Interlude III – Popular Rule

The Army to the North

Four generals sat within the Queen’s tent, debating their next course of action.

One was Amon, a tall and muscular man, with bald head that shined in the sun. He had been the Queen’s first general, a native to her home city of Hulicheng. Next to him was Hemede, a short and stout man with a permanent scowl on his face, who had been a leader of the first village she captured. Then there was Gamila, a woman with short braids and large lips, who was an unwilling concubine of the second God-King the Queen defeated. And finally was Lukman, an older man who had lost both his arms to a lion over a decade ago, but otherwise had an instinctual understanding of military tactics.

It had been Queen Meixiu’s idea on how to control such a large and diverse army. Promote a leader from each village she conquered to a general and have them lead their own people into battle. This made sure that none of her soldiers second guessed their orders—they were being led by someone they knew, rather than a foreign Queen.

Of course, this approach also had its own issues, which was no more apparent than when the Queen was lost.

“You cannot be serious,” Amon hissed, glaring at the other three. “Our Queen has been captured by these… these barbarians, and you all are willing to just leave her there!?”

“Of course not,” Gamila scoffed, crossing her arms. “I at least am not so cruel. But we are at a disadvantage—we only have enough supplies stored for the next week, and we’ve lost our leader besides. We can’t afford to stay here and starve, and I question how effective it would be in the first place. There’s another army that’s been here for weeks now, and they haven’t been able to do anything! What makes you think we’ll do any better?”

“So you plan to just give up!?”

“No!” she snapped back. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that violence doesn’t solve anything. All I’m asking for is a ceasefire! We don’t need this city, but we need our Queen!”

Amon glared at her, slamming his fist into his thigh in anger. However, before he could reply, someone else spoke up.

“But do we need the Queen?” Hemede asked slowly, glancing at each general. “After all, the people out there are still loyal to us. Without the Queen, our soldiers follow us. So, if we just… don’t rescue the Queen, we could rule. Each of us could return to our own cities, to rule them as kings.”

“YOU DARE!” Amon roared, jumping to his feet in rage. “YOU INSOLENT—!”

“Calm down, you raging boar,” Lukman scoffed, before glancing contemplatively over at Hemede. “You raise a good point, Elder. But the people follow us primarily because we follow the Queen—without her, our divine right to lead is weakened, especially after such a disastrous battle.”

“But we were each chosen by the gods’ chosen ruler,” Hemede retorted. “Doesn’t that make us fit to rule in her stead?”

“Only in your own delusions, perhaps,” Gamila scowled at him. “Do not speak any more on this subject, for I want no part in it—I said we should cease fighting, not that we should abandon the Queen. She saved me. She granted all of you the power you now wield so casually. To abandon her now would be sin itself!”

“Well said,” Amon nodded at her, cooling down slightly. “I do not agree with everything you say, but in this we are decided—the Queen must be saved. So,” he turned to the other two, glaring at them, “whatever else happens, we must save the Queen. Anything else is failure of the highest order. And don’t think this is over—once we get the Queen back, I’m going to inform her of this… treason.”

The other man glared back, before sighing and nodding in agreement.

And so, they worked throughout the day, brainstorming and arguing in an attempt to come up with a plan to save the Queen.

But ideas are not discarded so easily.

Later that night, at his own campsite, surrounded by his friends and soldiers from his home, Hemede considered his options. He tossed the idea of kingship through his head—of his own rule, his own kingdom. He knew it would be difficult—Amon would think of it as betraying his Queen, and would never do it. Gamila as well was unlikely to agree with him, owing her life and freedom to the Queen. Between the two of them, they had half the army—if it came to blows, there was no way for him to overwhelm them. In the end, he’d never be able to get them on his side, and so he’d never become King.

But he wanted it. In a way he hadn’t ever felt before the option was before him. He did not simply muse about being king.

He wanted to be King.

“Hemede,” he heard a voice call from behind him. Turning, he blinked in surprise at the sight of Lukman, the old armless man standing behind him. “I want to speak to you.”

“About what?” the other man asked, raising an eyebrow.

