BOOK 0: FIELDS OF FIRE Chapter xi

“I heard a disturbing rumor,” Lia Hellick told her husband in excitement when he returned from his shift.

“Not now, Lia,” Tomas sighed. “Let me shower first.”

“Is it true?” she asked. “Are you going to fight a Massic Surrell against Gareth?”

He looked at her steadily. “Yes, it is. He challenged me and I accepted.”

“Oh!” she gasped and kissed him tenderly. “My darling Tomas!”

“What?” he asked in surprise.

“That you would defend me, against him,” she cooed as she held him close. “You have no idea how it touches me.”

Tomas blankly stared at the wall in front of him. This was the stuff of nightmares. He longed for the days when he could come in from a good day’s duty, eat a bite, listen to a bit of music, read a book, and go to bed without a worry to his mind. He once longed for a lovely wife to be by his side to help him along the upward route of success within the Thuringi monarchal support system. Well, he got one: a wildly passionate creature who was about to drive him mad.

Should he tell her of the reason for the Massic Surrell now and get it over with? Let her know that her old lover did not suddenly take it upon himself to call him out for the sake of his jilted heart, or should he opt to accept whatever loving gratitude she may now shower upon him now with gusto? He was certain once she learned that Gareth Duncan was not fighting for her, but rather for sake of the damn Princess of Thuringa, Lia would slam her legs shut to Tomas for a long time out of jealousy.

He gazed at her adoring face. “You know how much I love you, precious,” he murmured. That was all it took.

"It is my understanding that Colonel Hellick aired his usual rude behavior, and Gareth Duncan decided to call him on it," Ford Trapis said to Dannar Hashone in the Standard cantina. It was a topic that rapidly made the rounds in every cantina and dining hall in the fleet, and many an eager ear strained to listen to the latest slant on the subject.

"But that is no different from sending a dallah out to challenge a beran. Is he mad?" Dannar asked. She ignored for the moment that Ford had his arm along the top of the booth seat behind her shoulders. They were casual friends, not sweethearts, but facts seldom dismayed Ford.

"Duncan is angry, and why not? Word, if someone accused me of shining the princess's buttons, I would be mad as in with anger, myself."

"That is what Hellick said?" she asked in astonishment.

"Keleigh and Ton were right there, heard every word. So did my brother Kyne. Then Duncan whipped off his gloves and - whack, whack! - gave old Tomas the one, two. Set the old boy back on his boot heels."

"It is a wonder that Keleigh did not smack him good, herself. She adored her cousin Maranta no end, and everyone knows she is very fond of the Princess Carrol; they have been friends since childhood. Who do you think will win?"

"Word, Dannar! Who do you think? Colonel Hellick did not become a colonel only by kissing up to the king. The man is a born swordsman, and a damned aggressive one at that. I believe the last time Gareth picked up a sword was when Maranta's crew was caught in the crossfire between some Shargassi and a crowd of Scoda. I hear he acquitted himself well - well, he is alive today, what does that tell you - but I doubt a mechanic can best a professional soldier."

"Poor Major Duncan. Fighting for the honor of the princess could get him killed."

Ford Trapis grinned and drained his glass. "Well, as my illustrious father might say, 'The God of All often champions the underdog, if the underdog is in the right'."

"You must be lying. It is a proven fact that the Bishop of Arne never says ten words when fifty commands more time," Dannar declared with a perfect deadpan.

They both laughed. After a pause, Ford said thoughtfully, "Well, I sincerely hope this time he is right.

The sentiment was echoed by everyone in the Standard.

It was almost court time. Darien frantically sorted through a selection of weaponry in his quarters as his brother entered. “Then it is true?” Stuart asked his twin. “Gareth Duncan is actually going to fight Tomas Hellick in a duel over our sister?”

“No, not exactly,” Darien corrected. “The fight is over an insult, one that Gareth would not tolerate, and neither would I. Hartin Medina suggested I look for a sword that will do since our vengeful mechanic has none.”

“Well, no one will tell me what the insult entailed,” Stuart said as he waved his hand in the general direction of the door.

“Hellick accused Gareth of shining Carrol’s buttons,” Darien replied shortly. Stuart looked his brother in disbelief before he drew his own sword out of its well-worn sheath, his face drawn and stormy.

“He can use mine,” he offered grimly. Darien looked over the blade and shook his head.

