Gregor rode up to find Neila standing at the river’s edge, toes touching the water. She looked longingly downstream. Her short sword, streaked with blood and dust, twirled absently between her fingers. When she saw him coming, she placed the sword back into the sheath at her hip, not bothering to clean it first. With his helmet off, his pitch black hair looked tangled and wild, out of place above his pale Elahner clothing. "We lost him,” she said sadly.
“Good," said Gregor. He was a man of few words, which she usually appreciated. Unfortunately she did not feel appreciative today. Neila wished she could have played more with the Lord Defender of the Southlands. The idea of tracking him down and collaring him like a pet appealed to her. For a moment she considered swimming after him, but she had never learned how. Nor did she think riding after him would work, tempting as it was. No telling where he would come out of the water, and the thought of looking behind every bush and rock down the length of the river bored her.
She forced herself away from the water’s edge, sighing with the loss, and turned toward her companion. The tall Elahner towered over her, but she looked up into his eyes confidently. She did not want him to think he had any power over her. ”What be the word? How many we lose?”
He grimaced as he made his report. His accent was thick, sounding like his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he spoke. His words were learned and well formed, however, compensating for his pronunciation. “That bastard killed thirty, including Issir, and his men took over a hundred more. We have another hundred injured. His men were good, ambush or no.”
He took a deep breath, working through his anger. “Of the Lord Defender’s only three survive, including one who stood with him at the gate. His second I think. This cost us dearly, Neila.”
"It was good for me, I think." She briefly glanced back at the river before taking Gregor’s arm in her own. She walked him back toward the group of waiting men. With her hold on him, she forced him to take smaller, measured steps to keep pace.
He was stiff in her grip, uncomfortable with her touch, and refused to look down at her as they strode along. With her clothing in tatters, she might as well be naked as far as he was concerned. Neila doubted he was attracted to her, small and soft as she was compared to tall, hardened Elahner women. As long as she had known him, however, even the suggestion of sex made him self-conscious. That discomfort pleased her immensely. It was a weakness she could to exploit against the normally headstrong man.
"No fretting, Gregor. We’ll be finding more men. Just pick us a bigger town next. We have ourselves an army yet, I think." Neila smiled wider, a feeling of warm joy spreading over her. "No, nothing worth fretting over at all. This Lord Defender be their best, we’ve nothing to worry us."
Gregor walked in silence a ways before responding. When he did his tone was measured and serious. "This is a dangerous game you are playing, Neila.”
"My sweet, you should be knowing it’s all a game to me. And it’s Lady Neila now. Be sure to remember that.” She giggled, enjoying her the joke.
When they reached the horses, Gregor helped Neila onto the large gelding he had brought for her. She was pleased with the choice. It was the tallest steed there, making her a head taller than everyone else. That its coat was the reddish brown of dried blood was an additional delight for her.
"Your orders?” Gregor asked.
She glared down at him from her saddle, suddenly serious. “My Lady.”
“What?”
“Your orders, my Lady. Or were you not listening?”
He stared up at her, mouth a thin, straight line. After a few moments he carefully asked “What are your orders, my Lady?”
Neila gave him a rewarding grin. “See, that not be so bad.” With Issir dead she needed a new second. Gregor was willful, as were most Elahner, but with a little training he might make a decent replacement.
She tried not to think of how easily she had lost Issir. Her best warrior gone in a single blow, and he never had a chance to draw his blade. If she had not been so irked she would have been impressed. While comfortable with a sword she had never learned to use it properly. Before today she had no need beyond knowing where to strike to increase her pleasure. The Lord Defender’s prowess was beyond anything she had ever seen. If not for her ability to heal, he would have easily torn through her in short order, and gone on to do the same to her people. She had been the only thing standing between them and death.
Neila felt the need for a distraction from their losses. "Let’s be seeing the men, Gregor. Time for the blooding, I think. I wouldn’t want them feeling discouraged." She stopped to think a moment, one finger on her lower lip as she considered her options. Then Neila nodded to herself, decision made. "We’ll be talking with our prisoners, I think. Maybe learn a little more about his Lordship Tristan de’Dassir? After that, Nassir should be our next stay."
