The Warlord's Concubine (15 page)

Mirella’s voice gained confidence and power as she spoke to
the former nobles and commoners, “I still serve. I still work
hard, tirelessly, for my betters. The difference is that now, my
betters deserve their place. They’ve fought for it, and won it.
They’ve known the pleasure and pain of hard work, of
dedication. Of power hard won and harder kept. This man knows only
greed. Envy. He wishes he were born like you, into a home of wealth
and tidings, and instead he is forced to take from others. To lie to
them. Manipulate them.”

She turned back towards the priest, her emerald eyes turned stony,
“God does not care for thieves.”

The people were stunned by her outburst, and as she lectured them
the priest turned and ran for the back door, screaming as he left.
“Rise up!” he cried, though the people in the chapel
instead screamed and panicked themselves. They tried to run around
the pews and take off into the streets. There were so many of them
the Raven Guard couldn’t hope to contain them entirely, instead
they focussed on containing those they could.

“Useless Aristeans,” Mirella muttered, looking around
idly at the tidings of the old religion, and she wondered briefly if
the Princess would hear of this. She fingered the letter as she began
to walk out the back door, following after the priest as she took in
the panic around her.

The door led to a hallway that went down into the basement, and
two of her Guard sisters joined her. “We’ll apprehend
him, sister,” they said with respect, taking off down the
stairs after the portly old man. Those were fit guardswomen, not
showing signs of pregnancy, and she had no doubt they would catch up
to him before long.

She trusted them. It was a new feeling, for even in her life
before, she’d never trusted the other servants. Even those she
called her friends, she understood that they would take from her if
they needed it badly enough, yet these women that were so sceptical
at first had become something stronger. As she moved back into the
church, she settled into one of the benches, her eyes going up along
the beautiful architecture, and for a brief spell, she felt at peace.

She felt closer to her God—the
God-King—and before she even realized she was doing it, she had
spoken a modified prayer, bidding his safe return. It had only taken
a moment, but it felt good.

They hadn’t even gotten the priest back to the palace when
chaos began to break loose in the city below. The fleeing
former-nobles spread word of the desecration of the altar and the
apprehension of the priest and the lower classes—already hungry
and desperate—were pushed to their limits.

At the top of the hill Mirella had looked back and saw the swarms
of people move through Ariste’s winding roads, torches and
whatever implements to use as makeshift weapons that they could find.

Arriving into the tent that formerly housed the God-King’s
concubines but was now the concubine-warriors headquarters, the other
women were buzzing about getting ready. They were small in number
compared to the masses of revolting citizens below, but they were
highly trained and battle hardened.

One of the younger members of their order came up to Mirella and
saluted with a pounded fist to her chest. “Sister!” she
called, “We are mustering together our forces here. We’ve
pulled back our patrols to await your orders,” she explained.
Svella was nowhere in sight, she realized, leaving her the one they
were turning to.

“When the God-King returns, he will find this city to be
truly his,” she promised as she strode confidently towards the
other women. She hadn’t a lot of battle experience, but she
knew the Aristeans. Their panic. Their fear.

They were falling, just like her former home had fallen, and they
were making a last ditch effort to save themselves through
self-destruction. “Any who refuses to swear to the God-King
will be made example of.”

The Raven Guard—those concubine-warriors and religious
zealots—threw up their fists and cheered to her words. Their
enthusiasm had not dimmed. Not in the least.

~~

The coming days put that to the test. The same young recruit who’d
met her on her return from the cathedral that day met her again,
breathless as always as she delivered her news at such a galloping
pace. “Sister,” she said saluting, “we can’t
pin the rebels down. They attack us from homes and alleyways without
any pattern we can find. We can’t catch them in an open battle.
They hurl arrows, rocks and anything they can get at us but disappear
before we can strike back decisively,” she said, frustration
obvious on her youthful features. Nimala, as Mirella had come to know
her, looked to her for guidance.

