The Cult of Sutek Page 2

  “He can’t be dead.”

  “It looks that way. He’s got blood around his mouth.” She paused. “He kept complaining about the beating he took yesterday. He must have bled internally.”

  Lesh swore and fumbled with jingling keys. “Trust me, I’ve seen Rondel take worse beatings. He ain’t dead. Move back against the wall so I can check him.” The lock clicked and the cell door creaked open.

  The sliding of chains confirmed that Andrasta had backed away. The groans of the fat man easing himself to the floor followed. Rondel made sure to position himself so that Lesh would have to put his back to the woman.

  Rondel caught a whiff of greasy sausage on Lesh’s breath as the guard’s sweaty hands checked for a pulse. The former minstrel had done his best to slow his breathing and heart rate using techniques he learned in his life as a performer. Anyone with half a brain would have been able to see the ruse.

  Half a brain is giving Lesh double the amount of credit he deserves.

  Rondel felt the guard’s hand recoil. “I don’t feel a pulse. He is dead! I gotta tell Cerk before he blames me for this.”

  Rondel rolled over and opened his eyes. “Boo!”

  Lesh screamed like a maiden and fell backward into Andrasta’s waiting arms. She spun him around and her fist crunched into his face. Lesh slumped. Blood flowed from the man’s ruined nose. He lay sprawled out as she took the keys from his belt.

  “Did you kill him?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Don’t. He wasn’t as bad as the others, and he has kids.”

  She shrugged.

  Rondel chuckled. “That was easier than I thought. I guess your performance wasn’t so bad after all.”

  The first of her manacles fell away, and she grunted in relief. The others followed. He offered a hand to help her to her feet. She grunted again, this time in annoyance as she ignored his gesture.

  He expected her to be taller than him. He did not expect her to have such a feminine appeal in spite of her height and knotted muscles.

  I suppose the skimpy attire has something to do with that, he thought, eyes drifting to the loin cloth hanging from her waist and a thin piece of fabric draped over her breasts.

  He managed to tear his gaze away from her body, moving his eyes upward. Her hair had fallen away, revealing a long scar that ran diagonally from her hairline on the left, to the right of her jaw.

  “What are you staring at?” she asked, shifting back into the shadows.

  “Sorry, I was just thinking that I understand why the guards stopped you from entering the bar. Other people in Juntark may dress like this, but most people here would consider it lewd.”

  “These are my undergarments, you fool. The guards stripped me of clothes and armor before sticking me in here. Now lead the way so I can get them back.”

  Andrasta shoved him forward.

  How was I supposed to know? No one knows much about Juntark.

  They moved quickly down the hallway, slowly at first, until the prisoners in cells they passed began begging for help. Andrasta paid them little mind, and Rondel did the same. He was risking enough already without trying to orchestrate the escape of the entire prison.

  They picked up their pace as the begging turned into shouting. Surprisingly, they didn’t come across a single guard while traversing the dark hallways.

  Must be nearing shift change. That worked out well, then.

  They reached the guard station and found Andrasta’s weapons and armor hanging by hooks inside of an enclosed metal cage that stood at the center of four intersecting hallways. Rondel didn’t see anything remarkable about the attire except that they appeared well-used.

  He bounced in place, glancing around nervously, as she dressed.

  All semblance of womanhood disappeared with each layer of clothing and armor she added to her frame.

  They both turned at a scraping sound that came from the hallway to the right.

  A lone guard stood some distance away.

  Rondel and Andrasta both froze, barely breathing, as if doing so might stop the guard from seeing them in the open space.

  The guard took a step forward, paused, glanced to his right as if reconsidering the situation. He disappeared down a side hallway. Ringing bells followed as he sounded the alarm.

  Andrasta cursed as she finished with the last of the straps on her shin guard and picked up her shield.

  Guards poured in from another of the hallways carrying rope and drawn swords.

  “Can we go a different way?” she asked.

