Scout's Honor: A Planetary Romance

by Henry Vogel

  Rough-voice motioned to the biggest and strongest of the bunch, “Sarn, teach that guy what happens to people who get in my way.”

  Sarn grinned and charged. The others grinned, too. I guessed Sarn was known for beating down anyone who displeased rough-voice. At least all of the attention was on me and no one was trying to kill Nist.

  The way Sarn moved revealed everything to me. He showed no subtlety, no grace. He relied entirely on size and strength. Sarn was a brawler, not a fighter. I wouldn’t need Boost to handle him.

  As we drew together, I tucked, rolled, and came up at him with my fists together, driving with my legs. Sarn folded around my punch, his breath whooshing out. I flowed into a spin kick and Sarn reeled. He collapsed, gasping to draw breath, at rough-voice’s feet. My sword was at rough-voice’s throat before the others could react.

  “Let. Them. Go.”

  The two thugs released Nist and Milo.

  “Now the medicine kit,” I said to rough-voice. His face darkened, so I added, “You can give it to me or I’ll take it from your corpse. It’s all the same to me.”

  “Don’t think you’ve won,” rough-voice said, tossing the medicine kit to Nist. "Once the trogs are run out of the city, I’ll report you to the authorities. I’ve got connections in the guard. Who do you think they’ll believe, us four citizens or some street urchin and two foreigners?”

  The threat was so ludicrous I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing.

  “Please do make that report. I’m willing to bet my connections are a tad bit better than yours,” I said. Rough-voice’s face went slack, unsure how to respond to my laughter. "You deserve a sound thrashing, but I’ve got more important things to do right now. If I see you again, though...”

  I whacked rough-voice on the side of the head with the flat of my blade. He flinched, backed away, then turned and stalked away.

  Moments later we were back at Milo’s hiding place. Callan drew Milo away from his sister and, with a little prompting, got Milo to launch into a breathless and mostly accurate account of their exploits. Nist gave the kit to Tristan and we joined him at the wounded woman’s bedside.

  “I’ve asked Her Highness to keep the boy distracted,” Tristan murmured. "His sister has a deep spear wound in her side. The surgery will be tricky and she might not survive it!”

  Chapter 67

  I looked at Milo, somersaulting to demonstrate my attack on Sarn. Callan smiled, laughed, and gasped in all the right places, her attention seemingly riveted on Milo. Her eyes betrayed her true emotions—worry for her people, concern for Milo’s sister, and sympathy for the boy capering before her.

  Milo came to the breathless end of his story, adding, “Now that we’ve got the medicine, the Desert Doctor will save Kim!”

  “Such faith the young man has in an old man like me,” sighed Tristan.

  “He should have faith,” said Nist. "But you are not an old man.”

  “I’m not?” Tristan raised an eyebrow.

  “Not at all, Master. You are a very old man!”

  Tristan’s lips twitched upward, “That’s the final insult I take from you, scamp. I’m writing you out of my will!”

  Tristan turned to me, “I hate to send you out again, lad, but I need a few medical items for the girl’s recovery. I’ve made a list.”

  “I can speak this language, Tristan. I can’t read it,” I said.

  “Not surprising, considering how you learned the language. Take Milo. He shouldn’t be here during the surgery, anyway,” Tristan said. “And remind me to start teaching you to read when we find time to spare.”

  Milo scanned the list, relieved to have something to do other than sit around and worry about his sister.

  “What do you need liquor for?” he asked.

  “I don’t have any anesthesia in the medicine kit. Drinking it will help Kim with the pain,” Tristan said.

  “It’s not to calm your nerves? My Uncle Torm always said that, but I knew better,” Milo said, looking hard at Tristan.

  “It most certainly is not!” Tristan replied in indignation.

  Milo stared at Tristan for another moment. Whatever he saw satisfied him and we headed out. Our first stop was a nearby apothecary. It had already been picked clean.

  “Gort and his gang probably took it all,” Milo mused.

  “Gort’s the thug from the rooftop?” At Milo’s nod, I continued, “Any idea where we can find him?”

