Bound to the battle god

26

ONE WEEK LATER

I eye the piles of land-hippo poop littering the road and sidestep, only to end up in mud anyhow. "Man, these roads are terrible."

"That means we are close to Katharn," Aron tells me. "Very close. It will get worse."

"Let's pause for a moment so I can switch to my boots, then," I tell him, and sit down on a grassy spot off the edge of the road.

Aron sighs heavily with irritation, but he follows me and waits nearby. I'm getting used to his surly personality, though, and his bitching and moaning no longer sets me off. It is what it is—just part of his “arrogance” personality. And, well, he's a god. Or part of one. I kind of expect him to be a dick to “mortals.” In a way, I kind of appreciate his griping, because it makes me remember that someone else hates being here as much as I do. It's fu

Just like right now, I'm covered in mud and sweat and grime from a week straight of traveling, and Aron looks as fresh as a daisy. The traveling doesn't bother him, even though my feet blistered up and swelled like balloons. I glance over at his sandal-clad feet and he doesn't even look as if he steps in mud. I can't seem to keep out of it. He's just as cool and handsome as he was the day he first showed up…and that could be a problem.

He doesn't blend.

Our surroundings are muddy road and cottages that trail toward a distant walled city. Katharn, which we've been heading steadily toward for a week. The scenery has changed slightly from the Dirtlands in that there are trees and fields and pasture animals. We've passed a few outlying farms here and there, but this entire area is pretty quiet and settled…and poor. The few people we've seen working in fields as we walked looked tired and worn and hungry, shoulders hunched from long hours of labor. They stared at Aron, his strong, proud body, and then at me, and I felt acutely vulnerable.

No one tried anything, of course, but they were farmers. Now, we're approaching the city and I'm trying to imagine all the horrible things that might be waiting for us. Thieves and cutthroats for sure. Worse, if there's another god Aspect nearby. I work on fastening my boots, which are too tight and uncomfortable compared to the sandals, but seem smarter if we're heading into the city itself. "Do you know much about this place?" I ask, trying to think of the best way to phrase what I want to say next.

"Katharn?" Aron grunts. "Only that it exists. It is claimed by no god as a stronghold."

"No? How come?" I wiggle my feet in the boots, trying to stretch the leather.

"Look around you. Do you think the sight of this would make anyone proud?" He sweeps an arm through the air at the distant buildings. "This is a poor place. A place for pickpockets and mercenaries. There are no grand temples or manicured gardens, no noble houses or anything of the like. It is the armpit of the mid-lands, necessary but foul."

I stand again and tuck my sandals into my bag. "Thought you didn't know much about this place."

"Do not try my patience, mortal."

I just roll my eyes at him. "Oh, I'm not just trying. I'm succeeding."

He makes an irritated sound that I ignore. We're fond of pricking at each other, he and I. Or at least, I'm fond of pricking at him, since I'm stuck at his side and he can't do anything about it. In a way, it's the most fun I've had all week, knowing I'm driving him crazy. I sling my pack back over my shoulder and move closer to him. "So what's the plan?"

Aron narrows his eyes at me. "I thought we had discussed this already. We enter the city, get supplies and weapons, and listen for news of other god Aspects. Katharn is the hub of the mid-lands and we can find our way to other countries if we must. Adassia is to the east, Yshrem to the north-east, and—"

I raise a hand before he lists off the litany of small countries once more. He's told me this a bunch of times this week already. Off to one side, I notice a distant man in a field that's staring at us—probably because we've been paused on the side of the road for too long. I grab Aron's arm and move him under the nearest tree so we can have a little privacy. "I know that part of the plan. That wasn't what I meant, big guy. I'm talking what is the plan for this?" And I gesture at him, drawing a little circle in the air and indicating his proud, handsome face. "You don't exactly look like one of the locals."

He crosses his arms over his chest again, bracers practically bristling with weaponry. "Why should I?"

"Let's talk about low profiles and what a good idea it is to not be noticed," I tell him brightly. "In fact, let's think about this. Let's say you've heard that the gods are walking the mortal plane again. Let's say one of the gods put a bounty on the head of a rival, because why not?" When Aron frowns, I continue. "And then let's say you and I saunter in. I might look like another dirty woman fresh off the road but you, my friend…you do not blend. From your eyes to the scar to the way you hold yourself, you're not exactly a low-key individual."

Aron scowls down at me. "You do not look like a camp follower."

Is that a compliment? "Why, thank you, Aron. I think."

He grunts. "You merely sell yourself short. For a mortal, you are passably attractive."

"You are positively killing me with flattery here." I can't help but smile, though. Lately I've started trying to determine how Aron's words would sound if he wasn't “poisoned” with arrogance, and I bet that would be something nice after all. "You're not so bad yourself. But let's stay focused. You don't look mortal, either. You're big and beefy and you practically radiate otherworldliness. If they did a police lineup, you'd stick out like a sore thumb." I gesture at his face. "The coloring doesn't help. The scars sure don't help. You might as well wear an axe atop your head and scream to everyone that you're Aron of the Cleaver and you've come to steal their wives and eat their children."

Aron's hard mouth twitches with a hint of amusement. "I want no one's wives. I have a hard enough time with you at my side."

I just laugh, because that is something so very Aron, and I'm getting used to him.

He rubs his jaw, studying me. "So you tell me I am too handsome to mingle with these people."

"Well, you are a god." Suddenly it feels like the conversation is turning, and I’m getting flustered. "But I, ah, meant the scars and the coloring."

"Of course." He doesn't sound like he believes me though. "I ca

Okay, that’s weird and I’m not going to ask, because I’m not sure I want to know more about dragons. We’ve got enough problems in this world. "Maybe we start with a cloak and see how these things progress."

Aron grunts and pulls the hood over his head, hiding his jet-black hair. It's in a messy braid and most of it has fallen out of said braid, and I realize that he might not know how to braid it himself. How do the gods function if they can't do simple things like this, I wonder? Or is it just a matter of waving a hand and being perfect? Either way, it reminds me how shockingly vulnerable Aron is. If I wasn't with him, he'd probably just wander into town, demanding people give him information…and he'd end up murdered right away.

Or wait, I'd end up murdered and Aron would die because of it. Neither one sounds good. I frown to myself as I reach up and pull his hood on a little deeper, completely hiding his features. "Keep this on at all times."

He tilts his head back and gazes down at me. "How am I supposed to see anything?"

"You're not. You're supposed to hide and let me handle things." I pat his chest, and then wonder why I keep touching him. Dammit, Faith. "Just in case, though, I should give you some of the money. In case we get split up."

"If we get split up, we have bigger problems than money," he says, and catches my hand when I pull it away. "I am going to be watching you closely. If you feel threatened or worried, simply invoke my name and I will slaughter all close to you."

I stare at him, eyes wide. I shouldn't be flattered by that. I shouldn't. But it sounds protective and in a bloodthirsty way, kind of sweet. A weird thought comes to mind: Is this the way a god of battle flirts? Surely not. But all I say is "okay."

Aron pulls one of the makeshift blades—a shiv, really—off his leather bracer and offers it to me. "Put this in your boot and do not be afraid to use it."

"How bad is this city?" I ask him, but do as he says.

"How bad is any big city? Better to arm you in case someone decides you should be a slave again."

Okay, he has a really great point. "Let's just go before I freak out and decide we should keep going to the next city."

"All outlying cities lead to this one. Katharn is a necessary evil."

Lucky us. "We stick to the plan, then. Get in, listen for rumors, find what we need, and head out from there." When he nods, I take a steeling breath. "All right. Let's do this."

Showtime, Faith.

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