On Azrael's Wings (8 page)

“We have a balcony there,” Suma said, pointing to a building near the stage. “They’ve a stable round the side.”

Ursula gawked at everything having never seen so large a place. She noted where the captain was pointing and realized several buildings had spacious balconies. Rich looking individuals already occupied many of them, lounging in comfort above the burgeoning crowd as they nibbled pastries and watched the comings and goings.

Azrael guided her mount to the building, her armed attendants keeping beggars at bay. Nodding to the occasional merchant or lordling who acknowledged her, she otherwise ignored the local power structure. Tonight’s dinner would give them plenty of time to ply her with false flattery and wine in ridiculous attempts to gain the King’s ear.

The owner, a razor thin man who bowed repeatedly, met them at the entrance, expressing his undying gratitude and happiness at the Lord’s visit to his fine establishment. As Azrael and her group dismounted, he frantically waved for a couple of boys to take the mounts. Flushing with pleasure, he led them into the tavern, escorting them up the stairs and to a room at the end of the hall.

Two of her guard entered first, scouting it out while Azrael remained in the hall, assuring the man that no insult was intended to the security of his business. It was simply normal procedure to guarantee her safety in this day of rebels and revolutionists. Mollified, the thin man returned to bowing and smiling, asking if he should have food and drink sent up.

Suma turned him down as the guards proclaimed all was well, allowing his general to enter unmolested. He paid the owner and sent him on his way, requesting they not be disturbed.

Azrael breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed, shaking her head. She preferred remaining with her troops or being home to dealing with the bloated importance of the aristocracy or the obsequious blather of common folk. In her army, her troops respected her for her prowess and ability to lead; at home, she’d earned the loyalty of her servants and slaves and returned it. In either case life was simpler and far more pleasant.

The room was smaller than Ursula expected, wide double doors opening out onto a balcony that was a bit larger. She assumed the establishment’s claim to fame was its proximity to the auction block rather than food or service and was utilized accordingly. A bed and table hugged the left wall with several cushions piled in one corner. To the right were a desk and a handful of chairs scattered about on an elaborate woven carpet.

Azrael went out on the balcony, two guards flanking her as they took position on either side of the doors. Midia urged Ursula to help her move a padded chair out to their mistress. As soon as she was seated, the two slaves bustled about, making things more acceptable for a Lord and general. The bedside table was placed beside Azrael and several cushions were strewn around the chair, many piled high enough in front of her to form a makeshift footstool.

“Lord Azrael, I’ve instructed a man to bring food and drink,” Suma said at his general’s shoulder. “I told him to select random vendors.”

“Good.” Azrael waved her slaves to the cushions on either side of her. “Will you stay for the bidding?”

“No, Lord,” Suma said. “I’ll see to the children’s release then return to pick up the proceeds from the auction. A full accounting will be on your desk before midday.”

The dark woman lounged backward, indolence in every line as she set a booted foot against the railing, playing her audience on the other balconies. “Very good, Captain. Dismissed.”

Bowing, the blond man backed away and disappeared.

Ursula, seated at her mistress’ left, gawked at her surroundings. In the time it had taken to get settled on the balcony, the crowd had grown by half again. The mass of humanity milled about, buying food from wandering peddlers, chattering and yelling to one another, or doing as she was by simply watching others. On the platform, the cleaners left and a handful of jugglers took their place to entertain prior to the auction. The sun marched higher and the brunette was glad for the awning above; already beginning to warm, it promised to be another hot day.

A hand on hers startled Ursula and she jerked, seeing Midia pointing toward the room. With a nod, she followed and found that Suma’s soldier had returned. The desk held a large platter of food - slivers of fruit in small pastry cups, clever webs of sticks that held still sizzling fried trout, an assortment of cheeses of all colors, several varieties of bread plus thinly sliced meats. Amazed at the obvious work that went into some of the items, Ursula was loath to spoil their beauty. She caught a wink from Midia and grinned at her foolishness, preparing a plate for their mistress as the blonde left to serve Azrael tea.

Bringing the laden plate, Ursula set it on the table and curtseyed. “Milady.”

“Thank you, Ursula. Be seated.” Glancing over her shoulder, Azrael said, “Swordsmen, help yourselves.”

