On Azrael's Wings (3 page)

“All right. Keep a guard on the village. Tomorrow, Razzu and Idonatra, I want your men to sack it.”

“Aye, Lord.”

“Atol, see the surgeon tonight and make certain we have a wagon reserved for the wounded. We’ll be moving out in three days. Also, your men will be in charge of perimeter duty tomorrow.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Tenango, you’ll run sweeps for the day. Make yourself highly visible to discourage the curious.”

“Aye, Lord.”

Azrael’s gaze swept over her officers. “Enjoy tonight’s celebration but keep close eye on your men. I’ve authorized unlimited ale. Hopefully, the majority will get too drunk to play slap and tickle with the prisoners - there aren’t enough to go around.”

“We still have quite a few whores among the camp followers,” Suma reminded her.

“Truer words.” Azrael stood, the captains following her lead. “I want your written reports here by midday tomorrow.”

There was a chorus of agreement.

“Dismissed.”

Once her officers were gone, Azrael blew out a breath. She rolled her head, trying to ease the ache in her neck and shoulders.

The tent flap was pushed aside and two women entered, each carrying pieces of leather armor. After a glance at her slaves, Azrael sat down and began preparing a message for the king. In the meanwhile, Midia directed Ursula in the proper placement of their mistress’ armor, laying it out on linen to dry.

Quill scratching lightly on parchment, the general finished her missive, a short acknowledgement of their triumph scribbled on a long, thin strip. Azrael capped the inkwell and gently blew the writing dry. Rolling it into a tiny tube, she rose to see her slaves kneeling before the table, awaiting her attention.

“Midia?” she asked.

The blonde bowed her head and looked up. “Would you have us bring you food, Milady?”

Azrael considered the request, ears catching the sounds of soldiers enjoying newfound entertainment. “No, Midia,” she finally said. “It’s not safe tonight.” Her eyes fell on the new slave. “Ursula, come forward.”

Head ducking in surprise and fear, the slave silently rose and approached, her bare soles whisking lightly across the canvas floor. She paused in confusion, uncertain of the proper protocol, before dropping back to her knees at Azrael’s feet.

“Stand, Ursula.”

Doing so, the brunette found herself being circled by her harsh new mistress and she trembled.

Midia had done a fine job finding clothes for her new acquisition. The dress held more purple than burgundy, but it would do until something else was found. It was of a heavier material than Azrael cared for, but it clung in all the right places, bringing out Ursula’s well-rounded attributes. “You clean up well,” she said once she completed her circuit.

A blush crept up the slave’s neck.

Azrael felt an answering flush that had nothing to do with embarrassment. Stepping around Ursula, she went to the entrance and stepped out.

The flames of the bonfire were beginning to take hold, dancing orange light bathing the revelers. Azrael could smell roasted meat from the cook tents. The women prisoners were being forced to serve the meal and their cries and whimpers were drowned out by soldiers’ laughter.

Turning to one of her guard, Azrael held out the message. “See this gets out immediately,” she said.

“Aye, Lord.”

“Have someone bring food for three to my tent.” She paused. “And bring a pallet from the surgeon’s.”

“Yes, Lord, as you wish.” The soldier saluted and ran off, another solidifying out of the darkness to take his place.

Azrael entered her tent, pleased to see Ursula had remained in place during her absence. Seating herself at the table, she waved Midia forward with a murmured, “Attend me.” As her body slave poured fresh wine, the general continued gazing at the brunette standing before her. “You say you have been a slave for two years.”

Ursula whispered, “Yes, Milady.”

“Yet you have few scars. Were you so good that beatings were unnecessary?” After taking the cup from the blonde, Azrael pulled Midia onto her lap.

“I... Apparently so, Milady,” the blonde said, blushing.

Azrael drank from her cup, setting it down to free her hand. She caressed Midia’s bare thigh as she spoke. “Who owned you? What were your duties?”

“I was owned by a man who had me stay with his elderly mother, Milady. She... she was a seamstress in the village and I helped her sew. She wouldn’t leave her home to join her son on his farm.” A loud roar of excitement from outside caused Ursula to flinch.

“No worries, girl. They don’t have the heart or balls to come in here.”

“Aye, Milady,” Ursula said, her shaking voice barely above a whisper.

“Lord Azrael!”

“Enter.”

