Bound to the Battle God

by Ruby Dixon

  They're also shut tight. Of course they are. Dozens of tiny plumes of smoke tell me that someone's home, though—not everything can be hidden away.

  Markos sidles forward on his woale, moving to the side of the land-hippo I share with Aron. He gazes up at the massive gates that dwarf our small party. His expression is downright indignant, as if he's been insulted. "They do not welcome us, my great Lord of Storms. Shall I let them know of your presence?"

  I wrinkle my nose, inwardly wincing. Do we really have to announce anything?

  But this is Aron, Lord of Arrogance. I can practically feel him stiffen with indignation. "Demand that they let us in."

  "At once, my lord." Markos gives a firm nod and then spurs his woale into action. The thing gives a deep belly squeal and then trundles forward, grunting, and Markos approaches the gates.

  The hair prickles on the back of my neck and I'm tense as I watch him move forward. He looks impossibly tiny as he walks up to them. Woales aren't tiny creatures, and yet Markos and his mount look like toys in front of those huge gates. I hear him shout for entrance, but his voice gets lost in the cavernous canyon, as if soaked up by the rock itself.

  We wait.

  The gates don't open. Eventually, someone leans out a lower window and shouts something back, gesturing at us while we wait. Markos puts a hand to his mouth and calls back, and then…they sit there and bicker for what must be a good five minutes.

  "Well, everyone does say Novoroans are weird," I mutter to Aron. "Novorese? Novorians? Novoroni? What do we call them?"

  "We call them fools for not welcoming our lord," Solat says, his hippo restless.

  I just roll my eyes. If there was a suck-up in the group, it'd be Solat.

  Something moves in one of the windows, and then another. Nothing big, just a small shift of movement, but both Kerren and Vitar immediately push forward, drawing shields and blocking in front of us. The tiny movement gleams again, and then something points at Markos.

  Arrows.

  Oh fuck. I stare, shocked—it didn't occur to me that we'd be turned away at the gates. "Is there another way through these mountains?" I breathe, my voice low.

  "Climbing," Solat says. "But woale are not sure-footed except on flat lands. We would have to lead them and travel overfoot ourselves…and it would be dangerous for us, as well."

  "No. We are not doing that." Aron taps a hand on my hip. "Get down, Faith."

  I automatically slide off the side of the woale, all too happy to take a leg-stretch or three. Yulenna slides off of Kerren's mount and lands beside me, rubbing her butt. "Are we turning around? What are we doing?" I ask, curious.

  Aron points at Kerren. "Wait here with them. The others, come with me." And he rides forward, his woale doing that grunting little trot like Markos's mount. I didn't even know woale could move that fast. It's almost a horse-gallop, complete with fat bouncing sides and the jangle of supplies as all three men ride forward.

  "What the fuck are they doing?" I hiss, shocked. I clutch at the neck of my cloak, horrified as Aron boldly takes off his cloak and casts it to the ground, revealing his dark hair and noble features. Solat and Vitar ride next to him, but they're not close enough to protect him with those shields. "He's going to get fucking killed!"

  "My lady," Kerren says gently, looking at me. "He is not the target."

  Oh.

  Oh, right. It's me that's the target. I rub my arms, suddenly glad that he left me behind. "It's still not safe for him to ride forward like that," I tell Kerren and Yulenna. "I don't like it."

  "He goes to show them that he is who he claims," Yulenna says in a reasonable voice, watching Aron ride forward. "Then they will bow to him and give him the welcome he deserves."

  "Mmmhmm." They weren't with my Aron in Aventine, when someone tried to assassinate us. Or Katharn. Or at the Citadel. Or…man, we really get attacked a lot. That sucks. Maybe it's a good thing we now have bodyguards. I frown to myself at the thought and I wonder if the other Aron got constantly betrayed all the time or if we're just the lucky ones.

