Day 35, 3:00 PM

“Bellum se ipsum alet.”

— Latin proverb

I’m waiting for Manny in the square with sixty men. Fifty-five men and three women, to be exact. Only slaves joined me this time. My rock speech failed to convince a single free citizen. Worse, they loathe me. Viscount Perrin was obviously loved and respected, a much better man than the previous viscount who held the post under duke Eagleeye’s rule.

Thanks to that fact, the citizens’ loyalty towards the currently living king eclipses their feelings for the dead duke, who ignored the corruption plaguing their town.

I let the townsfolk bury the man, since they believed he didn’t deserve to hang. I wanted Manny to see him, but I didn’t even have the justification that he was a traitor, because he came from a different region and was a king’s man from the start. Worse, his wife and child are sitting here with us, bound as hostages. I sigh.

If I ever go through this bit again, we can just circle around Harkgord and head straight for the next target.

We got a bunch of sacks with money. Viscount Parren was a more modest man, and apparently hardworking. His coffer had more than twice viscount Marken’s savings. The thought gives me no solace. In fact, I feel like I killed him for money. The thing I explicitly told myself I would never do.

There’s a commotion, and when I look down the street, I see Manny and the company. The soldiers look at me and some wince, others turn pale.

“What happened?” Manny and I ask at the same time.

“What do you mean?” We do it again, then we both smile.

“You first, my Noble Lady,” I say.

“We saw a disturbing sight along the way. Someone dismembered a man, then used his intestines to tie all the pieces to a tree beside the road.”

Ah, right Najel. I forgot about that. Feels like it happened last year.

I nod.

“That was me,” I say loudly, so that all the soldiers can hear me and confirm their guesses. “If he had just betrayed us, I would have captured him, but he offended our Noble Lady’s honor and good name, so I meted the punishment as I saw fit. Should anyone molest a child or an unwilling woman, they will share his fate.”

Almost all men gulp, but the women actually look relieved. Meanwhile, the new additions are looking at them blankly.

“Explain things to them in private when you have the chance,” I tell Ron, who became my de facto second in command for some reason. I narrowed it down to two possibilities. It’s either wisdom telling me to pick him, or his short, familiar, and easily pronounceable name gives him the edge. I’m not sure.

“I have freed the local slaves and bought supplies I deemed necessary. If you think we should purchase anything else, please do, my Noble Lady.”

She nods and speaks, her tone regal, just like when she explained her dignity and established the basis of our relationship during our failed escape attempt.

“We will requisition the mansion for tonight. Ron, use the remaining daylight hours to drill the new recruits and explain how the army works. We are not bandits. We do not steal, we do not murder, but we do respond with overwhelming force should anyone threaten us.”

She issued several more commands, simultaneously assuring the commoners of their safety and dissuading them from doing anything stupid. Then she addresses the mob directly and objectively does a much better job at reassuring people in ten minutes than I did since this morning, despite proving I don’t wish innocent blood on my hands.

I guess she didn’t have to maim and murder members of the town guards with extreme brutality to stop a potential riot. I pause at the thought. That’s actually a good dynamic for the two of us. I’m the brutal stick, she’s the forgiving mother. I will be her vengeful demon, and she will be the saint.

I like the idea. I like it a lot.

“You are smiling while gazing into the distance, again,” she says. “You are scaring people.”

I grin.

“I think that’s something I should do. I’m your bodyguard. If everyone fears me, nobody will try to harm your noble personage. Do you have some time for me, my Noble Lady? We need to discuss how we approach the towns on our way to Eaglegord.”

“Let’s talk.” She turns around and leads the two hundred of us towards the mansion.

I give her room to direct the men to their drills and observe what she does. After ensuring the soldiers are busy, she enters the mansion, the women we liberated following behind her like a flock of chicks

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Meanwhile, I’m stuck poking our gagged prisoners forward.

“Good afternoon,” she tells Cellie, who meets us in the entrance hall. “We apologize, but we will impose on you today. I hope my general has done nothing inappropriate?”

Well, I killed the man she shared a bed with last night, rounded them all up before daybreak and had them sit on the floor, shuddering in fear. But other than that, I was cool.

Cellie seems to agree with me. She shakes her head. “Nothing inappropriate.”

Manny nods, keeping the career politician’s polite smile. “Good. We will need some fabrics, leathers, needles, and thread. Would you mind going to town and purchasing some for us? I’m afraid our visits would cause needless anxiety, and I would prefer us to leave first thing in the morning.”

Cellie looks at Manny, her mouth open just a crack.

“Here,” Manuella hands her a bag of what I hope are just shields and plows. “Please return the change, we need the funds.”

Cellie grips the bag as if the devil herself gave it to her. Finally, I clear my throat and snap the maid from her daze.

“Yes,” she nods and scurries away.

“You will rest for now. Try to grab some sleep. When she returns, I would like you to try to make what general Aang requested.”