A soldier held aside the tent flap for three of his companions to bring in their burdens. One carried a large platter of food, the roasted meat still steaming. Another bore a tray with various fruits and two ewers. The third dragged in a pallet.

“Put the food and drink on the table,” Azrael ordered, “and the pallet next to my bed.”

“Aye, Lord.”

Once all was in order, she sent them away, pushing Midia from her lap. “Fix my plate and then eat,” she instructed.

Smiling, Midia paused to kiss her mistress on the cheek. “Yes, Milady. Thank you.”

“Ursula, eat your fill.”

“Yes, Milady.” Despite the order, the blonde waited until Azrael had been served and Midia waved her forward. Hands shaking, Ursula took only a tiny portion of roast and an apple, pulling back from the platter.

“I don’t withhold food, girl,” Azrael growled, dark eyes flashing her displeasure. “You certainly cannot survive on that. I said eat your fill.”

Ursula’s voice was barely a whisper. “Aye, Milady.” She edged back to the platter, adding a wedge of yellow cheese and steamed vegetables to her plate.

Satisfied, the general began eating her dinner, looking over the reports littering her table. Midia settled at the other end of the table and, after a moment’s hesitation, so did the brunette. Silence reigned, diametrically opposed to the chaos on the other side of the thin tent walls.

Stomach full, Azrael stretched her back before shoving her plate toward the nearly empty platter. She drained her mug and scooped up the fresh ewer of wine from the tray before rising. “Ursula, you’ll sleep on the pallet. Wait,” Azrael said, stopping the brunette from discarding her half eaten dinner. “When you’re finished eating and not until. Understood?”

“Yes, Milady.” Ursula sank back into her chair.

“Midia.”

The blonde’s face slid into a slow grin. “Yes, Milady,” she said to the unspoken command.

Azrael moved to her bed, setting the ewer and cup on one of the chests. Removing her clothes, she sat on the mattress, untying her braid and brushing out it with her fingers.

Midia helped Ursula clean up their dinner, bringing the platter to the door and handing it to a guard. As the new slave timidly approached the pallet near her new owner, Midia set about snuffing the lanterns.

In the darkness, Azrael felt the warmth of her slave sliding onto the bed and she sighed, relaxing for the first time all day. Turning her head, she searched for and found welcoming lips.

On the floor, a few feet away, Ursula curled into a ball and squeezed her eyes shut at the sounds of pleasuring from both outside and in.

Chapter Three

Azrael felt the slave slip out of bed well before dawn. Accustomed to these early morning disappearances, she drifted back to sleep, ignoring the soft whispers and rustling cloth. Had there been an emergency, the general would be instantly alert, weapon in hand.

Somewhat later, Midia eased under the blankets. Her skin, chilled by early morning air, felt good against Azrael’s bed warmth. She pulled the slave close, callused hand gently buffing cool flesh. Midia shivered and snuggled nearer. Sleepy caresses became stimulating, quiet breaths easing into gasps and moans. Azrael took her slave with single-minded intensity, reveling in the familiar sounds and tastes and smells until they both came, clutching each other.

Drowsing once more, muscles languid from the pleasant exertion, Azrael’s ears picked up the sounds of a waking camp. In the distance, men called to one another as they rousted themselves for the day. A cook was swearing a blue streak over the celebration’s aftermath. A yelp from his slave indicated a cuffing as the cook urged him to greater haste in cleaning the kitchen.

The pressure in Azrael’s bladder intensified, not allowing her to fall back asleep. Disgruntled at nature’s call, she sighed and stretched, enjoying the feel of Midia against her. Many didn’t allow their slaves to remain in their bed after sex. Azrael, however, enjoyed the sensations of another heartbeat near hers in the night. A jaw-cracking yawn forced the general to throw off her covers and sit up.

On the pallet, Ursula scrambled to her feet, hastily grabbing at a thick robe to offer her mistress. Fear making her clumsy, she nearly dropped the garment.

Azrael felt a stirring in her belly at the woman’s beauty; it was more evident in daylight regardless of the ugly bruise marring her face. Rising, she allowed Ursula to dress her in the robe, pulling the belt tight herself. Turning, she took the brunette’s chin and tipped it until amber eyes looked into hers. “I’m strict but not unreasonable, Ursula. There’s no need to fear me unless you disobey my commands.”

The eyes darted about in a vain attempt to avoid the piercing gaze. “Aye, Milady.”