  “He’ll be holed up in a bar somewhere,” Milo said. “I think I know where to look. And liquor is on the list.”

  Milo led me across the rooftops for nearly a kilometer. It was dusk when he pointed to a bar across the street. I was about to drop to the street when I saw Sarn. He sprinted from an alley, crossed the street, and ran into the bar. That’s when we found out we weren’t the only ones who had spotted Sarn.

  A dozen trogs ran out of the same alley and charged toward the bar!

  Chapter 68

  As if my day hadn’t been busy enough already, now I was about to risk my life for Gort and his gang of thugs! Well, for their hoard of supplies, anyway. But rescuing the thugs would be a byproduct.

  “Milo, stay here and stay hidden,” I said. "If I’m not out in fifteen minutes, go report this to the princess.”

  “Report? That’s it?” Milo asked.

  “That will be enough. The princess must be told what has happened,” I said. Callan would need to be told, but I also didn’t want Milo getting himself killed trying to help me. "Can I count on you?”

  Milo nodded as shouts rose from the bar. I cast a smile at Milo, jumped down, then dashed across the street and into the bar.

  The fading daylight offered little illumination within the bar. Windows on the far side of the room silhouetted the chaos inside. Brawny Sarn swung two big clubs with enough force and wild abandon to keep four trogs at bay. Gort was behind the bar, cocking a crossbow, while the other two thugs stood on the other side of the bar swinging swords with great enthusiasm and little skill. The trogs before them had no more concept of unit tactics than any other trogs I’d fought, allowing the thugs’ efforts to be more successful than they deserved to be. One trog lay within the door, a crossbow bolt through one eye.

  I couldn’t risk Boosting so soon after the fight in the alley. So, instead of charging into the center of the action, I stayed on the outskirts of the fight. A trog lurched back to avoid Sarn’s wind-milling clubs. I ran him through before he even knew I was there. Gort fired his crossbow at the same time, the quarrel punching through another trog’s chest and out the back. In the confusion caused by the sudden loss of two of their squad, I charged in among the trogs and slashed deeply into another trog’s leg. Gort’s eyes went wide when he saw me. The wounded trog’s leg buckled and he yelled a warning to the others as he fell. Two trogs turned and came at me in a rush, driving me back toward the door.

  One of the trogs looked past me to the doorway. Guessing that couldn’t be good for me, I jumped to the left. The trog spear meant for my neck gouged my right shoulder. Pain flared from the deep cut and my hand spasmed. With a clatter, my sword fell to the floor, leaving me unarmed and surrounded by trogs.

  Spears raised, the trogs closed in for the kill!

  Chapter 69

  With no weapon in hand, I was in big trouble! My only choice was to Boost and hope I’d stay conscious after the fight. I tried not to think how badly things would go for me if Gort and his crew had me at their mercy. Then I heard a thunk from behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the trog in the doorway topple toward me. I spun behind the falling trog, holding him between me and the two other trogs’ attacks. The trogs realized their error too late. Two spears plunged into the chest of the trog I held..

  Agony shot through my wounded shoulder as I shoved the bleeding trog into the other two. All three went down in a heap. Picking up my sword, I ordered my implant to release a pain killer and a fast-acting analgesic flowed into my blood stream. Agony receding, I finished
off the three trogs then rejoined the battle.

  A minute later, all of the trogs were dead. One of Gort’s sword-wielding thugs was dead and Sarn sat against the back wall holding a deep leg wound. Milo stood at the door, a long, stout piece of wood in his hands.

  “I told you to stay on the roof,” I said.

  “I saw another trog coming to the bar,” Milo said. "Kim needs the medicine more than your princess needs a report. Besides, I saved your life!”

  “Those are all good points,” I admitted.

  “Ain’t that sweet,” Gort said. "Now, get out of my bar before I shoot you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  Gort stared at me.

  “For saving your worthless lives,” I said.

  “We didn’t need none of your help,” he said.

  “Are you delusional?” I asked. “I killed six of the trogs and my friend took care of a seventh. You’d be dead or captured without us!”

