Текст книги "Bound to the battle god"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Текущая страница: 37 (всего у книги 40 страниц)

79

“Keep looking,”

“I see nothing,” the queen says at my side. “I’ve scanned the entire camp twice, and still I see nothing.”

We stand atop the tallest parapet, spyglasses in hand as we watch the enemy camp. With the spyglass, we can see right into the depths of the distant enemy camp, and the symbols they have written all over their tents.

Nothing like a spider, though, and it’s frustrating.

I know you did it, Solat. I know he succeeded. Isn’t this what the Spidae have been hinting at all along? Everything is coming to this moment, and they’ve pushed and pulled and manipulated us along the way for this to happen.

They won’t check your pockets, you know.

At the time, I didn’t know what that meant. Now, it’s all too clear. I’m both excited and filled with terror.

“I see no spider marking,” Halla says, peering through her spyglass. “Are you certain?”

“It’ll be there,” I promise the queen. “We just have to keep looking.”

We’ve been staring through them for an hour, studying the tents from afar. It’s tempting to watch the battle instead, to watch Aron—either one—hack and slash his way through the men. But after seeing a few close-ups of heads being chopped and necks sliced open, I focused on the tents instead.

To a one, the tents are muddy and dirty, and the Adassians are fond of writing on them. Halla says they’re blessings or invocations, an old Adassian tradition to cover a dwelling with such to keep out bad spirits. That’s fine and all, but it makes it difficult to look for one symbol amongst all of it. It’s literally looking for a needle in a haystack.

But it has to be there. I don’t think the Spidae would have us come this far just for it all to collapse in the last minute. Then again, who knows what the Spidae are thinking? I stare through my spyglass, watching soldiers as they move between tents. There’s a huge, pitched battle at Castle Yshrem’s walls, but the Adassian camp is filled with people anyhow. There are soldiers guarding tents, wounded men, and women of all kinds. There’s also a fair amount of wine barrels, livestock, and the biggest, splashiest-looking tent in the center of all of it.

The Aspect is Hedonism, after all.

It would be obvious to have his anchor there, in the fanciest of tents, but there’s no marking on it at all. If his anchor’s in camp, he or she is likely being hidden away for such a reason.

The queen sucks in a breath.

“What?” I ask, immediately scanning the battle to find Aron. My heart pounds in terror, and I find him easily enough—the flash of the great battle-axe ever moving as he works his way through the tide of men. He’s covered in blood, his stark white tunic soaked, and he’s muddy up to his thighs, but he looks beautiful.

He smiles at his opponent, and I ache for him. Our time is almost up.

“I think I’ve found it,” the queen says, grabbing my arm. “Look. The tent with the fat man in front of it. Center of camp. It has two flags atop it—one for Aron and one for Anali.”

The goddess of healing. “So it’s a medical tent.”

“Or they want us to think that,” she agrees. “There is also a weapon rack out front.”

I raise my spyglass to my eye and scan the sea of tents, trying to find the exact one she’s speaking of. “You’re sure?”

“There are people going in and out, certainly, but none of them look wounded. I thought that very curious and started paying attention to the writing on the tent itself, and then I saw it.”

I find Anali’s flag, and then a weapon rack. Sure enough, there’s a guard out front of the innocuous-seeming tent with a fat belly and a scruffy chin. He scratches at his stomach absently and looks around, holding a spear. As I stare, the tent flap opens and a very healthy-looking man leaves, a new equally healthy one walking in. Curious. I scan the writing on the tent, though it’s all squiggly jibberish to me…and my entire body tenses when I see a spider casually drawn between two triangular symbols near the bottom of the tent.

“That’s it,” I murmur. I make note of the tent, memorizing where it’s at in the busy camp. Like Halla said, it’s near the center, but a good distance away from the obvious tent of Lord Aron.

Getting there? It’s doable.

I lower the spyglass and turn to the queen and Kerren. “That’s got to be it.” Markos enters the room with a tray of food just as I speak, and I wave him over. “We need to act.”

“Shall we share the news with Lord Aron, my lady Faith?” Kerren asks, a hint of a frown on his face.

“Or send an assassin?” Markos adds, coming to my side.

I shake my head, because I know what has to happen.

They won’t check your pockets, you know.

“It’s the encampment for Aron of the Cleaver,” I say to them, “But it’s also the encampment for Hedonism Aron. There’s a lot of women there. Whores. I can go. I’ll wear something slutty and I don’t know, flash my tits if anyone asks questions.”

Immediately, Markos and Kerren protest. “You cannot risk yourself,” Kerren says.

