The Warlord's Concubine (14 page)

“You’re past your date,” Mirella tsked as her
hand ran through Svella’s hair.

With a snort the tall woman retorted, “What gave it away?”
She gently patted the giant stomach she sported. “The God-King
has blessed me with a mighty child, sister. This one takes time,”
she intoned, sounding amused. Talk of him only reminded her of the
ugly truth. The mountain was closed. Even if he won... what then? He
couldn’t get back.

She’d long ago figured this was the cost. Her cost.

“He will be proud,” she said. She wouldn’t
entirely give up hope. After all, even if he didn’t return to
this kingdom, he would rule others. Take on other concubines, raise
other armies, and she wouldn’t allow herself to feel self-pity.

Svella had never spoken of her price. None of the women did. Even
those whose price was obvious—so blatantly obvious—was
respectfully ignored by the others. It was not talked about. Ever.

It was shared yet personal, or perhaps it was because talking of
it led to comparisons. One woman talking of her great sacrifice as
more than another’s. Whatever the reason they did not discuss
such things, and they thought it best that way.

“He will be,” echoed the taller woman, stroking her
stomach. They were all concerned for him, Mirella realized. Even
those who feared him more than loved him. Nobody even much worried
that the mountain pass cut them off from the bulk of the cities
already dwindled food supply in the farms on the other side of the
mountain.

“What of the princess?” asked Svella. “How has
she reacted to this whole... thing?” she didn’t want to
say more on the incident itself. The witches didn’t care for
talking about it.

“The Princess handles bad news poorly. I haven’t
wished to see her.”

It was left unspoken. Mirella was worried that she couldn’t
pretend. Her emotions were rubbed raw, and the way her fingertips
braided Svella’s hair a bit faster was the only demonstration
of her agitation.

“Maybe it will have shaken her. Get her to tell more,”
she suggested, the two women having grown so close in the intervening
period. There was no jealously guarded idea with Svella; she wished
only to help her fellow sisters. Mirella especially.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she agreed, finishing
the braid and lovingly putting it over the woman’s shoulder,
stroking her flesh. “How is the Seer?”

The tall northern woman sighed, “She has not awoken since.
She pays a tremendous price for us all,” she intoned with some
glumness. Mirella wasn’t the only one to feel for the Mother’s
plight.

Her lips touched the woman’s head before she pulled away, “I
will see to the Princess, though I feel that if you give birth here
and now it may be less painful,” she teased. It was a dark
sense of humour, one that she had never known herself to have until
now.

Svella gave a deep laugh, and though she normally would’ve
accompanied her, the pregnancy—and their ever increasing
duties—were keeping her weary and she stayed resting in her
chair. “Good luck with the harpy queen.”

Since the quaking Mirella was seen by the other soldiers and
workers more and more as something of a leader. They paid her
deference as she passed through the halls towards the Princess’s
room, even gave her occasional salutes and bows.

Entering into that decadent chamber however, she found the
princess looking anxious. Her beautiful, luxurious blonde hair a bit
frazzled. “Mirella!” she cried, dressed in some gorgeous
sky-blue gown with frilled edges.

She hated her for that decadence, for that pampered look even in
her despair, but her face softened as she hugged the princess and the
first tear slipped from her eye without permission. She missed him.
She couldn’t show her weakness in front of the other women,
even in front of her friend, but in private, in the arms of this
woman she loathed, she brushed that wayward tear away.

“Princess, I’m so happy you’re safe.”

The princess was not concerned for her distress however. “What
has happened, Mirella?!” She cried. “The shaking... the
mountain!” she cried, pointing out her balcony to the collapsed
mountain path. “What madness is this?! What’s happened?!”

“I don’t know, Princess. We had begun to rally when I
first heard word of the marching of the troops, so much closer than
expected. And then...” she trailed off. She had no way of
answering the woman, and another tear slipped past her cheek, even as
her green eyes remained focused. “We are frightened and lost.
Have you heard from the Prince? From anyone on the outside?”