“About your idea, back in the tent. The one about returning to our homes,” the old man stared at him with piercing eyes. “The idea about becoming a King.”

Hemede stared at him in shock for a moment, before a small smile broke out across his face.

And so, two old men plotted into the night.

--

The City Under Siege

If one were to ask Hsekiu what he felt about his current life, he’d be ambivalent.

Oh, certainly, the prestige of working directly for the pharaoh was excellent—his forefathers would be proud of him for gaining such a powerful position. But the drawback was, of course, working directly for the pharaoh.

He was a good leader, yes. Strong and wise, even if his skin was rather weird—orange was a strange color for skin to be. But while the King was strong and wise, he wasn’t very serious—he liked to play things off as a joke, or to ignore matters which he really should have dealt with earlier. He thought with his heart more than his mind.

That thinking was what had led them to this situation in the first place. Starving to death like a fish in a net.

Which, of course, created other problems. Tensions and rationing and angry people that he’d have to soothe over and calm down, because the Pharaoh was smart and wise and could corral the elders like nobody else, but had a tendency to piss people off just by opening his mouth.

Which left him, right hand and left hand and probably left foot as well of the Pharaoh, to fix these problems.

If he survived this, he’d ask for a raise. He wasn’t sure what a raise was, exactly, but the Pharaoh seemed to think it was important. And at this point, he deserved that much.

Still, there were the good moments to contrast the bad. This party, for instance.

It was the baby shower of Neferati, who had recently given birth to a daughter. The woman herself sat in the middle of the village, holding her newborn daughter in her lap while her husband sat next to her, the woman being treated like a queen.

She was the reason everyone was getting double rations today, after all.

People would walk up to congratulate her, handing her gifts as they did—toys carved of bone and new clothing woven for when the little girl grew up. The women would giggle happily with her, and the men would make crude jokes with her husband. The group would laugh and move on, before being replaced by another group just as happy and enthusiastic.

There had never been a festival like this before, celebrating such a birth. Hsekiu wouldn’t mind throwing another one.

Neferati herself seemed touched, with unshed tears in her eyes and a bright smile on her face. She even forwent tradition this once, naming her daughter today instead of in a few years from now.

She named her Heba, meaning ‘Gift’.

Hsekiu smiled, happy for her.

Of course, there were still other issues to contend with.

As the people in the center of the village partied and laughed and got drunk, Hsekiu grabbed a bowl of stew. The food itself wasn’t great, but after so long of so little, anything tasted like bliss.

He walked over to the Sun room, the building with the red sun above its threshold that they used to use for meetings.

The building which now had the prisoner in it.

“I’ve brought you some food,” he told the captured Queen, as he entered the building.

“How generous,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I’d thank you, but it seems my hands are currently occupied.”

“Hm, that does seem to be an issue,” the man hummed, glancing at her restraints. Shrugging, he placed the bowl off to the side, before going about with releasing her.

“What?” she asked, shocked as he moved away the table-thing from her neck. She rolled her neck the second it was free, loud cracks and pops echoing in the small room.

“Don’t get too excited,” he told her dryly. “I’m just letting you out to eat. Make even a single wrong move, and it’s back in the stocks with you.”

Once she was fully released, he stood up, handing her the bowl of stew. “Eat up,” he told her. “You’ve got until the sun sets to move around. Don’t squander it.”

She didn’t move, instead narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously. “What are you playing at?”

The man smiled politely at her, shrugging. “You’ve been in those restraints for over two days now. Even we aren’t so cruel as to not give you a break. It is a party out there, after all. It’s only right that everyone in the village gets to enjoy it.”

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The Queen glared at him suspiciously for a moment longer, before the smell of the stew seemed to hit her. Glancing down, she slowly picked up the wooden spoon (as blunt as they could make it) and took a bite.

Tears formed in her eyes, and she almost seemed to slump in relief. Then she started shoveling food into her mouth, eating like—well, like a woman who hadn’t eaten anything in two days.

He almost felt uncomfortable enough to look away. Almost.