Gregor frowned. "That might catch the attention of the Emperor. Do you think that wise, my Lady?" Neila was pleased to note that he added her new title without hesitation.
"That be what I’m counting on, Gregor. Time we aimed a little higher, don’t you think?"
He nodded in agreement. “Yes, of course you are right. As you wish, my Lady.”
Gregor mounted his own horse, and as they rode up the hill, Neila thought about the scabbarded sword she wore at her hip. She worried that the pitted, blood scarred surface of the metal might make the Elahner hesitant. It was evidence that the Lord Defender’s skill was not the only thing to cause worry. She did not want his fears to hold them back. She promised herself to find a new sword before Gregor could find cause to question their next action.
When they returned to the fortress, Neila’s gelding stepped gingerly across the blood soaked ground as they approached the gate. Her men had cleared a path through the dead, but bodies still skirted the way to either side. Silence hung like pall over the road. With the injured moved into the fortress, only the dead were left as an honor guard to her arrival.
Past the gate, the moans of the wounded rose up to smother her like the thousand touches of a lover’s feather. The agony of their pain made her sway in her saddle, forcing her to hold on tightly to the pommel to keep from falling.
The injured lay randomly about, comforted by their less damaged colleagues. Most injuries were minor, but some where mortal. Those were particularly poignant, their suffering making her shudder with pleasure. Every person capable of lifting their head looked up when she rode into the courtyard. Each face held a desperate plea for help, their lips mouthing silent prayers in her name.
Despite the ripples of joy running through her, Neila was uncomfortable with the attention. When Issir and Gregor had found her in the capital city of Orphir she had been raving with bloodlust in a back alley, murdering for food and the love of death. Even now a part of her hungered for those simpler days. The desire these men had for her was uncomfortably close to that of a brothel customer toward a prostitute. That was a feeling she knew all too well. It left her wanting to return to the river to wash.
She did not want to waste the faith Issir had in her, however. He had pulled her from the filth to become something greater. He had sacrificed himself for her. Now was not the time to throw his efforts away.
Taking a deep breath to regain some control over the sensations rolling over her, she hopped off her mount to meet with her men. Not watching the ground, she twisted her ankle when she landed, sending another shiver of delight rippling through her.
Seeing the blush of her face, Gregor reach out to steady her. “Are you alright, my Lady?”
“I’m fine,” she said in annoyance, waving him away. His touch had interrupted her enjoyment. “Get the cup. The men be waiting.”
Neila waited impatiently for his return, trying her best to ignore the pleas of the dying and the tingles of pleasure that followed after. When he returned he held a chalice the size of two cupped hands, its surface gleaming with gilt silver and gold. A single large ruby was set in the stem, glittering in the waning sunlight like wet blood. Runes were engraved along the rim, flowing downward to cover the base.
Gregor bent to one knee and held it before him so that she could see its contents. He had partially filled it with red wine which sparkled in the late afternoon sun. Their audience looked on expectantly, watching the chalice with greedy eyes.
Looking at the garish cup, Neila remembered her own sad, ragged state. This was not the way a goddess should appear to her followers. Avoiding her sword, Neila reached instead for a dagger at her belt. She cut away the remains of her tunic and pants, leaving herself naked with only her belt draped across her hips. Blushing, Gregor forced his gaze down at the ground at her feet.
Neila smiled, knowing her men now had better things to look at than her tussled hair. It had been a long time since she felt shame at being seen undressed. If anything, she wished she had a more womanly body like the successful brothel girls with whom she had been raised. Even that, however, was only a passing thought. Neila did not care why her men were devoted to her, only that they remained so.
Baring her arm over the cup, she used the dagger to slice open the meat of her forearm. The flesh parted easily, revealing the white of bone beneath, followed quickly by a gush of blood that poured out into the chalice. In moments her flesh rippled, the jagged edges of the wound drawing toward each other until the blood ceased to run. Only perfect, crimson stained skin remained. While it healed Neila worked to hold herself upright, to keep from giving way to the river of joy washing through her. It flooded her body, nipples raising with delight and warmth reaching down between her legs until the moment passed with a moan from her throat.
