by Ruby Dixon
"Won?"
"Yeah. Which Aspect won out? Hedonism? Lies? Arrogance? Apathy?"
He thinks for a long moment, considering. "Hedonism, I think. I know it was not Arrogance."
For some reason that makes me sad. It's hard to think that it's all the same person, just split into four different ways. That this isn't the real Aron, just some piece of him. I'm growing fond of the guy, all said, and I don't like the thought of him disappearing, or dying, or whatever happens when this is over. Not that it'll matter to me, of course, since I'll be home.
But I still think about it. "But it wasn't Lies that won last time, either?"
I guess I'm pretty transparent, because Aron casts a look over his shoulder at me. "If you are worried about confronting him, speak your mind, Faith."
"Well, seeing as how we haven't exactly been killing it on our own, yeah, I'm worried."
"Killing it?"
"Doing well? Thriving?"
He snorts, turning back to the road. "I think we are doing quite well. We have supplies and weapons. I have an anchor. You have a full belly and no plague. I see nothing wrong with our position."
Plague? He just casually throws plague out there? I bite back my horror and decide to point out the bigger problems first. "Vian and Cathis said that the other Aspect had mercenaries with him. Like ten. And a wizard. A motherfucking wizard. Aron, what do we do against those things?"
"We make sure that we remain aware of them and plan accordingly."
"How do you freaking plan against a wizard? You need to help me on that part because where I come from, the only wizards are racist assholes and can't actually do magic." I poke his side again, and I'm surprised when he shudders. Aron's…ticklish? What the heck? Why do I find that so ridiculous and yet delightful? "Maybe you should have hooked up with a wizard."
"Did you see any wizards volunteering upon my arrival?"
Good point. "I'm sorry you're stuck with me."
He grunts. "You have not been a bad companion, Faith. Do not vex yourself on that front. You have been adequate."
"You're killing me with all that praise," I murmur, but I am pleased, weirdly enough. That's a compliment, considering where it's coming from. "Still, what do we do against a wizard?"
“That depends.”
“On…?”
“On whether or not he is a true wizard or a pretender. True wizards are rare. Pretenders are far more common.” His tone is dismissive and clearly unworried.
Obviously I get to be the worrier of our party. “Let’s assume he is real. Just for giggles. What do we do then?”
“Try to stand behind him.” He chuckles at his own joke.
“Helpful” is obviously not in Aron’s repertoire. I frown at his back. “Wizard aside, they said the other Aron has troops. Like ten or twelve of them. Should we get mercenaries or soldiers for our protection? We’re only a day or two away from Katharn. Much as I’d hate to go back, I’d hate being dead a lot more.”
Aron shakes his head, idly flicking the woale’s reins as if it’s a lovely afternoon jaunt and not a ride into danger. “You worry too much, Faith. And before you prattle at me about how one of us needs to be concerned, remind yourself how many men I took down that first night we were attacked, and I was far more confused and disoriented then.”
My open mouth snaps shut. He’s got a point. He took down a half-dozen men in the blink of an eye and without a weapon. “I’m sorry to doubt you. This is all really new for me.”
“Troops are a distraction only, nothing more.”
I nod to myself, thinking. “You did say he was lies. Unless…they said he had a consort with him. You don’t suppose he’s Hedonism and just trying to throw us off?”
I’m not ready to confront any other Arons, but on my list, Hedonism is dead last. I don’t want to think about what that’ll mean for us, because it makes me get all flushed and awkward and things are already awkward enough.
“No, he will be Lies. Hedonism will be far more obvious. A consort does not mean anything. My cock works as well as any other mortal’s.”
Oh, I remember. My cheeks feel hot with just how much I remember. I change the subject quickly. “You think they’ll be setting a trap for us?”
He chuckles and glances back at me over his shoulder. “Undoubtedly.”
“Then we should practice weapons more, Aron.” I tap a hand on his arm. “Maybe we should stop early for the night and get some sparring in. Some swords, some staves, all the good stuff so I can be prepared.”