“I do not think it wise to provide him with a sword of the Royal House of Thuringa. Hellick also accuses him – it is not the issue of the duel, but more of a side bar - of hiding behind our royal protection.”

“Gareth Duncan?” Stuart exclaimed. “The man is as blunt as a post and always has been, according to Glendon. He has never needed nor asked for protection from anyone before.”

“Hellick is jealous,” Darien said with a short laugh. “Carrol says cantina talk is that his wife Lia wants her old lover Gareth back.”

“A little late for wishes, is it?” Stuart pointed out. “Still, I fail to see how insulting our sister and Gareth will have any way of finding favors with his wife.”

There was another knock at the door and at Darien’s call, Keleigh Shanaugh entered. She carried a long object wrapped in heavy cloth, a luminous silver Pleonian blade with intricate carvings on the steel-and-Dorea wood handle. “My uncle had it among some of Maranta’s effects,” she told them. “It is the Challenge and it had a twin, the Endurance, but we never knew what became of the other one. Buried with him, I suppose? I cannot recall.”

“No, there was no sword at all buried with Maranta,” Stuart said as he ran his hand over the sword with admiration. “Wherever it is, the knowledge is probably buried with him. Does Carrol have it?”

“I think not,” Darien said. “I helped move in his things myself and did not see it.”

“Take this to Gareth if you will, Keleigh,” Stuart said. “That way, Hellick cannot find satisfaction of it coming from the House of Phillipi.”

She met his smile with one of her own. “The House of Shanaugh will find pleasure in being represented by Maranta’s favorite auxiliary warrior," she remarked as she wrapped the cloth back around the exquisitely crafted sword and its scabbard. "But I am concerned; Gareth is not a practiced swordsman and Tomas Hellick is.”

“Hartin did what he could but fears it is too late for better tutoring now,” Stuart sighed. “Father has called court, and court is the time and place for settling a Massic Surrell.”

“We should get moving if Gareth is to have a chance to test this sword at all,” Darien declared with concern.

After a hasty search failed to find Gareth, the three trudged to royal court, heavy in heart. “We did not think to check Carrol’s quarters,” Stuart whispered to Darien, who gave his brother an irritated, eye-twitching study.

“This whole issue is about their curious relationship; do you honestly think he is going to prove Hellick correct by going to her?” he whispered fiercely.

“No,” Stuart told him. “He is not using her for any reason, and she would not allow it even if he tried. My point is they are friends, and they may be discussing this duel.”

"Too late now," Darien said. They entered the royal throne room, and it was easy to see Thuringi tongues had wagged in overtime about this most unusual event. It was standing room only in the throne room. Gareth was sandwiched between Hartin and Melina Medina.

Lycasis entered, the royal family took their usual places on either side of the king. All came to attention. Thurman Garin brought Oriel in and seated her beside her husband. The usual court business was heard and settled. Twice Tomas Hellick was called on to give reports; Lycasis showed nothing but his usual calm demeanor. Tomas was nervous at first, but when he realized the king conducted business as usual, he followed suit. He wore his sword, however; something he ordinarily did not do. The exception was missed by no one.

When the last business was done, Lycasis calmly announced, “We will now discuss the recently declared Massic Surrell. Will the concerned parties step forward?”

Tomas Hellick briskly strode up and stood before the king. He wore his dress uniform and sword as dictated by tradition. He stood as proudly as a man wronged, dignity all but oozing out his ears. Oriel studied him carefully, and Tomas had the distinct feeling that having all eyes on him was not nearly as unnerving as exposure to the queen's searching face.

Gareth also came forward, not quite as smartly in step, but in his dress uniform. The absence of a sword was glaringly obvious, as he did not even have a scabbard. He took his place nonetheless beside Tomas and stared resolutely at the king, his chin up and his hands relaxed at his side. Oriel watched him intently and also observed the look of fear and despair on her daughter's face.

“What is the purpose of this challenge?” Lycasis asked.

“I have been insulted unjustly,” Gareth said resolutely. “I seek satisfaction.”

“Satisfaction, Major Duncan?” Lycasis queried. “Will calling this man out in a duel satisfy your wounded pride?”

“If I succeed in cutting out his tongue, it will,” Gareth answered promptly and with complete candor.

This was not the sort of thing usually said in the king’s presence in the royal court. Lycasis lifted an eyebrow but betrayed no other reaction. Stuart and Darien on opposite sides of the royal dais wore grim smiles of amusement. Carrol struggled to retain her composure. She was not afraid she would laugh; she was afraid she would scream and take a first strike on Tomas Hellick, herself.