Soft breath against her face, Azrael closed her eyes and inhaled. Her bladder twinged and she released the slave, stepping away. “Midia, get dressed and help Ursula bring breakfast,” Azrael said, heading for the curtained corner that held the chamber pot.

“Yes, Milady.”

Bladder relieved, Azrael took a few moments to wash before settling in her chair to sort through the previous day’s parchment. Later in the day, she would bring them all together into a final report for the King. The missive last night was sent by carrier pigeon; this detailed version would go a more traditional route with messengers on horseback.

“Milady!”

Instantly on guard at Midia’s tone, Azrael reached for a nearby dagger as the slave burst into the tent.

“Milady! The soldier won’t leave Ursula be! He thinks she’s one of the prisoners!”

“Where?” the general asked, leading the way outside.

“This way, Milady!” Midia hurried away, closely pursued by her mistress. The guards, seeing their general wasn’t wearing armor or proper weapons, followed.

Midia led the way to the cook tent, passing the main entrance to swing around back. Those soldiers up and around watched them go, glad they weren’t the cause for the black expression on their general’s face.

“There, Milady,” she said, blue eyes wide as she pointed.

Ursula was being held in the clutches of a man who was attempting to get a kiss. Despite her squirming, she was unable to escape his strong arms and resorted to thrashing her head back and forth to avoid his lips.

“Aw, come on, wench!” the soldier growled good naturedly, squeezing her tighter and running a hand up her body. “It’s just a kiss! It’s not like you didn’t receive even more last night from the looks of ye!”

“Release her.”

Startled, the soldier glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening at the sight of his commanding officer flanked by two of her guard. His jaw dropped and his hands flew from Ursula as if burned. “L... Lord Azrael,” he stuttered, saluting.

The general waved Midia forward, waiting for her to collect the terrified slave before doing anything more. Once the women were safely behind her, she stepped forward, twirling the dagger in her hand idly.

Watching the blade’s lethal spin, flashing in sunlight, the soldier swallowed heavily and came to attention. The woman before him might only be dressed in a robe, but he had no doubt his life could be forfeit, personal guard or no.

“Tenango’s cohort, yes?”

“Aye, Lord.”

Azrael nodded. “I’ve yet to make an announcement to my army regarding my new body slave, Ursula.” The dagger stilled, pointing behind her at the brunette cowering in Midia’s arms before returning to its maneuverings. “Until I do, know that she is off limits to everyone but me. Is that understood?”

“Aye, Lord!”

“Good. I’d appreciate it if you’d pass the word in the meantime...?”

His odds of survivability increasing, the soldier nodded emphatically. “Aye, Lord! I’d be honored!”

Studying him for a long moment, Azrael gave an answering nod. “Inform your comrades if anyone touches her, they’ll suffer the same fate as those three yesterday.”

He blanched. All had heard of the ones from Atol’s cohort who had disobeyed orders. Forcing away the urge to cover his manhood, his voice was less than exuberant as he answered, “Aye, Lord.”

“See to it.” Azrael waved him off, turning away. A slight grin touched her lips as she heard him stumble away fast as his feet would carry him. She focused on her slaves with a sigh, black humor fading. “Ursula, Midia, return to your task. A guard will remain with you until you return to my tent.” Azrael glanced over her shoulder and one of the soldiers nodded, stepping toward the two women.

“Aye, Milady,” Midia said, urging the brunette in her arms to move along.

Azrael was halfway through a breakfast of biscuits, boiled grains and left over roast when she heard a request for admittance. She waved Midia and Ursula away from the table, waiting for the slaves to settle on the other side of the tent with their plates before calling entry.

Wary and frazzled, Captain Tenango stepped in, stopping in front of her general. “Lord Azrael, I came as soon as I heard. There was trouble with one of my men...?”

“The incident was minor,” Azrael said, waving it off nonchalantly. “Mistaken identity. He had no knowledge of Ursula’s place in my household and thought to take liberties.”

Tenango bowed, her face a study in consternation. “Please accept my apologies on his behalf.”

Sitting back, dark eyes watched the officer. “No apologies necessary. As I said, it was a simple error. The soldier deserves no punishment for his actions.” She paused. “I’m impressed to see your haste in attempting to correct this state of affairs, however. It indicates a keen sense of responsibility for your troops.”