by Multiple
As that little display ended the warlord turned and saw her there watching.
“Your Greatness,” her head tilted downwards as she strode towards him. “The princess has been scheming.” She paused, licking over her lips. She was once more in her casual garb, the slutty little outfit showing off her advanced pregnancy, and there was no shame in her motions at all. She was proud to give him a child, and to show off how her body contorted because of him.
Hearing the tidings of her news he placed his hand on her shoulder and guided her away from the open spot. Taking her off to the side in one of the nooks along the palace walls he bent his head and spoke with her in a private tone. “Tell me everything,” he commanded
Her voice was so soft as she looked up at her God, “The Prince will be arriving inside of a week. The Princess has been using a trinket to speak with him, and he has been communicating with rebels inside of the city. Something you have done a week ago has interrupted his communication with them and she wishes for me to rally them,” she said so quickly. “She has given me a token to convince them I am on her side, and is unaware of the numbers the Prince has with him. She is confident it is enough.”
As stoic as ever she could not read the ashen giant, his beautifully masculine face passive as he pondered her information. “Describe everything in detail,” he ordered, and after hearing of the entire encounter in its minutiae he squeezed her shoulder. “You did well. Very well,” he said approvingly. “With any luck you’ve bought us enough time to act and put a stop to this,” he declared. Through his hard look she saw it there: a faint glimmer of approval and thanks that far eclipsed anything the princess had ever given her in all her years of service.
He made her at once feel weak and strong, and her mouth parted just so. “I wasn’t aware the Princess could scheme at all, so I imagine it has been the Prince telling her what to do. When we kill him, she will crumble.” She wanted him so badly, then. It was more than devotion, more than love. It was a hunger that she had no control over, and her small, private smile was filled with affection.
That made the dark man smile, and he brought his hand up to her cheek, cupping it and stroking his thumb across her smooth face as he stood before her in his usual garb, his bare chest on display. “I hope you are right. When I return from the campaign to wipe out the prince’s army, we shall find out,” he said solemnly.
“Do nothing to alert the princess to your true devotions,” he cautioned. “I ride out in the morning,” he declared to her, the calculating warlord having already taken time to decide his actions. “While I’m away I am inducting you into the order of my concubine-warriors.” He turned abruptly and began to storm off, leaving her with no choice but to follow.
As he passed the concubines tent he called out to Svella, the woman looking ready to give birth any day now. “You shall handle Mirella’s induction into your order. Heed her warnings.” He cautioned, never ceasing his movement into the palace as the tall warrior woman looked to Mirella with a stunning lack of surprise.
“Welcome then, sister,” she intoned with a light respect, her lips forming into an almost amused smile.
Mirella liked the woman and nodded her head, “I hope the others take this with a similar mood,” she grinned. “This day is turning out less than I imagined.”
With a laugh Svella, topless and as shameless in her nudity as Mirella had become, guided her to the tent. “You shall conquer all, for the spirit of the God-King is with you,” she declared, leading her in to spread the news to the others.
Chapter 12
Her induction into the warrior-concubines was less ceremonious and more business than she would’ve expected. The entire palace complex was in an uproar as everyone rushed about, preparing to muster out for war.
It wasn’t until the middle of the night that she was taken back in to see him, and he was still conducting business, pointing out things to his chieftain-generals on a great hide map. “Be prepared, for at sunset we ride. This little princeling shall not catch us unawares in this city. We shall crush him on the fields as is our way,” he demanded. The sweaty, hairy northerners slammed their fists to their chests repeatedly and let loose a roar that echoed throughout the halls before retreating, leaving him to ponder over the map alone.
It gave her time to study him in private, his cloak hung over his back in such a way that she could see almost his entire chest. Those hard muscles so firmly outlined, such a vision of male perfection that gleamed in the lantern light of the palace.
She loved staring at him. She still often went to the crude statue when he was busy, her eyes working over the stone and filling in the gaps where the sculptor had failed. She lusted for him in a way she never had for anyone before, and found his masculine appeal to be sweet perfection. She didn’t fear for him, nor doubt for a second that he would kill the Prince, yet she dreaded being without him for the length of time it would take.
Mirella knew, however, he would be counting on her, and as her bare feet moved over the smooth marble floor, she looked confident. “Your Greatness,” she announced herself.
He wasn’t disturbed by her, though she couldn’t imagine how he might’ve predicted her approach, as silent as it was. “Come here,” said that god of a man in his dark voice. “Tomorrow I ride off into the greatest battle of my life,” he stated, putting his arm around her. His eyes remained glued to the hide map. The guesses as to the size of the imperial army were so wildly different, but even the most conservative put it at well over what they could potentially field; double at least.
“And soon you will ride home after the greatest victory,” she promised, her body pressing against his side as her arm wrapped around his back. She was short compared to him, with beautiful olive skin and long, glossy black hair, and the pregnancy did little to interfere with her looks. She was not youthful, but in his presence, she was vibrant.