“And just how badly were you insulted that you would challenge this man to draw on his sword in a duel?” Lycasis asked.

“He insulted my integrity and that of the princess Carrol Shanaugh de Phillipi." Beside Gareth, Tomas pursed his lips tightly, and began to breathe out his nose in order to hold his tongue. To Oriel, he looked like a forid croaking into the night air.

“And how was this accomplished?” Lycasis asked neutrally.

“He accused me of not doing my duty and of... of shining the princess’s buttons, Your Majesty,” Gareth replied, and realized that the little gasp he heard behind him, were people who knew better than to use such a phrase in the royal court. Lycasis's face was stony, and Oriel’s was white. “I apologize for such a crude phrase,” he said with a bow toward the queen, “but that is exactly what he said.” Oriel nodded in acknowledgment of his explanation.

“Do you deny this, Colonel Hellick?” Lycasis asked, his voice tinged with emotion.

“My words are often taken out of context,” Tomas replied smoothly.

“They were a direct quote,” Gareth said tightly, “with witnesses.”

“They were directed at you, not at Her Highness,” Tomas snapped as he turned his head to address Gareth.

“It does not mean I have to accept it,” Gareth came back, darting a glare in Tomas’s direction but not moving his head.

“And to what degree do you seek satisfaction?” Lycasis asked. The courtroom fell silent as each wondered if Gareth’s blunt tongue would carry this matter too far. To their relief, he gave a proper answer.

“To the degree of, a heartfelt apology to me and the princess Carrol,” Gareth said. “She is tainted by implication in the same phrase.”

“What weaponry do you choose?” Lycasis asked Tomas, who wordlessly patted his sword handle. By moving on with the ritual, Lycasis accepted the implication that Carrol was also insulted, and that made Tomas Hellick's tongue stick to the roof of his suddenly dry mouth. Lycasis looked at Gareth, who remained motionless.

"Just how do you intend to fight with no weapon?" Lycasis asked him.

“Are you denying yourself satisfaction?” Tomas asked Gareth out of the side of his mouth.

“Take this sword, Gareth Duncan, from the House of Shanaugh,” called out a voice. Gareth and Tomas both turned as Keleigh stepped forward. She handed Maranta’s sword to Gareth, and he took it almost reverently.

Tomas spoke up. “Your Highness, of course I will answer Major Duncan’s challenge, but I have no wish to play on an unfair field. I have had many opportunities at which to wield my weapon in battle, and Major Duncan has not. It is hardly a challenge.”

Gareth drew the Challenge from its scabbard, and its gleaming blade flashed in the lights of the throne room. He tested its weight briefly in a short series of flourishes with one hand. The look on his face was almost as steely as that of his late superior, General Shanaugh.

“I would challenge you with my bare hands,” he assured the now uncertain Tomas Hellick, “but I think I like this better.”

"Then, let the Massic Surell come to pass," Lycasis intoned.

Four Naradi took places at four corners in the cleared space of the aisle, and the two opponents went to the center and stood with their backs to each other. Tomas stared out impassively at the crowd, and at his wife. She said nothing to him; she merely held a comfort cloth to her mouth in fear. Whether it was concern for her husband or concern for her former suitor, was fodder for private debate among the onlookers.

Gareth stood at the ready in front of his friends: the Medinas, Glendon Garin, Brent Ardenne, Keleigh Shanaugh, Stuart Phillipi, and Carroll Shanaugh de Phillipi. Her hand was at her throat and she looked ready to cry. Gareth suddenly felt an odd jolt on either side of his head, and his mouth twisted into a smile, a saucy and confident smile.

“Draw on,” Lycasis called out.

Without realization or analyzing his movement, Gareth quickly darted forward and down, and turned to swing his sword upward to parry Tomas’s opening thrust and cast it aside. Springing back up and to one side, he circled in concert with his opponent. He kept his sword moving in a complicated pattern and taunted with its carefree movement. Hartin muttered a soft, "Hmm," of mild surprise.

Tomas made advancing thrusts, but Gareth deftly thwarted him by blocking the blade and forcing it harmlessly away. As they blocked and parried, the two opponents gave both cadets and seasoned veterans a lesson in form. Instead of the one-sided contest that he assumed it would be, Tomas discovered there was more to Gareth Duncan than he realized. Somehow between his work on engines, pouring over ship designs and bending his elbows at cantinas, Gareth evidently put in unknown time in the consue training area. These were not the skills and tactics of a ship mechanic. There was a flourish to his sword Hellick did not count upon.