Aron just shakes his head, watching the road in front of him, and flicks the reins. If anything, the woale speeds up. Slightly. Like a gently caffeinated snail instead of just a regular snail. “Faith. You are trying to stall, are you not?”
I mock-snort. “Me? Not wanting to rush into danger and certain death? Psh. Can’t imagine why a girl would stall.”
“I will keep you safe. Do you doubt me?”
“Dude, you’re Arrogance. Of course you’re going to say that.” I ignore his bark of laughter that peals down the dirt road. “It’s just that…you’re a badass fighter. He’s you, so he’s going to be a badass, plus he’s got a wizard, plus he’s got mercenaries. All you have is me.” Just thinking about it makes my hands tighten on his belt. At what point do I trust him and at what point is his arrogance going to get us killed? I don’t have the answer, and that worries me. “All I’m saying is that we should practice some fighting when we stop, so I can help with the combat.”
“Faith. We could stop and practice for two years and it would not be enough.” His voice is surprisingly gentle, for Aron. “If Lies is meant to conquer Arrogance, then there is nothing I can do.”
The thought makes me sick. I’m not ready to die. I’m not ready for him to die. “I refuse to lie down and give up, Aron. Not without doing as much as I possibly can to stop it from happening.”
“No one is saying we are going to give up,” he tells me. “But perhaps our time would be better spent trying to think of a trap for them, since they will inevitably be setting one for us.”
“Fair enough.” It doesn’t make me feel much better, though. Aron’s life is tied to mine, and mine to his. If the other Aron decided that he needed a posse to protect himself…why aren’t we doing the same?
40
For two days, we ride the slowest mount known to mankind. Like Aron said, the thing doesn’t need to take breaks. It can keep plodding endlessly, and it does. It plods over hills and down the muddy path. It plods through fork after fork of road, and the farmlands turn to scrubby trees and distant gray mountains begin to loom on the horizon.
My ass can’t take the endless riding, though. It doesn’t seem to bother Aron in the slightest—not much does—but my mortal butt cheeks are sore by twilight on the first day. That’s when I learn how people sleep on a woale—we pause to sling two hammocks against the woale’s fat, rounded sides. It goes from one end of the saddle to the other, and for the first time, I see why the woale saddle has two pommels in front, and two in back (that have been digging into my ass for the last bajillion hours). The hammocks are slung from one side to the other and then, like the world’s ungainliest saddlebags, Aron helps me slip into one side and he gets into the other to balance me out.
At first, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep, especially not with my head bouncing so close to the woale’s hindquarters, but the next thing I know, it’s dawn, my ass is one big aching bruise, and my stomach’s growling. While the sun is up, we ride on the woale’s saddle. When the sun goes down, we sleep in the saddle slings, and the time—and miles—creep past agonizingly slowly.
I’m mentally gearing up for another crappy night in the swing on day three when Aron abruptly stops the woale, and we grind to a halt.
I yawn at him. “Bathroom break again? I don’t really have to go.”
“No.” He’s all tension as he slides off the creature’s back, his body alert as he gazes off into the distance. “I saw campfire smoke.”
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All of my sleepy exhaustion instantly vanishes, replaced by fear. “Where?” I whisper, sliding off the side of the woale and landing (okay, tumbling) on the ground next to him.
Aron catches me before I can fall on my ass and helps me to my feet. “Look to the tree line,” he tells me, pointing.
Heart hammering, I scan the trees. Sure enough, there’s a thin plume of smoke on the horizon that would be impossible to notice unless I was looking for it. He must have been watching the skies constantly, ever alert, and I feel like a bad companion.
“Is it them?” I ask, clinging to his arm in terror. We’ve been talking about this for days but it’s too soon in my eyes. I don’t want to run into them. I don’t want to fight. I sure don’t want to lose.
I feel like I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
“One way to find out,” Aron says, and then moves to the woale. I think—stupidly—for a moment that he’s going to get out a telescope or something, but he hands me the reins. “Wait here.”
