On Azrael's Wings (4 page)

“Thank you, Lord.” The redheaded warrior seemed to relax at the lack of offense committed by her man.

“I plan to rectify the situation regarding Ursula at my earliest convenience,” Azrael continued. “Have the troops form up in one hour. I will address them before they go about their duties. Notify the other captains to wait until after formation before going out on their assignments.”

Tenango bowed again. “Aye, Lord, consider it done.”

“Dismissed.”

“Aye, Lord Azrael.” She left the tent, spirits higher than when she’d entered.

The general finished her breakfast, setting the plate aside before standing to stretch again. As her slaves continued eating, Azrael located the clothing she’d worn the day before. By the time she was dressed, Midia and Ursula were done and awaiting orders.

Azrael returned to her chair, scooting it a few feet away from the table. “Midia, take care of the platter. We’ll be leaving day after tomorrow so you’d best begin doing what’s needed to facilitate our departure.”

“Yes, Milady.”

“Ursula, you’ll be staying with me this morning,” the general informed her new slave. “Bring me my bracers and help me with them.”

The brunette nodded and rose, murmuring, “Aye, Milady.”

When the bracers were retrieved, Azrael instructed Ursula to kneel between her widespread legs. She offered a muscular forearm, pushing through the leather armor sleeve. “The laces must be tight enough to keep the armor from moving,” the general said, holding the bracer and twisting her arm until it set in place. “But not tight enough to block circulation.” Turning her arm, wrist up, Azrael held out her hand. “Tie them.”

Ursula’s fingers were shaking as she reached for the laces.

Azrael grabbed the slave’s hands, making her gasp, amber eyes darting up. “This is not a test, Ursula. This is training. You’ll learn how to do this before I begin demanding perfection; I expect mistakes.”

The brunette swallowed against a lump. “Yes, Milady,” she whispered.

Releasing her, Azrael again turned her arm over.

With careful instruction, Ursula learned how to secure the bracer properly and where to tuck the leftover laces so they wouldn’t fly loose and tangle. When the first was done, Azrael remained silent as the second was tied.

“Very good,” the general acknowledged, holding up her arm and making a fist. The leather creaked lightly from the strain but remained firm. She looked down to catch an expression of uncertain pleasure and smiled faintly. “How’s your head?” Azrael asked, reaching out to tilt the slave’s face to one side. She brushed aside mahogany hair and leaned closer for a better look.

“It... it hurts, Milady,” Ursula admitted, nervous at the woman’s proximity.

“Understandable.” Azrael was pleased the swelling was going down, though the bruises were solidifying into mottled colors marring the woman’s beauty. She ran a dark finger along the straight nose. “You were lucky he didn’t break this,” she murmured, continuing her examination.

Ursula blushed. “Yes, Milady.”

“I’ll bring you to the surgeon’s after formation. He’ll have something to ease the pain.”

Blinking, the brunette nodded. Slaves rarely received medical treatment; it was cheaper to replace them than to heal. That Azrael would do so was a surprise.

Leaving off her inspection, the general leaned back in her chair, studying the woman before her. “We’ve not had much time to discuss your place in my household,” she said. “Suffice it to say that you are now my body slave, as Midia is. You will see to my needs, whatever they may be. Do you understand?”

Recalling the needs that Midia had taken care of in the general’s bed, Ursula colored deeply and ducked her head. “Yes, Milady. I understand.”

“I expect obedience but as I said, I’m not unreasonable. If you have questions regarding a command, ask them. I would rather you know what I wish than make stupid mistakes.” Azrael leaned forward again, peering into the slave’s face. “One thing I do not tolerate is dishonesty, Ursula,” she said. “Lie to me and there will be dire consequences.”

The slave shivered at the dangerous growl. “Aye, Milady,” she whispered. “I’ll not lie to you. Ever.”

“Good. And I’ll not lie to you. Ever,” Azrael repeated.

A horn blew outside, three long and one short note, calling the army to formation and interrupting Ursula’s startled expression at her mistress’ last words.

With a sigh, Azrael stood and squared her shoulders. Her hair was still unbraided, a black wave falling midway down her back, and she brushed it behind her shoulders. “Get my whip,” she ordered, locating her sword belt and strapping it on.

Fearful again, Ursula located the weapon on a chair by the table. She had heard the crack of leather and flesh last night while cleaning the general’s armor. Shivering, she handed the whip to Azrael, not wanting to see what damage the thing could do.

Azrael unfurled the leather, sticking the handle in her belt and scooping up the fringed end. “Know that I do this not to humiliate or pain you,” she said as she tied the tail around Ursula’s neck in a loose collar, lacking a more traditional collar and leash. “My men need to know that you are unattainable without my permission and this is the best way.”

Ursula ducked her head with a nod, chewing her lip at the sudden flutter of her heart.

“Lord Azrael,” Suma called from outside. “The men are ready.”

“Stay behind me but close,” the general ordered. “Don’t let the whip grow taut.” She walked out of her tent, her slave in close pursuit.

The clearing held a formation of four cohorts standing at rigid attention and one of light cavalry shifting with their mounts. Only those on guard posts in the village or on the perimeter were missing. Other than Suma at her side, all Azrael’s captains stood with their troops, flanked by one lieutenant and two sergeants each.