“Yes, Noble Lady.” The former slaves curtsy, speaking in a chorus. Their movements are clumsy, and they could use some practice, but they kind of resemble what I imagine royal servants should look like.

“General Aang, follow me.”

“What about the prisoners?”

“Bring them with us. We will interrogate them.”

I nod and follow her down a hallway on the ground floor with our prisoners in tow. She picks a door at random and we enter an art room.

Manuella sits in front of the easel and crosses her legs.

“Remove their gags, please.”

I obey and first do the viscountess. The woman opens her mouth to scream or shout, but Manuella speaks first.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you want water?” she asks in an even tone, as if addressing an old acquaintance under much more normal circumstances.

The woman is confused for a second, then resumes with her intended program. “What are you doing? The king will have your heads—”

“Madam,” Manny interrupts her, her tone unchanged, “our heads are none of your concern. Yours and your son’s are. Be grateful I am not as vile as the king whose name you are using to enrage me. Otherwise, you would have begged me to kill you when I removed your gag.”

The viscountess bites her lips and keeps them shut. She knows who Manuella is. She knows what happened to her.

Manuella nods and continues. “Are you hungry or thirsty? I will not mistreat you just because we are enemies. Or if you want, I can mistreat you for a day, and you will change your tune. If a day is not enough, I can mistreat you for a week, a month, a year, a decade. I believe you are an intelligent woman, and I hope that such repugnant actions are unnecessary.”

The viscountess turns pale. I can’t see her son’s face, since I’m untying the knot behind his head, and I intentionally drag it out, so that the women can reach an understanding.

“Can we remain civil, or must I mistreat you first?”

The viscountess nods, and I remove the rag from her son’s mouth.

“Mother! They are murderers! They murdered Father!”

“Quiet, Jonathan. Noble Lady is showing us grace.”

“Mother!”

“Shut up!” she screams, then turns to Manny. “Please gag him and place him in a separate room under your general’s supervision.”

“Mother!” I stuff the rag back into his mouth and look at Manny.

“You will stay here,” she tells me, then looks at the viscountess. “Do not worry. I will not humiliate you in any way. I just need to understand certain facts. It is in your best interest for my troops to move without incidents, because sudden attacks mean you and your son are very likely to die. Not to us, not to the enemy, but to the slaves who hate you. If they are going to die, they may lose their rationality, and we will be too busy to stop their actions.”

Manny leaves the words to hang in an extended spell of silence.

“Do you understand?”

Does she have an even paler shade? Does she have any blood left in her head? I wonder as the woman gives a shaky nod.

“Good. We plan to…” Manny explains our intended route, and the viscountess Parren explains the state in each of the three settlements we plan to pass on our way to Gohengord.

Manny’s hate flares at the mention of Eaglegord’s new name, but the rage disappears soon enough. I find the discussion interesting. Our next target is Ballenmir, ruled by baron Ballen. They remained neutral in the previous war, refusing to answer the duke’s call to arms, but not joining the king’s side, either. They justified themselves to the king by claiming they were loyal, but surrounded by enemies, and had to fortify their own position. They did not justify themselves to the duke. There was no need.

After Ballenmir came Krimagord, ruled by viscount Gollash, appointed by the king after the war. The town is faring worse than Holgord, and I saw Manuella’s interest peak when the viscountess described it. Both Manny and I seem to believe that place will boost our numbers. As for Ballenmir, I think we should avoid it altogether, but the decision is up to Manny. Finally, there’s the village of Coremir, ruled by yet another upstart noble surnamed Jaggel. The village has five hundred residents, and by the time we reach it, we can conquer it through force of arms, but from the sound of it, the place is on the verge of uprising, anyway. The baron is known for frequent whippings of rebellious peasants and has hired ten mercenary guards to enforce order.

“Thank you,” Manny says with a smile. “I will have two women feed you and handle your needs. If you need to use the chamber pot let them know. Please do not try to escape. There are two hundred ill-trained soldiers outside. You may get hurt.”

We escort them to the kitchen, then go back to the art room. The sun is setting, and we stare at the sight without saying a word. Occasionally, I steal glances at her, but her eyes are fixed on the horizon.

Minutes trickle by, and I enjoy simply existing here, a step away from her. I look back at everything she has said and done today, and see plenty of evidence of intelligence and education from her early years, as well as empathy born through suffering without losing hope.

“You are remarkable,” I say, but she speaks at the same time.

“What did he do for you to do that to him?”

We’re both silent for a moment, then she speaks. “Thank you. You are remarkable too. Could you answer my question?”

“He called you a nine plow prostitute. As far as I know that is not an idiom, and that number is oddly specific.”

There’s an awful long silence before I speak again.

“I was too merciful,” I growl. “He died in less than two minutes. If I get the chance again, I’ll make him suffer for hours.”

She cups my cheeks and kisses me.