Bound to the Battle God

by Ruby Dixon

  I wring my hands. “What should I do?”

  He points to the far wall. “Stay out of my way.”

  “Right. I can do that.” I race over to the far side of the room, dumping the uneaten food on the floor and clutching the tray to my chest as a shield. I hate that there’s nothing useful weapon-wise in this room, but maybe that’s deliberate. It’s also a big stinking hint that the prelate’s up to no good.

  The door falls apart and two of the armored soldiers step in, swords in hand. Behind them are four more, and then a familiar face—the pear-shaped meathead of my old owner.

  Sinon. That bastard.

  “My Lord of Storms,” he says, bringing his dagger to his brow and tapping it there in a strange sort of salute. “You are not yourself. Forgive me for what I am about to do.”

  I suck in a breath. I was right. This is an assassination. I thought this jerk was pious, but it seems that when he has to choose between the prelate and Aron, he’s picking the prelate.

  “I forgive nothing,” Aron says in a cold voice, lifting the axe from his shoulder and swinging it slowly, testing the unbalanced heft of it. “That is another god entirely.”

  My owner nods. “Men,” he says, lowering his dagger. “Get her.”

  Wait, what? Get me?

  I let out a terrified squeak as the men try to rush past Aron and move to me. With a roar of outrage, Aron swings the axe—plaque and all—over his head as if it weighs nothing. It moves in a wide circle and then slams into one of the soldiers, knocking him into his buddy. Just like that, two men are down.

  Of course, the other four are still coming for me. Frantic, I race across the room, heading for Aron’s bed. One of the men tries to grab me and ends up snatching the end of my skirt, and then the fabric rips from my body, knocking me off balance. I slam into the bed, face first.

  Somewhere above me, there’s a furious roar. Weapons clang and the bed shakes. I roll onto my back, scooting backward even as Aron wades into the men attacking me, swinging the decorative axe like the world’s biggest club. His eyes blaze with unholy light and thunder rages above like it’s his own personal battle soundtrack. One man is flung aside with such force that he slams into the opposite wall, cracking the stone. Another flies over Aron’s head and soars through the air, landing with a crunch. As another reaches for me, sword in hand, the gigantic decorative battleaxe swings over Aron’s head and whirls through the air, then smashes into him, knocking him flat before he can reach me.

  It’s both poetic and brutal how quickly and efficiently Aron works his way through the men. I watch one go down and another pick himself up, flinging his weight at Aron with a cry. The god smiles, baring his teeth, and it’s almost like he’s enjoying this little assassination attempt.

  Something wrenches my head backward and hot pain shoots through my scalp. I scream, clutching at my hair, and find that someone else’s hand is there. My owner. His face looms over mine and he brings the dagger closer to my throat.

  In the space between one breath and the next, something big and shiny launches through the air. He’s knocked backward and my hair feels as if it’s ripping out of my scalp. I nearly black out at the intense pain, moaning. I cringe, waiting for the knife to cut my throat, but there’s nothing.

  After a moment, I sit up, clutching at my burning scalp. Aron stands, shoulders heaving, his pale skin gleaming with sweat. His hands are empty and covered in red spatters, and as I get to my feet, I see that the men on the floor are scattered and lying in pools of blood. I turn and see my old owner, the knife flung to the floor near his hand. His other still has a handful of my blonde hair in his fingers. There’s a big sloppy mess where his face used to be, thanks to the gigantic axe that’s even now sliding off of his front.

  And Aron just smiles, happy for the first time since I’ve met him.

  I feel sick. “Well,” I manage faintly. “This is a bad time to say I told you so, but…I told you so.”

  “This makes no sense.”

  “No shit.” I rub my head, wanting to cry with the pain of it, but crying won’t do any good. Aron’s not exactly the most sympathetic of audiences.

  “This is my temple. These are my people. They worship me. Why would they try to kill me?” Aron’s pale brows furrow and his scar seems that much darker against his skin. “Are they mad?”

