They did not congregate in an opulent throne room. That would have, indeed, posed quite a few difficulties, if one meant throne room in the most literal sense of the word. As opposed to a room the monarch held court in and that featured a large chair for them. The royal palace of Suqua still lay in ruins. Its repair was not a priority. More pertinent matters took priority. Hundreds of thousands had to be housed, clothed and fed. Soldiers had to be demobilised, and issued land grants. Moreover, this was not a friendly gathering. So they congregated far away from the bombed-out capital, which was still in the process of being restored. Clad in armour, Zabhara sat on her heels with her sword across her knees, expression pensive. Behind the Qadiri warlord lay sandy dunes. The sun was low, revealing the desert at its most beautiful.
Her human lady wife Alpsal was pacing, giving a stark impression of a caged Yazgid eager for some prey to tear apart or a contained wildfire. She had once been litte more than metal, skin and bones, so underfed at one point that Zabhara declared that their partnership would be dissolved if she did not come to her senses and cease starving herself. Now her body was corded with hard muscles. Her hair was bound in a single, severe braid. A mamluk braid, Zabhara reflected with some pride. She had done it for her. Elpsis, Alpsas, Alpsal - the young woman bore so many names. Zabhara exclusivey called her Alpsal. The better to bind her to the cause. The better to remind her of her loyalties.
"The Amikarese delegation approaches, my Mirzas," a Qadiri scout dressed in camo unifom suddenly appeared from the depths of the dune sea, dressed in a camo gear, her black hair covered by a scarf. "Three floating vehicles."
"Let them through," Zabhara said calmly. "The Satrap may bring two bodyguards."
"As you command, Mirza."
"This charade's pointless," Alpsal declared gruffly. She spoke Zandri, and Zabhara felt just a bit proud of her. "We know where this is going."
"The form's must be observed, dear," Zabhara responded with maternalistic patience.
The speeders approached with great noise and fanfare, throwing up sand in the process. Zabhara was in no rush to rise when the chauffeur of the vehicle in the middle disembarked and opened the door for the emissary of the Shahbânu of the Amikarese Empire.
"Lady Emira Donya Jai Alaee, Satrap of Markazi!" a herald clad in the imposing looking armour of an Anusiya proclaimed. The Satrap wore an armour bodice piece with engraved dragons over her scarlet robes, and carried a sword at her side in an elaborate scabbard.
"The Mirzas of Suqua, Lady Alpsal Jai Azal and Zabhara Jai Ghazana!" was the response from their herald.
"Her Exalted Majesty Shahbânu Semiramis of the Amikarese Empire, Beloved of Kashara, Protector of the Qadiri, extends her greetings," the Satrap spoke. The Qadiri noblewoman's stance was regal, radiating poise and control.
"Protector of the Qadiri? Is that what she's calling herself now? That's a delicate way of saying 'cravenly submit to me?'" her wife bit back harshly.
"My lady desires only peace and unity among the Qadiri nations. We all share the same blood, our divisions have only made us vulnerable to the beastial appetites of foreign invaders. You would know that, having witnessed the rapacious tyranny of the Tyrant Kerrigan first-hand, been a part of it..."
"And ended it," Zabhara cut her off. "While your lady...took her time."
The Satrap's lips formed a thin, tight line. "The great Shahbânu struck at the decisive moment. Without her aid, your revolt would've been doomed to failure."
Alpsal's jaw tightened. "Semiramis struck when it was easy for her."
"But the past is the past," Zabhara interjected firmly and beckoned towards their tent. "Tell us what your lady has to say."
"Very well," the Satrap spoke.
The tent itself was a model in simplicity, woven from the wool of black goats and Nawun hair and embroidered with traditional folk patterns. Thick rugs covered the floor inside, but there were no luxuries, no glamping. They made themselves comfortable on the cushions that had been placed there for seating. "It has a...rustic charm, doesn't it?" the Amikarse noblewoman commented oh so casually.
"I find it's conducive to getting things done," Zabhara said pointedly, while fetching some tea.
"I must ask, how fares the reconstruction of Suqua?"
"It proceeds," her wife answered caustically.
"I understood the desolation was considerable, and you've gone into debt."
That got the Satrap an icy glare from her wife. "Sacrifices have to be made for freedom. I imagine Zeheb is still the same, right? New palaces, slave labour."
"You're misinformed about our laws. Slavery has long been a thing of the past. It was always my liege's ambition to do away with this...practice."
"How convenient the labourers get hired for a tuppence and are made to sign contracts they can't read," Alpsal's scarred features twisted into a hate-filled scowl.
"Progress is always hard on a few. You should visit it some time, Mirza. Under the guidance of Shahbânu Semiramis, we've made incredible progress. Foreign investment is pouring into our city. Modern factories and shipyards, hotels. It won't be long before the entire city has access to electricity. It's a marvel."
Zabhara came back with some tea. The Satrap accepted her cup with a gracious smile that looked like it had been plastered on her face. "Time's short, and you have a long journey back home ahead of you. So let's got to the point. Your lady's message," Zabhara said softly, but firmly. She brought her cup to her lips and drank slowly.
"The great Shahbânu wishes for peace between our nations. The strife of the past must not be allowed to continue." Zabhara saw Alpsal roll her eyes and wondered whether her wife would say something scatological, but she remained silent.
"Speak plainly," Zabhara stated calmly.
"Suqua suffered greatly. We all acknowledge the courage of its people, and grieve with those who suffered grave losses during the War of Liberation. My Shahâbnu is willing to offer financial support and resources at very generous terms to aid the rebuilding."
"What's the catch?" Zabhara asked.
"We don't need your help," Alpsal said flatly. "We don't like chains around our necks, thank you very much."
"You will surely reconsider when you realise what we have to offer. You would rather be the friend of my lady than her enemy."
"She really don't know me well."
"Tell us about her terms, Satrap," Zabhara interjected.
"A non-aggression pact for ten years, trade agreements. Both contingent upon the resolution of certain border issues."
"And those would be?"
"That you crack down on bandit raids into our territory, and cede certain cities that have been part of the Amikarese Empire since time immemorial and were illegitimately occupied by Suqua during an unfortunate period of weakness." The Satrap snapped her finger and one of her attendants brought forth a map, rolling it out before them. "Oh, my apologies" the Satrap said with faux contrition, looking at Alpsal, "Mirza, my people did not take your impairment into acco-"
"My wife can see for the both of us," Alpsal cut her off curtly. "I trust her."
I trust her. Three simple words. There were times when Zabhara had thought of killing the woman she had taken as her bride in the eyes of the Mother of Flames and the Mother of the Seas. Alpsal was frustrating, volatile, painfully idealistic. A dangerous combination at the best of times, even more so given her youth and the potency of her Zari. But for all her stubbornnes, she was capable. It was not love. Yet somewhere down the line, Zabhara had grown fond of her.
No emotion crossed Zabhara's features as she studied the map. Her eyes immediately homed in on coastal areas in the north that the Amikarese had marked for annexation. These were fortresses held by Suqua, the gateway into their land. An Amikarese invasion would have to take them to allow the coast road to be used effectively. True, they could theoretically bypass them, but that would leave dangerous fortresses in the rear, attempt a perilous amphibious landing or traverse inland over the desert, scrub and barrens. Further to the south, the Amikarese mapmakers had marked a strip of land as a 'demilitarised zone'.
