by E G Manetti
Reaching out to the rail, Estella halts briefly. “She refused to don the new frock. According to her cousin Jenica, lace is not at all pleasing this season.”
Giving his wife a brief squeeze of understanding, Lucius grits his teeth. At thirteen, Elysia is rapidly sprouting a woman’s curves that the young girl finds both embarrassing and awkward. She is also very fond of her older cousin Jenica, who has no curves at all and seems to favor her mother, Lynette, in spite and pettiness. Not for the first time, Lucius regrets he has been unable to aid his kinsman Marco in avoiding that alliance.
“At least we will be spared the trial of Lynette’s presence at the festival,” Lucius murmurs into his wife’s ear. “As a follower of the Fourth Warrior, she can gain no benefit from attending.”
“I am sure Marco shares your sentiments, my love.” Estella smiles slightly. Wedlock alliances are difficult to dissolve in the Twelve Systems. They are all but impossible to dissolve among the warrior elite. Marco and Lynette have not shared a residence in over a decade.
At Estella’s nod, they resume their descent. Both their sons, Raphael and Cesare, are appropriately dressed in Socraide’s midnight blue and purple. Cesare, at sixteen, is in a suit. Raphael wears battle dress, as does Lucius. Where Raphael’s belt is devoid of ornament, Lucius’ is hung with a dagger and saber in addition the platinum-and-ruby signet that denotes is preeminence. The hilts of both blades are worked with the Blooded Dagger device in the same platinum and rubies as the signet. In Lucius’ study is the dagger that will be Raphael’s when he proves his competency. Its hilt is worked in gold and rubies that will match the signet Raphael will receive at his twenty-fourth birth festival.
“Socraide Omsted be with you,” Lucius greets his children, the ancient benediction his to offer as Lord Patron of Socraide’s Sect in the Third System.
“We are grateful for the First Warrior’s favor,” all three chorus in return.
Lucius’ eyes narrow at Raphael’s red-rimmed eyes and pallor. Before Lucius can voice his annoyance, Mr. George coughs gently from the doorway. The bell advances. They must depart for the shrine.
»◊«
Crevasse swallow them both and the whole of the warrior elite with them. Tiger scowls up at the gallery from the shrine floor. In the center, Lucius sits surrounded by his family and important retainers. At the nearest staircase, Trevelyan kneels while the shrine attendants reenact Socraide’s alliance with Mulan.
For the fifth time, Tiger measures the distance to Lucius and concedes that the small fireburst pistol under his jacket lacks the range for a kill shot. None among the gathered has the angle or proximity to dispatch Lucius with a hidden pistol. A fire-rifle will not get past security. An assassin with a blade might succeed, but only if he is willing to die in the attempt. Once again, Tiger toys briefly with the notion of persuading one of his assassins and dismisses the thought. The Assassins Guild Council prefers that the existence of the Assassins Guild remain suspected, but unproven. Their response to the publicity of a suicide assault on Mercio would be exceedingly unpleasant.
Not that Tiger expected it to be that easy to break free of Mercio’s leash or Trevelyan’s whip. Boil them in demon puke.
Tiger forces his face to relax. If he wishes to be believed a legitimate commerce mogul, he must act the part. For the past three years, he has attended Socraide’s rituals, building a façade of legitimacy. After all, it worked for the Five Warriors. Five thugs now worshipped as deities. Honor? Order? Tiger fingers the scar that runs the left side of his jaw. A souvenir of the one time he was foolish enough to trust a warrior. Demon shit.
»◊«
As the third quintet of Socraide’s Canon ends, Trevelyan rises from his knees. On the far side of the gallery, Commandant Shelia mirrors his actions. Alert but unconcerned, Trevelyan scans the shrine as the choir and musicians launch into their praise of the First Warrior.
Surreptitiously rubbing his ears, Trevelyan attempts to ease the ache brought on by the heavy percussion favored in Socraide’s spiritual compositions. Not for the first time, Trevelyan notes that Lucius’ children are well trained. After two periods, all three appear attentive, although Raphael’s pallor suggests he celebrated his liberty from a day of studies with overindulgence last night.
Universe scatter it! The sudden flat in the tenor’s high note has Trevelyan cupping an ear in a protective gesture.
