by E G Manetti
“We will not lack for choice, Mistress Katleen,” Douglas assures the young girl. “This is my third Garden Center festival. The stalls will be plentiful beyond Socraide’s path.”
As Lilian’s complement exits the ring, they find the parkland is packed with the street performers and vendors Douglas promised. It is also flooded with an increasing number of Five Warriors’ disciples who are pouring out from the ring in search of refreshment and entertainment.
The small company follows Lilian as she sets the direction for the quiet corner of the Garden Center they have chosen for their picnic. Along the half-mile route, they will acquire what is needed to complete their meal. Chrys and Clarice carry satchels with their midday meal, as do Lilian and Katleen. Rebecca and Douglas expect to acquire a meal among the stalls and they all anticipate acquiring drink and festival delicacies.
Katleen is beside herself, darting from tumblers to musicians to jewelers and sweets vendors. The young girl’s delight is infectious and none of the apprentices can resist indulging her fascination. With their days given to the demands of their seigneurs, the constraints of stricture, and the drive of their own ambitions, lightheartedness is rare in the apprentice ranks. Katleen’s exuberance is a balm to them all, not Lilian alone.
None of the apprentices notes the interest they have drawn from another group. They are five young men, scions of the First Families by garb and weapons. Their devotions have been liberally laced with strong drink. As Katleen flits by, the tallest among them, Gregor Matwan, nudges his neighbor and starts to follow.
22. Festival Brawl
By the third century of the Anarchy, massive tracks of land within the Second System were uninhabitable and almost a third of the water supply was fouled. Escalating strife drove the desperate populace into walled enclaves dominated by militia clans that rationed everything required to sustain life. Enslavement was often the price of entrance. Those favored by the clans fared well, while others barely survived. Penalties for defiance were severe and inconsistent.
Little is known of Rimon Ben Claude before he began the conquest of his neighbors. Due to his harsh but consistent protocols, the newly acquired territory was quickly subdued. Within a few years, enclaves fell with little or no resistance, as few chose to defend the clans. Even marauders readily accepted slavery when it came with rights to food, shelter, and correction limited by protocol. Rimon would not arm those who were once adversaries. Slaves who killed for any reason were executed. Those who proved their loyalty were eventually freed.
Moderated by the influence of the other Four Warriors, many of the Second’s protocols were incorporated into the governing protocols. The origins of the modern apprentice protocol have been traced to Rimon’s slave bonds. ~ excerpt from The Origins of the Five Warriors, a scholarly treatise.
Sevenday 44, Day 4 – Continued
“Fletcher, are these not clever?” Brianne examines elaborately worked incense jars while Nickolas and Jamal debate the most efficient route to the pavilion where they are to join family and friends. Lacking interest in shrine pots, Fletcher barely attends his sister. He idly examines the crowd, noting Katleen’s darting form and then the ominous interest of the following warriors.
“Nickolas, I dislike the look of that interest,” Fletcher interrupts the cousins, indicating the stalkers who are trailing the Serengeti apprentices. Eyes narrowed, Nickolas observes the two groups for a moment before nodding his agreement that Fletcher’s disquiet is well justified. Turning to Brianne and Jamal, Nickolas says, “Go on ahead and hold a place for us. Fletcher and I have a Cartel matter to address.”
As of one accord, Nickolas and Fletcher set off in pursuit of the pursuers. They are circumspect. They do not wish to instigate an incident. It is not lost on them that while the Serengeti apprentices are unarmed, their pursuers are not.
“Know you any of these men, Fletcher?” Nickolas inquires.
“The one in Jonathan’s colors is the younger brother of a moon racer. The moon racer is decent enough,” Fletcher offers.
“Well, his brother has fallen in with poor company. The tall one in Rimon’s garb is Gregor Matwan. He is a senior associate with the local Matahorn interests. I have known him since childhood. He holds his privilege in deep reverence and his honor in little.” Nickolas’ distaste for the other warrior could not be plainer.