  “The only way I know to get out is up ahead.”

  Rondel felt something jammed into his grip. It was Andrasta’s short sword. She held her long sword in one hand, her shield in the other.

  “What do you want me to do with this?” he asked.

  “Fight.”

  “But, I’ve never killed anyone.”

  “Seems like a good time to start.”

  She roared and sprinted toward the guards.

  What was I thinking? I’ve placed my life in the hands of a crazy woman.

  Out of the corner of Rondel’s eye, the lone guard who sounded the alarm had returned from the other hallway. The guard grinned.

  Why wouldn’t he? I’m alone. Rondel realized he hadn’t been in a fight since he was a boy. And that was with nothing sharper than our fists.

  The guard jogged forward, confident, sword held loosely.

  The clash of steel and anguished screams from where Andrasta met the other guardsmen echoed in the enclosed space. She’s fighting how many? And I’m afraid to handle just one?

  A flood of anger washed over Rondel as he thought of all the pain and ridicule he had endured over the years. Bile boiled up his throat, burning the back of his mouth as he screamed in fear of spending more years in his cell. He rushed toward the guardsman, noticing briefly that the man’s eyes had widened.

  Closing the distance, Rondel thrust his sword out.

  He tripped over his feet and lost his weapon as it struck the guard. The man gasped before Rondel slammed into the ground.

  * * *

  Rondel opened his eyes to blurry vision and a pounding headache. A streak of blood ran down the bridge of his nose. Andrasta stood over him.

  He swiveled his head. “Where are we?”

  She inclined her head to the solid oak door and whispered. “We’ve made it to the main office. Can you stand?”

  “No way of knowing until I try.”

  She lifted Rondel to his feet. The dimly lit landing swayed for a few moments, but he willed it to cease. “I can manage. By the gods, did you carry me all the way over here?”

  “Yes. You blacked out.”

  “Well, that’s humiliating.” He paused. “I take it we won, then?”

  “Shh.” Andrasta put her ear to the door. “I don’t hear anything.”

  Recalling the small horde of guardsmen that had been running toward them earlier, he snorted. “You may have killed everyone on duty.”

  She tried each key on the ring she had confiscated from Lesh until the lock turned.

  They stepped into the empty main office of the prison. Two large desks filled with paper sat in the room’s center. Benches and stools rested against the walls. Chains and manacles were anchored into the walls next to the benches. The room had no windows and the stale air lingered with the odor of ink. A thick door stood opposite to where they entered.

  Rondel’s breath caught in his throat as the reality of the situation sank in.

  I didn’t make it half this far last time.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Andrasta.

  “That door leads to the main street. We’re going to make it.”

  “We still need to get out of the city.”

  That sobered him. “Then let’s get going.”

  He took a step forward when Andrasta’s hand darted out and pressed against his chest. “Wait.”

  The locks spun, and the front door flew open.

  Rondel’
s mouth dropped as Duke Engren’s personal bodyguard stepped through the entrance sideways, his broad shoulders preventing him from clearing the doorframe otherwise.

  It had been years since he last saw the man, but it was hard to forget Fern. The man stood at least a head taller than Andrasta.

  Fern’s eyes narrowed when he caught sight of Andrasta’s drawn sword. He drew his own blade in less than half a breath.

  Duke Engren followed his bodyguard inside and closed the door. He wore all purple which Rondel thought did the man little favor as the duke reminded him of a plum.

  So close.

  An impressive scowl took shape on Engren’s round face. “What do we have here?”

  Andrasta crouched next to Rondel in silence as she and Fern sized each other up.

  “Just going out for a stroll, my lord,” said Rondel.

  Engren’s gaze flicked over to Andrasta’s bloody sword “I take it you’ve left quite a mess downstairs?”

  Andrasta said nothing.

  “I’m speaking to you, you foreign whore.”

  The insult got her attention. “Nine dead,” she growled.

