The Cult of Sutek Page 6

  Andrasta held a make-shift spear overhead with point down. Her eyes flicked up from the water for the briefest of moments. Rondel got the message. He froze and said nothing.

  The spear darted down, striking like a snake. Andrasta’s arms recoiled upward just as swiftly, splashing water. A large perch, impaled through the middle, flapped at the end of the spear. She waded toward shore with her catch. Rondel noticed two other fish of similar size laying on the riverbank near the rest of her clothes.

  “I haven’t had fish in a while. It’ll be nice for a change.”

  She began to re-dress. “Do you know how to clean them?”

  “Well . . .”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  She sounded disappointed. It wasn’t necessarily his fault that he had few outdoor skills. True, he had traveled perpetually as a minstrel, but he always did so in groups. Rondel had relied on others to handle things like hunting and cooking while he earned his keep by providing hours of entertainment to pass the time. He had sung countless songs, recited numerous poems, and even told hundreds of the raunchiest jokes imaginable depending on the company he rode with.

  He tried those things early on while traveling with Andrasta, but the woman would have none of it.

  “I want actions, not words.”

  Rondel changed subjects. “I caught Dendera trying to escape.” Andrasta’s head shot up. “Don’t worry. I stopped her. She found an old blade and was sawing at the ropes. Didn’t get very far. I tied her ankle to the tree as an added precaution before I came over here.”

  Andrasta grunted in what Rondel thought might be approval. However, the woman had so many inarticulate noises, it some effort to keep track of what each sound meant.

  She strapped on her last shin guard. “I don’t know what that dumb girl thinks she’s going to do. She’ll have more to worry about than running into bandits. She’s been sheltered so long she’ll likely die from eating the wrong berry. At least you know that much.”

  “Thanks.” I think.

  Rondel’s old life had gained him a general understanding of many subjects most people would never have the opportunity to learn. He once spent three months traveling with a well-respected herbalist. He borrowed from those experiences shortly after he and Andrasta had escaped prison when a hive of hornets attacked them on the road. Being able to ease Andrasta’s swelling had been one of the few times she showed him appreciation.

  “She’s still young,” he continued. “She’ll learn as she gets older.”

  “I doubt it.” Andrasta picked up the perch, ducked around the willow, and started back to camp. “I overheard you two talking today. Being married off can be awful when it’s something your father does to get rid of you. But Horus does not sound like that sort of man. You had the right of it when you told her about being selfish. She could repay her father and still live the good life.” She lowered her voice. “Almost makes me wish we never saved her.”

  Rondel stopped. “Seriously?”

  Andrasta paused and looked back. “That’d be the lesson she needs.”

  Rondel noticed the tenseness in Andrasta’s shoulders and the way the air whistled through her nose as she seethed.

  “Is there something you want to talk about?”

  Andrasta relaxed, but only for a breath. She caught herself before anything personal slipped out. “No. Let’s get dinner started.”

  A high scream ripped through the air.

  The echo seemed to bounce off every tree around them. Andrasta dropped the fish, drew her sword, and sprinted toward camp. He followed in the woman’s wake, regretting his decision of an early run.

  Rondel reached the clearing, three steps behind Andrasta.

  He froze, not out of fear, at least at first, but out of shock.

  A large animal with the body of a lion and head of a wolf, had its snout buried deep in the open cavity of a downed horse. Their other two mounts were nowhere to be seen.

  He had sung countless songs about strange creatures such as the one before him, but never did he expect to see one up close. As he watched the thing casually rip off the horse’s hind leg, he had no desire to see one again.

  Standing dumbfounded, the incessant high-pitched screams continued to fill his ears from a tree where Dendera stood on a low limb. Should the wulfron lose interest in the horse, it would have little difficulty reaching her. However, because of the rope he had left around her ankle she could go no higher.

  He felt a twinge of guilt. How was I supposed to know this would happen?