I let out a terrified squeak as he slings his sword and scabbard over his shoulder and then heads into the woods. “Wait,” I hiss, afraid to speak too loud.
He doesn’t wait, of course. This is Aron. I’m left holding the reins of the woale, who doesn’t bother to lift his head from his feedbag. The damn beast could care less if death is imminent. Me, I care. I half drag, half lead the thing toward the side of the road and crouch in the bushes, breathing hard. It doesn’t matter that we haven’t passed anyone all day and the road has gotten steadily more deserted the closer we get to the mountains. I’m terrified of the men waiting to kill us. I’ve never had someone want to murder me before I met Aron, and now it seems everyone wants to kill us.
I should have never taken his hand that first day we met.
I frown to myself. No, that’s not fair. If I hadn’t taken his hand, what would have happened to Aron that first night? He wouldn’t have lasted an hour with one of those milquetoast cowering girls, and no one else was volunteering to be his anchor. And me? I would have been sacrificed on his altar the next morning.
Remembering that calms me. Aron’s kept me safe so far. I need to trust him. I do. So I hunker down in the bushes, clutch the reins, and wait for him to return.
Time passes.
The forest grows dark. Insects chirp, the woale craps on the road, and birds rustle the leaves. There’s nothing out of the ordinary in this night so far, and my frayed nerves ease a bit. My entire body flares with pain for a brief moment, signaling just how far Aron’s gone, but it fades almost as quickly as it arrives, and that tells me he’s coming back.
I hear his footsteps before I see him, which tells me that he wants to let me know he’s arriving. Aron’s too careful to clomp through the forest. I get to my feet just as his dark hair catches a beam of moonlight and gleams. He looks strong and resolute, his mouth in a thin line of displeasure, his mismatched eyes intense.
I don’t need to be a psychic to understand that expression. “It’s them, isn’t it?”
He moves to my side and gives me a quick nod. “They’re camping a short distance away. I counted twelve heads, including the concubine and wizard. There are four tents, one for me, and one for the rest of them. I wasn’t able to tell if the wizard was a true one or not, but they do have several mercenaries that are heavily armed. We’ll have to be careful.”
“What do we do?” I ask him, worried. “Can we avoid them? Hide? Wait for them to keep going north and follow farther behind? What?”
“We’re going to confront them,” he tells me.
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
“Faith.” Aron’s voice is calm as he puts a hand on my shoulder. The woale grunts and poops again, ruining an otherwise grim moment, but Aron’s focus is entirely on me. “This would have to happen at some point. I cannot avoid a confrontation forever. I must find him and defeat him.”
I know. I know he’s got to do this, but I’m not ready. But I grit my teeth and force myself to nod, because at least right now, they don’t know where we are. We’ve got the upper hand and we need to use it. “I’m just nervous. All right, then. What’s the plan?”
He turns and gestures at the forest. “I circled their camp to see the best defensive spot, but there’s nothing we can use to our advantage but the trees themselves. So, you’re going to climb one of them close to camp, and throw rocks into the bushes. His mercenaries will come looking to see what’s causing the noise, and when they do, I’ll take them out one by one until they’re a more manageable group.”
I gape at him. “That’s your plan? Throw rocks while sitting in a tree?”
“Did you have a better one?”
“No,” I sputter. “But—”
“But nothing. A simple plan is sometimes the most effective. If you are in the trees, you will be safer than on the ground. I did not see any bows and arrows, just swords. If they are climbing a tree, they will not be able to use their swords.”
“I thought you said you could handle mercenaries,” I remind him faintly. “You said they weren’t a problem, remember?”
“And they are not a problem,” Aron says calmly. “But I also do not want to risk you. As you have pointed out many times, you are not a fighter. I do not want you anywhere near battle where you might be taken unawares.”
I sigh. “All right. Tree. Rocks. It’s a good thing I played softball as a teenager.”
“Soft…ball?”
“A game with clubs and tossing balls. Forget it.” I wave a hand in the air. “I’ll manage. Let’s get some rocks.”
“And mud,” he agrees.
“Why mud?”
