by Loki Renard
A little glimmer of a smile rose to Ayla's lips. "And I thought weren't the type for word play."
"Play is all words are good for," Aeron replied. "I never met a word I could trust."
"So you don't trust Kira?"
"I trust her actions, not her words." Aeron's head throbbed especially hard, making her blink in pain. "Is this how you will punish me, with conversation?"
"In your case, I think it might be the most effective discipline. But it is not the only approach I intend to take. You have been trouble for quite some time from what I gather. Fighting your comrades..."
"Only the unworthy ones," Aeron interjected. "Weakness should be punished."
"Should it?" Ayla raised a brow at her. "And what makes your comrades weak?"
"They are not warriors or soldiers. They are mercenaries. They wield their blades for money, not glory, or victory."
"I see. And the fact that Kira has ordered you not to fight with your comrades... does that carry no weight with you at all?"
"Her words say not to," Aeron shrugged. "But her actions say otherwise."
"Is that so?"
"Yes," Aeron replied bluntly. "She is a great and powerful warrior. If she wished to stop me, she could stop me a thousand times over. But she plays with the lash and she locks me up for a few hours and she sends me back to do what I have always done."
"You will force her to beat you?"
"I do not force anyone to do anything," Aeron replied, her chin held high. "I do as I will, and she does as she will."
Ayla digested that for a moment, then nodded curtly. "Take your clothes off."
The order caught Aeron by surprise. "What?"
"Remove your clothing," Ayla said. Her gaze had become quite intense and fixed, filled with a power Aeron had not seen in the witch before. She spoke with a certain edge to her tone, as keen as a blade.
It was the work of a few seconds to shed her clothing. Aeron only needed to throw her vest off over her head and push her leggings down. She did both without question, standing naked and proud. Her body was a thing of taut, toned beauty, the smooth plane of her stomach sculpted into harder ridges where her skin covered her well developed muscles. Her breasts and buttocks were the sole repositories of softness, the rest of her body was a tribute to physicality. She fancied she looked much like Kira, though she did not have the warrior's bulk.
Giving Ayla an almost defiant look, Aeron held her head high, her breasts thrust forward, nipples standing to attention as the witch began a slow circle of inspection. Aeron soon felt Ayla's hand slide over the bare curve of her bottom and tap gently.
"Very nice," Ayla murmured. "Very nice."
Aeron's flesh quivered at Ayla's touch. The witch let her hand trace up from Aeron's buttocks and around her hip then moved away.
"You are beautiful," she said, though in a way that made Aeron feel that perhaps it was not a compliment. "You have youth, but not so much of it that you are a fool, and you have the honor of serving under the greatest commander Lesbia has ever known."
All Ayla said was true. Aeron's lips turned up at the corners, for she was pleased to hear of how wonderful she was and how perfectly placed in history she found herself.
"Why then, do you dishonor her with disobedience?"
The question hit Aeron like an arrow.
"I do not dishonor Kira," she stammered.
Ayla tilted her head and looked at Aeron with an expression that seemed to imply pity at her simplicity. "But you do. In a thousand little ways. There is not a one of you in this place who do her justice, save perhaps Vix."
"What is it Vix does that we none of us do?"
"She listens. She obeys. And more importantly, she acts in the best interests of the cause. She receives none of your praise, she does not have so much as a bed to sleep in and yet she puts you all to shame."
If Aeron were not already naked, Ayla's words would have made her so.
"I have seen very little in this armlette that impresses me," Ayla continued, taking one more turn about Aeron this time to slap her bottom so lightly it barely stung more than a gnat's bite. "I have seen lazy soldiers. I have seen drunkards. I tell you now, if you were to meet the Imperial army today, you would all perish."
Aeron lifted her chin and stared Ayla dead in the eye with all the pride that was still hers to possess. "I am not afraid to die!"
"Neither is an ant, or a lark," Ayla said, unmoved. "Being unafraid to die is no great feat in itself unless it is accompanied by sacrifice for a purpose greater than oneself."
Again Aeron was shamed, and again one of those oh so light slaps landed across her bare cheeks. There was a sting, but it was so slight she would not have noticed it if her entire body were not suffused with the most intense sensation of guilt she had ever felt.
"A soldier's greatest weapon is not her blade," Ayla lectured, "but her obedience. It is that which she lays down long before she lays down her life."
Aeron heard Ayla's words and the truth in them and her shame grew many fold. She saw for the first time how truly unworthy she had been of her very armor, much less the commander she served.
Ayla's hand landed a third time, lighter than before but it made a jolt shoot through Aeron's body and left a whimper on her lips - something Aeron had not thought possible. Her hide was so hardened that she could take blows from tree boughs and barely flinch, but in the presence of the witch, she had somehow begun to feel once more.
Chapter Twelve
In the meanest of whiles, Liz sat on a hillock overlooking the camp and fumed. The outcast had made her way hence and forth, but ultimately found herself with nowhere to go. Fortunately for her, it was always possible to sit on the periphery of things and direct scorn in the direction of those who were still involved in the doing of so called important things.
