by E G Manetti
Versions vary and each canon prefers its own perspective. All concur that what tipped the balance from anarchy to order was a man’s desire for a woman. Socraide Omsted became enamored of Adelaide Warleader, Jonathan Metricelli’s chief retainer and possibly his consort. Eager to detach Adelaide from Jonathan, Socraide engaged his ally, Mulan Tsao, to negotiate on his behalf.
How the next series of events unfolded is shrouded in the mists of time, but the result is certain. Not only did Socraide and Mulan negotiate with Jonathan, they included Sinead. At that eventful meeting, a contract was formed. The four warlords would cease to use military conquest to fulfill their ambitions. Instead, they would advance their designs through negotiation and treaty. It was Mulan Tsao, the Third Warrior, who provided the framework for the new order with a charter derived from the advanced society of the Ancients. The Code of Engagement is the cornerstone of the Order of the Five Warriors. ~ excerpt from The Origins of the Five Warriors, a scholarly treatise.
Sevenday 27, Day 5
“A training misadventure?” Lilian questions Chrys incredulously. He and Rebecca had arrived in the Dispensary soon after a medic finished assisting Lilian to cleanse and dress. “Katleen is young, not impaired in her wits.”
“It wasn’t Chrys alone,” Rebecca explains. “Monsignor Lucius sent his driver to your home. Mr. George confirmed there was naught of concern and that you would return today.”
Katleen is entranced by Chrys and would wish to accept any explanation he offered. If Katleen had any doubts, Mr. George confirming the fable would have dispelled them.
“My thanks, Chrys.” Lilian finally nods her understanding. “It is better that Katleen know little of this.”
Lilian’s sister is prone to evil dreams, which had barely ceased after Patrick Volsted’s attack two months gone when the shrine beggar’s assault brought a renewal in frequency. This newest assault could bring on additional distress. Lilian has not discussed either of the earlier attacks with her friends. Master Trevelyan succeeded in burying the shrine beggar incident, and if they are ignorant of Patrick’s assault, Lilian prefers they remain so. All she adds is “Katleen finds our circumstances difficult enough. It is well that she has no additional cause for apprehension.”
“As to that . . .” Chrys begins and then exchanges a glance with Rebecca, who nods encouragingly.
“. . . we do not wish to intrude,” Chrys continues. “Does it please you, Rebecca and I will escort Katleen to the market this Seventh Day.”
Since the ruin, Lilian and Katleen’s Seventh Day marketing has been punctuated by insult, both verbal and physical. Admittedly, since milord disciplined Hernandez, insult has remained verbal. Nonetheless, physical insult may return at any time. Even if it does not, Lilian is unable to carry the heavy market satchels.
Gratefully, Lilian replies, “It would be a boon.”
»◊«
“Truly, Monsignor, I regret I did not act more quickly,” Nickolas insists, swallowing humiliation as he takes Lilian’s place at eighth-bell attendance. Standing. The next day will be the same. Nickolas will fill Lilian’s attendance requirement until she returns to the Cartel on First Day to come.
Eager to justify his inaction, Nickolas continues, “When I arrived in the chamber, the match was in progress. She was overmatched and failing. I expected her to yield at any moment. When she fell, I thought it done. It was not until Macomber kicked her that I realized aught was amiss.”
“Naught amiss in a match where Lilian was unarmed against a training sword wielded by a man known to despise her?” Lucius’ tone holds a silky note that Lilian has come to distrust.
Nickolas, too, is well aware of the anger the silk denotes. “Monsignor, it was not exceptional, such torments are an apprentice’s lot.”
As Lucius’ lips tighten, Nickolas rushes out further justification. “I expected her to yield. I cannot fathom why she did not.”
“Would you have enjoyed the spectacle of my Raven licking Grey Spear’s boots?” Lucius’ silk deepens.
“Monsignor!” Nickolas is shocked. The level of groveling Martin demanded of Lucius’ apprentice was well beyond custom. It was a challenge, an overt attack on Blooded Dagger prestige and power. “I had no notion. It is well she refused to yield.”
Internally, Nickolas admits a grudging respect for his lord’s doxy. He did not think her capable of enduring such abuse to protect the honor of the cartouche.