"As you see, the Shahbânu only seeks to reclaim what has always been hers by right," the Satrap remarked haughtily.
Zabhara raised her chin, staring at the emissary intently. "Territorial concessions, a demilitarised zone. Your mistress asks for much that she's been unable to attain through force of arms. These are terms you offer a defeated foe whilst your blade is at their throat."
"Adash has been ours since the reign of Adira II. Mirza Nakihata ceded it to our Shahbânu," the Emira stated primly.
"And the Amikarese dictate was overturned by the Great Council and we took it back," Zabhara pointed out frostily.
The Satrap made a dismissive gesture. "Like a vulture feasting on a carcass during a period of weakness of our Empire. The people yearn for their rightful queen, who will give them safety and prosperity. Nurqila was built by Khorshida V. We need Zafarikand to assure our security. We're not blind to Suqua's needs. My lady is more than willing to pay a more than appropriate sum and to allow the Suquan throne to reap some of the benefits when we develop these lands."
Zabhara observed her wife carefully, noticed the tightening of her jaw, while Alpsal stared at the Amikarese emissary in that unnerving, nigh-unblinking way of hers. "No," Alpsal finally said, in a voice that was quiet yet firm and ironclad. "This is unacceptable."
The Satrap's eyes narrowed. "I strongly advise you to reconsider. You will surely want to give this weighty matter further thought," her eyes darted to Zabhara. "Mirza, we're old hands at this-"
"I'm speaking now," Alpsal said flatly. "We're not ceding anything."
"My wife and I are one mind of this," Zabhara said with particular emphasis. "But we've come with proposals of our own."
"In the interest of good neighbourly relations, we urge you to consider them carefully. For starters, formal recognition of our borders along the current line of control. In exchange, a non-aggression pact for ten years. Lower tariffs, crackdowns on banditry, no cross-border raids, no safe harbours for pirates. Those are our terms."
"The Shahbânu will never suffer a treaty that enshrines the illegitimate occupation of rightful Amikarese lands. You do not even fully control your own frontier. It's a hotbed of primitive tribes, and raiders," Satrap Malika declared indignantly.
"Depending on the map I consult, Satrap," Zabhara began calmly, "I will find rightful Suquan territory that is illegimately occupied by Amikaron..."
"And you and I deal with the world the way it is. We both know that any Suquan aggression will be met with the full might of the Imperial military and our allies," Emira Malika retorted calmly, a menacing undertone to her voice. "Our forces are the most numerous, and the most well-equipped on the continent. Mirza Alpsal, you may recall the Black Pyramid abandoned by the Precursors."
"My mother liked to show it off. Did her little good in the end, did it? Same with Firemane," Alpsal shrugged.
"Amikaron has a far better command of it than the humans, Mirza," Again, she snapped her fingers and this time her quiet, diligent attendant provided a set of photos. Zabhara took them and carefully flipped through the somewhat blurry, but reasonably clear images. She imagined that they had been taken by a drone.
The Mirza frowned slightly when she saw that one showed the Black Pyramid looming over a burning settlement, its giant lasers raining down hellfire. "Renegades and bandits who refused to pay homage to their rightful sovereign," the Satrap explained. Another photo showed the giant pyramid floating in the sky above orderly columns of soldiers, tanks and missile launchers. Of course, based on the footage she could not tell how many of these war machines were the genuine article or decoys.
Zabhara did not show her concerns about this weapon of the ancient past. All that that the Satrap would see was a brief flicker that momentarily broke through her stoic wall. Internally she was concerned about how such a weapon could be countered.
If her wife had any concerns she definitely did not let them show. "I can guess what the pictures are of, great pyramid blasting things. Thing is, that pyramid's more show than use. I've been inside it, and it can't move more than a walking pace. Its weapons can cause mayhem, yes, but they're damn cumbersome. So yes, it's impressive, but it's one item. Surely you're not hoping we'll surrender because of just that?"
Zabhara suppressed a smile, feeling a slight amusement at the annoyed look on the Satrap's face. "If it comes to it, Satrap, I think you will find us more than capable," she said softly, firmly.
"I see, then I don't think there is anything more to say. I thank you for your hospitality. I dare say we will see each other again soon."
Alpsal smiled slightly, a predatory expression that reminded Zabhara of a Yazgid sizing up its prey. "Sooner than you might like."
"We shall see, Mirza," the Satrap retorted acidly.
When they emerged from the tent, the sun was settling on the horizon, hues of golden red washing over the vast expanse of the desert. A soft breeze tugged at Zabhara's hair. Such a quiet and peaceful sight. One might consider it at odds with the weighty matters that had been discussed. The mamluk warlord knew better though. The desert swallowed the weak and spat out their bones. The desert was honest in its ruthlessness, beautiful in its fierceness.
"Do convey our proposals to the Shahbânu. We," Zabhara emphasised the word, "are ready to discuss relations between our nations with her. But only on the basis of equality, not veiled threats. Ask the ghosts on the Arx how well that went for them."
"I was on the Arx as well, Mirza. Amikarese troops paid a high price in blood. But we prevailed, through courage, yes, but also because we've advanced, moved with the times. So must all Qadiri. Suquan pride, courage and stubbornness has seen past Mirzas through many perils. But how much of Suqua is a burnt-out husk, how many clans have been decimated? How many, left destitute, wail to the heavens about their misery? Your reign stands on the edge of a blade."
Her wife leaned forward. "For all your talk of moving with the times, it's the same system, isn't it? Just with light bulbs and shinier means of transportation. I began revolution with a hundred comrades in a cave. If I had to do it again, I would do it with ten or fifteen and absolute faith. If I die - when I die - the holy tempest continues without me."
"You're human, you can't understand our ways, our traditions, not truly. No matter how much you try and convince the world and yourself that you're Qadiri. Suqua can be part of the new world the Shahbânu is building or it will find that the world has left it behind. The time of the divided states must and will come to an end. Only strong Qadiri leadership can guarantee our freedom from the sky-devils."
"Your young Shahbânu has accomplished much. I respect a woman who boldly seizes her crown on the back of a Yazgid with sword in hand. She played her cards well when the humans invaded our world, and has emerged even stronger. But, my honoured guest, only the desert and the tides are constant. She may have planned a great triumph for herself but this may become a tragedy. Perhaps, Satrap, she is simply a statistic," Zabhara said firmly and rose to her feet. "I bid you a safe journey. They shook hands, for the forms must be obeyed, as if they were old acquaintances parting on cordial terms.
"So, did we play our part in this farcical drama well?" Alpsal asked while they watched the speeders drive away.
"You were quite boorish."
Abruptly, her wife turned to face her, staring at her intensely. "Oh, really? Because you stand up to an aggressor by meekly asking them to be less rude. I've read up on Suqua's history, too. This was-"
"Inevitable?" Zabhara finished. "Yes, and you played the part you had to play, said what you had to say." Reaching out, she gently cupped her wife's scarred cheek.
Relaxing into the touch, Alpsal looked embarrassed. "Sorry."
"Your passion has its uses, dear, when it is directed like a fire lance. This, all this, was for show, as we both knew. They may demand more meetings while starting to violate our air space, arrange border 'provocations', launch razzias to unsettle us..."
