On Azrael's Wings

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  Ursula patted her cheek, feeling the heat reflecting from her skin. “Yes,” she finally said. “That would be nice.”

  Chuckling, Midia took the dazed brunette’s hand and tugged her toward the entry. “The sooner we get to market, the better the deals to be had.”

  Good gods, how many times did she have to repeat herself? Azrael gritted her teeth and attempted once more. “While I can appreciate your circumstances, I am but a lowly vassal to King Shonal. It’s not my place to rule in this matter.”

  “Well, yes, of course, Lord Azrael,” the magistrate agreed, eyes glancing about the room. “But you’ve the most experience in dealing with the King. You know him far better than we.” He waved a pudgy hand at the gathered council.

  A handful of men sat around the table representing Provey - merchants, crafters, and farmers all. Their peers had elected them to aid the magistrate in defining local laws and relegating judgments. At the moment, they were arguing a minor point of law handed down by the King months prior regarding the distribution of wheat.

  “Gentlemen,” Azrael said, leaning forward, her eyes raking over the assembled. “I haven’t communicated with our liege other than carrier pigeon and messenger for two years. You may not know this but I don’t spend much time at court, even when I’m home. My cousin and I don’t discuss politics - that’s why he has aides and councilors.” She sat back, lifting her mug of wine. “I’m simply a soldier obeying her King.”

  Chuckling half-heartedly, the magistrate said, “Hardly a ‘simple’ soldier, Lord...” His smile faded at the pointed look he received. Bowing, he said, “Of course, Lord Azrael. I understand completely.”

  The general was certain he understood nothing but let it pass.

  “Pardon, Lord,” a nondescript man said from across the table. A merchant, he was dressed in clothing far finer than his heavy peasant face. “Is it possible for you to convey messages to King Shonal? Lord Morvri informed us you would be returning to the capital soon.”

  Azrael reined in her anger at Morvri discussing the comings and goings of any armies with these men. Loose lips could cause disaster should enemies of the realm get wind of troop movements. With a regal nod, she said, “Of course. I’d be more than happy to be of assistance.”

  Pleased with her acceptance, the men fell to discussing what they should say to their liege, leaving Azrael blissfully alone for a few moments. Smothering a sigh of relief, the dark woman drank from her mug and entertained herself with thoughts of the night before.

  Who knew the timid little brunette could be such a lusty wench? Ursula’s sexual experience was lacking but she more than made up for it with her passionate attempts to please her mistress. Azrael, having discovered the brunette was a virgin, wondered how their lovemaking would alter things. Many a sweet girl became a veritable harpy the following day. She was pleased to note that Ursula held her peaceful quality come morning, a tender heart that wasn’t daunted by the ravenous creature she’d become.

  Azrael smiled to herself, recalling Ursula’s constant blush and avoidance of Midia. She’d soon get over her inhibitions as far as the other body slaves were concerned. Sooner or later all of them did. Still, it would be nice if Ursula remained as she was, a gentle woman bearing the quiet grace of nobility.

  Contemplating her next move in taming Ursula, she almost didn’t hear the magistrate.

  “Lord Azrael? What do you think?”

  Leaning forward, the general took the parchment offered her, feigning interest in something she cared nothing about.

  The women stopped to eat at a stall just off the main market area. Settled on a bench outside, they tucked into biscuits with meat and vegetables baked inside. At their feet were the spoils of their excursion, several bundles wrapped in cloth and twine.

  Their shopping had been rather one sided with Midia leading the way through the market as well as conversation. Keenly aware of Ursula’s discomfort, the blonde attempted to act normal, hoping to ease her companion from her bad humor. Ursula remained silent, however, and Midia became increasingly concerned.

  Deciding to take the bull by the horns, Midia sighed. “You’ve been very quiet today, Ursula,” she said. “Are you all right?”

  Caught out, Ursula swallowed hard, nearly choking on her food before croaking, “I’m fine. Really.”

  “Good.” Midia watched the slave take a hasty sip of water from the canteen they’d brought with them. “I know that our mistress’

  appetites can be rather extreme at times. Sometimes she doesn’t know her own strength.”

