But the feeling never waned. She let it wash over her and brighten her senses while keeping an eye on her Escorts and soldiers. They had only lost two between the sprint for the manor and the scuffle within. The odds were satisfactory.
She deflected a sword aimed at one of her soldiers’ backs. A thrown dagger sliced through bow strings before it could target Thakris. With her every step, her captain kept pace, guarding her as they dove into the melee.
Hooves flailed in the air and thumped onto the ground, raising dust. Lord Magdus had backed into the center of his troops. He had nowhere left to go.
“Dismount and surrender!” roared Jerome. “By order of the Queen, you are relieved of your command, stripped of your title, and arrested for treason against the crown!”
“Treason?” The noble laughed. “The Queen murders and tortures her people every day, and I am accused of treason. Defend me! Remember who will free you from a tyrant!”
A cry went up amongst the remaining militia: “For the Great Lady Satryani! The Queen of the Golden Age!”
A chill rushed down her spine. How had she not seen this? The rebels joining the nobles, the mercenaries bolstering the nobles’ militia, the duchess' bold behavior.
Distracted by a whore, as her court said.
Every mask snapped into place. “Kill them all.”
Her soldiers painted the ground red.
They lost five in the end. Three more suffered major injuries.
Piled in the center of the village was a mountain of corpses. Eighty-five. A few had surrendered. The rest had fled.
Lord Magdus, bruised and bloodied, knelt in front of the bodies. He raised his head at her approach. His terrified gaze tracked the blood dripping from her sword. “Mercy, my Queen. I… I know Satryani’s plans. I’ll tell you everything. She trusts me. Her army trusts me. I can summon the rest of her army – all of her militia, a battalion of mercenaries, plus my own troops–”
He choked. Steel impaled his chest, about five inches. The Queen put a bit more force behind her arm and shoved again.
“There is no mercy for traitors.”
Blood trickled from his mouth. She bent to murmur in his ear. “If it's any comfort, Satryani was correct. Your daughter will not be harmed.”
She yanked out her sword.
If the count was comforted, his last gurgling gasp didn't indicate it.
The smoke of the burning bodies was a landmark all the way back to the palace.
Road dust coated the blood on her boots as she marched into the Great Hall. Three of her Escorts followed closely behind. Soldiers poured in and lined the walls.
At the throne, her steward appeared exquisitely bored while listening to the whiny tones of a lady. Her captain pulled the lady aside before Anais walked through her. Vern swiftly stood and bowed. His brief glance told her he had no urgent issues. The Queen took her throne.
Shocked murmurs floated amongst the crowd. Blood was a common sight, but there was a certain acceptable method of spilling it. She may as well have walked in with a live pig, gutted it, and started chewing on its entrails.
She searched the nobles. The duchess wasn't here. Satryani would hear the news soon enough.
In a voice as cold as the winter wind, the Queen intoned, “I was told corpses are the preferred decor nowadays. Giving the people what they want is always my priority.”
As she spoke, two soldiers hauled a large sack into the hall. They threw a rope up onto a thick beam crossing the ceiling.
“While touring the local villages, we found traitors on our otherwise pleasant outing. They had ousted the mayor and set up a stronghold in the manor. It was fortunate I was there.”
The nobles were silent as chained men and women shuffled toward the hearth. Five filthy and exhausted soldiers.
No mercy for traitors.
Snip the bud – with prejudice.
They had been stripped of their armor and the Kipos crest. That conversation, she wanted to have in private.
