Free On Azrael's Wings by D Jordan Redhawk

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.
    “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