Watching her blood pour out, Gregor trembled in anticipation. His people drank the blood of their enemies and allies as a way to gain their strength, but over their two summers together, his desire for her’s had grown monumentally. Issir had once said that her blood was that of a god. Seeing the rapture reflected in Gregor’s eyes, Neila could almost believe it was true.
She allowed Gregor to lick the remaining blood from her arm, cleaning her skin of crimson stains. With the taste his face flushed and body quivered, his eyes rolling back with bliss. It took effort for him not to spill the cup still in his hands.
The joy washed all the worry from his face, leaving only contentment. Regaining his composure, he rose to walk among the injured, offering each a sip from the cup. She could hear the moans of pain around her change to those of ecstasy.
Neila did not remain to witness their elation or the miracle of healing her blood provided. She strolled into the fortress feeling satisfied. Her blood would not cure the worst injuries, but it would seal most wounds and spare some their meager lives. It would also replace their pains with a deep seated pleasure, leaving a thirst for more that would overcome all reason or reservation. That was how she built her army, one drop of blood at a time.
Inside the fortress Neila found herself chilled. Despite the warmth of the day, the stone walls tended to leach the heat from her bones. Hurrying through the great hall and onward to the tower, she rushed up the spiral of stone steps to her rooms.
A small, mousey girl with large, soft brown eyes leapt to her feet when Neila entered the room, startled from her dozing on an overly stuffed chair near the door. The girl curtsied as her master entered, lifting the hem of her scarlet, brocade dress from the floor with one hand. She showed no sign of dismay on seeing Neila naked, though her doey-eyed expression gave her an ever startled look that made Neila unsure if it was possible to know the difference.
Persha, if Neila recalled her name correctly, dutifully awaited orders, calmly waiting with head bowed demurely. Though submissive, the girl gave no indication of fear. In fact she seemed relieved. She had taken to Neila with stoic loyalty like an obedient lapdog despite never having tasted of her blood. The faint yellowing about her eyes and neck from healing bruises said all that was needed about her previous treatment. When Neila had first seen her, face a splotchy violet blue from a recent battering, she had tossed the former Lord and Lady out the window of that very room. They had not survived the fall. Since then Persha had seen to her every need without question. In return for her quiet obedience, Neila gave her access to the former Lady’s wardrobe and made sure she remained untouched by her men. It was an arrangement that agreed with them both.
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Tired from the day’s excitement, the bed looked very inviting. Although Neila found the heat of battle exhilarating, it was also exhausting. The act of healing and the pleasure in its wake always left her drained and empty.
Sleeping alone did not appeal to her at all, however. “Persha, what would you be saying if asked for you to lie in bed with me for a time?”
“What?” Persha asked, her eyes managing to grow larger. Then she caught herself, head sinking down again and eyes returning to the floor. Though she stood exactly as before, she somehow managed to look deflated. “Of course. If that is your wish.”
Neila instantly regretted her request. She had not meant how it sounded, wanting only some company, but could see that the girl had taken it as a return to a life she thought behind her. “Don’t be minding me,” Neila said, waving the question away. “Get some food if you’d like. I be needing some sleep for awhile. By myself.”
Persha perked up, curtsying before turning to the door. “And Persha,” Neila added before the girl left, “Maybe you should be getting some sleep as well. That chair not be a fitting place for you. Take the Lady’s room if you’d like.” Neila motioned to the door of the adjoining room.
The girl smiled for the first time that Neila could remember. “Yes, my Lady. Thank you.” She gave another curtsy before leaving, closing the door securely behind her.
Neila watched her go, marveling at how Persha had said the honorific without hesitation or hint of sarcasm. She could not have known of Neil’s private joke. That it was said sincerely put a discomforting knot in Neila’s stomach.
Neila curled up under a plush blanket in the room’s huge four poster bed, hugging one of the stuffed goose down pillows to her. She closed her eyes hoping for sleep, but it did not come easily. The feel of the bed, the weight of the blankets against her body, reminded her uncomfortably of home. Not the home Issir and Gregor had rescued her from. That had been dirty stoop that smelled of piss and offal. Nor did she mean the flea-bitten rooms she had used to entertain men for coin or a full belly. No, she was thinking of the room where she had slept with her mother as a child, warm and safe at night beneath fine covers. That pillow had smelled of her mother’s silken hair, of scented soap and fine perfume the fragrance of fresh cut flowers.
