Book 0 Fields of Fire: Chapter ii

Stuart loaded the vicar’s personal effects into his ship to take the clergyman to the capital city. Maranta and Carrol followed in the cargo ship. Below them the dreadful damage of the Shargassi onslaught advanced with alarming increase. Thuringa's once productive bran fields were brown and brittle. Carrol wondered if it was her imagination that the very landscape appeared to die before her eyes, from the horizon behind her in a slow but steady march forward toward Arne. She drew close to Maranta and held the upper part of his arm as if to protect him from the encroaching threat. He glanced at her lovingly and returned his attention to piloting the ship.

Spare parts and replacements for the population's personal aircraft were stored near the easiest accessible compartments in the larger cargo ships like the Yiantee and the Seebo. Items of decreasing immediate need were loaded accordingly, with heirlooms furthest back. They would not be offloaded until the Armada reached their final destination. Any spaceworthy transportation vehicles would be flown in shifts with everyone taking turns to pilot them. Evacuees no longer worried about what to take and what to leave behind; the main objective now was to make it on board the ships alive. Thirty-seven thousand out of nearly a quarter million people were all that remained. The Air Command was determined to see every single one rescued and placed in Armada ships.

Maranta reported from his cargo ship to the king, and Lycasis responded promptly. “Did you get everything, General Shanaugh?” the king asked.

“Everything but the peiden, Your Majesty,” Maranta replied. "We changed our minds when we saw the woods behind Fellensk."

"They are too sour anyway," the king replied, and Maranta grinned. The king and he had similar views on a number of subjects, and it tickled him to hear this particular comment. He fought to keep the amusement out of his voice.

“The future of natural Thuringi beauty is safe with me," he told Lycasis as he squeezed Carrol’s hand.

“Speaking of Thuringi beauty, where is my daughter? I wish to speak with her.”

“I am here, Father,” Carrol responded happily.

“Good. I was concerned at the thought of you away from the castle, and then when I heard of the firebombs near Fellensk my concern doubled.”

“We only saw one beran and he wanted pushkas as much as we did. I am a trained Thuringi warrior and medical, Father. You need not worry about me. The concern would be for the health of any opponent of mine.”

“Indeed!” Lycasis chuckled at her audacious claim. “Just the same, come with Maranta and report to me. I would like to see your harvest.”

Carrol acknowledged, and signed off. “Well,” she told Maranta, “I wager he will note expect me to have harvested a crop like you.”

Arne was in sight now, a gleaming city on the edge of the sea. Its graceful spires and stately rooftops reached upward as if in supplication and thanksgiving to the God of All. The wide streets were shaded by sarden trees with their profuse leaf-laden branches separating the elegant houses and secondary buildings of the neighborhoods. The official Kellis field where many a Thuringi athlete sealed a well-earned triumph with a goal was now home to a healthy herd of gakkis, the indigent creatures of transportation on Thuringa. The sharp single horns in the center of their foreheads posed a safety threat if they were frightened any further. The enclosed Kellis stadium was the only practical holding pen for the now.

The silver-crested Cathedral of Arne sported lines of drying clothes from its regal upper windows. Refugees stayed wherever they could, and the bishop did not think the God of All would mind supporting cleanliness among the people.

Three cylindrical, one-hundred-twenty-story buildings occupied a once fabulous recreational beach area between Grace Castle and the sea, three buildings furiously worked on round-the-clock by crews for months. The buildings were the most un-Thuringi of architecture the well-planned city of Arne possessed, and in bygone days otherworld visitors would have been astonished to see such garishly unimaginative edifices blotting the well-planned beauty of Arne. A steady stream of people now went into the cylinders with trunks and boxes and supplies and out to bring in more. Food brought in from all over Thuringa was preserved and put into storage ships. The botanical ship Insa would grow fresh bran and vegetables, but no one was certain how long it would take for the plants to mature and produce enough for the population in space.

Lycasis was delighted with the quantity and quality of seeds Maranta and Carrol brought back. “Just leave them in here,” he directed. “I have something more in mind for this vessel later. Good job. Now my good general, we must hasten to the War Room. There are some ongoing developments of which you need to be apprised and much to do in the coming days for the evacuation.” He patted his daughter's cheek in fond farewell and turned toward the exit. Elders seized the opportunity to talk to him.

“General Shanaugh, are we glad to have you back!” a soldier greeted Maranta. “A Shargassi force is amassing in an outer quadrant of space even as we speak.”

“They what? Where? For how long? - well, if I get to the War Room, I will know,” Maranta said, and the soldier went on by. To Carrol, Maranta lowered his voice and said, “Well my love, this is where we part for a time.”

“May it be brief,” she responded, and placed a hand on his cheek briefly, a tender smile on her face. He returned that tender smile and turned to leave. The king of Thuringa was by the exit door, one eyebrow arched in silent observation. Maranta acted as if nothing unusual happened as he and Lycasis headed for the War Room.

