Book 0 FIELDS OF FIRE: Chapter i

Maranta Shanaugh stepped back from digging up a Dorea tree sapling to wipe the sweat from his brow. He glanced at the dingy skies warily and saw a ship on approach. "Oh no, you will not, you foul vermin," he muttered. "You have done enough damage to this world." It would be just like the Shargassi to choose to bombard this particular forest on this particular knoll at this particular time, the only time Maranta could get away to dig up a tree for posterity on the once grand world of Thuringa. But once he recognized the triangular shape of a small Thuringi cargo ship, he relaxed and dug his shovel into the dirt again.

It was an unusual task for the Warrior General in those dark days, three years since Thuringa was directly attacked by the hostile neighboring world of Sharga. His waist-length hair was dark with perspiration at the roots, and physical exertion made the long blond braid stray out of its twists. His tunic and breeches were caked with sweat and the dark brown loam of Thuringa, and his tall black boots lost their highly polished sheen long ago.

Maranta did not mind. Here at the edge of one of the last healthy forests of Thuringa, the air smelled fresh. The dirty haze forming over the continental interior had not reached it yet, and the nearby river still flowed clear before it hit the ruin of the rapidly dying ocean.

The aircraft landed a dozen yards away on the wild grass. The pilot emerged from her ship with a shovel. She also glanced at the skies before making her way through the grass to the waiting general.

"So glad you could stop in, Carrol. I thought I would have to dig that up all by myself," he said.

"Sorry I am late. There was an emergency at the medical station in Fellensk," she replied, and patted the sapling. "It is a shame the trees are smaller than the roots. It is hard to tell what you are in for until you are already in it."

"Sort of like falling in love with the Princess of Thuringa," he observed, and encompassed her in the circle of his arms.

"Are you comparing me with a plant?"

He chuckled and held her tightly against him. "And I am sweaty and dirty too! Am I simply an endless delight?"

"Yes, you are," she assured, and gave him a kiss. "What you need is a bath or a good going over with cleanser gel."

"Neither of which is handy but thank you for the advisory."

Princess Carrol Phillipi helped him wrestle the sapling from the ground and secured its roots in a tidy bundle. They managed to lift the sapling into the cargo ship and lay it on its side, the branches crowding the cargo bay door.

"It will have to do, I suppose, or there will be no room for anything else in here." He turned to his companion as she toweled his face dry with a cloth. For a lovely moment she reveled in his embrace as they gazed at one of the last remaining healthy Dorea forests of Thuringa.

"I wish we could have saved our tree.” She gestured to a sixty-meter-tall mature tree with a wide thick canopy that blanketed an acre, the tallest tree in the stand. At shoulder height a small space on the bark bore a fading carving reading CP-MS. Maranta carved it there with his swordtip over forty years ago after she saw a couple do the same on a tree in a public park. "I will miss that lovely old thing when we have to flee Thuringa. Such a tender gesture on your part should be preserved.”

“It will have to be preserved only in our memory. Ah! Here now.” He took a small recorder out of his pocket and captured an image of the carving. Handing the recorder to her he confessed, “This old tree was our friend and confidant. I never once imagined we would leave it behind. It has kept our secret well.”

There were whispered rumors from an Elder recently about the unusual behavior between the loyal Thuringi warrior and the princess. "They are quite close these days," Elder Asa Mennar de Rebaum observed to his king. “Oh, not to say General Shanaugh should not enjoy the privilege of courtship and romance if circumstance and the intended interest were agreeable! But there has never an instance of the pairing of a royal and a Warrior General to my memory. It is most inadvisable.”

King Lycasis waved a hand as if warding away an insect. “How Thuringi love a good romantic fable if the truth is not available! We are all closer these days, Lord Asa; such is the reality of closing ranks against a merciless foe. Simply because people work together does not automatically assume friskiness is at hand, yet casual speculations are constantly made regardless of fact. Maranta’s personal behavior has never been out of line and Our daughter is courteous and properly distanced while in the company of any man. Now please, petition the crown with something other than rumors that waste time! If it worries you that much, address your words to General Shanaugh himself.”

Asa only bowed. His desire to see an end to the monarchy of Thuringa was tempered by his alarm should General Shanaugh’s attention were brought to it. There was no sense in gaining his attention by idle personal gossip.