A chorus of agreement met her ears and she could hear the two guards inside availing themselves of her generosity. Cups and plates were passed to the two outside.

“Midia, Ursula, you as well. It would be a shame to waste these artistic endeavors,” Azrael said, taking a bite of thick brown bread.

“Yes, Milady.”

With delighted eagerness, Ursula picked over the platter, adding bits and pieces of things she’d never seen or tasted before. Soon she was seated on the balcony, plate in hand, a mug of water placed nearby.

Despite having breakfast, the brunette cleaned her plate, finding many new favorite foods in the process. She stopped once to refill Azrael’s plate but was otherwise left undisturbed. Finished, Ursula drained her mug and rose. “Would you like anything else, Milady?”

“No, I’m well, Ursula. Thank you.”

Upon returning her plate inside, the slave couldn’t help but pinch one more piece of white cheese before refilling her mug. Once more she returned to kneel by her mistress.

“Heilsa!”

The noise from the crowd died down as a man stepped onto the platform. He was barrel chested and bandy legged, an incongruous combination more likely belonging to a crippled beggar than a successful trader. Dressed in linen, he shuffled about with arms held high as he gained the audience’s attention.

“We are well met today, fellow citizens,” he called. “I’ve twenty-four fine women from Lord Azrael!” The auctioneer waved at her balcony before bowing deeply.

Azrael paused from picking her teeth, saluting in acknowledgement with one of the sticks used on the fish.

“Additionally, I have an assortment of field and household slaves available, two with brick layer experience.” Rawley continued his circuit of the platform. “Later, three beautiful pleasure slaves have been brought for your attention. I am told that their dancing will suck you dry long before their lips touch your flesh.” Grinning at the round of guffaws, the trader said, “It’s time to begin!”

Puzzling over the joke, unable to comprehend why it was funny, Ursula watched as several women were led to the platform. All were naked save iron shackles and collars that adorned wrist and neck, linking them together. Their flesh was bone white where clothes once covered them. Shivering and mewling, they were lined up by a handful of guards for all to see.

The first in line was pushed forward and the trader began cajoling her virtues. “Firm flesh, strong back and legs. She’s pretty enough and has most her teeth. I’m told she’s good with children and baking. What am I bid for her?”

As men called out their price, Ursula’s mouth fell open in recognition. The woman being sold was the baker’s wife from Theara. Her eyes traveled down the line of women, finding them all from her village. It occurred to her the only reason she was not alongside them was because of three soldiers who tried to rape her. Only her mistress’ intervention had saved her from this public degradation.

Unable to breathe, Ursula gasped and sat forward. It was one thing to know the surviving women would be sold. The reality of the situation, however, was far too much for her and she struggled against fainting.

A warm hand caressed her back and she heard someone calling. Turning her head, Ursula fell into concerned dark eyes.

“Ursula?” Azrael said. “I swear, if she’s been poisoned I’ll have your head,” she growled at the soldier who had retrieved the food. “Ursula! Look at me. What’s wrong?”

The brunette swallowed, feeling sobs well up in her throat. “I… I was almost…” She stopped and inhaled deeply. “She had a son and a baby.”

Frowning at the non-sequitor, sudden comprehension filled Azrael’s eyes. “Ah… I wasn’t thinking,” she admitted. With a shake of her head, she held her cup to the slave’s lips. “Drink a bit.”

Ursula obeyed, sweet mint cutting through the dry ash in her mouth.

“Here now. Turn around and lean against me. There’s no need for you to watch.”

Laying her head on her mistress’ thigh, Ursula sighed and let tears take her. Soon she felt comforting hands caressing her hair. A towel was put in her hands and the brunette used it to hide her face.

Eventually her tears died down, Ursula’s chest hitching as she inhaled, eyes red and swollen. Azrael’s fingers continued to run through her hair and she relaxed into the sensation. She could hear the bidding, but not seeing the activity allowed her the luxury of self-deception.

“Better?”

Chagrined, Ursula swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Milady.”

“Up here then.”

The passing thought of punishment flickered away when the slave saw Azrael’s caring expression. She settled on her mistress’ lap, surprised to find warm arms surrounding her. Harkening to her childhood, Ursula sighed and closed her eyes, laying her head on a strong shoulder. “Thank you, Milady.”

