Forbidden Planet Page 18

I willed my hands to loosen on my sword instead of throttling it the way I wanted to do to Kittridge’s neck. I usually wasn’t so easily goaded.

  Calm down. He’s under your skin.

  If he touches one hair on her head, I’ll turn him into a pair of Lacertian skin boots.

  Until then, try to keep your hide intact.

  I ducked a wide swipe for my head and charged into the man, knocking his sword free. His claws caught me in the chest when he fell back and threw me over his head. I hit the chains and my blade flew out of my hands. We both scrambled for our weapons and rose to face each other again. My chest heaved. The crowd cheered and shouted. The sound helped me center myself.

  “Kill him! Tear his head off!” members of Kittridge’s crew goaded him.

  “Kovak, Kovak,” others chanted.

  I couldn’t help the rise of my heart at the chant. It had followed me during my entire career as a gladiator. How was it possible to miss something so much and not even realize it until I heard it again? The cry fueled my rage and honed my attention. I was Imperious Kovak Sunder. Kittridge was mine.

  He spun and his tail lashed out at my legs. I jumped over it, then ducked when he slashed his sword at my head. His momentum brought him back around with another swing. I raised my sword in a parry; instead, my blade snapped in half at the weak point.

  I let the broken sword fall to the ground and dropped to my knees beside it. Triumph filled Kittridge’s gaze at my apparent defeat. He raised his sword and brought it point down toward my chest.

  “No!” I heard Nova shout.

  “Don’t worry, Smiren, I’ll take good care of her,” Kittridge promised. He plunged the sword forward.

  “Batun!” I shouted the Smiren word of command.

  The familiar heat of the skull beetle flared in my stomach. The guntler skull tattoos on my upper arms turned from black to red. I crossed both arms and forced them up. The sword struck them with the force of a battering ram, but it couldn’t cut through the shield.

  The Lacertian’s eyes widened. He drew his sword back to attack again. At the same moment, I scooped up the broken top half of my sword.

  He brought down his weapon to end my life a second time; when he loomed over me, I shoved the broken sword into his chest. The sword tip plunged deep into his heart.

  He stared down at me in pained shock. His sword fell from his hands. He staggered backwards, pulling the broken blade out of my grasp

  “He’s killed Kittridge,” someone said in shock.

  The Lacertian fell to his knees. He tried to say something, but nothing came out. He dropped forward onto his face in the sawdust.

  I rose to my feet. “Anyone else?” I demanded.

  My heart pounded in my chest and the rush of the fight filled my veins. I hoped someone, anyone, would step into the ring.

  “Get the supplies to the gladiator’s ship,” one of Kittridge’s crew shouted.

  Disappointment filled me, along with a touch of sadness. Did no one dare to fight in the Lacertian’s honor?

  I crossed to the chains. Nova and Gardsworn met me there with the others.

  “That was something to see,” Hawshorn said with a hoot. “I’ve never watched a fight so perfectly planned out. How did you manage it?”

  “Practice,” I replied shortly.

  “And bravery,” the barkeeper said. He shoved a handful of marks at me. “Your share of the winnings. Come back any time.” He lowered his voice and said, “We could make a killing here; I mean that literally and figuratively. There’s a few blokes with hot tempers I wouldn’t mind you picking off.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said dryly.

  When I lifted my hands to accept the marks, I realized they were both bleeding. A glance at my palms revealed where the blade had cut through them when I stabbed the Lacertian.

  “Kove,” Nova said when she saw them.

  “It’s no big deal,” I replied.

  I grabbed a rag from a nearby broken table and tore it in half, then wrapped it around both hands.

  Junquit accepted the marks for me.

  “I’ll get those back, right?” I asked, only half-kidding.

  “Maybe,” she replied.

  I shook my head and followed them back up the hall.

  “Kovak, Kovak!” People cheered my name as they followed us back inside the bar.

  Kittridge’s crew sulked in the corner. I would have felt at least a shred of guilt if it wasn’t for the cruel things the Lacertian had said he would do to Nova. A man didn’t say such dark threats if he didn’t think them in the first place. But I didn’t put it past his crew to seek revenge.

