Authors: D Jordan Redhawk
Frustrated and tired, Ursula now rode with Midia. The mending completed long ago, the two kept busy polishing brass and leather, ensuring their mistress cut a dashing figure in her armor. There was one soldier left with them, the other two having been pronounced fit enough to return to their cohorts. Other than the occasional request for water, he left the women be, not wishing to incite his general’s wrath.
Around them the countryside changed. There were fewer farmsteads and more towns, the land leveling from mountainous terrain. Traffic increased though the road wasn’t yet wide enough to allow anyone to pass easily. The army had priority, forcing local travelers and merchants to pull aside and allow Azrael’s men to pass. Ursula eyed the wayfarers, amazed at the fine clothing of the merchants wearing material and colors she’d never imagined.
Well before the midday meal, commands were called and the column ground to a halt. Curious, Ursula looked up from the boot she polished, craning her neck to see what was going on. She was startled to see the walls of a city, having been so busy with her task and some rather bawdy thoughts that she hadn’t noticed their approach.
“Where are we?” she asked.
Midia cast a knowledgeable eye at the walls. “I believe we’ve arrived at Provey,” she said, beginning to gather the items they’d been cleaning. “Now we’ll wait for a bit until Lady Azrael has met with the magistrate and arranged billeting for her army.”
“What then?” the brunette said, looking at her friend.
“Tomorrow will be spent at the auctioneer’s block and then a state dinner in the evening, no doubt.” Finished putting things away, Midia dusted her hands. “Our mistress is very important. The magistrate will do whatever possible to curry favor.”
Ursula blinked. “Important?” she asked.
“She’s fourth in line for the throne.”
Azrael heaved a sigh as the officious magistrate finally trundled off with his retinue. Her captains echoed the sentiment, Razzu going so far as to wipe imaginary sweat from his brow, receiving a grin and wink from Tenango.
“Your orders, Lord?” Suma asked.
The general turned her mount to look over her officers and army. “Set up camp there,” she said, pointing at a small rise. “I don’t want to be too close to the walls or road. Full camp. Set up the tents. We’ll be here two or three days; no need for the men to be without shelter.”
Leaning forward eagerly, Razzu asked, “And what of leave? The men could stand some amusement, I’m sure, and we won’t need three hundred to keep our perimeter.”
“Very true,” Azrael said. She paused long to consider, more to tease the officers than any thought to the contrary. “All right, see to your cohorts,” she finally said, smiling at the gust of sighs as the captains released their collective breath. “I don’t want more than twenty from each cohort away at a time.”
“Aye, Lord.”
“You’ll all be required to attend the state dinner tomorrow night,” Azrael added. Over the groans she continued, “If I have to suffer the diplomatic functions, so shall you. At the very least I’ll be afforded some decent conversation.”
The five grumbled reluctant agreement, once happy faces downcast at the thought of a boring formal dinner.
“Suma, as you’re in charge of the prisoners, see the auctioneer this afternoon. I’d like to set up bidding for tomorrow and get them off our hands.”
“Yes, Lord Azrael.”
“Idonatra,” the general said, turning to the tall man. “I want you to go into the city and find merchants willing to take these goods. Atol will help you with negotiations - he’s our best haggler. Tenango and Razzu, you’ll oversee the camp and perimeter.” Seeing everyone understood their tasks, Azrael said, “Let’s get these men camped.”
“Aye, Lord.”
Rather than meet with the many political bootlickers housed in Provey, Azrael spent the afternoon sparring with the arms master. The sun was low when she headed for her tent, sweaty and relaxed from the martial exercise. It was quieter than usual and she assumed at least a sixth of her men were drinking and whoring inside the walls, no doubt complaining that bonuses wouldn’t be paid until the prisoners and goods were sold.
And that silly state dinner! Azrael kicked a stone with evident displeasure. Gods be damned! Why was it that every time she visited some boorish province she was forced to endure the political scrapping of the locals? She wasn’t even a direct heir to the throne, merely a cousin. The chances of Azrael coming to rule were astronomical.
Sighing she shook her head. Soon she would be home to enjoy several months of peace. Until then she’d act as befitted her station - a successful Lord and general.
“My Lord!”
Azrael turned to see Suma striding forward. “What news have you?”