He touches my cheek, sending a shiver (and a spark) through my body. “This pale skin and hair of yours will stand out, even in the dark, if someone is looking for you. The mud will provide more camouflage.”
“This is sounding better by the minute,” I mutter, but I move to the woale, empty one of the satchels, and start looking for rocks. Even as I do, I keep thinking about that touch, how he caressed my cheek.
It was almost like he wanted to touch me.
41
A short time later, our woale is tied to a tree a fair distance from the road, grazing. My bag is filled with small rocks and hangs heavily over my shoulder, and clacks so loudly that I have to press it against my chest to keep the stones from banging against one another.
I’m also covered in mud from head to toe, and because it’s chilly, I’m wearing the darkest cloak I own. I look like a mess, but I do blend in the shadows at least.
We head carefully through the woods, moving slowly, Aron lifting me carefully over craggy spots of terrain where the uneven ground falls away in a rocky crevice or two. It seems to take forever, but then I can smell the campfire on the breeze and hear the low murmur of voices.
We’ve arrived.
“This tree is good,” Aron murmurs, pointing at a tall, leafy bastard nearby. I see the branches don’t start until about five feet up, maybe more, which means I’m going to need a boost.
I suck in a breath and then nod. I want to complain and whine, but that won’t do any good. I’m just scared, but Aron promises he’ll make sure I’m safe, and I have to believe that he’s right and it’s not just arrogance talking. I pull the heavy bag of stones off my shoulder and then set it carefully on the ground. “You’ll have to pass that up to me.”
He nods, and then cups my filthy cheeks as I look up at him. “Stay safe, Faith. I need you.”
I gaze up at him, at his beautiful, godlike face and stern features. Coming from any other man, I would think that’s practically a declaration of love, but Aron’s impossible to read. I just nod and move toward the tree.
Aron grabs me by my waist and lifts me overhead as if I weigh nothing, and I manage to flail enough to grab the limb with my feet and heave myself up. Once I’m settled, he hands me the bag carefully, and I loop it over my shoulder, then begin to climb. I move higher and higher, trying not to look
down because I’m too high up to fall safely. I mean, sure, I fell from a large height when we were escaping Tadekha’s floating city, but I also landed on Aron. If I crunch to the ground here and break something, the wizard—and Liar Aron—is just going to put me down like a crippled racehorse.
I shake that image out of my head, then climb a bit higher. Once I’m safely hidden amongst the leaves, I peer down and look for Aron. He nods up at me and then gestures off into the distance, indicating where he’ll be hiding.
I give him a thumbs up and then pull out my first rock, studying the small camp. It’s visible given how high up I am, and I can see everyone.
Aron’s right, the fire is small. Beyond the cluster of tents, I see men in armor with sword belts, standing around and talking. There’s one guy in robes and a short, black beard who looks like every cliché of a wizard ever.
I peer into the shadows, pulling a rock into my hand even as I do. I have to admit, I'm less interested in the soldiers and more interested in seeing the other version of Aron. Is he going to look the same? Will I automatically know it's the wrong one? I scan the soldiers' faces and as one laughs and takes a pull from a small metal flask, I realize they are completely relaxed and have no idea we're here. Good. Silently, I encourage the one to keep drinking. A drunk guard will be easier for us to take down. I rub my fingers on the edge of the rock in my hand, trying to decide the best moment to throw.
Something rustles in the bushes below my tree. I freeze, my free hand clutching my bag of stones against my belly so they don't clack against one another. A guard? Have I been discovered?
To my surprise, a woman emerges. She's got long, curling ropes of dark hair that swing to the middle of her back, and even though it's night and slightly chilly, she's wearing a filmy dress that clings to her curves as she walks and sets off her dusky skin. And Jesus, she's got some serious curves. Her tits are enormous, each one pendulous and sways with her steps, and her waist is tiny, corseted by a girdle that seems little more than a belt. Her hips are rounded and I'm acutely envious of her figure. This must be the concubine. Damn. This group doesn't play around, because she is utterly gorgeous.