Tomas worked up a sweat. Word, this was a challenge. Perhaps this man was not the simple buffoon Lia implied he was. There was no telling how much training General Shanaugh might have given his favorite auxiliary after Tomas transferred out of their unit. Perhaps a knowing swordhand was what braced Duncan's brazen words.

Whatever the case, Tomas Hellick had his work cut out for him. The simple minute-long duel of his morning's mind turned into a grueling contest. Gareth did not hack and slash. He deftly parried against Tomas's blade, and his cool unhurried form reminded many of the late General Shanaugh. Tomas sweated profusely, while Gareth's face barely betrayed a light sheen.

Catching the tip of his blade on and past the handle guard on Gareth’s borrowed sword by chance, Tomas thrust forward to pierce Gareth’s hand. Gareth reacted to the pain with a start and in doing so, dropped the sword. “Give,” Tomas suggested in proper response, and used his blade to guard against Gareth’s retrieval of his weapon. Gareth took a deep breath and did a sudden one-handed somersault forward and knocked Tomas’s sword aside with his foot. This move was so swift and unexpected that Tomas could only make a hacking slash at him. As he came up, Gareth brought his fist up and connected with Tomas’s jaw solidly.

The Thuringi colonel staggered, and Gareth followed up with a quick series of body blows. He threw a roundhouse kick to connect with the side of Tomas's head with his foot, and Hellick dropped to the floor. As he kicked the sword away from his opponent’s limp hand, Gareth swiftly put one foot down hard on that hand and thrust the other knee against Tomas’s chest. He reached to grab Tomas by the throat with his uninjured hand.

“<Apology>,” he demanded.

“Get off me, you uncouth everyman,” Tomas choked.

“<Apology>,” Gareth demanded and tightened his grip. “<You owe both Carrol and Gareth an apology>.” Tomas reached up with his free hand, but before he could get a hold, Gareth’s injured hand darted out and caught him by the wrist. Leaning further down to his pinned opponent, Gareth hissed, “<Only too happy to oblige your death wish, Tomas-sa>.” Tomas stopped his struggles and simply stared open-mouthed up at Gareth, whose eyes held a ghastly glow to their yellow depths. As he began to tighten his grip on the throat, Tomas sputtered.

“Apology! I apologize!” he called out as he struggled to the break free of the hand around his throat.

“<To both>,” Gareth hissed, his eyes still glowing.

“To both you and the princess,” Tomas managed to croak. Gareth leaped to his feet, and the sudden release made Tomas draw a desperate breath, and choke. He coughed as he got to his feet.

Gareth emerged from the strange fog of his mind; voices and sounds began to drift into his consciousness. While he fought, he had no thoughts whatsoever, he moved to the orders of an unknown presence.

Lycasis stood in a casual stance in front of the throne, his thumbs resting in the tunic sash at his waist. “Satisfied?” he asked his subject.

Gareth nodded. His breathing was harsh, and he was suddenly damp with sweat from exertion. He turned to look for his sword and staggered slightly when he went to get it. He picked it up reverently. With no proper scabbard sash, he slid it against his tunic belt until the hilt rested on the belt.

“The crown is grateful for the lack of Thuringi blood being seriously spilled,” Lycasis said. “Colonel Hellick, are you well?”

Tomas Hellick replaced his weapon back in its scabbard. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he answered Lycasis, but his sights were on Gareth. “But it was never my intention to cast aspersions toward Her Highness,” he repeated. “I ask the crown to acknowledge that.”

“The crown hears your words, and accepts your protestation,” Lycasis said easily.

“And do you accept it, Gareth Duncan?”

“I do now,” Gareth answered. “Your apology was my acceptance.”

“The Naradi may step down, with our gratitude,” Lycasis said, “This court is adjourned.” The Naradi joined the chatting crowd around the two opponents. Lia Hellick de Neo went to her husband's side, quiet and dignified, as did others of Tomas's acquaintance.

"I am all right, I am not harmed," he told her.

"Certainly, neither is the honor of the princess," she replied, "and I do know how much you love me, precious."

“We are glad you were not seriously harmed, brother,” Raeden Hellick assured him. “That was an unexpected match.”