Gareth Duncan, a mechanic dear to Maranta's trust, approached the cargo ship with a sprayer full of bilious yellow paint. "Your father wants this ship marked for him to keep better visual track of its movement on the journey," he told Carrol. "He did not specify how." He covered the tail of the ship with the bright color, and ran along the top of the craft, leaving a bold streak down the middle. He adjusted the nozzle size down and in a bold scrawl, sprayed The Shanaugh Special along the lower half of the ship on either side. He and Carrol both laughed. "Well, it is visual enough for me. I do not have time for niceties.

Gareth returned to his regular hectic duties. She went to her quarters to clean up and change, admiring her wedding band on the way.

The walls of the War Room were lined with oversized flatscreens connected to a central bank of computers. Some of the screens were blackened; those locales were destroyed. Others continued to monitor the few cities remaining intact, but the streets were empty. Officers crowded into the room snapped to attention when their king and the Warrior General entered to be briefed. The meeting was called to order.

The battles over the skies of Arne were in earnest, a result of the final phase of the evacuation. Once the flight features on the general population quarters were installed, the Shargassi realized the Thuringi had not abandoned their sense of architectural design. The three unbearably plain cylindrical buildings between Grace Castle and the harbor were actually three unbearably plain ships.

As the Shargassi realized the Thuringi Armada might successfully depart after all, they hastened to complete the cycle of destruction and force a panic on the population. But Maranta worked out an effective defense thanks to the flying and shooting skills of his pilots. So far, the Shargassi inflicted only scant damage upon the general population quarters. The tightening of the nooses now worked in Thuringa's favor. They were much better able to defend smaller areas rather than be spread out over an entire planet.

However, the damage to the Air Command was stunning. “We have seven battleships and eight battle cruisers in the air, sir,” Maranta’s distant cousin Jace Shanaugh reported.

“What do we have in all?” Lycasis asked.

Jace suddenly looked very tired. “Seven battleships and eight cruisers, sir. So far we have an estimated two hundred individual fighter ships left over from the ships we lost.”

“What?” Lycasis repeated dumbly. “That…that is all? I thought you meant that was just what we had in Arne, not the entire Air Command.”

Maranta rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “What happened to the destroyers? Surely we have not lost every one of our destroyers?”

“I am afraid we have. The last one was lost to us just before you arrived, general. It was escorting a convoy of civilians from Gallina when the Shargassi fired their incendiary rockets directly at the gunports. It was a freakish on-target shot and the ship was gone before anyone could help them. Most of the convoy was able to get away.”

"We will depart Thuringa in one ginta," King Lycasis solemnly told the warriors. They nodded with anticipation. Nine days meant they were indeed ahead of schedule. "This is the time most critical. Our people will be helpless should the Shargassi somehow breech our defenses and attack the general populace quarters."

"They shall not break through," Maranta assured with determination. “Let us place an additional squadron along here, and one here,” he said, using a map and a light wand. “Now we know everyone from the far side of Thuringa has been evacuated. I have seen for myself the destruction of the world encroaching upon Arne even as we speak. We have emptied all the south cities and the northern cities are in ruin. The center of the land mass has been dead for over a year. How are the Aquatic refugees?”

“Searl Ardenne met with an accident,” a warrior reported. “He attempted to capture a crowd of parmenters to add to the waters of the aquatic ship Freen this morning and he lost his leg.”

“How is he?” Lycasis asked.

“A parmenter bit the leg off, sire, but it was a neat bite, nothing tearing or jagged. He is being tended by the medicals. Brigadier General Medina says he will recover nicely, all things considered. Brent Ardenne shot the creature in revenge, and I do not know which made the Commander angrier, losing his leg or losing it for nothing.”

“Who is in charge of the Sea Command?” Maranta asked.

“Brent Ardenne,” Lycasis said, and he smiled at the chord of groans from the members of the Air Command. “Ladies and gentlemen, please. Brent is every bit as capable of shepherding the Sea Command as his father.”

“But Your Majesty, he enjoys such a terrible reputation,” someone pointed out. “He is rude and naughty and seems to enjoy putting others on the spot.”

“Once we get the Freen into space, we will certainly need his prowess at the controls of a fighter to defend his people. You will then see his personal improper reputation will be eclipsed by his abilities as a warrior,” Lycasis said. “Trust me.”

“I would rather have a man of adventurous spirit fighting alongside me than some kind proper fool who might apologize for raising his hand to defend himself,” Hartin Medina commented as he strode in from the medical division.

Hartin was also the chief medical officer of the Thuringi Armed Command. At seven and a half lengths tall, Hartin was as solidly built as a Dorea tree with no spare fat and only a few streaks of white hair at his temples. “Searl Ardenne is not only stabilized, but he is also as annoying an old fool as ever,” Hartin declared in typical form. “He should have known better than to wade into a situation with a parmenter at his age. If it pleases you detractors to know it, Brent’s impulsive action will only serve to prompt him to redouble his efforts on behalf of his people. He fears the wrath of his father if he fails, as much as a Shargassi weapon.” They knew it was true, and some people chuckled.