»◊«
Leading the apprentice group toward their goal, Lilian is in front with Chrys and Rebecca. Douglas and Clarice follow, gently herding Katleen. The increasing crowds shift, and for a moment Douglas and Clarice lose sight of the others. Straining to locate their leaders, neither apprentice realizes that the easily distracted Katleen, enticed by yet another jewel vendor, has dropped behind.
Lilian’s unease has increased with the crowds. The delay at Adelaide’s Alcove following the encounter with Fletcher and Nickolas has kept the little group in the thick of the event for a full period longer than Lilian deems wise. Losing sight of her sister and her guards is all that is needed to send Lilian hurrying back along her steps.
The first indication of trouble is Katleen’s high-pitched cry. “Lilian!”
»◊«
Katleen is beyond thrilled. It is a wondrous Warriors’ Festival. Lilian’s companions are remarkably clever and without question devout. Chrys has admired her attire and her music. Lilian has smiled at least twice. The new one, Douglas—
“Demon spawn.” An ugly voice accompanies a hard jerk that pulls Katleen from her perusal of the sparkly green gems.
Rough hands and rougher voices surround her as the strange men tug at her limbs and pull at her hair.
“Gariten’s get.”
“Born to be a doxy.”
Hands grope and faces blur as the men toss Katleen back and forth, adding disorientation to the fear engendered by their crude taunting. Hands squeeze her buttocks, fumble at her chest. In the pandemonium of the festival crowds, the wild tussle is barely noticeable. Those few who do note Katleen’s distress are unlikely to interfere with the armed warriors.
Terrified, Katleen thrashes in the restraining hands, crying out for aid. “Lilian!”
A large hand thrusts between her legs. Wild with fear, Katleen breaks free to be grabbed and tossed again. “Bad doxy.”
There are at least four of them. Armed. Warriors. The tossing ceases. A man holds her tightly from behind as another closes, reaching for her skirt. Desperately, Katleen writhes against her captor, whimpering in her fear.
“That’s it, demon spawn,” the vile man gloats. “Sing for me.”
Demon spawn. Demon shit. The words echo and surface deeply submerged rage that displaces Katleen’s fear. I am not demon shit! I am Sinead’s dedicated! With a scream of outrage, Katleen kicks at the man raising her skirt.
»◊«
Breaking through the crowd, Lilian finds her sister in the midst of a group of men who are tossing Katleen from hand to hand with much laughter and jeering.
Delighting in their torment of the lovely girl, the men are crude in their intentions. “Pretty little doxy, what has your sister taught you?” “Not much in the way of tits, wonder if she knows how to use her mouth?” “It is a pretty mouth, little doxy, shall we try it?” “Nice ass, though, might want to try that.” “Think she has red hair on her nether lips?” “I would view her.”
Lilian’s heart races and blood thunders in her ears, muting the cruel taunting as the tossing ceases. Katleen’s arms are held in an iron grip, her back is pressed to the tormentor holding her while a second moves forward to grab a fistful of her skirt. Before he can complete the action, Lilian launches herself at the man holding Katleen, knocking him off-balance as her thorn plunges deep into a buttock, scoring bone. Simultaneously, as if the sisters’ actions are one, Katleen pushes back hard against her captor while kicking out at her tormentor, slamming into his manhood with a booted foot. Under the double pummeling and the pain of the thorn, Katleen’s captor cries out and releases her while the skirt
-lifting miscreant drops to his knees with an anguished groan.
Grasping her freed sister, Lilian pushes Katleen behind her with a word. “Flee.”
Brandishing her thorn to keep four men at bay, the fifth huddled moaning on his knees, Lilian begins to back up. She finds Douglas to her right, Chrys on her left. Flanking Douglas to his right are Clarice and Rebecca.
The five Serengeti apprentices with only one small blade amongst them square off against four well-armed, angry, and drunk warriors. The jewel vendor, who summoned the militia the minute Katleen was grabbed, begins to pray for the five overmatched festival disciples. He prays that the militia will be able to force its way through the crowd before too many of the gallant youngsters die.
The four louts close with what they consider easy prey, three with grins on their faces, the bleeding fourth with a ferocious scowl. Without hesitation, Lilian moves on the one closest to her, as fluid as water running through a sieve. This water has teeth, and the arm holding a short sword is suddenly numb and unresponsive as the thorn cuts deep across a bicep. Rolling to her feet, Lilian checks on the status of her allies.
