Текст книги "Bound to the battle god"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Текущая страница: 33 (всего у книги 40 страниц)

I look down at the clusterfuck below, then back at my Aron. My everything. “Aron, no. This is a really, really bad idea.”

“It is the best idea,” he says fiercely. “Do you not trust me?”

“Oh, I trust you. I just can’t forget about that ‘arrogance’ thing.”

Somewhere to the side, Solat stifles a snort of amusement.

Aron just grins at me. “I know. This is why I have you at my side. You see things differently than I do. And this is an excellent idea. I cannot be killed as long as you are safe, Faith.” He cups my face in his big, gloved hands. “And the men will go with you. I will be the distraction. They will not know what to think when a second Aron of the Cleaver arrives. I will pull them away, and you will be able to sneak in to the keep.”

I fight back a sigh. “Fine. I don’t have to like this, but fine.” Realistically, I know he can’t get hurt. I know that. I do. I’m still utterly terrified though. If they see him, they’ll know he has an anchor somewhere and they’ll come after me.

What other choice do we have? I look down at the torn up battlefield, at the men that fling themselves at the stone walls even as others get mowed down by Hedonism Aron, and feel a hint of despair.

I don’t see how we’re going to get close enough.

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71

We remain a safe distance away from both city and battlefield as we wait for the sun to go down. Aron sits atop a rock and instead of practicing with the men, he holds me close and presses his mouth to my hair.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Faith. Trust in me.”

I love that he’s trying to comfort me in my obvious terror, but it doesn’t make me feel better. The only thing that would actually make me feel better would be if we didn’t do this at all. I know it’s not an option, though, so I keep my thoughts to myself. Kerren, Solat, and Markos talk in low voices, sharpening their swords and adjusting their traveling armor. We let the woales go, setting them free, because one way or another, our path ends here.

I try not to panic at how final that feels.

Despite my wishing that the day would never end, the sun goes down and we get to our feet. “Faith,” Aron murmurs as he presses a kiss to my palm one last time. “Take something for me, yes?”

“What?” I ask, curious.

He goes to his pack—now sitting in the grass—and pulls the long wooden staff from it. The staff he trained me to use. I bite back hysterical laughter. “You think I can bludgeon a zombie to death with this, then?”

“I just want to know you have a weapon you can use while you’re gone,” he says, and the look on his face is no longer easy or playful. “Markos, Solat and Kerren will protect you, have no fear with that. If they do not, I will make certain that they suffer eternally.”

It’s eerily quiet with that pronouncement. I glance over and see that the men are pale, their gazes averted. Markos’s hand twitches over his pommel, as if he wants to pull his blade and protect me even now.

I step closer to Aron as I take the staff from him. “You should be nicer to them.”

“A little fear will speed their footsteps,” he murmurs to me. His gaze devours my face, and for a moment I think he won’t let go of the staff. He finally releases it, though, and it’s like he’s releasing me, too. I can see the tension in his shoulders.

He hates this. He hates this so, so much. And that’s the only reason I don’t freak out. Because he’s taking this as seriously as I am.

Aron turns to the others. “Take only what you can carry easily. I will not have you encumbered. Your only goal is to get Faith into that keep alive. Do you understand me?”

The men nod and as I watch, Solat drops his pack and picks through it one last time, discarding a few items. A metal buckler—a plate-sized shield meant to attach to the arm—is discarded, and I pick it up. “Can I take this?”

Solat frowns at me. “Of course, but why?”

I pull out the neck of my gown, shove the buckler down the front of my dress, and then tap my chest. The lip of it rests against my thick Novoran belt and it remains in place right over my heart and breasts. “Because I want armor, too.”

His lips twist in a wry smile. “If they get that close to you, we’re already doomed.”

“Fair enough, but I like being safe.”

“You should go,” Aron says. “Before it gets too dark to see. I’ll wait until the moon is higher in the sky before I head out.”