“Let us gain further airspace above the city. The plans we have in motion are firmly in place and will work well for us over Arne,” Maranta suggested, and Lycasis nodded. The War Room emptied as the officers returned to their stations with a stronger sense of urgency. "By your leave, Your Majesty, I would like to bathe and change my clothing," Maranta requested as the last man left.

"Yes of course, but before you go," Lycasis began, and waited until the last man was gone from the room before he continued. "I understand Stuart gave you permission to remain in pushkas country overnight."

"Yes, he did, sire. We were able to get some excellent specimens in the clear light of morning."

"I see you did, and it was well worth the time. Let me ask you something, Maranta," Lycasis said as he leaned against the massive oval Dorea wood table that dominated the War Room. He knew he could speak freely to Maranta in an empty room. "Are you fond of my daughter?"

"Yes, I am," Maranta replied. "She is an exemplary young woman. I am proud to serve her and her family." It was the sort of statement any warrior of Thuringa might make.

"Do you love her?"

"Why, of course I do," Maranta responded, despite the way his heart crept up his throat. "I know of no solitary man on Thuringa who does not adore her." Again, a perfectly correct reply yet deliberately ambiguous.

"I mean..." Lycasis abhorred using such blatant phrases, but time was of the essence and he could not be bothered with proprieties. "I mean, do you love her? Yourself, personally?"

Maranta looked his king squarely in the eye. "Yes, I do."

For a long moment Lycasis studied Maranta. "Your bath awaits, General," he said in a neutral tone of voice. Maranta snapped out a salute and left.

The king did not approve, but he did not disapprove, Maranta thought as he went to his quarters. Perhaps he told the vicar correctly: there were more important things to consider than whether a warrior general should love his princess.

Darien Phillipi helped move the survivors into their quarters on the GPQs and generally lent his strength where it was needed. His reputation preceded him and many a father steered his daughters in another direction from the Warrior Prince. "I would not put it past him to utilize this assignment as a reconnaissance of the women of Thuringa," one man confided to another. "It is not as if he has a clean reputation."

"Why should you worry, your daughter is perfectly safe with Prince Darien. After all, she favors you a great deal in the face," his friend cracked, and the doubtful man stamped his foot in outraged reply.

But romantic intrigue was the furthest thing from Darien's mind. There were far more essential things to do these days, and Darien and his brother Stuart were in the center of the maelstrom. The power of the royal Phillipi family was their ability unique among all of Thuringa, to utilize the great power of the planet’s Arda liquid. Every Phillipi learned in early childhood how to handle, manipulate, and refine the liquid for whatever purpose his or her particular gift required.

Ever since scientists determined the Shargassi attacks on the planet would doom them, Lycasis poured much of his time and energy into using his ability to manipulate ore and metals. With this ability he mined Thuringi minerals much faster than ordinary men ever could, and with Arda-powered ability he was able to fashion it into useable materials for new ships. Stuart stepped in to help run the affairs of state so his father could attend to this task, and Darien aided with the details of shipbuilding.

The brilliant blue glow of Arda liquid was not only found in the deepest part of the ocean, but also ran in underground rivers in a web pattern all over the planet. It was literally the life’s-blood of their world and provided power for ship generators, engines, and life support systems as well as booster power for transportation portals. Only the royal Phillipi bloodline could handle and utilize the powerful liquid without physical harm. The liquid also enhanced natural abilities only the Phillipis had, and those abilities placed and kept them in power on the throne. The ecological disaster dimmed and eventually extinguished the blue glow in the Thuringa Ocean and underground rivers. The waters slowly turned brackish and took on a dark, sticky film that smelled abominably. Lycasis was only able to retrieve a pitifully small amount of pure Arda liquid before it completely disappeared.

Lycasis and Stuart were the main forces to aid the ships and transports into space. Stuart's command of air molecules would be required most and Lycasis supplied secondary power to support Stuart’s efforts. Darien and Carrol could provide back up energy for them, but that was all. Darien’s power was in his sensitivity of nature, the ability to manipulate natural chemicals and other material ingredients into formulas that outstripped anything the chemists of Thuringa developed. It rivaled the mystical Hunda.

Lycasis was not pleased about this and ordered the prince to keep his chemistry on a Thuringi level. To a lesser degree, Darien could sense the emotional well being of others, but he never saw a reason to develop it. It was not as specific as Carrol’s ability to physically diagnose and heal the ill. The emotionally strong did not need his help and Darien had no sympathy for fools.

The Warrior Prince put his back into moving furniture and equipment and boxes of personal items, all day long. When he finally went to his suite at Grace Castle, he finished his own packing away of potions and chemicals in his personal storage space in the cargo ships so Lycasis would not find them. If Lycasis saw Hunda markings on the contents, he might order them thrown out immediately. Darien had rare chemicals and Hunda-produced items and did not want to lose them. He could bear to put them aside for however long it took to get to Farcourt.

