Clockwork Goddess (The Lesbia Chronicles) (8 page)

"Most of the time?"

"Sometimes I stay out, give them time alone. They don't get much of it."

"Tonight you will take the bed," Ayla said. "It is time you had some comfort. Since we met I have seen you do nothing but fit yourself into crevices of convenience for everyone else."

"I can't take your bed," Vix said. "Besides, I'm used to sleeping rough. Your bones are no doubt wearier than mine."

"And what makes you think that?"

"Well," Vix said, clearly racking her brains for a respectful way to comment on Ayla's advanced years. "You do not look it, of course, but you have...well..."

"You think I am too old to forgo a bed?" Ayla laughed. "Then we will share it. There is room for us both."

"I.." Vix did not seem to know what to say. "That's very kind, but..."

"Take off your over clothes and get in." Ayla quirked a brow when Vix hesitated. "It is late and I do not have the patience for another argument. Please, get ready for bed."

Vix watched as Ayla began to disrobe herself, removing her outer garment to stand in a pale silk slip which draped itself elegantly over the statuesque curves of her body. Never before had Vix been in such close contact with so beautiful a creature. During the journey from Ayla's home to the camp there had been a separation largely due to Liz being a pain in the rear at every turn. She had sucked every little bit of attention and air out of every moment. Vix was glad she seemed to have gone for the day, hopefully she would be gone a whole lot longer.

"Is there a reason you are still not ready?" Ayla had folded a cloth and was dabbing it into the water dish on the stand beside the bed, then wiping it about her face and neck.

"I..." Vix did not have words to express how small and out of place she felt, how unworthy of the attention. Ayla was kind to everyone, but she did not welcome everyone into her bed. Did it mean something? Or was she just being nice? Had Vix crossed the line from outcast to pitiful object of charity?

"Getting into bed does not require this much thought," Ayla chided.

Vix knew she was being silly, and overly shy. She shed her vest, but hesitated at the leggings. If she took them off, there would be nothing but the length of her undershirt to cover her... everything.

"No leggings in bed," Ayla insisted. "You need not depend on modesty, I promise my aged fingers will not stray."

"I didn't..." Vix lost her voice in the attempt to explain. She could never have told Ayla that feeling the touch of her fingers was beyond anything she could have hoped for. Instead she blushed and pushed her leggings down over her hips, then darted into bed before Ayla could see anything more than the flash of her bare behind.

"If you do not wish to experience unpleasantness, I would refrain from speaking your mind to Kira quite so frankly," Ayla said as she finished her ablutions.

"I doubt I will have cause to speak to her again." Vix pulled the covers up to her chin. "I do not usually cross paths with her, being a lowly peon of little importance."

"That's a role you've learned to play quite well, isn't it?" Ayla lifted the corner of the blanket and slid in beside Vix. "The quiet observer at the fringes of the fray, always working, never noticed."

Vix felt her face grow warm again, though she didn't know if it was Ayla's words or the witch's proximity which made her react. The witch smelled like wildflowers, the upper part of her bosom was bare under the low cut of the slip and the rising swell of her breasts drew Vix's gaze just as surely as they took away her ability to form words.

"I make you uncomfortable." Ayla's words broke the spell.

"No," Vix said, lifting her eyes to Ayla's face. "You don't. You have been as kind to me as Moon and Trebuchet, though you barely know me - and though I hardly deserve it."

"You deserve kindness," Ayla said firmly. "Everybody does."

"So you invite everybody into your bed?" Vix gave Ayla a half-playful, half-curious look.

"No," Ayla smiled. "That is a privilege reserved for a rare few." She reached out and tapped Vix lightly on the tip of her nose. "Though I know you cannot imagine being rare."

Vix blushed and curled up under the blankets with a sense of contentment so deep she could no longer make room in her heart for fear or concern. Ayla turned the lantern out and they were both cloaked by darkness. Outside, the furore had died down to a dull roar. With Ayla's warmth just a few inches away, Vix drifted off into a most comfortable sleep.

