Code of Honor

by Erin Hunter

  “We’ve lost so many of our herd,” added a sorrowful female. “And the worst of it is, they’ve just left them for the vultures.”

  “It’s against the Code,” said the first gazelle. “Great Father, we need you to intervene.” Waiting with Stinger and the Strongbranches for their own audience with the Great Father, Thorn listened apprehensively. What the gazelles were saying sounded exactly like what had happened to Sleekfriend. Titan was developing an unnerving hunting pattern.

  “What should we do, Great Father?” The third gazelle spoke up, her huge dark eyes pleading. “Our herd won’t survive if this goes on.”

  Stronghide grunted. He raised his horn, his small dark eyes searching the sky. “Let me think,” he said ponderously. For a moment he stirred the drying mud with a huge foot. Then he flicked his tail across his rump, and his two oxpeckers rose into the air, twittering.

  Flaring his top lip, Stronghide made a few peculiar chirping noises back at them. “Yes, my friends,” he rumbled. One of the oxpeckers darted down to pull a tick from the Great Father’s ear, swallowed it, and trilled noisily.

  “My bird advisers say you’re telling the truth,” declared Stronghide with a decisive nod. “Titanpride is killing too many of the grass-eaters.”

  The gazelles brightened, exchanging eager glances.

  “So, Great Father, what should we do?” asked their leader.

  Stronghide raised his horn again and stamped one foot on the mud. “Fight.”

  The gazelles stared at him for a wordless moment. Their leader swallowed hard.

  “I’m sorry, Great Father,” the small female said at last, very politely. “We don’t quite understand.”

  Neither did Thorn. He gaped at Great Father, longing to shout out a protest. How can gazelles fight lions?

  It wasn’t just him and the gazelles: even the other Strongbranches seemed perplexed. Fly and Grass stared at each other in puzzlement, while Frog shifted uneasily on her paws. Only Stinger’s face remained perfectly composed.

  “We . . .” The tall gazelle flicked his ears and stamped a hind hoof. “We can’t fight lions, Great Father.”

  “You’ve got horns, haven’t you?” Stronghide tilted his head, frowning. “You’ve got hooves, yes? You outnumber the lions by about a hundred to one, don’t you?”

  “But—”

  “My advice is final,” Stronghide grunted. “Go and fight.”

  The gazelles hesitated, sharing fearful glances. At last they turned and trudged away, their horns bowed into the gale. They looked defeated and despairing—and little wonder, thought Thorn. If they followed Great Father’s advice, they’d be slaughtered.

  Great Father looked rather pleased with himself. He turned to the other members of his crash, who milled on either side of him, seeming slightly bored.

  “This Great Father business is hard work,” grunted Stronghide. “But very rewarding, very satisfying indeed. Now who’s next? Ah, yes,” he intoned grandly. “Baboons of Brightforest Troop, bring me your problem, and I shall solve it!”

  Stinger loped forward, the wind rippling his fur. “Great Father, the baboons of Brightforest Troop come to you for guidance,” he said, bowing his head respectfully.

  “And guidance you shall have,” declared Stronghide, glancing around for his crash’s approval; they nodded their horns in encouragement.

  Stinger cleared his throat politely. “A monkey troop raided our territory,” he told the rhino. A shadow passed over his face. “And a day ago, they attacked my own daughter, Berry. There was no provocation, no reason for them to do this.” His voice faltered and cracked. “She may die.”

  Thorn flinched, picturing Berry, limp on her bed of leaves. Stronghide was pawing at the mud again, leaving deep scrapes. The oxpeckers had settled on his rump, and they twittered constantly to each other, but he didn’t appear to be listening to them this time.

  “Be like the rhinos,” he grunted at last. “Fight the monkeys.”

  The Strongbranches stared at him. Grass’s big shoulders shook, as if he were trying not to explode in derisive laughter. Through stifled gasps, he mumbled, “This has got to be a joke.”

  “He’s telling everyone the same thing,” hissed Fly. “He’ll make the meerkats take on the hippos next.”

  Stinger shot them a withering look, and they fell silent. “Thank you, Great Father,” Stinger said, bowing low. “Your wisdom signals the Great Spirit within you, and we will abide by it.”

  He strutted away from the watering hole, Thorn and the others trailing behind. Grass and Worm were giggling together, whispering sarcastic remarks about the rhino. Fly and Fang simply looked confused. For once, Thorn was on their side.

