The Cult of Sutek Read online

  The Cult of Sutek: The Epic of Andrasta and Rondel, Vol. 1

  By

  Joshua P. Simon

  Copyright © 2014 by Joshua P. Simon

  These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Joshua P. Simon.

  ISBN: 978-0-9846988-7-5

  Visit the author at http://joshuapsimon.blogspot.com/.

  Contact [email protected] with any comments.

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  Cover illustration by Alex Wakefield www.motorart27.com

  Editing by Joshua Essoe www.joshuaessoe.com

  The Epic of Andrasta and Rondel

  The Cult of Sutek, Vol. 1

  The City of Pillars, Vol. 2

  The Tower of Bashan, Vol. 3 *forthcoming*

  The Blood and Tears Series

  Warleader - A Blood and Tears Prequel Short Story

  Rise and Fall - Book One in the Blood and Tears Trilogy

  Walk Through Fire - A Blood and Tears Prequel Novella

  Steel and Sorrow - Book Two of the Blood and Tears Trilogy

  Hero of Slaves - A Blood and Tears Novella

  Trial and Glory - Book Three of the Blood and Tears Trilogy

  Table of Contents

  Maps

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  About the Author

  Excerpt of The City of Pillars: The Epic of Andrasta and Rondel, Vol. 2

  Maps

  Prologue

  A howl echoed off the dungeon’s dreary granite walls.

  Rondel stirred on the damp, hard floor, grumbling. Without opening his eyes, he cupped a hand over each ear. He had heard all sorts of screams during his imprisonment, and he knew these would stop eventually.

  They all stop when they’re dead, he thought.

  The howl came again, angry. It carried a certain amount of defiance, like a cornered wolf rather than the crying of a trapped lamb he had grown accustomed to hearing over the years.

  He shifted his thin body, arm numb from sleeping. The cold air of the cell caused his pale skin to shiver. Approaching middle age, he felt like a man in his eighties.

  Heavy footsteps, clanging armor, and urgent shouts told him that more guards had been called in to subdue the prisoner.

  Interesting.

  Rondel sat up blinking and rubbed his rough, unkempt beard with his good hand.

  The sounds of the scuffle got louder as long shadows bounced off the wall in front of his cell. No one had given the guards so much trouble since they had arrested a behemoth from Kurk several years earlier. The guards had to break that monster’s kneecaps to bring him down.

  Rondel wondered if they would resort to a similar technique as a shrieking guard thudded into a wall.

  Was that Finn? He’s going to hurt come morning.

  “Gods, she’s strong.”

  “Grab hold of her arms!”

  She? Her?

  More guards rushed in, better organized than before. A dull thump sounded and the prisoner’s efforts ceased.

  Heavy breathing filled the air.

  Cerk, the head jailor, ordered his men to take positions around the prisoner. Shuffling feet and hushed curses followed his subsequent commands.

  The battered group came into view. The guards dragged the slumping prisoner behind them in a way that made it impossible for Rondel to study the mysterious woman.

  “Wait. We’re going to just stick her in with Rondel for right now,” said Cerk.

  “I thought we weren’t supposed to mix women with men,” said another.

  Cerk pulled out a key. “Please. Like Rondel is going to overpower her. Besides, do you really want to drag her down two levels at this time of night?”

  An echoing squeal bounced around the space as Cerk opened the door. He led the group inside. They smelled of fresh sweat from their recent activity.

  Rondel spoke without thinking. “Had a bit of trouble, I see.” He snorted. “And with a woman too?”

  Cerk wheeled in anger, thick brows furrowed and face reddening. Rondel reflexively curled into a ball, immediately regretting his remark. Even after all these years, he still struggled to hold his tongue.

  A heavy boot slammed into his back, the treaded sole raking across his skin. The air left his lungs, and his eyes watered.

  “I don’t recall asking your opinion, old man.”

  Two more kicks struck Rondel’s back. A third his head.

  He wept.

  “Don’t get too attached to your new cell mate. Like the others, she’ll be gone long before you get out of here.” Cerk called to the others. “Throw her in the corner and double her chains. You’ve seen what she can do.”

  “It wasn’t a fair fight,” a guard muttered as chains slid across the coarse, gray granite and locks clasped into place. “She knew we had orders not to kill her.”

  “And six against one was fair?” asked Cerk. “Shut-up and get back to your posts. All of you.”

  The cell door closed. Footsteps faded down the hallway.

  Rondel’s curiosity begged him to turn over and examine the woman who had handled six men, but the lancing pain in his side pleaded for him to sleep instead.

  He managed a glance before the pain won the battle.

  * * *

  “Psst. You awake?”

  The thickly-accented voice slipped into Rondel’s subconscious and interrupted his dreams. Those dreams had become the one salvation he had from the miserable hell his life had become. As a result, he tried to spend as little time as possible awake.

  It was also why he often woke in a sour mood.