“Everyone’s risking themselves,” I say, gesturing at the battle. “Except I can stop all of this. If we can get to that tent, get to his anchor before he gets to me, we can win. No more pointless killing. No more scratching and scraping to gain a foot on the battlefield at the cost of a hundred lives a day. The right Aron will win and this will all be over.” The more I talk, the more right this feels. “The wizards have Godsfire, right? I can take a vial with me, hide it in a pocket, and pretend I’m there for some booty action. I get in, I use the Godsfire, boom. Problem solved.”

“How will you get there?” the queen asks.

“They haven’t finished bricking the wall over the secret passage that leads to the crypts,” I point out. “I can go that way and then enter their camp after it’s dark.”

Halla arches a brow. “And how do you plan on leaving the camp once you have done this?”

“Does it matter at that point?” I ask. “I’ll figure something out. If we cut off the head of the snake, the rest will follow.”

“Aron won’t allow this,” Markos says with a shake of his head. “He’s far too protective of you.”

“Which is why we have to do this now,” I say. “Before he returns tonight and finds out that Solat’s dead.” My voice wobbles a little, but I put my spyglass away and head for the door. I’ll be sad about Solat later, when all this is over. “We have to do this now because if the other Aron finds out that we know where his anchor is, he’ll move him. Her. Whoever. And we can’t keep hiding everything from Aron. He’s going to find out about the assassin they sent, and Solat’s death, and then all hell will break loose.”

“But to go in alone?” Halla frets.

“Not alone,” Markos says, and Kerren nods.

“No, guys,” I begin. I don’t want anyone else dying because of me.

Markos shakes his head. “You go with us or not at all.”

I look at their determined faces. “If we’re doing this…then let’s do it before I think about it too hard and freak out.” I nod at them. “I’ll get changed.”

“I’ll meet you in my study with the wizards,” Halla says. “And with the Godsfire.”

A short time later, Markos, Kerren and I emerge from the far side of the crypt and into the graveyard. Markos and Kerren both wear Adassian cloaks over their armor and I’m dressed like a camp ho. We took one of my low-cut, Novoran gowns and threw a corset over it, which practically shoves my tits in the world’s face. The skirt is cut all the way up to my thighs, and the queen assures me that I look sufficiently tartish.

I guess I’m going out of this world like I came into it—called a tart. Heh.

I know I’m not making it back out alive. I know I’m not returning to this castle. I know I’m never going to see my handsome, arrogant, wonderful Aron ever again. I want to grieve for it, but there’s no time. I’ve known this all along somewhere deep inside, and I think the Spidae were trying to prepare me for this.

I’m here to meet my destiny.

“Be safe,” Halla told me as she gave me the vial of Godsfire. I tucked it into a pocket in my cloak and pulled the fabric tight around me.

We make it out of the crypt without seeing another soul, replace the doors, and creep out of the graveyard. The moment we get to the entrance of the graveyard, though, we run into two other Adassian soldiers. We’ve been rushing so quickly I didn’t even think about this being guarded.

Then, Markos grabs my ass.

I squeak in surprise, jumping. My boobs nearly fall out of my corset.

“Next time, let’s just do it in a tent, eh?” Markos says, manhandling me in front of the guards. “You’re a hot piece but it’s a long fuckin’ walk.”

I feel totally obvious as Kerren grabs my waist and plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek, getting into the groove of our playacting. “I’ll do it in the graveyard if she likes,” he says. “Wherever she wants, as long as she does that thing with her tongue.”

The guards just roll their eyes. “Stay out of this area,” one tells us, pointing. “Back across the river to your commander.”

“Fuckin’ Hedonism,” the other mutters as we walk past. “Can’t nobody keep it in their damned pants.”

And just like that, we walk past them and toward the distant river. I let out a breath slowly, and eventually Markos takes his hand off my ass.

“Sorry, Faith,” he murmurs.

“No, it’s cool. Good thinking.” Heck, he was quicker on his feet than I was. Of course Hedonism is affecting all of the camp. I remember how Tadekha’s citadel affected me, how I practically humped Aron every chance I got.

Man, good times.

Even so, we can use this. Maybe it won’t be as hard to get into the Adassian camp as I thought.

We wade across and skirt wide around the battlefield. Even now, I can hear the distant clash of weapons, of men screaming, of people dying. As it fades away, we approach the camp itself, the cluster of hundreds of tents, and it’s like walking into another world.

From afar, I didn’t notice the empty wine casks everywhere. Or that men are sleeping wherever they fell, nursing hangovers in the middle of the day even as others die out on the battlefield. As we approach, I can hear a woman crying out in what is clearly sex, and there’s a tent with tits drawn on it which must be a brothel of some kind. Even though there’s a battle going on, there’s still tons of soldiers, and as we move between the cluster of tents, people start to watch us. My skin prickles uncomfortably.