Whether in the family chambers or on the grounds of Grace Castle, Carrol was a bright-eyed challenge always up to mischief. Lycasis was delighted to have such a feisty daughter, one who would not accept complacency easily. Lycasis witnessed her verbally spar with Maranta many times, and Maranta always maintained his dignity even while he matched her quips point for point. He was the very embodiment of a well-trained warrior who admirably performed his special and difficult role in the Thuringi hierarchy. Privately, the king could not think of anyone he would rather have as a suitor to his daughter than the admirable Maranta Shanaugh de Gordon.

All citizens were welcome to stand in attendance in the spacious main hall of the court of Lycasis Phillipi de Trennon, twenty-fifth king of Thuringa. Many in attendance brought their own seats if the agenda was crowded with items. The warriors of Thuringa preferred to stand. It was not a requirement for them to do so; it was more a point of pride. No Thuringi warrior wanted to appear less than able to remain on his or her own two feet. The citizens were as upbeat as they could manage under the stressful circumstances. As always, sour-faced physician Asa Mennar was on hand, his arms folded across his chest and displeasure written all over his face.

Well, some things were constant, Lycasis thought grimly as he strode forward. Lord Asa could not force a smile upon his face even with tools.

Lycasis sat on his ornately carved throne to conduct Royal Court proceedings. His cumbersome white robes – drat the things! – hung from his shoulders like weights and threatened to entangle his legs with the unnecessary cloth. Tradition long dictated these robes be worn during court, and Lycasis dutifully acquiesced to longstanding tradition. The leggings of his white breeches tucked neatly into tall black boots and the deep gold of his tunic stood out in stark contrast against the robes. His thick white-blonde hair flowed to his waist; the silver circlet of rule nearly lost among the locks at the crown of his head.

His was a strong, forceful face which in happier times saw the Thuringi population soar to nearly a quarter million people. He was among the first to dance at harvest celebrations and quick to add his questionable baritone to the din. In his time, Lycasis Phillipi de Trennon joined in on the contests of strength with gusto. He cheered lustily for himself when he won and laughed uproariously at himself when he lost.

Lycasis was highly admired among the Stellar Council of Confederate Planets, the ruling body that settled disputes and organized treaties among its members. Thuringi warriors were renowned for lending aid to other worlds in time of need, be it natural disaster or physical threat from a hostile people. Except for special items whose only source was other worlds, Thuringa supplied its people with all their needs. Theirs had been a grand and glorious race once upon a time, a time now rapidly disappearing.

The court members and spectators entered the throne room, where decoratively carved Dorea tree pillars lined the walls, and a glass dome graced the ceiling. Stained glass floor-to-ceiling windows stood between the Dorea pillars, giving the already grand area a massive quality. Seats placed along the interior periphery were ordinarily the domain of Elders, expectant mothers, recovering wounded, and the occasional sleepy child. The center area was an open expanse over which a thousand-light chandelier presided. Lycasis' throne faced this open space.

His wife Oriel sat to the left of him, her frail figure adorned in less weighty royal garments. Oriel’s countenance was calm and unreadable, giving an air of reassurance in these turbulent times. As his council of ministers and advisors crowded into the space reserved for them in the front of the assembly, Oriel’s glance flickered toward them before looking at Lycasis. She winked at him, and he broke into a smile.

Crown Prince Stuart walked in with his wife Aura, followed by their ten-year-old son Erich. Her graceful hand rested on Stuart's arm but when he reached to take her hand in his, she withdrew it with a frosty smile. Her response did not surprise him, and he smoothly carried on as if nothing happened. He wore the white breeches and black tunic of the Air Command, but unlike his fellow warriors Stuart took his place as the heir of Thuringa just to the right of his father.

Stuart's nature of compromise and diplomacy was in sharp contrast with his twin brother Darien’s habit of playful contradiction, but Darien was noticeably moody and more argumentative of late. Darien had a knack for chemistry and the forbidden alchemy of the Hunda witches. The Hunda also belonged to the Stellar Council Confederacy of Planets, but the Hunda were holders of mystical knowledge that made them mysterious and suspicious to the other Council worlds.

Stuart and Darien were born when King Lycasis had been on the throne for a scant ten years. Lycasis was only one hundred eighty-two years old at the time and would not have ascended to the throne so soon but for the unexpected demise of his father King Auguste Phillipi de Gordon. Only a Phillipi could wear the crown of Thuringa, and the Elders worried Lycasis’s days as a notoriously adamant bachelor put the future rule of Thuringa in jeopardy.