The blond pulled a scroll from his belt and handed it to her. “Our bidding is tomorrow morning. The proprietor, Rawley, says to have the slaves there at first light.”
Azrael looked over the document. “Fifteen percent? Rather steep, isn’t it?”
Shrugging, Suma said, “Perhaps, but he’s one of the best in Provey. We’ll still turn a good profit.”
“All right. Have the prisoners delivered in the morning. You gave him my authorization?”
“Aye. He said all the papers were in order.”
“Good. I’ll attend the auction. See that I have four guards assigned to me,” Azrael said, rolling up the parchment. “Anything else?”
“No, Lord.”
The general clapped Suma on the arm. “Take some leave; you deserve it.”
“Aye, Lord,” the blond agreed with a smile. He bowed and retreated.
Azrael continued to her tent. To the guards she said, “Unless it’s one of my officers or an emergency, I’m not to be disturbed.” That at least would give her tonight without Provey visitors.
“Aye, Lord!”
Inside, she found her slaves kneeling. As usual, Midia had food and drink waiting. How the woman knew her mistress was approaching and get fresh food to the table before her arrival was a mystery Azrael had yet to solve.
She sat down and eyed Ursula. The brunette already anticipated Azrael’s touch; her flushed skin and quickened breath gave her away. Deciding to change tactics, Azrael said, “Midia, attend me.” The slight movement of Ursula at the unexpected order was not lost on the general.
“Aye, Milady,” the blonde said, rising. She filled a plate of food and set it before the dark woman.
“Have either of you eaten?” Azrael asked, accepting a mug of wine.
“No, Milady.”
Azrael grabbed the slave’s wrist and tugged her forward. “Do so,” she ordered, nibbling the tender wrist. “You’ll need your strength.”
Midia smiled and licked her lips. “Yes, Milady.”
Releasing the blonde, Azrael said, “Ursula, eat.”
“Yes, Milady.” The brunette rose and prepared a plate, head down.
As she ate, Azrael watched the dejection in Ursula’s stance and smiled. It was one thing to arouse a woman - an easy task when the proper actions were taken. It was quite another for the woman to actually desire the touch. Ursula wanted more kisses and touches, had apparently looked forward to them and was disappointed when they were not forthcoming.
Eating in silence, Ursula reviewed her behavior for the day, finding nothing lacking. She’d been obedient and truthful, had finished all tasks well and with an even temper. Why then was Midia attending their mistress this night? Was Lady Azrael tired of her so soon? Would she be sold with the others on the auction block? Were her kisses not sweet enough?
With supper finished, Azrael sent Ursula to the kitchen to return the dirty plates and retrieve a pot of hot water. Upon her return, the slave found Midia straddling their owner, arms entwined about the dark neck and kissing for all she was worth. It seemed to Ursula that her fellow body slave was doing the seducing, not the other way around.
Blushing scarlet, the brunette placed the bucket on a chest near the bed. In the other, she rummaged about until finding a cleansing salve, washing cloth and linen. Unsure of what to do, she knelt nearby.
It was difficult keeping her head bowed. With all the nighttime serenades Ursula had endured, the urge to verify her imaginings with reality was overwhelming. Cautiously, she peered at what was taking place before her.
Midia still straddled their mistress, but she sat straight, head thrown back as Azrael dined on her throat. Pale hands grasped dark skin and hair, inflaming the general. Beneath the slave’s translucent wrap, Ursula could see Azrael’s hands sliding along Midia’s skin, constantly moving, one disappearing forward between their bodies, another delving southward.
The table blocked her view and she gasped as she found herself craning her neck to see clearly. Flushing, Ursula ducked her head, swallowing hard against a dry mouth and praying she hadn’t been caught out.
Azrael, ever aware of Ursula’s attention, smiled at the fearful confusion in the slave. Whispering in Midia’s ear, she gave the blonde one more rousing kiss before releasing her. Rising, she said, ”Ursula, attend me.”
The brunette’s heart pounded, certain her wandering eyes had been noticed. “Yes, Milady.” She trailed her mistress to the hot water.
“Undress and bathe me.”
Drawing a shaky breath, Ursula whispered, “Yes, Milady.” Her hands trembled as she worked the laces of Azrael’s tunic, the steady stare of black eyes not easing her trepidation. As was her wont, the brunette chewed her lower lip as she drew the tunic over her mistress’ head.