"Until we collide," Alpsal concluded. "You said the border satraps would need six weeks for a full levy?"
"From a dead start. And a week if it's just the regulars. Longer if Semiramis gets directly involved."
"But then she'll be the one hoarding the glory, and the Satrap thinks we're weak," Alpsal said thoughtfully. "For all her pomposity, she was right about one thing. We haven't recovered."
"That's going to be the work of years," Zabhara remarked matter-of-factly.
"Well, when you run into a starving man in the wasteland, never brag to him about how well full your larders are. It doesn't matter how nice and civilised he is, he's going to smash your throat and break open that larder," her wife said darkly.
"It's not even that they dragged their heels while we bled. I don't care for the morality of their practices or the lack thereof, but the sneering contempt. That I cannot suffer. Nor will Suqua."
Their eyes met. Alpsal's were milky-white, dead, hard and determined. There was a mirror of a smile on her wife's face. One that promised fire and blood. "I can make this march and I can make southern Amikaron howl."
"They will. Come. There's much to be done."
Alpsal's mouth darted open and shut, as if she was trying to work herself up to saying something. Her wife sighed. "Zabhara. I-I, um, sometimes I don't know what I'd do without you," she confessed awkwardly.
Zabhara bent down slightly and planted a soft kiss on Alpsal's forehead. Then she clasped the younger woman's metal hand. "I think we make a good partnership, dear. Fire and ice."
xxx
Her wife was not, in Zabhara's estimation, a mistress of rhetoric. Grand and memorable rhetorical flourishes were foreign to her. Her Basic accent was especially thick when she got angry or nervous, though it had improved from offensive to tolerable. She could not talk theories or ideologies. But she could talk marches and bullets and breaking chains. Alpsal's whirring steel leg made audible thumps on the floor while she walked around the long table in the bunker. "They think we're weak. They think you're weak. Because we're poor. Because we bled for what's ours. Because we built it with our own two hands. The Amikarese have grown greedy, fat, so the slaver empress want to put us in chains."
Her wife paused for a moment, eyes sweeping across the group assembled in the bunker room. Officers, priestesses, Viziers. "So we're going to burn them," she clenched her bulky metal hand into a fist. The metal glowed red-hot. Alpsal's voice rang through the room. Her white eyes flared. "Tens of thousands of corpses of human slaver scum lie in the desert, many more in the Arx. Goddess and spirits willing, going to add theirs to the pile. We're going to burn their palaces, take their gold. We need every woman and every man toiling or fighting for victory." She held her flesh hand into a burning brazier, without any sign of discomfort on her face. "Is there anyone here who won't not commit to the struggle?"
Zabhara watched stoically, her muscular arms crossed. Her expression a guarded mask that divulged preciously little of her thoughts. Internally, she was pleased. Good girl, she thought.
"Our spears are yours," a male Qadiri general called Karam Jai Anhal declared, expression grim and solemn. His skin was tanned and face smooth, with no facial hair. The brown hair atop his head was cropped short. He was stocky, of medium height for a Qadiri and strong. The Jazir raised his fist to point it at the Mirzas. Other officers in the chamber followed suit. It was a Qadiri sign that they would use their hands to fight for her, not a threat as one may initially think.
Once the noise had died down, a middle-aged Qadiri woman stepped forward, clad in the pale scarlet robes of a priestess of Azali, Goddess of Fire and Desert. Izana Jai Azali had a completely shaved head, and intricate tattoos that resembled flames went up the side and back of her head. "The Amikarese are Qadiri and there are believers among them. But they've grown haughty. The faith of Azali will do its duty and follow the Ghazis into battle. May the holy flames sweep away any invader, and all who bear false witness. We shall send word to all fire temples to pray for victory and rally the faithful."
Undeterred by the blazing heat, Izana clasped Alpsal's hands. "We shall bless you and your cause in the name of the Mother of Flames."
"Thank you, priestess," a smile tugged at wife's lips, and with an almost reverential expression, she bowed her head slightly in respect. The burning cracks in her face glowed fiercely.
Izana laid the palm of her right hand on her Alpsal's forehead. "Your cause is just, daughter. May Her will guide you. If you die in the way of the Goddess, Her holy flame will embrace you and you shall become one with the divine."
Personally, Zabhara believed that her wife was a bit too enamoured with the holy women. The power of the Gods and Goddesses was real, yes. It was something to be feared, respected and appeased. But many a priestess used it to push a worldly agenda. Like any other power bloc, the temples had to be controlled, monitored, placated.
A thin, middle aged Qadiri woman in colourful robes that bore the Grand Vizier's pin coughed. Her name was Sokala Jai Nanshe. "We stand on the precipice. Would that we could have staved this off for a few more years. But the nation will do its duty." She was quite tall, with a shaved head, and wore colourful robes. Tattoos on her hands showed her devotion to the Wavemother. "The necessary orders for mobilisation will be prepared. However, exemptions must be issued for farmers," she said with a nod to Javandra Jai Suqua, the Vizier of the Earth and Fields. "Every family must retain able bodied hands to bring in the harvest. If we drag them from their fields, the harvest will fail, and we will have a food crisis on our hands. Banditry and revolts will spread like wildfire, and this government won't survive."
"We have many veterans and dispossessed," Zabhara nodded at her wife. "Conquest of Amikaron is out of the question. Even if we took Zeheb, we wouldn't be able to hold it."
"We sack it. Burn it down, break the chains," Karam Jal Anhal said.
"We shall see, Jazir," Zabhara kept her tone neutral. "Our goal is to force Semiramis to the bargaining table. For that we must go on the offensive, and make it too costly for her to deny us. Her realm's bigger and richer than ours. More developed, too. But for all her pretensions of imperial grandeur she rules a federation of quarrelsome smaller states. They honour their vows to her because she's the mightiest. Amikaron's a proud lady. To humble her, we must first break her knee. She comes to terms with us or her servants abscond with her jewellry."
"In appearance, the Amikarese reactionaries are terrifying, just like Firemane, but in reality, they are not so powerful," her wife asserted. "From a long-term point of view, it is not the reactionaries but the people who are powerful. We just need the iron, unbending will to see this through."
"If hostilities are to be initiated I suggest a plan to move on fortress of Haraz as an opening strike. If we capture that it would greatly impede the Imperial forces' main approach along the coast. It would also allow us to isolate Trabazas, the main port nearby."
"A wise course. Trabazas is a major logistics hub," Zabhara agreed. "If we are in agreement, I think you can begin making a plan. Top secret."
Her wife nodded. "Yes, begin planning. The sooner the better."
"We have friends who may be able to help. Many ships pass through Trabazas." Zabhara tensed and silently cursed herself for not hearing the interloper's soft footsteps ere she heard her high-pitched voice. The lithe and lissome lady was Jashana Jai Sayeh and was half-Xio. Hence the 'bastard' name, which was Zandri for shadow. She wore a dark blue dress. An embroidered veil shrouded her hair, ears and throat, but left her face clear. She wore an amulet around her neck and her long fingers were covered in gloves. The woman's glittering eyes stared at the Mirzas owlishly.
"Do you have friends in Haraz who can actively assist?" the Grand Vizier asked airily.
"We shall enquire."
"Send me anything you have," Karam Jal Anhal said.
