On Azrael's Wings Read Free Page B

“Prepare yourself.”
    Gritting his teeth, nails digging into the pole, the captain nodded. “I am ready, Lord.”
    She brought the whip forward with a snap. A welt blossomed across Atol’s shoulders and he jerked at the contact. With careful precision, Azrael created a latticework of red lines across the pale flesh, each gently welling blood. Her goal was not to maim, simply to ensure Atol would be more diligent, and the lashes weren’t as powerful as they could have been. The captain remained steadfast, neither flinching nor crying out against the pain, though anyone within earshot would know full well what was transpiring.
    After the final lash, Azrael coiled the whip and stepped forward. Atol remained in place as he gathered his strength to move. He found himself looking into the cold black eyes of his general.
    “Pay attention to your men. Do not neglect their discipline again.”
    He croaked, stopping to clear his throat before repeating with a shaky voice, “Aye, Lord.”
    The eyes warmed. “It takes great courage to submit, Atol. You’ve done well.”
    He sighed, his body finally relaxing. “Aye, Lord. Thank you.”
    Azrael returned to her chair, tossing the whip onto the table. She knew that Atol would now be more observant of his men and a stronger officer. As if the flogging had not occurred, she took a gulp of her wine and looked at the captain of the Fourth Cohort. “Tenango?”
    Atol walked steadily to his chair and eased into his tunic with a grimace. The others ignored him as they listened to the woman speaking. There would be no further mention of the incident. Their general despised the backstabbing chaos within the ranks of other armies and had no tolerance for it under her command.
    “Unfortunately,” Tenango reported, “fire in the bakery destroyed everything there, significantly damaging the structures on either side. We collected quite a bit of foodstuffs from the cellar of the headman’s house.” The captain scratched at an old scar on her upper arm. “As Atol mentioned, we’ve plenty of arms from the smithy. I would suggest a systematic sacking tomorrow. We can scrounge enough wagons for the goods.”
    “You’ve left a guard?”
    ”Aye, Lord. They’ve orders to kill looters.” Tenango shook auburn hair away from her eyes. “Don’t think it’ll be an issue until tomorrow night. Anyone in the area with any sense will no doubt steer clear until we’ve gone.”
    Azrael nodded, finally turning to the last captain. “Suma?”
    As tall as Idonatra, the leader of Azrael’s personal guard was of fair complexion and clean-shaven. His long, blond hair was braided as his general’s and he held himself at attention almost as second nature. “The prisoners are counted and we’ve documented them.” He slid a parchment from his belt and handed it to Azrael.”There are twenty-four women and eighteen children to include those brought in by Razzu.”
    “Where’s the priest?” the general asked, glancing at the list.
    “Held separately. I thought it best to keep him detained until we leave.” While the religious order abhorred violence, the priest would give his life attempting to sneak prisoners from impending danger.
    “Good.” Azrael tossed the list aside. “Separate the women from the children for tonight.”
    “Aye, Lord.”
    The general looked around the table. “Anything else?”
    An assortment of negatives answered her.
    “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