  Ursula blinked at her. “She’s hurt you?”

  Smiling as she scoffed, Midia patted Ursula’s hand. “By accident when she was younger and much less experienced. It’s never been repeated.” Midia became serious, grasping Ursula’s hand to punctuate her sentence. “It’s not by design, you know. If Milady hurts you, tell her. She’ll not enjoy causing you pain.”

  The slave made a sound of acquiescence in her throat, returning to her half eaten meal.

  “Was last night the first time for you?”

  The meat turned to dust in Ursula’s mouth and she forced it down. “Yes,” she whispered. Fingers tickled her temple and she looked to see Midia gently brushing her hair back with a kind smile.

  “It can be overwhelming whatever your experience. I see why you’re so withdrawn today. You have much to think about.”

  “Why are you not...?” Ursula blurted, “How can you not be...?” At a loss, she shook her head, brow furrowed.

  “Jealous?” Midia supplied.

  Grinding her teeth, Ursula ducked her head. “Yes, jealous. I don’t understand. If I were in your place, I would be.” She had been in Midia’s place and felt the sickening emotion so strong it besieged her.

  “There’s nothing to be jealous of. Jealousy implies ownership and we do not own our mistress.” Midia left her hand on Ursula’s shoulder. “It was the same when Felicia and Vincenza came to Lady Azrael’s bed. She is a very accomplished lover, I’ll admit, but the four of us are a part of her family. She depends on us as we depend on her.”

  Ursula chewed on that thought, having no experience. The camaraderie she enjoyed with Midia was foreign to her. Being the only slave in her village, she’d had no one else who empathized with her. She was now heir to three companions who understood intimately who and what she was.

  “There will be times that our mistress will call someone else to her bed or even take a lover,” Midia said. “That does not mean she cares for us any less. Her lovers are few and far between and she’ll always need us to watch over her.”

  Sighing, the brunette nodded, heart sinking.

  Midia pursed her lips, eyes kind. “You’re unconvinced.” With a soft sigh, she continued, “We will always have a place in our mistress’ heart, Ursula. No matter who shares her bed, we all belong to her; we all care for her as she cares for us. The physical act...” Midia shrugged and waved negligently. “While enjoyable, it’s not the only way she shows her caring.”

  Confused between her heart and Midia’s words, Ursula closed her eyes, trying to think. “How can she care? She knows nothing of me. I’m only a slave she acquired by accident in a raid.” She snorted, turning to look at her companion. “I would have been on that auction block but for those soldiers who disobeyed orders.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do!” Ursula insisted. She inhaled deeply, her food forgotten, amber eyes shining with unshed tears. “You weren’t in the village. You didn’t see her. She wasn’t looking for another slave to warm her bed or help you take care of her. She was as vicious as her reputation, killing several survivors in cold blood before condemning the rest to a life of servitude.”

  Midia leaned forward, trapping the brunette’s fists in her hands. “I have seen how she is, Ursula. I’ve been with her for ten years and have gone through three campaigns as her body slave. I know of what you speak. I cannot explain her nature other than she’s a wild cre
ature and does what needs doing in order to survive.” Sighing, the blonde shook her head, forestalling argument. “No, hear me. Our mistress has a clear line dividing all she meets into two groups - those with her and those against. If you’re with her, she’s loyal to a fault, even to her slaves.”

  “And if you’re not?”

  The blonde frowned. “If you’re not, she has no thought of you whether you be innocent or guilty, man or woman. No judgments passed. You’re nothing.”

  Ursula’s eyes were as stark as her words. “On which side of the line do I stand?”

  A smile smoothed Midia’s face and she gently cupped Ursula’s cheek. “You’re one of us, now.”

  Tears spilled over. Ursula nodded and shrugged, looking away. Reconciling her feelings when Azrael was near to bloody memories of impalement nearly split her in two. Which was real, the sensation of safety and fondness reflected in black eyes or the screams of people she knew as they died in agony?

