Page 16 of WarBride

Silence captures the whole of that noisy throng. The fae look at one another, trying to decide who among them is brave enough to bid against this man. He throws back his head and utters a laugh like a wolf’s howl straight to the stars above. “Will none of you test me?” he demands, opening wide his arms and turning slowly in place. “Have none of you the courage? Come! Bid on! See how high you can drive the price.”

He goes on taunting, but switches back to that snarling tongue which I do not understand. When he happens to catch my eye, he laughs again and points at me. “Hurry up, Ralnor!” he demands of the auction master. “These fools would rathershakhthemselves than throw in their lot against me. Take my bid and hand over my prize. She’s eager for her wedding night to begin—look at that lusty face!”

At this the throng begins to laugh again, calling out suggestions of what I might do to please my new husband in the hours before dawn. The auction master laughs loudest of all and, though perhaps disappointed he could not drive the price harder still, begins the countdown. “Lord Lurodos takes the warbride at fifty silver heds! Going once . . . going twice . . .”

“Fifty-one.”

A sudden intake of breath gusts through the crowd.

“Who said that?” the fae—Lord Lurodos—demands, whirling with a smile that’s close to a snarl. “Who dares come between me and this sweet human flesh? Show yourself!”

My lungs are too tight to manage even a gasp. Breathless and lightheaded, I can do nothing but shift my gaze to the back of the horde, where yet another path is being made and yet another figure approaches at a rapid stride. He steps into the glow of the suspended orbs, and I feel as though I’ve been punched in the gut. Because I know him: the man who took me captive, who struck me and left me in that cage. The band of black warpaint across his temples is gone, as is the fiery magic which had burned deep in his eyes. But I know him. That face will haunt my nightmares to the end of my days.

And did he . . . did he just bid on me? Against this massive monster?

He comes to a stop eight feet from Lurodos, and no man dares stand between them. It’s as though some powerful force propels the other fae back, so that the two of them stand in a clear space before the platform, beneath the orb light. They are an interesting contrast—both massive and muscled, but while the one is swollen to the point of distortion, this new man is well-proportioned, sculpted rather than bulky. He projects no glamour that I can discern, though it may be that his magic is simply better disguised. His long black hair is tightly braided back from his face and falls in thick waves past his shoulders. A beard shapes his jaw in clean, strong lines, unexpected on the face of a fae man. He might be the only man or monster in this entire gathering to sport facial hair.

The newcomer folds his arms, muscles moving in the light in a way that makes me lightheaded. He wears nothing on his torso save pauldrons. The leather straps crisscross over his chest, emphasizing its breadth and definition. He looks straight at Lord Lurodos and states again in a loud voice which rumblesacross the murmuring crowd of onlookers: “Fifty-one silver heds for the warbride.”

Lurodos barks with laughter, slapping his knees as though this is the greatest joke. “What is this? Does the little half-breed have a spine of bone after all?” Though his lips twist back to show each and every bloody tooth, there’s no mirth in his eyes. He turns to the auction master again and bellows: “Sixty heds. Call it, man, and hand her over.”

Shaking so hard my breath rattles, I turn my head to see the auction master’s uneasy gaze darting back and forth between the two fae warlords. He does not like that this new man has arrived. His attitude implies he believes things will go badly for him personally. In a rush he starts to say: “To Lord Lurodos and sixty heds, going once—”

“Sixty-one.”

My eyes shoot back to the second warlord. He doesn’t look at me but keeps his gaze focused on Lurodos, as though sighting prey. Though he does not touch them, he wears twin knives on his belt, and I get the impression that he’s loosened them in their sheaths, ready to draw at need. The gold jewels set in their hilts catch the orb light like winking embers.

Lurodos doesn’t laugh this time. He takes a single step toward his nemesis, then whirls and barks, “Seventy—”

“Seventy-one,” the newcomer inserts.