  The Duke raised an eyebrow. “Nine? Impressive. Fern likes a challenge.”

  The bodyguard remained expressionless.

  “Rondel killed one of them,” she added.

  Rondel tried to hide his surprise, not remembering anything that had happened after he tripped and fell. He recalled the gasping sound made by the guard before he blacked out. Well, that was the luckiest bit of clumsiness I’ve ever had.

  The duke sneered in his direction. “I should have cut off both your hands rather than just ruin a few fingers. I’ll remedy the situation once Fern takes care of the jungle whore you’ve shacked up with. I had come down to see her hanged, but a sword through the chest will have to do.” He sneered at Andrasta. “Kill her quickly so that I can take my time with our minstrel friend. I’ve been too lenient with him over the years.”

  Andrasta pushed Rondel aside as Fern lunged. She spun away from the strike and came around with her blade arcing toward Fern’s head. The bodyguard quickly recovered and parried her blow with little effort.

  The two began their dance—slashing, hacking, and stabbing with furious speed in the single room. He and Engren moved against opposite walls to avoid the sweeping blades.

  Rondel knew that Andrasta was not without skill. Yet, watching her hold her own against a man known and feared throughout the city put things in a better perspective.

  She managed to slip a strike around Fern’s guard. He leaned back to avoid the killing blow. The point of Andrasta’s sword left a thin red line on his cheek. The giant’s eyes burned with rage. He recovered quickly and attacked with renewed vigor, raining down heavy blows with such force Rondel saw his former cell mate’s knees buckle.

  Andrasta deflected a particularly wide attack, but as she did Fern swung his free hand and connected his fist with her jaw. She fell, losing grip on her sword in the process. It clattered to the ground.

  Without thinking, Rondel grabbed a book on one of the nearby desks and launched it. He aimed for the bodyguard’s head, but it struck him in the shoulder instead, falling like an insect flying into a wall. Fern paused briefly to glare at Rondel with the annoyance one would show a pestering child.

  Andrasta seized advantage of the distraction and withdrew her dagger. She rolled to her knees and lunged, jamming the blade under Fern’s mail and into his lower abdomen. He shuddered and jerked. Andrasta stood and raked the blade upward, twisting the dagger before yanking it free. Blood and pink casing spilled from the wound.

  The immediate smell made Rondel gag.

  Fern wheezed, then collapsed.

  A loud yelp sounded across the room, and Engren fumbled with the door. The duke let out a cry when Andrasta’s dagger took him in the leg. He fell to his knees.

  Andrasta disarmed the dying bodyguard and used his own sword to lop off his head.

  Rondel faced Andrasta. She handed him Fern’s heavy sword. “I assume you want to do this.”

  He swallowed, head dizzy as the reality of the situation sunk in. He had never taken a man’s life before, and now he was ready to take his second in one night.

  Freedom and revenge in one night. Everything is happening so quickly. Where do I go from here?

  She nudged him in the back. “Go on. What are you waiting for? We don’t have much time.”

  Engren was cursing defiantly, but Rondel couldn’t focus long enough to make it out. “I know. It’s just—“

  “Quit thinking and start doing. He’s the one that put you here. Kill him now or you’ll never be rid of him. A man like him doesn’t forget.”

  “No. He doesn’t.” His mind cleared. “And neither do I.”

  He raised the massive blade, channeling all his anger over wasted years into the swing.

  * * *

  Andrasta took her time moving from the table to the bar, shouldering her way past anyone dumb enough to get in her way. Several opened their mouths to say something to her, but a cold stare caused them to reconsider. They returned to their conversations, several of which revolved around a rumor coming in from neighboring Iget where a once popular cult was making a return. Most dismissed the rumors as nonsense, but those that didn’t, spoke in hushed voices, refusing to even reference the particular cult by name.

  She shook her head, casting the nonsense from her thoughts. Probably just a bunch of ghost stories.

