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1995-11-29
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Path: usenet.ee.pdx.edu!cs.uoregon.edu!reuter.cse.ogi.edu!hp-cv!hp-pcd!hplabs!sdd.hp.com!col.hp.com!simtel!news.sprintlink.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!in2.uu.net!not-for-mail
From: alansz@mellers1.psych.berkeley.edu (Alan Schwartz)
Newsgroups: rec.games.frp.archives
Subject: STORY: Riverworld, Chapter 9: Battle Royale
Followup-To: rec.games.frp.misc
Date: 25 Nov 1995 06:50:12 -0500
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Riverworld Turn #9: Battle Royale
Day 31
* * * *
Watching her former companions stream into the mansion, Jeanne
concluded that two events might explain their actions. Either the men
had despicably thrown in with the captors, or they had managed some
sort of ruse. No ruse the limp body of one woman and the bonds of the
other, though. Very well, then, she thought, if the men cannot be
trusted it falls to the women to protect their own. That in mind, she
surreptitiously made her way to the door of the mansion and peered
within.
Inside, she could see a party of about a dozen guards, standing over
the bound forms of Glenn and the fourth man she had seen entering with
the others. The room was fairly large, dominated primarily by a bamboo
throne at the north end.
Loud voices rang out from the second floor, followed by the sounds of
melee. Ten of the soldiers charged up the stairs in the northeast
corner of the room, leaving a pair to watch the helpless prisoners
below. Distracted by the commotion above, they proved a careless
guard.
Glenn's eyes widened as Jeanne slunk into the room with an agile
grace, and he touched the other prisoner's arm invisibly. Just as
Jeanne's grail brought one guard to the floor, Glenn threw himself
against the other. Jeanne placed her spear against the man's neck, and
unbound Glenn and the other man.
Glenn: "Merci, amie. This is Friend."
Friend: "Enchante. Thank you for the assistance." He spoke with an
accent that might have been German.
Jeanne motioned them to be silent, and, once the men were armed, the
three edged their way up the stairs. But not before Glenn had rapped
the fallen guard on the head with the butt of his newly-won spear.
* * * *
The olive-skinned woman stood before the man holding the metal blade.
Blatantly ignoring the guard, the Chinese woman, and the lazari, she
calmly looked into the depths of Temuchin's eyes for a few drawn-out
seconds then with great dignity, bowed her head and sunk to her knees
in front of him.
Temuchin nodded approvingly, and motioned for her to stand beside
him. She rose to her feet and moved to his side.
Tjar glared fiercely at Temuchin, and nodded resolutely to his
comrades, brandishing his spear. He cursed in English.
Tjar: "Get away from those women, you craven tyrant!"
Tjar's face took on a ruddy complexion as he stood at the ready,
muscles tensed.
Charles looked at the Chinese woman, and responded to her Latin.
Charles: "If you speak the tongue of Rome, then you should know of her
Church, and that my God, the one true God, knows the heart
and soul of all men at all times. I need not honor my God
in the house of the damned, I need not ask forgiveness,
though I repent before almighty God, the lives of those I
did not save tonight."
The olive-skinned women looked interested at the mention of Rome, but
furrowed her eyebrows at the talk of God. Her eyes were locked on
Charles as he continued speaking.
Charles: "This place, this land that I have been placed upon can only
be known as a test, a purgatory where I may further serve my
Lord. What I see before me is the Devil's own steward,
holding the scythe which cast him free from heaven and the
never ending peace he might have held."
Charles walked towards the bed, moving away from Shaka, but not moving
closer to Temuchin or the others in the room.
Charles: "The one who should honor God tonight is the master of this
barbarous keep. No greater blight on the soul is the
enslavement of other men."
Charles turned to look at Temuchin but continued speaking in Latin.
Charles: "You sir are a tyrant and a barbarian and you deserve this
hell you've created. Die now in it."
Charles barked out the next two words in Bantu.
Charles: "Fight now!"
Charles launched the torch he carried toward the ceiling with an
underhand swing. Temuchin looked faintly amused as he batted it aside
with his metal scythe. It landed on the bed and began to smolder.
Both the guard and the Chinese woman stepped between the ruler and the
charging figures of Charles, Tjar, and Shaka.
Charles faced off against the guard, the two jabbing with spears and
then closing to a fight with their daggers. They warily circled one
another, each seeking the advantage. The guard appeared swifter, but
Charles was the stronger, and after a few feints, shoved the man to
the ground and pierced him with his spear.
Tjar leapt at Temuchin with a surprising ferocity, but was met by the
Chinese woman. Moving too fast to change his course, his spear had
sunk itself into her belly before he could stop and regain his
balance. He shuddered and shook as he looked down upon the woman, and
the color drained from his face as her life's blood drained from her
wound.
Shaka glanced at Temuchin and the room around him. His eyes took in
the details of the surroundings, and he paused for only a moment
before lunging toward Temuchin. His thrust was turned aside by
Temuchin's scythe, but the Khan had to stand to parry the blow, and
the two men faced each other with grim smiles.
The sound of the fighting brought guards from below, ten in all, who
moved into the room with spears and daggers drawn, advanced toward the
backs of the men. The olive-skinned woman retreated into the corner
furthest from the stairwell.
Jeanne, Glenn, and Friend peeked into the second floor room onto a
scene of disarray. The ten guards who had ascended the staircase
before them were advancing, spears drawn, behind the male companions
in the room. Charles was removing his spear from a fallen man; Tjar
was standing pale over the body of a Chinese woman; Shaka was
exchanging blows with a short but powerful-looking man who wielded a
terrifying scythe-like weapon with a metal blade. In the general
confusion, it was difficult to tell if there was one group siding
against another or simply many individuals fighting for their lives.
As Jeanne, with Glenn and the man called Friend just behind her,
slipped up the staircase and looked into the far corner of the room,
they saw the olive-skinned woman watching the fight. She alone of
their fellow resurrectees saw the three ascend to the room, and she
did not acknowledge their appearance.
As if to signal the height of the night's chaos, the bed burst into
flames.
* * * *
Josephine frowned as time passed, a line appearing between her brows.
Showing obvious signs of impatience and worry she turned to Florence and
spoke.
Josephine: "This is not good. Definitely not good. How long has she
been in there?"
She abruptly stopped whispering and shifts from foot to foot while
listening at the bamboo. Then she stepped back and looked over the
wall.
Josephine: "The water. Let's go listen at the water."
She paused, thinking for a moment.
Josephine: "No, one of us has to stay here. Do you think you can pry
the bamboo apart if she were to return?"
Florence: "Quiet! Although I perhaps can manage the wall by myself,
you should stay here with me in case Jeanne needs you.
Bide a while longer."
Josephine: "I can't just stand around here. I have to do something."
Florence stifled a sigh.
Florence: "Very well. Let's open the wall slightly and see if we can
see anything."
Josephine quickly agreed and the two women pulled about the bamboo to
make a slit through which they peered into the camp. Little reached
their eyes in the dark night, but faint sounds of fighting could soon
be heard from above, from the top of the two-story building.
Florence: "Josephine, do you smell...smoke?"
Columns of smoke, rising into the sky from the building, and blacker
even than the night air made Josephine's answer unnecessary.