen her yet. And I am perfectly happy with her. Now let’s share meat and rejoice in a full game pole. The storytelling comes after – and you will need your strength!”
Flashing Sky wasn’t joking about Rampage needing his strength. For when everyone was comfortably filled, High Sun called for the time of tales, a favorite part of every celebration.
“Now let the New Hunter speak!” he boomed in that huge voice; and the people clamored for the young man’s story.
Shy at first, then heartened by their honor and their eagerness, (and by two cups of wildberry wine which the Chief Hunter had urged on him earlier) Rampage told his whole story. He swallowed his pride and began from the real beginning – his failure – and went through to the successful hunt of yesterday. The only part he left out was his utter disgrace before High Sun (he wasn’t that much in need of redemption!)
The clan loved it; they loved him. They empathized and mourned with him; they cheered and rejoiced for him. He found himself telling the story over and over again, as more people who hadn’t heard came up from distant parts of the fire, and changed places with those who had.
He was just recovering from the third telling, and about to yield to a new batch of requests, when he heard High Sun say:
“Hold, vr’hunter, until we give greetings. Our new guests shall want to hear it all, from the beginning.”
Rampage looked up, around, and was nearly overwhelmed when first his two closest friends rushed him to grab hold and shake him as if they couldn’t believe he was alive. They were followed by Broken Spear, whose tide of relief and thanksgiving flowed through his blood colors.
“Renegade! Dasrylion! And Broken Spear!” Rampage cried out, nearly being smothered. “Brothers, brothers! You’re alive! And here! All safe! And—“ 
“All safe, all here, yes,” Renegade was laughing with relief and joy, “Only we didn’t think you were, brother…the message said you were hurt—We thought you were dying on us…”
“T’chak!” High Sun denied. “I sent more than that. I said he had been healed, and would hunt again… those fools of researchers! Did they scramble my words?” to Broken Spear, who was slowly coming back into countenance again.
“The message was scrambled, I know not how,” the great warrior explained, “but when we heard, we bent space-time flying here, and now…” he glanced fondly at Rampage, took his turn to embrace the young man. “I am very…thankful…”
Once released, Rampage could hardly keep still; he was dancing in place as he glanced around at them all: “But I’m here, Elder. Not only alive – but victorious. I passed my Hunt!’  He searched his friends’ faces, “And you two…”
“All victorious, Rampage,” Dasrylion told him fiercely. “Every one.”
High Sun, seeing the intensity of welcome, smiled and bided his time. He could wait.
“Proven hunters all,” Broken Spear put in. His face was lined with care and with joy. He gripped Rampage again, by the upper arms this time, looked closely into his face, and let him go. “And you make me proud – all of you. I am so proud of you.”
 Rampage beamed with pleasure; this was high praise.
In a moment, he re-focused on his friends, studied their faces. “But what happened to both of you? What did you hunt? Where did you go? You have to tell me!”
“Yes, tell us all,” someone rumbled from the surrounding clan.
Renegade made a negative head motion and smiled. He looked older, no, more grown up, suddenly, his friend thought. “No,” he said; “This is your night, Rampage. You earned this, and it belongs to you. Our stories can be told another time.”
“Chak! Then we will have more feasting and tale-telling tomorrow night,” High Sun decided. “It will be good – more to celebrate and more to savor for a rainy season’s gathering.” He took Broken Spear’s forearms. “Welcome, Great Warrior, old friend. I ask your pardon for whatever mistakes gave you grief, coming here…”
He turned and took the forearms of Rampage’s two companions, a pair at a time. “And to these Esteemed Hunters, welcome all. Sit at our hearth and share meat with us. Ceremony can stand in the field, for now.”
And they agreed, Dasrylion saying to Rampage, “Now let’s hear about your Master Hunt, brother. And don’t leave anything out.”
Rampage did not hear his friend’s stories until the next night; and by then, he was quite willing to cede his place at the fire… 

Chapter Twenty-One…The Ceremony

THE GREAT amphitheatre stood open to the sky. Seated in a wide semi-circle along its inner curve were the members of the Nine Systems Hunt Council. Behind each, a towering staff upheld a large medallion struck in silver, copper, hematite or gold, each carved in symbols representative of its delegate’s home world.
The local planetary Hunt Council of Arvien 4 had been given lesser status, set off to one side, and not on a dais; but they took opportunity by the throat and were dressed in all their Hunt medals and full regalia, with Reads-the-Wind holding his own tree-height staff high, to which someone had mounted a big alabaster and tan marble disc, to represent the likeness of this world.