The Queen quickly finished, sighing in relief and disappointment once the bowl was empty. Then she looked up at him, cheeks red with embarrassment and anger. “You didn’t see anything,” she hissed.

“Nothing at all,” he raised his hands, placating her. “Now that you’re done, would you like to go for a walk?”

She started. “A walk?”

“Yes,” he told her, keeping himself as friendly and approachable as possible. “After all, we aren’t cruel people. It must be painful to not be able to move around so much. You’ll have to be watched, of course, but we can give you this freedom.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to figure out what his game was.

Unfortunately for her, he only wanted to be kind. For ulterior motives, certainly, but kindness was his main goal.

It was something he and his King had come up with, in order to try and speed up the interrogation process. Neither of them were comfortable with straight torture, so instead they had decided to go the opposite route. Let her have some freedom, remind her of what she gets if she complies, and show her that they aren’t trying to be her enemies.

They could be allies. She could be free. All she had to do was accept their offer.

Eventually, she scoffed. “Fine.”

He smiled, following her as she left. They still had some guards set up on the walls—just a couple, to keep up the illusion they were still prepared for an attack. They’d switch them out over the course of the party, to make sure everyone got a chance to join in, and he grabbed two of them before they could get near the alcohol.

They grumbled, but followed the Queen along with him as she strode through the city on unsteady legs. She wandered around for a bit, letting her eyes rove over the walls and buildings. Eventually she saw the Pharaoh and, setting her shoulders, she made a beeline straight for him.

Once she got closer, he turned to her, giving her a big smile. “Ah, if it isn’t Meixiu! I’m so glad you could join us!”

“You aren’t surprised to see me,” she blurted out, narrowing her eyes at him. “That means you planned to release me today. This is a ploy by you, isn’t it?”

“Of course!” the King smiled, nursing his own cup of water. “It’s a ploy to get you some R&R! Everyone deserves a break every now and again.”

“…I am your prisoner.”

‘And if this is how he treats you as a prisoner, imagine how he’d treat you as an ally,’ Hsekiu thought to himself, hoping the subtext was apparent enough to the Queen.

“And even prisoners deserve a break!” he chuckled. “Now, come, come!” the Pharaoh smiled, waving them over to Neferati. “I haven’t been able to give her my present yet—too many well-wishers, you see! But now she seems open, so why don’t we go have a chat!”

They were helpless against the King’s whims, and so the prisoner and her guards were dragged along with him to the center of the village, where Neferati sat surrounded by presents.

“Neferati!” the King cheered happily as he arrived, gently embracing her, before turning to her husband Amet and giving him a much more back-pounding hug. “Amet! It’s wonderful to finally get to speak with you! Ah, and if this isn’t little Heba!” he cooed at the baby. “What an adorable little girl!”

The woman of the hour gave the Queen a wary glance as they approached, but didn’t let that stop her from smiling at the Pharaoh. “Thank you, Pharaoh. With even your blessing, I’m certain she will grow up strong and healthy.”

“Ah, but it wasn’t my blessing that created her, eh Amet?” he chuckled lewdly, elbowing the husband lightly.

The Queen choked on air when she heard that, while Amet chuckled and Neferati sighed exasperatedly. “You know you aren’t the first man to make that joke, right?” she asked him dryly.

“I’m not!?” he didn’t seem too sad about that. “And I worked so hard on it, too. Ah, well, I have something more to give you than a dirty joke,” he smiled at her, reaching into his pocket.

“Ah, but—!” Neferati yelped, her eyes going wide. “My Pharaoh, you have already done so much! The party, the food, everything! You need not do more!”

“Bah!” he scoffed. “I’m a King! I give more than anyone else—that’s what being a king means!” With that, he pulled something out from within his pocket.

It was a small, somewhat thin chain, the links carved from a yellowish wood. At the end of the chain was a beautifully carved falcon, so realistic that it seemed as though it was alive.

The woman gasped in awe when she saw it, and even Hsekiu was stunned. He’d never seen anything like it before!

