Scout's Honor: A Planetary Romance

by Henry Vogel

  Milo rushed to his sister, quickly followed by Tristan and Nist. Sarn and Tal appeared to have fallen asleep against the far wall. Only Raoul saw Callan take me by the hand and pull me outside.

  She led me up to the rooftop and then melted against me. We just held each other and it was as if time no longer existed. All our worries faded into the background as we lived in the moment.

  “David? Your Highness?” Milo’s voice broke the spell. He came up onto the rooftop and saw us. "Whoa! Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt!”

  “What is it, Milo?” Callan asked, looking his way but staying wrapped in my arms.

  “Tristan and I just wanted to make sure you two were safe,” Milo said. Ducking back toward the hiding place, he added, “I’m glad you’re taking your job seriously, David!”

  Callan cast a quizzical look at me, “What does that mean?”

  “I’m, um, guarding your royal body,” I grinned.

  Callan clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle and her body shook as she laughed for the first time in days. It was good to hear her laugh. And it was good to feel her laughter, too.

  When she was still again, I said, “I don’t know the formal words to answer your question.”

  “I know your answer, David,” Callan said. "But the formal phrase is accept and accede.”

  “What is it with royalty and alliteration?” I asked. “Request and require, accept and—”

  Callan pulled my head down toward hers. “Oh hush and kiss me.”

  “I accept and accede,” I replied.

  Then time went away again.

  Callan and I were dozing in each other’s arms when Tristan and Tal came for me.

  “It’ll be dawn soon,” Tristan said. “Time to go, lad.”

  Tal, my guide, was armed with a crossbow and a sword.

  I gave Callan a last embrace then shook Tristan’s hand. For his ears only, I said, “If anything happens to me, Tristan...”

  “I’ll see her safely home, lad,” he said. "You can count on that.”

  I shared one last look with Callan, then Tal and I set off to challenge the trog leader.

  Chapter 74

  We made our way across the rooftops in silence. Only as we neared the center of town did Tal break the silence.

  “This is gonna be easy for you, right?”

  “Why do you think that?” I asked.

  “Because you can do that boost thing. The kid, Milo, he told me about it,” Tal replied.

  “It’s not as useful against a single opponent as you might think,” I said. "A group never has the time to adjust to my quickness and that messes up their teamwork. Many times they end up hurting themselves more than I hurt them. A single fighter can adjust faster and better.”

  “If you say so,” Tal muttered, unconvinced.

  “I’ll use it if things get really desperate,” I added, “But I’d rather save the Boost in case I have to make a run for it after the fight. Like if the trogs attack me if I win.”

  Tal nodded, that last bit seemed to make sense to him.

  By that time we had reached the rooftops overlooking the trog camp. It sprawled throughout the town square and into a small park next to the square. The sky was just bright enough for me to make out a few details. Trogs were everywhere; cooking, eating, sharpening spears, standing guard, or just sitting around doing nothing. On the edge of the park, a rough fence had been built. The human prisoners were packed inside the fence, many watching the lightening horizon with what I could only guess was apprehension.

  “Stay hidden up here, Tal,” I said. "If I have to make a run for it, cover fire from your crossbow will help a lot.”

  Tal hunkered down on the roof and said, “You got it.” As I turned away, he added, “Whack that trog upside the head once for me!”

  I moved along the rooftop, getting far away from Tal while keeping an eye on the camp. I came to an empty alley and jumped down into it. I slipped to the mouth of the alley and waited for the challenge. It wasn’t long in coming.

  “Humans!” a man’s voice called. "Once again, the Great One will allow one of you to issue challenge to him! Who will face him in single combat? Who will represent humanity against the greatest warrior who has ever lived?”

  Stepping out from the alley, I called out loudly, “I, Scout First Class David Rice, will challenge the Great One!”

  Chapter 75

  There were four trogs loafing near the alley. They all jumped as if stung when my challenge rang out. Silence fell across the camp and all heads turned my way as I strode toward the man who spoke for the trog leader. I had expected a young man, maybe someone captured as a boy and raised among the trogs. This man was on the high end of middle-age, with thinning, gray hair, a full, white beard, and muscular build. It appeared he had done well for himself serving this Great One.

  The penned humans stared at me in disbelief as I strode past. I gave them my brightest smile.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, injecting as much confidence into my voice as possible, “Once I win this challenge, I’ll have you out of there as quickly as possible.”

  The people in the pen began talking at once. Some of comments filtered out of the crowd. I heard "brave" several times and "foolhardy" even more often. I couldn’t blame them. I’d probably have thought the same thing in their place.

  Beyond the old man who spoke for the Great One stood a trog who must be the Great One. He was exceptionally tall for a trog—close to my own height—and looked like he was solid muscle. His body bore the scars of many battles. It was what I’d expected to see but would have been happy to have been proven wrong.

  “You’re the first man to come out of the city to issue challenge,” said the man. "The Great One respects your courage and grants you the choice of weapons.”

  “Before I make that choice, could I ask some questions first?” I said.

  “You may,” he intoned.

  “Do we fight to first blood, until one of the warriors concedes, or to the death?”