  “Gort?” said Sarn. "I need a doctor.”

  Gort said, “We don’t got a doctor.”

  “I do,” I said. "The Desert Doctor is part of my group. I’ll take Sarn to him in exchange for the supplies I need.”

  Gort shook his head, “Sorry Sarn, that cut ain’t worth giving away any of my supplies. Time to prove how tough—”

  A chair smashed over Gort’s head. His eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled to the floor.

  “You really got a doctor?” the third thug asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You and the kid carry the supplies,” he said. "I’ll help Sarn.”

  Minutes later, Tal—the third thug—braced Sarn and we headed out into a city teeming with trogs. We were in no condition for any kind of fight. Darkness and luck were our only allies. I prayed they would be enough for us to get back to Milo’s hiding place.

  Chapter 70

  We moved at a snail’s pace. Crossing the street seemed to take forever, but it was fast compared to the climb to the rooftops. Unable to run for cover, we froze at every sound. The thirty minute trip to the bar dragged out to a two and a half hour trek back. Sarn was exhausted from blood loss and pain and the rest of us were all on edge by the time we got to the hiding place.

  One look at Callan showed that I’d had the far easier task. She sat huddled in a corner, hugging her knees, her face drawn and pale. She was absently twiddling a thick leather strap. It was damp with saliva and had fresh bite marks ground into it. Without anesthesia for Milo’s sister, the surgery must have been horribly painful for Kim and horribly unnerving for Callan.

  Tristan took charge of the medical supplies, ordering Nist to prepare various concoctions for Kim’s wound. While Nist was busy with the medicine, Tristan examined Sarn’s wound and mine. Proclaiming mine to be a minor wound and not in need of immediate attention, Tristan selected a bottle of liquor. With a nod toward Callan, he gave it to me.

  I crossed to where Callan sat and, sinking to the floor, offered the bottle to Callan, “Drink.”

  She didn’t take the bottle, but her eyes widened when she saw my bloody shoulder.

  “Tristan says it’s not serious,” I said, pressing the bottle to her lips and tilting it up. “Now, drink!”

  Callan swallowed. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes watered.

  “Are you trying to poison me, David?” she gasped.

  “Doctor’s orders,” I said, waving the bottle toward Tristan before also taking a drink. "Now, tell me about it or I’ll give you another drink!”

  Callan leaned into me and I drew her close. From his corner, the trussed-up and now-conscious Raoul glared at me.

  Callan looked at Milo’s sister. "She was so brave during the surgery. She never cried out once, but she nearly bit through the leather strap.”

  Once Callan began, the words tumbled out. Callan told me of the pain reflected in Kim’s eyes as Tristan operated, her crushing grip as Callan held her hand, her unending stream of tears, and how she held her body rigidly still so Tristan could operate.

  “I felt so helpless,” Callan said. “All I could do was stroke her head, hold her hand, offer empty words, and look her in the eye.”

  I wrapped my other arm around her, holding her tightly. Before I could offer my own empty words, Tal squatted down before me.

  “The doctor said I should talk to you,” he said. "He says maybe I got the answer.”

  “The answer to what?” I asked.

  Tal replied, “Beating the trogs!”

  Chapter 71

  “You know how to get rid of the trogs?” I asked.

  Tal said, “The doctor says I do.”

  “Well?”

  Tal’s brow furrowed. It was easy to see how Tal had fallen in with Gort. Tal was a born follower, not particularly bright and generally happy to have someone else making his decisions for him. It made his attack against Gort all the more surprising. Sarn must be a really good friend for Tal to have taken such initiative.

  “What did you say before the doctor sent you to me?’ I asked.

  Tal’s face cleared, “I was talking to him about the challenges.”

  “What challenges?”

  “The big trog has one every morning,” Tal said. "At dawn, an old guy with the trog calls for a challenger.”

  “Guy? You mean a man?”

  “Yeah, he’s a man but he talks trog, too,” Tal said.

  “Tell me about the challenge,” I said.