“Rimon’s Mercy,” Estella winces as the tenor’s voice crashes.
Lucius squeezes her hand in sympathy. Her illness may have robbed her voice of its strength, but it has not reduced Estella’s appreciation or sensitivity to music.
Frowning at his eldest, Lucius is far less sympathetic to Raphael’s soft moan. Raphael is becoming far too self-indulgent. Only the most arrogant or foolish of Socraide’s Discipline Masters would fail Lucius’ child at a competency trial. Raphael’s honor should compel him to a good performance nonetheless.
The music dies away, and Lucius turns back to Estella, giving her his arm to aid her descent to her knees. On her far side, Cesare has already found his knees. As Lucius lowers Estella to the floor, Cesare casually twists his torso, effectively blocking view of Estella’s descent. At Lucius’ questioning glance, Cesare smiles sadly and looks pointedly at his mother’s hand gripping Lucius’ forearm.
Lucius’ nod to Cesare is a promise. If their children have discerned Estella’s continuing weakness, it is better discussed than hidden.
As Lucius kneels with the end of the music, Trevelyan quickly scans the crowd once more as he finds his knees. As the fourth quintet begins, Trevelyan calculates that the recitation will finish in a little over a bell with little likelihood of disturbance. Although he has read all five of the warrior canons, Trevelyan has only participated in the rituals since receiving his signet a few months ago. The stylized enactment of Socraide’s Canon adds a depth and drama that Trevelyan did not find in the dry texts.
With the appearance of Adelaide Warleader, Trevelyan’s interest sharpens. All that is known of Warleader’s appearance is that she was tall, dark of hair, and attractively figured. The powerfully built acolyte who portrays the Warleader is intimidating. The belt of faux shrunken heads is believable. Watching the woman move, Trevelyan is certain she can execute Socraide’s Discipline with ferocity. She is in no manner capable of Lilian’s flowing water movements, though.
Interesting, Lucius thinks, watching the Socraide acolyte execute the Adelaide portion. It is customary for Adelaide’s Alcove to provide a discipline master to support the Adelaide sections of the Five Warrior Canons. Has Socraide’s Keeper Virgil fallen out with Adelaide’s Keeper? A year gone, both prelates were united in their public condemnation of Lilian.
As Adelaide and Socraide engage in combat by the sacred pool, Virgil solemnly intones the canon. A stocky man in his late eighties with a short curly beard, Virgil appears benevolent. His tongue is as sharp as his wit. The rigid prelate was vituperative in his attacks on Lilian and her family after Remus Gariten’s ruin. There is no question that the man’s tirades inflamed local sentiment against Lilian, increasing the hostility and disdain of her neighbors, as well as her physical danger. As Socraide’s Third System Lord Patron, Lucius used his considerable authority to silence Keeper Virgil. Lucius has yet to forgive him.
»◊«
“You understand that while there are benefits, there are also risks?” Lilian asks the quiet young man sitting opposite her in the Fountain Café.
Serious and thoughtful, Vicenza speaks little, but it is worth listening when he does. His success in initiating the new Cartel apprentices has earned him an invitation to join Lilian’s consortium.
Tabitha, to Lilian’s right, earned her place when she passed Trevelyan’s trials. That she desired to join the consortium surprised the apprentice group. As an associate, custom dictates Tabitha should distance herself from her acquaintances among the bonded. Tabitha has little use for custom. Lilian and her friends pulled Tabitha from a nightmare
. Whatever the risks of their association, the benefits are already proven.
Vicenza’s eyes flick to Chrys, who is a second-year apprentice with a protégé’s role in the Research and Development of Mercium. His gaze moves to the lovely Rebecca, elevated within a year from the most junior Cartel apprentice to Seigneur Trevelyan’s Raven. The pale gray-blue of an Iron Hammer apprentice does not flatter Clarice, but advancement to Seigneur Herman’s apprentice does.
The ambition and intelligence that carried Vicenza from the slums of Metricelli Deuce do not fail him now. Returning his gaze to Lilian, Vicenza affirms, “Mistress Lilian, no reward is gained without risk. Judging from the success of your allies, the risk is more than justified.”