That was before she knew the joys of pain. In fact, it was the death of her mother that had provided her first taste of death, the ripples of quiet ecstasy rippling through Neila with every bloody cough until there were no more breaths for her mother to give.
Looking for a distraction from her memories, Neila looked over to an alcove on the far side of the room where a low alter sat beneath an open window. A handful of candles twinkled there before three small stone busts gilt in metal, the idols looking at her with gemstone eyes that danced in the flickering light with silent judgement.
Persha replaced the candles daily to honor the gods. Neila let her, not caring what the girl did with her free time. If she wished to bow to deities who cared nothing for their worshipers, so be it. Neila, on the other, had no intention of showing them obeisance. In her thirty five summers of life, the only respect she had ever received was made by her own hand. What use did she have for uncaring gods and their foolish idols?
She looked over the faces of the stone icons, recognizing them by the pounded metal of their skins. In the middle was Vor, his gold leaf shimmering in the flickering flames. He was the Emperor, god of ambition and compassion, patron of the Empire. The carved ebony of his eyes made his expression cold and uncaring.
To either side were his parents, Kurn the Warrior and the Priestess Hir. The normally burnished copper of Kurn, god of need and desire, was tarnished green from age, though his garnet eyes still glinted with an angry fire. Hir, goddess of knowledge and wisdom, looked sickly, her silver leaf dull and lifeless. Not even the sapphire of her eyes could animate her faraway gaze.
Neila knew there was a fourth represented here as well. Yu, the mother of night, had no human face to show. The open window was the lone totem to the goddess of the evening sky and the dead.
The whole affair was a sad reflection of the temples and statues in Orphir. The metal and gems on the idols were not even worth looting, unworthy of greed let alone worship. Caring nothing for religion, it was only their uselessness that kept Neila from pulverizing the busts into their constituent components.
Even so, Kurn did hold some appeal to Neila. God of desire, bringer of war, he was the closest to her own heart. Vor, on the other hand, evoked outright contempt. He was supposed to bring the people together, uniting them under the banner of the Empire. Instead she felt driven away, forgotten in poverty, used by men who knelt to their god by day and whored by night.
Anger stormed through her at the thought. Vor was an insult to everything she knew. Allowing her rage to take over, she rose from beneath her covers and stomped over to the idols. Grasping Vor with both hands, she heaved, the pulsing joy of the strain giving her the strength to lift the statue up and over the windowsill.
Neila leaned over to watch it drop. It disappeared quickly from view, but the crunching of stone on stone told her it hit the rocks below before tumbled down the hillside, following the same path Lord de’Dassir had used to escape earlier that day.
With that effort her anger fell away. Returning to the bed, she nestled back into the blankets and allowed sleep to overtake her.
When she opened her eyes again the windows were dark and the sounds of revelry drifted up from the great hall below. With the healing done, it seemed her army was now celebrating their victory over her foes. It made her think that Gregor’s worries were for nothing. Rather than fretting over their losses her men were taking heart in their successes. These men had lived, and that promise would keep them by her side and lead others to her as well. Gregor needed to have more faith.
Deciding to dress for the occasion, she called in Persha from the other room. The girl entered, hair looking tussled from own own dalliance with sleep, a hint of a smile on her lips. Yet the girl paused on seeing Vor missing from his perch. Her smile drooped into a frown.
“I’m sorry for the loss,” Neila said, feeling a moment of guilt over her tantrum. “He took a tumble out the window, I fear. Be free to be finding a replacement, if you like.”
Persha looked over at Neila, her soft eyes showing little emotion, but her lips tightened as if considering what to say.
Neila tensed as well. Unlike the others under her, Neila had given the girl much leeway. It would be a mistake, however, if Persha took that as permission to challenge Neila’s actions.
The expression on the girl’s face passed quickly, however, the smile returning “That’s alright, my Lady. It reminds me of my family’s old alter. Vor was not a part of it, you see. Only Kurn and Hir.” Persha touched the alter and then her lips and forehead in a quick show of obeisance on saying their names. “It was the former Lord and Lady who worshipped him,” she continued. “To honor the Empire. If it pleases you, I’d rather keep the alter as it is. To honor the old ways, before the Empire.”