“Again, you refuse to voice Mistress Lilian’s name. No more,” Lucius snarls. “This is not the first occasion your disdain for Mistress Lilian has resulted in dangerous neglect.”
At his mentor’s rage, Nickolas quails. “Yes, Monsignor. Forgive me, Monsignor. Mistress Lilian.”
Slightly mollified by having cowed his protégé, Lucius leashes his rage with intellect as he assesses the young warrior. Nickolas came late to the training chamber and was unaware of the true nature of the challenge. There may yet be a means to bring his conventional protégé to acknowledge Lilian’s courage. “You continue to underestimate Mistress Lilian. What would you endure to preserve your grandsire’s blades?”
The ancient blade collection that adorns a wall of Nickolas’ office is a matter of great pride to him. He cannot imagine yielding it. Monsignor’s rage is worse than Nickolas feared. Monsignor is demanding the blades in contrition for Nickolas’ negligence. Honor acts as duty commands.
“Aught I possess is Monsignor’s,” Nickolas offers through rigid lips and jaw.
Surprise slows Lucius’ response. He intended to remind Nickolas that Lilian would hold her blade as dearly as Nickolas holds his. Lucius did not anticipate that Nickolas would infer a threat. His protégé’s conventional mind is a matter of frustration, but his devout adherence to warrior honor reminds Lucius why he selected the young man. Such true faith is rare in these modern, cynical times. The silk is absent as Lucius replies in his customarily clipped tones, “You mistake me. I was referring to Martin’s other term of submission. Lilian was to yield her thorn.”
Nickolas knows that Lilian employed the thorn to defend herself against assault from Patrick Volsted and his friends during the early days of the rainy season. At his mentor’s words, he understands that it is not only a personal blade but an item of intense personal value. He also reaches the same conclusion as Trevelyan. “It would not have been enough. I should have struck that crevasse-crawler a great deal harder.”
Lucius is pleased that Nickolas has reached the proper conclusion. It gives rise to other anger. Thorvald’s rendition of the encounter was meticulous and diplomatic. There is no doubt that Martin accosted Lilian unprovoked and then forced her to combat when she attempted to retreat. The level of brutality and the final moments of combat have been left open to interpretation.
“You are certain Macomber’s kick was deliberate?” Lucius demands.
“Yes, Monsignor. There was no mistaking the matter. The monitors and other witnesses will confirm it,” Nickolas affirms in righteous anger. There is no allowance in the warrior code for such a cowardly and base act. In battle, one slays the fallen quickly and cleanly. In sport, one graciously accepts the forfeit or allows the fallen to rise for further combat.
“My viewing of the monitors concurs with your account,” Lucius replies. “However, Monsignor Sebastian’s viewing corroborates Roger’s account that he but tripped as he went to aid Mistress Lilian to her feet.”
“That vile perjurer,” Nickolas begins, only to be waved to silence by Lucius.
“Nickolas, it is well you intervened when you did. It would serve my will better were you quicker to protect my interests.” Lucius regards his protégé narrowly. “We have discussed this before. I do not wish to revisit the topic in the future. Let my will be unmistakable. In the future, you are to protect Mistress Lilian’s well-being with the same vigilance that you guard Blooded Dagger’s position in the Bright Star Consortium.”
Clenching his back teeth, Nickolas acknowledges the rebuke. It is the
second he has received in recent months due to that woman. Prior to Lilian’s arrival, he had never been rebuked. Nickolas’ brief empathy for his lord’s tainted apprentice evaporates in a tide of humiliation. The doxy’s entrance into the Cartel has brought naught but strife.
»◊«
“I beg milord, may I not walk? I do not wish to be carried from Serengeti,” Lilian implores from the medic’s chair as Master Chin prepares to release Lilian to her home.
“Lilian, you must be cautious for several days,” Chin admonishes. “The sealant binds the fractures, it is not armor. Should you fall, the fractures could separate and become true breaks.”
“Milord, Master Chin, I will not fall,” Lilian insists, loathing the notion of being carried out in a public display of her humiliation and Grey Spear triumph. A display that will be all the more noticeable with the lobby crowded for the midday meal.
Absently sending his fingers along Lilian’s temple, Lucius considers the bruised eyes in the ashen face. Somehow she is small inside the black suit that fit well a day gone. Her heavy locks are lank and lusterless in a loose braid. Another set of nape ties has been lost. Lucius no more relishes the open display of Blooded Dagger humiliation than Lilian, but he will not risk further damage. “As much as it would please me to have you demonstrate that Grey Spear’s attack was meager, it is not wise.”