His strong hand stroked over her back and side, the coarse feel of his hard grasp so comforting. It was the touch of someone who knew hard labour. He was a ruler because he had made it so, not because he was born into it like the princess.
She caught his gaze then, he looked to her, finally diverting his attention from the map. “While I am away I am putting my concubine-warriors in charge of running the city,” he explained. “They will not ride to war with me, but remain here. They are the only ones I can trust fully to do this. And you shall help them. If, as you say, the princess knows of some rebels, then they shall rise up with or without warning once they know my forces are out of the city.”
His hand gripped her backside, squeezing her round ass and pushed her in against his hard body. “You could be integral in helping them maintain order here.”
“I won’t fail you,” she promised. She was deadly serious, for there was no way she would allow the city to fall, for him to ride back victorious only to have to clean up after their failure. “If there’s anything you need, please, Your Greatness. I am always at your service.”
His strong, guiding hand brought her to the table. He very forcibly brought her up onto it to sit upon the edge, squeezing her full, fleshy thigh as he stared into her gaze. “I will not sleep this night,” he said to her, “but I need comfort and satisfaction before I ride out.”
Those dark features of his were stunning in the glowing light of the lanterns; it almost seemed as if the darkness helped irradiate his ashen skin. So as he leaned in and tilted his head to kiss her, she saw such a vision of male beauty, then felt his hungry, needful, doting lips meet hers, smacking noisily in the large hall.
Her passion was only met by his, and her soft tongue probed his mouth. Hands wrapped around his shoulders, squeezing his flesh so tightly as a moan erupted between them. She needed him. Loved him. Worshiped him.
Tomorrow she’d fight for him, but today, she’d give him what he needed with such desire that he’d never dare die.
At some point during their night of passion they had moved into the bedroom again, so she awoke up
on his bed in time to hear the sound of hooves, weapons and armour in the courtyard below. It was such a clattering cacophony of noise that only an army could’ve made such a noise to reach that far up.
Mirella was sore and weary still. He had been bestial and insatiable, taking her the whole night through, doing such things to her that her mind would buzz with the memories for months more to come.
Yet still she bounded from the bed—as much as a pregnant, properly fucked woman could bound—and stared at the scene below. Her heart raced as she grabbed up her new clothing, moving through the castle at such a speed.
She emerged onto such a sight. There they were, hundreds of the mounted northerners—the Ka’reem—filing out on horseback through the palace gates to the roadway that led through the mountains. They looked, individually, like such hairy savages, but as a group in full war gear, they looked fearsome and mighty.
But most significant of all, there he was. Her beloved ruler.
He sat upon the back of a great horse, blacker than he, its coat glistened in the morning light. Its legs so thick and sturdy, hooves wide and large, and all about armour was strapped to the beast’s sides.
Atop it sat the God-King Kulav in full battle regalia. It looked much like his usual clothes, the high boots and cloak much the same. But they were armoured now. His chest was garbed in a chain mail vest that showed but glimpses of his dark flesh beneath. About his shoulders the plumes of raven’s feathers and on his head a half-helm that made him look like some terrifying demon-bird from out of folktales.
He oversaw the orderly procession of the troops, fully absorbed in the affair as he gave orders to his subordinates.
She watched in such awe, such appreciation for all he’d done. Knowing his past, how far he’d risen; it was only more impressive than when she’d first met him, striding into the room and knocking his own warriors aside.
When finally he began to pull his horse forward to join the procession he caught sight of her, and she saw the glint of his dark eyes from beneath his helm. He was terrifying and majestic atop his warhorse, an inspiration to his warriors and doubtless a horror to his enemies. And she caught his gaze, held it.
He didn’t wave or call out or in any way draw attention to it in any matter except to watch her, keep her gaze. That was special enough, for she was the last he saw before his horse trotted out of the courtyard and onto the road to war.
She waited for some time and finally it was Svella who came to greet her. “If only we could ride with him again to war,” she said with some sadness to her voice.
“We have an important task,” she said, though there was a lingering sorrow in her tone as well, edged with hard determination. “We have to keep what is His so that when He returns, victorious, He may rest.”
The tall northern woman looked to her with an appreciative stare then nodded. “It is as you say,” she remarked. “Now come sister. If we are to administer justice then we need our war raiments too.”
She led Mirella to a special place where the warrior-concubines kept their supplies. There she found uniforms like the raven-garbed elite who marched in with the Seer—Kulav’s mother—and an array of weapons, curved scimitars, shields, daggers, and many bows.
It didn’t matter than she barely knew how to fight, but for a few training sessions back in her homeland to the south. She so rarely thought of them, though, yet as she reached for a scimitar, it felt right. She spared no time getting dressed and resumed practice against the air, getting used to the weight and the speed of the blade.
Svella watched her with some curiosity, “You are not trained as we are,” she put it delicately. “But I can correct that in ti—” it was then they were interrupted by one of the other loyal concubines, her raven helm pulled up as she spoke breathlessly.
“The Seer!” she cried. “She has fallen into a trance,” and the look of anxiousness on her face told them both this was urgent.