  Midia slowly rubbed Ursula’s back, letting the tears flow. They were needed for her to heal, to merge heart and mind. It was not surprising that Ursula had no idea of her worth in their owner’s eyes. But Midia knew. When Felicia and Vincenza had been brought into the fold, Azrael never looked at them the way she did Ursula. Something was at work here that was beyond a decade of experience and Midia wondered if their mistress had finally found her heart.

  Hoping such was the case, she held Ursula until the sobs eased. If anyone deserved love it was Lady Azrael. And if anything could make it come about, it would behoove Midia to assist.

  “Here now,” she said, using a corner of her sleeve to wipe the tears away. “You’ll feel better as time passes, Ursula.”

  The brunette nodded, chewing her upper lip. The canteen was pushed into her hands and she took a drink. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she decided that perhaps she did feel a little better.

  “If we’re finished here, I’ve a mind to look at the stall with those beautiful hair combs. Are you interested?”

  A tentative smile crossing her face, Ursula nodded.

  Azrael wasn’t surprised to find her slaves had not returned from their trip into town. A fond smile lit her face as she viewed the silent interior of her tent, knowing Midia loved shopping nearly as much as her family. The general had no doubt there’d be nothing left of the gold she’d sent the pair away with this morning.

  Not wanting to be indoors, she scooped up a canteen and easily lifted a heavy chair, bringing it outside. Azrael settled in the late afternoon sunshine, using a large rock for a footstool as she stretched out and crossed her ankles.

  The meeting with the council had gone well enough, all things considered. It seemed they were as wary of dealing with Azrael as she was with them. Fortunately, the awkwardness wouldn’t be revisited, it having been decided that the general had done all she could to facilitate things. No further meetings had been scheduled, a significant relief from the burden of politics Azrael planned on enjoying to the best of her ability.

  Azrael idly watched the comings and goings of her camp, nodding occasionally to soldiers passing close enough to require a salute. Immersing herself in the ambiance, she felt her anxiety fade away.

  Her father, youngest of three princes, had told her long ago she had no aptitude for anything other than fighting or farming. She’d never discovered if he was pleased with her lack of political acumen, but he didn’t stint her training in those areas where she excelled. The thought of spending days on end inside a stuffy hall pronouncing judgment over minor issues was repugnant, however necessary they may be. Azrael spent hours at her father’s side learning statecraft and conniving ways to escape to the stables and saddle her horse.

  A faint smile perched on Azrael’s face at the memories - fidgeting in fine clothing as the local folk put forth their disputes in hope of favorable decrees from their landlord. Despite her lack of attention on weighty matters of local law, her father had imbued her with a refined sense of justice, a view of right and wrong that ran deep. Azrael’s view was also stark, something her father hadn’t expected. All was good or bad, black or white. She’d taken over the estate after his death from a nasty wound nearly eight years ago and had quickly earned a reputation of being extremely harsh yet very fair in all her dealings.

  The smile faded as she mulled over the magistrate’s words from the previous night. It was quite the puzzle. Why would false reports be given to keep her in the field a few months longer? Azrael was no threat to the throne; Shonal knew this. There was still their uncle, Duke Nieto, and his son in line for the crown should anything happen to her royal cousin. If Shonal would get to work producing an heir, her claim would weaken further still.

  Uncapping the canteen, she took a long drink. Either the rumor was false or true. If false, as she suspected, who knew where it came from or why it had started? Ultimately, it didn’t matter for it had no basis in reality. Azrael suspected that a rumor arriving all the way out here to the farthest reaches of the kingdom had to be months old and long since died down at court. At the very least, she’d be required to publicly restate her oath of fealty to Shonal to prove her loyalty, giving the gossipmongers something else to prattle about as they pretended power and authority.