Darien caught Lia’s eye and flashed his most devious smile. She looked away and saw Gareth with Keleigh Shanaugh as he handed back Maranta's sword. His sure, easy grin had returned. Lia wondered if he would have ever called such a challenge for her, had she not spurned him with such finality for Tomas. The look of wonder and rapture on Carrol Shanaugh's face should have been on mine, Lia thought angrily.

"Come, Tomas," she said abruptly, "You have fought your duel, and lived. Now let us take leave."

"What are you angry about, I am the one who was nearly choked to death," Tomas growled at her.

"Yes, and you lost to a man who would fight for his woman, as you would never have fought for me."

"Oh, for pity of it all," Tomas fumed as they left the room. "Are you mad because I did not die, as well?"

"I never suspected that you were a swordsman, Gareth," Stuart exclaimed, pleased for his friend's triumph.

"Swordsman, and a fist man," Darien pointed out. "Where did you learn those moves, dear major? I may have to steal you away from the mechanics' corps for our warrior group."

“He did not learn those from me,” Hartin admitted, impressed.

"I wish I could cite you the lesson times, but I cannot," Gareth said honestly. "I... I really do not know how I did, what I did. The last thing I really remember, is seeing Keleigh Shanaugh hand me that sword, and then..." He caught Carrol's eye, and smiled. "And then I saw Her Nibs looking as if I was a friak waiting to be peeled! Well, bravado is all very well and good, but I must say a good foamy glass of ale right now would hit the mark."

"On the contrary, a visit to the sickbay would be the next order of business for you," Carrol said as she shook her head in wonder. "Do you feel your wounds?"

"Yes, it smarted very impressively when he opened my hand! Just close it back with a wound binder or what have you. Good thing it is not my drinking hand," he joked, and the Phillipi brothers laughed with him.

"No, not that," Carrol corrected, and brushed the hair back away from his face to reveal a cut near his temple.

"You have a gash the length of a palm alongside your face," Hartin Medina informed as he inspected the wound closer.

"Name of all!" the mechanic declared, flinching away from Hartin's inquiring fingers. "What are you doing, Wag?"

"I am preparing to take you to sick bay and seal you up. Your Majesty, blood was shed here today, after all, but it is not life-threatening."

Lycasis came to see the damage for himself. "Yes, I saw that earlier, but it did not appear deadly to me either.”

"Well, keep him away from the cantina for awhile, Princess Carrol," Hartin said. "Any liquor will only serve to thin his blood for more loss."

"I?" Carrol exclaimed, visibly surprised. "What say have I to dictate the terms of Gareth's drinking habits? And why do you think he would listen to anyone concerning them, anyway?"

Hartin Medina came as close to chuckling as any of his men could recall. "In that case I will give him physician's orders and pass it on to the bartenders if need be." Lycasis nodded and returned to his throne, and Oriel.

"Cruel fate, to win a duel only to lose my right to bend my elbow at the cantina of my choice," Gareth lamented.

"You will live," Hartin assured him. "Make way, now. Major Sword-and-Fist needs treatment," he called out as he and Gareth made their way through the crowd.

Carrol saw her father watch the exit with an unfamiliar glint in his eyes. She approached her parents. "Are you satisfied now? The man put his life on the line to defend our honor and good names. Is this a man you would vilify?"

"Is this the man you love?" Oriel asked quietly.

"Mother," Carrol sighed in exasperation, "Were there no friends on Thuringa when you and Father were courting? Is a platonic friendship such an unimaginable state?"

"No, but then I never heard of a platonic man friend declaring a Massic Surrell on behalf of his platonic woman friend before," Oriel replied calmly.

"There is no reasoning with you," Carrol groaned.

"I am grateful that Gareth Duncan called the duel for your good names. It would have been not to the good of the crown to have Colonel Hellick demoted for a personal slight. I was tempted, but Major Duncan spared the crown the deed," Lycasis said in a low voice.

"But Gareth could have been killed," Carrol said.

"He called his duel, daughter; I did not order it. Fortunately, your friend has an able sword hand. I wonder why he is a mechanic and not a warrior."

"He was trained as a warrior but is a design engineer as well as a mechanic. He has plans for the Freen's re-design," Carrol said to them. "He is quite astonishing, Father; if you fully met him you would understand."

Oriel smiled. "There is much to this man," she mused, "especially one who invokes such enthusiasm from a platonic woman friend."