Svella put down the weapon she held and took the scimitar from Mirella. “Come, we must go to her.”
Mirella didn’t even waste time at being offended, instead following after the woman in her heavier armour, finding it uncomfortably restrictive after wearing almost nothing for so many months. She didn’t allow herself to feel dread or panic, instead forcing calm to the surface.
The chamber that had been taken over for the Seer was formerly a chapel of worship for the noble family. Now the great chamber was adorned in the holy symbols and markings of the superstitious Ka’reem, the markings of the God-King all about: the sign of the raven.
At the head of the room where once the pulpit stood was now the great raised bed of Kulav’s mother. The pale white woman twitched and spasmed, shivering in some unknown misery as she stared off into the ceiling.
Mirella had found the old woman as frustrating as she was fascinating, but the crone frightened her. The truth, the knowledge, and how easily she saw through her was terrifying, even though she had nothing to hide from the woman. The respect she felt for the Mother of a God was eternal, and her reverence ran hand in hand with the jumble of emotions.
The other women were deathly silent, watching in awe and fear as the Seer shook and spasmed. It was terrifying to see, though not only because of the power the woman held, but because Mirella—alone amongst the women—knew something of the suffering she had endured and must now still be enduring.
After watching long in silence Svella whispered to her. “The last time this happened she was said not to come out of it for days.”
“We don’t have days,” Mirella murmured, already uneasy about leaving the city proper. She feared that at any moment, the abused and wretched would begin their revolt, and when she turned her face back to the woman, she silently prayed for her to find peace enough to speak.
With a shake of her head Svella added, “But when she came out of her trance… she bestowed upon the God-King the warning that won him the war against Ariste. It is said she is the line to the spirits that lets our Lord and Master reign with the power of a deity.”
The bridge of her nose crinkled in distaste, but she said no more on it. Still, as her arms folded across her stomach and she felt that mass move within her, she hoped it wasn’t too late. For him. For them. “We need to prepare for the rebels,” she said softly.
Chapter 13
The warrior-concubines set up their command from within the Seer’s chamber. The women charged with her care and security refused to leave her be, and all understood the importance of getting whatever news she had immediately.
Though days of planning and action turned up little. Svella shook her head as she came in with her full armour on, acting untroubled by the pregnant belly that looked well past its time. “The latest searches have turned up nothing,” she said.
“This doesn’t seem right,” Mirella frowned, finding herself restless and her nerves frayed in a way they’d never been before. It was torture not knowing, being uncertain of what was happening in the battle, of the status of their troops. She was looking forward to fighting the rebels if only for something to do, to take her mind off of her anxiety.
Mirella had gone out personally with Svella, the soldier-sisters patrolling the streets. She had seen the terrible state of the city, the invasion and isolation of Ariste having had drastic consequences for the population. But through it they’d turned up nothing as yet.
Svella opened her mouth to talk but then her eyes went wide as she stared beyond the shorter Mirella.
That look of awe could mean only one thing, and as Mirella turned and looked she saw the Seer sat up on her bed, peacefully still. She was no longer the quivering mass entrapped in some violent seizure, she looked serene and beautiful. She looked every bit fit to play the part of the mother of a god.
She felt like she could weep, and was surprised at how much of it was simple joy that the woman suffered no longer. At least for the moment. A lump was in her throat and she moved forward to the woman, brazen as always. Even surrounded by the
elite guard, by those that cared for the woman and held her in such esteem, there was no holding Mirella back.
A gasp travelled through the other women and she saw as one went to take hold of her and keep her from approaching the Seer. Instead the ghostly woman stirred in her flowing blood-red robes and her eyes fluttered open to look directly at Mirella. “My son marches to victory… marches to death!” The way her voice went from serene to shrilly-panicked in no time was chilling.
She felt her eyes burn but still she approached the Seer, kneeling at the foot of the bed. She paid no heed to those behind her, instead raising her eyes to the Mother of her God. She felt that horrible, dry lump in her throat as she shook her head childishly, but still she dared not speak. Dared not yet interrupt the woman’s lucidity.
She watched as the pale woman’s eyes rolled back into her head then fought it off, as if struggling to retain control. “He shall find victory on the battlefield… but the enemy comes to steal his prize from beneath his nose even now. If they are not stopped…” she clutched the sides of her head and rocked back and forth, the whole of the room seeming to change. She felt a shifting in the air, the candles flickering all about though nothing seemed to have changed.
“The princess,” she hissed, pushing herself to stand. “Svella,” she moved to the other woman the brushed past, “Let me know of anything else she says. I need some that can actually fight.” Bitter resentment flourished up within her, betrayal struck in her heart. “That little bitch will pay.”
“No!” shrieked the Seer, her piercing scream blood curdling. “It is too late!”
She stared at Mirella, and that gaze chilled her, as if something inhuman was inside the pale woman. “An army marches through secret tunnels in the mountains right now! No force of arms can stop them!” she cried.
The other women seemed to get it, they all rose standing and froze in some look of solemn resignation.