  Azrael frowned. If the rumor was true, however

  Either Shonal or someone near him considered her a threat, ludicrous as it seemed. She wondered if her uncle and younger cousin were suspected, as well. They would no doubt have to be since they were closer to the throne. Setting that thought aside, Azrael considered her orders to destroy the rebellion that had been brewing in the area. Why would she be sent on a fool’s errand that would result in the complete annihilation of four innocent villages in the King’s name? Word would eventually get out that hundreds of people had died for nothing, a serious blow to Shonal’s power for it could cause the very rebellion she was supposed to be suppressing. The entire matter vexed her to no end. Perhaps it would have been better had she paid closer attention at her father’s side but that time was long past.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the approach of Idonatra. She nodded at his salute and waved him closer. “You have word?”

  “Aye, Lord,” the large man said, squatting down to be at eye level with his commanding officer. “We’ve sold it all for a very nice fee. I had the coffer delivered to your tent.” He held out a parchment.

  Azrael took the list and scanned it, noting the total figure for the inventory. “Very good.”

  Idonatra was smug as he nodded. “Aye, it is, Lord. That Atol is a wizard when it comes to merchanting. I think he missed his calling.”

  Chuckling, the dark woman rolled up the parchment and slipped it under one bracer. “Talk to the quartermaster. The men are to be paid their bonuses in the morning and we’ll leave the day after; give them time to spend some of their hard earned gold in Provey.”

  “Very good, Lord. I’ll see to it.” Idonatra stood and saluted before sauntering away, a whistle on his lips.

  Azrael watched him go before movement caught her eye. Turning her head, she saw Midia and Ursula approaching, arms laden. A full smile broke across the dark woman’s face and she rose to greet them.

  Chapter Eleven

  The day they left Provey, Ursula found herself in the wagon that held Azrael’s belongings, the marching order much the same as the previous trip. Without prisoners and booty, the surgeon and a dozen supply wagons now trundled along between the second and third cohorts. Suma’s cavalry still rode guard, but not with the same vigilance, spending more time on the fore and aft sweeps than with the army.

  Keeping occupied was an easy matter; Midia had insisted on purchasing material, thread and handspun wool before leaving town. The two slaves passed the time in conversation and sewing or knitting. Midia, who knew their mistress’ measurements, created a silk tunic of deep red. Ursula knitted socks, using a worn pair to gauge size.

  The brunette paused in her work, setting the needles down and massaging cramps from her f
ingers as she looked about the countryside. Rolling hills met her gaze, mostly untamed land sprinkled with wildflowers and trees. In the distance she could see a mountain range, blue and hazy, looking like something from a fairy tale. Before and behind, the constant tramp of boots drove away all sounds except that of a cavalry soldier occasionally clopping past.

  Reaching for the canteen, Ursula’s eyes fell on a gaggle of slaves walking just ahead. They were laughing at some joke and she smiled, wondering what it was like to have friends like that. Her only experience had been with her siblings and that was years ago.

  “Midia?”

  “Hmmm?” the blonde asked, still concentrating on her work.

  “Why are we riding in the wagon? All the other slaves are walking.”

  Looking up, Midia paused in her work. “I keep forgetting that you’ve no knowledge of these things,” she said, an apologetic smile. “We don’t walk because we are of a higher station.”

  “Higher station?” Ursula asked, studying the group. “But we’re slaves.”

  “Yes, and we are Lady Azrael’s personal body slaves. Just as our mistress outranks everyone here, we outrank the other slaves.”

  Ursula frowned, settling back onto her cushion and regarding her companion. “So there are levels of rank?”

  Nodding, Midia set her sewing aside and reached for the canteen. After taking a drink, she said, “Yes. If you should ever go to the royal palaces, you’ll find you’ll be ranked by those slaves belonging to Milady’s family.”

  “It seems rather silly,” the brunette announced. “We’re all slaves. We’ve all experienced our lack of freedom. Why should we worry who is higher in rank among us?” She indicated those walking. “We all belong to our mistress.”

  Midia cocked her head. “All the slaves here are attached specifically to the army. They spend their time at home taking care of the officers, the mess hall, and the barracks and training grounds. They know nothing of living in our mistress’ villa or what is required to keep Lady Azrael happy. Even if we were to look past rank, we’d have nothing in common except our mistress.”