Page 3 of Lost in Barbarian Space

“Yes?”

“The explosives sensors keep going off in Lala’s cabin. I’ve searched the girl’s room numerous times, and I can’t find where she’s hiding the damn stuff.”

Nera’s lips turned up for the briefest second. The closest she got to a smile. “Our student assistant won’t blow the ship up, Brandall. She’s an expert with the stuff.”

“It’s against protocol to allow a student to bring uncatalogued explosives aboard.” Honor didn’t care if Nik’s ward was an explosives expert. She was a teenage girl, and Honor didn’t think teenagers and explosives were a good combination in any situation.

“I’m sure,” Nera said, that smile threatening again. “I’ll talk with her. Now, back to our trip to Markaria. Ensure you gather as much data on the planet as you can. We know it’s home to some unpleasant beasts. I want to know the best ways to take them down if we come across any.”

Honor snagged a towel from a nearby shelf and blotted her face. “Surely you faced worse on old Earth?”

Nik and Nera’s expedition to the war-ruined planet that gave life to most of the systems and planets throughout the galaxy was legendary. As were the wild, mutated beasts they’d discovered there.

Nera shot her a bland look. “Let’s hope so. Now, while we’re on Markaria, we’ll be assigned a warrior guide.”

Honor groaned. “I get the impression, from what I’ve read about Markarians, that they like to be in charge.” Not to mention appeared to be more brawn than brains. They carried giant swords, for star’s sake.

“Brandall, all men think they want to be in charge.”

Nera wasn’t wrong, but Honor had seen Nera with Nik. He respected her—her skills, her opinions, her intelligence. If he had trouble letting Nera take the lead in a fight or a security situation, Honor didn’t see it.

“All right,” Nera said. “Let’s go meet some barbarians.”

Honor glanced at the planet again out the window. Weeks with primitive, testosterone-ruled men on an undeveloped, wild planet.

Wonderful.

He sensed his prey was close.

Colm Mal Kor crept through the trees, keeping his foot treads silent. The Forest of Brandar, a favorite hunting ground for warriors, rose above him.

The trees had thick trunks, and between them dangled curling vines the size of Colm’s wrists. On the rocky ground, smaller bushes snagged at his fur-lined boots.

Recently, a wulver beast had been reported here. It had slaughtered deer, other forest animals, and attacked a man passing through.

The sound of a twig snapping broke the silence, and he stilled. He let his nanami—the tiny organisms that lived within him—free. His senses expanded, information flooding him. He could hear the tiny insects of the forest buzzing, feel the warmth of the sun filtering through the trees, and smell the rank scent of rotting meat.

The stench of the wulver.

Colm reached over his shoulder. His sword made the slightest noise as he pulled it free of its leather scabbard. The blade was a true warrior’s weapon—long, heavy, with engravings at the hilt. A sword made for a man to use to kill, hunt, and protect.

Another sound reached his ears. Heavy breathing. A snort.

The wulver beast charged out of the undergrowth.

It was huge, its back as tall as Colm’s six feet, five inches. It was covered in dark-gray fur, and its elongated jaws were filled with huge fangs and covered in blood.

It reared back on its hind legs, rising above him like a nightmare, and roared.

Colm stayed calm, tightening his grip on his sword. His dual hearts beat a steady rhythm in his chest. He stared at the burning yellow eyes of the enraged beast.

“Today is a good day to die, my wild friend,” Colm said calmly.

It roared again, like it was defying Colm’s words.

He raised his sword, his gut hardening. “When we lose the fight with the wild inside, it is time to leave this world…with honor.” He wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or the beast.

The wulver charged at him, and Colm leaped forward with a cry.