He took a long luxurious bath and afterwards lay on a pallet under the window, as bare as a post. The night breeze was not as pleasant as the evening before and Darien could feel, could sense the death throes of the once great living planet. He felt the anguish of the very soil and air. He did not want to think about all they would have to leave behind: the wilting plants and trees, the wonderful water creatures now dead and washing up all around the land's edges, the multitude of helpless land animals desperately seeking shelter from certain doom. He was glad there was no one else beside him. No one needed to see the Warrior Prince weep for his homeland.

In the busy hanger of the Air Command headquarters, Maranta prepared to board his fighter. Carrol hurried out and stopped him. "Please be careful," she pleaded. "I should hate to have to scold you if you get yourself into a fix."

"I should hate it, too," Maranta agreed, and paused. Overhead, they heard the whistle of Shargassi fighters chased by defending Thuringi ships as they streaked above the port. “They are getting bold in their frustration,” he remarked.

"I hate this," she fretted. "Please, please be careful."

"I will," he assured her. "Carrol, your father knows how I feel about you. I do not how much he knows, but he does know that. He asked me so I told him."

"You told him?" Her voice squeaked in alarm. "What did you say?"

"The truth. I love you."

Her hands cradled either side of his face. "I love you, Maranta Shanaugh, now and forever." She kissed him, and he held her tightly.

"You might not want to do that right now," Gareth Duncan whispered fiercely as he hurriedly passed by. "His Majesty is heading this way."

"I will be back to give you an unforgettable First Night," Maranta whispered to her, and jumped into his ship. He wheeled it about, and it darted out the hanger entrance. Carrol turned to face her father, who was unexpectedly closer than she presumed. He was flanked by a foursome of advisors. She noted how brightly his yellow eyes blazed and his frown looked set in stone.

"Hello Father," she greeted nonchalantly. Before he could reply, she continued with equal deftness, "I believe all our fighters should be sent out with an appreciative buss, do you?"

"No, it is unseemly for a daughter of the crown," Lycasis tightly said without too much emotion. "Go along now; your post in surgery waits."

Carrol strolled off to the medical facility. Lycasis likewise acted as if nothing happened, and the advisors with him were prudent enough to remain silent regarding the astonishing sight they witnessed.

Gareth fell into step alongside Carrol. "You two are taking some awfully large risks, do you think?"

"I have no idea what you mean," Carrol said, unruffled.

"I mean, I do my job which among other things includes work on the ships. I could not help noticing the likeness of you nestled away in an out-of-sight place in the general’s cockpit. If the two of you are getting serious, then making your father angry or embarrassed is not, I repeat, not, the way to go about breaking it to him." His short shaggy mechanic’s haircut framed his face, with its expression of both understanding and caution.

"Well, we do not have the time to be formal," Carrol replied when she realized Gareth was right. "This is a dangerous time. I am not going to send him off into battle without... without affection," she said as she inadvertently moved her hands to underscore her words.

"Oh my God!" Gareth exclaimed, as he stared at the ring on her index finger. They looked each other in the eye, and Gareth shook his head. "I suppose I should take my beloved out to gather seeds," he said at last. "Apparently it is a successful path to matrimony."

"Do not say anyth –"

"I will not have to. Your father will erupt on his own with no help from anyone when he sees that telltale gold. Take it off." She shook her head stubbornly. "Well, let it be your headache." Gareth threw a lopsided grin at her and left for his station.

"She has taken up with Maranta Shanaugh, I just know it," Lycasis thundered in his bedchambers at Grace Palace. His regal costume was cast off, and he paced back and forth in more comfortable, lightweight attire. The bedchamber was a study in red hues and black-accented furniture that now lent itself to the silent reflection to Lycasis' mood.

"Well, of course she has," Oriel said quietly from her lounge. "I would if I were Carrol."

Lycasis stopped his pacing abruptly and peered at his queen curiously through narrowed eyes. Her slender figure was clad in a shimmering gown of soft white cloth interlaced with golden threads, and little white slippers adorned her small feet. She smiled at his expression. "Just because I am an invalid does not mean I am no longer a woman." Oriel knew a great deal more about Thuringi nature than he, and her guidance had always proved invaluable.

"I know all about the wonderfully considerate woman you are," Lycasis said gently as he came to kneel at her side. "But why would you defend Carrol’s impropriety?"

"She loves Maranta; did you not know?" Oriel asked. "She has for a very long time."

"You knew and did not tell me?"

"It was not your affair. It was theirs."

"But he is our Warrior General. It ... it is not seemly," Lycasis sputtered even though he did not believe those words entirely, himself.

"Was it less unseemly for a prince of Thuringa to fall in love with a vicar's daughter?" Oriel asked in her delicate voice. "You could have chosen others. But you chose me, a bishop’s daughter from Fellensk. Why, Lycasis?"

"Because you moved me. You moved my heart," he stammered.

"And do you think this great man, this most honored Thuringi warrior, does not move our daughter's heart? Is he less of a man, the more honor and glory and duty he gains by his valor? Then," she said as he shook his head wordlessly, "put aside your doubt. We stand on the brink of destruction, Lycasis. If there is any man who can help guide us away from its edge, it is Maranta Shanaugh."