In response, Lilian’s gray eyes blaze with conviction. “Please, milord, I would rob Grey Spear of this. I will not fall.”
Sensitive to Lilian’s ongoing humiliation and pleased by her determination to thwart his rival, Lucius weighs risk and gain. Turning to his driver, he questions, “George?”
Garbed in the dark rust of Blooded Dagger servitors, Mr. George is as broad as he is tall, and all muscle. His pitted, roughly hewn face is a deep walnut. Most find the ugly driver threatening. From the first, Lilian has found comfort in the man she likens to the tree-trolls from children’s fables, a massive block of wood capable of rapid movement and stunning strength.
“Aye, Monsignor.” George nods in response to Lucius’ cryptic query. “Will Mistress Lilian take my arm, I will see she does not fall.”
“Lucius!” Chin protests. “You cannot consider this.”
“We could use the transport bays if you would hide her weakness,” Trevelyan suggests diplomatically. He cares no more for Lilian’s fragility than Lucius.
Beneath Serengeti, there are a dozen levels. The first two are given to the maintenance and supply of the massive headquarters complex. The remaining levels house the Serengeti transports and the private transports of the ranked and those associates with seniority to command a place.
When Lucius wishes his absence from the Cartel to go unnoticed, he exits through the transport bays. Lilian has never done so. When she accompanies milord to the penthouse, she is publicly displayed and exits through the lobby.
It is cowardice, Lilian mentally protests. Resisting the comforting pull of milord’s fingers on her temple, Lilian raises her eyes and squares her shoulders. “Milord, I will not fall.”
It is only four levels to the lobby and a short walk to the Blooded Dagger entrance, where the transport waits. Ignoring Chin’s censure, Lucius wills, “Trevelyan, clear the corridor to the risers. Lilian, you will remain in the chair until you reach the risers. Within the riser, you will allow Mr. George to take your weight. George, at the slightest hint of weakness, you are to carry Lilian.”
Lilian readily yields into George’s impersonal hold as the riser carriage doors close on milord, Master Trevelyan, and Master Chin. It is but seconds before the riser opens on the lobby. At the warning ping, Lilian straightens and grasps George’s forearm with her undamaged right arm.
I am the sum of my ancestors. Somehow an acre has sprung up between the risers and the exit. I am the foundation of my family. Lilian resolutely steps from the shelter of the riser bank. I will not fall. Clenching her hand on George’s forearm, Lilian steps into the lobby. Her limbs are slow and heavy. I will not fail. Gathering her resolve, Lilian takes another careful step. Honor is my blade and shield. This day.
The normal din of the lobby at midday hushes and then swells. Lilian’s passage has been noted. Honor knows not fear. Spine straight, shoulders squared, Lilian looks neither right nor left as she focuses on the impossibly distant exit and the waiting transport. Honor endures. Step by careful step, Lilian crosses the cartel lobby, her balance and conviction aided by the stalwart beam of George’s forearm.
Lilian does not note the tall man in black and the two women in mufti who rise from their seats in the Fountain Café as she passes. Nor does she note the stork-like figure that comes to the front of one of the finer lounges, along with three companions. At the concierge station, Fletcher, Kemeha’s popular protégé, turns and waits.
It is a small demonstration of her allies. It is sufficient. George notes it all, including those who appeared ready to taunt the battered woman but refrain.
»◊«
“Chrys, can he make the indictment prove?” Rebecca’s dropped fork clanks against her plate.
Master Martin has alleged that Chrys attacked him without cause. The vicious blow Martin intended for Lilian’s neck was but a defense against the unwarranted attack.
“It will not prove,” Clarice reassures both Chrys and Rebecca. “It is but a ploy to defend Master Martin. It is the entirety of the Grey Spear and Iron Hammer strategy. ‘It is all a misunderstanding. A challenge match gone awry.’ ”
“But the monitors,” Chrys interjects. “The other witnesses?”
“The monitors can be interpreted as the reviewer wills,” Clarice explains. “You may be certain that Monsignors Sebastian and Elenora are placing the most favorable interpretation on the recordings. The witnesses will be contradictory. They almost always are. From your account, the ones nearest to the assault participated in forcing the match. They will lie.”