“A necklace, for the birthday girl,” he smiled at her. “A ‘blessing’ from the Pharaoh himself. Falcons symbolize freedom and victory, did you know? And I’m certain that this child is a symbol that the gods’ themselves favor our success.”

“This is…” she whispered, taking it gently and placing it on her sleeping daughter’s forehead. “This…”

“Thank you,” Amet cut in bowing low to the Pharaoh. “Thank you, so much.”

The man simply smiled at them.

The five of them turned to leave, ready to let the next group move up, when the Queen suddenly walked forwards.

“If I may?” the Queen suddenly spoke up, moving to stand in front of Neferati. “I wish to see the child.”

The woman stared at the Queen for a moment, before glancing over at the Pharaoh. He paused, seeming to mull it over, before nodding slowly.

Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the Queen, smiling weakly as she held up her daughter.

The Queen stared at the little girl for a long moment, before a small, almost imperceptible smile broke out on her face. Leaning down slightly, she kissed the young girl’s forehead. “I do not have much here,” she spoke softly, but with a voice that demanded everyone’s attention. “I am a prisoner, and a threat to you all besides. But I am also a Queen, and I will not be shown up in something like this. So, with nothing else to give, I give my blessing—yours is a daughter blessed by two Rulers, Neferati. May she grow strong, and wise, and healthy. For this Queen demands it.”

Behind him, Hsekiu could swear he heard the Pharaoh mutter something like, “Drama Queen.”

After that, the Queen stood back, giving the woman another nod before she spun around to look back at them. “Come,” she told him imperiously. “I only have until sunset to stretch my legs—I don’t plan to waste another minute of sunlight!”

Hsekiu glanced over at his Pharaoh, and the two of them shared a smile.

‘Soon,’ he thought to himself. ‘Soon.’

--

The Army to the South

Sometimes, life was shit.

Bahiti was well aware of this. One day you could be minding your own business, fishing in the river and humming to yourself. The next thing you know, a god shows up in your home and starts shouting about ‘ascension’ and ‘divinity’ and then tells you you’ve got a new King.

Then that new King arrives and immediately starts hitting on you, so you punch him, and then he banishes you from the tribe. So next you go live with your cousin a couple villages over, only for another King to appear and kill that tribe’s Queen.

You’d think that’s the end of it, that you’ve got a new ruler now and that’s the last time that’ll happen, right? But then the new King tells you you’ve got to join his army because you’re young and fit. Then he drags you across the fucking desert to attack other cities, building a bigger and bigger army as he goes. And then he hits one city that happens to be surrounded by walls, forcing you and every other soldier in the army to starve outside those walls for weeks while you wait for the stubborn King inside to just fucking surrender already.

So yeah, she’s used to life being shit.

“You think they’re going to surrender today?” Khufu asked, staring mournfully down at the fire. His cheekbones were getting more pronounced by the day, and with his hair growing longer and unkempt, he looked more like a barbarian than any civilized folk.

Then she glanced down at her own arms, and the pain in her stomach took that moment to remind her she wasn’t much better.

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “They didn’t surrender yesterday, and I doubt they're going to surrender tomorrow, or even a week from today.”

Khufu whimpered, the big softy. “I want to go home.”

Bahiti scowled. “I doubt we’ll ever be going home.”

“Bahiti!” Her cousin Urbi hissed, punching her in the shoulder.

“What!? It’s true! We’re going to die here, starving to death for the Pharaoh’s ego!” she snapped, before quieting down, glancing around to make sure no one else heard her. “You know that’s what’s going to happen.”

“We don’t know that. We just need to… stay positive.”

It was that moment that Urbi’s own stomach chose to make it’s self known, growling loudly enough for all three to hear.

The other woman sighed, slumping to the ground, defeated.

Khufu hummed nervously, before glancing over at the faint lights in the distance. “You think the bastards in that other army would be willing to trade for some food?”

“Trade for what?” Bahiti scoffed incredulously. “Hopes and dreams? We don’t exactly have anything valuable ourselves.”

“It was just a thought…” he muttered despondently.

“And it was a good idea,” Urbi soothed him. “Just not one we can follow through with right now!”