The fraternal twin princes were easily identifiable. Stuart’s boyish countenance reflected his sunny nature, while Darien’s naturally diabolical eyebrows and naughty smile suited his penchant for rowdy behavior. Darien was not a bad man; he was simply not a settled man. He had no wife and preferred none so far. Darien genuinely loved his brother and had no problem with his twin being the Crown Prince instead of himself. Lycasis unhappily supposed it was easier for Darien to secretly slip away and confer with the mysterious Hunda witches that way.

Darien took his place to the left and front of the throne to save the space between himself and his father for Maranta. Darien was the first Warrior Prince in Thuringi history, the future successor to Maranta as Warrior General. Concern that the twin princes would eventually fight for the crown made the Elders anxious and malcontents like Asa Mennar smug. Careful parenting and loving family dynamics helped prevent the assumed fraternal jealousy. There were never twin princes before, and this was the solution for sharing power Lycasis decreed. It was certainly not Darien's idea. Responsibilities made it harder to slip away to secretly confer with the fascinating Hunda.

Aura Phillipi de Ardenne stayed in the general assembly area where she could observe and still keep an eye on her son. Erich Phillipi was a brash adolescent who knew the rules and loved to test their breakability. As long as Aura watched him, Erich was the very image of obedience, his eyes bright and his smile beguiling. If she looked away one could see the craftiness in his shifting eyes and daring smirk.

Lycasis studied Maranta and Carrol as they stood in their usual spots across the large hall from each other, she next to Stuart and he alongside Darien. She casually adjusted her sleeves and whispered something to Stuart that made him struggle to not laugh aloud. Maranta assumed his usual stance, both feet planted firmly, his right hand by his side and his left hand lightly resting on his sword handle. No trembling hands or secret gestures were exchanged, but Lycasis knew from the one instance when Maranta glanced at Carrol and their eyes met. In that moment Lycasis knew as surely as he knew his own love for the queen by his side. Maranta Shanaugh and Carrol Phillipi de Saulin had a bond between them, a powerful love almost tangible to the monarch of Thuringa.

As he listened to the reports of the court, Lycasis felt a deepening gloom settle over him. "The seas are now officially uninhabitable," announced Sea Commander Searl Ardenne, one of the amphibious Thuringi. The Aquatic race lived and worked and played in the seas since time began. "What few clean spots remain are rapidly being overcome. The Sea Command has withdrawn its fleet from all areas and those ships still serviceable are being placed in the Freen for the trip. We can do no more." The oceanic ship Freen would hold the artificial sea for the Aquatics and what sea life as could be saved.

So many sickened and died, only a relative handful of Aquatics survived. Lycasis's own daughter-in-law Aura was Aquatic and the daughter of Lycasis’s boyhood friend Searl. It was only by virtue of living at Grace Castle she was spared of the poisoning many of her own kindred suffered. She and her brother Brent, who also served in the Sea Command, were among the five hundred Aquatics who escaped permanent harm by either circumstance or by chance and now lived in the Freen.

The air of Thuringa was increasingly thickened by dust storms from the spreading deserts. The flora and fauna of the world slowly disappeared, a few kept alive in zoos and research centers. Pockets of still-healthy vegetation remained but doom was closing in.

Lord Argo Garin, general of the Ground Command, stepped forward and bowed before his king. "Your Majesty, the Ground Command is ready to relinquish its swords upon liftoff from the planet and turn all responsibility for protection of the people over to the Air Command. However, we respectfully request that we are allowed to join the Air Command in some capacity or serve in whatever manner the crown deems appropriate."

"I am certain General Shanaugh will welcome such noble hearts, General Garin," Lycasis told the inpatu, a title given to those temporarily but honorably suspended from active duty. Argo bowed deeply. Beside him, a colonel under his command coughed helplessly. Airmen suffered all manner of ailments unheard of in the old days. The rush to build an Armada that would transport the survivors of Thuringa to another habitable world began once scientists determined there was no turning back from the scourge of ecological disaster.

Speculation among the Stellar Council worlds suggested the necessary ships would not be finished in time to save anyone. What the good people of the Council did not know would not be spread back by accident to the Shargassi. Thanks to help in the initial shipbuilding by some loyal and proudly secretive engineers from the planet of Senga, the Thuringi might win the race to complete the ships. It would be close and amenities few, but the main construction was done.

Lycasis caught Maranta’s eye and smiled wearily. Maranta returned a smile of his own. Lycasis glanced at Carrol, lost in her own sad thoughts. The Thuringi king reflected upon the absurdity of traditions. Traditions were nice in ordinary times as a show of continuity, but they were empty in the face of survival. It was only tradition that forced a princess to choose someone other than a Warrior General as a suitor. Like the planet of Thuringa itself, such traditions were dying.

