The Azimar Archives Book One- The Book of Death

Ferrand

Ferrand untied his breeches, motioning for the young girl with him to drop to her knees. She did, eyes wide and terrified. Ferrand could feel himself grow a little harder at the sight.

"Do it properly," he crooned to the girl, "or your family will regret it."

"Y-yes, sir."

Ferrand watched as she began working. She wasn't great, but this was an easy enough thing to teach, given more time. In a few more weeks, a month perhaps, and she could be the best on this street.

He twisted his fingers through her hair, wishing it were lighter. His touch startled the girl, but she never stopped.

She gagged at the end. Ferrand could feel the muscles of her mouth and throat working as she tried to keep from vomiting. But he held her close, pulling her too-dark hair to keep her from pulling away.

"Swallow," he commanded, voice low.

She did as she was told. They all did, eventually.

He released her, and she immediately stood and bolted from the room. Ferrand followed her out, fastening the lacing of his bottoms once more. He could hear voices from the next room, and when he entered he saw the girl curled up against her mother, who held both arms around her protectively, staring at Ferrand with a delightful mix of anger and fear. And the father... Ferrand let out a low sigh at the sight of the father standing just inside the doorway with Ajax.

"Ajax, I wondered when you might start sticking your nose in places you shouldn't."

Ajax's eyes narrowed on spotting him. "Ferrand. I'd heard you were running over this area of the city." His glance shifted briefly to the girl, who was sobbing loudly into her mother's shoulder. "Here to coerce another man into giving over his daughter to you?"

Ferrand smirked. "I do not coerce, Ajax. I simply offer an alternative that they would not normally consider." The father shifted uncomfortably, fists clenching rhythmically. Ferrand looked him over, weak limbed and doughy around the middle. "I'll return tomorrow for the money you owe." He made for the door, but Ajax stepped into his path.

"How much do they owe?"

Ferrand smiled, glancing from Ajax to the father. "Seven gold pieces."

The father instantly protested. "Seven! You said moments ago that it was five!"

Ferrand sighed, eyes falling to the weeping girl. "Your lovely daughter managed to convince me otherwise."

The father balked, stuttering curses. But Ajax only reached out and slapped a small handful of coins into Ferrand's hand. "There's five."

Ferrand closed his fingers around the money, once more looking between father and daughter. "I'll return tomorrow for the rest." He stepped around Ajax, moving for the door once more.

"No, you won't." Ajax hand tightened around Ferrand's upper arm, and Ferrand stopped to look the former commander over. "I came to tell you that tax collection is now a duty of the Peace Guard. You will have no business at this home tomorrow, or any other day, Ferrand."

Ferrand took a slow breath, fighting the urge to snap Ajax's wrist. His looked first from the former commander to the father, who stood motionless in the doorway, then to the wife and daughter behind him, huddled together like a pair of rats in winter. "Very well." He pulled his arm free of Ajax's grasp and turned his back on the family. "Come back to the barracks and have a drink with me, Ajax."

"I'd rather not." There was a derisive tone to his words that did nothing to please Ferrand.

"It wasn't a request," Ferrand called over his shoulder. Ferrand continued walking, and after a few silent seconds, Ajax growled and followed.

The barracks were close by, only a few hundred paces away, across the nearly empty square that stood at the end of the street.

Ajax followed in silence for only a few seconds, before matching pace with Ferrand and snarling at him. "She was just a little girl, Ferrand. You should have let her be."

Ferrand smirked, not looking at the man beside him. "The younger they are, the better they can be." He fingered the pommel of his new sword, enjoying the weight of it on his hip. "What is it they say? You can't teach an old bitch new tricks?"

"Great Ones take you, Ferrand," Ajax snarled.

"Come now, Ajax. I'm sure, given the opportunity, you would agree." Ferrand motioned towards the barracks, now looming before them. "Let's have a drink together, and we can discuss matters further."

Ajax begrudgingly opened the door to the barracks, and Ferrand pointed towards a pair of empty chairs at a table just inside the door. Ajax obediently fell into one of the chairs, still glowering at Ferrand. This room of the barracks was nearly empty, save for a Peace Guard hurriedly shoveling down his lunch. At the sight of Ferrand, the man stood and left, taking the last of his bread and cheese with him. From the corner of his eye, Ferrand saw the man give a curt nod to Ajax before he slipped through the door. The sight annoyed Ferrand. Even disgraced as he was, Ajax commanded more allegiance than Ferrand himself did. No matter... All will be forgotten, in time.

"Do you have a favorite drink, Ajax?" Ferrand asked, heading for the cupboard on the far wall.

"It's not the drink I normally care about, Ferrand," Ajax answered in a low voice. "It's the company."

Ferrand snorted. "Spoken like a true man of the people." He pulled down a chipped mug and a crystal wineglass from the cupboard. The first he filled with ale from a nearby keg, the liquid warm and pale brown. The second he filled with red wine, poured from a fresh bottle Ferrand had just purchased the day before. He placed the ale in front of Ajax and sat opposite him, sipping from the wine.

Ferrand lifted the wineglass to the light, watching the way the sunlight from the open windows played on the glass. From the corner of his eye, he could see Ajax watching him, his drink untouched. "I find, Ajax, that women can often be compared to alcohol."

"Oh?" Ajax's tone was unamused. He wrapped his hands around the mug, but still he did not drink.

"The comparison is a quite simple one, actually. I think even you might understand it." He set the glass down on the table, delighting in the way Ajax's eyes narrowed at the insult. "You see, most women are like that ale you have there. Nothing special, easy to make, but when you want a drink—" Ferrand shrugged a shoulder, leaning back in his chair to watch Ajax. "It'll work. It's better than nothing, anyway."

Ajax said nothing, his hands dropping from the mug to rest, palms down, on the table.

"I prefer white wine, myself." Ferrand continued, eyes on Ajax. "It takes talent to make white wine. In the end, you have something sweet, delicate, so easy to enjoy to it's fullest. But, for some reason, it's so hard to come by." Ferrand frowned, tracing a finger along the rim of his glass, making it hum nicely. "And then there are the reds."

Ajax only scowled at Ferrand.

"Not quite so good as white wine, but still far better than a regular old ale." Ferrand smirked, amused by the mixed expressions of disgust and hatred on Ajax's face. "A good red wine can be delightful. They're tart, yet palatable..." Ferrand paused, watching Ajax, "... and full bodied."

Ajax stood in one quick motion, knocking his chair to the floor. Ferrand only stared at the man as he glared down at him. There was a quiet moment, where the only movement was Ajax's jaw working as he bit back whatever words came to him. Finally, Ajax dipped in a bow to Ferrand, who smiled at the motion.

"Thank you for the drink, commander," Ajax managed around clenched teeth. "But the taste has gone sour, and I should be going." Ajax turned, reaching for the door.

"Ajax," Ferrand called, and the former commander stopped, hand on the door. "Tell your sister I said hello, would you? It's a shame I rarely see her. I might need to remedy that before the baby comes."

Ajax stormed through the door without a word. Ferrand smirked, sipping once more from his glass of red wine.