Nearly two hundred fifty pairs of eyes watched as their general led her slave forward. Ursula shuffled behind, head down, shoulders tight against their collective gaze. She hurried to keep up with her mistress’ steps, taking two for Azrael’s one. So involved in not letting the whip pull tight between them, she almost didn’t stop in time, halting a mere step behind the general.

“Swordsmen!” Azrael called, her dusky voice easily carrying across the assembled. “Yesterday’s victory was well met but we’ve yet work to do. Your toils will be noted and a bonus applied to your pay. Once I’ve received full reports from your commanding officers, additional awards for valor will be given”

There was a rumble of pleasure.

This year, half Azrael’s army had been assigned garrison for six months. By now, General Morvril of the Second Army had made his rounds, dropping off those who would guard the outlying borders of the kingdom for the next rotation. “Our departure will be the day after tomorrow, so prepare yourselves. We travel to Provey to offload goods and slaves before following the garrison circuit to pick up your brothers and sisters in arms. Then we are bound for home and leave.”

Unable to help themselves, the soldiers cheered aloud. It had been two seasons since they’d been to visit family and friends.

Azrael smiled at the roar of approval. She let it go for several seconds before raising her hands for silence. When the noise dwindled, she continued. “One point of business before I release you,” she said. Turning to Ursula, she tugged gently on the makeshift leash, urging her to step forward. “This is my new body slave. You’ve seen the other I own. The same rules apply to Ursula. Do not touch her. Do not impede her duties. If you see her doing anything suspicious, speak with your superiors or myself immediately. Do you understand?”

The news from this morning had passed quickly through the ranks and all the soldiers called out, “Aye, Lord Azrael!”

“Good. Captains, dismiss your cohorts by squad. Have them file past so that all can get a good look at my slave.”

A chorus of agreement came from the captains as they followed orders.

First to parade past were the light cavalry - Azrael’s personal guard. Following them were the foot soldiers and archers that comprised the rest of her army. Through it all, the general stood stoic, powerful arms across her chest, stern features reminding all of them of the repercussions of disobedience. Ursula tried and failed to stop fidgeting under the collective stares from so many people, obviously wishing she were somewhere far, far away.

When the last had made the circuit, Ursula sighed, shoulders slumping. She thought she heard a chuckle from her mistress but when she looked, Azrael appeared as aloof as ever.

“You’ve done well,” the dark woman said, stepping forward to work at the knotted whip at Ursula’s throat.

“Thank you, Milady.”

Pulling the leather free, Azrael coiled it up. “This morning you fought the man who tried to take you.”

Amber eyes widened and Ursula wondered if she would be punished. “Yes, Milady. Midia said... she caused me to believe that you do not allow your slaves to be taken without permission.” Frowning, Ursula dropped her head. “I am sorry if I did wrong, Milady.”

“You did well, Ursula. Midia is correct,” the general stated, reaching out to lift the slave’s chin. “I mention it to inform you it is acceptable should you be attacked by someone. You are mine and no one else’s. If I deem you are to be used by another, I will tell you beforehand.”

Ursula nodded. “Yes, Milady. I understand.”

“Go find Midia and tell her to bring you to the surgeon’s. You should be safe within camp now.”

“Aye, Milady.” Ursula hesitated as she turned, chewing her lip. “Milady?”

Azrael raised an eyebrow.

“Thank you, Milady,” the brunette blurted. “I’ll do my best to serve you well.”

“That’s all I wish, Ursula. Now go.” Thoughtfully, Azrael watched the woman return to the tent.

Chapter Four

The rest of the morning Azrael checked guard posts. She scared the stuffing out of a number of Atol’s men on the perimeter, each wondering if she’d heard rumor of further laxity in their cohort. Voices trembled slightly as they gave challenge and received the password, chins thrust out in determination to prove their captain an able officer despite the previous day’s incident.

Azrael found their overt devotion gratifying and humorous but didn’t reveal her amusement. Rather, she reacted with vague suspicion, asking each questions regarding her command as if he were a raw recruit. Her patronizing behavior irritated the soldiers, binding them closer to Atol in the hopes that this surge of loyalty would quell further disobedience.

Upon hearing of her passage, Atol hastened to meet his general. She waved him away with a negligent hand and an almost nonexistent wink. Understanding, the captain backtracked, checking on those soldiers she’d met and boosting their spirits, walking a fine line between commiserating with them and supporting her actions.

Once Azrael completed the circuit, she made her way to the prisoners. The women and children were behind a fence. A lean to had been fashioned to give them some shade and shelter and many utilized it as the sun rose in the sky. Despite the seriousness of their situation, the younger children ran back and forth in a game of catch, kicking a ball of rags between them. Surrounding the enclosure, a squad of her guard kept careful watch.

Again she made the rounds with the soldiers. These, however, received praise and the occasional faint smile as she passed. The elite of her army, the Angels of Death held a special place. They were the most loyal to Azrael, proven in many trials over the years, and enjoyed a higher level of confidence from a woman who rarely trusted.

At midday, Azrael went to the mess tent, going through the food line with her soldiers. It was easier to keep a thumb on the pulse of her soldiers when she mingled with them and the general did so often. She settled at the officers’ table, surprising a handful of lieutenants in detailed discussions of their prowess the night before. After a pleasant greeting, the general ate in silence, the junior officers soon forgetting her presence as they continued their ribald jokes.

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.