Disclaimers: Please see Part 1 for disclaimers.
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.
"Aye," Razzu said, coming up on her. "This house has many items
such as that. A collector, apparently. It's been difficult packing as we try
to keep things from breakage."
A dark thumb caressed a raised rose. Turning it over, Azrael saw the mark of
its maker and wondered how many other pieces had been made by this artist. "It's
very beautiful." Returning the cup to its bag, she rewrapped it carefully
and tucked it into her tunic before closing the chest. "I'll see to Idonatra."
"Aye, Lord," the captain said, saluting. "He's on the eastern
edge of the village."
Nodding, Azrael turned her mount and trotted away.
Yelling and cursing guided her as she rounded a corner to see several men trying
to pull a struggling wagon team. The wagon was over loaded with goods, predominantly
iron, and the horses sweated and strained against the weight.
Idonatra, standing tall, was yelling the loudest, his face a deep red. He didn't
see the general until she was right up on him.
"Seems to me the solution is simple," Azrael said. "Lessen the
load."
"My Lord!" her captain exclaimed, hastily saluting. ''I know, Lord.
But this is our last wagon. All those tools and weapons..." His voice trailed
off, an almost wistful expression flickering across his face as he gazed at
the piled bounty.
"Perhaps the arms master has room for some. He's always complaining we've
never enough."
Idonatra's eyes lit up. "Very good, Lord! I'll send for him now!"
He waved one of his soldiers forward.
"Don't kill the horses for a few extra knives,'' Azrael said. "They're
worth far more than most of this."
"Aye, Lord. We'll lighten the load, maybe leave behind the raw iron once
the arms master has had his pick."
The general nodded. "I'll leave it in your capable hands, Captain."
"Thank you, Lord,'' Idonatra said distractedly, mind already on the problem.
As he gave his soldier a message, he was oblivious to his general's departure.
Still restless, Azrael patted the neck of her horse. "It's been a bit since
you've had a decent run, hasn't it?" Smiling at the answering snort, she
kneed the animal in the ribs, shooting forward down the road.
Clear of the village, she guided her horse through a copse of trees, bending
over his neck. Leaves and branches whipped past as they sped along and sod was
sent flying into the air by eager hooves. Past the trees, a hill rose before
them and Azrael urged her mount forward. Obediently, he raced to the top, muscles
flexing and bunching beneath her legs as he galloped. At the crest of the hill,
she pulled him to a halt, allowing him to prance about in a circle as she looked
over the valley.
The road ran along her left into the distance, folding back and forth as it
followed the lay of the land. A thick run of trees ran parallel on her right
a few lengths away, the two seeming to meet several leagues further. Azrael's
army sprawled between, from this distance looking more like a toy set than real
men and women.
Stamping his hooves, the horse yanked at his bridle and the general laughed.
"Quit too soon did we?" she asked. "Let's get you a drink then.''
With an uncharacteristic whoop, she spurred him forth once more, making for
the tree line.
Here the land was field and meadow. As they thundered through, a bevy of game
birds was startled from their hiding place, taking wing in a cloud of squawking
feathers. A creek bed, hidden by the folds of the land, opened up before her
and Azrael pushed forward, her mount flying as he leapt across. Again they were
among trees, dark shapes flickering past. The ground dipped, becoming rocky
as they burst through, splashing on the edge of a river. Clattering to a stop,
the steed snorted once more, sounding vaguely satisfied. Azrael chuckled and
gave him the reins, allowing him to sink his nose into the cool water and drink
his fill.
Deciding to join him, Azrael took a drink from the canteen on her saddle, sighing
as her thirst was quenched. She capped and replaced it, twisting in the saddle
to have a look around. The river was swift here, an inscrutable depth a few
lengths across. Looking much the same as any other she'd come across in her
travels, Azrael still felt a moment's peace with her surroundings. A soft musical
gurgle along the bank eased her soul and she had a sudden intense desire to
be home, listening to the soft trickle of water from her garden fountain.
Shaking off the nostalgia, Azrael gathered the reins and guided her horse to
the bank. With her knees, she asked for a slow walk and received it, relaxing
in the saddle as her mount took her upstream. Soon, she'd come to camp and return
to her duties. Until then, however, she intended to enjoy this brief interlude.
Some time passed before her thoughts were interrupted by the call of challenge.
Azrael gave the password and received permission to pass, ambling forward to
return the young soldier's salute. Now within the perimeter, she began to hear
the sounds of others - the clang of metal as men sparred, boisterous laughter
from a group telling stories, and a rhythmic splash of water just ahead.
Curious, Azrael kept her course along the river, coming from behind a clump
of dogwoods to see a small clearing and Midia washing clothes on the shore.
Ursula was noticeably absent and the general frowned. Spotting a guard, Azrael
nodded at his salute, jerking her head to indicate he should make himself scarce.
As he disappeared, Midia looked up, a smile blossoming on her face at her mistress'
appearance.
"Milady!" she called, standing to wave as Azrael approached.
Azrael waited until she was near enough to use her normal speaking voice. "Where's
Ursula? I sent her to you after formation this morning."
"She's there," the blonde assured her, pointing to a shaded area.
"She's asleep."
The general could see a form lying beneath a tree on a blanket, a satchel beside
it. Her black eyes narrowed. "Asleep? She's to help you, not lounge about."
Azrael started to guide her horse toward Ursula but stopped when Midia leaned
against her calf.
"It's not as it seems, Milady," she said, blue eyes wide. "The
surgeon gave her a tea and it makes her drowsy. Wouldn't it be better for her
to rest for the next two days? Until the tea is gone? She'll be sure to heal
faster."