Relaxing, Neila feigned acquiescence. “That be fine,” she said. Having grown up in the Empire’s capital, outside of dedicated temples every alter she had ever seen were to the three. It had never occurred to her that there had been a time before Vor, before the Empire. Perhaps a part of her had instinctually known he did not belong.
Hearing a distant cheer from below, Neila changed the subject. “I be wishing to dress for the celebration.”
“Of course, my Lady.” Persha turned to the wardrobe find something suitable for her mistress.
The former lady of the house had been taller and fuller than Neila, especially in the bosom, but the girl found a beautiful hand embroidered silk dress that she thought might work. It was indigo blue with royal purple trim and red stitching, a single strap on the left leaving the right shoulder bare. Persha made a loop in the strap to raise the bodice and used a knife to cut a strip from the bottom to heighten the hem. It would not do for her Lady to be seen tripping in front of her men.
Looking at herself in a standing mirror, Neila loved what she saw. With her slight frame she rarely found finery that fit her, and with every battle tending to leave her clothes in tatters, she could never keep them. Yet despite one nipple threatening to peak out of the bodice and her boyish, short cropped hair, she could almost see her mother standing in front of her, regal and comely. She could see a hint of her mother’s face in the curve of her own jaw, in the line of her nose, and in the depths of her eyes. Neila spit on her palm to pat down hair the same color of honey. She still remembered the golden allure of her mother, how she commanded a room of men with a glance, attracting the finest men of Orphir to her bed.
Then she remembered how her mother had died, alone and sick, leaving her daughter to fend for herself like a kitten among wolves. Suddenly seeing nothing in that mirror but the feral creature she had become, she brusquely turned away Persha’s helping hand to stalk out of the room. Her mood turned sour, she purposely descended the tower stairwell by herself, the hem of her dress in hand to keep from stumbling down the steps.
When she entered the great hall below, the burble of conversation ceased. Every head turned her way, and even the remaining servants, harried as they were by their captors, stopped in their tracks to stare.
Neila asked herself if this was what it was like to be a queen. Walking to the front of the room between rows of tables, her men rose from their benches and bowed as she passed. She imagined the dusty, faded banners hanging on the walls were there to commemorate her, the sound of shuffling rushes beneath her feet the nervous whispers of her admirers. She felt giddy from the attention, her mood lifting once more.
At the head table, she saw that Gregor had taken Issir’s place to the right of her seat. She scowled, reminded of her losses. It would take some time for her to grow accustomed to the change. Yet what was done, was done. When he stood to offer his hand, she accepted gracefully, allowing him to guide her to her chair at the front of the hall.
Once seated, however, she felt a pleasant tingle of discomfort coming from behind her. Twisting about to see, she found their three prisoners on the floor against the back wall, chained, naked, and beaten. It seemed that Gregor had arranged for some after dinner entertainment.
Neila was surprised to see that one was a woman. She was exceptionally tall with the same hawk-like nose and curly black hair as Gregor. She sat with straightened back and legs crossed, body honed and muscular, unconcerned with her nakedness. She sneered at Neila through a split lip and swollen eye.
Despite her curiosity, Neila could not ignore her men. Forcing herself to turn away, she gestured to the crowd to continue their revelry. With a wave of her hand the silence lifted. Her people returned to their food and boisterous laughter.
The regal feeling she had passed quickly. The food and drink was barely fit for a pauper. The roast mutton was overcooked, the dishes of boiled beets, onions, and potatoes mushy and indistinguishable. Even the wine was bitter. Her men knew little of hunting or farming, most useless for anything but sword work. Between them and the scant offerings because of the regional drought, they had already eaten their way through the fortress’s stores as well as those of the nearby town. Not even their looting of passing caravans had helped, forcing them to tighten their belts and make do with scraps.
If their raids had not brought the Lord Defender to their door, she would have thought their time at the fortress a complete waste. She still shivered with the memory of his pain. Even so, it was time to move on. They had pilfered, eaten, and drank everything of value, leaving only sour remains.