  She stopped at the end of the long bar, resting her hands on the scarred surface, immediately wishing she hadn’t. A layer of grease and grime had her wondering when it was last cleaned. She put her sticky hands back at her sides, eying the large man who worked behind the counter. He sweated profusely, wiping his hands repeatedly on a heavily stained apron. She was certain that she smelled him over the sea of musk the bar housed.

  “Two,” she called out, well aware that her accented voice caused her to stick out even more among the crowd.

  The barkeep paused in his work, casting her a glance while sizing her up. She was sure he would say something derogatory about her sex, her race, or her scar. He had that look about him, a look she had seen far too often in her life.

  Her breathing slowed, ready for anything.

  Thankfully, he offered only a nod. “Be with you in a minute,” he grunted.

  Take your time, she thought, relaxing slightly.

  She had offered to get them drinks if only to have a moment away from Rondel. Though she liked the man better than anyone else she had come across since leaving Juntark, she didn’t exactly feel comfortable around him either. Part of her discomfort stemmed from her former cell mate acting as a constant reminder of her own failures in the days since escaping prison.

  A year ago, she never would have been overpowered and arrested. A year ago, she never would have come so close to dying by the hands of the duke’s bodyguard. But a lot can happen in a year.

  She had allowed her frustrations and delays in her quest to steal the Jewel of Bashan affect her attitude toward other aspects of her life like her training.

  I grew overconfident and it nearly got me killed. She snorted. And to think I told Master Enzi I had learned all I could from him.

  She could almost hear him now, ridiculing her for her mistakes. “That attitude is exactly why you’re not ready to leave. But go. I can see you won’t listen to me . . . . Perhaps you’ll not die before you learn the lessons I hoped to teach you. But then again, I doubt it.”

  This lesson will not be lost on me. I promise.

  One of many lessons Enzi had driven into not only her, but into all those under his tutelage was not to rely on others, only yourself. It had turned into one of his better lessons, and up until recently she had followed it almost religiously.

  Getting arrested forced her to temporarily change her philosophy, using Rondel to help her escape. She could have left him behind and perhaps should have. However, she decided to see him safely away from trouble as
a way of gratitude.

  The barkeep plopped two mugs on the bar before her. Part of their contents sloshed over the sides adding another layer to the sticky coating. Andrasta flipped him a few coppers, grabbed the mugs, and walked back to their table.

  But tonight is where we part ways. I must get the jewel.

  * * *

  Rondel couldn’t recall the last time he had sat in a bar. Smoke from the hearth in the common room watered his eyes. Loud conversations and smells from the kitchen rounded out the assault to his senses. His head swam taking it all in.

  Freedom.

  Andrasta sat across from him as he scribbled notes on old parchment. She took a sip of ale and pushed another tankard across the table. “Feeling better?”

  “It’s amazing what real food, a bath, and a decent healer can accomplish.” He paused awkwardly, trying to find words he had rarely spoken sincerely. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For not leaving me behind.”

  She took another swallow, ignoring his gratitude. “You’ll want to get on the road again come morning. Patrols will eventually come out this way searching for us.”

  “We’re parting?”

  She nodded. “I travel alone. Besides, you said you were famous. You’ve got friends to look after you.”

  And she doesn’t, he thought, finishing what Andrasta seemed to be holding back.

  Rondel chuckled bitterly. “I wouldn’t count many of the people I knew in my old life as friends.” His good hand went up to the small creases around his eyes. He pushed back the graying hair that had once been a solid brown, then rubbed his newly trimmed beard. “Most wouldn’t even believe it’s me.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “I have plans.”

  She grunted. “Good. Me too.”

  Now’s my chance. He took a breath while hesitating. What’s the worse she could do? He leaned forward and whispered. “The Jewel of Bashan?”

  She reached across the table and grabbed him by his shirt. “You searched my things?”

  He gulped. “Not intentionally. Your map fell from your pack yesterday when you were out hunting, and I couldn’t help myself.”