  “What is that thing?” asked Andrasta.

  “A wulfron.”

  “A what?”

  “Basically, it’s one of the abominations created during and leftover from the Sorcerer Wars thousands of years ago. The more powerful sorcerers created legendary creatures like dragons, and unicorns to fight for them. None of those survived the wars though and in fact, many would have believed they never existed if not for creatures like the wulfron. The lesser sorcerers without the skill to create their own beasts of war simply mashed together animals already at their disposal. They had hoped to gain the advantages of each one’s strength and dampen the respective weaknesses.”

  The wulfron looked up from its meal long enough to raise its head and issue a howl so guttural it shook Rondel’s bowels.

  “It’s signaling the rest of its pack.”

  “Wait. They run in packs?” asked Andrasta.

  “Yes. Large packs. Not like a small pride of lions. And when the pack arrives, it won’t be content with just one horse to share. So, what do we do?” asked Rondel.

  “Kill it.”

  “Just like that, huh?”

  “A wulfron doesn’t exactly seem like the type of animal you can domesticate.”

  Rondel blinked. “Did you just make a joke?”

  Andrasta ignored him. “Since it doesn’t seem to be paying us much mind yet, I’ll enter the woods and try to come at it from behind. You circle around the left and keep it distracted. Attack after I make my move.”

  “So, I’m bait.”

  “Someone has to be.” Andrasta sprinted off into the trees.

  Rondel swore. He crouched low and took a wide berth of the creature, closing in along the left side as Andrasta suggested. He flicked his eyes to Dendera. The girl had finally stopped screaming. However, the pale face and panicked expression told him that she could start again at any moment.

  Which the pack would only hone in on.

  The beast had yet to acknowledge him but he felt the thump of his heart in his throat.

  Swallow it, Rondel.

  “Hey!”

  Nothing.

  He cursed at it, calling it every filthy name in the book. “. . . and your mother slept with a wildebeest.”

  The wulfron paused in its meal, looking up briefly at Rondel, snout bloodied up to its neck. Strips of muscle and entrails hung from its lower jaw. It chewed slowly while its yellow eyes seemed filled with hate.

  He swallowed hard, concentrating not to relax his suddenly full bladder.

  The wulfron turned back to its meal.

  As long as it has its dinner, the world could burn, and it wouldn’t care. He took a deep breath. Only one thing left to do.

  Rondel edged closer to the animal, mindful of the stench pouring off it and the fresh kill it guarded. With each step, the beast regarded him more closely, chewing slower as it contemplated Rondel’s intentions.

  Though he was still some distance away, Rondel raised a free hand toward a small piece of the horse that had been flung from the main body. The second he leaned forward, the wulfron growled. It regarded Rondel much differently than before.

  Now, I’m a threat.

  The beast snarled. Drool and blood cascaded from its muzzle. The massive paws it inherited from the lion portion of its ancestry, touched lightly against the ground as it crept toward him. He withdrew his hand slowly, turning his body to the side, presenting a smaller target. He wondered if Andrasta was
watching him do so, proud that he remembered at least something she had shown him.

  The wulfron halted, lowering its shoulders and head. Its hind legs flexed.

  Sweat poured down Rondel’s face.

  Andrasta emerged from the woods in a full sprint. She took several long strides and leaped. The creature whipped its head around to meet her, twisting unnaturally to do so.

  Andrasta’s blade struck the upper shoulder near the neck while the wulfron’s paw swiped her across her side. The weight of the blows sent both beast and woman tumbling.

  The wulfron rose in a rage. Andrasta started to roll away but Rondel saw she wouldn’t be fast enough to beat the attack. He charged, short sword extended. The wulfron spun. Injured from Andrasta’s initial attack, it could not move fast enough, and Rondel’s blade sunk into the animal’s haunch.

  The beast snarled and clamped its jaws around his shin guard. It pulled and whipped him to the ground. Teeth crushed the metal around his leg, scraping the skin over his bone.