I swallow hard and nod. I want to run to him and hold him tight in one last hug, but I also don’t want to be a pain in the ass. “Be safe, okay?”

He gives me a swift nod, and I turn away, moving toward Markos and Kerren. There’s a hard knot in my throat that I do my best to ignore, but I clutch the staff and head forward…to my destiny.

Man, just thinking that phrase makes me want to barf. I steel myself for the evening ahead. Please be safe, Aron—

A heavy hand lands on my shoulder.

I turn and Aron’s hard mouth is on mine, his hand on the back of my neck as he gives me the hardest, most fiercely possessive kiss ever. His tongue slicks into my mouth, claiming me with every stroke and reminding me that I love the hell out of this big, arrogant bastard. I cling to the front of his tunic, our mouths molding, and when he finally breaks the kiss, I give him a dazed look.

“Remember that you belong to me,” he says in a low voice. “And I do not give you permission to die.”

It’s the right thing to say. I laugh, because it’s the most absurdly arrogant thing I’ve ever heard. “I love you,” I whisper, and then move away before I fling myself at his feet, bawling like a baby. “Be safe.”

“I will.”

Arrogant right down to the end—no, right down to his pores, I amend.

This is not the fucking end.

We’re a lot farther away from the crypts than I anticipated. Aron told the others what to look for and the direction to head, and we hike silently down the cliffs and across hills, then cross the warm, gentle river far upstream. The light from a jillion fires is just barely in the distance, and if I squint hard, I can make out the castle’s walls ahead. We’re at least a football stadium away, maybe two. It seems like an impossible distance to cover.

Because there are enemy soldiers even here. They’re freaking everywhere. We barely manage to duck behind some bushes as a few men on horses patrol past, and armor clanks somewhere in the distance. We squat behind the greenery, and Solat points up ahead. “That looks like a cemetery.”

“It’s the place Lord Aron said it would be.” Markos nods. He turns to look at us. “Kerren and I will scout and try to clear the way. You stay here hidden. If we’re not back by the time Aron begins his diversion, go on without us.”

I bite my lip, nodding, and Solat fingers his sword. I watch as Markos heads in one direction and Kerren in the other, dark figures that stick to the shadows. Within the space of a breath, they disappear into the night, and I desperately hope they know what they’re doing.

Minutes pass. I turn to look over at Solat. “This is some shit, huh?”

His eyes narrow at me. “We will keep you safe, Faith. Aron demands it.”

There’s a bitter note in his voice. It’s been there ever since we left the tower, and I know it’s because he’s still carrying a torch for Yulenna. I don’t blame him. She was sweet, friendly, and apparently liked to fuck. Of course he’s half in love with her. But he needs to focus. I know he can’t be happy that Yulenna paired off with a god (or three) and he’s stuck here protecting me, the anchor of another god.

“Do we need to talk?” I ask. “Because you’ve been kind of pissypants since Yulenna left.”

Solat glares at me in the darkness. “Does it matter?”

“I like to think it does.” I clutch my staff across my legs, careful not to hit him with it. “Thing is, I’m not thrilled about her staying with them either, but she chose to do that. If she’s not happy there, well, those are the guys that can fix it. They can pull her thread free and release her if she changes her mind. Those are about the only people in this world that can make that sort of change.”

“She won’t change her mind. She’s happy there,” he says, bitterness in his voice. “She is no longer a slave. Now she’s important. It’s all she ever wanted.” His jaw clenches and he stares out into the night.

I pat his shoulder. “Then be happy for her and get the fuck over it, okay?”

He looks startled at my words. He nods, and then gets to his feet as Markos returns. Markos is sweating, his dark hair plastered to his skull. “Six men,” he says in a low voice. “All armed.”

“Even out here?” Solat makes a sound of frustration. “We are practically sitting in the fields and he still sends troops out?”

Markos shrugs as Kerren heads in our direction, another figure cloaked in darkness. “I counted them twice to be certain. The Adassian Aron knows about this. He is covering the area just in case.”

