by E G Manetti
“No, my friend.” Apollo puts his hand on Trevelyan’s shoulder. “Sinead and Jonathan command Lilian through a blood claim. Lilian was adult when she yielded her will to Adelaide and Socraide. Without Lilian’s oath, no others own a claim.”
“That is impossible.” Trevelyan shrugs off Apollo’s hand. “Lilian is denied warrior status, her blood tainted. Neither the Fourth nor Fifth owns a claim any longer, by your own laws.”
“You mistake, Seigneur,” Gilead says. “When Lilian was consecrated she accepted the spiritual governance of Adelaide and all it entails. She knew what she did. It has served her well. Only as consecrated could she be Adelaide’s Thorn.”
“As you voice it, Lilian was owned by Sinead in the womb, claimed by two others before her fifth birth anniversary. Forced into bond to survive, she accepted the dominance not only of her lord but his deity.” As both prelates nod in agreement, Trevelyan clenches his teeth.
“It is a wonder she is not as deranged as her mother,” Trevelyan mutters.
“Trevelyan, you fail to comprehend,” Gilead says.
“Truer words have never been spoken,” Trevelyan returns. Glancing around, he notices Horatio’s silent presence and his lips tighten. He turns back to Apollo and Gilead. “Excuse me. I have duties to my signet I must attend.”
»◊«
Lucius finds Gilead’s cotillion as pleasing as the governor’s, the Lord Prelate’s respite table as enjoyable as Moira’s. Although Micah departed for Mulan the day gone, Elysia does not lack for partners, Nickolas, her brothers, and their friends keeping her well entertained. As for Horatio, he seemed far too pleased by whatever occurred when Trevelyan was in conversation with the prelates, where Trevelyan is not pleased at all. Whatever the cause of the tension, Horatio has said naught. Lucius will have the truth of it before commerce end on First Day.
“Lucius, have you taken leave of your senses?” Horatio’s incredulous tones return Lucius to the matter at hand.
Twirling his wineglass between his fingers, Lucius schools his expression to one of reason. He expected Horatio’s resistance to the notion of Raleigh as captain of the Nightingale. “I recognize that a free-trader is an unconventional selection for such an important commerce endeavor.”
Lucius has chosen his time and place with care. Open conflict at Jonathan’s Cotillion will cause undesirable comment. Horatio and his family are scheduled to exit planet on First Day and his duties are as extensive as Lucius’. He will not change his plans on a whim.
Horatio’s eyes narrow. “Beyond unconventional.”
The silence grows, Horatio using it to demand answers. Lucius could turn it into a contest of will but does not. A mollified Horatio will be more reasonable than an angered one. “Raleigh is proven in combat, inventive, and well experienced with traversing the edges of the beaconed expanse and all its hazards.”
“Hedge kin or not, the man is a smuggler and a free-trader, and likely a Universalist.” In other words, Horatio is certain that the deacon exists to defy the Five Warriors and the Order of the Twelve Systems.
“Raleigh admits that he is naught but a festival devoted, but he does follow the Fourth.” Lucius cannot quite mask his pleasure that his questionable hedge kin is of Horatio’s sect. “As to the smuggling, you know as well as I that while your intelligence could cause a scandal, it would not withstand the rigor of a protocol review.”
Horatio frowns. “Are you denying the man has trafficked in gray market pharmaceuticals?”
“I am suggesting that despite his lamentable free-trader convictions, Raleigh is both ambitious and adept commercially,” Lucius returns. He spent half a day studying Lilian’s model and the result set. There is no question in his mind that her analysis is accurate. It is Raleigh or delay a minimum of a year.
“Ambitious? I doubt it not,” Horatio utters in dry tones. “He is also likely to smuggle Thirteenth System wealth into the hands of his free-trader allies.”
“Matahorn has approved the safeguards on the Nightingale and her crew,” Lucius reminds him. “The probability of such an occurrence is all but nonexistent. The probability nears certainty that without Raleigh we will be another year before the Nightingale launches.”
“A year, you say?” Horatio glares at his wine glass.
Not only will the delay be costly, but Horatio’s curiosity as to what the Thirteenth System may hold is as strong as Lucius’.