  He closed his eyes, screaming in anguish. A spray of hot blood fell across his face. He tasted copper and opened his eyes. Though lessened, the pain remained in his leg as the wulfron’s jaw released its hold.

  Andrasta stood over the dead creature, blade dripping gore. The woman heaved a deep breath, then extended a hand which Rondel gladly took. She yanked him up.

  He winced while placing weight on his injured leg. The shin guard was mangled and would need to be replaced. However, it did its job. He bled, but not from anything serious.

  “That was interesting,” he said.

  “Can you walk?” she asked. A slight frown adorned her face.

  Wow. Is she actually concerned?

  Distant howls ripped through the air.

  The pack answering the call.

  “Nevermind,” Andrasta said. “Can you run?”

  The howls sounded again. Rondel’s rear clenched.

  “It’s amazing how good my leg suddenly feels.”

  She offered a slight smile. “Let’s get the girl.”

  Andrasta ran over to the tree. With a swipe of her sword, she severed the rope at the girl’s ankle. She quickly cut the binds at Dendera’s wrists too.

  “You’re letting me go?” Dendera asked.

  “No,” said Andrasta. “Just run.”

  Andrasta grabbed the most important of their things and took off. Dendera and Rondel followed behind.

  “Where are we going?” asked Dendera, her head constantly looking over her shoulder in the direction of the last set of howls.

  Andrasta pointed toward the hoof tracks behind them. “Away from the horses.”

  “Why? We could use them to get out of here.”

  The howls sounded again, much closer.

  “It’s doubtful we’ll reach the mounts before they’re overtaken.”

  “And we don’t want to be around any of those things while they eat,” added Rondel.

  “Oh,” said the girl.

  “Still wish we had left you alone?” asked Rondel.

  Dendera scowled.

  Chapter 4

  After escaping the wulfrons, they traveled on foot for a full day before coming across a couple of bandits resting by a small stream. The bandits were asleep and without a watch. Therefore, it took little effort for Andrasta to steal their horses and make up lost time.

  Maybe that was the beginning of some luck finally coming our way.

  She considered that while resting in the saddle and staring at Girga’s outer walls crowning a wide hill. A long line of merchant wagons, men on horseback, and families traveling by foot, patiently waited to enter the city through its main gate.

  Andrasta had seen bigger walls since leaving Juntark, but she had never seen ones so unique. The stone held a golden hue, sparkling against the rays of the evening sun. Rondel explained that centuries ago builders had embedded pyrite, a rock that resembled gold but lacked its value, into the thirty foot walls. They had hoped the sight would give Girga the appearance of wealth, encouraging travelers to visit the city and spend their coin, thereby actually becoming wealthy in the process.

  Andrasta had scoffed at such reasoning.

  Only a fool would believe such nonsense.

  Yet, according to Rondel, Girga was one of the richest cities in the country of Iget.

  Apparently the world contains nothing but fools.

  She squinted at the gaudy walls, trying to see them once more through the eyes of an idiot. She could not. Even with the proven success of the builders’ strategy, the effort seemed wasteful when compared to what could have been accomplished instead.

  Her gaze drifted to the low mountains that stood behind the ascending city. Why waste time and resources to give the appearance of wealth? They should have spent more time looking for the real thing.

  She shook her head, certain that voicing her opinion would only garner a disappointed look from Rondel or the girl. Regardless of where she traveled, no one seemed to understand her.

  Then again, who understood me in Juntark?

  Andrasta eased her mount up as the line moved.

  A dozen guards, each holding a round shield and long spear, flanked either side of the two great, cedar doors. They wore smooth breastplates that shone as though they hadn’t seen a single moment of use. Metal skirts of thin steel shaped into what looked like feathers protected the waists and upper thighs. Leather covered both shins and forearms.

  The guards interrogated everyone wanting entrance to the city.

  “Shouldn’t we push up to the front?” asked Rondel.