  “We should probably get going,” Guinea suggested, following my gaze.

  “I agree,” I said.

  “Not before you take a drink on the house,” the bartender called out. He held up a frothy stein from behind the bar. “The Flea’s best ale. It’s the least I can do for the marks you made me tonight.”

  I glanced at Nova. She didn’t comment either way.

  “Kovak, stay and celebrate!” a woman with long butterfly-wing eyelashes said.

  “Your second drink’s on us,” a table of therapods said with toothy smiles.

  “I’ve always wanted to share a toast with a gladiator,” one of them said to another.

  “Kovak Sunder, Imperious of the Trayshan!” a very drunk Vexian shouted before he fell off his seat. The tankard he was holding spilled all over him, dousing his striped skin in the pale golden liquid.

  Everyone laughed.

  I gave in and nodded. “I’ll stay for a drink, but just one.”

  A cheer rose from the crowd. As I reached for the stein the barkeeper held out, the crew of the SevenWolf pushed past me.

  “Stay and have a drink with me,” I said to Nova.

  She hesitated, then glanced at Gardsworn’s disapproving expression.

  “We’ll see you back at the ship. Just don’t miss our departure. We’ll leave in an hour.”

  “Got it,” I replied.

  “Thanks for letting him stay and play, mommy,” a skinny, feathered Gramathian called out.

  Nova rolled her eyes. I shrugged in apology. She shook her head and turned away. I watched them until the door shut behind them.

  “Come on, honey,” a well-endowed woman said, turning me around. “Let’s have a good time.” Her blue lipstick accentuated teeth that were a dull and flat like a yaken’s. Some of her lipstick had gotten onto her teeth, highlighting the wideness of them.

  “Thanks, doll, but I’m just here for a drink,” I told her.

  She gave a huff of disappointment and wandered off to find someone else to woo.

  “Three cheers for the gladiator,” the bartender shouted.

  I grinned and let them lead me to a chair at the bar. As soon as my tankard was empty, another was there to take its place. The Gorian next to me seemed determine to get me drunk until I dropped, no doubt with the intention of taking the marks I had won that night. He apparently hadn’t noticed Junquit swipe my winnings, and he also didn’t notice that every time he turned away, I swapped my full tankard for his empty one. Three more steins and he collapsed to the floor.

  His body was dragged out of the way for others to take his seat. I found myself boxed in by Vexians and feathered Gramathians. The Gramathians started singing songs that originated in old Obtuan. Soon, everyone joined in. The songs may have started in the mines, but they were the rhythmic tolling tunes I had trained to with the gladiators in my youth. Singing them in a group again brought a sense of happiness and belonging to my drifter’s soul.

  “Isn’t it time for you to get back to your mistress, Smiren?” a Cray finally reminded me.

  “She doesn’t own me,” I said in a slight slur.

  As soon as the words left my mouth, reality set in. She did own me one hundred percent. She had bought me from Roan Seven; even if the marks she had used were fake, they had been the means of my freedom. And I had just left the crew to fen
d for themselves in the raucous gathering of the Trayshan. What kind of a bodyguard was I?

  “I need to go.”

  I pushed away from the bar. There were a few protests, but most of the occupants were too drunk to notice.

  I lifted a hand at the barkeeper. He did the same.

  “My offer stands,” he says.

  “I’ll consider it,” I replied.

  I made my way to the door feeling at least a bit better than I deserved considering all I had imbibed. I shouldered the door aside and stepped into the hall beyond. Walking forward, I could see the levels upon levels that made up the Trayshan. It must have been getting late because the sounds of bartering had died down. I hoped I could remember where I had left the SevenWolf.

  Two turns later, I realized I was being followed. The adrenaline of awareness burned the vestiges of drunkenness from my body. Even so, I staggered slightly as I rounded the next corner. It would help to have them think me too drunk to fight back, especially if they were hoping for an easy roll.

