Labyrinth of Worlds (Star Requiem Book 4) by Adrian Cole

Author:Adrian Cole [Cole, Adrian]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Open Road Media Sci-Fi & Fantasy
Published: 2014-04-01T00:00:00+00:00

Ungertel sniffed the air like a rodent. Above him the huge girders angled this way and that like black pillars holding up an even blacker sky, deep under the surface of the Warhive. There were several of the Girder Folk with him. They enjoyed hunting with him, for he carried the long weapon, the pike that he had been given by Gehennon, former lord of their Hive. Ungertel's fingers tightened around the haft of the well-crafted weapon. Each time he took it out to hunt, he recalled the Man who had first brought it down to the levels of the Girder Folk. The Man Pyramors. A powerful gladiator, a moillum from above, fleeing from the cold justice of the Csendook, whom he had offended. And the woman, Jannovar, the incredibly lovely woman, the like of whom none of the Girder Folk had imagined.

It was good that Gehennon had helped Pyramors and his beautiful woman to a safer World. These realms were not for them. This was a place of ghosts, a place of misery. One lived as one could, hunting the huge rats and the spider-things and other monsters that crawled and hopped about the gigantic girders of the construction. For Ungertel and the Girder Folk these realms were home. But Men, true Men, should be free. Free to walk on the surface, under a true sky, and hunt the beasts that roamed such plains.

Ungertel deployed his hunters. They were after something they had seen earlier, a dark, slithering something that was slipping downwards towards a junction of girders. Other hunters were closing in. There would be a fight, some of them might even perish. But they would have food at the end of it. If Gehennon had remained here among them, he would have been much pleased.

'There is something else approaching,' a voice whispered close to Ungertel.

He cursed inwardly. Rival hunters from another Hive? It was always a danger. There were constant skirmishes. Food was sometimes difficult to come by.

'There!'

Ungertel peered into the gloom. On a smaller girder running parallel to the one he was on, he could discern figures. But he knew at once they were no danger. Both looked injured, or exhausted. More fleeing rebels?

'See to the hunt,' he told the one beside him. 'I'll cross over.' He slipped on ahead, taking another spoke of metal that swung him out precariously over the utter blackness that was the drop down into the very heart of the Warhive. Already he had forgotten the hunt: here all fugitives were a priority. It was the code of the Girder Folk. There could never be enough of them, and strength stemmed from numbers.

Ungertel stepped lightly on to the girder where the two figures moved. The light was poor, filtering down from torches high above where another party was engaged in a hunt. Ungertel had deliberately told his own hunters to work without other light as they did not want to frighten off the thing they were hunting. Light often caused them to lose possible kills.

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