  “Why?”

  “Because we have the king’s daughter,” he whispered. “That should count for something.”

  “Do you think they would believe us?”

  “Why wouldn’t they?”

  “Because they’re gate guards. I doubt any of them have been within a hundred feet of the king, much less his daughter. They might think we’re lying and arrest us for suspicious activity. We say nothing until we reach Horus’s residence. His personal guard will recognize the girl.”

  “Good idea. However, there is one problem.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, frustrated by the smugness of Rondel’s tone.

  “What’s to stop her from messing this up for us?”

  She grunted again, not wanting to admit he had a point.

  “I’ll handle her,” Andrasta said as she moved her horse next to Rondel’s.

  With one arm, she grabbed Dendera around the waist and lifted her off Rondel’s horse. The mount whinnied. She set Dendera down in front of her. Andrasta withdrew a thin blade and pressed it into the small of the girl’s back. “You say nothing.”

  The girl whimpered briefly, then nodded.

  She clenched her jaw, agitated with all the delays.

  Just keep thinking of the money this will bring. With it, we’ll be much closer to the Jewel of Bashan.

  * * *

  The sun set just as they entered the city. It had taken longer than Rondel would have liked to reach the main gate, but they managed the guards with no hassle.

  Merchant wagons rolled past, wheels banging against the uneven, cobbled road as he inhaled the city’s smells.

  Dirty. A monsoon would do wonders for improving that. It appears the time in small villages and the open road has spoiled me.

  The last light of day danced off the tall, tan buildings of sun-baked brick and limestone. Large painted columns supported the front walls of each structure. Adorned in various colors, greens and yellows dominated the spectrum.

  Statues of current gods and past rulers, marked the edge of the main road. Occasionally, a sculpture of startling proportions stood out among the rest. Those people depicted were often adored more than the gods themselves, legendary heroes from Iget’s most memorable histories.

  Rondel smirked. As a minstrel he knew that many countries boasted similar tales with heroes and villains barely discernible from their neighbor’s. Sometimes the only di
fference was a change in name. He had brought that observation up to a prince once and vowed never to do so again.

  I thought I’d have to pry my lips from the man’s backside by the time I was done smoothing things over.

  Even without the sun, the streets were well lit with star-shaped lamps hanging from ropes that crisscrossed buildings on either side of the road.

  “I don’t remember Girga being lit like this.” He looked to Dendera.

  She frowned. “We only do this for the Festival of Nut.”

  “As in the food?” asked Andrasta.

  “No,” snapped the girl. “Nut is the goddess of the sky who protects us from the harsh rays of the sun and the worst of the rainstorms. The lamps are shaped like stars as a way to honor her. They hang above our streets just as the stars hang in the sky to light our path at night.”

  “I never got a chance to visit during the festival,” said Rondel. Dendera’s frown deepened. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s just . . . I didn’t think father would hold the festival with me gone.”

  Andrasta laughed. The sound caused Rondel to jump for he had never heard more than the rare snort or chuckle escape the woman’s mouth.

  “What’s so funny?” asked the girl.

  “You run away from your father when he needed you, not caring how it would affect him. Yet you’re hurt because he chose to continue living. Would a covering of black draped over each of your silly lamps have appeased you?”

  “I hope Nut drops the sky on you both,” Dendera hissed.

  The crowds began spilling out into the street. Conversations ran together into a mess of noise that reminded Rondel of old women gossiping loudly over tea.

  He cleared his throat. “We should find a place for our horses and continue on foot. Staying mounted in the middle of the celebration will only draw attention.”

  “Do you know any stables we can trust?” asked Andrasta.

  “If I remember right, we take this left and there should be a place half a block down.”

  They secured one of the last available stalls. Based on the pungent smell of manure, Rondel determined business had been good for the owner.

  He and Dendera waited out front as Andrasta gathered what they didn’t trust the stable hands to watch over.