"He has become quite powerful among our people," Lycasis said. "Perhaps... perhaps it is a natural inclination of mine to worry."

"The power of Arda flows through your veins," Oriel told him. "You are the monarch of Thuringa, and no soldier will take that from you. Shame on you to allow your heart be bruised by your fears."

"I am not afraid of Maranta, himself. But in these changing times, those with swords may find themselves being forced into decisions. There are malcontents who seek the circlet crown without mastery of the power of Arda. I do not fear Maranta's allegiance; I distrust those who would threaten dire deeds in order to gain his hapless sword hand."

"No one would dare challenge you, Lycasis. Your power is far too strong, and our fate depends too much on you and the Phillipi line, for a coup to occur. Our future also lies in the children of Maranta and Carrol," Oriel said. "There could be a strong line of gracious warriors to help bring us back to glorious days."

"Children?" Lycasis speculated. "God of All, you do not suppose Carrol—"

"None of the now," Oriel said as she sank back against her pillows, "but trust me, Lycasis; they love each other. If I were Carrol, there would have been children long before the now."

"Oriel!" Lycasis was scandalized.

"Well," Oriel said with as saucy a smile as he could recall her to reveal, "We were not exactly cautious in our courting days, in the bran field behind Father's vicarage."

"I suppose not," Lycasis admitted with a sheepish grin. "We were lucky neither of our families happened upon us. We were also lucky that the inexperienced vicar's daughter you were, and the foolishly overeager prince I was, did not have to bear witness to our actions before our ceremony." He sighed and shook his head. "Sometimes I think Darien has the right idea. Children are too much trouble sometimes."

"Then we must turn them loose to fend for themselves." Oriel pressed the button on the com at her side.

"Yes, Mother?" came Carrol's voice.

"Your father and I are turning in now. Have a good evening and relax, dear."

"Oh. Thank you, Mother."

"What was that?" Lycasis asked his wife suspiciously. She patted his hand.

"That," she told him affectionately, "was none of your business." She kissed him and added, "Tomorrow is the time for fears. Tonight is a time for freedom from fear." He smiled and carefully carried her to bed.

Lycasis was not privy to everything Oriel knew. As the daughter of the ambassador to Hunda, Oriel spent much of her childhood on that world. The "witches" of Hunda taught her a great deal more than Lycasis dreamed. For one thing, she was able to spare the threatened life of her younger twin son by giving him a part of her personal energy at the time of his birth, through Hunda mystical measures. Oriel's weakened system was a long-standing mystery to the Thuringi medical community. The Saulin family was known to occasionally produce women of delicate health but this instance was beyond a mere inherited trait.

Twenty years after giving birth to the royal twins, Oriel was not about to sacrifice a daughter in lieu of herself. With the help of Hunda practices she gave a little more of herself at Carrol’s birth. The unexpected but fortunate presence of the Arda power of healing helped them both survive. No one, not even Lycasis, knew of Oriel’s deeds.

Gareth, as always, was at his station waiting for Maranta and his squadron to return from duty. "The Shargassi do not like this situation at all," Maranta told his favorite mechanic. "They may win the planet, but they will not defeat us."

"I doubt His Majesty is going to give you a warm reception," Gareth warned him. "You and Carrol Phillipi are slipping a bit too much of late."

"Damn," Maranta sighed. Gareth was brilliant beyond ordinary engineering talents, but it was probably obvious to anyone with eyes what he said was true.

"You look tired. Go on to your quarters; I will perform the post-check on your ship," Gareth encouraged. "You are a hard man to get to relax."

"Well, I suppose I seek to avoid that chill reception of which you spoke."

Maranta went to his quarters, a small, peaked frame house in the area known as Warrior’s Row near the Air Command base in Arne. The entire neighborhood was comprised of warriors and their families. Maranta’s was not the only bachelor home among them, and he enjoyed the relative anonymity Warrior’s Row gave him.

He never felt comfortable in the grand home set aside for Warrior Generals and had turned it over long ago to the Arne squadron as a community hall for relaxation. A game of darts in a well-appointed parlor or a leisurely soak in a water-jet tub was a welcome break from flight duty and the warriors all appreciated it. Maranta did not see the need for a single man to have such a stately home all to himself, and as the only son of a Warrior General he had quite had his fill of it.

He was out of his bath and into his most comfortable off-duty clothing when the buzzer to his quarters sounded. The tattered hem of his pants dusted the floor as he wearily answered the door. "Who is it, what do you want? I am ready for bed," he called out as he re-adjusted the hang his thick shirt.

"Good," Carrol said from the other side. "So am I."

He threw open the door. "Are you mad? Get in here, quick!" He took a quick look around before he pulled her inside and closed the door behind her. Evening streetlights normally bathed the street in warm light, but the Shargassi bombardment called for a blackout for the past three years. Only the dim glow of the moon shone on the white pavement. "What will your father say?"

"Father will not say anything. Mother said they were both retiring for the night, and for me to relax." She removed her long cape and pulled at the neckline of her tunic.