Jashana rubbed the ring on her finger. "We shall also have to keep a careful watch on the chiefs and Emiras. Semiramis has deep coffers. A fool's gold glitters oh so brightly it causes a grave sickness in the hearts of women and men. But we know the symptoms, we have the remedies."
"If you catch even a whiff of treason..." Alpsal pointed a metal finger at the half-Xio's shrouded face.
"Heads, spikes, walls," Jashana finished, picking up a cup and bringing it to her lips.
"But come to one of us if it's someone senior first," Zabhara told her sternly.
Jashana nodded and took a sip from her cup. Zabhara's wife frowned, sniffing. "What are you drinking? Smells nice." she enquired.
"Chamomile tea, mixed with the Great Mothers Favour. No fear, the poison's diluted. Tastes of minty mushroom, and has a lovely tingle on the tongue. 'Tis when your throat starts stinging that you have to worry."
Alpsal looked at Zabhara with a look that was a cross between exasperation and deep puzzlement. "We all appreciate your knowledge of poisons," Zabhara said seriously. "Moving on, Jai Suqua, suggestions for how to prepare the home front?"
"I'm going to prepare a package of measures to impose import and export controls and streamline the rationing system. Heavy workers and soldiers need more calories than clerks," Javandra Jai Suqua observed. Her hands rested calmly in front of her stomach with the fingertips meeting
"Price controls? We can't have rich parasites gourging themselves while the poor have to ruin themselves with debt just to survive," Alpsal opined.
Javandra shook her head. "Avoid as much as we can, Mirza. If we try to make people pay a set amount, the farmers and provides will not sell to the market. They go underground, rich speculators buy up supplies, bribe officials to look the other way, and sell at overinflated prices. Scarcity becomes more excessive and grievous than ever. So the government needs to assist in getting provisions to the right place and ration fairly and crack down on speculators."
Her wife glanced at Zabhara again, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features. "If prices become difficult we can provide bread for the poorest souls to help them through the rough time. Trying to make merchants charge a maximum results in them selling to the rich," Zabhara assured her.
Alpsal's lips tightened, but nodded after a few moments of thought. "Fine, we'll try it your way. You have full powers to get it done. I want speculators hanged."
Javandra inclined her head slightly. "My people will monitor prices and take corrective action where needed."
"We mustn't lose sight of our other neighbours. Support from Edana's possible, Amida's hostile, Krolis and the Sistren ambivalent," the Grand Vizier spoke candidly. "If we can't secure the Saoshyant's overt support, and I doubt we will, then entice her not to declare anathema on us. No doubt Semiramis is going to open her treasury's coffers for that very purpose, if she hasn't already."
"I shall reach out to my sisters in those realms to seek volunteers. At the very least we shall ensure they remain neutral," Izana pledged. "I would advise the Mirza," she glanced at Alpsal, "to visit the Temple of Seven Torches and perhaps the Shrine of Azrana to make an offering and pray."
Zabhara watched as her wife bowed her head slightly. "I shall, priestess," Alpsal said respectfully, her voice filled with fervour.
xxx
The meeting lasted several hours. By the time they were free, dawn was only a few hours away. They had three hours, four at most before it would be time to get to work again. When Zabhara retired to their provisional quarters after washing herself, Alspsal awaited her. Her wife was kneeling on the floor before candles. Zabhara noted she was wearing shorts and a dark shirt that was a fair bit too big for her.
Hands clasped tightly before her, too serious in her devotion to turn at her approach. Her wife remained as she was, back straight, lips moving in whispers too quiet to hear. Zabhara stood and waited while candles flickered. Finally, Alpsal finished and arose. She made the sign of Kashara with careful precision and blew out the candles. Only then did she turn to face her.
Zabhara arched an eyebrow. "That's my shirt." Hence the size difference.
Alpsal shrugged. "It's comfy. Smells nice, too. You mind?"
Zabhara Jai Ghazana did not hail from an illustrious lineage. There had never been a House Ghazana. Her inheritance had been dirt, mud and blood. Her birthright had been a spear. Her entitlement the pain she endured. Strength had given her power, power had given her freedom. If she had had a house, she might have acted on the brief, possessive desire to see Alpsal wrapped entirely in its colours. She could settle for braiding her red hair in the style of a mamluk.
"It suits you."
Alpsal's lips quirked up at that. Her wife crossed the distance. She was tall for a human woman, but Zabhara still had a couple inches on her. Alpsal stood on her tiptoes and kissed her. "I'm...um...not up for sex," she said awkwardly, leaning into her. "And it doesn't feel right...to have fun now," a heavy sigh escaped her breath. "But if we could hold each other...that would be nice. Is that okay?"
In lieu of an answer, Zabhara wrapped her arms around Alpsal and lifted her up and kissed her. The mamluk warlord had a physique like a wrestler or boxer; broad, strong and imposing. But it was by no means a simple feat owing to her wife's cybernetics. She grunted, the muscles in her arms bulging under the strain. Still, worth it. Alpsal laughed. "I've been swept off my feet."
Zabhara gently put her down. "Does that answer your question, little flame?" Alpsal nodded eagerly. "Come to bed." The two lay down.
Alpsal rested her head on Zabhara's firm stomach. One did not need heating when Alpsal was close. Her body temperature was always considerably elevated. "So...here we go again," Alpsal said tiredly after a couple moments of silence while Zabhara stroked her red hair.
"If I get my hands on Semiramis, I'll gladly kill her. Same goes for her lackeys."
"I'd rather you took her lackeys hostage. They can always be executed later if it turns out there's no point flipping them or holding them for ransom. Division in the ranks serve us more than a unified front against us."
"Not the point," Alpsal retorted grumpily, sighing. "Point is, they deserve it. Ordinary Amikarese though? They're going to be the ones suffering. Thousands are going to die, probably hundreds of thousands. Suquans and Amikarese."
"Yes." There was no reason for euphemisms.
"I'm...troubled, but not as much as I used to be, not as much as I should be. I'm a terrible person. Don't say I'm not. I wonder whether Siobhan ever asked herself."
"Siobhan was a deep pit of self-aggrandisement and insecurity who surrounded herself with lackeys even more pathetic than her," Zabhara said firmly. "You're a survivor. In this world we live in, those who want to live must fight and those who refuse are going to be crushed underfoot. Towns will be looted or fored to make 'donations' to stay the attacker's hand; crops and farmland burnt them to the enemy; desperate people will be driven to do things they never thought themselves capable of to survive. The bards will make it sound heroic afterwards."
"And we're going to have to answer for the truth one day." Suddenly Alpsal flipped around so her hands were pressed flat on Zabhara's sculpted abs, her viciously scarred face staring up at Zabhara's chin. Their eyes locked, Alpsal staring up at her intently in that eerie, nigh-unblinking way of hers, the cracks in her face glowing. "So we all go all the way, no matter the cost. Our people need peace, they need rest, but we're surrounded by Yazgids who smell blood and think we're easy prey." Her wife's voice was flat and empty, but resolved.
"We'll fight because if we don't we'll be killed or enslaved. But it won't stop with Semiramis. It's just one after another, these queens and CEOs and warlords, kill one and another one comes up. But we still have to do it. We will win this battle, and then the next, and keep on going until we're dead...or they are. In 50 years let the bards sing of glory. For now, let's make them bleed."