Rebecca and Clarice have joined forces to distract one assailant. They alternately draw and dodge attack until Clarice is able to leap on his back and go for his eyes.
Chrys spins away from the long sword of another, absorbing a glancing blow that opens a rent along his ribcage. Certain of victory, Chrys’ adversary advances, swinging his blade with deadly intent.
“Serengeti!” Fletcher’s battle cry sounds simultaneously with the clash of his long sword against the other man’s. The disarming strike is followed by a hard blow from the grip of Fletcher’s sword, which fractures the ruffian’s jaw.
Douglas sweeps his armed adversary at the knees, the man’s wounded buttock impairing his balance. As the man finds the pavement, Douglas steps forward onto the short sword. Drawing a dagger, the man rolls to stab Douglas in the thigh, only to find his dagger struck aside by Nickolas’ short sword. The short sword is followed by a fist as the angry protégé breaks the miscreant’s nose in multiple places.
»◊«
“Papa, Papa! Master Nickolas has been in a brawl!” Elysia pelts into her parents’ quarters. Her pique at being compelled to return home with her parents rather than stay at the festival entertainments with Raphael and Cesare is completely forgotten.
Lucius and Estella have barely shifted from their festival garb. Their personal servitors, along with all but the household militia, remain at liberty until dark. Knowing that on the festival day there will be little that requires attention, neither Lucius nor Estella has yet to reach for a slate.
Meeting Estella’s eyes, Lucius discovers his own disbelief reflected in his wife’s face.
“Nickolas in a festival brawl? Surely not.” Estella cannot imagine that model of warrior restraint and discipline involved in anything as vulgar as a drunken festival brawl.
“It does seem unlikely,” Lucius concurs. Nonetheless, at his daughter’s insistence, Lucius activates the reviewer to the image of his protégé, accompanied by Fletcher, giving a statement to the media.
Behind the two warriors are two women, both in torn and bloody festival garb. One Lucius recognizes immediately as Lilian’s blonde doxy friend. Where is Lilian? There is no doubt in Lucius’ mind that where the blonde is, he will find his apprentice.
Nickolas bites out a terse explanation of how he and his fellow warrior were drawn into armed combat to defend unarmed Serengeti associates and a little girl. While Lucius’ protégé is speaking, the media reports shift to what is clearly an amateur visual of his apprentice defending her sister from armed warriors.
For a moment, Lucius’ blood runs cold as the visual plays out. Once it is certain that Lilian is unharmed and that none of his associates have taken serious damage, Lucius settles in next to Estella and Elysia. The events on the reviewer occurred earlier in the day and Lilian is safe. The morrow will be soon enough for Lucius to act.
For half a period, they view the media reports. Eventually Estella comments, “Someone in that group knows how to manage the media. It would not be Nickolas, is it the other one? The moon racer?”
Shaking his head, Lucius responds, “Not Fletcher, those are not his skills. The fair man in Socraide’s colors is Aristides’ apprentice. It is very well done for apprentice work.”
Sevenday 44, Day 5
Honor is my blade and shield. Honor knows not fear. Unlike the morning after Patrick Volsted and his friends assaulted her, Lilian does not wonder if milord is aware of the prior day’s events. Everyone on Metricelli Prime—and possibly the entire Third System—is aware of the festival brawl.
The media reports have been constant. Melees between cartouches and cartels are not unusual. Commerce competition can and does escalate into blood feuds. Such events surrounding Lucius Mercio’s notorious apprentice are too sensational to ignore, however.
Separated by the militia who arrived on the heels of Nickolas and Fletcher, the two combatant groups gathered in clusters while Sergeant D’Angelo took testimony from the jewel vendor who summoned the militia. Without hesitation, the sergeant ordered the five visibly damaged Matahorn adherents taken in charge. He had barely begun to address the aggrieved when the media arrived.
The same footage has played relentlessly since third bell the previous day. A tourist from the Southern Continent, intent on capturing all the grandeur of a Crevasse City festival, recorded the melee from a few moments prior to Lilian’s determined rescue of Katleen.