»◊«
With pleasing deference, Keeper Virgil leads Lucius and his family to the best table in Socraide’s Shrine Quarters’ reception hall. It is customary for the shrine to offer midday hospitality to the warrior elite and Shrine hierarchy within the Shrine Quarters, while a pavilion erected on the shrine’s grounds offers a light meal to the commoners. As Sinead’s Seer, Helena could have a place in the reception hall with the other senior prelates. For over a decade, she has preferred to retreat to her shrine chamber for the midday respite. The habit is beneficial this day, as Katleen would not be welcome in the Shrine Quarters or safe in the pavilion. She can easily join Helena’s retreat to Sinead’s Shrine.
The beautifully laid table prepared for Lucius is centered in the windows that overlook the gardens and the rooftop of Socraide’s Shrine a half mile distant. The prior year, enraged at the Virgil’s defiance in defaming Lilian and her family, Lucius rudely refused Socraide’s Festival hospitality. This year, with Raphael about to stand trial, it was expedient to accept hospitality. Lucius is far from forgiving Virgil, but he is willing to allow the prelate to work toward redemption.
After seeing Estella comfortable, Lucius turns his attention to the rest of his party. Raphael is engaged with his cousin Micah, Solomon’s son and heir. For once, Raphael is demonstrating some judgement; his plate is lightly loaded with fish and fruit. It will reduce his hangover without leaving him over-full for combat.
Across the table, Cesare is chatting to Lady Chloe, Solomon’s spouse, and their daughter, Rorie. Lucius does not catch the conversation but is pleased that Cesare has teased a giggle from Solomon’s shy ten-year-old daughter.
Marco, seated with Elysia, says, “You are fetching this day, Elysia, although why have you abandoned the Second Warrior?”
Color heightened, Elysia picks at the rose silk, knowing her colors are inappropriate but unwilling to admit to vanity. “It is not—that is, I revere Rimon… only…”
“Only, I’m a clumsy excuse for a warrior,” Raphael cuts in. “I was in such a hurry this morning that I spilled half my breakfast on her attire.”
With a relieved smile, Elysia latches on to Raphael’s falsehood. “It was only a bit of jam, but I could not appear in a spotted frock.”
“Let us hope that the Second Warrior is not offended,” Solomon chides lightly. Although he is very fond of Lucius’ youngest, unlike his kinsman Marco, the conservative warrior is mildly shocked by the lack of reverence in Elysia’s attire. “It would be ill indeed if his ire cancelled out Socraide’s favor at Raphael’s competency trial.”
“No risk of that,” Estella serenely speaks for her deity. “Rimon favors protectors, including clumsy brothers.”
»◊«
Fierce. Katleen can think of no other word to describe the tall, virile man prominently seated in the shrine gallery. Somehow, the media visuals failed to capture the sheer force of Monsignor Lucius Mercio, the most powerful warrior in the Third System and one of the twenty most powerful in all the Twelve Systems. Lilian’s owner.
At the tail of the line of Sinead’s acolytes processing into Socraide’s Shrine, Katleen has the leisure to blatantly study Monsignor Lucius and his family, noting with a slight tinge of envy that his daughter is dressed beautifully and in the height of fashion. With a grunt, Katleen bumps into a senior acolyte who has halted in front of the challenge square. Set between the shrine entrance and Socraide’s sacred pool, the match square is visible to all the spectators. Serving as both a buffer to the crowd and as Shade Witnesses to the trial, the shrine attendants will stand in the open area between the challenge square and the crowd of observers.
With a hushed apology, Katleen rises on tiptoe to peer over the shoulder of the acolyte. Master Raphael is a lanky youth above average in height, with the promise of his father’s muscular warrior build but not Monsignor Lucius’ inches. Raphael’s dark hair and dark eyes are replicas of his father’s, while his mother’s fair beauty has lightened Raphael’s complexion and evened his features.
“For Socraide’s Honor!” the discipline Master calls from the center of the match square.
Lightly fingering his saber, the handsome young warrior flashes a charming grin at the crowd before replying, “For Socraide’s Honor!”
The rules of the thirty-minute trial are simple. Shielded by thin polymer blade guards except at the tips, the sabers can draw blood but not cause true wounds. Raphael need not succeed in cutting the discipline master, but he must endure. If he yields, falls, or is thrown from the square, the trial ends, and Raphael fails.