"So?”

"So, that is Mother's way of saying 'all is clear'."

"Does she know?" He was surprised at such a response.

"I think Mother knew even before we did. At any rate, husband, you promised me an unforgettable First Night."

At the word, "husband" Maranta smiled. "You will get it, too," he promised with an anticipatory note in his rumbling voice. He proceeded to give her an unforgettable First Night.

There was still a chance someone might have seen her come to his door and reported it to a vicar. The Bishop of Arne might show up in order to scold and extract the princess from the general’s house, and Maranta secretly hoped he would try. He did not care for Bishop Trapis and would gladly turn him out on his ear for disturbing a legally married couple on their wedding night. But no one came; there were more important things to consider than whether a man and woman dallied around when the whole world was in peril.

They took time to undress without haste, something they did not ordinary enjoy. Their trysts were held at odd times and odd places like the Royal Stables or the armory after last call. It was a treat to share a bed with her, as when they once ventured to a Pleonian outpost and their rooms were next to each other at the embassy. Even then they were on their guard lest they be discovered.

Tonight, there was no rush, no tense caution. They took their time and thoroughly enjoyed their lovemaking, made all the sweeter that it was despite the edicts of noblemen or Elders. From time to time that evening a call on the com came in to give him status reports, but his staff would not disturb him after slumber hours began unless an immediate emergency was at hand. Maranta liked the odd sensation of speaking to his subordinates on the voice com while their sovereign princess lay naked in his arms. It felt as deliciously naughty as it was perfectly legal.

It was their First Night and in the tradition of most Thuringa First Nights, they were interrupted from time to time. But instead of friends and associates playfully teasing them outside the window or door on their marriage night, they heard distant sounds of defensive shelling and fighters flying overhead. When at last Maranta and Carrol nestled together in sated bliss, they slept peacefully in the comforting warmth of love.

The next morning, they awoke early so Carrol could slip back to Grace Palace. It was unseasonably chilly so Maranta put his favorite vest of warm thick fibers on her. "Keep those warm for me," he whispered naughtily.

"I hope you will have something left for a Second Night," she whispered back playfully.

"All our nights will be First Nights."

Maranta went to his office at the Air Command headquarters next door to the Grand Hall. The office was an airy room with typical Thuringi floor-to-ceiling windows with light brown wood trim. The sparkling crystals on the decorative chandelier created the centerpiece on the ornately painted ceiling. The room was stripped of everything but a shipping trunk into which he placed a few final items. He asked two workmen to take it to the Steag Hallid for safekeeping.

“The Steag Hallid, are you certain?” one of the workmen asked. “We took your other things to the Quantid.”

“I would rather it not take up space on the Quantid; my quarters will be cramped enough, and these are things that can wait until we reach our destination. Alec will not mind; tell him he can use it as a table if he likes.”

Maranta glanced around his now completely empty office. But it was not completely empty after all: in the doorway stood the willowy figure of Princess Aura Phillipi de Ardenne. He did not expect to see her there; she should have been safe in the lower levels of Grace Castle. Certainly, she should have worn something more practical than a flowing pink gown. It was more suitable for tea party than an empty office under siege. Aura was a civilian and never struck him as a sensible breeches-and-boots kind of woman like his numbered cousin Keleigh.

“Somehow you have managed to move everything out and not leave so much as a scrap of paper in a corner or against the wall where a table once sat,” she said pleasantly. “I do not know of another man who is so tidy.”

“It is merely out of respect for the office,” Maranta confessed with a smile. “My own quarters endured the whirlwind of evacuation, and carelessness was revealed at every turn.” She laughed and entered smoothly as if gliding across the floor. Aura was elegant and effortless in all she did, delicate to the point of brittle. He wondered why she risked leaving the castle. “Is there something you need of me, Princess Aura?”

“I wanted to ask a question of the Quantid’s quartermaster, but I was afraid he would think me silly and dismiss me without an answer. But I know you would not be so harsh to me; would you, general?”

“Of course not. There are no silly questions if an answer is sincerely needed. What is it, my lady?”

She reached for his hands and drew nearer so she could look up into his bright yellow eyes, so attractively surrounded by dark brown lashes. She smiled prettily for him, and Maranta felt the urge to step back out of caution, but he remained where he was. She did not smile like that often and when she did there was usually a motive behind it.

“Maranta, I understand you have given up your apartment on the Quantid. Why? Where will our Warrior General live? Not on a battleship surely?”

“No. I have quarters elsewhere on the Quantid.”

“I cannot imagine where! I was told the entire ship is assigned and there are no empty apartments anywhere.”

“What would interest you about an empty apartment, Princess? You have two bedrooms, one for your son and one for you and Stuart.”

She cast her gaze down at their hands. His were still clasped together. She stroked his large fists with her small, webbed fingers. The sensation would have been pleasant for Stuart but not for Maranta.

“Well, Stuart is used to his own suite and I would not wish for him to be uncomfortable.” She waited for his reply, but none was forthcoming. She peered up at him after several seconds went by and his stony gaze alarmed her.