  “Or they know something we don’t. Also, spoiler, it wasn’t you they came after. It was me.” I jab a thumb into my chest. “So you want to tell me the reason behind that?”

  He stares at me for a long moment and I expect one of his snippy comebacks. But then he just shakes his head. “I do not know. I understand none of this.”

  I press a trembling hand to my forehead and find it wet with blood. God. I just want to cry. Cry and then race to the nearest clinic where they can stitch me up and give me something to calm my nerves before I have a nervous breakdown. Someone sent a murder squad for me. Not the god I’m serving.

  Me.

  And he’s no help in the slightest because he doesn’t know anything. I can’t blame him for that, but at the same time, I feel helpless in the face of everything that’s happening. “Do you believe me when I say we can’t stay here?” I ask him again. “Because someone’s going to come looking for these men. And while you’re a badass with that axe, if they send twice as many after us next time, you might not be able to stop them before they kill me.”

  I wait for him to say something shitty about how it doesn’t matter if I die because he’s the important one, but he only gazes at me thoughtfully and then nods. “Where should we go?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about this place. I told you, I’m not from here.”

  “Then let us go to your land.”

  “I wish we could, believe me.” I rub my bare arms, covered in goosebumps. “As for where we should go, we’ll figure it out on the road. Maybe other temples aren’t full of assholes. Maybe we can find a nice innkeeper or someone that has answers. I don’t know. All I do know is that staying here is basically asking to be murdered in our sleep.”

  “I didn’t sleep,” Aron says absently. “I still couldn’t.”

  “We’ll add that to our growing list of problems,” I tell him, trying to keep the crankiness out of my voice. I’m scared, tired, and hurting. Of course, that’s been the norm ever since I arrived here, so it shouldn’t freak me out as bad as it has. But someone just tried to murder me tonight. Me, not the god who showed up uninvited.

  There’s something about this whole “anchor” thing that no one’s telling me, I suspect, and I don’t trust the prelate or anyone else in this stupid temple to give us the right answers. For now, we have to leave and go somewhere where they might help us, and it’s not here.

  “Grab some shoes and some clothes, Aron,” I tell the god as I kneel beside my old owner and begin to search his pockets. I find a pouch with a few coins in it attached to his belt and a holstered dagger, and grab them both. Then, I decide to take his belt because his seems way handier than mine. Actually, they all have better clothes than I do. I glance around at the dead bodies. It’s awful to think of stripping the dead, but me in slave gear is going to draw attention to us, and it’s freaking cold and has no pockets. I check the next body, but his tunic is covered in gore. There has to be one that isn’t completely gross.

  “What are you doing?” Aron asks, his tone imperious once more. “Robbing the dead?”

  “No, I’m robbing the assholes that tried to murder us.” I glance up at him even as I slide a few more coins into my pouch. “Or how far do you think we’re going to get without money in this city? In any city?”

  He frowns at me, crossing his arms over his chest. “I am a god. I have no need of coin.”

  “See, that’s where you’re wrong on both counts,” I tell him, and move to the next body. Success. This guy’s neck looks like it was broken instead of blood everywhere. Yay. I grab one arm and then try to push him onto his stomach. “Help me with this.�
��

  Aron reaches over and helps me turn the guy. A moment later, I’ve got his long, red cloak freed and I’m working on dragging his tunic over his limp body.

  “What do you mean, I am wrong?” Aron asks. “That I am not a god?”

  “You know you are. I know you are. But to be honest, it’s better for everyone if no one else thinks you are. I mean, what if these people have been ‘Anticipating’ your return so they can murder you and take your place? How do we know that’s not the trick?”

  He’s silent.

  I look up at him and there’s a faint frown on Aron’s face. I kind of feel like I just explained to someone that Santa isn’t real, but we’ve got no other choice right now. “So what do we do?” Aron asks finally.

  “We go incognito. Try to get some answers. And once we know what is going on, we figure out how to send you home, and send me home.” I grab a scabbard and hold it out to Aron. “So we need weapons. And clothes. And shoes. And we need to hurry before someone else returns and sees that we’ve killed the welcoming party.”