After court, Lycasis summoned Maranta and said quietly, "I should like for you to take that small cargo vessel from today and gather some Dorea seeds, some friaks and pushkas seeds, perhaps some peiden as well."

"Seeds? No seedlings, Your Majesty?"

"We have seedlings and saplings and cuttings in the botanical ship. I want space in a small carrier for more seeds just as a precaution."

"When shall I go, sire?"

"The sooner the better. Time is running out faster than we anticipated. When do you have time?"

"I honestly do not," Maranta admitted. “I went out today at your behest and although the break was nice, I wondered if I should be here.”

"You have been working too hard, Maranta. Dr. Renaugh told me you have not taken a rest for over six ginta. The defensive parameters you have put in place around Arne are repelling the enemy. The patrols you sent out to the evacuees are so far successful. You have done all you can personally do; let the warriors do their task. I cannot have my Warrior General stretching himself out until he snaps. This way you can relax a little as you need and still be doing something, so you won't feel odd about being away."

"But I feel well, sire," Maranta protested.

"I am not impugning your strength, Maranta, but I do not want to risk overextending you to the point of exhaustion, and you are rapidly reaching that point. In fact –” Lycasis turned and motioned for Carrol to join them. "In fact, I think it prudent for you to bring a medical with you. In this strange changing climate, every crew however small should have someone with medical training included. Go get some seeds, General, and take Carrol with you." His firm voice made the decision final. Maranta and Carrol left in step together like any two Thuringi soldiers going on an ordinary mission. But when Maranta opened the door and turned to let her go through, Lycasis saw the look on his general's face. It was the look of a man very deeply and very hopelessly in love. Carrol’s expression mirrored that love.

Lycasis hoped he did not do something he might regret later.

The cargo ship Maranta used earlier was empty again; the sapling was removed and placed in the botanical ship Insa. Maranta and Carrol returned to forest near Fellensk. They gathered the best seed specimens they could find from the giant trees by keeping the cargo door open as the ship hovered next to a tree. Carrol planted her small feet on Maranta's thighs and faced away from him, and he held onto her legs as she leaned out and plucked the seeds with their pod covers off the trees. They laughed and enjoyed the rarity of the privacy to be themselves.

For years they kept their love for one another secret. Before the Shargassi began this final war Thuringi warriors traveled to other worlds on missions. Maranta and Carrol’s separate tasks sometimes crossed paths where they were not under scrutiny of the Thuringi populace. She was a medical officer, and outposts were notorious for disease outbreaks that required missions of mercy. Maranta often travelled on behalf of the crown, flying alone and therefore able to get away to meet her ‘by chance’, so discreet that people on her medical team were not even aware of it.

Their sturdy ship now hovered high in the leafy canopy of the Dorea tree forest, impossible to see by anyone flying over. They paused in their task long enough to make love on a cushioned bench just inside the cargo door, a luxury of circumstance they could not resist. The high afternoon sun reflected off the silvery bark of the Dorea trees, and the couple lay back and admired the remaining beauty of the peaceful woods.

“How long do you think this lovely forest will last before destruction takes it?” she asked.

“Not for long, I fear. The Sendenar mountain forests have been denuded and I would have thought they would be among the last holdouts.”

She twisted around to gaze into his eyes, alarmed. “Sendenar? Already? But that is far to the north!”

“Once the seas collapsed, the world was doomed. Winds carried dust storms from the interior and choked the forests all along the Sendenar ridge. If those winds turn in this direction it will be the same for Fellensk. There is a pocket of greenery still intact near Tace. We will go there and search for pushkas next. Come, my love. We have indulged ourselves enough.”

They harvested several dozen more seed pods and packed them in crates from floor to ceiling in the far back portion of the ship. Next, they went to a friak farm near the town of Tace and gathered the best seeds they could find of the plump, tasty, nourishing food staple of Thuringa. Baked, fried, roasted, boiled, or raw, any Thuringi with a hand and a mouth could prepare and enjoy a friak. They loaded sacks of the thumb-sized seeds in the cargo vessel in front of the Dorea seedpods. The farmer proudly helped them load this, his best seed crop, relieved to know that it would not go to waste. He intended to squeeze the crop into his assigned family quarters on one of the General Population ships, but now he would not have to use up the precious personal space.