"I curse you all!" She shouted down at the tents made tiny by distance. "I curse you from head to toe! I call down the power of Ariadne upon you, that you will will know her wrath and feel her vengeance!"
The yelling did nothing, but it did make Liz feel a smidge better for a moment or two. She was outcast, a spy without spy-mistress, a woman without friends. The encampment below might have flown the flag of Ariadne, but they were all traitors in Liz's eyes - none more so than the brutal witch Ayla with her vicious biting palm.
"Ayla! I curse you fourthril!" Liz shouted, picking up a clod of dirt. She hurled it into the air and watched it fall a good three miles short of its goal.
Putting her hands on her hips, Liz stared daggers down at the encampment, hoping the force of her loathing would have some tangible effect. It was too much to hope that the entire thing would suddenly burst into flames, but a tent or two catching on fire would be a start.
"May you all suffer cramps in your little toes. May your ears burn when the wind changes and may your heads ache on overcast days," she snarled. "May your milk curdle and your bread be stale. May your stockings split at the toes and your hats have holes in them."
"That's a lot of shouting." A smooth, feminine voice interrupted Liz's rant.
Liz spun on her heel to see a woman sitting behind her, a woman with long azure blue hair and eyes that matched. She wore a short robe which was blue like the morning sky, her fingernails were several inches long and painted in a similar hue. Her shapely calves were visible beneath the hem in a way that was most uncommon in those days of war when everyone covered everything. She was beautiful too. Her features were quite interesting, a short but wide nose set in a round face, wide bow lips and heavily lashed eyes. Her cheeks were full, her lips turned up in good humor.
"It's not nearly enough shouting," Liz said. "Who are you? What's your favorite color?"
"They call me the Blue Lady," the woman smiled.
"I imagine they do," Liz said. "They always did lack imagination. I will call you Violet. Why are you here, Violet?"
"You summoned me, of course."
Liz cocked her head to the side and looked at Violet cur
iously. "Are you another sprite?"
"I am a plant spirit," Violet said, extending her hand. Where her shadow fell, tendrils sprang up with bright blue blooms and flat broad leaves.
"I have seen this trick already," Liz said. "It's cute, but not useful."
Violet swayed her hand above the plant, growing it taller and taller. "Pluck the leaves and chew them."
"I'm not hungry, Violet."
"Please," Violet said, batting her lashes playfully. "Pick the leaves and chew them. You'll feel better."
Liz shrugged and picked the leaves as the sprite suggested. There was little else to do, what could it hurt? She pushed a few into her mouth and bit down timidly. The taste that filled her mouth was not unpleasant, it was rich and berry-like and it coated every surface of her mouth with its tasty juice.
"Good, no?" Violet smiled.
"Gub," Liz agreed, chewing more aggressively as she shoved a few more leaves into her mouth. The taste grew with every moment of mastication, a pleasure which flooded from her mouth to her belly and then into her extremities. She was warm. She was wide. She was Liz and she was the world and she was the stars and she was the little bit of shadow under the rock. She was the plant and the dirt. She was the caterpillar wriggling over a branch and she was the bird about to eat it.
As she expanded beyond the bounds of her body, it fell to the ground insensate and without pulse, her mouth still stuffed with leaves. But Liz did not care, for she was beyond body, beyond mind, beyond name and heart and mind. She was the everything of everything and the nothing of nothing. She felt what it was to be the sunrise and the sunset. She felt what it was to fly and to fall, to be air and water and....
SMACK!
Liz was yanked roughly back into her body by a harsh slap which landed square across her face. Her mouth had been cleared of leaves, allowing her to take the deep gasping breath which bought air rushing back into lungs starved of air. Her ears rang and her face burned, but she was alive. Her eyes flew open and she stared into the curious face of Vix crouched above her.
"You hit me!" Liz put a disbelieving hand to her cheek.
"You were dead, I thought it wouldn't count," Vix shrugged.
"I wasn't dead. I was alive. I was everything. I was..."
"You were under the influence," Vix informed her. "You took enough of those leaves to down a small cow. Fortunately, you're a huge cow."
"I am not!"
"You're lucky I found you," Vix said mildly, moving away. "Otherwise you definitely would have stayed dead. You're lucky slapping you in the face was an option."
Liz was going to tell Vix precisely what she thought of her and her alleged rescue, but overwhelming nausea cut her anger short and sent her retching into the bushes.
"She's over here,” Vix called out.
Voices came from a direction other than the bushes. Liz did not much care because she was still miserably ill. Her world had shrunk to the leaves and twigs before her, the leaf litter was becoming soaked with what had recently been the contents of her innards. She eventually rolled out of the undergrowth just in time to see three figures coming along the path. One was Vix, one was Moon, and the other was a hulking woman she had never seen before.