  We watch, and I hold my breath as Aron approaches the fortress, his long hair waving like a flag. He makes a wonderful target, and I cringe inwardly when Markos and the others move to his side. I'm torn between watching Kerren for reactions and watching Aron, because I have a feeling Kerren's going to know something's wrong before I do. As I wait, I see a small door—inset in the much, much larger ones—open below and someone comes out to talk to Aron and the men. They all stand there, distant dots, and I wish I could hear their conversation.

  The newcomer drops to his knees before Aron’s woale and stacks his fists over his heart. I release the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. There’s a great shout, and as I watch, the people in the windows retreat. The man gets up from his knees, and then there’s a massive groan as the gates slowly shudder open.

  “Looks like we are welcomed,” Yulenna says.

  Kerren glances over at her. “Give Faith your cloak and switch mounts with her.”

  She nods. “At once.”

  I want to protest, but I’m ashamed to say that I don’t. He’s setting up Yulenna as the target, just in case we’re going to be betrayed again. It’s smart, but I can’t help but feel guilty as Yulenna comes to my side and envelops me in her cloak, even as Kerren raises his shield and steers his woale in front of us to hide what we’re doing. “I’m sorry,” I whisper to her as she fastens it around my neck.

  “Do not be. I know I am expendable.” Her smile is bittersweet. “At least this way, I can be of service.” She tugs the hood over my head and then pulls my cloak around her shoulders, pulling my hood over her long, curling hair.

  “Well, I hope it’s all not necessary.”

  Kerren dismounts, his armor jangling. “We all hope it is not,” he says easily, and then offers his hand to Yulenna. “Let us get my lord’s anchor mounted once more. I think you should walk, Faith, so you seem like the servant.”

  “I can do that.” For once, I’m glad that Yulenna’s the one in the flowing dress and I’m the one in a stained tunic. It adds to the feeling that she’s the important one and I’m not.

  Kerren grabs the reins of the woale, and Yulenna adjusts her clothes, delicately smoothing out the cloak. She holds onto the pommel, and then we move forward to greet Markos, Solat, Vitar and Aron at the gates where they wait for us.

  The walk across the rocky field feels as if it takes forever, and a thousand eyes seem to be staring at us, even if the windows remain dark and empty. The gates continue to groan their way open and I watch them with fascination. I bet the Statue of Liberty could stroll through them and not have to duck her head, they’re so tall. As we move forward toward the gates, armed soldiers arrive, flanking a man in a swirling black cloak lined with white. They pause.

  Then, to a one they kneel before Aron and bow their heads, waiting to be addressed.

  Aron doesn’t speak to them right away, though. He watches us as we approach, his eyes narrowed. His gaze lingers on me for a moment, flicks to Yulenna, and then he turns to look at the rest of our men. No one’s saying a thing or even looking at me, which means we’re all on the same page.

  “Rise,” Aron says finally.

  The man in the cloak gets up, and the others flanking him follow suit. He’s a tall man with a grim face, a thick black mustache and salt and pepper gray hair. His eyes are alight with excitement, though, and he reaches out to Aron. “It is the greatest of honors for Novoro to host a holy Aspect, my Lord of Storms. You are well loved here. I am Secuban, lord of this stronghold and all that dwell within. Let us host you and your servants.”

  Aron ignores the outstretched hand. “We require private quarters.”

  “You shall have mine,” Lord Secuban says immediately, and doesn’t look upset that his handshake was ignored. If anything, he just looks thrilled to see Aron, and the glee on his face makes him look like a freaking fanboy. “You bless all of Novoro with your presence here. We shall celebr
ate the honor of your company—”

  “Later.” Aron gives an impatient flick of his cloak. “I wish to go to my chambers and bathe, and my anchor will have needs as well. My soldiers and my concubine”—and this time he gestures at me—“will also need to be quartered close. Our mounts must be taken care of as well.”

  “Anything,” Lord Secuban says fervently. “Anything and everything you desire will be yours.”

  Aron grunts approval. “Good. Show us in, then.”

  The lord of Novoro moves to Aron’s side and speaks to him in a low voice, giving him a tour as we head inside. Stable boys rush forward to take the reins of our woales, and then Yulenna slips to the ground next to me, pulling her cloak tight.