  He and Frog padded in silence, side by side, until they were almost back at the escarpment. Still unnerved by the Great Father’s nonsensical advice, Thorn finally glanced at Frog. She looked shaken to her core.

  “Are you all right?” he murmured.

  “Thorn.” She turned her agonized face to him. “Stinger’s wrong. How can that have signaled the Great Spirit inside Stronghide? It wasn’t wisdom at all!”

  “He’s new to the job,” said Thorn doubtfully.

  “The Great Spirit inspires every Great Parent,” she told him, raising her eyes respectfully skyward. “What comes from the Spirit is always wise. I’m worried.” She sounded choked with emotion. “Thorn, I don’t think that rhino is the true Great Father.”

  Thorn swallowed and glanced at their Crownleaf, stalking ahead of them. Only Stinger, as usual, seemed to take the rhino’s behavior in stride. Nothing rattles him, Thorn thought with frustration. He always has an angle. He always has a plan.

  At the crest of a low rise, Stinger halted and turned to his Strongbranches. He did not look at all displeased with the advice Stronghide had given him.

  “Fly, go back to the den,” Stinger ordered him, “and tell every baboon who can fight to meet us on the far side of the stream.” Fly loped off, and Stinger smiled at the others, pointing a paw toward the plain. “Everyone else, come with me. We’ll head straight for the acacia woodland. That’s where the little brutes are, most of the time.”

  “We’re going after the monkeys?” asked Fang eagerly.

  “That is what the Great Father has counseled. Be warned: the trees there are not dense. It won’t be possible to sneak through them without being seen.” Stinger dusted his paws in satisfaction. “So we will conceal ourselves by the stream that runs along the southern edge and wait for Fly’s reinforcements.”

  To Thorn it sounded as though Stinger’s plans were remarkably detailed already. He didn’t dare even look at Frog, but he was aware of her tension as she walked ahead of him. Fang, Worm, and Grass were garrulous as they approached the woodland and eventually had to be hushed by an irritated Stinger, but Frog and Thorn were quiet, each wrapped in their own worries.

  The sound of a running stream roused Thorn from his reverie. Here, just a little way from the thick belt of trees, the earth seemed much drier and sandier than at Tall Trees. There were the acacias, their crowns blending into one another to create a flat canopy, but he could barely see any fruit trees dotted among them. He wasn’t surprised the monkeys had tried to steal the baboons’ territory.

  Stinger had halted by the stream; he signaled to them all to crouch low. If anything, the wind was even stronger; dry sand and red dust whipped around them. Thorn could feel it working into his fur, right down to his skin; there was grit between his fingers and toes. And his eyes stung badly; he rubbed them with a frustrated paw, which only made it worse.

  There was the sound of pattering pawsteps behind them, and Fly appeared, leading every Highleaf and Middleleaf well enough to fight. It was unusual for Lowleaves and Deeproots to join a battle, but Fly had brought a few of them, too; it made sense, Thorn conceded. Brightforest Troop’s fighting strength was short right now, after the disaster of the falling tree. And besides, he couldn’t help his heart lifting when he spotted Mud. He raised a paw in
grateful greeting and his small friend nodded, his large eyes scared but serious.

  They all want to fight for Berry, Thorn thought, his chest tight.

  With a bark of summons, Stinger drew himself up and strode forward. His fighters fell in behind him; Thorn was sure his was not the only heart that was beating hard and fast as they crossed the line into the trees.

  Almost at once, shrieks and cackles of alarm filled the air. The monkeys had been nowhere in sight; now they swung and bounded from tree to tree, rattling the foliage, screaming out warnings.

  “Baboons!”

  “Filthy baboons!”

  “Spite, we’re under attack!”

  Long acacia seed pods and broken twigs pelted down onto the baboons. A pod clipped Thorn’s shoulder, and he stifled an angry yelp of pain as he marched staunchly on with the others.

  “Stupid, smelly baboons!” a monkey shrieked from a branch, baring her small fangs. “Get out!”

  “We’ll peel your hides off!” screamed another, leaping to scratch at a Deeproot before scuttling back up a tree.

  The acacias thinned even more toward the center of the woodland; the baboons emerged into a broad clearing to find the monkeys’ leader waiting for them. Thorn’s hackles sprang up at the sight of him; the big brute was instantly recognizable, his white-fringed black face contorted with malice and resentment.