The trial begins slowly, the discipline master leading Raphael through the forms in a demonstration of knowledge and grace. Katleen has been raised in the Shrines, her mother is both a master of Sinead’s Discipline and a seer. To Katleen’s experienced gaze, Raphael appears clumsy, off-balance, ill timed. Does he ail?
Forms complete, the discipline master increases the pace, and the demonstration becomes a trial. Blood streaks Raphael’s bicep and then thigh. Raphael’s charismatic smile is replaced by a scowl. Thrust and parry. Dodge and feint. Three more marks appear on Raphael, and sweat begins to run. The discipline master pushes the assault until Raphael teeters above Katleen at the edge of the square. One more strike, and he will be dropped to the tiles.
Holding her breath, unable to name her need, Katleen prays, Please, Sinead, please.
A snarl erupts from Raphael, and he flings himself forward and to the side, rolling away from the descending blade. Whatever hampered the youth at the trial start, it hampers him no longer. He swirls into an attack, pushing the discipline master to the center of the square, a rivulet of blood running down the man’s sternum.
A gong sounds.
It is done.
While Raphael exits the square to make way for the next candidate, Katleen offers a brief prayer of thanks to Sinead, followed by the mocking thought that Lilian need not have worried. Katleen is barely visible in the throng of acolytes, and everyone is far more interested in the competency trials than the spectators.
»◊«
“Blade scored eight times by the discipline master and nearly pushed from the square,” Lucius clips out softly to Estella.
“He scored the master,” Estella replies as softly. “It’s been two seasons since the last competency candidate scored the discipline master.”
“Imagine how he would have performed without the hangover,” Lucius returns with a blend of pride and anger.
10. Scoring
Clever, devious, and ruthless, Socraide evaluated the cost of conquering Artesia’s citizen-soldiers and chose alliance. In that moment, three centuries of momentum shifted from Anarchy to Order. In exchange for some of his vast wealth, Socraide acquired access to the stored knowledge of the Ancients. Mulan never relaxed her vigilance. To ensure the survival of enlightenment, Mulan created a sanctuary and dedicated a select group of scholars to preserve the Archives and continue the exploration of Universal Balance. From this group, the modern Universalists are descended. The Universalist Sanctuary remains a city-state unto itself and its residents subject to the laws of Universalist Conclave and not the Twelve Systems’ Governing Protocols and warrior traditions. ~excerpt from The Origins of the Five Warriors, a scholarly treatise.
Seven Day 56 Day 2
“Chrys, there is Master Simon.” Lilian points to the second row, where the senior Research and Development associate is seated behind Nickolas. “If we hasten, we can speak with him before the scoring begins.”
The second Scoring Day has the Associates’ Hall more heavily attended than the first. Blooded Dagger’s lead over the other two cartouches is narrow enough that the competition and wagering are escalating.
“Well met, Mistress Lilian, Chrys,” Simon greets them, a smile giving his sharp, pointed face distinct charm. With his long legs and arms affixed to a short torso, the gangly technologist is remarkably reminiscent of Helena’s stork.
“I beg pardon, Master Simon,” Lilian hurries. “The latest Bright Star financials have arrived from the Matahorn Group. Seigneur Marco wishes them evaluated immediately. I will not be able to attend to Mercium until at least sixth bell.”
“Sixth bell? No, that will not serve,” Simon frowns. “I require at least three periods, and not when your mind is dulled by fatigue. Let it be tomorrow.”
“Three periods tomorrow?” Lilian echoes, her mind futilely sorting her schedule.
“If we are to complete the analysis by Sixth Day, it must be tomorrow,” Simon insists, his frown deepening.
“Tomorrow,” Lilian repeats, igniting her slate, knowing what she will find. She has three unscheduled periods if she includes midday, but they are scattered.
“If you please, Mistress Lilian,” Gil politely requests from behind Lilian. She is blocking the stairs.
Gil! Praise the Shades. “Master Gil, if you please, could we review your Mercium market analysis at eleventh bell on the morrow, rather than fourth?”
It is not ideal. The eleventh-bell meeting will compel Lilian to remain in the Archives through midday to complete her other tasks, once again skipping a midday meal. It matters naught if Gil and Douglas can make the change.