Carrol and Maranta journeyed to find pushkas high in the mountains above Tace. Pushkas plants had fuzzy fat leaves which provided a milk-like substance of highly nourishing quality. Propagating pushkas was not easy. They were temperamental plants and did not take easily to domestication, and domesticated pushkas did not always produce as nourishing a liquid. A thick white stalk grew from the middle of the plant to form a bulb on the end of the stalk. The bulb hung down with the weight of the growing seed. The seed had to be harvested at just the right time of development.

The ship set down in a wooded area of old growth woods in search of a healthy stand of pushkas. It was a wonderful stroll for the couple. They were free to hold hands like any other lovers on Thuringa, to steal kisses from one another and hold each other tenderly. Sometimes they stopped to simply look at each other openly. Maranta and Carrol hungrily relished moments others might take for granted.

Deep in the shady wood, they found their pushkas. Plump leaves as fat as a fist gathered around the stalk, bold wild plants that would improve the domestic stock immensely. Evening came early as the Thuringi sun slid behind clouds at the horizon, and the sky became bands of riotous color above the increasingly tinted atmosphere. The night creatures began their cacophony of chirps and calls, and luminous eyes peeped out from the deepening shade.

“We will never be able to get the proper seeds at this time of night; we will need to wait for the morning light,” Maranta told Carrol as he snapped on a hand lantern.

“Father will not like this. I am sure this is more than he had in mind." Carrol said in a voice clearly reluctant to say the words.

Maranta sighed. He knew she was right. A few hours together or even the whole day was an unexpected bounty. An overnight stay approved by the king was too much to ask. When they spent the night together in earlier times, it was passed off as mere coincidence. A handful of people might suspect but the subject was never even brought up as a possibility in the cantinas over glasses of ale. This episode would shine a whole new light on their every future move.

Maranta produced his communicator. He hailed the royal chambers, but instead of hearing the king's voice, Crown Prince Stuart Phillipi de Saulin responded.

"Father is out right now," Stuart told the general. "I am answering for him. What can I do for you?" It was typical of Stuart to be comfortable enough with the mantle of responsibility to assume it as needed. Stuart was one hundred fifty years old, a proper age for a Thuringi prince to assume command on occasion.

“His Majesty sent us on a mission to collect seeds but just as we have found a bountiful stand of pushkas, it has become too dark to see to harvest,” Maranta explained. “We need permission to stay until morning.”

“You ask for permission? Why?” Stuart laughed. “Go ahead and stay there. Father told me he sent you out. How often do you get a break from duty?”

“Well, we thought he would want to know,” Maranta said. “I really should not be away this long, and Her Highness has no shelter but the ship.”

“Maranta, if we should need you, I will call you on this channel. Meanwhile take this rare chance to relax, and do not let a beran get you.”

“Very well, Your Highness.”

Stuart laughed as he signed off. Maranta called him by his title, when for all of Stuart’s life Maranta always called him Stuart except in Royal Court. “How very official! He obviously has not taken enough breaks!”

“What was that?” Lycasis asked as he entered the room. The walls were a calming shade of blue with gold crown molding and heavy golden curtains embracing the floor-to-ceiling windows. Portraits of notable Thuringi and thick tapestries had already been removed from the walls and put away on the ships, saved for posterity.

“That was Maranta. He said they would not be able to come in tonight. It is too dark to get any pushkas so I told him to relax and get them tomorrow morning.” He wondered at his father’s thunderstruck expression. “Father? What is wrong?”

“Carrol is with him,” Lycasis managed to say.

“Oh, is that all,” Stuart said with a roll of his eyes. “He will be lucky to get out of this mission with his hearing still intact! Well, it is not the first time either of them has camped out in the wild.”

“No no, I suppose not,” Lycasis sighed.

Stuart, unaware of the interpretation his father gave his statement, merely shrugged and went to his own living area.

“Father has been injured,” Aura Phillipi de Ardenne said anxiously the moment Stuart entered the foyer to their spacious wing of the castle. It was the way he was usually greeted when he came home; something would happen during the day to give Aura the excuse not to welcome him in with a smile and a relaxing evening.

“Yes, Hartin Medina told me. I just stopped by to see him before I came home. He is doing well, Aura—“

“Well? How can you say that? His leg was severed above the knee, Stuart! He could die!” she declared helplessly and stamped her foot in frustration. It was a telltale sign Aura was perturbed beyond measure, and Stuart braced himself for another uncomfortable evening.

“Calm down, Aura. Hartin said he is recovering better than anyone expected. Your father is a strong man. He is not going to die; he is not going to allow a parmenter attack stop him. I know you are concerned, my dear, but you must think of the positive.”

“Positive! What is so positive about Father losing his leg?”