  At the next hall, I fell heavily against a pile of boxes. I righted myself and picked up a broken piece of wood as I did so. I tucked it beneath my tattered shirt so they couldn’t see it and continued on. I didn’t know yet how many there were or what weapons they had; my only advantage was that I could choose the battleground.

  I rounded the next turn and stopped short at the sight of the dead end. Well, so much for that advantage.

  I staggered almost to the end and heard the footsteps follow. I made a pretense of stumbling against the wall and glanced over my shoulder. Three silhouettes advanced toward me. Light reflected off a knife in the hand of the man on the left. The others remained in darkness.

  “Lose your way?” the man in the middle called out in a high-pitched voice.

  The one to his right elbowed him. “Shut up,” he hissed. “He doesn’t know we’re coming.”

  “He does now, idiots,” the third spoke up. Her voice was bitter. “Just get it over with and let’s get out of here.”

  “You really want us to kill him?” the high voice asked. “I mean, he’s the Imperious Sunder!”

  “So what?” the woman replied.

  “So, that’s like killing one of my idols,” the man argued.

  She snorted. “If you think he is the same gladiator that fought in Bacarian Star System, look again. He’s used up, wasted. He’d be better off with a grin where his throat used to be.”

  “Can’t we just rough him up and take the money?” the one on the left asked.

  “I’ve never heard such whining. No!” she shouted. “Bleed the skin bag dry and let’s get out of here. Hurry up or I carve you a grin of your own!”

  Both men’s shoes scuffed on the floor as they advanced. I pulled the wooden piece from beneath my shirt and held it ready.

  “Aim for the heart; I’ve got his throat,” the man with the high voice said.

  “Hey guys,” I said, slurring the words.

  I swung the piece of wood as I turned to face them. The box piece caught the man on the left in the side of his head. He slumped to the floor and didn’t move. The other man stared at his slain companion. His features twisted in the half-light and he attacked.

  I blocked his knife and kicked him back. He and the woman both attacked. Where the man’s attacks were crass and fueled by strength, hers were graceful and lethal with a double set of knives sharp enough to slice through bone. I was hard-pressed to repel both of them without any weapons of my own. I regretted drinking anything at the bar. As much as the adrenaline had chased the worst of the effects from my veins, I was slower than I should have been and my reaction time was off.

  Ducking the woman’s first slice, I caught the second on my forearm; it left a line of bleeding fire along my skin. The man stabbed at my eye, missing by only millimeters before I tripped him. I sidestepped another swipe, but didn’t have enough room to maneuver in the small alley. The woman stabbed at my shoulder. When I ducked and lunged back, the woman cut a line down my chest. I blocked the man’s stab at my thigh only to have the woman answer with blade across the back of my shoulder. When I backed up to the wall, the woman smiled.

  “If you give us your winnings, we’ll let you go,” she offered.

  Her tone rang with falseness.

  I shook my head. “I’ll take my chances.”

  “It’s your funeral,” she said.

  “Yeah, it’s your funeral,” the man seconded in his annoying whine.

  “It’s yours,” I replied. I then shouted, “Fortun!”

  The skull beetle flared in my stomach and the fire tattoos on my forearms turned from black to red. Strength surged through my limbs. I batted the woman’s knife aside and grabbed her by the throat. Before I could second-guess myself, I threw her high against the alley wall. She fell to the ground without moving.

  The man let out a battle cry that sounded more like the shrill whine of a newborn caycay. He lunged at me with his knife clenched and eyes rolling. Fueled by the skull beetle, I hit him square in the face. He crumpled to the ground.

  I stepped over the bodies and made my way to the mouth of the alley. My tattoos faded as I made my way back. I could feel the weight of what remained of the skull beetle in my stomach. It wasn’t much. There was perhaps enough for one more use if I was careful. I cursed myself for having used too much already.

  By the time I reached the SevenWolf, fatigue from the battle and from using the beetle had set in. Nova stormed down as I made my way to the loading ramp.

  “It’s about time you showed up. We were ready to leave a half hour ago,” she said. “How dare you—” She paused and gave me a closer look. “Kove, what happened?”