On the raised dais before Nine Systems three young hunters stood, silent and proud. They were dressed in their finest gear, wearing the mementoes of their best hunts on the chains about their necks, which had been started with their first wilderness hunt, and which were added-to and heavier now.
Besides these, each young man wore something from his Master Hunt: Dasrylion, a magnificent full length white cape from the White Death; Rampage, resplendent in new belt, leathers and boots tooled from carnosaur hide; Renegade with the most unusual – a cape worn off-shoulder, and seeming from one angle to be not quite there, and from another, to be made of rainbow light. The polished skulls of their Master quarry lay at their feet.
They look splendid, Broken Spear thought, watching them. Their planet should be proud of them. I know I am. He too was dressed in full regalia, wearing his great cloak, his first skulled neckchain (of ancient vintage now), and a series of three medallions which depended from his neck: two mounted on an intricately-carved throat-collar of gleaming ivory and bone (a gift from a long ago deed) – and the last descending in a series of longer leather ribbons from his neck. He held a black newmetal spear as tall as himself, its wrap of striped hides and crest of bright red feathers typical of his clan. He stood off to the other side of the dais, one foot poised a step up, the other down on the ground.
Opposite the dais, filling the inner circle and facing the officials, sat an assemblage of the young hunters’ parents, families, and friends – such as there were on this world. Surprisingly, the local space station, P’taal 5, and the Dinosaur Clan had each sent representatives –Broken Spear even recognized He-Walks-Lightly and a few star captains in the crowd. Still, there were scarcely more spectators, including the documentariens, than there were of council and honorees.
There should be more, many more, thought the old warrior, to honor them. A Clan at least – no, three Clans should be here. But doubtless the documentariens would spread the news of this ceremony, and of these young hunters’ remarkable feats…
What he didn’t like was the fact that the young men remained standing while the Hunt Council sat. It would be most discourteous during a Clan ceremony. Ah well, he mused, these are new ways, new customs…and you must get used to them, old hunter. T’de’faal, you have won a personal victory getting all the Nine Systems Council here together in one place, not to mention the honor Renegade will receive here today…and the Arvien 4  hunters know how to behave, freeholders or not…
The Hunt Council Director was speaking, so Broken Spear collected his wandering thoughts to listen:
“And so we are gathered here this day to mark the rite of passage of these young men, Dasrylion, Rampage and Renegade of Arvien 4, on the successful completion of their Master Hunts; and to bestow upon them the title of Esteemed Hunter and Master of the Hunt…
“We have with us the Esteemed Great Warrior and Hunter T’akaion of Homeworld, who was the young hunters’ instructor and who has brought them all the way through their training. Master, will you present them with their awards now?”
A ripple went round the audience; several council members themselves shot surprised glances at their director. Broken Spear felt his anger flare. The presentation should be made by the Hunt Council Director himself, not by the teacher. Even back in the clan, it was the leader himself who made the presentation, to show all the members’ respect, even the highest-ranking. Even in this culture it should be no different – the Chief Hunter of the freehold would do it normally, and had, last time. 
And now the old warrior had been placed in a blind trap where he could not refuse to carry out the request, or he would slight the new hunters and ruin the ceremony.
He stared at the Council Director with such contempt that the other man dropped his eyes. Jealous fool. If you cannot honor them, then I will – in the old way.
Aloud, all he said was, “I would be honored to do so;” and the power of his great voice carried his certainty over the audience so strongly that he could sense their collective relief.
With a deliberate and stately tread, he walked over to the council table and picked up the three medallions without bending his head or his back to the man at the center – not to you, he thought. The Director might have been air for all the notice the old hunter took of him. The Deputy Director, who had been acting Elder to Dasrylion’s hunt, wore the trace of a smile on his features; he liked the old hunter’s style.
Turning away, Broken Spear draped the three glittering medallions over his great forearm: two were shaped rounds of gold and silver with a single diamond at each center, and the neck-ribbons the same colors. The third was different – a flashing, faceted circle shaped from a single diamite crystal. Its center stone was a ruby, its ribbons shone white, red and green…this was Renegade’s…a high honor for one so young…and if the director had not seen fit to mention it, Broken Spear would. He had some hideshare in making his presentation speeches, and he intended to use it.
He carried the honorariums, along with the tall spear, over to where the young hunters stood. They were very correct and still – only the wind moved among them.
Broken Spear set his spear into a notch drilled in stone for this very purpose, and went to stand directly before the Three. They were watching him intently: Is everything all right? Are we?