She’d grown more comfortable in her role, more confident,
and even at the advancing stages of her pregnancy, she’d been
kept busy with stamping out what fires she could. She would do her
God’s work, and was grateful for the task.

She stood staring out the window and flicked the token the
princess had given her between her fingers. “They have archaic
magics, and who knows how they’re communicating. I think we can
lure them,” Mirella paused her motions. “We need to send
a message to the rebels, that there’s a weak point. Freedom. A
way to reclaim their Princess and their supplies. Find the old
aqueduct, Nimala. See to it they find out about their path to glory.
I trust you can see to the fact that they won’t survive after
that?” she asked.

The tall but relatively slender woman blinked, “In a battle
the Raven Guard shall not fail, sister,” she said without
hesitation. “But... how will we get them to believe such a
ruse?” Like most of her other sisters, Nimala did not grasp
subtleties of warfare like subterfuge.

She pulled out the paper that the
princess had given her, eyes scanning over the words, “Just
plan the trap, sister. I’ll have a letter within the hour that
will convince them.”

Things moved quickly from there. The city was lit up again by
torches and fires as she made her way down to the old section of the
city. None of the other Raven Guard could be used for such a mission.
They were too obvious, their height and features marking them as
towering northerners. And whom amongst the Aristean’s could she
trust for such a vital mission?

Donning the ratty old robes she wore to see the princess, that
could do little to hide her pregnancy, she approached the crumbling
old aqueduct structure. It looked unused, the stonework jutting out
of the Aristean Mountains. It wasn’t until she had wandered
about there for some time looking for the entrance that she heard a
voice, harsh and masculine. “What’re you doin’
wandering around out here?”

“The Princess sent me,” she whispered, glancing over
her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being followed. She’d
become such a natural actress in such a short period of time, though
really, wasn’t her whole life an act? Putting aside her own
emotions and thoughts to please the noble lords and a spoiled
princess?

“Please, let me pass. If they catch me,” her voice
hitched.

There was silence then until she heard in the shadows the sound of
murmuring. They were cautious, and knew better than to whisper, for
whispering carried further.

When finally they spoke however, it was with some hope to their
scepticism. “Come over here,” and she heard then a light
creak coming from the stonework beneath the aqueduct, like the sound
of a door.

Following after it she entered and once it closed the room lit up
showing her a small stone entryway, buttressed by wood. There was a
door that led further in, but this was obviously the start of the
rebels’ hideout. “Explain yourself,” said the same
man as before, pulling back his hood and revealing a stubbly but
handsome face. Obviously a man of the Aristean working classes.

She wouldn’t feel pity for them, and her hand stretched out
to give him the letter, to show him the ring, “I’m the
Princess’s handmaiden. She’s given me this to come to
you, to tell you of a hidden way into the castle.” Mirella
stared at him, her eyes pleading.

The man looked at the offered letter and ring, his eyes went wide
and it was obvious he understood the significance of such rich paper
and a fabulous ring. “This is...”

Before he could finish though the other man stepped forward, the
source of the other voice. This man was very different. It was
obvious he was noble born, for who else could wear such rich clothes
and spend so much time shaving and caring for his hair in a time of
rebellion. “Let me see that,” he demanded.

Mirella’s heart raced as he opened the letter and studied
it, scrutinized it. Moving to one of the candles he held the ring up
to it, examining it with the eye of a jeweller as he checked.

After such a long wait he said. “It’s real,”
then looked back to her. “So it’s true then,”
stepping over to her. “The quake has opened a gap we can use to
break into the palace armoury and cells. We could free the priest,
princess and arm ourselves with real weapons to take back our city?”
It was a question, but already she could detect the rising authority
in his voice, as if he was ready to claim responsibility for this
brilliant new plan then and there.

She simply nodded dumbly, back to playing the role of the simple
serving woman. Being in this man’s presence assuaged her guilt,
her concern. He was one of
them
. “Please, you must save us.”