Kerren nods as he approaches. “Six, but if we do not move soon, I worry there will be more. I overheard them speaking and one mentioned he would be returning to camp soon. If they are switching shifts, we don’t know how many we could be facing.”

I clutch my staff, terrified as I stand up. “But we have to wait for Aron, don’t we? For his diversion?” I’m terrified for my guy, even though I know he’s immortal, that I’m the one in danger. But that crazy fool plans on walking right through the army to announce himself. “Shouldn’t we wait—”

A horn blasts in the distance, three times.

Someone shouts.

Fuck.

“That’s Aron,” Markos says, grabbing my arm and hauling me forward. “Come. Let us waste no time.”

I nod and let Markos pull me along, and then we’re all running, trying to keep to the shadows in the darkness. There are a few trees nearby, and then a fence surrounding the cemetery that’s seen better days. Two guards stand in front of the gates of the cemetery itself, and I get a sense of déjà vu, back when Aron and I crept through Katharn.

We huddle at the edge of the fence, someone’s hand on my hip. Kerren’s big, sweaty body is blocking me from seeing anything, but I can hear voices. There’s confusion, and the jingle of armor.

Then, I see a torch bobbing as it heads toward the gates of the cemetery.

“What’s going on?” an unfamiliar, strangely accented voice says.

“It’s another god. He’s come to attack the Lord of Storms.”

“No!” another man laughs. “A showdown? Our lord will hand him his ass, wait and see.”

“I’m going to go watch,” one calls, breathless.

Yes, everyone go watch, I silently chant. Go and see the spectacle.

“Bad idea,” says another. “If you leave your post, that’s desertion.”

The man groans, and then the guards shuffle their feet. In the distance, the horn blasts three more times, and my heart clenches for Aron, who’s all alone in the middle of the battlefield…

And probably loving it, actually.

“They’re not leaving,” Kerren hisses. “What do we do?”

“We need more of a distraction,” Solat says, and then surges forward. Markos tries to grab him, but Solat sneaks to a bush nearby, close to where the two soldiers stand at the gate. Just inside, I can see two more patrolling. They said there were six total. All of the guards look to be paying attention to the sea of torches in the distance, across the river, where Aron’s saying hello to the enemy army. I’d give anything to see that sight myself, but first I need to save my own bacon.

Then, Solat throws a damn rock.

Markos shoots him an angry glare, and no one moves. One of the guards turns his head, frowning in our direction.

Solat throws another, a short distance away from his bush.

I can feel the tension vibrating off of Kerren. Off of Markos. I hold my breath, just in case I breathe too loud and someone hears it.

The guard say something in low voices, then one leaves the front gate and approaches Solat’s hiding spot. One step. Two. I feel like I’m going to explode as he takes out his sword, heading toward the bush, ready to attack.

To my utter surprise, Markos leaps from his hiding place and latches onto the guard the moment he gets close enough. His knife flashes, and then there’s a horrible gurgling noise. The guard falls to the ground, clutching at his throat and rolling in pain.

Oh shit. That’s not like the movies at all. It’s not a fast death. It’s not swift and painless. The man keeps making sounds and writhing, and I freeze, petrified. I knew we were going to make a break for the crypt, but I didn’t think about the fact that people were going to die.

I’m such a naïve idiot.

The other guard shouts, and then men are racing toward us, drawing their weapons.

Kerren grabs me by the arm and hauls me forward. “Come on. No time to waste.”

Solat and Markos confront the soldiers, while Kerren shields me with his body and keeps me against the rails of the fence. His sword is out, but because it’s dark, no one’s noticed us yet.

“In the gates,” he whispers to me.

I run forward, my staff clutched in my hands…right into a pair of guards.

They look startled to see me. “A woman?” one blurts out. “Here?”

“Surprise!” I yell, adrenaline rushing through me, and swing my staff like I’m trying to hit a home run. I don’t stop to think about what I’m doing, or if they’re going to kill me. I just swing.