*****

She woke many hours later nestled under Ayla's bosom, her nose against the witch's ribs. Ayla's left arm was resting along the length of her back, holding her in light embrace. Sun was warming the tent, filtering through fiber to create a private pocket of warmth.

"Did you sleep well?"

The question answered the question as to whether Ayla was awake or not. Regretfully, Vix moved away enough to lift her head to look at Ayla.

"I did," she said. "I've not slept that well in a very long time."

"A result of magic, perhaps?" Ayla was teasing. She looked more beautiful than ever, her brows raised not in censure but in playful question.

"I do not think so," Vix said, shuffling up the bed as Ayla moved her arm away. "I think it was the lateness of the hour and the pleasantness of the company."

"Everything has an explanation with you, doesn't it?"

"Of course." Vix watched as Ayla pushed back the covers and rose gracefully, her slip clad form intoxicating in the morning light. Ayla donned her green and gold robes with the elegance innate to her every movement, leaving Vix wondering how she managed it. Was there some kind of deportment school for half-elf forest witches? No. Ayla's grace was not a trained air, it was her natural state, as native to her as fluttering to a butterfly or singing to a sparrow.

"Come along." The witch lifted her hand and crooked a finger at Vix. "Time to begin the new day."

Vix slid halfway out of bed before realizing that she was not precisely dressed. Her tunic had ridden up to her hips, revealing everything from the waist down. She would normally have been mortified to be seen in such a state, but Ayla simply smiled quietly and handed her leggings over and Vix dressed herself without any hurry or shame.

Strange how comfort had sprung up between them, an understanding of minds and hearts. Little was said, but glances and smiles confirmed that a new closeness had been formed.

"I need to go and see Kira," Ayla said. "You should eat."

Vix cocked her head to the side and grinned knowingly. "You mean I should avoid Kira."

"If you wish to avoid a warrior's wrath, yes. I doubt she has forgotten your insolence."

"I was not insolent..."

"You were outspoken, insolent and entirely out of line," Ayla asserted. "But it was what Kira needed to hear. I would not make a habit out of it however, there tend to be consequences for those who speak the truth and most of them are painful."

"I thought the truth set one free."

"If one wishes to become wildly unpopular, one need only speak the truth," Ayla said. "A wise woman keeps her own counsel."

Vix nodded as they left the tent together, leaving Ayla with a parting thought. "Isn't it interesting how wise people and cowards have so much in common."

Chapter Eleven

"Urgggh," Aeron groaned as she came to unpleasant consciousness. "What giant crushed my skull?"

"You drank too much." Kira's voice conveyed the bad news. "Or, in your case, you drank."

When her vision cleared and her mind managed to interpret the bright world beyond her lids, Aeron realized that she was in Kira's quarters, laid out on a sheepskin rug near the rear of the tent. It was far from the least comfortable bed she had ever slept on, in fact the soft wool was a luxury far beyond her usual hemp bedding. She had been stripped down to a linen tunic and short leggings, neither of which provided much in the way of modesty or coverage.

Kira was in her hunting leathers, tanned hide stretched over her powerful frame, clasping her buttocks in animal embrace. Her bottom had always been Aeron's favorite part. Two exceptionally shapely firm globes, forged in the heat of battle. Whenever Kira moved they did a matching dance, a hypnotic gyration of gluteal muscles which Aeron could have watched all day and all night. The warrior had not yet braided her hair that day, it was hanging loose and slightly curling about her shoulders, framing her face in dark waves.

"Get up," she said curtly. "Lay face down over my bed."

The grim note in her tone and the even grimmer look about her eyes and lips told Aeron that she was about to catch a beating. On top of a hangover, no less.

Moving obediently, though reluctantly, Aeron assumed the position. She settled onto the bed quite comfortably even though she knew that at any moment, Kira was going to start thrashing her with the thick leather lash she favored.

"You know you're banned from drink," Kira said, leaning over to purr the words into Aeron's ear. Her strong hand traced up the length of Aeron's neck and bunched in the back of her hair.