Unsatisfied with the food, Neila decided it was time for her amusement. She turned back to the prisoners, looking them over like fruit ripe for the plucking. They were a sad lot. One was drooling on the floor in anguish from his injuries, his pain brushing against her like a feather. The Elahner woman and the other man met her gaze, both silent and watchful despite their cuts and bruises.
Taking a knife from the table, Neila moved toward the more seriously injured man. Sensing his death drawing near, he was useless to her for anything other than a moment of blissful ecstasy. She might as well take advantage while he still breathed.
"Don’t," said the other male prisoner in a gravelly voice, somehow managing a note of command despite his naked vulnerability. She recognized him as one who had stood besides the Lord Defender when he approached the fortress. He was older but still attractive, muscular and authoritative. He held one hand over his genitals in a gesture of modesty, his gaze strong despite the patchwork of blue and black bruises that crept up his left temple to disappear beneath disheveled hair. A touch of dried blood there darkened the mix of light brown and grey that ran through his hair and beard.
Gregor rose from his seat to kick the prisoner back into submission, but she held up a hand to hold him back. He obeyed, but remained to stand guard in case one of the prisoners grew unruly.
"And why should I be sparing him? He’ll be leaving us soon anyway, you know.” She knelt next to the dying man, pulling his head up by the hair to prove her point. His eyes were glazed and face pale from blood loss, hands instinctively clutching at his stomach where blood oozed between his fingers to feed a growing pool between his legs.
The bearded one continued to look her in the eyes, showing no hesitation despite the gruesome evidence. "I saw what you did for your men. He doesn’t need to die. He’s just a soldier. I’m sure he’d join you if you let him."
Neila smiled, feeling a burst of admiration for this man’s courage. “You saw the blooding, then. You think he be worthy, do you now? And who are you to be saying so?"
"I’m his commander. He’s a good boy, hard working. He doesn’t deserve to die like this. He’d work hard for you, I know."
"Don’t deserve to die? That’s for me to say, I think." She stopped and considered a moment. She was enjoying this banter enough that she decided to play a game. "I might give him my blood, but only if you’d be taking a sip first. Try it and I will think on giving it to him too. What say you?”
As she expected, the older man looked at her suspiciously. "Do not do it, sir," said the Elahner woman, her accent not unlike Gregor’s. From the puffiness of her face Neila suspected that Gregor may have taken a dislike to the woman. Gregor cared little for any woman who spoke back at him, Neila excepted. The Elahner man looked down on rape but showed little hesitation in using his fists to show his dominance. That would be especially so with someone he considered a traitor to his people. It was no surprise this woman had left Elahn to stand with those from the west.
"You don’t…" the woman continued until Gregor’s kick stopped her short. With the sound of a snapping rib, a ripple of delight ran through Neila, forcing her to close her eyes and enjoy the moment.
When the sensation passed Neila grinned with glee.
”What’ll it be then?” she asked the bearded man. “Take my blood, or I cut this one’s throat and end it fast. Decide quick now. He’ll die soon enough without my help.”
The bearded man studied her, but she could see he knew the game and understood he had been outplayed. If his precious Lord Defender could not save him, what other chance did he have? Then he nodded, looking down at the floor in defeat.
Neila smiled wide, intending to be reassuring. ”Not so bad now, was it? Here you go then…" Using the knife in her hand, she cut her wrist.
She quivered with delight as she held out her arm. "Drink fast, it’ll be gone quicker than you think."
He took a hold of her wrist. Fascinated, he looked at the wound as the flow of blood slowed, her muscles and skin growing back together.
“Drink,” she prompted again. He grimaced in response, but did not turn away. He closed his eyes and licked the wound.
He convulsed as the pleasure overtook him, his grip on her tightening reflexively. Then his bruises began to fade away to perfect pink, his scrapes vanishing as if never there. Neila found it oddly disturbing to watch, as if he had robbed her of something vital.
Then a ripple of joy cascaded through her. She turned to the dying man in time to see the remains of his life leave him. It felt like the man’s entire existence rushed into her, filling her with wonder and awe before disappearing forever. With her arm held tightly by his companion, she could do nothing about it.
Looking aside, she was pleased to see that his commander, caught in rapture, never noticed.