“You’re welcome, Ursula. Rest now. It’ll soon be over.”

The many sleepless evenings had caught up with her. Ursula was uncertain how much time had passed before she felt a gentle shake. Warm and comfortable, the sense of complete safety permeating her soul made it difficult to wake.

“Ursula.”

The brunette shook her head, trying to burrow deeper.

“Ursula. It is finished. We must go now.”

Dragging herself awake, memory crashed in upon Ursula and she sat upright with a gasp. She was still on her mistress’ lap, still on the balcony overseeing the auction of people she knew. With a hasty glance at the platform, she was relieved to see an assortment of strangers. Belatedly realizing she’d fallen asleep on the general, Ursula swung around, blushing furiously. “Milady! I’m sorry!”

Amused, Azrael cupped a sleepy cheek with a smile. “No worries, Ursula. We must go now.”

Swallowing, the slave nodded and stood, face blazing as she straightened her dress.

“Midia,” the general asked as she rose, “can you find your way back to camp without the pony?”

”Aye, Milady,” the blonde said. “We’re camped near the east gate, yes?”

“Yes.” Azrael dipped into a pouch at her belt, handing the slave a few coins. “Find something nice for Ursula to wear. She’ll attend tonight’s dinner with me.”

“Yes, Milady.”

With a negligent wave, the dark woman ignored Ursula’s wide-eyed expression and added, “Use the excess for whatever you wish.”

“Yes, Milady. Thank you.”

Ursula watched the general and her guard leave with no further word. Still feeling somewhat hollow from the weeping, she sighed and rubbed her face.

“Are you all right now?” Midia asked, laying a companionable arm over the brunette’s shoulder.

Ursula grimaced. “I feel empty and foolish, but I’m fine.”

The blonde hugged her close. “Lady Azrael was miserable. She simply wasn’t thinking. Usually she’s much more sensitive.”

“Sensitive?” Ursula demanded, her emotions taking their toll. Pulling away from the embrace, she turned her back to Midia. “It was hardly sensitive letting those poor women be raped and sold like cattle! I was in the village that day! I saw how her sensitive nature allowed her to brutalize everyone there!”

“What was done was necessary.”

“Hah!” the brunette gave a bitter laugh. “Impaling men before their mothers and wives and children isn’t necessary. Neither is having the women raped.” She was startled to silence when Midia grabbed her shoulder and whirled her about.

“Until you’ve seen three hundred men in battle lust I doubt you’ll understand. But know that our mistress must keep control of her troops! If she denied them, they would rebel and no one would be safe.” Eyes flashing, Midia stepped closer, forcing Ursula to back away from her anger. “You saw how those women were treated on the auction block today. Do you think it would have been easier for them if they hadn’t been broken days earlier?”

The change of subject undermined her rage as Ursula considered the question. She thought of Jenka, the innkeeper’s wife - bold, outspoken, just as likely to wade into a brawl as her husband. Or Yellan, oldest daughter of the smith, who had raised her siblings single handedly after their mother died, forthright and blunt as her father. Both women were very firm in their convictions and very likely to voice them. And they were the mildest of the lot.

Their indignant complaints on the platform would have resulted in severe punishments. Some would not have survived the whippings. All of them would go to their new owners full of fire and righteous indignation, something no slave could afford.

“Yes, you’re beginning to understand,” Midia said. “Life isn’t fair. As a slave you know that, but your life has been easy compared to many. You have no basis for comparison.” The blonde sighed, anger fading. “Our mistress does what’s necessary to keep her position and honor regardless of how horrible it may seem. You’d do well to remember that.”

Ursula, completely deflated, watched as the blonde walked to the door and opened it.

”Come along. We’ve much to do to ready you for tonight’s dinner.”

Chewing her lip, the brunette fought the urge to cry again as Midia left the room. With a sigh, she followed.

Chapter Eight

“Very nice,” Midia said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Lady Azrael will be pleased.”

Ursula stood uncertainly in the middle of the tent. Her dress had given way to a silk burgundy gown that left one shoulder bare. A long hemp belt, dyed a darker shade, wrapped twice about her waist, the tasseled ends hanging down her left leg. Delicate sandals laced up her calf, peeking from beneath the cloth as she moved. At her wrists copper flashed, an assortment of bracelets catching candlelight.