  I'm fascinated by Novoro. This place, more than anything else, looks like something out of a Game of Thrones set. The entire place is one big fortress, and inside I expected to see hundreds of little houses tucked behind the walls, but it opens up into a muddy courtyard and then lifts high up into row after row of windows. Everyone lives in the castle carved right out of the rock. Everything's gray, too, and people lean from stone windows and peek out of turrets and watch us. They wear heavy fur-lined cloaks in dark colors, and soldiers are all over the place. Someone leads away our woales, and Solat follows them to get our gear. Aron is led forward by the lord of the place, who talks a mile a minute, eager to share his home and its splendors. People bow as they pass, cloaks flopping onto the wintry cobblestones, and we follow a short distance behind. There's awe and pleasure on the faces of these people—which is a relief. I don't think they'll be betraying Aron, and I start to feel a little better about things.

  To my surprise, Yulenna grabs my hand and pulls me close. "Stay with me," she says tightly, and her steps grow faster, as if she wishes to somehow catch up with Aron and the Novoro lord. I speed up, too, wondering what's crawled up her butt. I glance out at the crowd…and then I see it.

  They watch Aron with awe and affection all right, but the look they cast in Yulenna's direction—and mine—is a little more…creepy. I catch the eyes of someone in an ornate cloak and the look he gives me is downright lascivious. Another man licks his lips as we walk past, and it doesn't take more than a few more steps before I'm clinging to Yulenna's hand, too. Bunch of creeps. Maybe they don't get out much and so any new woman that walks in gets leered at.

  "Aron will protect us," I tell Yulenna. "Don't worry about that."

  "He will protect his anchor," she says tightly.

  Right. Me and not her. I just squeeze her hand reassuringly, because I'm not going to let these people creep on her.

  More and more people arrive, and as the crowd fills out, I'm relieved to see women and children in the crowd, too. They all gaze at us with awe, and I see more than one make Aron's gesture and bow their heads in piety. Even though Aron's a war god, he's well known enough that even the moms and grandmas are fisting his gesture.

  At the far end of the courtyard is a massive set of steps flanked with torches, and the lord leads Aron in, so we follow. Once inside, I blink at the low light. The smell of torch smoke increases, and then as my eyes adjust, I can make out the hall itself. A large chair sits atop a stair-stepped dais at the far end of the room, by a massive fireplace. My skin prickles at the sight of it. Nothing good ever happens in rooms with a dais, I'm learning. They had a dais in Aventine—and tried to murder us. They had a dais in Tadekha's Citadel—and a rampaging army arrived. "Third time’s a charm," I tell myself, though my stomach gets sour when I hear the scrape of chains and two slave women peek out from behind the throne. They have cloaks to keep them warm in the drafty keep…but it looks like they're not wearing anything underneath.

  Great. This place falls a few more notches in my estimation. Less and less of a fan of Novoro.

  Aron gives the throne room a curt look.

  "Please, my lord, sit and make yourself at home. Everything I have, I share with you." Lord Secuban's eyes gleam and his gaze flicks to Yulenna, and he licks his lips. "In Novoro, to share brings great honor."

  "My mortals are tired and wish to rest," Aron says in that same imperious voice I've grown to know. "I want private quarters for myself and my anchor."

  "Of course, of course." Lord Secuban looks nervous, and if he had a hat, he'd wring it like a cartoon sycophant. "Forgive me for not anticipating your needs. This is the first time Novoro has been honored by the gods. Everything you need, it shall be provided. We will give you a place to rest and time to yourself, and tonight, a great feast will be shared. We hope that you will stay for a few days and bless us."

  I relax a little. Everyone just wants a blessing from the gods. I get that. Maybe this place isn't as creepy as I thought it was. They're just the Aos version of backwoods hicks. They don't get out much, they don't see new people, and they don't know how to act. I pat Yulenna's hand.

  Nothing at all to worry about.

  48

  Aron leaves us behind immediately.