  Stinger halted and rose onto his hind legs. His calm voice resounded with determination.

  “I am Stinger Crownleaf,” he said, “and I come here for vengeance.”

  The leader rose up too; he was huge for a vervet, bigger even than some of the baboons.

  “I am Spite Cleanfur,” he snarled, “and you are a fool to enter my territory.”

  “Then I am a fool who will shortly have his revenge,” Stinger said evenly. His eyes were as cool as a night wind. “You, Spite Cleanfur, almost killed my daughter. Now you and your troop will pay.”

  Spite peeled back his muzzle from his fangs, threw back his head—and laughed. The monkeys in the trees instantly joined in, and the air was filled with raucous, ear-shattering hilarity.

  Thorn’s paws clenched, but Stinger ignored the laughter. “The Great Spirit is on our side,” he said. “Great Father told us to fight you. Get ready to lose.”

  Spite smirked. “You’ve made a big mistake, Crownleaf. You’re in our territory, remember, and we’ve never lost a battle here.”

  Stinger waved a paw dismissively. “Oh, I’m not looking for a battle.”

  Thorn started in surprise. The other baboons murmured in confusion. Why were they here, then?

  Spite frowned. “You don’t want to fight?”

  “I didn’t say that.” Stinger rubbed his scar. “But a bloodbath is pointless. No matter who wins, both our troops would be weakened. In these troubled times, that would be foolish.”

  Spite’s face furrowed. He curled his long tail around a branch and nodded. “So what do you propose?”

  “A duel.” Stinger spread his paws. “One baboon, one monkey, one fight. It’ll be clear who’s won and who’s lost. The losing troop stays away from the winner.”

  Spite smirked, baring his short fangs. “An interesting idea. But I need to discuss it with my band.”

  Uncoiling his tail, he leaped onto the neighboring tree and clambered up into its crown. From the host of monkeys who circled the glade, individuals began to peel off and follow Spite, leaping into his tree and scrambling up after him. That’s his equivalent of our Council, Thorn supposed. Half hidden by the foliage, the monkeys were chattering rapidly. From the high-pitched jabbering, all Thorn heard was “risky” and “worth it” and “fools.”

  At last Spite emerged from his council, his face hard and satisfied, and swung down to the ground. He punched his fists into the sandy earth and fixed his cold stare on Stinger.

  “We agree to your terms.”

  Stinger nodded. “Sensible,” he drawled. “Pick your best and strongest monkey. You’ll need him.”

  “He is already chosen,” said Spite with a slow grin. “Step forward, Sneer Grayfur.”

  The monkey who dropped to the ground was even bigger than his leader. He was, thought Thorn with a dry gulp, the biggest vervet he’d ever seen. The monkey’s ridged brow was broad, and his muscular shoulders even thicker; his eyes glittered darkly. His fur was marked with the scars of dozens of fights. Sneer flexed his powerful arms, and his muzzle split in a grin.

  In silence, the baboons stared at him. At last, Frog turned to Stinger, her eyes fierce.

  “I’ll fight him,” she muttered. “I’m the biggest Strongbranch. I can take this brute.”

  “Go, Frog!” whispered Fly, looking more than a little relieved. “Beat him to pulp!”

  “Wait.” Stinger was still scratching at his scar, and his eyes were locked thoughtfully on Sneer Grayfur.

  Taken aback, Thorn and the other Strongbranches glanced at him. For another agonizing moment, the Crownleaf remained lost in contemplation. Then he turned to them.

  “This fight belongs to Thorn Middleleaf,” he told them brusquely. “It can be his Strongfeat.”

  Thorn thought he’d misheard. He blinked at Stinger.

  Then Frog blurted, “But Stinger, you can’t mean it!”

  “Him?” exclaimed Worm in disbelief.

  The whole troop was staring at Thorn now, and he tried not to shake. Now that it had sunk in, he knew exactly what was going through Stinger’s mind. This could not end badly for the Crownleaf. In the unlikely event that Thorn won the fight, Berry would be avenged. If he didn’t—Thorn shot a glance at Sneer Grayfur and swallowed hard—then Stinger was free of him. He’d never have to worry again about Thorn exposing his crimes.