A young girl, tormented by grown men of the warrior elite, is rescued by a young woman barely of majority age. The fierce expression on Lilian’s face as she orders her sister to flee is frozen and displayed over and over again, as is the battle.
Five apprentices with only a thorn amongst them face four well-armed warriors. In defiance of the odds, the well-trained Serengeti apprentice staff is able to defend against the heavily armed Matahorn associates until rescue arrives in the form of two able and angry Serengeti protégés.
The visual was amateurish. The commentary was lifted heavily from Master Nickolas’ statement.
During the few minutes available while the militia questioned the jewel vendor, Douglas had rapidly planned for the media. Nickolas, the highest ranked of the Serengeti forces, must speak. He must emphasize the relative helplessness of the apprentice staff defending a minor child. He must dwell on the drunkenness of the Matahorn associates. He must express the horror Nickolas and Fletcher felt when they beheld the dishonorable attack on the little girl.
“Do not come right out and compare those excrement beetles to the Servants of Anarchy, but do your best to help others make the connection,” Douglas had said, concluding his rapid-fire instructions to the protégés.
“Chrys, stand next to Katleen; your size will make her appear smaller. Lilian, I regret, you and Katleen must remain until Master Nickolas has been under media scrutiny at least five minutes. Then Chrys may escort you to Sinead’s Shrine.
“Mistress Rebecca, you must stay as close to Master Fletcher as you are able. Mistress Clarice, remain by Master Nickolas. Socraide aid me, I would that Seigneur Aristides were here.” Douglas had done the best he could, but he was certain that if the wily media management seigneur had been present, a good deal more could have been accomplished.
In addition to the tourist’s video, several sections from Nickolas’ statement were repeatedly replayed, all woven together into a collage of melodrama and titillation. The first was of Nickolas, flanked by Fletcher, providing a harshly clipped statement worthy of His Preeminence. Two lovely and fragile apprentice combatants stood behind the protégés. One was a stunning blonde, her tunic cut from her right shoulder, the wound still seeping. The other was a petite brunette, midriff bared from a blade slice and the red line of the closing wound clearly visible.
Counterpointing the brawl and Nickolas was the jewel vendor. “Mishandled the little girl right out my stall, they did. D
runker than surfaced miners, they were, and it barely past midday. And the language, I wouldn’t misspeak a street doxy in that manner.”
The last visual was of Katleen, appearing closer in age to ten than twelve, being led to Sinead’s Shrine by her sister and the gallant young man in green, blood marring the left side of Chrys’ tunic.
All in all, Douglas’ qualms proved unjustified. His orchestration of the media coverage left the denizens of the Third System with a definitive impression of noble and capable Serengeti forces beating back the forces of darkness. Only a small, vocal subgroup was of the belief that Mercio’s doxy had no business daring to parade about at the festival among decent folk and that the Matahorn warriors were justified in drawing steel to lesson such effrontery.
Honor acts as duty commands. Douglas’ handling of the media notwithstanding, Lilian has brought scandal to Serengeti once again. As the eighth bell chimes, Lilian crosses the scarlet threshold and finds milord seated on the couch, the reviewer screen filled with the media accounts of the prior day’s events. At milord’s “Come, sit with me,” Lilian obediently takes a seat on the couch and waits. Milord does not appear to be displeased that she has been involved in a festival brawl.
“I am very pleased, Lilian. You did well. All of you did very well, both in battle and in managing the media afterward.” Lucius is delighted with this demonstration of competence in his most junior staff.
“My thanks, milord. Master Douglas reacted quickly, although he regretted not having the ability to counsel with Seigneur Aristides.” Lilian’s response is formal, reserved. She does not display the mien of a successful battle leader.
Surprised that Lilian is not more openly pleased, Lucius probes, “You are uninjured?”
“A few bruises and scrapes, milord. Naught of note.” Lilian dismisses the matter.
Confused by Lilian’s shuttered responses, Lucius persists. “Your battle companions fared well also. Only Master Chrys required sealing. Your adversaries were heavily damaged.”