The nobleman had no more to say, he saw her for what she
appeared—a servant—and rushed off into the old structures
beyond. She could hear his voice bellowing out, but it was the dark
haired man that came to her. “Is it safe for you to go back?
You can stay here with us until the palace is retaken,” he
offered.

Despite it all, despite her utter devotion to her God, her
loathing of the nobles, and her distrust of everyone else, she’d
only been able to cope with the horrors surrounding her by ignoring
them. By pushing aside the fact that they couldn’t get enough
food through the mountains, by trusting that once he rightfully ruled
the land he could begin to rebuild and care for the people. By
understanding the reality of war, and poverty.

She couldn’t stand to look at the man that looked at her
with such kindness, and she felt her throat constrict.

She didn’t want to kill these people. She didn’t want
to be responsible for their deaths, but she would do it. She believed
in her God. She believed in Kulav. She knew there would be peace and
prosperity that Ariste had never known before, welcoming in a new era
of strength and devotion, rather than catering to the whims of the
affluent.

And people would die because of it. Because of her.

“There’s much I need to do,” Mirella finally
whispered, her vocal cords taut. “Thank you for your kindness.”

The man nodded and guided her back to the door, “I
understand. We all have much to give so that we might live like
people again,” he said. “Gods speed you, brave maid,”
he said, snuffing out the candle before opening the door and
releasing her back into the night.

Tears fell, and she did nothing to stop them. She’d been so
brave and confident, ever since he’d left, yet every time she
met with an Aristean, she left with tears. She mourned for them, for
their insolence and for their stubbornness, but by the time she
reached the Concubine-Warrior’s tent once more, her green eyes
were hard once more.

The attack came in the middle of the night as Mirella predicted.
They came through a gap in the wall that the quake had indeed
created, though since the Raven Guard had sealed it up immediately in
their immense discipline, she had to have it ordered reopened just
for the trap.

From the palace parapets she watched with her sisters as the
rebels advanced through the gardens. When she gave the order a blood
curdling cry went up through her fellow sisters, they rose with bows
at the ready as she’d intended and the rebels froze or ran for
cover with futility. All the exits were blocked, and shield-maidens
stood at the hole they came through with spears pointed at them.

It was over.

“People of Ariste,” she declared loudly, her voice
carrying over the rebels. The working class. The poor. The
downtrodden.

The nobles’ pawns, just like she.

“Your city has been taken, and will continue to be that way.
As I speak, the nobles are being wiped out. There is no hope for
them, but there is hope for you! I know it doesn’t matter to
you who you serve. One hand is as good as another, and I promise you.
Fight for us. Fight for your future, and you will be rewarded.”

She paused for a brief moment, “Food is scarce. Times are
hard, but we can work together to make Ariste better. The Northerners
lack agriculture, but you thrive at it. Stop fighting us so that we
may work together, to rid us of our noble lords and their cruelties.
Ariste can be yours. Truly yours,” Mirella finished, her
stance, her voice, so utterly certain. She believed what she was
saying.

There was silence for a while and she felt her sisters grow
anxious. They were used to fighting and killing, not to negotiation.
When things had gotten tense and she feared it was hopeless one of
the Aristean rebels rose up and the recognized the voice from the
aqueduct. “We surrender. Our families need food. That is why
we’re here. There is no point in dying for anything less,”
he stated, sounding glum but resilient yet.

She was so thankful for that one man, for that one voice, and she
nodded. “I grew up hungry, without food. Sold from one family
to another before I was finally brought here, and I remember it too
well. You have suffered long, but I will help you become strong
again,” Mirella said, her voice dipping at the personal nature
of her disclosure.

There were no cheers this time. Her
sisters did not understand her leniency but obeyed it, for she was
respected now, and the rebels below were too battered, too desperate
and broken to cheer such words. All they could do was wait.