It was the tall, broad walking wall of a woman who came over and crouched down, powerful thighs bending by Liz's side. A large hand cupped her chin and turned her head one way, then the other as concerned eyes narrowed themselves at her.
"Trying to kill yourself?" Her voice was pleasantly deep, a little too husky to be melodic. Though her hands were brawny, Liz noted that they were capable of handling her with care.
"What?" Liz scowled. "No. I just... it was a plant. I ate a plant."
Features made more harsh by the lack of hair to soften them drew into an expression of stern disbelief. "A poisonous one."
"Don't waste your time trying to get sense out of her, Trebuchet," Vix said. "This one is a complete mess."
"I am not," Vix denied hotly. "The lady told me to eat it, and I had visions..."
"I bet you did," Trebuchet said. "Vix says you had enough leaves in your mouth to down a cow."
"The lady told me..." Liz repeated herself weakly. She had very little energy to spare, and defending herself was proving no easy task. All three of her rescuers were giving her looks ranging somewhere from pitying to outright scornful.
"What lady?" Trebuchet asked the question.
"The blue lady..."
"She's seeing things," Vix said. "Was probably half mad before she ate the leaves."
"Maybe." Trebuchet reached down and hauled Liz up to her feet. She was too weak to stand, but that didn't matter because the warrior was taking her weight as easily as if she weighed nothing at all. "Let's get you back to camp, I hear we have a healer there now."
"Ayla," Vix chimed in again. "She's amazing."
"No," Liz said, shaking her head. "Not Ayla. Anyone but her."
"Oh? Run afoul of her, did we?" Trebuchet sounded amused. "From what I hear, she's the best Lesbia has. Moon hasn't stopped talking about her since I returned."
Moon blushed and hid her smile.
"Ayla is everything a witch is supposed to be and more," Vix enthused. "She is a gentle woman..."
Liz half-snorted, half-retched. "She beats me."
"Maybe you are the type who needs to be beaten," Trebuchet said pragmatically. "We'll find out soon enough."
That said, she tossed Liz over her shoulder. It was a very curious and disorienting position to be in, bent over a warrior's strong shoulder, her legs pinned by one brawny arm. If she had been in better health, Liz might have squirmed. As it was, she merely twitched as Trebuchet and her minions carried her back toward the camp she hated - and the witch she loathed.
"Please," she begged weakly. "Just let me be. Put me down by the path."
"If we do that, you'll be dead from dehydration by morning," Trebuchet said. "You're going to see the healer, and that's final."
"You don't know what she does to me," Liz whined plaintively. "She thrashes me without mercy."
"Moon never mentioned any punishment, neither did Vix," Trebuchet said. The motion of her long stride made Liz sway with each step.
"That's because they are sycophants to her heresy," Liz said, her voice weak, but her tone full of passion.
"Those are some big words for a girl who just stuffed her face full of poisonous plant," Trebuchet said, reaching up to pat Liz's vulnerable behind. "Save your strength. You may need it."
Liz would have fought more, but frequent waves of nausea left her far too weak to make her case as eloquently as she would have liked. Carried like a sack of sacks over Trebuchet's broad shoulder, she could do little to express herself.
She was not willing to go quietly back into Ayla's grasp, however. Just as they were clearing the bottom of the hillock under which the camp had inexplicably been located, she pushed with all her might and succeeded in rolling over the back of Trebuchet's shoulder and thenceforth onto the ground below. She hit hard, but it was worth it for the moment of opportunity it gave her.
Running fleet as a rabbit, Liz cleared several feet before Trebuchet caught up with her, one hand catching the back of her shirt, the other slamming down across her bottom with a slap which echoed over the plains and sent several soldiers in the camp to battle stations.
"Unhand me!" Liz shrieked.
Trebuchet did not say a word, just hauled Liz back to the undignified position over her shoulder and provided another hard slap to think on. Left with buttocks tingling and throbbing, Liz was forced to consider the ramifications of being so completely and utterly outweighed. It would probably have been wise to stop putting up resistance, to allow herself to be taken to the healer, even if it was Ayla. Unfortunately, Liz was not wise, which was why she made yet another poor decision.
"Unhand me at once," she shouted. "Or I will poison you in your sleep!"
Trebuchet's steps stopped abruptly. In the next instant, Liz was tossed backwards and more o
r less onto her bottom. She looked up from her landing place and saw the broad outline of the woman now blocking the sun. Trebuchet was most intimidating when the smile faded from her face and feeling drained from her eyes. Liz suddenly felt a kinship with a mouse being cornered by a cat.
"She didn't mean it!" Moon hurried forward quickly and placed an ineffective restraining hand on Trebuchet's taut bicep. "She's all talk. She says all sorts of things. You should have heard what she told Ayla she was going to do to her in revenge for the beatings."
"So you like to talk?" Trebuchet crouched down and grasped Liz by the front of her shirt, pulling her close in one powerfully abrupt tug. "Never make threats you don't intend to carry out," Trebuchet growled. "It's not worth suffering the consequences otherwise."
