“Let them in,” I instructed, as the first of them reached the door.
With a nod from Gants twenty or thirty men entered the room, the majority in power armor but a few not.
“What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?” I asked mildly, as if I were out for a stroll and just happened upon them.
A single man stepped out from the mass of men and, while I watched him come toward me, I could see even more men in power armor stepping inside the room.
The ones who seemed less practiced moving in their battle-suits aligned themselves behind the approaching figure, while their more skillful comrades moved to the other side of the room and spread out.
All this I took in at a glance before my presumed challenger arrived. Then the other man was before me, and he lifted his suit’s helmet.
“Nikomedes,” my lip curled with recognition.
“Admiral Montagne,” he replied with a respectful nod, looking down at me from his power-armor-enhanced height—which was nearly seven feet even without the high-tech gear.
“Why am I not surprised?” I asked rhetorically, shaking my head.
“It was decided that, of all the men who gathered here, I am of the highest status. That is why you see me here now,” he replied, his voice conveying an unusual degree of deference—given the circumstances.
“It seems that no good deed goes unpunished, and if this isn’t proof of that maxim then I don’t know what is,” I said, shaking my head in disgust. “Unless you’re here to reaffirm your undying loyalty and gratitude then state your purpose and let’s get on with it.”
“I am grateful, Admiral, and I believe that my loyalty on the field has never given cause to be questioned. But we are not currently at war, and it is the right of every warrior to challenge for place and position under the War Banner during times of peace,” he replied, utterly unshaken by my rebuke.
“So…your people plan to unseat me, and you’re the man they’ve sent to do it? Or are all of you lot planning on lining up, one by one, to fight me until I drop from exhaustion?” I asked evenly.
“This is not an uprising situation, but an honorable, time-tested tradition of our people. We will follow the rules of the circle. I am the first, but there will be no more than one challenge per day, and as Protector you can set an interval up to three days hence,” he explained. “With the miraculous healing properties of the tanks, you should be recovered from all but the worst wounds in that amount of time.”
“Last time, I spared your life; this time, I won’t make that same mistake, Nikomedes,” I said flatly, stating it as an immutable certainty—one which I fully intended to make real.
“Yet, if given the chance, I will definitely spare yours, Admiral,” the other man replied simply.
“You seem fairly certain you’ll win,” I said, my lips parting in a sneer as I started to channel all the negative emotions of the recent months, “but I wouldn’t be too sure of victory if I were you. As I remember it, the last time we fought you were the one left bleeding and broken on the floor of the Great Hall,” I sneered.
“Last time we met, you alone had powered armor,” Nikomedes said, slapping the battle suit’s pauldron to show that this was not the case any longer, “and again, when you met my two former rivals, you used trickery and deception. I wonder how well you will do now that the field is leveled and we are on guard for your…tricks.”
“You scoff, but I have yet to lose to your people; I like my chances,” I said sharply.
“At best, you are only a middling swordsman. As for losses…if you truly were undefeated, I expect we would not be here,” Nikomedes declared.
“Oh?” I mocked.
“Indeed,” he scowled, “you have been lucky in the challenge circle until now, but that is all it has been: luck. A Warlord is not measured only in personal combat ability; it is mainly your other failures which have turned so many against you.”
“Faithless men such as you, you mean?” I continued to mock him. “It seems to me that my only failure was to not properly screen the men I allowed into my Lancer division. If there is a failure, it was to give you a chance to prove yourself worthy of elevation!”
I didn’t believe for a moment that he was really intending to leave me alive at the end of the battle if he won. I knew that he’d been after Akantha from the start, and leaving me alive would only allow me to do what he was doing: build up my strength and comeback. But, fortunately for me, I didn’t have to worry about that too much because, barring extremely bad luck, I wasn’t going to be losing this match—or any of those which followed.
“Hubris!” he bellowed, his deep voice echoing throughout the chamber. “Time and time again, you have lost in battle. First at the Omicron—where you were captured, leaving Lady Akantha at the mercy of ‘your’ enemies. You even had to be rescued from prison by your own crew while you gladly wore shackles about your wrists!” he snapped.
I snorted. If that’s the best he has then he really is just another power-hungry underling, I thought dismissively. Yes, that had been one of my lowest moments. But even after I was captured, we had still run the table on our enemies. While I wasn’t proud of it, that battle had still been a qualified victory.
“Only by her own hand was she saved. What’s more, how many times has your warship been brought to ruin beneath your feet? The Heavy Cruiser, Little Gift; the Lucky Clover. Even in the battle for Elysium, your own flagship was boarded and almost captured by the enemy,” Nikomedes declared, “you risk everything with each maneuver, and for what?”
“Wins—every last one of them. If you keep on listing my victories like this, I might actually start to blush,” I said with a theatrical laugh.
“You take the safety of your Mistress too lightly!” Nikomedes growled, turning red in the face. “Now you laugh and jest, but when it comes to Akantha it was your duty—nay it was your obligation—to ensure her safety by any means necessary. You ask why I am doing this? It is for that very reason. You brought a Hold Mistress—and your own unborn children, an unparalleled boon granted by the grace of the Hold Mistress herself!—into a warzone and almost lost them. But for the breath of Men, you would have lost.”
