The Cult of Sutek (3 page)

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.”

She snarled as her free hand came up with a dagger.

“Wait! I’ll explain myself if you put that thing away. It’s not like you need it to kill me.” He looked around uneasily as the other patrons stopped and stared in their direction.

She let him go and leaned back. Heads turned away.

“Talk.”

“You’re thinking of stealing it, aren’t you?” he asked in a low whisper.

She said nothing.

“I think it’s a mistake to do it alone. The jewel is too closely guarded, and there are too many traps. The guardians . . . .”

“I know the stories. I’ve stolen things before.”

“Not like this you haven’t. I promise. But, I can help.” He took a chance and raised the sheet of paper he had been writing on. It depicted a crude diagram. “These are just the details of the entrance. I have more in my head.”

“How do you know this?”

He tapped his temple. “One of the perks of my travels is that I’ve gained more than a bit of knowledge and picked up a lot of useful skills in exchange for a song or even a night of pleasure. And I’ve got an excellent memory.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

“A partnership. You’re a skilled woman. I have knowledge. We’d complement each other well.” He took a sip of ale. “Bashan is quite a distance from here. We could work some small jobs on our way to get a better feel for each other, and use the money to buy things we’ll need to obtain the jewel.”

Andrasta inclined her head to the side. “Thievery seems quite the change from your former life.”

Rondel snickered. “Hardly. A minstrel is just a more sophisticated thief. I stole hearts and had them giving me money. At least now I wouldn’t have to wear the ridiculous clothes.”

Andrasta’s shoulders relaxed. Light from the hearth danced on her face. He had gotten over the long scar and saw that without it, she would have been an attractive woman. Even with the scar, she was far from ugly. He wondered what caused it.

She picked up her tankard and drank. “You’ve considered where we should test this new partnership?”

Rondel grinned. “I have a place in mind.”

Chapter 1

Fading sunlight bruised the cloudless sky, casting shades of purple and red across the clearing of trampled grass. Large sycamores trees interspersed with the occasional mulberry or lotus surrounded the field. Horses grazed on wild grass while Rondel sparred against Andrasta.

Flames from a low fire licked the black kettle simmering above it. A whiff of the spicy stew inside made Rondel’s stomach growl.

Just one bite. Just one bite, and I’ll feel better.

Andrasta had pushed a hard pace, anxious to reach the next city where they might earn some coin. She would not allow them to stop for a midday meal, and Rondel had to content himself with dried beef and a few nuts in the saddle.

“Pay attention,” snapped Andrasta.

Her blade swept in and crashed against Rondel’s short sword. His arm shook from the impact.

Even my nose hairs are vibrating.
He took a haggard step backward before she came at him with another sweep.

One of the first purchases Andrasta had insisted on was a weapon Rondel could call his own. He had gone to the blacksmith with visions of picking up some hellish, intimidating weapon that might compare to those carried by the legendary warriors he once sung about. Lifestealer, the ax of Fera the Slayer. Harbringer, the great sword of Berac the Unholy.

Andrasta had laughed at his comparisons and handed him a rusty sword. His dreams deflated.

“We don’t have the coin for something like that. Even if we did, they’d be a waste on you. Those weapons would require great strength or two hands to yield them. You have neither.”

“Is this all we can afford?” he had asked.

“Yes.”

“It seems so . . . plain.”

“It’s practical. We can scour the rust off ourselves. A short sword will be easier for you to wield with one hand.”

“Shouldn’t I also get a shield?”

“If we get more money,” she had said, bitterly. “Eating is more important right now.”

An open hand the size of a bear’s paw slapped Rondel’s cheek. It left a dull sting and a watered eye in its wake.

“By the gods,” he shouted, blinking away his thoughts and bringing a hand to rub at what was sure to be a red mark spanning the entire left side of his face.