"We shall, little flame, we shall." Zabhara reached out, and traced the scars on her wife's cheek. Her skin was warm to touch, and the cracks glowed fiercely, her Zari struggling to contain itself from bleeding through her body. When Alpsal kissed her, she did so sweetly and carefully. Zabhara's arms curled around her wife's body.
Her human lady wife Alpsal was pacing, giving a stark impression of a caged Yazgid eager for some prey to tear apart or a contained wildfire. She had once been litte more than metal, skin and bones, so underfed at one point that Zabhara declared that their partnership would be dissolved if she did not come to her senses and cease starving herself. Now her body was corded with hard muscles. Her hair was bound in a single, severe braid. A mamluk braid, Zabhara reflected with some pride. She had done it for her. Elpsis, Alpsas, Alpsal - the young woman bore so many names. Zabhara exclusivey called her Alpsal. The better to bind her to the cause. The better to remind her of her loyalties.
"The Amikarese delegation approaches, my Mirzas," a Qadiri scout dressed in camo unifom suddenly appeared from the depths of the dune sea, dressed in a camo gear, her black hair covered by a scarf. "Three floating vehicles."
"Let them through," Zabhara said calmly. "The Satrap may bring two bodyguards."
"As you command, Mirza."
"This charade's pointless," Alpsal declared gruffly. She spoke Zandri, and Zabhara felt just a bit proud of her. "We know where this is going."
"The form's must be observed, dear," Zabhara responded with maternalistic patience.
The speeders approached with great noise and fanfare, throwing up sand in the process. Zabhara was in no rush to rise when the chauffeur of the vehicle in the middle disembarked and opened the door for the emissary of the Shahbânu of the Amikarese Empire.
"Lady Emira Donya Jai Alaee, Satrap of Markazi!" a herald clad in the imposing looking armour of an Anusiya proclaimed. The Satrap wore an armour bodice piece with engraved dragons over her scarlet robes, and carried a sword at her side in an elaborate scabbard.
"The Mirzas of Suqua, Lady Alpsal Jai Azal and Zabhara Jai Ghazana!" was the response from their herald.
"Her Exalted Majesty Shahbânu Semiramis of the Amikarese Empire, Beloved of Kashara, Protector of the Qadiri, extends her greetings," the Satrap spoke. The Qadiri noblewoman's stance was regal, radiating poise and control.
"Protector of the Qadiri? Is that what she's calling herself now? That's a delicate way of saying 'cravenly submit to me?'" her wife bit back harshly.
"My lady desires only peace and unity among the Qadiri nations. We all share the same blood, our divisions have only made us vulnerable to the beastial appetites of foreign invaders. You would know that, having witnessed the rapacious tyranny of the Tyrant Kerrigan first-hand, been a part of it..."
"And ended it," Zabhara cut her off. "While your lady...took her time."
The Satrap's lips formed a thin, tight line. "The great Shahbânu struck at the decisive moment. Without her aid, your revolt would've been doomed to failure."
Alpsal's jaw tightened. "Semiramis struck when it was easy for her."
"But the past is the past," Zabhara interjected firmly and beckoned towards their tent. "Tell us what your lady has to say."
"Very well," the Satrap spoke.
The tent itself was a model in simplicity, woven from the wool of black goats and Nawun hair and embroidered with traditional folk patterns. Thick rugs covered the floor inside, but there were no luxuries, no glamping. They made themselves comfortable on the cushions that had been placed there for seating. "It has a...rustic charm, doesn't it?" the Amikarse noblewoman commented oh so casually.
"I find it's conducive to getting things done," Zabhara said pointedly, while fetching some tea.
"I must ask, how fares the reconstruction of Suqua?"
"It proceeds," her wife answered caustically.
"I understood the desolation was considerable, and you've gone into debt."
That got the Satrap an icy glare from her wife. "Sacrifices have to be made for freedom. I imagine Zeheb is still the same, right? New palaces, slave labour."
"You're misinformed about our laws. Slavery has long been a thing of the past. It was always my liege's ambition to do away with this...practice."
"How convenient the labourers get hired for a tuppence and are made to sign contracts they can't read," Alpsal's scarred features twisted into a hate-filled scowl.
"Progress is always hard on a few. You should visit it some time, Mirza. Under the guidance of Shahbânu Semiramis, we've made incredible progress. Foreign investment is pouring into our city. Modern factories and shipyards, hotels. It won't be long before the entire city has access to electricity. It's a marvel."
Zabhara came back with some tea. The Satrap accepted her cup with a gracious smile that looked like it had been plastered on her face. "Time's short, and you have a long journey back home ahead of you. So let's got to the point. Your lady's message," Zabhara said softly, but firmly. She brought her cup to her lips and drank slowly.
"The great Shahbânu wishes for peace between our nations. The strife of the past must not be allowed to continue." Zabhara saw Alpsal roll her eyes and wondered whether her wife would say something scatological, but she remained silent.
"Speak plainly," Zabhara stated calmly.
"Suqua suffered greatly. We all acknowledge the courage of its people, and grieve with those who suffered grave losses during the War of Liberation. My Shahâbnu is willing to offer financial support and resources at very generous terms to aid the rebuilding."
"What's the catch?" Zabhara asked.
"We don't need your help," Alpsal said flatly. "We don't like chains around our necks, thank you very much."
"You will surely reconsider when you realise what we have to offer. You would rather be the friend of my lady than her enemy."
"She really don't know me well."
"Tell us about her terms, Satrap," Zabhara interjected.
"A non-aggression pact for ten years, trade agreements. Both contingent upon the resolution of certain border issues."
"And those would be?"
"That you crack down on bandit raids into our territory, and cede certain cities that have been part of the Amikarese Empire since time immemorial and were illegitimately occupied by Suqua during an unfortunate period of weakness." The Satrap snapped her finger and one of her attendants brought forth a map, rolling it out before them. "Oh, my apologies" the Satrap said with faux contrition, looking at Alpsal, "Mirza, my people did not take your impairment into acco-"
"My wife can see for the both of us," Alpsal cut her off curtly. "I trust her."
I trust her. Three simple words. There were times when Zabhara had thought of killing the woman she had taken as her bride in the eyes of the Mother of Flames and the Mother of the Seas. Alpsal was frustrating, volatile, painfully idealistic. A dangerous combination at the best of times, even more so given her youth and the potency of her Zari. But for all her stubbornnes, she was capable. It was not love. Yet somewhere down the line, Zabhara had grown fond of her.
No emotion crossed Zabhara's features as she studied the map. Her eyes immediately homed in on coastal areas in the north that the Amikarese had marked for annexation. These were fortresses held by Suqua, the gateway into their land. An Amikarese invasion would have to take them to allow the coast road to be used effectively. True, they could theoretically bypass them, but that would leave dangerous fortresses in the rear, attempt a perilous amphibious landing or traverse inland over the desert, scrub and barrens. Further to the south, the Amikarese mapmakers had marked a strip of land as a 'demilitarised zone'.
"As you see, the Shahbânu only seeks to reclaim what has always been hers by right," the Satrap remarked haughtily.
Zabhara raised her chin, staring at the emissary intently. "Territorial concessions, a demilitarised zone. Your mistress asks for much that she's been unable to attain through force of arms. These are terms you offer a defeated foe whilst your blade is at their throat."