“He is still alive,” Stuart pointed out testily. “Many are not so fortunate to be able to claim that you know. Where is Erich?” he asked as he glanced around. The apartment was too quiet and too tidy to expect the active adolescent to be present.

Aura realized with sudden clarity how petty her complaint actually was. It was true; only five hundred Aquatics were alive out of eighty thousand. She was lucky to have her entire family intact. Some Aquatic family lines were completely wiped out, as were some Airmen families. She took the change of subject gratefully. “Erich is with your mother. He wanted to watch the firefight over Arne and became quite cross when I would not let him from our balcony. It was too dangerous.”

“I agree! We should not even be here as it is. Is everything packed away? If so, let us join Mother and Erich. The castle is the favorite target of the Shargassi, and even our erstwhile Naradi guards cannot stop every missile aimed at us.”

“What about Carrol and Darien?” Aura asked.

“Carrol is off on a mission and if Darien is not with Mother, then he is probably on duty. I was afraid you might be here still yet, Aura.” He put his arms around her and hugged her gently. “Sweet love, you do not realize how hazardously close to injury you are in this exposed wing of the castle.”

She stood still for a moment to enjoy the solid reassuring feel of those great muscular arms around her, arms that protected her from all harm. She closed her eyes and leaned against him. He held her tighter and kissed the crown of her head with deep affection. She lifted her face to his and then paled suddenly and pushed him away.

“We ought to go to Erich. He might be frightened. He is only a boy, but he knows you were out fighting alongside the others. Come, Stuart, and reassure him you are all right. If his grandfather Searl can be injured by a creature he is lived around all his life, then one can only imagine how worried he will be at the thought of you fighting against our enemy.”

“Are you worried about me, too, Aura?” Stuart asked gently.

“Of course I was,” she said as she pulled him toward the door.

As they made their way to the more secure section of Grace Castle, Stuart commented, “Your brother is in charge of the Sea Command for the now, until your father might resume his duties.”

“How dreadful,” Aura said sourly. “Brent will only serve to offend everyone.”

“He does not offend Father. Father said in these dark times we might well need someone brash enough to take the kind of chances our survival may require.” Aura did not want to argue with the decision of her father-in-law, the King of Thuringa. Stuart added cheerfully, “I dropped by to take a peek at the royal quarters on the flagship Quantid. Because of the lack of space, our apartment will be small but there will still be a bedroom for us and one for Erich. Much better than the separate rooms of our early marriage, do you agree?” He hoped for a more positive response than the simple nod Aura gave.

Maranta spread his cloak over a small patch of pushkas while Carrol used a laser pistol to light a bundle of sticks. She pulled a small pot out of her backpack, opened the fat leaves of some pushkas nearby and squeezed the liquid into the pot. Maranta fashioned a set of braces out of forked sticks and pushed them into the ground on either side of the fire. He placed a metal rod across the forks and hung the pot from the rod. Carrol dug around in the pack until she found a small silver flask and added some of its contents into the pot.

“A toddy of Borelliat brandy: a nice touch to the end of such a wonderful day,” Maranta sighed as he settled down on his cloak. When the mixture warmed sufficiently, Carrol poured it equally into two cups from the pack and sat beside Maranta. They clicked the cups together in a toast.

“To seed hunting,” Maranta suggested, “and the resulting pleasure it can yield.”

“To us,” Carrol added. “In hopes of seeing those seeds come to fruition in the future.”

He nodded, and they sipped the drinks. The strength of it nearly took their breath. Carrol squeezed her eyes shut while Maranta’s eyes flew open wide.

“That is a nice dollop of pushkas you have added to this pot of brandy,” he managed to croak. He drank it anyway.

“I thought I only added a little brandy. It is hard to tell in the dark,” Carrol said, as she choked down her drink.

“Do not get us drunk, my love,” Maranta laughed, and pulled her to him in order to bury his face in her long silken tresses. “If there are any beran around here, we would not be able to defend ourselves.” She put her cup aside and turned her full attention to him.

“No beran would crash in to interrupt two Thuringi warriors in their full mating ritual. Let us stay out here in the wild tonight.”

“One wild beast knows another,” Maranta agreed as he undressed her. In case of trouble the cargo ship was right next to them but sleeping on the fat soft pushkas plants was better than a mattress.

The next morning Carrol awoke to find him on his side next to her, his head propped up with one hand, and his sidearm in the other at his hip. Her cloak was draped over the couple. He glanced at her and put the weapon aside. “I suppose we will not have any more beran sniffing around,” he said. “We had a furry visitor a little while ago; he seemed more interested in grazing on the pushkas than in two naked Thuringi.” He turned to her. “Would it be that every morning I might wake up beside you.”