  “Stinger, please,” Frog was begging the Crownleaf. “Let me do this. I know I can win.”

  “No, Frog.” Stinger patted her shoulder, at the same time pushing her firmly backward. “Thorn is many things, but he is not a coward. Are you, Thorn Middleleaf?”

  His amber eyes glinted gold, and the tiniest smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. Thorn knew there was no way out. Turning toward the monkeys, he paced forward with as much bravado as he could summon.

  Sneer Grayfur bared his fangs and reared up onto his hind legs, towering above him. Thorn gritted his jaws and bunched his shoulder muscles.

  How can I possibly beat that?

  CHAPTER 14

  In the dappled shadow, Thorn and Sneer Grayfur prowled around each other. The dueling ground was silent but for the moan and rush of the wind in the acacias; the baboons had withdrawn into a tense semicircle at the edge of the clearing, while the monkeys craned from the branches, eyes glinting with bloodthirsty excitement. His stare never leaving Sneer, Thorn tensed his muscles, waiting for an opportunity to spring.

  Sneer looked lithe for a monkey of his size and power. His rangy body moved fluidly, and he still wore that confident smirk. Maybe too confident? Gulping in a breath, Thorn twisted suddenly and flew at him, but Sneer ducked and darted out of reach.

  In the treetops, Sneer’s troop-mates shook the branches and jeered. “Too slow, baboon!”

  At that, the whole clearing erupted with rival hoots and screeches. Brightforest Troop pounded their fists on the ground, drawing their lips back and chattering to drown the monkeys out. “Get him, Thorn!” he heard Notch whoop.

  Thorn lunged again, but this time Sneer feinted and came in low, smashing into Thorn’s belly. The breath knocked out of him, Thorn was flung back, and Sneer leaped to straddle him, his claws raking. Thorn felt them dig deep into his flank, and shock was replaced by searing pain. He howled, kicking out and squirming, and somehow wriggled away from the huge monkey. Panting, he twisted sharply, scrabbling backward. Sneer was still advancing, his fangs bared.

  The big monkey drove him back into the circle of baboons, who drew away hurriedly. Thorn had a momentary glimpse of Mud’s terrified face before he focused all his attention on Sneer once again.

  “Thorn, fig
ht!” came his friend’s desperate voice.

  I’m trying, Mud. Clenching his jaws, he rolled out of reach of Sneer’s lunge and jumped to his feet. Sneer’s fangs closed on his tail, and as Thorn whipped it away, he saw blood spatter the dust.

  “Watch that tail,” Spite Cleanfur taunted from the trees. “Don’t be like your pretty friend. Tails are tasty and fresh!”

  Infuriated, Thorn flexed his claws. As Sneer stalked closer, he ducked and flung himself forward, slamming into the big monkey’s chest. Taken by surprise, Sneer fell backward and Thorn pressed his attack, clawing and biting. Sneer twisted beneath him, wiry and strong; Thorn knew he couldn’t keep him pinned for much longer. He could feel Sneer’s claws tearing at his shoulders even as the brute squirmed, and those vicious jaws caught the sensitive edge of his snout, shooting a bolt of pain across his face. Thorn got in two more scratches and a bite on Sneer’s neck; then, with a massive heave, Sneer threw him off.

  Sneer Grayfur got to his feet, touching his neck with a paw. It came away bloody. The big monkey curled his muzzle in a grin of malice.

  Great, thought Thorn, his breath rasping painfully. All I’ve done is make him mad.

  Thorn was bleeding too. He didn’t dare look down at his smarting limbs and tail. It was obvious now; Stinger’s double strategy was going to go the worst way for Thorn. Windblown dust whirled, stinging his eyes, and he blinked hard. I’m sorry, Berry. So sorry.

  “Finish him!” Fly howled, and for a moment Thorn felt so dazed he didn’t know which of them he was talking about. “Finish him, Thorn!” Sneer was advancing again, his four legs stiff with menace.

  “Thorn!” Mud’s screech was hoarse with terror.

  Above and around the clearing, the wind had risen even more, making the acacia crowns whip violently. It seemed appropriate weather to die in. More blood dripped from Thorn’s shoulders, but as soon as it hit the ocher earth, the gusting wind obliterated it with dust.

  The wind . . .

  Thorn’s head jerked up to see Sneer advancing for his final lethal assault. He dodged and darted sideways, bolting upwind.