Stepping out of the mess, Azrael paused to breathe deeply and scan the camp. Her eyes stopped on her tent and she remembered the reports awaiting her attention. The thought of being buried under mounds of parchment didn’t appeal to the dark woman as she stood beneath welcome sunlight. Deciding one afternoon’s delay wouldn’t be an issue, she called to a passing handler to bring her mount.
She was soon riding along the road that led to the former village of Theara. As she neared, the smell of death and smoke prevailed, a fetid warning to all who would approach. Trotting into the square, Azrael ignored the grisly remains of her enemies bloating in the sun and the pit of bone and ash where the battle dead had been cremated. Instead, she approached the first captain she saw.
“Lord Azrael!” Razzu saluted with a grin. His face was smudged with soot and he’d long ago removed his armor.
Behind him, a squad was transferring furniture and clothing from a building onto a wagon. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”
Leaning on her saddle horn, the general looked down at the whipcord thin man. “How goes the sacking?”
“Very well, Lord,” Razzu answered, face cheerful. “Indonatra and I split the village in half. My cohort is nearly finished.” He waved down the small alley. “We’ve only three more buildings.”
“What of the goods?” Azrael asked. “Decent?”
“Theara had money, there’s no doubt - some jewelry and gold, but not much - mostly solid household furniture, tools and the like. Idonatra has the smithy so just with the weapons and what we’ve found here, I’d say we’ll fetch a pretty price at market.”
Nodding in satisfaction, the general straightened in her saddle, watching the industrious soldiers. Most of them had followed their captain’s lead by removing armor, a handful going further and working bare-chested as they moved a heavy cabinet.
Azrael kneed her horse, sidling up to the side of the wagon. Leaning over, she opened a chest and looked inside. Kitchen items met her eye - pots, pans and dishes carefully packed and cushioned with clothing. Spying an interesting bundle, the general pulled out a sack and opened it, tumbling a delicate teacup into her palm. The workmanship was exquisite, thin clay lacquered with a fine filigree of green leaves and dusty pink roses.
“Aye,” Razzu said, coming up on her. “This house has many items such as that. A collector, apparently. It’s been difficult packing as we try to keep things from breakage.”
A dark thumb caressed a raised rose. Turning it over, Azrael saw the mark of its maker and wondered how many other pieces had been made by this artist. “It’s very beautiful.” Returning the cup to its bag, she rewrapped it carefully and tucked it into her tunic before closing the chest. “I’ll see to Idonatra.”
“Aye, Lord,” the captain said, saluting. “He’s on the eastern edge of the village.”
Nodding, Azrael turned her mount and trotted away.
Yelling and cursing guided her as she rounded a corner to see several men trying to pull a struggling wagon team. The wagon was over loaded with goods, predominantly iron, and the horses sweated and strained against the weight.
Idonatra, standing tall, was yelling the loudest, his face a deep red. He didn’t see the general until she was right up on him.
“Seems to me the solution is simple,” Azrael said. “Lessen the load.”
“My Lord!” her captain exclaimed, hastily saluting. ”I know, Lord. But this is our last wagon. All those tools and weapons…” His voice trailed off, an almost wistful expression flickering across his face as he gazed at the piled bounty.
“Perhaps the arms master has room for some. He’s always complaining we’ve never enough.”
Idonatra’s eyes lit up. “Very good, Lord! I’ll send for him now!” He waved one of his soldiers forward.
“Don’t kill the horses for a few extra knives,” Azrael said. “They’re worth far more than most of this.”
“Aye, Lord. We’ll lighten the load, maybe leave behind the raw iron once the arms master has had his pick.”
The general nodded. “I’ll leave it in your capable hands, Captain.”
“Thank you, Lord,” Idonatra said distractedly, mind already on the problem. As he gave his soldier a message, he was oblivious to his general’s departure.
Still restless, Azrael patted the neck of her horse. “It’s been a bit since you’ve had a decent run, hasn’t it?” Smiling at the answering snort, she kneed the animal in the ribs, shooting forward down the road.