  “I hate that question,” he huffed in a raspy voice, eyes still closed. “If I was asleep, I couldn’t very well answer you, could I? And if I was awake and didn’t respond, then chances are I was trying to ignore you. Yet, you would keep persisting until I answered, thereby waking me if I actually had been asleep.”

  “What’s your problem, old man?”

  Rondel opened his eyes, blinking at the wall he faced. “Old man? I’m still in my thirties.” He paused. “I think.” The years had rolled by too quickly.

  “That’s what the guard called you.”

  “That’s because he’s got the brains of a donkey.” Rondel rolled over. “I thought you were out when they chained . . . you . . .”

  Rondel’s voice trailed off as he took the woman in. She sat hunched over with arms resting on bended knees, back against the wall. Her long, thick limbs caught his eye as she wore little in the way of clothing. Muscles flexed beneath her brown skin. Fresh scrapes competed for space with the plethora of scars already adorning her body.

  Broad shoulders. Lean. Thick hands. No wonder the guards had trouble with her.

  Rondel’s eyes reached the woman’s face only to see it covered in a mat of dark, stringy hair that hung down from the top of her head.

>   A loud sob from somewhere deep in the dungeons rang out. It broke him from his trance as he realized he was staring at the woman. The wail elicited little more of a response. Years in prison had hardened him against the misery of others. He doubted any felt sorry for his pain so why should he feel sorry for theirs.

  He sat up, wincing from his fresh injuries. “You weren’t really unconscious when they brought you in?”

  She grunted in what could have been laughter. “It made more sense to wait for a better opportunity.”

  I bet.

  Rondel knew what the woman would say next and decided he wanted no part of it. He slid back a few feet to make sure he was out of her reach and yawned. He shrank to the floor, mindful of his latest bruises. He bit the inside of his cheek to redirect the focus of his pain.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Going back to sleep.”

  “I thought you were getting up.”

  “I was, but I know where this conversation is heading, and I have no interest. You can plan your own escape.”

  “You won’t help?’

  “No.”

  “Are you a coward?”

  Rondel thought about the beating he had received the last time he tried to escape and shivered.

  “Absolutely,” he whispered before falling asleep.

  * * *

  The stabbing pain of a full bladder woke Rondel with a start. He stifled a moan as he climbed to his feet and shuffled over to the chamber pot in the corner. The throbbing in his back brought on by Cerk’s boot caused him to hunch while he fought with the tie around his thread-bare trousers. He cursed his damaged hand until the tie came loose. Biting his lip and leaning against the wall in front of him, Rondel pressed his head against the cold granite while relieving himself. He stayed there long after finishing, catching his breath.

  Tying his trousers, he moved away from the corner. The whites of the big woman’s eyes peered through the shadows over her face. Pupils tracked his every move.

  He eased down to the floor, his calloused feet scraping against stone.

  “I’m Andrasta. What’s your name?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Just trying to pass the time.”

  He closed his eyes. “Rondel.” He waited for the inevitable reaction, but none came. His eyes opened. “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “My name. Rondel. Don’t you recognize it?”

  She shrugged her wide shoulders. “No. Seems like a good enough name.”

  Rondel started. “Of course it is.” He raised an eyebrow. “You really don’t know who I am?”

  “Should I?”

  “Rondel the Bard? Rondel the Minstrel?”

  She shrugged again.

  “Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’ve made kings laugh, queens swoon, and soldiers cry with a lute or even just my voice.” When that failed to elicit a response, he continued. “I’ve traveled from one end of Untan to the other. I’ve played before Emperor Bachal in the south, King Ursey in the west, and the Great Sultan Sabdan in the east along with every man in between who had his own castle. Each one offered me a place in their court, and in many cases their daughters offered me a place in their beds. People know me everywhere.”

  “Not in Juntark, they don’t.”

  “Juntark?” The name tasted funny on his tongue. That explains the color of her skin. Though she looks lighter than the few from there I’ve seen. “Andrasta doesn’t sound like a Juntarkan name. More Caelic, I think.”

  “I didn’t know you were an expert on my birth country,” she hissed.

  “I’m not. I guess that’s why you’ve never heard of me. I’d never set foot in that place.” Rondel paused and smiled. “No offense.” He cleared his throat. “Still, I’m practically a legend.”

  “Why is a legend rotting away in prison?”

  His smile faded. “I got caught in bed with the wrong person’s wife. Even a legend cannot escape the wrath of a jealous husband. Duke Engren was quite upset.”

  “And you’d rather be here than looking for another woman to fall for your charms?”

  Rondel sighed, hand moving to the scar at his throat, fingers scratching his scraggly beard. “The duke ensured that I won’t be seducing anyone with my voice again.”

  “The lute?”

  Rondel raised his left hand which he kept hidden out of habit. He wiggled his thumb and what was left of his fingers. The tips of all four had been removed at the first knuckle. “Engren saw to that too.” He laughed bitterly. “Considering what he caught me in the act of doing, I guess he could have taken more.”