“This is the first time we have been able to do this in a long time,” she noted. “Once we are in our ships with the Armada, who knows when we can be together?”

He sighed. “I doubt we will have much time together after the Armada departs without revealing everything about our secret life.”

Unhappily, she brushed his bangs back away from his face with one hand. “It is unfair,” she mourned. “I do not want to give you up. And I will not,” she declared with sudden vehemence. “I will detach myself from the royal family, if it would mean being with you.”

“Carrol, we have discussed this before. No one is going to let you 'detach from the royal family'. The clergy and Elders and your father will find some way to prevent such an event. There is really only solution I can see for our problem.”

“What is that?” she asked.

“Carrol Phillipi de Saulin, would you become Carrol Shanaugh de Phillipi, for my heart’s sake, today?” When she simply stared at him, he added, “They cannot easily legislate after the fact, and there are more important issues before your father right now. After the Armada is aloft and we are on our way, the point will be moot. I will dare anyone to take my bride from me.”

With a happy cry, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged. “Yes, oh yes, Maranta, I would do that with all my heart!”

“Then we had best complete our task and stop at the cathedral of Fellensk on the way back to Grace Castle,” Maranta said, and planted a kiss on her forehead. “The bishop and vicars there are much less rigid than the Bishop of Arne. I would prefer you have as proper a ceremony as your brother Stuart had, but we will need the most direct course possible.”

“We can have a grand ceremony later. But I do not care for ceremony, Maranta; all I want is you.”

They arose, dressed, and set about gathering pushkas seeds. The bright morning light shone through the trees onto the dark green pushkas and their stiff white stems and pods, so it was easy to see which ones were ripe for picking and which ones were not. The tint of the hand lanterns would not have given as true a light. As Carrol broke camp, Maranta loaded the pushkas in containers beside the stacks of friak seeds. There was still at least half of the cargo room available for more seeds. As they got in to leave, he kissed her once more.

“Before today is out, you will be my bride,” he noted cheerfully. “There will be a bright spot on the day!”

The skies over Fellensk were ominously dark. In the distance, a Dorea forest was ablaze and from the fire pattern it was definitely the incendiary result of the Shargassi's kinetic weaponry. Once Dorea wood caught fire, the resultant heat and smoke required an evacuation such as the one they saw below.

"I do not believe we will be gathering those peiden seeds," Maranta told Carrol. "We will have to hope someone else has put some on the Insa. They are a little too sour for me to enjoy, personally speaking."

Fellensk's population was on the move earlier than planned, and airships from every family were evacuating the area. Squads of Thuringi fighters flew defensive patterns about the civilians' ships to guard against further attack from the Shargassi. Maranta contacted the pilot of a ship he recognized.

"This is General Shanaugh. What is our status, Brigadier General?"

"It depends on your outlook," Hartin Medina replied. "The city evacuations are well under way, ahead of schedule you might say. But the Shargassi have stepped up their fire bombing to the west and they are sweeping east. Evidently, they decided your defense strategy for New Arne was too difficult to overcome, but with so many ships protecting the capital, our squadrons cannot stop them out here. We are holding firm here and moving everyone out."

"Very well. I will return to Arne in another hour and see where we stand." Maranta signed off.

They stopped at the Cathedral of Fellensk, where they met with the last vicar as he packed up the last of the cathedral’s precious icons to evacuate to Arne. The senior vicar left earlier with a carrier full of items. Their bishop emeritus, Carrol's maternal grandfather, was among the first to succumb to the ecological onslaught three years earlier.

“General Shanaugh; Princess Carrol! Are you here to help with the evacuation?” young Vicar Spence Beace asked as he dusted off his palms. He was slight of build but full of boundless energy even in these times, which had prompted the Elder vicar to pat him on the head and leave Fellensk for Arne. If Spence Beace ever put his energy into one surge, he might drag the Cathedral of Fellensk to Arne all by himself. He wore loose fitting pants and an ordinary linen shirt, simple comfortable clothing to pack the rest of the Cathedral items. He did not look like a crisply starched vicar in traditional robes and cassock.

“Not quite,” Maranta replied. “We wish to ask you a deep and personal favor to us both.”

“Of course,” Vicar Beace said, as he put the box down. “What can I do for our greatest warrior and the fair daughter of Lycasis?”