“Do you know where you’re going, Faith?” Kerren asks, voice low. His expression is calm but his gaze is darting everywhere.

“I do.” I’m nervous as shit, but I remember the tent. Two flags. Weapon rack.

“Be ready to run there if we get caught,” he says. “Don’t stop for anything. Just run.”

I nod.

“You should—”

“What’s this?” a man says as he approaches us. He scowls in our direction. “What regiment are you in?”

Markos gestures at me. “Brought a tart for Lord Aron to enjoy.”

The man’s eyes narrow as he looks at me, and I stick my boobs out and do my best to look enticing. He studies Markos and Kerren, and then frowns. “Who’s your commander?”

Kerren and Markos immediately close ranks, standing so close that the man can’t see me. “It’s Lord Aron, of course. Who else would we be commanded by?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. Have you partaken of nose spices?” When the men pause, he continues. “Are you drunk? Wounded? Because you do not look like any of the above to me, and while Lord Aron expects his soldiers to enjoy serving him, he also expects healthy men to be on the field at dawn. The whores are for nighttime.”

“Apologies, sir.” Kerren shifts his weight and gives me a shove.

Fuck. Now?

I glance around and duck my head, scooting away even as I hear the man continue to upbraid Kerren and Markos.

“For the last time, who is your commander?”

I wince, hating that I’m running away when they’re getting in trouble. I feel like I’m abandoning them, but I have to do this. I have to. I move quickly between tents, keeping my head down. I’m fifty feet away—maybe more—when I hear a man shout and a scuffle breaks out.

Please don’t die, Markos. Please don’t die, Kerren, I silently chant. I won’t be able to stand it if everyone dies because of me. I’m so close. I’m approaching the center of the camp, and as men rouse themselves to move toward the fight, I discreetly head in the opposite direction.

“Hey,” an unfamiliar voice calls. “Hey, you. Tart. Stop.”

I pause, looking around. I think I see the tent in the distanc—

A man with a thick beard and bushy gray hair grabs my arm. He eyeballs me. “Who are you, sweet?”

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80

Ugh. Trapped.

I play with a lock of my hair and try to look as vapid as possible. “Hey, sugar. I’m looking for the whore tent but all these tents look the same.” I manage to choke out a high pitched giggle. “You know where it is?”

He squints at me. “You new?”

I nod eagerly. “I’m to serve Lord Aron tonight.”

“Sure you are.” He reaches forward and puts his hands on me. Stunned, I wait in silence…and realize he’s patting me down, looking for weapons. “Not just any tart can show up here, you know. You have to be invited.”

“Oh, I was invited,” I reassure him, doing my best not to kick him in the balls when he feels my ass and then moves down my thighs. “I don’t have any blades.”

Just the vial of Godsfire in my pocket, that’s all.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He turns me around roughly and then continues to pat me down, and I try to act like it’s normal. Like it’s what I expected to happen and I’m not out of my mind with terror right now.

I squeak in surprise when he grabs my tits, and shove them off. “Unless you’re Lord Aron, that’ll cost you some coin.”

He barks a laugh and then slaps me on the ass. “Maybe I’ll see you later then, tart. Whore tent’s that way.” He gives me a little shove in that direction and then leaves.

Oh thank fuck. I fight back the dizzying relief that threatens to choke me, blinking hard, and then continue on toward an entirely different tent.

The one with the spider.

I’m shocked I’m able to get there without being stopped again, but I make it. There are men in the front, so I carefully circle around the back. Here, it’s sludgy and muddy, but one end of the tent is loose, the stake losing purchase in the muck. I glance around, then get down on hands and knees, crawling underneath the side on my belly. I’m covered in mud from chin to toe, but I didn’t come this far just to get stopped now.

I have the Godsfire and I have my purpose. It’s now or never.

When I come in on the other side, I’m hidden behind a bunch of trunks. I get to my feet as quietly as I can and peer out from behind them. The inside of the tent is pretty nice. There’s a bunch of trunks, but there’s also a large assortment of food on a table, a mirror, and a loom for weaving. A woman sits on the edge of a cot, a book in her hands. She’s rather average looking, with brown hair and a young face. I kind of thought Hedonism Aron would pick someone more like Yulenna, but this is just a girl. Just an ordinary woman a few years younger than me, who can apparently read.

As I watch, she gets to her feet and moves to a trunk across the room, setting her book down and rummaging through the trunk. She pulls out a pouch and leans over it, and then I hear her snort deep.