Bahiti just grunted, glancing around at the other groups in their army. Specifically, the ones near the Pharaoh—or King, as he called himself—who were from the first city, Nuova Napoli.

In an attempt to lessen the starvation his camp was currently experiencing, the King had allowed people to go foraging for their own food. Which worked, at first, until that new army appeared and started siphoning off its own share. Now there was less and less to forage each day. Even the people who fish in the river have been bringing back less and less fish.

Even if they haven’t destroyed the local ecosystem, the animals must have realized by now that this place was dangerous. Too many predators in one place would scare off even the most stupid prey animal.

And of course, there was, ah, internal issues.

It was a fact that people weren’t willing to share food with strangers. Especially when they saw those strangers as beneath them.

Those were the people from Nueva Napoli, who made up about half of the army. They were lucky—they got to be born in the city that their new King arrived in. They got special treatment, special rights, and special privileges. They were special, because they were lucky.

And they made sure everyone around them knew it, too.

Oh, sure, not all of them were cruel about it. Some were even kind—they’d smile and chat and commiserate on how long the siege was lasting.

But they wouldn’t give up their own shares of the rations. Their noticeably larger share of the rations. They’d get first pick of the best foraging spots—if they were nice they’d let you join them, if they weren’t they’d chase you out, but they never left. They were the only ones allow tents—there weren’t enough to go around, so everyone else just slept on bedrolls. They got a bigger share of the food, because that’s just how it was. The King said it was a reward for their loyalty so far. But she knew what it was.

Nepotism, plain and simple.

People tried to bring it up. To complain about it, and try to get fair treatment. The King would just wave them off, though. “You’ll get more food once we take the city,” or “Don’t worry, once this is over, we’ll throw a feast!”

It placated them, at first. But the siege went on, and the food stores dwindled ever more. They had to send some people back to get more food from the other cities, but it left a sour taste in everyone’s mouth—the more they took for themselves, the more the people left behind would starve.

And the Napolian people continued to get better treatment, to get more and higher quality rations.

So the complaints started up again. People went up to the King, and asked for fair treatment once more. And once more he waved them off again. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” he’d chuckle. “Why, I don’t feel hungry at all! I don’t know what you all are complaining about!”

That did nothing to soothe the people.

And things began to heat up, as conflicts began to break out between the two groups—the conquerors and the conquered. Some were just arguments, or angry words—some were violent, sometimes brutal affairs. She knew at least one person had died, beaten to death by a Napoli.

And still the King ignored them.

Obviously, things would eventually come to a head.

Three days ago, the King went out to do something. Be it an attempt at parley with the other army, or some new plan of attack against the city. Maybe he even just went foraging personally—no one knows, really. All that was known was that he left with four people, and only he returned.

To say tensions skyrocketed was an understatement.

Some people said their enemies had ambushed the King, hoping to kill him away from the army. Others say he tried to talk to the other Queen, and she attacked him. And others whisper other things—that the soldiers were not killed by their enemies, but by the King himself. After all, only half the people he brought with him were Napolian—and the other two were known to complain about the unfair treatment they got. So some believed it was a set-up. That the king brought them out there to remove some of his more vocal opposition, and the Napolians he brought with him were casualties of the attempt.

The King was silent on the matter, sequestering himself in his tent. Though, while he did not speak to anyone, he was not quiet. The soldiers nearest to his tent could hear him ranting and raving about something.

The rumors built, and built, and built. And then evening came along, and someone snuck into the King’s tent. A young man, whose father had died in the invasion of his home.

He tried to kill the King. He did not succeed.

The man—boy, really—who attacked the King was publicly executed, a swift jab of the spear through his neck. And anyone else who had complained, who’d gone up to the King to beg for fairness and support, were punished as well. A finger cut off, with a warning that more would follow if they tried to push the issue.

The people fell silent after that. But they did not forget. They did not forgive.

Bahiti glanced down at her left hand, the stump of her pinky twitching slightly.

“Damn the King,” she snarled softly.

Her two friends glanced at each other. Then, they nodded.

“Damn the King.”