I was pretty good at softball back in high school, and I definitely remember what the crack of the bat felt like against the heft of the ball. My staff slams into the side of the guard’s face and…it doesn’t feel the same. It feels a thousand times worse, and it makes a wet, cracking sound even as his jaw moves in a weird direction and blood flies and teeth spray and I can’t stop gasping as he stares at me, then staggers. He’s not going down, so I hit him again.

And again.

When he crumples to the ground on the third hit, I suck in a deep breath—fuck, there’s not enough air in the world right now—and try to focus. I just killed a man.

Later, Faith. Worry about that later.

Kerren struggles against two guards, parrying their blows as they push him back against a large stone grave-marker. I rush forward and swing for the closest guard’s head, but I only hit him a glancing blow from behind.

He immediately pivots and his sword slices out at me, too fast for me to avoid.

CLANG.

It feels like a truck hits my stomach, and I fall backwards as if kicked. I gag on the sensation of vomit creeping up my throat. I smack my staff against the back of his knee and he goes down like a rock even as I crawl onto hands and knees. While he staggers, I slam my staff against the side of his head, crushing his ear and knocking him over. A second swing makes him go still, and then Kerren shoves his knife in the man’s throat.

Markos and Solat jog up to us. One whistles, staring at the guards I mashed. “Damn, woman.”

I tremble, squeezing my eyes shut. It’s either that or vomit. I remind myself that it was them or me. Them or me. If they knew I was Aron’s anchor, they would have killed me just to get to him.

I still bend over and puke on some poor person’s headstone.

Markos gives my back a pat. “Hurry it along, Faith. More will be coming.”

Right. Right. Never mind that I just murdered two soldiers that were doing their jobs. This is war. I chant that to myself as Solat takes my arm and the men half guide, half drag me along with them, heading for the crypts.

Once we’re in the cemetery, I realize we never asked what the crypt itself looks like, but it soon becomes really obvious that we don’t have to. There’s one building in the midst of this place, with a statue of the god of the dead in front of it, skulls at his feet. Behind him rises a square building with columns, and absurdly, I think it looks a bit like a bank. It’s got double doors and columns and…well, bank. A hysterical laugh bubbles out of me.

“Get inside,” Solat hisses. “Hurry.”

The double doors are chained and locked with a delicate padlock that looks extremely expensive, and that Markos breaks with two swings of his sword. Then, the doors swing open and we step inside…and down.

Stairs descend, and it’s pitch black inside. The moment the doors close behind us, we’re in utter darkness.

“Um…?” I say aloud. “Did we think to bring a light?”

“I’ll get the sparker out,” Kerren says, and then there’s a rustling noise as he digs through his pack.

“Hurry. Hurry.” Solat’s voice is the essence of impatience. “The moment they find out we’re in here, we’re trapped like rats.”

“Let’s not mention rats,” I whisper.

Something taps. A skittering, scratchy sort of noise. It’s a noise I’ve heard before.

Ah, damn.

“What was that?” Markos asks.

“The dead. Can we hurry things along?” I ask. “Kerren? Please?”

The striker flares, and then Kerren lights a fat, ugly tallow candle shoved into a cup. He holds it up, and then hands it to me. “So we can keep our hands free,” he says.

Good call. I want them to be doing the fighting, not me.

The scratching noise starts again.

“Did you say that was…the dead?” Markos asks, confused.

“They’re coming back,” I say, stepping forward in a far braver fashion than I feel. “The god of the dead isn’t home to receive them any longer so they don’t have anywhere to go.” I shield the candle with my hand as I move forward.

Kerren mutters a prayer under his breath.

The crypt itself is long and cold and dusty. As I step down the stairs, I see niches carved into the walls, and each niche has a heavy coffin already in it. Cobwebs hang over everything, and as we pass by the first coffin, I notice there’s a heavy rock atop the lid. It’s not something that fell there by surprise—it’s easily the size of a shield, and not just the one tucked into my shirt. It’s enormous and would take several men to move it.