“That is too bad.”

“But he will need room to hold meetings and tend to other matters of the crown. I fear the constant interruptions by Erich and me will be aggravating to his concentration. I thought perhaps the two of us could move into your quarters if you have indeed found another place to live. I can still hardly imagine where,” she explained as lightly as possible.

“Stuart told me he looks forward to living with you under the same ceiling,” Maranta said evenly. “I fail to see how you moving out would not be an aggravation to his loving heart. However, I do understand too well how the location of my apartment might interest you…immediately beside Darien’s as it is.”

Her fingers stopped stroking, and she clenched his fists instead. “Darien! That boor! That did not even occur to me until just now.”

“I can just imagine,” Maranta snorted with obvious disbelief. She eyed him coolly, but her disdain was met in equal amount by his own. “I hoped our dire circumstances would bring you to your senses about the Phillipi brothers, Lady Aura,” he said, using her personal title instead of her royal one in order to drive home his point. “You are married to Crown Prince Stuart and a nobler and more admirable man there never was. Prince Darien may have been fooled by you once, but I vow I will be on hand to guard him against machinations that would use his weaknesses against him.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” She tried to walk away but his large hands grasped hers and forced her to stay.

“You know exactly what I mean, Your Highness. What you may not realize is that as Warrior General I am charged with protection of the Royal Family, but it does not have to include selfish hangers-on who marry into it.” She gasped angrily and struggled to free a hand in order to slap him, but his grip was too firm. “Oh, do not be so defensive; you had it coming. And more than simply my task title, I will keep watch on you from within the royal family circle. Unlike you I married the Phillipi I love, and it is into Carrol’s apartment I have moved my belongings.”

“What?” The news stopped her anger as if snuffed out like a candle. “You and Carrol married? When?”

“Yesterday,” Maranta said, and found it easy to speak the secret aloud. He was proud Carrol found him worthy to love, and he wondered why he had been so concerned about the opinions of the Thuringi populace on the subject. He felt like throwing open his window and shouting it to the four winds – Carrol and I love each other, we are man and wife! – but it would impact the evacuation; gossip traveled fast but those telling it slowed down as they shared a story. “We married in Fellensk in an abbreviated but correct ceremony. Stuart was our Worthy Witness. I would suggest you ask him about it but that would require you understand the concept of everlasting wedded love, which you obviously do not.”

It was only Maranta’s penchant for attracting women that met her disapproval. She assumed he would always be available ‘eye candy’, a single attractive man to admire privately from a distance. When she realized how many social traditions he broke without remorse by marrying Carrol, Aura grew angry. “So scolds the man who has only been married for a day!”

“So spits the woman who defiled her vows!” He released her hands as if they were distasteful to the touch. “You swore before the God of All that above king, above country, next to the heart of God himself, no one would deny your union’s lasting oath. I suggest you take it to heart, Aura Phillipi de Ardenne. I look forward to a happy future with the woman for whom I held that pledge in my heart for the past century. If not for the malcontents among us I would gladly tell your secrets to Stuart so he could purge himself of you for good. However, I cannot reveal such dishonor for fear it would harm more innocent hearts. Just remain in your quarters as assigned. My former quarters are given to my auxiliary man, Gareth Duncan.”

“Uff! – But that hallway is for the royal family or nobility; you cannot simply give it to whom you please!”

“King Lycasis will not object; he does not care for class distinction and it is a long hallway with many people on it. The only people who whine about nobility are self-impressed tunic seekers.”

“Ech! And to think I was once attracted to you!” she snarled.

“Hmm. Who does not make that list, Aura?” Maranta said bitingly. “I have sworn to protect Thuringa with my life and duty now calls me to do so.” He stepped back, snapped off a careless salute exactly like Darien Phillipi, and strode from the room. He left the furious princess to stare open-mouthed at his carefree departure.

She stamped her foot. “Oh! You think you are so wonderful, you self-righteous hulk!” she shouted after him. “You are just a warrior, a… a killing machine, nothing more!”

His perception of Aura Ardenne was correct from the start. He was also present the day Dr. Asa Mennar approached Searl Ardenne during Festival the day Searl's now-teenaged grandson Triton was born, and not long before his other grandson Erich was born. Searl and Maranta had been observing the Spinner races from a seaward balcony in the public section of Grace Castle. During a discussion about the Sea Command's latest oceanic study, Maranta was called away for a private call on the com. Upon his return he found Asa scolding Searl. Maranta paused inside the room, unwilling to walk into a scold session between two hard-headed Elders. To his surprise, the subject was not Brent as expected.

"I happen to have personally witnessed proof that Aura has been in love with him since she was a youth!" Asa said.

"Oh, stuff and nonsense! He toyed about with her for a time, but he would never defile holy marriage vows! You are simply a sour old fool," Searl scoffed with a wave of his hand, as if to shoo away an annoying insect. The comment confused Maranta momentarily and made Asa's chin jut forward defiantly. Searl added, "She is carrying the baby high and looks enormous. This is nothing unusual; all Aquatic mothers-to-be look large to the ignorant eyes of an Airman! Ah, Maranta! Do join us!" He waved to the Warrior General, who reluctantly came out onto the balcony.