Clear of the village, she guided her horse through a copse of trees, bending over his neck. Leaves and branches whipped past as they sped along and sod was sent flying into the air by eager hooves. Past the trees, a hill rose before them and Azrael urged her mount forward. Obediently, he raced to the top, muscles flexing and bunching beneath her legs as he galloped. At the crest of the hill, she pulled him to a halt, allowing him to prance about in a circle as she looked over the valley.
The road ran along her left into the distance, folding back and forth as it followed the lay of the land. A thick run of trees ran parallel on her right a few lengths away, the two seeming to meet several leagues further. Azrael’s army sprawled between, from this distance looking more like a toy set than real men and women.
Stamping his hooves, the horse yanked at his bridle and the general laughed. “Quit too soon did we?” she asked. “Let’s get you a drink then.” With an uncharacteristic whoop, she spurred him forth once more, making for the tree line.
Here the land was field and meadow. As they thundered through, a bevy of game birds was startled from their hiding place, taking wing in a cloud of squawking feathers. A creek bed, hidden by the folds of the land, opened up before her and Azrael pushed forward, her mount flying as he leapt across. Again they were among trees, dark shapes flickering past. The ground dipped, becoming rocky as they burst through, splashing on the edge of a river. Clattering to a stop, the steed snorted once more, sounding vaguely satisfied. Azrael chuckled and gave him the reins, allowing him to sink his nose into the cool water and drink his fill.
Deciding to join him, Azrael took a drink from the canteen on her saddle, sighing as her thirst was quenched. She capped and replaced it, twisting in the saddle to have a look around. The river was swift here, an inscrutable depth a few lengths across. Looking much the same as any other she’d come across in her travels, Azrael still felt a moment’s peace with her surroundings. A soft musical gurgle along the bank eased her soul and she had a sudden intense desire to be home, listening to the soft trickle of water from her garden fountain.
Shaking off the nostalgia, Azrael gathered the reins and guided her horse to the bank. With her knees, she asked for a slow walk and received it, relaxing in the saddle as her mount took her upstream. Soon, she’d come to camp and return to her duties. Until then, however, she intended to enjoy this brief interlude.
Some time passed before her thoughts were interrupted by the call of challenge. Azrael gave the password and received permission to pass, ambling forward to return the young soldier’s salute. Now within the perimeter, she began to hear the sounds of others - the clang of metal as men sparred, boisterous laughter from a group telling stories, and a rhythmic splash of water just ahead.
Curious, Azrael kept her course along the river, coming from behind a clump of dogwoods to see a small clearing and Midia washing clothes on the shore. Ursula was noticeably absent and the general frowned. Spotting a guard, Azrael nodded at his salute, jerking her head to indicate he should make himself scarce. As he disappeared, Midia looked up, a smile blossoming on her face at her mistress’ appearance.
“Milady!” she called, standing to wave as Azrael approached.
Azrael waited until she was near enough to use her normal speaking voice. “Where’s Ursula? I sent her to you after formation this morning.”
“She’s there,” the blonde assured her, pointing to a shaded area. “She’s asleep.”
The general could see a form lying beneath a tree o
n a blanket, a satchel beside it. Her black eyes narrowed. “Asleep? She’s to help you, not lounge about.” Azrael started to guide her horse toward Ursula but stopped when Midia leaned against her calf.
“It’s not as it seems, Milady,” she said, blue eyes wide. “The surgeon gave her a tea and it makes her drowsy. Wouldn’t it be better for her to rest for the next two days? Until the tea is gone? She’ll be sure to heal faster.”
Studying the slave for long moments, Azrael finally lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve been thinking again, haven’t you?”
Midia sensed the crisis had passed and smiled. “Only when it makes sense, Milady.”
Azrael chuckled and slid from her mount. “You have more sense than most I know, Midia.” She reached forward and pulled the blonde into her arms, getting a mild struggle.
“I’m wet, Milady,” Midia murmured.
Not to be put off, Azrael firmly pulled her close. “And I smell of horse. I’ve got the better deal.”
The slave relaxed into the embrace. “Is it true, Milady? The soldiers say we’ll be going home soon.”