The princess began to pace, clutching the sides of her head with
her long nailed fingers. “You found them then?” She
looked so distressed. “The last I heard from the prince, he...
he said the loyal citizens were hidden out in the old aqueduct.”
She stopped and looked to her, “Are those the ones you found?
Are they okay? Did the quake hurt them?!” She demanded her
answers so insistently, looking near panic.

Mirella blinked away more tears, trying to win control over her
body as she shook her head, “We don’t know, Princess.”
Her words struck her, her tongue lacing over her mouth as she thought
it over. “When did you find this out?”

The princess began to wring her hands nervously, resuming her
pacing. “What do you mean you don’t know?” she
said. “We have to find out! Didn’t you come from there?”
she looked so lost and confused, her worries tearing her apart.

“The dust is still settling, Princess, and I needed more
help. I couldn’t do it on my own,” she said softly,
looking positively brow beaten. Maybe she was. She’d felt like
she lost a bit of herself since the cave in. “We will find
them.”

That mollified the dainty young woman and she nodded as she paced.
“Good. Good!” She said, gnawing her lower lip with
concern. “The prince will be delayed a bit,” she said.
“With the mountain pass collapsed he’ll... he’ll,”
she rubbed her forehead. “He’ll have to clear it or go
around the Arisean Mountains. Which... which might take months,”
she muttered, sounding distraught.

“Princess, I ever continue to work for your good name,”
she said, but her voice was so soft.

The princess nodded, “Good, Mirella. You go, you go and...
do what you can,” she said. “I’ll...” she
paused, “wait!”

She rushed to her ornate desk and sat down, writing out in her
beautiful, ornate script a letter, then using wax to close it with
the royal seal. She went to Mirella, “Here. Take this to my
loyal subjects,” she said. “This should buoy their
spirits,” she decreed confidently.

Mirella clutched it and nodded, looking at the young, frantic
woman. Even in the throes of despair, she was vibrant. Vivacious.
Mirella bowed her head respectfully, “I won’t let you
down.”

The exchange ended there, the princess too caught up in her own
worries to offer more encouragement. So once Mirella had left her and
got outside she read the letter. It contained a rather drawn out
spiel about nothing in particular, but at the end she saw something.
The princess made mention of a lord she referred to as “wise”.

Mirella had known the young princess since she was a little girl,
and the only person she had ever thought was wise was the sleazy old
priest that managed to bilk both nobles and commoners out of their
fortunes. The same one who once led services in the royal family’s
chapel.

She folded it back up, and for a few moments, she found a private
room and let herself feel that all-consuming pain she’d been
avoiding since the cave-in. It was disappointment in herself, in her
failure and her inactivity. It was terror for her lover. It was a
resentment that she hadn’t given birth yet, and at her body’s
inability to fight.

But when she got it all out, when she
felt all that pain flood from her body, she felt refreshed and
rejuvenated. She would find them. An aqueduct that could be her
salvation.

As Mirella approached the Raven Guard’s headquarters where
her other sisters received their orders, she heard the noise of heavy
breathing. Rushing inside she saw Svella there alone, panting and
looking strained as her knees were spread. She grimaced and looked to
her, “Sister... it is time,” she groaned.

“Finally,” Mirella intoned, placing the letter aside
as she moved to her friend. “This is a sign of things to come,
Svella. You will give birth to a child of God, and we will bring Him
home,” she stated, her confidence returned. She’d never
delivered a child, but she’d helped once or twice when others
were desperate, and she quickly began barking orders.

The rush of activity that came as the
other woman obeyed her, gathering what was needed. Mirella may not
have done this before, but the other women of the Guard certainly
had. It was something they’d shared for some time now, and she
needed only stand back and watch as they rushed to do what needed
done.

When finally Svella cradled her new son she was more exhausted
then Mirella had ever seen her. The pregnancy was long, going on for
hours on end, and she’d lost a lot of blood. But the large boy,
so dark, so much like his father, seemed to please the mother
greatly. “He will be proud,” she stated to Mirella again
with confidence on her uncharacteristically weak voice, a smile on
her lips as the other women watched enviously.