"Commodore Ardenne!" called a voice from below. "Your wife said to tell you they are taking Isador to the medical center! This is it; the baby is on the way!"

"By Elquin's pen, I am not going to miss this! Pardon me, gentlemen, but I have my first of two grandchildren to welcome into the world!" With that he raced inside, laughing with delight at the prospect of seeing his progeny.

"Well, there is simply no good that will come from an Ardenne," Asa said with a sniff of disdain once Searl was gone.

Maranta kept his voice low and it sounded menacing. "You will need to clarify that outrageous statement. Brent has settled down admirably since his marriage, and Isador and the entire Orlean family are known throughout the fleet as proper people. This child will bear the best of both families, you will see."

"Perhaps the tot will be lucky enough to follow in his mother's wake," Asa admitted grudgingly. "My own grand-aunt married an Aquatic, so I have nothing against them."

"But you do foster ill will against the Ardenne children for some reason. What is your complaint against Aura?"

"General Shanaugh, were you pleased for Stuart when they wed?"

Maranta paused and gave a quiet sigh, and he noted out of the corner of his eye Dr. Mennar smiled with confidence. Maranta went ahead and answered what his sigh already told. "I was pleased for Stuart's sake and for his happiness but no, I was not pleased he chose her. She places high demands on him which I feel are beneath a royal to accept."

"Did you know she and his brother Darien had an affair?"

"Yes, I suspected such occurred in their youths. He was quite the dash and she was no less attracted to him than any other dreamy-eyed young woman. She was quick to recognize his callous behavior, but I noticed she remained fond of him even up to her wedding day."

Asa's eyebrows rose in surprise; he would never have guessed Maranta knew of such a thing. "But did you know of their affair after the vows?"

Maranta shot the bishop of suspicious look. "What are you on about, Lord Mennar?" The fact he did not use Asa's task title indicated he took this personally as any Warrior General in charge of teaching proper conduct to the royal children would. "If you are so confident about this gross abasement of character, why have you never mentioned it before? Do you not suppose the king is aware of such ill-founded gossip?"

"The king has no knowledge of such information and would likely strike me down for mentioning it. After all, the entire royal family dotes on her, and she is the daughter of the king's childhood friend."

Maranta paused to think it over and then asked, "And just what do you plan to do with this too-fantastic information, Asa? Do you have the sand to share such thoughts with the king, or do you plan to go from family member to family member or noble to noble in order to spread this cruel suspicion far and wide? And what do you believe will come of it? Who else do you plan to tell?"

"I? I will do nothing."

"I find that hard to believe." Maranta crossed his arms and stared down at the older man, and Asa suddenly felt uneasy standing so close to the balcony rail.

"No, it is true. After all, we are at thin ranks where royalty is concerned. If Stuart decides to call a Massic Surrel against his brother and they both were mortally injured, then that will leave only King Lycasis and a small child in line to rule. There are no guarantees at this stage in the pregnancy and Aquatic/Airmen matches always bear a measure of chance. Therefore, I shall not say a word."

"How loyal of you. I am certain Prince Darien would take umbrage at such an unjust tale and I promise you I will back my prince on his word." His hand rested on his sword grip and caressed the handle comfortably. Asa had no doubt that if pushed, the Warrior General would defend Darien with one stroke. Asa sought another subject quickly.

"Now Princess Carrol on the other hand…"

"What about her?" Maranta was able to keep his tone merely grumpy as if tired of all the horrid accusations against his charges, rather than worried his secret affair with her was about to be exposed.

"Well, I am a little concerned about her, frankly. I would have sworn she would have been one of these women who squeal like a chesser to get married before her century birthday! She has a few gentlemen callers but… well, I suppose there is nothing much to worry about with her, really. She is merely showing the kind of respect and regard for her noble station and royal title I wish her wayward brother would show."

"She is very much like her mother, and Queen Oriel is the soul of good taste."

"Yes, of course you are right. But do you think we should have seen some sort of interest in someone from her by now?"

"She is scarcely one hundred years old, Dr. Mennar. Word, I would have thought you Elders would be pleased the princess is not some love-struck young silly thus far! She takes a keen interest in her task just as any young Thuringi should. There is plenty of time for her to find someone and fall in love and all the rigmarole that comes with it."

Asa laughed not his usual choppy sneer of triumph but a genuinely amused chuckle. "Ah, General Shanaugh! You are like your father in many ways, but I vow you are exactly like him in matters of marriage! Really my boy; you need not fear the vicar and the ring! Marriage is quite an agreeable arrangement, you know. You may find someone right for you some day."

"I will take your word for it," Maranta grunted, and Asa chuckled. They never spoke about any of that again. Asa kept his word about remaining silent about rumors regarding Darien and Aura. It made Maranta wonder just what sort of mischief he was crafting.