“I like it not,” Lucius admits. He is the picture of warrior resignation in the face of duty. Inwardly, he is beyond pleased. Horatio is about to capitulate.
“Liger concurs with this analysis?”
Horatio’s sources within Serengeti are excellent if he knows that the seigneur who heads analytics is but a figurehead, and that Archives Master Liger is the true analytics genius. If Liger’s heir proves, he could win a consort alliance with one of the elite. It is not impossible that in another generation Liger will be grandsire to a warrior. It is more than financial gain that keeps the brilliant archivist within the cartel. Sipping wine to hide his expression, Lucius nods.
“I would review the analysis,” Horatio says.
It is a matter of form and they both know it. Lucius nods again.
17. Invest
igations and Revelations
As stellar transit became safe, transit among the systems increased and the Five Warriors’ sects spread beyond their founding worlds. In the Third System, Socraide’s sect was slow to establish, its shrines a fraction of the size of Jonathan’s. When Lucius the Elder claimed dominance of Blooded Dagger and Serengeti in the late ninth century, he leveled the ancient Shrine of the First in the Garden Center ring and erected the current shrine, the most opulent in the Third System. The keeper’s quarters were the last to be erected in the Garden Center and are the most distant from the warriors’ ring. Dating to the third century, the elegant structure was refitted and expanded when the modern shrine was constructed, the broad meadow surrounding the structure retained in a tribute to the early centuries of the Order, when the shrine residences were also well-guarded strongholds. ~ excerpt from Crevasse City, a visitor’s guide.
Sevenday 145, Day 3
Lilian navigates the warren of Militia Central, her mind on training the reconfigured Nightingale command crew. In addition to Raleigh, Caoimhe joins the command crew to replace the security officer while Bran will return to the Eleventh System to manage Raleigh’s commerce enterprises. After several challenging periods, Monsignor Horatio accepted her algorithms and selected a Matahorn communications officer from the result set. Monsignor Hercules spent no more than a quarter period selecting a replacement navigator from the Grey Spear result set. Although milord has not voiced it, she is certain he was pleased when the Margovians finally departed the Third System last eve, after delaying their departure to evaluate the free-trader and Grey Spear additions to the command crew.
Lilian is also well glad the Matahorn contingent has departed; their presence consumed periods she needs for other critical duties. With the change in the command crew, it will be at least another four sevendays before the new officers have sufficient experience with the Bright Star individual trial to advance to the group trial. It will require another two sevendays of group trial before the command crew will be capable of continuing their training independent of Seigneur Marco’s supervision and the resources of Serengeti Headquarters.
Outside the interrogation chambers, Rebecca waves from the respite area. Although the eight false servitors and militia have offered little, the interrogations could not be stinted. The apprentice spy’s addition to the Despoiler interrogation team will free precious periods in Lilian’s schedule to attend to the command crew training. Settling into a chair next to her friend to await the seigneurs and the militia, Lilian says, “Well met. It is not a desirable duty. I am well glad of your inclusion.”
“And I would prefer the burning shrubs,” Rebecca returns with mock asperity. “Had I known that a freshening packet would require
such a return, I might have done without.”
The reference to their initial meeting is a common complaint intended to remind them both of how far they have come in their seasons as apprentices. It serves its purpose, lifting Lilian’s spirits and encouraging a teasing response. Plucking at the conservator’s seal, Lilian says, “I will suggest to Seigneur Thorvald that the cartel and Shrines are best served by your interrogation of the most difficult. You could beguile speech from a rock.”
Rebecca grins at the banter. “I will suggest that you should have the most recalcitrant. Don that grim Adelaide’s Thorn mask and they shall shudder in terror and foul themselves in their haste to reveal all.”
Sobering, Lilian says, “You are not far from the truth. These are a meager set of recruits. You will find this interrogation far less revolting than those that followed the battle of Serengeti. The duty is unpleasant, but it is not the substance of night terrors.”
At the sound of footfalls, both Ravens rise for the approaching seigneurs and militia.
»◊«
Trevelyan stands aside as Lilian exits Lucius’ office with first-bell chimes, her serene expression a marked improvement from the strain that marked her when the morning’s interrogations ended. It does not surprise him. If Lilian did not enjoy Lucius’ attentions, he would not call her to him in this late stage of her trial proof.