Neatly folding the cloth, she gladly took respite in turning away to set it aside, brief as it was. Ursula sighed and returned to her task, swallowing hard as she attempted to ignore the dark skinned breasts before her.
Ursula fumbled with the leather ties of Azrael’s breeches, head down and hair hanging to hide her scarlet skin. When finished, the brunette paused, wondering if she should slide the breeches off from her mistress’ waist or tug them down at the legs. Azrael sensed her confoundment and took the slave’s hands, hooking their thumbs at the waistband and beginning the process.
Halfway down, the hands left hers and Ursula finished the task. She knelt to help Azrael out of the legs, a hand on her head balancing the woman. When finished, Ursula made the mistake of looking up, her gaze captured by the tuft of curly hair before her.
Several moments passed and Ursula was certain the gods had sucked out the air in the tent. She couldn’t breathe, or move. Her knees were rooted to the ground and she had a nearly overwhelming urge to lean forward and nuzzle her mistress.
Azrael watched the brunette carefully, forcing herself to wait, wiling Ursula to take the slightest initiative. The slave broke out of her reverie, glancing up with fearful eyes before hastily rising to her feet with the breeches.
“I’m sorry, Milady,” Ursula said, wringing the clothing more than folding it. “I don’t know what came over me.”
The tableau broken, Azrael said, “I do.” She turned Ursula’s face toward her, smiling at the now familiar consternation. “You’ll not have lips to kiss if you keep gnawing at them so.” Her grin widened when those lips suddenly stilled. “Go to bed, Ursula. Midia.”
Opening her mouth to protest, Ursula barely caught herself. “Aye, Milady,” she whispered, a knot in her throat. She finished folding the breeches, laying them down before trudging to her pallet. Eyes stung as she curled up on her side. What was wrong with her? Was she so unpleasant compared to Midia?
Ursula fought her tears, listening to the trickle of water and their murmurs.
Chapter Seven
Azrael woke before dawn, forcing herself out of the warm bed with dissatisfaction. Ursula helped her dress as Midia scared up a cold breakfast from the kitchen. They ate quickly, the slaves then working together to dress their mistress in her armor. A soft voice outside indicated all was ready and Azrael led her body slaves out of the tent.
The sky was graying in the east, the air crisp and cool. Seven mounts, saddled and waiting, were before the general’s tent. Their nickering and the ring of tack was muted as if purposely keeping silent until the sun arrived and proclaimed daybreak. All but one were warhorses and five had riders. Azrael took the reins of the sixth warhorse and waved at the sturdy pony. ”Midia, you and Ursula are to ride this one.”
“Yes, Milady.” The blonde took the reins from the handler and clambered up. She helped Ursula behind her, scooting forward to give the brunette more room.
Azrael swung into her saddle, the soldiers and Suma following her lead. She waved her captain forward and they led the way out of camp and toward the city gates.
“Good morning, Lord.”
“And to you, Suma,” Azrael acknowledged. “Did all go well this morning?”
“Aye, Lord. Twenty-four prisoners delivered to the auctioneer’s holding pens. All paperwork in order.” He inhaled the refreshing air. “I took the liberty of arranging for Ishtay priests to pick up the children. There’s an orphanage somewhere hereabouts.”
“Good work,” the general complimented.
Further discussion was delayed by their arrival at the gates. Guards there gave a cursory inspection, eyes lingering on the weapons before waving them through.
“Any word from Idonatra about the goods?” Azrael asked.
Suma shook his head. “No, Lord. He and Atol spent most the afternoon going over the inventory with several likely buyers. That’s all I know.”
The highest buildings began to glow with a patina of sunshine as the group traveled half deserted streets. Moving further into the city, they veered off the main street, cutting through smaller alleys. More people shuffled about in preparation for another day as the sun rose. Runners delivered messages and goods between early opening businesses. Beggars sported rags and various handicaps, some real and others not, looking for scraps to eat. Several shop keeps threw wide their doors and windows, displaying their goods on long tables outside.
Bypassing a drunken pair snoring in a gutter, Azrael’s party came into a large square. In contrast to the rest of the city, many shops appeared long open, doing brisk business with the gathering crowds. Sunlight crawled down one end of the square, illuminating a large wooden platform standing six feet high and the two men scrubbing it down.