  “The victor may show mercy if his opponent concedes. Do not count on receiving it,” he responded.

  “What happens if I win?” I asked.

  The man laughed, “That will not happen!”

  “Humor me,” I said.

  “Should the impossible happen and you somehow defeat the Great One, you will be the new Great One, leader of all the trogs!” he said.

  “Prepare for new management, then,” I said, loudly enough to be heard within the pen. “And what weapons do the trogs use in challenges among themselves?”

  “They use only the weapons the gods granted them when they enter the world,” he replied.

  I unbuckled my sword belt and laid it on the ground.

  I said, “Then I will fight the Great One as the trogs fight—hand-to-hand. No weapons!”

  Chapter 76

  “Why fight no weapons?”

  It was the first thing the trog leader had said since I had arrived, but I recognized his voice. I’d first heard that voice when we were trapped in the cellar of the trading post. It was deep, rasping, and inhuman—a perfect match for the hulking trog standing before me.

  “I must win as you won or your people might not obey me.” I said.

  The Great One chuffed once—a short laugh, I guessed—then seemed to lose interest in further talk. His human translator, on the other hand, gave me a hard stare.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Is there any more to issuing challenge than what I’ve already done?” I asked, ignoring the translator’s question. "Do I have to beat my breast, brag about all of the men I have slain and the women I have wooed, stuff like that?”

  “No, there is no breast-beating or bragging required,” the man said. "The only thing left for you to do is fight and die.”

  The man leaned close to me, speaking quietly and with an authority absent from his public proclamations, “If you could, please die quickly. I have quite a lot to do today and this s
pectacle has already taken up far too much of my time.”

  Now my curiosity was piqued. There was a lot more going on between the translator and the trog leader than met the eye. Who was the translator and how had he ended up with the trogs? I no longer thought he was a trog captive who had been kept alive to serve the Great One. There was no subservience in the man’s voice or manner. Was the Great One just a necessary figurehead for the translator? What complications would I face if I defeated the Great One?

  Was every conspiracy on this planet Gordian in complexity?

  “A challenge has been issued!” called the man, once again using the more subservient tone. "Is the challenge accepted?”

  “Yes,” said the Great One.

  I wrenched my attention back to the challenge. I had enough problems without adding the puzzle of the translator to the mix.

  The translator backed away from me and called, “Fight!”

  The Great One hunched down, spread his arms wide and charged!

  Chapter 77

  I got the idea the big trog expected me to run from him. Instead, I went for the unexpected and charged at the Great One! I couldn’t play it safe and hope to win. The trog slowed for just a second, letting me know I’d made the right choice.

  Just outside of the reach of the charging trog, I dove head first. I spun in the air and landed on my back. The dew-soaked grass was slick and I slid fast. The Great One had been ready to grapple with me and couldn’t adjust to my surprise move. I slid under his grasping hands and between his legs. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I threw my arms back against the trog’s shins. His balance thrown off, the Great One toppled forward. As he fell over me, I kicked up with both legs. My feet caught him in the stomach and launched him into a flip.

  With a grunt of pain, the trog landed hard on his back. I rolled to my feet. The Great One rolled over onto his hands and knees, struggling to regain his feet. While he was defenseless, I darted in and kicked him in the face. His head snapped back and a howl of pain burst from his lips. I skipped away as the Great One rose to a crouch. Blood dripped from his nose and anger burned in his eyes.

  Again, the Great One opened his arms wide and advanced, but he was much more cautious this time. It looked like trogs fought up close, grappling with each other. I guessed that was his plan for me. I was sure he could crush me with those long, powerful arms. I had to wear him down with hit and fade attacks. That would take time and, as a bonus, interfere with the translator’s busy schedule.

  I charged right at the now-cautious trog, dodged right just before he could grab me, and landed a blow to his ear. Again, I was dancing away before the big trog could react.

  I landed two more quick hits before the Great One lost his patience and came at me in a full out charge. Again, I dodged before landing a punch where a man’s left kidney would be. The Great One roared in pain. He may not have a kidney where I’d hit, but whatever was there was vital.

  I was feeling good. The Great One not only hadn’t hit me, he was flailing about with clumsy sweeps of his arms. He had no idea how to react to my style of fighting. As long as I kept moving and avoided his sweeping arms, I was sure I could wear the trog down.

  I feinted and skipped away, frustrating the Great One even more. His lips were pulled back in a snarl of rage. I was preparing for another furious charge from the big trog when I sensed someone behind me.

  “You asked how trogs fight,” the translator said quietly. "It’s time to find out!”

  He shoved me toward the angry trog. With a roar of triumph, the Great One wrapped his arms around me and squeezed!

  Chapter 78

  All I could see was blue skin as the Great One crushed me against his chest and pinned my arms against my side. Hot, fetid breath assaulted my nose as the trog roared. I breathed in short gasps, the best I could manage while in the Great One’s deadly embrace. My feet still touched the ground but I had no leverage. Without it, I couldn’t lift the trog off his feet or force him to fall backward.