"Adash has been ours since the reign of Adira II. Mirza Nakihata ceded it to our Shahbânu," the Emira stated primly.
"And the Amikarese dictate was overturned by the Great Council and we took it back," Zabhara pointed out frostily.
The Satrap made a dismissive gesture. "Like a vulture feasting on a carcass during a period of weakness of our Empire. The people yearn for their rightful queen, who will give them safety and prosperity. Nurqila was built by Khorshida V. We need Zafarikand to assure our security. We're not blind to Suqua's needs. My lady is more than willing to pay a more than appropriate sum and to allow the Suquan throne to reap some of the benefits when we develop these lands."
Zabhara observed her wife carefully, noticed the tightening of her jaw, while Alpsal stared at the Amikarese emissary in that unnerving, nigh-unblinking way of hers. "No," Alpsal finally said, in a voice that was quiet yet firm and ironclad. "This is unacceptable."
The Satrap's eyes narrowed. "I strongly advise you to reconsider. You will surely want to give this weighty matter further thought," her eyes darted to Zabhara. "Mirza, we're old hands at this-"
"I'm speaking now," Alpsal said flatly. "We're not ceding anything."
"My wife and I are one mind of this," Zabhara said with particular emphasis. "But we've come with proposals of our own."
"In the interest of good neighbourly relations, we urge you to consider them carefully. For starters, formal recognition of our borders along the current line of control. In exchange, a non-aggression pact for ten years. Lower tariffs, crackdowns on banditry, no cross-border raids, no safe harbours for pirates. Those are our terms."
"The Shahbânu will never suffer a treaty that enshrines the illegitimate occupation of rightful Amikarese lands. You do not even fully control your own frontier. It's a hotbed of primitive tribes, and raiders," Satrap Malika declared indignantly.
"Depending on the map I consult, Satrap," Zabhara began calmly, "I will find rightful Suquan territory that is illegimately occupied by Amikaron..."
"And you and I deal with the world the way it is. We both know that any Suquan aggression will be met with the full might of the Imperial military and our allies," Emira Malika retorted calmly, a menacing undertone to her voice. "Our forces are the most numerous, and the most well-equipped on the continent. Mirza Alpsal, you may recall the Black Pyramid abandoned by the Precursors."
"My mother liked to show it off. Did her little good in the end, did it? Same with Firemane," Alpsal shrugged.
"Amikaron has a far better command of it than the humans, Mirza," Again, she snapped her fingers and this time her quiet, diligent attendant provided a set of photos. Zabhara took them and carefully flipped through the somewhat blurry, but reasonably clear images. She imagined that they had been taken by a drone.
The Mirza frowned slightly when she saw that one showed the Black Pyramid looming over a burning settlement, its giant lasers raining down hellfire. "Renegades and bandits who refused to pay homage to their rightful sovereign," the Satrap explained. Another photo showed the giant pyramid floating in the sky above orderly columns of soldiers, tanks and missile launchers. Of course, based on the footage she could not tell how many of these war machines were the genuine article or decoys.
Zabhara did not show her concerns about this weapon of the ancient past. All that that the Satrap would see was a brief flicker that momentarily broke through her stoic wall. Internally she was concerned about how such a weapon could be countered.
If her wife had any concerns she definitely did not let them show. "I can guess what the pictures are of, great pyramid blasting things. Thing is, that pyramid's more show than use. I've been inside it, and it can't move more than a walking pace. Its weapons can cause mayhem, yes, but they're damn cumbersome. So yes, it's impressive, but it's one item. Surely you're not hoping we'll surrender because of just that?"
Zabhara suppressed a smile, feeling a slight amusement at the annoyed look on the Satrap's face. "If it comes to it, Satrap, I think you will find us more than capable," she said softly, firmly.
"I see, then I don't think there is anything more to say. I thank you for your hospitality. I dare say we will see each other again soon."
Alpsal smiled slightly, a predatory expression that reminded Zabhara of a Yazgid sizing up its prey. "Sooner than you might like."
"We shall see, Mirza," the Satrap retorted acidly.
When they emerged from the tent, the sun was settling on the horizon, hues of golden red washing over the vast expanse of the desert. A soft breeze tugged at Zabhara's hair. Such a quiet and peaceful sight. One might consider it at odds with the weighty matters that had been discussed. The mamluk warlord knew better though. The desert swallowed the weak and spat out their bones. The desert was honest in its ruthlessness, beautiful in its fierceness.
"Do convey our proposals to the Shahbânu. We," Zabhara emphasised the word, "are ready to discuss relations between our nations with her. But only on the basis of equality, not veiled threats. Ask the ghosts on the Arx how well that went for them."
"I was on the Arx as well, Mirza. Amikarese troops paid a high price in blood. But we prevailed, through courage, yes, but also because we've advanced, moved with the times. So must all Qadiri. Suquan pride, courage and stubbornness has seen past Mirzas through many perils. But how much of Suqua is a burnt-out husk, how many clans have been decimated? How many, left destitute, wail to the heavens about their misery? Your reign stands on the edge of a blade."
Her wife leaned forward. "For all your talk of moving with the times, it's the same system, isn't it? Just with light bulbs and shinier means of transportation. I began revolution with a hundred comrades in a cave. If I had to do it again, I would do it with ten or fifteen and absolute faith. If I die - when I die - the holy tempest continues without me."
"You're human, you can't understand our ways, our traditions, not truly. No matter how much you try and convince the world and yourself that you're Qadiri. Suqua can be part of the new world the Shahbânu is building or it will find that the world has left it behind. The time of the divided states must and will come to an end. Only strong Qadiri leadership can guarantee our freedom from the sky-devils."
"Your young Shahbânu has accomplished much. I respect a woman who boldly seizes her crown on the back of a Yazgid with sword in hand. She played her cards well when the humans invaded our world, and has emerged even stronger. But, my honoured guest, only the desert and the tides are constant. She may have planned a great triumph for herself but this may become a tragedy. Perhaps, Satrap, she is simply a statistic," Zabhara said firmly and rose to her feet. "I bid you a safe journey. They shook hands, for the forms must be obeyed, as if they were old acquaintances parting on cordial terms.
"So, did we play our part in this farcical drama well?" Alpsal asked while they watched the speeders drive away.
"You were quite boorish."
Abruptly, her wife turned to face her, staring at her intensely. "Oh, really? Because you stand up to an aggressor by meekly asking them to be less rude. I've read up on Suqua's history, too. This was-"
"Inevitable?" Zabhara finished. "Yes, and you played the part you had to play, said what you had to say." Reaching out, she gently cupped her wife's scarred cheek.
Relaxing into the touch, Alpsal looked embarrassed. "Sorry."
"Your passion has its uses, dear, when it is directed like a fire lance. This, all this, was for show, as we both knew. They may demand more meetings while starting to violate our air space, arrange border 'provocations', launch razzias to unsettle us..."
"Until we collide," Alpsal concluded. "You said the border satraps would need six weeks for a full levy?"
"From a dead start. And a week if it's just the regulars. Longer if Semiramis gets directly involved."
"But then she'll be the one hoarding the glory, and the Satrap thinks we're weak," Alpsal said thoughtfully. "For all her pomposity, she was right about one thing. We haven't recovered."
