The Hunter Victorious by Rose Estes

the quick tears that came to her eyes. She had no alternative
     but to do as Skirnir demanded. Where were Braldt and Brandtson and Uba Mintch? She tried to keep her spirits high by telling
     herself that they would search her out, that they would not allow any harm to come to her, and she tried desperately to believe
     that it was so.
    Barat Krol faced the gathering of Madrelli whom he had awakened from sleep and struggled to control his anger. How could they
     be so stubborn? Why could they not understandwhat he was trying to tell them? The message, the words, were certainly simple enough. It was almost as though they chose
     not to understand. But how could that be? Why would anyone choose to be a slave when they could be free?
    “Listen to me,” he tried once again. The Madrelli stared back at him with little or no interest in their dull, flat eyes.
     Several of the males yawned broadly and two of the younger females had already curled themselves into balls and returned to
     sleep. “It is not right for any man to own another, to, enslave him and his children for his own gain. You are not animals
     to be bought and sold. Your lives belong to you, not to the Scandis. You must join together and defy them, take control of
     your own destiny!”
    He stared at them angrily; they stared back. “But we
are
animals,” one large male said slowly. “Why are you so angry with us? Why do you say such things? Who are you? We do not even
     know you.”
    “I have told you,” he said, breathing deeply and trying to keep control of his considerable temper. “My name is Barat Krol.
     I am Madrelli, just like you.”
    “You look like a Madrelli, but we do not know you,” a large female with a prominent jutting brow said belligerently. “You
     do not talk like us. You talk like them.” The others began to mutter among themselves and stare at Barat Krol with suspicion.
    “I am not one of them; I am one of you, a Madrelli, as you can plainly see. I come from a different world, but that does not
     change who or what I am.”
    “You are dumb. There is no other world!” a young Madrelli said, then hooted with laughter, only to be struck across the face
     by the back of his mother’s hand. He whimpered without knowing what he had done.
    “Another world?” asked the large male, clearly perplexed.
    “I think there are other worlds,” an older female, her coatstreaked with gray, said slowly. “I had forgotten about that. I knew about it once.”
    “There are many other worlds,” Barat Krol said quietly, hoping that their attention would hold and wondering why they were
     so ignorant of themselves and the world they lived in. “There are many Madrelli as well on those other worlds.”
    “What are they doing there? Why are they not here?” another male asked, curiosity shining brightly in his eyes.
    “They have been sent to the other worlds, just as I was, just as all my tribe were, to do the Scandis’ work for them.”
    “The Scandis should do their own work,” muttered the sullen youngster.
    “I agree, they should do their own work; that is why I am here,” said Barat Krol.
    “How you gonna make ’em do that?” asked the youngster. “That’s what they got us for. Do this! Do that! Makes me mad sometimes!”
     The female looked aghast and lifted her hand as though to strike him again.
    “Good! That’s exactly how you should feel!” said Barat Krol. The youngster sat up straight and shot a triumphant look at his
     mother, who stared at Barat Krol in astonishment.
    “You want us to be mad at the Scandis! Why? They take care of us. They give us a place to live and food to eat. They are our
     masters. Why should we be mad at them?” Many eyes turned to Barat Krol.
    “Of course they feed you and give you a place to live,” he replied with a sigh. “How could you work for them if they did not
     provide you with your basic needs? But why should you work for them? Why are they your masters? No one has the right to