With a nod to the apprentice, Trevelyan crosses the scarlet threshold. Although he had intended to reveal the Jonathan’s Cotillion conversation sooner, when the Margovians delayed their departure, he and the Bright Star leadership were compelled to alter their commerce schedules.
Thirty minutes later, he struggles to contain his temper as Lucius laughs. “Did you truly voice ‘your bloodthirsty deities’?”
“Words to that effect,” Trevelyan replies, annoyed that his lord has chosen to focus on trivialities. “I do not recall the exact phrasing.”
Sobering, Lucius shakes his head. “Worry not that Horatio has discovered your Universalist beliefs. William is far too competent for Matahorn not to have your history.”
We began as cosmic dust. “It does not concern me. It is the notion that Lilian is bound to four separate warriors that I find appalling.”
“That she was within Lady Helena’s womb during the consecration is irregular,” Lucius replies. “But I have ceased to be appalled by aught I learn of Gariten.” Eyes narrowing, he asks, “Do you believe it was the seer’s design?”
“Nay.” Trevelyan shakes his head. Helena’s distress when he asked about it was true. “Helena begged to postpone the consecration until after Lilian’s birth. Gariten would not have it. He needed Helena consecrated so he could exploit the prelate status that came with the gift of seeing.”
“Then what troubles you in this?”
“Lilian is already burdened by the demands of the alcove. It is not well that Sinead’s, Jonathan’s, and Socraide’s sects also make a claim.”
Lucius’ expression turns to consternation. “You adhere to the Universalist belief in Balance but are diligent in your duties to Socraide’s sect. How is this different?”
To be a warrior is to be licensed by cartouche and shrine. The Shrines’ income derives from many sources, not the least of which is the warriors who routinely provide tribute payments to their patron deities.
“As Socraide warrants Monsignor, the First warrants my signet. I begrudge not the funds,” Trevelyan replies, not finding the parallel. It is but one deity and the financial demands do not tax him. He knows Lucius’ commitment to Socraide is true enough. That the pragmatic warrior’s devotion is devoid of both superstition and passion is cause for Trevelyan’s admiration. Lucius’ reaction to Apollo’s tale is completely unexpected.
Relaxing in his chair, Lucius offers a patient smile. “I understand the source of the Lord Prelate’s conviction. I no more embrace the notion that four of the Shades command Lilian than you do. Whatever drew Lilian to Adelaide Warleader, it was not a supernatural contract between warriors deceased a thousand years. What I fail to comprehend is your lack of understanding that duty to my cartouche equates with duty to the First.”
“Monsignor, I acknowledge both your faith and the Order of the Five Warriors. I deny neither and I honor both.” Trevelyan struggles for clarity. “I am warrior by your will, the governance of your deity, and the protocols of the Twelve Systems. I accepted the signet and its burdens willingly.”
“As Lilian willingly accepted her bond and its burdens,” Lucius returns.
Lucius’ words halt Trevelyan. The values of the contracts differ in magnitude, not intent. A retainer to Lucius is a servant of the First Warrior. It is a common understanding. Nickolas, who is Jonathan’s consecrated, accepted duty to Socraide when he accepted his protégé contract. Multiple allegiances are common among the warrior elite. It is encouraged as an aid to order. Lilian is as capable of executing a binding contract as any. That she follows the Five Warriors in true commitment and Trevelyan yields not but hollow service is immaterial. They entered their contracts willingly. Nodding, Trevelyan acquiesces. “As you voice, Monsignor.”
Satisfied with Trevelyan’s acknowledgement, Lucius says, “I would investigate an aspect of Lilian’s past. At one time Lilian was wooed by Persia’s grandson, Harold . . .”
Sevenday 145, Day 7
Fastening her racing shoes, Lilian glances at the glow from the courtyard that signals the sun is well above the horizon although eighth bell has yet to chime. Early Seventh Day, at the height of the green season, is Lilian’s favorite time to race. The air is crisp and clear, and the cacophony of the city is reduced to a quiet hum. Eager to stretch her legs, she descends the stairs to the entryway, where Mrs. Zdenka waits. As much as she values Stefan as a battle companion, she prefers the taciturn Mrs. Zdenka for her race training in the Garden Center. The woman will not interrupt Lilian’s thoughts, and she need not reduce her pace, certain that if they were to compete, the militiawoman would outpace her. As it is, Mrs. Zdenka will remain on Lilian’s flank, alert to any possible threat. While assassins are a danger, they are not the only one.