He gave them an easy smile – You are all right – lifted the first medallion from his arm, and inhaled.
Begin.
His great voice rang out: “Dasrylion, fine tracker, patient stalker, best of all my students on the trail…for your courage, for your integrity, for your survival skills – but most of all for your heroic slaying of not one but three of the deadly beasts known as the White Death, under the worst of conditions, you are awarded this insignia, and shall henceforth be known by all people as a Master of the Hunt. Hail, Esteemed Hunter!”  And he opened the bright ribbons and laid the brilliant medallion over the lad’s heart.
Dasrylion started to bow his head, but his teacher whispered, “T’churr; head up, son. You have earned this honor and deserve to be recognized.”
A little buzz of approval began with this draping, but the spectators would hold their full-throated appreciation till the last hunter had been named.
Broken Spear moved on to the next young man. He was doing them all, but separating them in his speech, so their individual honors would stand apart.
“Rampage, great challenger, surest arm, and best in combat of  all my students, for your valor and your tenacity in the face of the foe and of great pain – but most of all, for your magnificent feat in slaying not only the deadly raptors of the Dinosaur Planet, but the leader of dinosaurs himself, marking yourself as a leader of hunters—“ Rampage’s eyes filled, but he kept his head high – “you are awarded this insignia proclaiming you as a Master of the Hunt. Esteemed Hunter, hail!” And he lowered Rampage’s medallion over the young man’s head, his eyes returning the sparkle of Rampage’s own.
The murmur behind them grew.
Now to the third; and suddenly it felt right, as it should be, a Chief Hunter recognizing his own students, proclaiming to the People the victories of his own sons… Broken Spear raised the ribbons on high, so the medallion flashed and flamed in the light.
“Renegade. Valiant one, planner, tracker, fighter, weapons-master, most fearless of all my students – your award stands alone. It is a dual title – and the two have not been awarded together for nearly 200 years. Renegade, for your unselfish heroism and devotion to your People, for your courageous hunting-down and destruction of the murderous monster of P’taal 5 – you are awarded this joint insignia as both a Master of the Hunt and as a warrior, protector of your People…” he held the young man’s eyes deliberately as he bestowed the honor upon him; and Renegade’s eyes went to slits and his head tipped back to receive it… “Hail, Esteemed Hunter; Esteemed Warrior…Hail!”
And a mighty roar burst from the crowd at last.
Broken Spear stepped back, smiling at them, his students, his hunters triumphant. He stood there a long time, until the audience realized something else was going to happen, and gradually quieted down.
The old warrior said very softly, so that only the Three could hear, “I am proud of you – I am so proud of you all. Allow me to honor you also.”
He retrieved his weapon from its holder and came back before them. Then he filled his lungs and sent his great voice forth again:
“It was a custom of our forbearers, those mighty warriors of old, and a custom which I wish to repeat here today” – out of one eye-corner he caught uneasy movement among the Council members…
“—that when the students so far exceed their teacher in prowess, they be so acknowledged by that teacher, on behalf of all our people. Rampage, Dasrylion, Renegade…” and his voice humbled…”all my sons in the Hunt, I beg you to accept this acknowledgement from me. Esteemed Hunters all, I honor you and salute you….”
And to their utter astonishment, to the heartfelt outcries of the assembled, gripping his spear for support, the great warrior, renowned throughout the Nine Systems and many worlds beyond, went down on one knee and bowed his head before them.
Renegade made an agonized sound in his throat, and the other two trembled at their posts. But something in Broken Spear’s manner held them, and they accepted what he gave them.
The onlookers went wild. A tremendous ROOOAAR of approval exploded from them, it filled the amphitheatre and shocked the birds in their courses overhead.
Suddenly the People were on their feet, their accolade like thunder – and even the Hunt Council stood at last, led by the Deputy Director – who pulled the Director upright with him: “Stand; do you want to shame us all?” he snapped at his leader.
It went on and on, the vocal thunder, while the newly-esteemed hunters trembled for what seemed an endless time; until Renegade could stand it no longer, and broke from his stance, the other two right behind him – to throw their arms around the old hunter’s neck in a heartfelt outpouring of love and respect that brought the crowd to another tumultuous high…
And when the old warrior returned the embrace, even the onlookers could see the chain of tears that glistened upon his face.
It was the best Hunt Ceremony anyone had ever seen. It would grow into legend, and outlive them all…
…Exactly as the old hunter had intended and foreseen.