  “How long?” Andrasta asked, gesturing at their cell.

  Rondel couldn’t recall the exact length of time, but the pasty skin and lack of fat on his frame told him it had been too long. “Years.”

  “Then why not escape?”

  “I tried once. I was beaten so close to death I swore I’d never attempt it again. I’ve watched dozens of others try without success. I suggest you get comfortable and put your time in. You’ll be out of here long before I am.”

  “Swinging from a hangman’s noose.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

  “I killed three members of the watch.”

  “I could see how that would do it. Why?”

  Andrasta wrapped a length of chain around her hand and squeezed. “I tried to enter a bar. They forbade me to enter. They said it was no place for a woman, especially one of my color. Yet, that didn’t stop them from making a pass at me.”

  “I take it you didn’t like that?”

  “No woman from Juntark would. Women there are fighters. Strong. And no man there would be content to wait patiently in prison.”

  Rondel laughed at her feeble attempt to convince him to join her escape plans. “Keep talking. I’ve heard it all before. I may not have much of a life, but I’d rather it than the alternative. At least here, I have my dreams to keep me company.”

  A door shrieked opened, interrupting their conversation.

  A small sliver of bright sunlight shone in from a high window. It’s past dawn. No wonder I’m so hungry.

  Cerk walked into view moments later. Rondel hadn’t expected him. A black ring encircled his eye and his bottom lip had swollen to twice its normal size. A strong medicinal odor hung in the air.

  He had to treat his wounds. He really must be hurting.

  “What are you two yapping about?” asked the jailor.

  “Nothing,” said Rondel, knowing that another beating would come if Cerk knew they had even been thinking about an escape. “Just wondering about breakfast.”

  “You expect food after your little comment last night?”

  “You know I was only joking. Look, I’m sorry and I’m hurting bad.”

  Cerk snorted and revealed a small loaf of bread from behind his back. Rondel’s mouth watered. The jailor pushed the loaf through the bars and Rondel snatched it away greedily. It was wet, probably ready to mold, but he didn’t care. It wouldn’t be the first time he had eaten moldy bread. He jammed a piece into this mouth.

  “Do you have any water?” Rondel asked between bites.

  Cerk smiled. “There should be enough in that bread you’re eating. I drank a lot last night and soaked it down good this morning.”

  Rondel realized the odd taste in his mouth hadn’t been mold. He spat the bread out.

  Cerk cackled. “I wouldn’t waste that. It’s all you’re going to get.”

  “What about me?” asked Andrasta.

  “What about you? You’ll be dead in a day. Of course, you could ask Rondel to share. That’s a lot of piss for any man to stomach.”

  Cerk limped back down the corridor, shoulders bouncing with each step as he chuckled.

  Rondel stared at the urine-soaked bread. He wanted to throw it out, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. He knew Cerk had not been joking—he would have to get used to the taste if he wanted to live. Rondel sl
id to the stone floor in defeat. He went down too quickly and wrenched his back.

  Closing his eyes, he slammed his fist against the granite.

  Why would I want to live like this? It will never get better. Even sleep brings me less joy. Nightmares from this cell keep taking the place of better memories.

  Rondel stared at the small bit of sunlight from the high window. He longed to feel those warm rays on his skin again. He looked to Andrasta. “What’s your plan?”

  “It’s good to see you draw the line somewhere.”

  “You’ve won. Stop wasting time and tell me.”

  She shrugged. “You’re not chained, so they obviously don’t think much of you. You’ll need to call the guard back and steal the keys away when he’s not looking. Once I’m free of my chains, I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “That’s it?”

  “What more is there?”

  Rondel shook his head. “That’s an awful plan. Cerk’s too smart to let me steal the keys away.”

  “Our options are limited given our time and resources.”

  Rondel stood again and started pacing. He bore the pain of his injuries in order to get some feeling into his limp muscles. The excitement coursing through his veins had a positive effect on his demeanor. “That’s no excuse.”

  “You got a better idea?”

  “Maybe. It at least has a bit more flair. First, we’ll wait until after shift change . . .”

  * * *

  “Guard! Come quickly!”

  “I told you to sound scared,” Rondel whispered. “Pitch your voice higher.”

  “Shut up. You’re supposed to be dead.” She tried again. “Guard! Hurry!”

  “You sure won’t win any roles at the theater,” Rondel muttered.

  Rondel suppressed a smile as the weight of plodding steps indicated that the heavy-set guard named Lesh had fallen for Andrasta’s poor performance. Labored breathing confirmed his suspicions.

  “Back away from the bars,” Lesh said. “What are you going on about? Why is Rondel on the floor? What did you do to him?”

  Andrasta finally managed to pitch her voice higher. “I didn’t do anything. He complained about his side, then collapsed. I think he’s dead.”