Free The Hunter Victorious by Rose Estes Page A

to believe that some form of divine intervention had led them to this place. There were tall hills covered with thick
     stands of trees, lush valleys thick with grasses, and vast bodies of water. The climate was warm—warm enough that they were
     able to shed their heavyprotective clothing. Only later, as the new world continued to cool, did they learn that the sun that shone upon it was dying,
     that this world had endured a lengthy period of superheating as the dying sun expanded and that now it was contracting and
     cooling. But even worse was the fact that the planet was barren of life. No fish swam in the waters, no birds winged their
     way across the vast empty skies, no insect trundled, no snake writhed, no animal trod anywhere on this new earth.
    They had brought such things with them, to be sure—a miniature ark, as it were, with all manner of life-forms stored in embryo
     form. But they had never imagined that it would be necessary to establish an entire food chain. Fish were spawned, birds were
     hatched, meat animals and beasts of burden were born, but vital links were missing and the newly created creatures either
     died for lack of sustenance or were fed by human assistance. With the single exception of the grazing animals, none were able
     to forage for themselves.
    As the world grew increasingly colder and snow and ice began to creep down the slopes of the mountains, it had become necessary
     to abandon their dwellings and colonize the hollow interior of the largest of the mountains, which Otir Vaeng christened Asgard.
    A door opened at the far side of the room and Skirnir, Otir Vaeng’s prime minister, sidled to the king’s side bearing a heated
     mug of the herbal tea the king drank each night to soothe his nerves and allow him two or three hours of sleep.
    “What news, Skirnir?” asked the king as his fingers closed around the steaming mug.
    “It is too early to say, sire,” Skirnir replied, his narrow eyes darting nervously around the room, never resting for more
     than a few seconds on any one object, a disconcerting habit that still annoyed the king despite their many yearstogether. “The guards have been sent but as yet have not returned. I anticipate no trouble. What can two old men do against
     a dozen armed guards?”
    “You’re a fool to underestimate them, Skirnir, as I have told you a hundred times before. They are clever, resourceful, and
     bold. Nor are they acting alone. Do not forget Braldt. He has proved himself quite adept at evading our best attempts to dispatch
     him.”
    “Skeggi, Mostrarskegg, Thorwald… who would have thought that he could have defeated—killed—the very best of my berserkers?
     I shall miss them.” The king fell silent, peering down into the dark swirls of his mug. “Are the burial plans completed?”
     he asked with a heavy sigh.
    “Yes, sire. The funeral will take place six days hence. I have been thinking,” Skirnir said quickly. “I have devised a plan
     that will bind many of our enemies to us, silence their opposition, and still some of the people’s concerns. It is a plan
     that I do not think can fail.”
    “Come, man, speak out plainly. Let’s have none of your self-serving double-talk. What is this clever plan?”
    “You must take yourself a bride.…” began Skirnir, holding up his hands and backing away, his nervous eyes darting in all directions
     except toward the king. “Wait, I beg you, hear me out. This is a bride like no other bride. You must wed the Duroni girl,
     Keri, and you must take her to bride in the old manner as the ancient kings once did, in a ceremony filled with pomp and circumstance
     and blessed by the gods. It will tie in with the funeral, don’t you see, death and rebirth, a promise for the future. It will
     take the people by surprise and still many of their voices. It will buy you valuable time.”
    “I have no time for marriage,” growled Otir Vaeng, but it was clear that he was intrigued by the