On Azrael's Wings by D Jordan Redhawk

The brunette paused, deep in thought. ”She was a nice enough woman if stubborn. Quick with both tongue and a needle - she taught me more of needlework than I ever knew existed!”
    Midia chuckled. “Then I’m fortunate to have you. As you see, Milady has great difficulty keeping her clothing in one piece,” she said, patting the sack of repairs.
    Tension relieved, Ursula smiled in response. “I can embroider and knit, as well.”
    “Beautiful! Worth your weight in gold.”
    Laughing, the pair continued mending in companionable silence. The meadow gave way to a forest, which in turn became cleared fields. Little was seen at the occasional homestead, the farmers wisely remaining away from the army marching past.
    “At formation, Lady Azrael said we were returning home,” Ursula ventured. “What’s it like?”
    “Sunny and warm,” Midia said. With a mock shiver, she continued, “Not as cold during the winter as it is here. Milady’s villa sits on a slight rise and the land is hers as far as the eye can see.”
    Ursula wondered aloud why a soldier, a general no less, would need so much property.
    “She farms, of course; acres of different types of wheat, groves of fruit trees. Why, Lady Azrael has an entire grove dedicated to several strains of pears alone.”
    Frowning, the brunette finished the shirtsleeve she was working on. “If she farms, why does she lead an army as well? Wouldn’t she prefer the peace to bloodshed?”
    Midia shrugged. “Aye, I think she does. She seems happiest when we’re home. But, she leads well and has obligations to the King. I doubt he’d allow her to retire without a fight.”
    Ursula blinked. It hadn’t occurred to her that their mistress might be just as enslaved as they were, chained to her liege as effectively as if iron circled her wrists and throat. The thought was disconcerting and she shied away from it, changing the subject. “Do you stay in Lady Azrael’s quarters? Or with your family?”
    “With my family. There are occasional nights that I’m called upon to remain with Milady, but not often.” Midia stretched, easing cramped fingers and glancing about their surroundings. “There are two other body slaves besides us, Felicia and Vincenza.”
    Following her lead, Ursula paused in her work. “Do they have families as well?”
    “No. They’re both young, though a bit older than you,” Midia said after carefully eyeing the brunette.
    “But...” Ursula frowned in thought, trying to reconcile the woman who would turn back to purchase a slave’s family with the one who would separate the very same family for a year or more at a time. “Why are you here then? Why didn’t she take one of the others so that you might remain with your husband and son?”
    Midia leaned forward and took Ursula’s hand. “It’s not as it seems,” she said. “Plainly put, it is my turn to accompany Milady on campaign. She alternates between the lot of us so that none suffer prolonged hardship.” The blonde smiled and winked, patting the olive skin beneath hers. “Besides, Petracal is fifteen. He needs his father now more than a nursemaid mother.”
    Further discussion was delayed as a halt was called. Midia briskly began packing up their repair work as the column ground to a stop, keeping the completed tasks separate from those items remaining. Orders were yelled from the front of the line and the soldiers fell out of formation.
    “Come along,” Midia said, rising to her feet. “We must see if Milady has need of us during the midday meal.”
    Late that afternoon the army made camp with the speed of long familiarity. Only the officers’ quarters and mess tent were erected; the main body of soldiers would sleep under the night sky. After all was settled, guard posts scheduled and manned, and a hearty stew served for supper, the men took to their blankets. Tomorrow and many days following would see more of the same. Exhausting as it was, the knowledge of returning home kept