  I expect Aron to protest, but he picks up a handful of the cloak and studies it thoughtfully. “Show me how to wear clothing, then.”

  A short time later, both Aron and I are both dressed in tunics stolen from the guards, belts with weapons, cloaks, and the strange, leather boots that lace up the side of the ankle. I’ve taken the allegiance tags from the guards and pocketed them. I’m holding onto the money, too, because I don’t trust Aron to remember how important something like that is. I just wish I knew how much we had, but the coins here don’t look like anything I can tie back to specific dollar amounts.

  I’m pretty much the worst anchor he could have picked, ever. But we share a common goal at least—getting home.

  It’ll have to be enough for now.

  “I do not like this,” Aron tells me as we slip out of the secret passageway, clutching our weapons. He’s got a sword and I’m holding a dagger in tight, sweaty fingers.

  “Me either, buddy,” I tell him. “Me either.”

  God, I really, really want to go home.

  11

  The moon is an unpleasant, bright red and huge in the sky over the night. I’m so tired that I don’t want to do anything but crawl into the nearest bed and go to sleep, but I know we can’t do that. I’m tempted to find a stable and a friendly horse that won’t mind sharing his stall, but something tells me we’d be smart to get off this little island and out of Aventine entirely.

  Aron doesn’t say much—thank goodness—as we race out of the temple grounds and head for the docks. They’re surprisingly not hard to find. Stragglers from the big festival are still along a wide, cobbled, torchlit path and so we follow them as they head to the ferry.

  The ferryman’s wearing soldier garb just like us and nods as we approach. It’s too dark for him to see under our hoods, but I feel my heart pounding anyhow. He ushers us on and doesn’t ask for money, and then it’s that simple to get away from the temple itself. The ferry waits a few minutes for the last few stragglers, and then pushes off from the shore, the guards poling the flat boat across the moonlit waters.

  I lean in close to Aron. “From this point on, your name is Grover.”

  Even though it’s dark and he’s hooded, I can still see a frown on his pale jaw. “That is a stupid name. Why?”

  “Because no one’s going to think a guy named Grover is a god,” I whisper.

  He grunts. “Do I not look godlike as it is?”

  He does, but that can be explained away. “We’ll just tell them you’re a devotee. Just do your best not to touch anyone,” I say, thinking of the electric shock that happens every time his hand brushes against my arm. “And keep your hood up. And actually, just stay quiet the entire time please.”

  That’s probably best.

  “Do not tell me what to do,” he begins in an imperious tone.

  I poke him in the chest to shut him up and jump at the spark that crackles between us. “Do you really want to go there right now, Grover?” I emphasize the fake name to remind him that we’re undercover.

  The god goes silent.

  I turn to stare at the waters, trying to figure out our next move. Where’s the best place to blend in this hellish medieval city? Where would one go to get information? I mean, it’s clearly not a temple—

  “What of you?” Aron leans so close to my hood that goosebumps prickle up and down my arms.

  I look over at him in surprise, and our faces are mere inches away from each other. Another ripple of awareness flashes through me and I remember that I’m supposed to be his slave. Serve him in all ways. “What of me what?”

  “What is your name? What are you called?”

  Oh. I guess I should be insulted that he’s never thought to ask until this point. Maybe I’ve got super-low expectations when it comes to Aron, because I’m kind of flattered he actually asked. “I told you before. My name is Faith.”

  “You told me before, but I did not care before.” When I scowl at him, he arches that scarred brow at me. “Faith does not sound like a regular name. What is next? Door? Boat?”

  “Okay, okay. Let’s just focus on the task at hand, all right?” I tell him tightly, and turn back to glaring out at the water.