  “I wish to speak with their priests and scribes, to see if they’ve received any prophecies,” he tells Yulenna as I stand next to her. “I will not be far. Send one of the men if you need anything.” He flicks a glance at me and then is gone.

  Well, he must feel safe, I think sourly. Never mind that he’s arrogance and could be putting all of us in danger. I’ll keep those thoughts to myself for now, though, especially since Yulenna is posing as me. With Markos, Vitar and Kerren surrounding us, we’re shown to quarters by a serving girl who bows and scrapes and giggles with excitement. The men are shown a room down a great hall, the quarters of Novoro’s greatest knight. When they’re told they will be staying there for as long as needed, they nod, and then continue to follow Yulenna and me. We’re led forward down the same hall, to double doors that are carved with gorgeous symbols of the mountains, and when the doors are flung open, the chamber itself is pure opulence. Heavy drapes hang from the stone walls, and a window is open, showing thick, wavy glass to keep out the cold and revealing a gorgeous view of the mountains. A woman sits near them and gets to her feet when we arrive.

  “My ladies,” she says, sinking to the floor in a deep bow and Aron’s gesture. “I am told you are Aron’s property. This will be your home while you honor Novoro with your presence.”

  I glance behind us as the doors close, leaving Yulenna and me alone with the woman and the servant girl. Markos and the others are stationed just outside, but I can’t shake my unease. Maybe it’s because I’m so far away from Aron that I feel a faint tingle humming through my body. This is the first time in a while that he’s left my side and I’m not a fan of it. Not one bit.

  “Thank you,” Yulenna says in her most arch, haughty voice. “This is Faith, Aron’s concubine.” She gestures at me and then sweeps her cloak off. “We will be staying in this room together, so my lord Aron will not be inconvenienced.”

  “Of course, the woman says, bowing her head again. “I am Lady Garline, Lord Secuban’s wife and mistress of Novoro. What we have is yours. We will be honored to share with the gods and hope they will share with us in return.”

  “I’m sure that is for Aron to decide,” Yulenna says sweetly.

  “You must be tired,” Lady Garline says. “And dirty. Let me have my women draw hot baths for you both and get you fresh clothes.”

  “Oh,” I blurt out. “Our clothes are with the woales—”

  “No, honored guest,” Lady Garline continues, putting up her hands. “In Novoro, we share everything with our guests and hope they will honor us in the same fashion. You will wear my finest gowns this night. I imagine they are much warmer than anything you have.” And she beams at us, as if the thought of two strangers in her clothes is all she’s ever wanted. “You will want to be fresh and pretty for my lord Aron and the feast, will you not? To show him honor?”

  Boy, they sure like tossing around the “honor” word. Maybe these people have a cleanliness thing. Yulenna just nods and then Lady Garline sweeps away, her clothes dusting the cold stone
floors. “I will return shortly with my ladies.”

  “We’ll be here,” I joke. It could be worse.

  The moment they leave, Yulenna turns to me and clutches my hands tightly. "Faith, please don't make me go to the feast."

  I'm surprised at her question, but I didn't miss the way the men leered at us as we came in. There's real fear on her pretty face, and coming from someone who's a concubine, I can't imagine that she would get skittish over nothing. "Of course not," I tell her. "You're the anchor of the Lord of Storms as far as they know. You can do what you want."

  She shakes her head, her grip on my hands tightening. "They will want me at his side. Or he might give up the lie and tell everyone I am a useless concubine." Her eyes brim with tears. "I am afraid. I do not have the protection of the god's claim on my body like I did before. Please, Faith."

  My old friend guilt returns, and I give her hand a reassuring squeeze. "As far as they know, I'm the concubine. If they want Aron to have company, I'll go volunteer to sit at his side and look pretty." I don't point out that I'm secretly glad, because I don't like the thought of Yulenna having to fawn all over Aron at dinner while I sit somewhere nearby. I don't want her to touch him, and I'm startled at my own possessiveness. "Besides, if you hide out up here, they'll probably just think that Aron's protecting his anchor from any that would hurt her."

  Her expression brightens, and one perfect tear slips down her perfect cheek. "Do you truly think so?"