Nose spices. She’s getting high. That works for me, though. Now’s my chance. I can’t wait any longer.

I close my eyes, think of my beloved Aron’s face. I think of the arrogant jerk and when he first held his hand out to me. Tadekha’s Citadel. Picking glass out of his back. Curling in bed with him. Touching him. Loving him. How he smiled down at me this morning as I lay in bed and I felt so protected and loved and…happy.

I’m doing this because I want that Aron to live on forever.

I open my eyes, ready to move out, when the tent opens. The flap rustles and a big man walks in, scanning the room. Outside, I hear the distant crackle of thunder. “Where are you, Naeri?”

The girl rubs her nose, sniffing again. “Here.”

The man steps forward, and as he moves out of the sunlight and into the interior of the tent, I bite down on my lip to keep from shouting in surprise. It’s Aron.

Sort of.

If I didn’t see the mismatched eyes, I wouldn’t have recognized him. This Aron is covered in glittering armor that’s been encrusted with gems. A long cloak sweeps over his shoulder, and it’s encrusted with embroidery and trimmed with thick fur. Everything about him is gaudy, from the jeweled beads braided into his hair to the pierced ring in his nose and the trio of gold chains that stretches over his cheek. He doesn’t wear simple clothing like my Aron.

As I stare from my hiding space, he snatches the bag from his anchor and lifts it to his nose. “Did you finish the nose spices again?”

She quivers. “I’m sorry. I just needed a little.” Her voice turns whining.

“You didn’t leave any for me.” He flings the bag at her, smacking her on the cheek. “Where’s my wine? And my sweets?”

“Here,” she says eagerly, scrambling to the nearest table. “Shall I feed you?”

“I want you to eat them,” he says, petting her hair. His hand goes to his belt and as I watch, he unfastens what has to be the most jewel-encrusted codpiece ever. I’d laugh at this guy if it wasn’t Aron’s face underneath all that crap.

The anchor – Naeri – shoves a few sweets into her mouth, chewing loudly, and then tilts her face up to his. Aron – Skank Aron – leans down and covers her mouth, slicking his tongue against hers even as she eats.

Okay, gross. I get that he doesn’t need to eat, but damn, that’s nasty.

“Now wine,” he tells her, and she grabs a goblet and starts to slurp it down, her gaze locked on his as he pets her cheek. His hand keeps moving over his waist, and then his armor jingles as his pants go down.

Oh shit. I do not want to see this.

I drop down to the floor, squeezing my eyes shut. I hate that being near this is affecting me, just like it was in Tadekha’s palace. I recognize how it feels. There’s an intense, needy yearning deep in my belly that’s growing by the moment. I don’t want to be turned on by this. I don’t. But my body’s responding anyhow. I can feel my pussy flooding with heat even as they make loud, sloppy noises on the other side of the wall of crates.

“Take me in your mouth,” he tells her, and I flinch.

He’s Hedonism. Of course he’s going to want her to blow him. I hate that she’s doing it, though, and for a moment, I hate him too. I hate all of this, and it makes me want to throw the vial of Godsfire at both of them. Thing is, my Aron is impossibly fast and strong. I don’t know if I can take him out, even if he is distracted. I have to wait…and endure.

It’s the longest five minutes of my life. It might be less. It might be more. I have no way of knowing, only that the smacks and moans and groans seem to go on for far too long. Aron’s armor jingles faster and faster, and then he gives a low groan that breaks my heart, because I’ve heard that groan before. That’s his orgasm groan.

I dig my fingernails into my palms so hard that I draw blood. I don’t know if I want to shove my hand down my pants or burst into tears. Both sound good right about now.

The girl gives a throaty giggle, and I hear the light slap of skin. “That’s for finishing off my nose spices,” Aron murmurs. “You’d better find me more before I return from the battlefield.”

“I will,” she promises breathlessly.

“Good. Today will be a glorious day.” His armor jingles again, and when I dare to peek over, I see he’s putting his codpiece back on with her help as she kneels in front of him. “We’ll break them today. I can feel it. And tonight, we celebrate.”

Naeri giggles again, gazing up at him with a sly look. “We celebrate every night, my lord of storms.”

He grunts, taps her cheek with a jewel-crusted glove, and then heads for the entrance to the tent, the beads in his hair swaying. He pauses before he leaves. “Find those red-haired twins and tell them to be in our tent tonight.”

“Of course,” she says breathlessly, and then he’s gone.

I want to vomit. So much vomit. I stare with hatred as the girl moves to the table and drinks more wine, then saunters back to the trunk and digs through it. She pulls out a new pouch from behind something, and as she turns her back to me, I hear her sniff deeply again.