Studying the slave for long moments, Azrael finally lifted an eyebrow. "You've
been thinking again, haven't you?"
Midia sensed the crisis had passed and smiled. "Only when it makes sense,
Milady."
Azrael chuckled and slid from her mount. "You have more sense than most
I know, Midia." She reached forward and pulled the blonde into her arms,
getting a mild struggle.
"I'm wet, Milady," Midia murmured.
Not to be put off, Azrael firmly pulled her close. "And I smell of horse.
I've got the better deal."
The slave relaxed into the embrace. "Is it true, Milady? The soldiers say
we'll be going home soon."
"Yes, it's true. It'll take three months or so to collect the rest of the
army but we should be home by harvest."
Midia sighed, a smile on her face. "I miss Petracal."
"He's probably grown a hand span," Azrael said. "He'll be an
insufferable young man looking for trouble if he's anything like his father."
"No doubt," the blonde agreed. "Jastus has probably been at wit's
end keeping up with him."
"It's only fair," the dark woman stated. "I've been at wit's
end keeping up with your husband for years." She smiled at Midia's giggle.
"Now, back to your task." Azrael stole a kiss for good measure before
releasing the slave.
"Yes, Milady," Midia curtseyed formally, a twinkle in her eye. "There's
an apple in the bag. And some bread and cheese," she said, picking her
way across the rocks to the wet clothing.
Nodding, Azrael led her horse to the blanket, draping his reins across a low
hanging branch nearby. Ursula was curled on her side, hand cupping her unwounded
cheek. The general scooped up the satchel and pulled out the fruit. Using her
dagger, she cut it into quarters and fed it to her mount, taking care to avoid
his eager teeth. When it was gone, he bumped his nose against her in demand
and she chuckled. "Don't be greedy. You've had enough."
A gasp and rustling announced Ursula's wakefulness and Azrael turned to see
the slave struggling to her feet, face flushed.
"Milady! I'm sorry! I don't know what happened!"
"Be still, Ursula," the general said, retrieving her canteen and moving
to the blanket. "Midia told me of the surgeon's concoction."
"Yes, Milady."
Amused at the woman's chagrin, Azrael settled down on the blanket, her back
against the bole of the tree. "Since you're awake, attend me."
Ursula blinked. "Yes, Milady." She knelt beside the general and grabbed
the satchel. "There's only bread and cheese, Milady," she said, pulling
the items out. The brunette unwrapped the cheese, breaking a chunk off and handing
it to her mistress.
"More than enough for my appetite," Azrael said, accepting it. She
bit into the tangy cheese and chewed, watching the slave fumble with the bread.
After receiving a piece, she said, "Come closer."
Swallowing, Ursula scooted nearer. She stiffened when her mistress scooped her
up with powerful arms. It was a struggle to not jump up from the lap she found
herself perched upon.
Azrael said nothing, simply watched Ursula as she ate. She enjoyed the reddening
of olive skin, the downcast amber eyes. It was with some surprise, the general
noted a red tint where sunlight hit mahogany hair. When Ursula finally appeared
to relax, she asked, "Are you hungry?"
The slave nibbled her lower lip before nodding in hesitation. "A little,
Milady."
Breaking off a bit of bread, Azrael held it out, pulling it back when the slave
tried to reach for it. "No."
Ursula dropped her hand, confusion flickering on her face before it cleared.
Again the uncertain nibble before she leaned forward to take the food from her
mistress' hand.
Azrael smiled as soft lips brushed her fingers. "Very good." She hand
fed the slave for the next several minutes, dark eyes catching every nuance
of Ursula's face as she ate. The bread was finished far too soon and she was
left with stroking the woman's thigh. Holding herself very still, Ursula looked
every bit the frightened bird preparing to take flight. The general refrained
from escalating matters, preferring her partners to not be terrified. Instead,
she continued the gentle caresses, not straying where she wanted to stray. It
appeared to have the desired effect as Ursula began to relax, her breathing
deepening and her eyes sliding closed.
The slave was unsure when matters changed. Fingers on her chin guided her head
and she opened her eyes, gaze spanning mere inches to her mistress' black irises.
Azrael closed the distance between them, taking Ursula's soft lips in a kiss.
It was rather one sided, but the general refused to leave things as they were.
She urged the woman in her arms to take action, teasing Ursula's lips. The response
was tentative but sweet and Azrael felt a heady rush of arousal. Using her tongue,
she tried to gain admittance but the slave whimpered and Azrael pulled back.
"What is it?"
Ursula, face red, ducked her head. "It's nothing, Milady."
Eyes flashing, Azrael growled, "Remember what I said about dishonesty,"
she warned. "I won't ask you again."
Anxious, the slave swallowed. "I'm sorry, Milady. It's just… my jaw…
it aches so…" Ursula cringed in the general's arms, awaiting punishment.
She was startled from her fears by the soft caress of knuckles along her unbruised
cheek.
Azrael waited until those intriguing amber eyes glanced up at her to speak.
"My eagerness to taste you has caused you pain. For that I apologize."
She smiled at the embarrassed blush. "I can wait for you to heal. And then,
I promise you, you'll be in my bed."
"Yes, Milady," Ursula whispered, a sliver of dread anticipation trickling
down her spine.
With a rueful grin and a sigh, Azrael leaned forward to kiss the brunette's
cheek before pushing her out of her lap. "I'd best return to camp. I've
work to do before we leave."
"Yes, Milady."
Azrael stood, dusting herself off and taking her horse's reins. Mounting, she
waved good-bye to Midia and trotted away.
Ursula watched her go, brow furrowed in puzzlement as she touched her cheek.