The fae monsters draw back still farther, exchanging eager glances and murmuring in their excitement. By their gestures, they seem to think the two bidders will soon come to blows. And they might. The tension in the atmosphere between them is palpable. A single spark, and it will combust. And where will I be then? Could it be the distraction I need? Perhaps the sight of these two brutal warlords trying to gut each other will be absorbing enough that I might slip away over the back end of the platform and vanish into the forest of tents and shadows beyond.

I grip my ragged skirts, heart thudding so hard, I cannot comprehend the auction master’s words when he calls out behind me. He must be trying to make light of the situation though, for a ripple of laughter carries through the onlookers. Lord Lurodos draws a breath through flared nostrils, but steps back half a pace, turns to the auction master and says: “Very well. No human is worth the price, but I’m a sporting man. One hundred silver heds.” He pulls a sack of coin from his belt and tosses it lightly. The metallicclink-clinkinside seems to echo in my ears.

My gaze flicks back to the second man, the second monster. Will he answer the bid? Do I want him to? Of the two men, I can’t say which I fear most. Is there ever a good choice between the bear and the tiger? Both will rip my flesh from my bones in the end. I find myself staring at those twin knives once more. I set my teeth. Whatever happens, I’m not going down without a fight.

“What’s this, Taar?” Lurodos goads, hefting the little sack once more. “Had enough already? I thought you were a man of—”

“One hundred and one.”

The second warlord’s voice rings loud in the emptiness of the first man’s unspoken words. For a moment they stare at one another. Then Lurodos, all amusement gone from his face, strides forward with such purpose, I think they will actually collide, possibly even kill each other. I brace, ready to make my mad dash for freedom, little caring for the fact that a sea of monsters surrounds me on all sides. The second warlord—Taar—holds out his arms as though daring the first to take his shot. Lurodos stops. Some of his glamour flickers and fades, revealing a glimpse of the truth beneath—a gaunt, ghastly visage, all hollow-eyed and hollow-cheeked. More cadaver than man, with long blackened teeth.

The next instant the glamour pulls back into place, radiating beauty so potent, I turn my face away, lifting a hand to shield my eyes. “I am done,” he says. “I will offer no more. But I give you this chance, my friend. Are you sure you want to pay so much?” His growling voice is suddenly soft and sly, but still carries up to me where I stand. “Is that not the total sum of your earnings from our little venture? Don’t give up the price of your dead just for the chance toshakha human. It’s not worth it, I assure you. They never last long.”

The dark-haired warlord holds his gaze for a long, silent moment. Then he turns to the auction master and says again in a voice of steel: “One hundred and one silver heds. For the warbride.”

“Going once,” the auction master bellows, painfully eager to see the end of this bidding war. “Going twice.Sold.”

A great cheer bursts from that crowd. My ears roar with the sound, this chorus singing the victory of the warlord and my own impending doom. I hear the threats and the violence, the longing and the craving reverberating from each and every throat.

Lurodos sneers and reties his money sack to his belt. He tips his head and sweeps an arm in my direction, as though giving his blessing to his enemy. The dark man ignores him but grips the edge of the platform and pulls himself up with apparent ease, muscles constricting and relaxing in a hypnotic rhythm of grace and power. He stands tall before me. Gods spare me, my eyes are on the same level as his clavicle! He takes a step, holding out one hand.

I stagger back from him, painfully aware of all the edges around me, of all the hungry eyes and leering mouths crowding in close once more. “Don’t touch me,” I snarl, pulling myself up straight. My voice shakes, but I infuse it with all the fire I can summon.

The warlord shakes his head. “Come,zylnala,”he says, holding out one hand. “I will take you away from these creatures. Believe me, they have worse in mind for you than I. Come with me, and I’ll see you survive the night.”

Am I mad, or is that truth I see glimmering in his eyes? No, it cannot be. He is fae and full of trickery. But I’m not about to be taken in by glamours. I hold very still, let him approach one step at a time.

---