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The next morning, there’s a thick, honey-laced porridge simmering over the fire, and I watch the others eat, stomach rumbling, until I’m sure that it’s not poisoned and this isn’t a trap. Then, I help myself to a bowl. And then another. And a third, because their supplies are far better than the ones we have.
The soldiers watch me scarf down the food quietly, and when I make myself a fourth bowl, the one called Markos has a look of disbelief on his face. “You can eat all that?” He glances at Aron, unsure, but when he’s not struck by lightning for talking to me, he turns back to me again. “Where does it go?”
I decide I like Markos. I shake my spoon at him. “You sweet talker, you. And dude, I’m an anchor. We’re eating for two.” With my spoon, I wave it at Aron, who stands nearby, watching us eat with a hint of impatience. “I have to fuel up.”
“You eat more than any soldier I have ever seen,” Vitar whispers into his bowl as he eats. “We will not have enough supplies if this keeps up.”
I just keep eating. “Oh please,” I say between bites. “You act like this is shocking. Didn’t the wizard eat a lot?”
“Yes, but he was a wizard.”
“Well, I’m a girl. I’m allowed to eat.” And I take another heaping mouthful just to prove that I can.
Vitar looks uneasy, but Markos grins and takes a bite almost as big as mine, as if to prove that he can. Big goof. We eat in companionable silence, and a few moments later Yule
Markos prepares a bowl of porridge for Yule
I make a face into my bowl, and I can hear Vitar muffle a laugh.
Breakfast is eventually over, though, and the tents are packed up, the woales loaded with gear we’ve opted to take. There’s a small mountain of it left in the bushes, and I look mournfully at the bedding I slept in last night. Goodbye, mattress. Goodbye, pillows. Goodbye, delicious night’s sleep. Even though I understand it—we need speed if we want to stay ahead of anyone else that might be following us—I’m still a little bummed at the thought of sleeping on woale-back again.
I’m never going to complain about taking the bus again when I get home, I decide. Never, ever again. Woale-back is ten times worse and twenty times slower.
When the camp is nothing but a firepit, Kerren kicks dirt over it until it, too, is no more. Then, one by one, the men drop to their knees and put their fists over their hearts in Aron’s symbol.
“We are ready to serve, my lord,” Markos declares. “Tell us what you desire.”
"Faith and I are not going to Novoro," Aron says in that imperious voice of his. "That is our next stop."
I watch the others closely, because the moment he mentions Novoro, one shifts, and the other grimaces. Another just stares at the ground.
"Novoro?" Markos asks hesitantly. "I…you truly wish to go there, my Lord of Storms?" He swallows hard and ducks his head. "Not that I question your ways—"
"Novoro," Aron repeats in a firm voice.
"Where were you guys pla
One nods. "My lord Aron told us he wished to go into the mountains and establish a hideout so he could have defensive ground."
I glance over at my Aron. He just shakes his head, and I speak up again. "I think he lied to you guys. We're going to Novoro, and I bet he was, too."
"But why Novoro?" Vitar blurts, looking confused. "They do not open the gates of their fortress to anyone."
"They will not open for me," Aron declares.
He's right. They'll probably welcome him with open arms…even if it's only to betray him later. But hey, one problem at a time. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure getting in won't be our problem. Novoro's the destination."
"It is the end of the world." Markos's expression is solemn.
"Not quite the end," I add in. "We're going somewhere after that."
“There’s nothing past it,” Vitar says, curious.
"I require your services." Aron speaks again, his tone grave. He doesn’t clarify where we’re going, just that we’re going. "If you choose not to follow, I will be angry."
Markos clenches his hands over his chest, the expression on his face full of intensity. "We are here to serve you in this life and the next, my Lord of Storms. There is no greater honor. Forgive us for questioning you."
Aron grunts, but it's not a mean grunt, just an acknowledgement.
"We're the ones that are new here," I tell them. "If you have questions, ask them. I don't think we can ever have too much information. Aron wants to hear your feedback. Isn't that right, Aron?"
"No," says Aron. "Faith is wrong."
I beam at him, and I'm glad to see the men visibly relax. Communication's important, especially if these guys know something we don't.
"After we go to these places," Solat asks, sitting back on his heels. "Will you remain at the Tower? Do you have the same plan? To create a stronghold and defend yourself?"
All of the men watch Aron closely. I notice Yule
Aron shakes his head. "Waiting like that is waiting for death, is it not?"
It's the right thing to say. The men's eyes light up with enthusiasm. "Shall we hunt them down, my lord? Raise an army in your name?" Solat asks.
"Perhaps not." Aron rubs his chin thoughtfully, and he seems to like the idea. "Perhaps on to Yshrem?"
Yule
"What?" I ask, narrowing in on that. "What's bad about Yshrem?" Jesus, do these people hate everywhere? No one wants to go to Novoro, or Yshrem, and Katharn and Aventine were crap. Where is it that's safe and relaxing to go to?
She flinches, pulling her cloak close about her shoulders when everyone stares at her. "It is just…" She wrinkles her nose. "A kingdom of scholars and wizards. Adassia is much nicer."
"Adassia is conquered by the Cyclopae," Markos corrects. "As is Yshrem. And the Cyclopae are devotees of my lord Aron."
Cyclops? Freaking cyclops? I've heard everything now…but I'm not surprised. I mean, if there are zombies and angels and gods walking the earth, why wouldn't there be cyclops?
"My lord Aron, may I ask what is in Novoro and beyond that you seek?" Kerren—the quiet one amongst the soldiers—speaks up and asks.
"Yes, you may ask," he says, and turns his back to them. Aron stalks toward me and then puts his hand on my chin. "Say everything to them," he murmurs. "We keep no secrets."
Right. As in, shut your mouth, Faith. "Will do, big guy."
He studies my face thoughtfully, and his thumb moves against my skin, just inches from my lips. Before I can wonder if he's going to touch me more, or kiss me, he releases me and turns away, his cloak swirling. "Let us not be on our way."
The men scramble to their feet, full of enthusiasm. All of them except Kerren, of course, whose face is flushed with embarrassment at being ignored. The others clap him on the back as if to sympathize, but then everyone is mounting up on the woales and Aron looks impatient at me, waiting for me to join him on our land-hippo.
"I'm coming," I mutter, my butt already hurting at the thought of another day (or a week) in the damn saddle.