Most commoners have little interest in Remus Gariten’s tainted get, but there are some who hold her in as great a disdain as the warrior elite and with potentially more cause. Gariten’s fraudulent commercial dealings brought more than one common-order family to ruin. They labor in Crevasse, quarries, foundries, plantations, and the grain oceans to redeem their credit. As difficult as Lilian’s trial has proven, she knows that among Gariten’s victims, she resides in relative comfort and security.
The throngs that gathered in the city for the Five Warriors’ Festival have dissipated over the past sevenday, leaving the pathways almost deserted at the early bell, the air redolent with the scents of flowering foliage and developing herbs. Racing along the shadowed footpaths, Lilian’s mind is free to explore whatever theory, analytical model, or esoteric subject enters her thoughts. There is a recent theory of ancient technology that suggests combustible materials were once a source of energy. It is a fascinating, if improbable notion. Lilian enjoys dissecting the suggestion as her pounding feet carry her forward.
The fantastical image of the Nightingale moving through the galaxy driven by naught but pyrotechnics is shattered by a rough hum savaging the quiet morning. Speeders. The three-wheeled toys of the elite are becoming a menace. Though they are forbidden within the Garden Center except for a few well-marked paths, the restrictions are often ignored by the spoiled progeny of the elite. With a movement of her head, Lilian indicates to Mrs. Zdenka that they will take the bramble path. It is not a commonly used track and too narrow for the noisy devices.
Veering into the sweet floral scent, Lilian returns to her contemplation of improbable technology. Chrys is to join them in Katleen’s race training. He will have much to offer on the outlandish theory. The hot, sour odor of singed greenery assaults her nostrils.
Adelaide’s thorn. Fireburst!
Lengthening her stride,
Lilian glances back. Three speeders piloted by fire-pistol-armed figures tear through the brambles. She has no breath to spare for instruction. Mrs. Zdenka’s hand is on her pistol but stopping to return fire is impossible. Outnumbered, they will be ridden down or shot before they can take aim.
They are too far north to reach the shelter of the warrior ring. They must make for Socraide’s Shrine Quarters. Using the wide walkways of the Garden Center, they could reach the quarters within a quarter mile, but the speeders will have them in ten paces. Their only hope is the side paths, where the wild growth of the green season has narrowed them to the width of a single person and the overflowing shrubbery will slow the speeders and limit mobility.
I am the sum of my ancestors. Racing among brambles, boxwoods, and vines heavy with blossoms, Lilian veers from one trajectory to another, hindering the assassins’ aim, confident the militiawoman can keep up. They near the meadow that surrounds the quarters, thirty paces in every direction.
“Zdenka,” Lilian gasps. “We must confuse.”
At her words, Zdenka closes, sweating but not gasping. “What is your will?”
There is no question, she can outpace Lilian. The longer race belongs to the militiawoman.
Lilian slows as she veers into a gardener’s accessway; she needs air to speak. “No cover in the meadow. Thirty paces from the quarters.”
Foliage smolders by her ear. The assassins are closing. Kicking into a faster pace, she gasps, “Race south. Azaleas.” The guard nods. “Militia entrance. The red yields to white.”
“I remain with you.” Zdenka will not abandon her duty.
“Draw fire. My path. Shorter.”
For all Zdenka’s is a longer path, it is safer, shadowed by an orchard that lines the meadow. In that false twilight she is a flitting shadow in the darkness. Striking that fleeing figure from a moving speeder is a feat that few can achieve.
At the sound of fireburst, shrine guards rise on the quarters’ walls.
I am the foundation of my family. Lilian races toward the guarded wall, crossing into full sun within five paces. The guards fire over her head into the assassins. The shriek of the speeders braking confirms her hope. Forced back by the greater range of the rifles, the assassins are retreating. Guards emerge from the gates, racing not toward her but Zdenka. Spinning toward the militiawoman’s path, Lilian sees naught, then a dark shape takes form beneath a pear tree. Mrs. Zdenka has fallen.