“Yes, it’s true. It’ll take three months or so to collect the rest of the army but we should be home by harvest.”
Midia sighed, a smile on her face. “I miss Petracal.”
“He’s probably grown a hand span,” Azrael said. “He’ll be an insufferable young man looking for trouble if he’s anything like his father.”
“No doubt,” the blonde agreed. “Jastus has probably been at wit’s end keeping up with him.”
“It’s only fair,” the dark woman stated. “I’ve been at wit’s end keeping up with your husband for years.” She smiled at Midia’s giggle. “Now, back to your task.” Azrael stole a kiss for good measure before releasing the slave.
“Yes, Milady,” Midia curtseyed formally, a twinkle in her eye. “There’s an apple in the bag. And some bread and cheese,” she said, picking her way across the rocks to the wet clothing.
Nodding, Azrael led her horse to the blanket, draping his reins across a low hanging branch nearby. Ursula was curled on her side, hand cupping her unwounded cheek. The general scooped up the satchel and pulled out the fruit. Using her dagger, she cut it into quarters and fed it to her mount, taking care to avoid his eager teeth. When it was gone, he bumped his nose against her in demand and she chuckled. “Don’t be greedy. You’ve had enough.”
A gasp and rustling announced Ursula’s wakefulness and Azrael turned to see the slave struggling to her feet, face flushed.
“Milady! I’m sorry! I don’t know what happened!”
“Be still, Ursula,” the general said, retrieving her canteen and moving to the blanket. “Midia told me of the surgeon’s concoction.”
“Yes, Milady.”
Amused at the woman’s chagrin, Azrael settled down on the blanket, her back against the bole of the tree. “Since you’re awake, attend me.”
Ursula blinked. “Yes, Milady.” She knelt beside the general and grabbed the satchel. “There’s only bread and cheese, Milady,” she said, pulling the items out. The brunette unwrapped the cheese, breaking a chunk off and handing it to her mistress.
“More than enough for my appetite,” Azrael said, accepting it. She bit into the tangy cheese and chewed, watching the slave fumble with the bread. After receiving a piece, she said, “Come closer.”
Swallowing, Ursula scooted nearer. She stiffened when her mistress scooped her up with powerful arms. It was a struggle to not jump up from the lap she found herself perched upon.
Azrael said nothing, simply watched Ursula as she ate. She enjoyed the reddening of olive skin, the downcast amber eyes. It was with some surprise, the general noted a red tint where sunlight hit mahogany hair. When Ursula finally appeared to relax, she asked, “Are you hungry?”
The slave nibbled her lower lip before nodding in hesitation. “A little, Milady.”
Breaking off a bit of bread, Azrael held it out, pulling it back when the slave tried to reach for it. “No.”
Ursula dropped her hand, confusion flickering on her face before it cleared. Again the uncertain nibble before she leaned forward to take the food from her mistress’ hand.
Azrael smiled as soft lips brushed her fingers. “Very good.” She hand fed the slave for the next several minutes, dark eyes catching every nuance of Ursula’s face as she ate. The bread was finished far too soon and she was left with stroking the woman’s thigh. Holding herself very still, Ursula looked every bit the frightened bird preparing to take flight. The general refrained from escalating matters, preferring her partners to not be terrified. Instead, she continued the gentle caresses, not straying where she wanted to stray. It appeared to have the desired effect as Ursula began to relax, her breathing deepening and her eyes sliding closed.
The slave was unsure when matters changed. Fingers on her chin guided her head and she opened her eyes, gaze spanning mere inches to her mistress’ black irises.
Azrael closed the distance between them, taking Ursula’s soft lips in a kiss. It was rather one sided, but the general refused to leave things as they were. She urged the woman in her arms to take action, teasing Ursula’s lips. The response was tentative but sweet and Azrael felt a heady rush of arousal. Using her tongue, she tried to gain admittance but the slave whimpered and Azrael pulled back. “What is it?”
Ursula, face red, ducked her head. “It’s nothing, Milady.”