“’Maybes’ and second guesses, in situations where no harm actually came. Really, Nikomedes? If you think that Akantha would let anyone—least of all you or me—wrap her in a blanket and keep her safely away from the action, you don’t know her near as well as you think you do,” I shook my head piteously.
“Our world was invaded because of you! Perhaps you care about this, or perhaps you do not; I cannot say. But even if you do care, our world—and even the life of your Sword-Bearer and Hold Mistress—are not your highest priorities! Yes, you have other obligations but that is exactly why Akantha needs a new Protector; she needs someone who will place her—and her traditions—first. She needs one who will guard our planet with his life, not open Tracto up to the universe and bring a tide of death and destruction in his glory-seeking wake,” growled Nikomedes.
“Are you done yet?” I asked coldly.
“Speak,” replied Nikomedes, folding his arms.
“I saved your worlds from the Bugs. Without me, you wouldn’t even be around to complain,” I pointed out.
“I do not deny your service there, but you incited your own Uncle to invade. Tell me, Admiral: how many more like him will follow you here. The defense of Tracto must be handled by a Tracto-an,” Nikomedes declared.
“I did not interrupt you; please do me the courtesy of doing the same,” I growled.
Niko lifted his eyebrows and settled back.
“As for your naïve, foolish—and mistaken—belief that I brought the wrath of Jean Luc down on you,” I shrugged, “maybe I did and maybe I didn’t. But,” I lifted a finger, “let’s be clear. It wasn’t me who turned Jean Luc on you—it was the Imperials. Just like they seeded the Bugs outside your star system and waited for them to do their unholy work, our captured intelligence clearly shows that they urged Jean
Luc to come to Tracto. So, whether or not I came trailing a ‘path of carnage and destruction’ behind me is moot—because it came after saving your entire people from the Bugs. Your world was slated for destruction before I even knew the word ‘Tracto,’ let alone the world.”
Nikomedes was breathing harshly through his nose, “A conveniently timed explanation. Even if true, at this point there are too many invested in your defeat to simply back away from mere words,” Nikomedes said with a resolute shake of his head.
“Do your worst then, and don’t hold back on my account,” I said, “I have never expected that the facts—or an inconvenient truth—would sway you from killing me.”
“I don’t know what she sees in you, but clearly she does see something,” Nikomedes hissed. “So, for her sake—and though you mock me at every turn—I will do what I can to preserve your life,” he said, and something in his voice was less-than-certain as he said this.
It wasn’t that I thought he was consciously lying about sparing me; it was more like he was fighting against some deep-seated preference to do the exact opposite.
“Even if she did not, it is true that you have been of some service to my world,” Nikomedes continued, his tone hardening once again as the uncertainty vanished. “Sadly—for you—we have reached the point where it cannot be questioned that the defense of our people, holds, and world would be better-served by being removed from your hands.”
“Yeah, yeah; you’re a lot of talk and no action,” I said in a loud voice.
“You cannot rattle me with insults designed to raise my temper. Your reign will soon be over, Jason Montagne,” Nikomedes said just as loudly.
“Then let’s get this thing over and done with,” I snapped. “Nikomedes will be first, but every warrior who intends to challenge me will step forward—now—so that I can know your face. That is,” I added with a sneer, “unless you’re too cowardly to let me know you?”
There was an angry grumbling that swept through the men behind Nikomedes, after which more than twenty men stepped forward.
“Every man here is of leading warrior rank or higher,” Nikomedes said loudly. “However, as a fellow Warlord in your service, I have the honor of being the first to issue my challenge,” stepping forward, he spat beside my boots, causing the rumbling to cease all around us. “Jason Montagne, if you are possessed of honor, face me in the ring.”
Stepping to the side, I turned so that I could see nearly everyone in the room.
“I have a Fleet to run. So I don’t have time to deal with your challenges day after day,” I said, shaking my head in disgust and looking down on the warriors around me, deliberately showing them my disdain.
“Then you refuse the challenge and show yourself to be without honor?” Nikomedes demanded, his eyes narrowing.
“Far from it,” I said assured him flatly, “however, my time is too precious to waste on the lot of you.”
The rumbling returned, and quickly rose to angry shouts—even some of them from behind me—and I lifted my arms in response calling for silence.
“Either accept my challenge or lose status in the eyes of the warriors here. I am a proven Warrior—a Warlord with my own fighting tail—and the owner of a Light Sword of Power—a weapon which I stake on the outcome of this battle, as I have every right to do! So,” he barked, “face me or be declared a coward before all these warriors—who are officers and leaders of other men within your own Fleet.”
“Oh, I’ll accept your challenge—as well as the challenges of any other disloyal warrior who has the guts to issue one here today. But,” I shouted, lifting my voice above the rising din, “after today, I won’t be entertaining any new challenges. This is a Fleet—an Army in the field; we have regulations to follow, and I don’t have the time to waste on pampering the ego of every man and his brother by giving him the chance to see who is the best warrior. You have your traditions and I have mine so, after today, while onboard any ship, station or outpost of this Fleet you can either follow, you can stand aside, or you can tender your resignation and head back home to Tracto. But anyone who attempts to make a challenge after today will be in violation of our rules—and summarily spaced out the airlock!”
