Page 5 of Warrior of the Wild
TORRIN ANDISTANDin the shadows of the trees, waiting for the god to appear.
In the clearing ahead of us, seven wagons wait in a line, heaped with various goods: precious stones and gems, fine clothing sewn with metallic hems, preserved fruits and pickled vegetables, flasks of fresh water from the Sparkling Well, herbs and medicines, fresh and dried meat—and in the final wagon…
I cannot bear to look at that last wagon.
“What do you suppose the god looks like?” I whisper.
“They say he never shows his face,” Torrin whispers back.
“Maybe he doesn’t have a face.”
“Maybe his nose is embarrassingly large, and he doesn’t want anyone to know.”
My lips twitch, but I cannot manage a smile with the threat of danger surrounding us.
The light of the full moon makes it easy to spot my father standing next to our wagon. The nocerotis are harnessed to the front. They are restless, sensing the tension of all the men waiting. My father reaches out a hand, patting the rough hide of one of the beasts.
I wonder if the god isn’t watching them, relishing their discomfort. In making them wait.
“You don’t think he knows we’re hiding out here?” I ask.
“Your father?”
I shake my head. “The god.”
Torrin doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Havard’s boasted of sneaking out before to witness the Payment, and he’s still alive.”
Unfortunately.
Still…
“Maybe we should turn back,” I say.
“Rasmira—” Before he can say anything else, the heads of all the nocerotis snap to attention, focusing in the same direction. The fidgeting of the leaders stills, and many of their faces go pale.
My father is the most skilled warrior I have ever seen. How terrible could the god be that even he would be afraid?
Tree branches on the opposite side of the clearing rustle, and it takes me a moment to notice the hooded figure in black furs and armor.
Because he isn’t on the ground.
He’s floating in the air.
A cape drapes across his shoulders and hangs just above his boots. He’s impossibly tall, yet slimmer than I imagined, even with the furs giving him extra bulk. Over his right shoulder, I spot the head of an ax.
The only uncovered parts of Peruxolo’s body are his hands, which are… surprisingly normal. He has, at least, the hands of a human, but what lies beneath that hood?
Every leader in the clearing drops to their knees. The god does not approach them, though his voice is not difficult to hear.
“The gems are few tonight,” he says, a deep and cruel rumble that I feel in my bones. A man stands from his kneeling position, presumably the village leader responsible for providing the gems.
“My god—” He is cut off by a raised hand.
“Come forward,” Peruxolo purrs, and just by the tone of it, I know something awful is about to happen.
The leader hesitates, and I can see him swallow from this distance.
Peruxolo cocks his head, and that is all it takes for the leader to obey.
