The fleeing former-nobles spread word of the desecration of the altar and the apprehension of the priest and the lower classes—already hungry and desperate—were pushed to their limits. At the top of the hill Mirella had looked back and saw the swarms of people move through Ariste’s winding roads, torches and whatever implements to use as makeshift weapons that they could find. Arriving into the tent that formerly housed the God-King’s concubines but was now the concubine-warriors headquarters, the other women were buzzing about getting ready. They were small in number compared to the masses of revolting citizens below, but they were highly trained and battle hardened. One of the younger members of their order came up to Mirella and saluted with a pounded fist to her chest. “Sister!” she called, “We are mustering together our forces here. We’ve pulled back our patrols to await your orders,” she explained. Svella was nowhere in sight, she realized, leaving her the one they were turning to.