  When the boat pulls up against the dock, people begin to peel away. We get off after them, Aron keeping close to me. I don’t know where to go at this point, so I pick someone that’s stumbling around and just follow him as he heads into the city itself. At night, it’s a lot quieter. The narrow streets seem a little wider and less mucky, and you can’t see how run-down some of the buildings are or how they all cluster together like they’ve fallen atop one another. Somewhere in the distance, a horse whinnies and another animal—a pig—snorts and grunts. I chew my lip, thinking.

  “Where are we going?” Aron leans in and asks me, and I feel another shockwave go down my arm as he brushes against me. Overhead, thunder begins to rumble, a sign that Aron’s mood is turning south. That’s not good—he needs to keep that shit under wraps or he’s for sure going to give us away.

  As we turn down another narrow street, I hear the sound of laughter and someone shouting, and I see a distant wooden sign hanging over a building with light spilling out of it. As we get closer, I see the picture’s one of a goblet. A few horses are tethered outside. Oh. An inn? That might be perfect. “We’re going there,” I tell him. Before he can say anything else, I point at the sky. “Might wanna get control of that or we’re not going to be hiding for very long, if you catch my drift.”

  “As if I control that?” he states haughtily.

  “Well it isn’t me doing it, so you’d better fucking try,” I snap at him. I know I’m being pissy, but I’m exhausted, scared, and I’ve had a chunk of my head ripped out tonight, all because of him. I’m tired of his shit.

  He reels in surprise, and I realize he’s probably never had anyone talk back to him ever before. Well, there’s a first time for everything, I suppose. I don’t even regret it. I’m a little terrified that he’ll pull out that sword and kill me, but then at least I’d get some rest.

  The thunder stops, and we glare at each other for a moment.

  “That’s better,” I tell Aron.

  His eyes narrow and he just stares at me. Slowly, he shakes his head. “You are not afraid of me at all, are you?”

  I get goosebumps at that, wondering if this is the set-up for being eradicated by a god’s temper. Being a pain in the ass has got me this far, however, so I lift my chin. “Should I be?”

  “I don’t know if I am amused or annoyed. I want to wring your neck and laugh at the same time. It is very curious.”

  “Well, you didn’t ask for obedient volunteers, just volunteers,” I say, and I jump when he barks a laugh. It’s booming and almost as loud as the thunder. Still, I can’t find it in me to tell him to quiet down. I like his laughter.

  We could both use a laugh after the night we’ve had and I’d rather have a laughing storm g
od than a murdering one.

  I pat his shoulder. “I’m sorry your prelate tried to kill you.”

  He grunts.

  “Okay, we’re going to go into the inn.” I point at the sign. “I’ll ask around and see what kind of answers I can get. You just…blend.” I wave a hand at him.

  He lowers his hood and arches a brow at me. “Blend?”

  Right. He’s about one skin tone away from being albino, has the same scar the god does, and strange bi-colored eyes. Oh, and he’s unearthly handsome. “Hood up,” I say brightly. “Sit in the back of the room and try not to talk to anyone. Keep a low profile.”

  “I should be the one asking questions while you blend. You look like all these other wenches.”

  Prince Charming, he’s definitely not. I reach out and pull his hood back over his black, flowing hair. “Something tells me that’d be a bad idea. Plus, I think we’ll get further if someone’s not tossing around words like ‘wenches’ and ‘neck-wringing.’ Just let me handle the talking, okay? Like you said, I look like everyone else. No one’s going to notice another woman around here but everyone’s going to notice you.”

  Aron grunts. “Let us go, then.”

  The door to the inn is made of more of the wrought metal, and light spills out in patterns onto the ground. We open the door and head inside, and immediately more music and the laughter of people surrounds us. Did I worry about thunder outside? I doubt these people can hear past their own voices. There’s a cluster of small tables scattered around the packed room, and the place reeks of sour wine and sweat. Lovely.

  Aron behaves, which is a relief. He ducks his head and moves to the back of the tavern, winding through the tables and heading for an empty one in the corner, by the fire. I watch him go and the crowd barely seems to notice him. He’s just another man in soldier’s clothing in a city full of the military. Works for me. I head to the bar and move to the counter, smiling at the woman behind it.