"That's going to be the work of years," Zabhara remarked matter-of-factly.
"Well, when you run into a starving man in the wasteland, never brag to him about how well full your larders are. It doesn't matter how nice and civilised he is, he's going to smash your throat and break open that larder," her wife said darkly.
"It's not even that they dragged their heels while we bled. I don't care for the morality of their practices or the lack thereof, but the sneering contempt. That I cannot suffer. Nor will Suqua."
Their eyes met. Alpsal's were milky-white, dead, hard and determined. There was a mirror of a smile on her wife's face. One that promised fire and blood. "I can make this march and I can make southern Amikaron howl."
"They will. Come. There's much to be done."
Alpsal's mouth darted open and shut, as if she was trying to work herself up to saying something. Her wife sighed. "Zabhara. I-I, um, sometimes I don't know what I'd do without you," she confessed awkwardly.
Zabhara bent down slightly and planted a soft kiss on Alpsal's forehead. Then she clasped the younger woman's metal hand. "I think we make a good partnership, dear. Fire and ice."
xxx
Her wife was not, in Zabhara's estimation, a mistress of rhetoric. Grand and memorable rhetorical flourishes were foreign to her. Her Basic accent was especially thick when she got angry or nervous, though it had improved from offensive to tolerable. She could not talk theories or ideologies. But she could talk marches and bullets and breaking chains. Alpsal's whirring steel leg made audible thumps on the floor while she walked around the long table in the bunker. "They think we're weak. They think you're weak. Because we're poor. Because we bled for what's ours. Because we built it with our own two hands. The Amikarese have grown greedy, fat, so the slaver empress want to put us in chains."
Her wife paused for a moment, eyes sweeping across the group assembled in the bunker room. Officers, priestesses, Viziers. "So we're going to burn them," she clenched her bulky metal hand into a fist. The metal glowed red-hot. Alpsal's voice rang through the room. Her white eyes flared. "Tens of thousands of corpses of human slaver scum lie in the desert, many more in the Arx. Goddess and spirits willing, going to add theirs to the pile. We're going to burn their palaces, take their gold. We need every woman and every man toiling or fighting for victory." She held her flesh hand into a burning brazier, without any sign of discomfort on her face. "Is there anyone here who won't not commit to the struggle?"
Zabhara watched stoically, her muscular arms crossed. Her expression a guarded mask that divulged preciously little of her thoughts. Internally, she was pleased. Good girl, she thought.
"Our spears are yours," a male Qadiri general called Karam Jai Anhal declared, expression grim and solemn. His skin was tanned and face smooth, with no facial hair. The brown hair atop his head was cropped short. He was stocky, of medium height for a Qadiri and strong. The Jazir raised his fist to point it at the Mirzas. Other officers in the chamber followed suit. It was a Qadiri sign that they would use their hands to fight for her, not a threat as one may initially think.
Once the noise had died down, a middle-aged Qadiri woman stepped forward, clad in the pale scarlet robes of a priestess of Azali, Goddess of Fire and Desert. Izana Jai Azali had a completely shaved head, and intricate tattoos that resembled flames went up the side and back of her head. "The Amikarese are Qadiri and there are believers among them. But they've grown haughty. The faith of Azali will do its duty and follow the Ghazis into battle. May the holy flames sweep away any invader, and all who bear false witness. We shall send word to all fire temples to pray for victory and rally the faithful."
Undeterred by the blazing heat, Izana clasped Alpsal's hands. "We shall bless you and your cause in the name of the Mother of Flames."
"Thank you, priestess," a smile tugged at wife's lips, and with an almost reverential expression, she bowed her head slightly in respect. The burning cracks in her face glowed fiercely.
Izana laid the palm of her right hand on her Alpsal's forehead. "Your cause is just, daughter. May Her will guide you. If you die in the way of the Goddess, Her holy flame will embrace you and you shall become one with the divine."
Personally, Zabhara believed that her wife was a bit too enamoured with the holy women. The power of the Gods and Goddesses was real, yes. It was something to be feared, respected and appeased. But many a priestess used it to push a worldly agenda. Like any other power bloc, the temples had to be controlled, monitored, placated.
A thin, middle aged Qadiri woman in colourful robes that bore the Grand Vizier's pin coughed. Her name was Sokala Jai Nanshe. "We stand on the precipice. Would that we could have staved this off for a few more years. But the nation will do its duty." She was quite tall, with a shaved head, and wore colourful robes. Tattoos on her hands showed her devotion to the Wavemother. "The necessary orders for mobilisation will be prepared. However, exemptions must be issued for farmers," she said with a nod to Javandra Jai Suqua, the Vizier of the Earth and Fields. "Every family must retain able bodied hands to bring in the harvest. If we drag them from their fields, the harvest will fail, and we will have a food crisis on our hands. Banditry and revolts will spread like wildfire, and this government won't survive."
"We have many veterans and dispossessed," Zabhara nodded at her wife. "Conquest of Amikaron is out of the question. Even if we took Zeheb, we wouldn't be able to hold it."
"We sack it. Burn it down, break the chains," Karam Jal Anhal said.
"We shall see, Jazir," Zabhara kept her tone neutral. "Our goal is to force Semiramis to the bargaining table. For that we must go on the offensive, and make it too costly for her to deny us. Her realm's bigger and richer than ours. More developed, too. But for all her pretensions of imperial grandeur she rules a federation of quarrelsome smaller states. They honour their vows to her because she's the mightiest. Amikaron's a proud lady. To humble her, we must first break her knee. She comes to terms with us or her servants abscond with her jewellry."
"In appearance, the Amikarese reactionaries are terrifying, just like Firemane, but in reality, they are not so powerful," her wife asserted. "From a long-term point of view, it is not the reactionaries but the people who are powerful. We just need the iron, unbending will to see this through."
"If hostilities are to be initiated I suggest a plan to move on fortress of Haraz as an opening strike. If we capture that it would greatly impede the Imperial forces' main approach along the coast. It would also allow us to isolate Trabazas, the main port nearby."
"A wise course. Trabazas is a major logistics hub," Zabhara agreed. "If we are in agreement, I think you can begin making a plan. Top secret."
Her wife nodded. "Yes, begin planning. The sooner the better."
"We have friends who may be able to help. Many ships pass through Trabazas." Zabhara tensed and silently cursed herself for not hearing the interloper's soft footsteps ere she heard her high-pitched voice. The lithe and lissome lady was Jashana Jai Sayeh and was half-Xio. Hence the 'bastard' name, which was Zandri for shadow. She wore a dark blue dress. An embroidered veil shrouded her hair, ears and throat, but left her face clear. She wore an amulet around her neck and her long fingers were covered in gloves. The woman's glittering eyes stared at the Mirzas owlishly.
"Do you have friends in Haraz who can actively assist?" the Grand Vizier asked airily.
"We shall enquire."
"Send me anything you have," Karam Jal Anhal said.
Jashana rubbed the ring on her finger. "We shall also have to keep a careful watch on the chiefs and Emiras. Semiramis has deep coffers. A fool's gold glitters oh so brightly it causes a grave sickness in the hearts of women and men. But we know the symptoms, we have the remedies."
"If you catch even a whiff of treason..." Alpsal pointed a metal finger at the half-Xio's shrouded face.