Mirella, however, was only pleased for her friend. She had feared
that she’d feel that jealousy, that deep feeling of loathing,
but instead she was only grateful that mother and child made it
through, safe.

“I will see to it that He’s home to see him soon,”
Mirella said softly, pressing her lips to Svella’s forehead.
“Rest. I have to find a wise man.”

Svella was too weary to question that, instead she just gave a wry
laugh as if her friend were up to some shenanigans again. The other
women however, took her seriously and they rushed to her call.

It wasn’t long before they had formed up behind her as their
troops, and they marched into the streets. The Ka’reem warriors
typically rode on horseback at all times, but in the city and on such
a mission as this they went by foot instead.

She led them through the damaged streets of Ariste, its beautiful
white stonework chipped, damaged or otherwise burnt by the invasion
and the quakes. Its people were hiding, for though the main force of
the occupation army was gone, they still feared the tall Amazonian
warriors in their terrifying black raiment.

Mirella didn’t have to search long. For though the largest,
richest homes had been confiscated for the Ka’reem occupiers,
the commoners still had their church. She heard their prayers even
from outside, and as they pushed in she saw him. Priest Quaylin, fat
off the wealth of others as he preached from the pulpit.

Her eyes were hard, that green gaze falling on the slob of a man.
She wondered how much he was getting, or thought he’d be
getting, for saving the poor Princess. Her arms folded across her
chest, across the raven feathered garb as she scanned the crowd,
listening to his sermon.

The hall was rich, for though it allowed commoners Ariste was a
beautiful city regardless, and would not suffer worshippers to go
into a less than beautiful space. From out of the spiralling columns
she heard the echo of the priests voice travel down to her. “The
gods shall gift to us freedom, my children! Hold true to your faith
and the line of rightfully appointed rulers, and you shall be
delivered unto the bliss you once had and deserve.”

The dozens who were there were listening attentively, and she
noticed amongst them some former nobles, now dressed in more raggedy
clothing as they were forced to live like commoners. “A test
from above!” cried the priest. “Our faith in their will
has waned, and so they’ve taken their holy children from us by
the unleashing of these dogs from the north! Show your true loyalty
to the gods, restore your true rulers and they shall reward your
faithfulness.”

She didn’t feel pity for the formerly privileged, who had
slung insults and ignored her as something less than human. Like a
dog. Like the northerners. She was nothing to them in the great
halls, and in the beautiful church, they were nothing to her.

Nothing but heretics to her God.

“Priest Quaylin,” she said as she entered the hall. “I
need to speak with you.”

Silence took over the chapel, silence but for the echoing boot
steps of over a dozen armed Raven Guard marching down the leviathan
halls of the chapel. The priest went wide-eyed and slack-jawed, his
bald head sinking down. “T-traitor,” he managed out,
though the word barely managed to carry through the room, despite his
earlier bombasticity.

It was true. She stood out as a traitor amidst the Raven Guard.
They were all statuesque pale women, she was short, darker skinned.

“You’ve betrayed your own people for wealth and
fortune. Surely I’m just following in your footsteps, oh wise
one,” she hissed bitterly.

Her devoted sisters marched quickly, passing her, flanking her
side and keeping the parishioners at bay as she strode towards the
altar.

The priest backed away, and looked towards the rear doors. “Rise
up, my fellow Aristeans! Spread the word! Your true leaders shall be
restored and you shall be rewarded!” The hall was struck dumb
and silent though, they watched, weak and hungry in disbelief as this
last sacred ground was violated.

She turned her back on the priest, instead looking towards the
supplicants. “There is no help. This is life, and you are not
comfortable with it. I appreciate that. You may not remember me, but
I know toil. I know torment, and for more than thirty years, I’ve
served. I’ve scrounged. I’ve gone to bed hungry and sore,
stained from the day and with the knowledge that it will only happen
again the next. And the day after.”