“Well, it’s not because he doesn’t know how. You saw the fireballs in his hands when you two argued after we escaped the dungeons. And he did relight all the lights in his father’s hall. Those aren’t simple spells.”
“Then what happened?”
“I don’t know. Lack of focus maybe. A lot of men twice his age would have frozen up in that situation. He probably didn’t even fully understand what was going on until it was over.”
“He understood enough to realize I didn’t have my clothes on.”
Rondel went to the edge of the river and began collecting Andrasta’s clothing and armor. He brought them back and set them near her feet. “How would you know that? You had your back to us. You might have heard us, but even you don’t have eyes behind your head.”
“No. But I saw how he acted just now. The boy was red-faced and refused to meet my eye.”
“Maybe you’re right, but he is fourteen. I’m sorry, but only a blind man wouldn’t have noticed you.”
“What does that mean? That it’s all right to lust after me like I’m some whore? You’re no better than those pieces of garbage,” she barked, gesturing at the bodies of the men she had killed. “I go to bathe in a river, and they think because they see a woman alone, that they can have their fun.”
Rondel thought to explain what he said, but realized that doing so would likely dig him a greater hole. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. In a roundabout way, I was trying to give you a compliment. Nothing more.” He quickly changed subjects. “Do you need help dressing?”
“I’m not a child. Just give me privacy.”
He sighed. Rondel had thought he had made some sort of headway in their partnership, maybe even an understanding.
Now, I’m not so sure.
He gave Andrasta his back, listening to the woman swear as she fumbled with her clothing.
* * *
After their argument Rondel and Andrasta spoke little the rest of the day. He did manage to convince her that at least one day without travel was needed to reduce the likelihood of her leg re-opening. She spent that time alone on the edge of camp tending to her weapons and squeezing rocks for her grip.
While Andrasta sulked, Jahi returned with the mounts and supplies, Rondel took the boy to dispose of the bodies. