The City of Pillars

by Joshua P. Simon

  She shook away those thoughts, focusing instead on the bleak, orange desert that seemed to glow under the sun’s harsh rays. She managed to spot small pockets of rock in the distance, sometimes enough to be considered a low mountain or at least a tall hill.

  The rock formations were in many ways the life of a desert, usually housing small seepages, or if lucky, actual pools of water. In the interim, the only sign of life came from a cactus or small bit of ugly brush.

  Andrasta hoped she might come across some desert animal when they stopped for the night. It would be good to have meat again. She needed something more than bread and fruit to regain her strength.

  Rondel ripped out a belly laugh. Shadya snorted beside him. Neither offered to fill her in on the joke and for that Andrasta was glad.

  She did not like the strange woman and liked her story even less.

  This job didn’t feel like the ones she had grown accustomed to since leaving Iget. She and Rondel had stolen things, put the fear of the local gods in certain people, and participated in several other less-than-legal activities. In each of those cases, the work felt like business.

  But this is something more. This is personal. And last time we did something personal, we nearly got ourselves killed.

  Memories of The Blood Forest and the Cult of Sutek flooded her mind. She had accepted the offer of work from a noble’s son in Iget for selfish reasons at first. In the end, she found herself glad for the decision because of the good that came out of it. However, the aura that permeated off Shadya did not match the innocence or sincerity Jahi and his sister Dendera had exuded then.

  Her arm brushed against her chest. She still wore the amulet Shadya had given them when escaping Zafar. With no one paying attention, she slipped it off her neck and stared at the designs, running her fingers over the seemingly random depressions chiseled within the stone. A part of her wanted to slip it back on, knowing it might serve some further use. But a stronger part of her compelled her otherwise. She hated to rely on sorcery too much to keep it.

  She tossed it underhand out the back of the wagon and immediately felt better. The amulet landed softly in the sand. It dwindled in size as the wagon rolled on.

  Andrasta cringed as Shadya giggled again. It sounded soft, like footsteps over fresh flower petals.

  No one’s laugh is like that. I wouldn’t be surprised if she branded one of those wards on her tongue.

  “What are you chuckling about?” asked Rondel.

  Andrasta cleared her throat and wiped her face blank. “Just thinking.”

  “Well, keep thinking. It would do you some good to laugh more often.”

  Andrasta glanced over at Shadya. Out of the public eye, she had once more removed the veil covering her face. It wore a grin. Andrasta sneered. “There seems to be enough childish behavior going on without me contributing to it.”

  Shadya gave Andrasta a look that resembled genuine embarrassment. She faced the front of the wagon.

  Rondel mumbled something and faced forward as well.

  Andrasta rolled her eyes.

  The ride turned quiet without conversation.

  She couldn’t be happier. Within moments, she slept.

  * * *

  Hours later, Rondel still silently cursed his partner for her earlier behavior.

  You’d think she’d show a little gratitude for all that Shadya’s done for us.

  So consumed in that pastime, he almost failed to notice Shadya easing the wagon down a gradual slope which led to a watering hole completely hidden away from the road. It amazed him how well the wagon moved over any surface. Shadya said the wards helped the wagon to traverse such uneven ground.

  He took in the eerie red glow of the setting sun as it spread over the jagged sandstone surrounding their campsite for the night. With the temperature dropping to something reasonable, Rondel could appreciate the beauty of the desert brought on by the evening light.

  It reminds me of the paintings we saw in the museum.

  Shadya gestured to the pool of water covered in shadow by a high, stone ledge. “To the right is a path that leads to a small enclosure where the pool narrows. It’s an ideal spot for one to clean up after a day of travel.”

  “Good idea. Please. You go first.”

  Shadya’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. It’s custom for men to—”

  “I understand custom. You would be doing me an honor to see to your own needs first.”

  “Athar and the wagon—”

  “We’ll see to your camel,” he said, speaking for Andrasta. “After getting us to safety, it’s the least we can do.”

  Shadya bowed her head. “Thank you.”

  Rondel helped her from the wagon. She whispered something in Athar’s ears that the camel actually seemed to understand based on a subtle shake of its head. Afterward, she gathered a small bag of her things and disappeared behind the rocks leading to the narrowed pool. He fought an urge to follow.

  “I wonder what you could possibly be thinking about.”

  Rondel turned slowly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Andrasta climbed out the wagon with a snort. She began to stretch. “You know exactly what I mean. I’ve seen that look from men many times. And quite a few times from you when a woman catches your eye, though it’s usually fleeting. Nothing as intense as what you’re wearing now.”

  “Are you trying to say that I want to sleep with her?”

  Andrasta bobbed her head as she unhitched Athar. “I wouldn’t care if that was all you wanted. But I’m worried there’s something more brewing between you two.”

  “Now what’re you talking about?”

  “We’ve been out of prison for over a year. For someone with the reputation you had as a minstrel, I would have thought you’d have made some attempt at taking a woman to bed by now, but you haven’t. That’s what, nine years since you’ve been with one? Or is it ten now?”

  Rondel scowled, not liking the direction of the conversation. “Perhaps.”

  “That’s a long time for any man to go, and you’ve made no move to even buy a whore when you’ve had the chance.”

  “You know that’s not my style. Besides, you’ve never made a move to sleep with anyone either.”

  “We’re not talking about me. My point is, I think you want more than just to sleep with someone. And Shadya seems to be the one that’s finally caught more than just your eye.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You tell me. I was out for a day while you two just sat around and talked. And then the way you’ve joked and laughed since I’ve been awake. It isn’t normal in the Erban culture for a woman to speak and laugh so freely with a strange man.”

  Rondel chuckled. “You make it seem like we’re a couple of love-struck teenagers.”

  She shrugged.

  “This is ridiculous.” Rondel grabbed the camel and walked it to the water, turning his back on Andrasta, so she couldn’t see the reddening in his cheeks.

  “Is it?”

  I don’t know. So what if it is? I’m a grown man. What did Aritophul say in his philosophy? ”Every man is looking for someone to spend their life with, but many don’t know it until they meet her.”

  Maybe that’s me. I recall here and there wanting something more than what I used to get from women. It just never grew past that tug because one never truly appealed to me. Perhaps, I do want something more. I may have even found it.

  Of course, in Erba that would only happen if I married Shadya. His blood went cold at the thought. Marriage meant commitment. I don’t know if I’m quite ready for that though.

  “Yes. It’s absolutely ridiculous,” he said with more confidence. “But for argument’s sake, let’s say there is something more between us. What would you do then?”

  “I’d tell you not to get involved with the woman.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think it’s all an act.”

  “What is?”

  “Everything. Someth
ing’s off. It’s all too easy. Too perfect to be that close to truth. It’s a good way to use us though. I’ll give her that. You specifically.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Maybe, but you’re the one standing in water right now.”

  Rondel looked down and cursed. He had let the camel tug him into the pool, and water had seeped through the seams in his boots, soaking his feet.

  He stepped back to dry land. Looking up, he wondered if his partner did have the truth of things.

  She is a woman. He eyed her armor and battered clothes. Even if she doesn’t act like one in the traditional sense. Maybe she does know better. Maybe she sees something more serious between me and Shadya that I’m blind to.

  Saliva ran down his damaged throat. He winced, opening and closing his damaged hand.

  Shadya could do far better than someone like me.

  A high-pitched shrill rang out, followed by men grunting.

  “Rondel!”

  Rondel sprinted around the pool, drawing his short sword. He rounded the rock separating the private pool from camp. He came upon a shallow cave close to forty feet deep and sixty feet wide. The pool took up a third of the space. The rest of the cave consisted of gradually sloping rock that led up to the desert waste. On that slope, two men dragged one wet, partially dressed woman against her will.

  “Rondel! Help!”

  The two men stopped and turned. The one on the right spoke. “Rondel? That’s the name of the whoreson that broke into the museum.”

  “Where’s his partner?” asked the other.

  Rondel glanced over his shoulder, anxious. Good question.

  “Who cares? Just kill him. His body will fetch a nice reward back in Zafar.”

  Crap. You better be doing something productive, Andrasta.

  They dropped Shadya and the woman scooted backward across the rock. The two men each drew twin scimitars.

  Rondel gulped. I didn’t expect that.

  They separated, coming at him from the left and right. Not a mark of fear shone on their faces.

  Four swords against one. Now what? What does Andrasta always tell me when I fight? “Quit thinking. Just act.”

  You’re doing it again. “Act!” Andrasta’s voice screamed in his head.

  He took two quick steps, parried a hasty swipe, and lunged, sword piercing the man’s gut to his right. He withdrew it quickly. Scimitars fell to the rock with a clatter. The man crumpled.

  Rondel spun. Dancing blades and hurried curses met him.

  His opponent’s right arm swept high. Rondel ducked. The man’s left arm swept low. Rondel jumped. He landed as the two blades came at him in a crisscross pattern, weaving in and out of a figure eight. Rondel managed to bring his sword up several times as he backed away from the spinning scimitars, but each time it was cast aside with ease. He drew his sword back lest he lose fingers on his right hand as well.

  He dove to his right and rolled to his knees, unsheathing his dagger. His opponent followed quickly. Rondel threw the dagger with his damaged hand. The uneven throw worked to his advantage, wobbling in the air so the man could not deflect it. The blade bit into the man’s thigh.

  About time something good came out of that hand.

  The man howled. He dropped one of the scimitars to yank the dagger free. Rondel charged. The man turned aside Rondel’s thrust, causing him to lose his balance. He used his momentum and latched onto his opponent, taking them both to the ground.

  They grappled, twisting and turning, hands clawing at each other’s face and throat. A fist struck Rondel in the jaw. He saw stars. Half in a daze, he was thrown on his back and mounted.

  The man reached for his sword. Rondel blinked away the stars and jammed his thumb into the man’s open thigh wound. His scream echoed off the stone alcove of the pool. Rondel pushed harder with his thumb, twisting knuckle deep into the warm flesh until the howl grew into a childlike whine. The man arced backward in agony. Rondel pushed him off, snatched up the man’s scimitar, and thrust it into his chest. He shuddered and went still.

  Somewhere above, a wet hack sounded. Andrasta’s muttered curses followed.

  There’s where she went. She found others.

  In the resulting quiet, Shadya sobbed. Back against the rock face, she sat with knees drawn up to her chest. Dark, wet hair streamed down the side of her round face. Eyes red with tears stared with fear.

  Rondel hurried over to her. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

  She looked up as if seeing him for the first time. She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. Rondel reciprocated the hug. She trembled in the cool evening air.

  “You’re safe,” he whispered.

  She pulled back and wiped the tears away from her cheeks. A sniffle followed. “It was awful. I tried to run away but I fell into the pool.”

  “Their voices seemed familiar.”

  She nodded. “The guards at the gate of Zafar. They assumed I would come here. They expected to have their fun with me since they thought I’d be traveling alone.” Her eyes widened. “Wait, they said there were others waiting by horses.”

  “Not anymore.” Andrasta looked over the two Rondel had killed as she approached. Her head bobbed in what appeared to be approval. “Is she hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” said Shadya.

  “Why didn’t you use your sorcery? Andrasta asked.

  “It doesn’t work that way. I can’t just raise a hand and point whenever I want. I would have had to create a ward and I didn’t have the time for that.”

  “Maybe you should start doing something ahead of time then. At least—”

  “Another time,” cut in Rondel.

  Andrasta grunted. “Sure. You want to help with these bodies? We keep them here, they’ll spoil the water in the pool.”

  “Yeah.”

  Shadya’s grip on him tightened as he tried to stand.

  He swallowed. “It’s all right. No one else is in the area.”

  “I’m still frightened.”

  “I’ll be nearby. If you need me, just call out.”

  Her face brightened into a soft smile. “I will.”

  Rondel ignored a surprising urge to lean forward and kiss Shadya’s soft lips. The sounds of Andrasta dragging a body helped him focus. He pried himself away and grabbed the remaining body.

  Shadya began drawing fresh clothes from her pack. He tried not to linger on the wet material clinging her frame. He quickly hauled his load away.

  Get a hold of yourself. Any interest you’re picking up from Shadya is likely due to her fear. It’ll be gone by the morning.

  “When she’s done with the pool, I think you should go next.”

  Rondel looked over his shoulder. Andrasta set the guard next to the three men she had killed. Blood seeped into the sand.

  He dumped the body beside them. “Why?”

  “A dip in some cold water might clear your head.”

  “I already told you that you were being ridiculous.”

  “I know what you told me. Is your hand all right?” she asked, gesturing to his blood covered thumb.

  Rondel explained the details of his fight.

  “A pretty dirty move.” She slapped him on the shoulder before searching the things strapped to the dead mens’ mounts. “Forget being a lover. We might make a fighter out of you yet.”

  CHAPTER 7

  A rare wisp of wind skittered across the desert. Melek watched the swirling sand dance atop a nearby dune, changing directions twice before settling back over the sea of orange and yellow grains.

  He had watched such dances at least a thousand times in his life, yet he never grew tired of them. It reminded him that even in a harsh landscape like the deserts of Erba, beauty and joy could still be found.

  And even in the harsh life of Hubul’s Host I can find joy too.

  He hated knowing that he had to repeat such things to himself.

  As captain, his frame of mind had to be solid, free of
doubt. It was usually, but at times when he thought about all that he’d given up to serve Hubul, he grew troubled. True, he had forged friendships that many in the world would envy, but his role in the Host also meant that he could never settle down or fall in love. He could never have a family because nothing could stand in the way of his commitment to his god.

  However, if he fulfilled his oath and finally completed the mission that his predecessors had failed, he would be free to choose a new life. One that he secretly longed for.

  One that doesn’t involve so much death.

  Melek bowed his head and began to pray. He prayed to Hubul for strength, clarity of mind, wisdom, and success. He also prayed for forgiveness, hoping his selfish thoughts would not offend the father of the gods.

  Some time later, his young legs stiff from prostrating himself on the warm sand, he rose. He turned, startled to see Khalil waiting for him.

  “My apologies, Captain. I did not wish to disturb your prayers.”

  Melek relaxed. “No trouble.”

  “The men have completed their forms for the day and are eager to begin sparring in the circle.”

  Melek started walking. “You could have begun without me.”

  Khalil stepped in beside him. “I suggested as much, but Omar wouldn’t have it.”

  “I’m not surprised” What does he have planned this time?

  They returned to camp to find the men waiting anxiously to begin, fidgeting and bouncing in place around the manmade practice circle. Melek sensed this and wasted no time in calling for the first match.

  The sparring started with those of lower rank and skill, men with a quarter moon or less adorning their upper sleeves. As each match ended, Omar pointed out the mistakes made by each pair so they would have something to work on privately.

  Melek observed the ritualistic process with great concentration, but as usual, rarely spoke a word. Omar was not only his second, but also the man responsible for training the Host. Among his brothers, only he could defeat Omar in single combat.

  A sore spot he will not forget.

  After several hours, the time finally came for Omar to take the circle. Melek was surprised to see four face off against the bushy-bearded lieutenant.

  He leaned over to Khalil. “Four?”