“Marry us,” Carrol said without preamble. “Now, before we are called back to duty and before Father can stop us.”

Spence Beace’s jaw dropped in astonishment, and he quickly snapped his mouth shut so as not to be rude to the princess. “Oh dear; I do not know,” the vicar worried over the request.

“Vicar, we know it is a lot to ask of you,” Maranta said, “but the world is dying all around us, our people will flee our homeland and possibly into the very jaws of the Shargassi. All the two of us have of certain comfort is our love for each other. Would you deny us the future together, however dim?”

Vicar Spence Beace looked at the couple before him, hands clasped together and a desperate look in their eyes. The vicar witnessed so much tragedy already, such despair for Thuringi young and old. Spence Beace tried to keep an upbeat attitude, but it was hard in the face of the destruction of a way of life that existed for centuries. The usual lilting voices of happy people were muted. He knew Princess Carrol toiled for months in the medical research center, desperate to find cures to save her father’s stricken subjects, and Maranta bore the burden of safety for the beleaguered world. They needed all the comfort they could get.

“Get yourselves in order and stand before the altar. I will go get my prayer book.” He hurried back out to his ship.

The couple tidied each other while they waited for the vicar. Carrol gave a laugh as she adjusted Maranta’s tunic. “Just think, some day we will tell our grandchildren how their grandparents were wed in service tunics stained with pushkas juice, our hair all askance and no witnesses in sight.”

“You do have a witness,” Stuart’s voice echoed from the back of the church, and he walked down the aisle to them. His unreadable countenance was smudged with soot from the fires except for the space around his eyes protected by goggles. His clothes were no more elegant than theirs and considerably grimier. “I was making one last look around to see everyone has been evacuated when I saw you land. Do you realize what you are doing?”

“Sort of like digging up a Dorea tree; the root is larger than the trunk,” Maranta answered solemnly. “We know exactly what we wish to do but no, we are uncertain of the repercussions. You are the Crown Prince of Thuringa, Stuart. How do you rule in this matter?”

For a moment Stuart could not answer him. Maranta taught Stuart all he knew about Thuringi law regarding proper comportment and legal issues. He also taught about a man’s responsibilities in the world and the regard he must have for people in his personal as well as civil life. Maranta had been as much of a father to Stuart as Lycasis; perhaps an older brother in the measure of age. Never in all his wildest imaginations could Stuart have dreamed his younger sister Carrol was in love with their Warrior General, but it appealed to his romantic nature.

“Stuart?” Carrol prodded.

“I am the Crown Prince of Thuringa,” Stuart said at last. “I am not God and in no position to judge you.” He looked around at the empty cathedral. “He alone is the ruler of men’s hearts.”

“’Who can say how God aligns the stars?”’ Maranta quoted from the ancient Thuringi prayer book, a quote he drilled Stuart and Carrol and their brother Darien in memorizing.

Stuart smiled. “I suppose right now, they are aligned for you two.” Vicar Beace emerged from a side room and gave Stuart with a wary glance. “I am their witness, Your Reverence.”

“Well, that certainly removes the chains from me,” Vicar Beace said in relief. “If you do not mind, we can use your sword in the ceremony, Your Highness. The Cathedral’s sword of ceremony is on its way to Arne.”

“My pleasure. Thus, I am in equal conspiracy with the two of you,” Stuart told Maranta and Carrol.

The ceremony was brief but fulfilled all the requirements of the laws of Thuringa. Vicar Beace was a popular vicar for local weddings because he was young and not prone to drone on about the sanctity of vows. He brashly assumed everyone understood how serious marriage vows were and his mention of them was adamant, impassioned, and thankfully quick. Couples often dreaded the Elder vicars because they treated their parishioners like thoughtless children. Fellensk couples knew young Vicar Beace trusted them to have studied the Book of Prayers intensely as children and knew what was expected of them in marriage, and he was seldom disappointed. He drilled students in their religious studies, and he was thorough.

In lieu of rings, the vicar plucked two candles from their candlesticks on the altar. At the midpoint of the candles were two golden metal bands. “With these symbols, I commend you to follow God’s laws, and the laws of Thuringi Devotion.” One ring fit Maranta’s finger; the other was too big for Carrol. Maranta heated it with a touch of laser fire from his sidearm. He compressed the ring with his fingers until it would fit her index finger. The vicar nodded approvingly. “The fortunes of time smile on you two today,” he said. “Who truly knows how God aligns the stars?”

Maranta, Carrol, and Stuart smiled at one another, delighted at his unwitting use of their mutual quote.