Eyes flashing, Azrael growled, “Remember what I said about dishonesty,” she warned. “I won’t ask you again.”
Anxious, the slave swallowed. “I’m sorry, Milady. It’s just... my jaw... it aches so...” Ursula cringed in the general’s arms, awaiting punishment. She was startled from her fears by the soft caress of knuckles along her unbruised cheek.
Azrael waited until those intriguing amber eyes glanced up at her to speak. “My eagerness to taste you has caused you pain. For that I apologize.” She smiled at the embarrassed blush. “I can wait for you to heal. And then, I promise you, you’ll be in my bed.”
“Yes, Milady,” Ursula whispered, a sliver of dread anticipation trickling down her spine.
With a rueful grin and a sigh, Azrael leaned forward to kiss the brunette’s cheek before pushing her out of her lap. “I’d best return to camp. I’ve work to do before we leave.”
“Yes, Milady.”
Azrael stood, dusting herself off and taking her horse’s reins. Mounting, she waved good-bye to Midia and trotted away.
Ursula watched her go, brow furrowed in puzzlement as she touched her cheek.
Chapter Five
The following day was spent packing for the journey. When all was said and done, the Third Army had three dozen wagons of supplies and bounty. Fortunately for Idonatra, the arms master did indeed have space for many of the weapons, lightening the load considerably from the smithy.
Morning dawned slightly overcast, good marching weather for the men. The last of the tents were broken down and stowed and the prisoners were bound together, neck and wrist, by thick rope. Of the wounded, only three were bedridden. They lounged in a wagon behind the surgeon’s. It was here that Midia and Ursula rode, keeping watchful eye on the soldiers for the journey.
While the officers were mounted, the captains at the head of the column with their general, the cohorts themselves were on foot with their lieutenants riding before them. It was difficult enough keeping the wagon ponies in fodder. To mount all her soldiers, Azrael would need a third again of horse or mule to carry feed for them all, an expensive proposition to say the least.
Idonatra’s cohort led the way, followed by the supply train, servants and camp followers. Past that were Razzu’s men. The prisoners formed a loose cohort of their own with Atol behind to pick up strays. Further along, the surgeon and wounded wagons trundled with Tenango bringing up the rear. Suma’s cavalry was evenly split between flanking the column, paying close attention to the prisoners, and riding fore and aft sweeps.
Once all were in place, Azr
ael signaled her standard bearer with a nod. The young man saluted, turned his horse and galloped down one side of the column. Simultaneously, the call to prepare for march rang out over the formation. As the standard bearer thundered back up the other side, the general called out the command, “Forward march!” The lieutenants at each cohort echoed her words and the entire train began moving.
Ursula gasped as the wagon jerked to a start but soon became accustomed to the swaying motion. The wounded were somnolent from a tonic of wine and pain killing herbs the surgeon had given them. Other than the occasional request for water, he told Midia the men would probably sleep through to midday.
Midia, an old hand at traveling with an army, waved the brunette close and pulled a bag of mending from the corner where she’d stowed it. The slaves sorted through the clothing and began repairs.
After an hour or so of silence, broken only by the tramp of feet and hooves or the jingle of armor and tack, Ursula glanced up from a linen shirt hem and asked, “How long have you been a slave?”
A smile quirked Midia’s lips but she didn’t look up. “You haven’t spent much time with other slaves, have you?”
Puzzled, Ursula shook her head. “I was the only slave in my village. And I’d only the one owner.”
“Don’t be too quick to ask that question,” Midia advised, tying off her thread. “Many slaves do not wish to revisit their capture.” She paused, biting off the excess and folding the breeches. “Take those women from your village. They’ll not wish to recall their first night as spoils of war.”
Amber eyes widened in understanding. “I’m sorry,” Ursula blurted. “I didn’t mean to offend!”
Midia laughed, leaning forward to pat the brunette’s arm. “It’s all right. I’ve no problem with answering. I only warn you about future troubles your curiosity may incur.” She pulled back, setting the breeches aside and selecting her next project. “I’ve been a slave all my life, the last ten years with Lady Azrael.”
On Azrael's Wings Page 4