  “Not much to tell,” he replied. "Sometimes a prisoner volunteers, sometimes the trogs pull a prisoner out of the crowd. They fight, the man dies, and then the trogs all chant something.”

  “Is there anything else you can remember?” I asked.

  Tal shook his head but Milo, who had been listening from his sister’s bedside, nodded.

  “Yeah, there’s one more thing,” Milo said. "When the trogs pull a challenger out of the pen, they just toss the body on a big fire when the fight is over. When someone volunteers to fight the leader, the trogs make a pyre and hold a short ceremony. It’s like a trog funeral or something.”

  That was interesting and might even give some insight into trog culture.

  “Do they fight with weapons or is it hand-to-hand?” I asked.

  “People who volunteer get to choose weapons,” Milo said. “The ones they pull from the pen have to fight hand-to-hand.”

  “Thank you, both. That’s very helpful,” I said.

  Tal went back to Sarn and Milo turned his attention back to his sister.

  “A lot of primitive cultures allow challenges to determine tribal supremacy,” I said. “Holding a challenge each morning is a simple way for the leader to demonstrate his dominance over the humans in the city.”

  “You don’t know if that’s what the trog leader is doing,” Callan said.

  “It makes sense, Callan,” I said. “Warrior cultures respect courage, so the bodies of those who volunteer to fight are treated with respect.”

  From the other corner, Raoul rocked back and forth, trying to talk around the gag I’d stuffed in his mouth.

  “Tal,” I said, “take the gag out of his mouth.”

  Tal did and Raoul spat, “There’s no need to risk your precious royal guard, Callan. I will challenge the trog leader!”

  Chapter 72

  Let Raoul challenge the trog leader. That was such a tempting thought that I almost agreed to it. But no matter the appeal of the idea, it was one fraught with problems of its own.

  “It has to be me,” I said to Callan. “You can’t allow Raoul to go in my place.

  “How very noble of you,” Raoul sneered. "This is your chance to save your lover, Callan! You can always send him off to be killed if I fail.”

  “Tal?” I asked. "Put the gag back in the prince’s mouth.”

  “I forbid that, peasant!” Raoul snarled.

  Tal backed away, saying, “I don’t think so. He might bite me.”

  “He’s just desperate enough that he might,” I agreed. "If he doe
s, you have my permission to hit his head against the wall until he stops biting.”

  Tal brightened, “Thanks!”

  “You cretin!” Raoul said. "I’ll see you hanged for—”

  Tal stuffed the gag in Raoul’s mouth, cutting him off. Raoul did not bite Tal. I was a little disappointed. I think I would have enjoyed watching Raoul’s head bounce off the wall a few times.

  “You keep insisting I shouldn’t send Raoul. Why?” Callan asked.

  “I think you know the reasons, Highness,” I said. "First, he could run off. I know that’s not very heroic, but Raoul isn’t much of a hero.”

  That earned Raoul’s nastiest glare yet.

  “He could lose the challenge,” I continued, “leaving you to explain to his family—including your future husband—why you allowed a Tartegian prince to die fighting Mordan’s battle. And if Raoul won, you’d have to explain to the Mordanian people why a Tartegian prince fought to save them while a Mordanian guardsman stood by.”

  “Oh, David,” Callan said, “losing Rob has been hard enough. I don’t think I could bear it if I lost you, too!”

  “You’re stronger than you think Callan. You can bear it,” I said. “You will bear it if necessary. Your people need you to be strong enough to do that which must be done.”

  Callan sighed and pulled away from me. She composed herself and the tired, frightened young woman was replaced by the regal Princess Callan, heir to the throne of Mordan.

  In formal tones, she said, “David Rice, Captain of my Royal Guard, I request and require you to save my people. At dawn, you will challenge the trog leader and defeat him in single combat!”

  Chapter 73

  “Requeshed and require?” a voice slurred before I could answer. "Ish she some kinda prinshesh or shomething?”

  “Kim!” cried Milo, a grin splitting his face. "You’re alive! And awake! And drunk!”