The coffin scratches, and Markos jumps, jostling me.

“Sorry,” he says.

I look across and the coffin on my other side has a similar rock. As we step forward, I see each one has something to weigh the lid down. “We’re safe,” I promise them. “Someone’s already been down here to do damage control. The dead can’t get out.”

“Safe,” Solat snorts. “How do you kill something that’s already dead?”

“Let’s hope we don’t have to find out, all right?” I say cheerfully and walk a little faster. “Look for a statue of Aron. An ugly one.” I pause then add, “It might not be that ugly. That just might be his vanity talking.”

Someone snorts.

We walk. And walk. I can’t go too fast or the candle will blow out, but I really want to get out of this crypt, and it seems like it snakes along for forever. We pass row after row of coffins, some with dried flowers left in vases by the floor, others covered in such thick dust that they’ve been here for forever. The scratching dies down the farther in we go, but I’m hyper-aware that Aron’s outside, getting pummeled just because he can’t die. I don’t want him hurt. As silly as it sounds, I worry about him. For all that he’s arrogant as hell and a god, sometimes he’s clueless. There’s a lot of things they can do to a man without actually killing him…and then I shake those thoughts out of my head because I don’t even want to consider it.

Then, the passage changes. It turns into a larger chamber, and at the far end is a statue of a man holding an axe, his head bowed. The entire thing is a little…stumpy and the expression on the man is downright constipated. I can’t help but laugh, because this had to hurt poor Aron’s huge ego. “All right, I think we’ve found our man.”

“How do we get inside?” Kerren asks, curious.

“No freaking clue,” I admit, and hand him the candle so I can run my hands along the wall itself, looking for a hinge mechanism of some kind. I run my fingers over the cracks, and I find a narrow, straight line between the large stone bricks that has to be our secret door, but no amount of pushing or pulling will open it. “Is there a lever somewhere?”

“Faith,” Markos warns. “Hurry up.”

“We can all look, you know,” I snap back at him, studying the floor. Is there a panel we step on? I push on one tile experimentally but nothing moves.

He readies his sword, and Solat does, too. “Someone just came in,” Markos whispers.

Then, I hear it, too. Voices. Distant, but definitely in the crypt. Fuck. We have to get out of here, and soon, because we’re cornered. Frantic, I run my hands over the wall one more time, but when I find nothing, I turn to the statue. Maybe our answer is here. I run my hands all over the ugly dwarf-Aron made of stone, checking the mouth, the crotch, the hands, but it all seems to be entirely one piece. Even as I move, I hear footsteps approaching, the clank of armor, and then shouting.

“Come on, Aron,” I whisper. “Help a girl out.”

I jerk on the axe, hoping that it’s the key I’m missing, but when it doesn’t move, I glare at the statue itself, frustrated.

And stop. The eyepatch covering Aron’s left eye looks strange. I run a fingernail under the patch itself and it flips up. Inside Aron’s eye socket is a pupil, which shouldn’t be there if he’s missing an eye, right? I shove my finger inside and push it, and it clicks like a button.

Stone rumbles, and the wall slides open in a cloud of dust. A new, dark passage opens.

Fuck yes! “Let’s go,” I tell the others, flipping the eyepatch down and snatching the candle from Kerren. I lead the way, down a second narrow passage, and the men file in behind me. The stone scrapes behind us a second later, indicating that the secret door is closing once more. My candle blows out at the rush of air.

Then, all is silent.

“Did they see us?” I whisper into the darkness.

“I don’t think so,” Markos murmurs. “Where are we?”

“Hell if I know. No choice but to go forward, right?” I put a hand out and take a few steps into the dark. I don’t hear the dead scratching, so I’m really, really hoping this is just a small antechamber and not crypts 2.0. Sure enough, my fingers brush over stone, and I’m touching a wall. “Here we go.”

I run my hands up and down the stonework in the dark, and to my surprise, there’s something protruding—a door handle? I turn it and the door swings outward.

Light spills in.

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