"Heads, spikes, walls," Jashana finished, picking up a cup and bringing it to her lips.
"But come to one of us if it's someone senior first," Zabhara told her sternly.
Jashana nodded and took a sip from her cup. Zabhara's wife frowned, sniffing. "What are you drinking? Smells nice." she enquired.
"Chamomile tea, mixed with the Great Mothers Favour. No fear, the poison's diluted. Tastes of minty mushroom, and has a lovely tingle on the tongue. 'Tis when your throat starts stinging that you have to worry."
Alpsal looked at Zabhara with a look that was a cross between exasperation and deep puzzlement. "We all appreciate your knowledge of poisons," Zabhara said seriously. "Moving on, Jai Suqua, suggestions for how to prepare the home front?"
"I'm going to prepare a package of measures to impose import and export controls and streamline the rationing system. Heavy workers and soldiers need more calories than clerks," Javandra Jai Suqua observed. Her hands rested calmly in front of her stomach with the fingertips meeting
"Price controls? We can't have rich parasites gourging themselves while the poor have to ruin themselves with debt just to survive," Alpsal opined.
Javandra shook her head. "Avoid as much as we can, Mirza. If we try to make people pay a set amount, the farmers and provides will not sell to the market. They go underground, rich speculators buy up supplies, bribe officials to look the other way, and sell at overinflated prices. Scarcity becomes more excessive and grievous than ever. So the government needs to assist in getting provisions to the right place and ration fairly and crack down on speculators."
Her wife glanced at Zabhara again, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features. "If prices become difficult we can provide bread for the poorest souls to help them through the rough time. Trying to make merchants charge a maximum results in them selling to the rich," Zabhara assured her.
Alpsal's lips tightened, but nodded after a few moments of thought. "Fine, we'll try it your way. You have full powers to get it done. I want speculators hanged."
Javandra inclined her head slightly. "My people will monitor prices and take corrective action where needed."
"We mustn't lose sight of our other neighbours. Support from Edana's possible, Amida's hostile, Krolis and the Sistren ambivalent," the Grand Vizier spoke candidly. "If we can't secure the Saoshyant's overt support, and I doubt we will, then entice her not to declare anathema on us. No doubt Semiramis is going to open her treasury's coffers for that very purpose, if she hasn't already."
"I shall reach out to my sisters in those realms to seek volunteers. At the very least we shall ensure they remain neutral," Izana pledged. "I would advise the Mirza," she glanced at Alpsal, "to visit the Temple of Seven Torches and perhaps the Shrine of Azrana to make an offering and pray."
Zabhara watched as her wife bowed her head slightly. "I shall, priestess," Alpsal said respectfully, her voice filled with fervour.
xxx
The meeting lasted several hours. By the time they were free, dawn was only a few hours away. They had three hours, four at most before it would be time to get to work again. When Zabhara retired to their provisional quarters after washing herself, Alspsal awaited her. Her wife was kneeling on the floor before candles. Zabhara noted she was wearing shorts and a dark shirt that was a fair bit too big for her.
Hands clasped tightly before her, too serious in her devotion to turn at her approach. Her wife remained as she was, back straight, lips moving in whispers too quiet to hear. Zabhara stood and waited while candles flickered. Finally, Alpsal finished and arose. She made the sign of Kashara with careful precision and blew out the candles. Only then did she turn to face her.
Zabhara arched an eyebrow. "That's my shirt." Hence the size difference.
Alpsal shrugged. "It's comfy. Smells nice, too. You mind?"
Zabhara Jai Ghazana did not hail from an illustrious lineage. There had never been a House Ghazana. Her inheritance had been dirt, mud and blood. Her birthright had been a spear. Her entitlement the pain she endured. Strength had given her power, power had given her freedom. If she had had a house, she might have acted on the brief, possessive desire to see Alpsal wrapped entirely in its colours. She could settle for braiding her red hair in the style of a mamluk.
"It suits you."
Alpsal's lips quirked up at that. Her wife crossed the distance. She was tall for a human woman, but Zabhara still had a couple inches on her. Alpsal stood on her tiptoes and kissed her. "I'm...um...not up for sex," she said awkwardly, leaning into her. "And it doesn't feel right...to have fun now," a heavy sigh escaped her breath. "But if we could hold each other...that would be nice. Is that okay?"
In lieu of an answer, Zabhara wrapped her arms around Alpsal and lifted her up and kissed her. The mamluk warlord had a physique like a wrestler or boxer; broad, strong and imposing. But it was by no means a simple feat owing to her wife's cybernetics. She grunted, the muscles in her arms bulging under the strain. Still, worth it. Alpsal laughed. "I've been swept off my feet."
Zabhara gently put her down. "Does that answer your question, little flame?" Alpsal nodded eagerly. "Come to bed." The two lay down.
Alpsal rested her head on Zabhara's firm stomach. One did not need heating when Alpsal was close. Her body temperature was always considerably elevated. "So...here we go again," Alpsal said tiredly after a couple moments of silence while Zabhara stroked her red hair.
"If I get my hands on Semiramis, I'll gladly kill her. Same goes for her lackeys."
"I'd rather you took her lackeys hostage. They can always be executed later if it turns out there's no point flipping them or holding them for ransom. Division in the ranks serve us more than a unified front against us."
"Not the point," Alpsal retorted grumpily, sighing. "Point is, they deserve it. Ordinary Amikarese though? They're going to be the ones suffering. Thousands are going to die, probably hundreds of thousands. Suquans and Amikarese."
"Yes." There was no reason for euphemisms.
"I'm...troubled, but not as much as I used to be, not as much as I should be. I'm a terrible person. Don't say I'm not. I wonder whether Siobhan ever asked herself."
"Siobhan was a deep pit of self-aggrandisement and insecurity who surrounded herself with lackeys even more pathetic than her," Zabhara said firmly. "You're a survivor. In this world we live in, those who want to live must fight and those who refuse are going to be crushed underfoot. Towns will be looted or fored to make 'donations' to stay the attacker's hand; crops and farmland burnt them to the enemy; desperate people will be driven to do things they never thought themselves capable of to survive. The bards will make it sound heroic afterwards."
"And we're going to have to answer for the truth one day." Suddenly Alpsal flipped around so her hands were pressed flat on Zabhara's sculpted abs, her viciously scarred face staring up at Zabhara's chin. Their eyes locked, Alpsal staring up at her intently in that eerie, nigh-unblinking way of hers, the cracks in her face glowing. "So we all go all the way, no matter the cost. Our people need peace, they need rest, but we're surrounded by Yazgids who smell blood and think we're easy prey." Her wife's voice was flat and empty, but resolved.
"We'll fight because if we don't we'll be killed or enslaved. But it won't stop with Semiramis. It's just one after another, these queens and CEOs and warlords, kill one and another one comes up. But we still have to do it. We will win this battle, and then the next, and keep on going until we're dead...or they are. In 50 years let the bards sing of glory. For now, let's make them bleed."
"We shall, little flame, we shall." Zabhara reached out, and traced the scars on her wife's cheek. Her skin was warm to touch, and the cracks glowed fiercely, her Zari struggling to contain itself from bleeding through her body. When Alpsal kissed her, she did so sweetly and carefully. Zabhara's arms curled around her wife's body.