Bitch is holding out on him.

I hate her. He’s not even my Aron and I hate her.

It’s now or never. I kick off my muddy shoes and move, barefooted, over the thick rug on the ground. I creep up behind the woman as she rummages through the trunk, the vial clutched in my hand.

She’s twenty feet away from me.

Then ten.

All I have to do is cross the distance between us, break the vial over her head, and run like the wind.

I can do this.

Five feet.

The woman tenses in her crouch, then whips around and looks at me, her eyes wide. I stand over her in my wench clothing, the vial clutched in my hand, and she stares up at me in shock. She looks so young, no more than eighteen or nineteen.

Her lower lip wobbles. “Please don’t kill me.”

Oh fuck. Every time I played this scenario in my head, the anchor never had a face. Staring down at this girl as she begs me to live? I hesitate. “I—”

She surges forward and in the next moment, plunges a knife into my belly.

I stagger. Pain rockets through me, overwhelming in its awfulness. Somewhere outside, I hear a distant unearthly scream as thunder crashes overhead. That would be Aron. Blood fills my mouth, and I clutch the dagger in my stomach even as the girl gets to her feet.

The look on her face is no longer helpless. It’s feral and cunning. My fingers curl around the cool handle of the metal knife and I realize the mirror off to the side let her know my every movement. I was so focused on getting to her, so distracted from Hedonism’s visit that I didn’t pay attention to it.

Fucking dumb, Faith.

The woman grins and approaches me as blood dribbles down my chin. She reaches for the knife, her hand covering mine. “Fuck you, cunt.” Her voice is low and cold.

I lift my hand—the one with the fragile vial—and smash it against the side of her face.

“That’s tart to you,” I choke out.

Flames erupt. It’s like she explodes into flame, and her shrieks fill the tent even as I stagger backward and collapse on the rug. She screams, high pitched and wailing, as she pours water on her face and the flames lick across her clothing and ignite. The smell of burned hair fills the room and people rush in.

They take one look at her, burning like a pillar, and me collapsed on the ground with a knife in my gut, blood pouring from my mouth—

And they run.

Blackness creeps in and out of my vision. Pain makes it hard to concentrate.

The girl’s still screaming, but it ebbs back and forth. Or maybe I’m the one screaming. It’s hard to tell.

Time passes.

I think.

Spots dance in front of my vision. My hand hurts. I squint to look at it, and even that’s difficult. My palm faces the ceiling of the tent, and I see that it’s entirely blackened, the last of the flames licking the charred remains of where the Godsfire touched me.

I lost a hand. Oh well.

My belly feels cold. I can’t even feel the knife in my gut. Not anymore. I can’t feel the pain, either. Everything just feels…really cold. And distant. I try to move my good hand, but it’s like trying to communicate with a block of ice. It doesn’t respond.

I fade in and out again. Right now, it’s not a question of which of us is going to die. We’re both going to die—the only question is which anchor will outlast the other in her death-throes. Will I bleed out before she burns to death? Who knows.

Who…cares. It suddenly seems to matter very little.

My heart throbs slowly. Painfully. My gut does, too. Belly wounds are bullshit.

I want to vomit, but I don’t have the energy. Oh god, everything hurts. I moan, and I can feel sweat on my skin. This is a horrible way to die. I think of the man with his throat cut. I think of the woman, burning alive under Godsfire. I think of poor Vitar. And Solat.

Fuck, there are no good ways to die, it seems. Just a lot of awful.

The woman. I turn my head, trying to look around the tent. One of the rugs is on fire, I notice belatedly, and her charred, unmoving corpse is atop it. She’s not screaming anymore. She’s utterly silent. The Godsfire keeps going, though, and as I watch, the bed lights up, the silks zooming with fire and crackling like they’re covered in gasoline.

Huh.

Won’t be long now, at least. If the gut wound doesn’t take me out, the fire will.

I close my eyes and think of Aron, and I’m…content.

I did it. I saved him.

I hope he remembers how much I love his arrogant ass.

Because I do.

I shouldn’t. There’s nothing normal about the guy, nothing humble, or easygoing. He thinks the world belongs to him, he’s bloodthirsty, and he can be a jerk. But he’s also protective and tender and good to me and I’m going to miss waking up in his arms and seeing that smile of his. I can’t imagine a day without him, without his laugh, his arrogance, his self-assurance.

That’s what I’ll miss the most about this place. It’s not that I’m dying in a strange land. It’s that I’m dying after I just found the man who makes me want to live.

To me, he’s always been more than a god. He’s Aron. My Aron.

And he’s going to win.

I clutch my burning, wounded stomach and I’m strangely at peace.

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