Held in position, Aeron relaxed. She had no intention of fighting the punishment. She had no intention of doing anything other than just lying as still as possible for as long as possible.

"Do you have anything to say?"

"No, ma'am," Aeron mumbled. Her eyelids were starting to feel heavy again, sleep was drawing her back in.

The lash fell as she had known it would, cutting a harsh swathe of heat across the crown of her cheeks. Aeron flinched slightly, almost imperceptibly. The pain was negligible. The lash landed five more times to the same muted response. A less seasoned warrior might have reacted to the heat and the sting, but Aeron had borne such great pain throughout her life that Kira's lashing was as nothing to her.

Six strokes were delivered. She dozed through all of them, until Kira laid the lash down and released the grip on the back of her neck.

"Too staunch for discipline," Kira murmured. "How does one adequately punish a soldier insensate to pain?"

"You give up too soon." A new voice entered the conversation. Both Kira and Aeron looked up to see that Ayla had entered the tent and was standing with a look of amusement on her elfy features.

"Six of the best is the same as twelve or four and twenty, for that matter," Kira said. "If I have to beat her to the point of crippling her, then it is not discipline."

"It is not what is done, dear Kira," Ayla said, moving further into the tent and letting the flap close behind her. "It is how it is done. You know I have some experience with intractable warrior types. Perhaps I can be of assistance?"

"Be my guest." Kira held out the lash, but Ayla brushed it aside. She crouched down before Aeron's prone frame and locked eyes with the soldier.

"Why did you drink, Aeron?"

"I was thirsty?" Aeron managed a horizontal shrug.

"That's not the reason, is it? You're sick now. Your head is pounding, your stomach churning and your mouth is dry. You willingly drank poison, knowing what it would do to you."

Aeron was feeling far too fuzzy for complicated conversations, and she certainly wasn't going to embark on some deep investigation of her feelings with the witch. She shrugged again, glancing over at the firm rounds of Kira's bottom as she did. Oh it was a thing of beauty. If only she could see it without the leather... if only she could touch... kiss... caress...

"Aeron!" Kira snapped her name sharply. "Pay attention when Ayla is talking."

"I don't think she can pay attention," Ayla said, following Aeron's gaze with a knowing smile. "And I don't think there's anything you can do to punish her either."

"Hardly useful, but thank you for trying," Kira sighed.

"I said there wasn't anything
you
could do," Ayla said. "Leave us, please. One hour should be sufficient."

Kira braided her hair and left the tent with a laconic 'good luck' to Aeron, who remained prone on the bed, bracing herself for witchly vengeance. Fortunately for her, Ayla seemed disinclined to venge immediately. Instead, she had a question.

"How long have you been in love with Kira?"

"I love no-one," Aeron replied, her gaze steady, her jaw clenched. "I love battle."

"I see," Ayla said. "Because you are a soldier and nothing more? Or because you do not think that anyone will love you if you were to love them?"

Aeron gave Ayla a blank look. There were a lot of words coming out of the witch's mouth and she didn't care about any of them. Words were wasted breath, tricksy things that could mean one thing or another thing or nothing at all.

"Can I get up?"

"Do as you please," Ayla said, standing tall.

Aeron did admire the witch's stature. She was no fighter, but there was a power in her body that the soldier could not help but respond to.

Getting to her feet, she just barely withstood the pounding of her head. She was truly in a bad way, the mead had turned her body against itself, left her aching as though she had lost a fight. Aeron pushed through the discomfort to remain staunch. "What will you do to me? Whatever it is, I can take it."

"Oh I'm sure," Ayla said mildly. "It's pointless punishing a soldier unless she understands the reason she's being punished."

"I understand why," Aeron replied. "It's because I drank."

"No," Ayla replied. "It's because you deliberately harmed yourself. What would have happened if enemy forces had attacked last night?"

"Last night would not have stood a chance," Aeron replied deadpan.

"What do you mean?"

"Tomorrow can never be beaten, today is an unknown quantity, but last night is already dead and gone."

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."