  I pounded my forehead into the trog’s face, breaking his nose and blackening his eyes. He roared in pain but his relentless grip never broke. I tried stomping his feet but, after my first attempt, he lifted me off the ground. Then I tried kicking his shins, but he held fast and even tightened his grip.

  Spots swam before my eyes as I struggled to remember my academy training in xenozoology, but nothing useful came to mind. I was sure I must have learned something at the academy that would help me survive this fight. And then I recalled something the academy martial arts instructor had taught us.

  “Nature works pretty much the same throughout the galaxy,” he’d said. "All twelve of the sentient, bipedal races are vulnerable in nearly identical ways. There just aren’t many protected places in a bipedal body in which to put vital organs. Just remember, any place your body is vulnerable, chances are an alien biped is vulnerable there, too.”

  Remembering my punch to the kidney, I rammed my knee between the trog’s legs.

  The Great One’s eyes rolled back and a strangled moan escaped. His grip eased and I took my first good breath in what seemed like years. My arms were still pinned, so I rammed my knee into the trog’s groin a second time.

  The trog’s grip relaxed further and I was able to wriggle free of it. Now that I was free from the Great One’s crushing grip, I put everything I had into a last kick between the trog’s legs. With a howl, he reeled away from me and dropped to his knees, hands protecting his groin. I drew several great breaths and considered how to finish the fight.

  “Foul blow!” cried the man who had shoved me. "This human has broken the rules of engagement!”

  Rules of engagement? What was such a formal military term doing in the vocabulary of a desert madman? I put the thought aside for examination later—after I finished the challenge.

  The man screeched something in the trog tongue before turning back to me. He said, “Your actions condemn you! The challenge is forfeited!”

  The trogs closest to me raised their spears and advanced!

  Chapter 79

  Sometimes events reduce your choices so severely that there is only one thing to do. I did it.

  Boost!

  I was becoming quite used to the feeling of invulnerability as adrenaline flooded my system and time seemed to slow. The trog translator was bending to grab my sword. I flashed across the two meters separating us and drew the sword even as his hand wrapped around the scabbard. I slashed his chest in passing as I rushed the closest trogs.

  I was among the trogs before they could react, a deadly blur who was too close for spear attacks. I broke a trog’s knee with a kick, slashed the shoulder of a trog to my right, then punched another in front of me. Spinning, I hacked off the arm of one who had been behind me. Never stopping, I fell backward into a roll, came up in front of a fifth trog, and drove my sword into his gut. Yanking the blade free, I whirled to face the attack which I knew must be coming from the rest of the trogs.

  There was no attack. All around me, the trogs backed away, pointing and muttering.

  The translator, blood flowing down his chest, stared at me, agape.

  “Y-you’re the one from the alley yesterday!” he said.

  Dropping Boost before it dropped me, I nodded.

  “And it had to be you in the bar last night,” he continued.

  “You’re leaving out the trap door in the desert trading post and your scouting party the day before that,” I said.

  “I shouldn’t have asked who you are earlier,” the translator said. “I should have asked what you are!”

  “I’m just a man,” I said.

  “How many have you killed?” he asked.

  “Just trogs, or should I count the men who got in my way, too?” I asked. "And, if you don’t want that number going up by one, you’ll keep your mouth shut unless I give you permission to speak.”

  The translator’s eyes widened.

  “As the new leader of this trog army—” I began.
<
br />   “No!” rasped the Great One, staggering to his feet. "Have not yielded!”

  Didn’t this Great One know when to give up? Anger washed over me, building with each step as I stalked toward the swaying trog leader. Dropping my sword so there could be no question that I had fought hand-to-hand, I slugged the Great One with an uppercut to the chin. His eyes rolled back and he fell backward, landing with a thud.

  I glared at the trogs surrounding me and yelled, “Now he yields!”

  Chapter 80

  My proclamation was echoing from the buildings surrounding the park when the penned prisoners began cheering. That was a pleasant change from the translator’s I-hope-you-die-screaming-in-agony glower. The trogs were silent, milling about, unsure how to respond to my unexpected victory.

  Retrieving my sword, I walked over to the translator. I smiled broadly into his glower.

  “Do you have any idea,” he said, “how long it took me to insinuate myself into trog society? To learn their vile language? To manipulate them into this campaign?”

  “Why, no, I don’t know,” I said. "You know what else? I don’t care.”

  “Fifteen years, that’s how long! Fifteen years feigning subservience to these brutes! Fifteen years of humiliation at their hands! All for this invasion of Mordan!” he cried. "And you ruined all of my work in fifteen minutes!”

  “You’re giving me too much credit,” I said. "Our airship crashed in the city yesterday afternoon. So, really, it’s more like fifteen hours.”

  The translator’s face went purple with rage. With a bellow, he took a swing at my jaw. I stepped aside, grabbed his wrist, and flipped him onto his back.

  Standing over the translator, I said, “As the new leader of this army of trogs, I order them to go home and disperse.”

  I waved toward the trogs, “Translate that order for them.”

  The translator stood and shouted something in the trog language. The trogs hefted their spears and turned toward the human prisoners. The cheering within the pen died as the trogs closed in.