“You say you’ll accept every man who challenges you, but you will only do so for today?” Nikomedes asked, as if to clarify. “So you mean you will be fighting one challenge every day at your convenience, until either you fall or all of your challengers are turned away?”
“No,” I said flatly, “I said that I’ll accept every single one of you that thinks he’d make a better Warlord and Admiral than me—and I’ll take you one by one until every, single, one of you traitorous blighters is dead—or pulls out in fear of that very end,” I explained, pausing before adding in a clear, carrying voice, “and I’ll do it today—one right after the other.”
Nikomedes looked taken aback, but I needed to put this whole ridiculous challenge business to bed. I didn’t know a better way to get them to agree to my proposal than to make them feel certain that there was no way they could lose—or, rather, that I could win. Taking them all on with such short notice would almost certainly seem like a completely suicidal move on my part—which was exactly what I was counting on.
“Even our greatest warriors would not face more than ten of his top warriors all on the same day in quick succession,” said Nikomedes dubiously, and I saw that while his resolve was clear, the rest of the warriors looked taken aback by my clarification.
“That’s because I am superior to all of your greatest warriors,” I said as arrogantly as possible, “and, unlike them, I can—and will—do it.”
“Impossible. Do you have a death wish?” Nikomedes asked, looking briefly shaken.
“Is that your way of withdrawing?” I demanded, and his face hardened.
“Absolutely not,” he said.
“Then let’s do this,” I snapped irritably.
“As the challenged party, it is your right to pick the weapons. While traditionally the challenger can set the time, I agree with your preference: let us settle this once and for all—right now,” Nikomedes said fiercely.
I nodded. “Because you complained that, last time, I fought you in power-armor while you had none, how about you and I go without armor for this first challenge? For the rest of you blighters,” I said dismissively, “I’ll use the suit.”
“No armor is fine,” Nikomedes said with an arrogant smile, “but for the actual weapons? Or did you mean to fight me bare handed,” he smirked.
“How about warrior rules?” I said with a shark-like grin. “Everyone here looks armed—presumably with whatever they’re most familiar with. So, whatever you’ve got on you right now will do. As for me,” I gestured to myself in my training gi, and then toward my Dark Sword of Power—which had previously belong to him, “I’ll go with this. After I defeat you—for what I can assure you will be the last time—I’ll switch over to that,” I said, pointing toward the battle-suit
Stepping out of his armor and reclaiming his sword, Nikomedes stepped into the challenge circle.
“Your preference is unconventional, but I accept,” he said with a hungry smile. I could all but see the desire to tear my head off emanating from him.
Frankly, the feeling was mutual.
Chapter Forty-five: A Legendary Duel
We met in the middle of the circle with a clash, and that first exchange was almost my last.
Because, while I was blocking the vibro-sword in his right hand, his left produced what at first looked like a bladeless hilt—one which quickly extended into a Light Sword of Power the size of a shorter-than-average sword.
Twisting and falling back, only by releasing my own Dark Sword was I barely able to avoid being gutted when that Light Sword came at me. As it was, I could feel the sting across my abdomen run up across my chest.
Holding his vibro-blade at my throat, the Tracto-an shook his head.
“Too easy,” he said, shaking his head at me as his lip cu
rled, “but, if I end it like this, there will only be more challengers until I prove myself.” After saying this, he stepped back, “I won’t have it said that a lucky blow ended this fight.”
“I don’t need any help,” I said, meeting his gaze with a fierce look and a finger pointed at his face, “so don’t hold back on my account.”
“Pick up your sword; let’s go again. I won’t give you a third chance, but I also won’t have it said that I won by luck. When I beat you, it will be clear for all to see,” Nikomedes said, clearly more concerned with how he looked than with actually winning. As if to emphasize his disdain, he sheathed his vibro-blade and came at me.
His concerns were not something I shared. I was in this to win, plain and simple—dirty, ugly, clean, or mess; I‘d take it however I could get.
Watching him the entire time—including his two blades, one sheathed and one not—I crouched down and scuttled over to retrieve the oversized Dark Sword of Power. I’d originally taken it from him way back during my first visit to Tracto, and it was a sword which had later been taken from me in turn by Jean Luc, before eventually being reclaimed after the Bugs had consumed my late and unlamented ‘Uncle’.
Snatching hold of the Dark Sword, I came back into a ready position.
Leaning forward with a fierce expression—that didn’t match the sound of his voice—he said, “If you love your Sword Bearer in even the smallest amount, then at least do your best to make this contest a fight.”
“I have everything under control,” I growled, “it’s you who’ve already lost you just don’t know it yet. Your petty arrogance and jealousy really know no bounds!”
“Ha!” Nikomedes scoffed, and this time when he came at me it was with a renewed storm of sword blows.
Forewarned after having my sword knocked out of my hand once, I was ready this time. Although he pushed me around the ring with that Light Sword in his left hand, I held my own in the exchange. After almost a minute, I started to feel like I was getting a feel for his style.
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