»◊«
Sweat trickles over the jagged green lightning bolt tattoo—the Fourth Warrior’s consecration mark—that graces Nickolas’ abdominals above the waist of his training trousers. Lowering his training short sword, Nickolas bows and thanks Jonathan’s Discipline Master. Burning with humiliation from Lucius’ reprimand, Nickolas was eager to embrace his discipline and the serenity it brings.
The discipline master is complimentary. “You fought fiercely today, Nickolas. Such ferocity could see you a master.”
It is a privilege of the warriors to receive individual training from the Cartel discipline masters. After the seigneurs, Nickolas commands the most desirable training slot due to his position as Lucius’ protégé, his impeccable lineage, and his extensive family connections.
“High praise, Discipline Master. I seek not Shrine service,” Nickolas returns, well aware that his ability with a blade could see him discipline master did he wish to dedicate the bells. Although it is not mandatory, those who achieve mastery of either warrior canon or discipline commonly serve the Shades. For those of the common order, mastery is required for prelate status. For a warrior, only consecration and family connections are necessary.
Bowing once more, Nickolas takes his leave as the master’s next student arrives. Collecting a water vial, Nickolas notes a small crowd gathered at the window of a match chamber. Among them is Seigneur Thorvald. His well-muscled build and tightly braided, dirty-blonde warrior lock are unmistakable.
Intrigued, Nickolas eases into the crowd until he can view the chamber. Fletcher is dueling with Martin. The Iron Hammer protégé is shorter and leaner than the Grey Spear protégé. He is also quicker than Martin and using a saber to Martin’s short sword, evening their reach. Knowing that Fletcher detests Martin, it is surprising that Fletcher would give the younger man a match. Something is amiss. Without turning his head, Nickolas inquires of the nearest spectator, “What goes forward here?”
“The Iron Hammer protégé discharges your duty, Master Nickolas.” The lovely blonde’s tones are inoffensive, but her posture radia
tes hostility inappropriate in a Cartel apprentice.
“Rebecca, peace!” The tall man at the woman’s side is sporting a blackening eye. Nickolas recognizes him immediately as Seigneur’s Rachelle’s apprentice and the man who blocked Martin’s final strike at the fallen Lilian.
Ignoring Chrys, Nickolas demands of Rebecca, “What say you, Apprentice?”
“Master Martin took exception to Chrys hindering yesterday’s assault. When Master Martin took up the short sword, Master Fletcher intervened,” Rebecca replies without shifting her gaze from the match chamber.
Trained from his sixteenth year for a place in the cartels, Chrys is skilled in unarmed combat. He has limited skill with a blade. Even were it permitted for Chrys to draw warrior blood or slay another, armed, he has no hope against a trained warrior.
“How is that my duty?” Nickolas’ challenge holds menace. Fletcher’s decision to thwart Martin’s spite is not surprising, but it cannot be considered ‘duty.’ And the doxy dares to instruct Nickolas in ‘warrior duty’? The blonde’s disrespect warrants belting. That Trevelyan favors her is not license for effrontery.
A guttural sound and a hard glance from Thorvald warn Nickolas that he has come under the militia seigneur’s censure. With a slight cant of her head in Thorvald’s direction, Rebecca indicates that Trevelyan is not her only protector. Nickolas called forth the militia seigneur’s disapproval with his threatening tone.
Before Nickolas can react to Thorvald’s warning, Rebecca spits, “Lilian endured Grey Spear retribution for their thwarted Bright Star intrigue while you stood and watched. It was Chrys who defended Blooded Dagger, and now Master Fletcher. Aren’t you Monsignor Lucius’ Shieldbearer?”
Rebecca’s gaze returns to the duel. If possible, her stance gains in contempt.
Shieldbearer! It is true. Nickolas, as protégé, holds the ancient designation of Shieldbearer in recognition of his duty to guard the reputation, prestige, and honor of his mentor before his own. As preeminence, Lucius’ honor is synonymous with that of Blooded Dagger. The assault on Lilian was intended to humiliate Lucius as well as bring her harm. While Nickolas watched, Rachelle’s apprentice risked all to protect Blooded Dagger honor.