  I merely shook my head. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  I pushed passed her and walked up the ramp. Jashu Blu was there to greet me.

  “I can’t believe I missed the fight!” he said as he jumped from foot to foot in excitement at my side. “Hawshorn said it was incredible! I can’t believe you fought for our supplies! We would be stuck here without you. What would we do if you weren’t here?”

  I glanced back to see Nova’s probing look.

  “At least we don’t have to find out,” she replied levelly before she put her hand to the panel and closed the pressurized doors.

  I mulled her words over as I made my way back to my room. Did that mean she was glad I had returned? She sure didn’t sound like it. Perhaps she was mad I had stayed at the bar. Could she blame me? It was nice to feel like old times, treated and celebrated for accomplishing something. I couldn’t help it if that something was someone else’s death, could I?

  I fell onto my bed and stared up at the ceiling. It wasn’t long before the thought brought me back to my feet. I kicked off my shoes and made my way to the bathroom. Souls were souls, whether or not they lived the way anyone else thought they should.

  Chapter Sixteen

  NOVA

  Nova told herself it was part of her duty as captain to make sure her crew was healthy. She put her hand to the panel and waited for Kovak’s door to slide open.

  “Kovak?” she called out.

  A muffled groan was followed by, “Yes?”

  She crossed to the bedroom doorway and paused. The gladiator lay sprawled on the bed. His eyes were closed and he looked asleep. He had pulled on a clean pair of pants, but lay without a shirt. She fought back the blush that threatened to color her cheeks and instead focused on his feet. Four new x’s crisscrossed beyond those she had already seen.

  “You killed three other people since I left the bar?” she asked in dismay.

  Kovak opened one eye. “I’m a gladiator. What do you expect?”

  Her breath left her in a rush. “Not death at every turn. Not the flash of enjoyment in your eyes when you’re facing someone who wants to kill you. Not,” she gestured at his feet, “fresh deaths just because you can.”

  “Just because I can,” Kovak repeated. He closed his eyes again.

 
Nova took in the wounds across his chest and down his arm. She had seen the fight with the scaled man. These were from something different.

  “When you’re done judging me, will you close the door on your way out?” Kovak asked without opening his eyes.

  Nova stared down at him. She wanted to say more, but something held her tongue. Instead, she shook her head and stormed out of the room.

  Perhaps she should have compassion and gratitude. The man had literally risked his life in order to get the supplies they needed to gain access to Akrul. But he had killed someone to do it.

  She had no idea the things Kittridge had said in the ring. The audience had been so loud it was impossible to hear Gardsworn, let alone the fighters. But whatever the Lacertian had said had fueled Kovak’s rage, stoking it to the point where he looked like he didn’t care whether he lived or died so long as he took Kittridge with him. She was grateful for the skull beetle Jashu Blu had given the Smiren. Without it, Kovak would have been slain when his sword broke. She made a mental note to thank the Quarian later for such a selfless act.

  Nova reached the bridge just as the ship began to slow.

  “We’re being flagged by a cruiser, Captain,” Junquit called out in a panicked voice.

  Ice surged through Nova’s veins. “What kind of cruiser?”

  “Tarian, by the looks of it,” she said.

  The door opened and Jashu Blu and Kaj hurried in.

  “What’s the matter? Why are we slowing?” Kaj asked.

  “A Tarian cruiser is hailing us,” Junquit told him.

  Kaj swore quietly. “Tributaires. They’re going to want to know our destination.”

  “What do we tell them?” Junquit asked with a quiver in her voice.

  “Can’t we make something up?” Jashu Blu asked. Panic showed in his eyes.

  “Like what?” Kaj replied. “We shouldn’t even be out this far in the Accords. Our trajectory takes us to the outliers. What sort of reason do we have for such a journey?”

  “The way I see it, we have two choices,” Nova reasoned aloud. “We either tell the truth, which will get us thrown into Akrul ourselves, or we use a different story.”

  “What is that, My Lady?” Kaj asked.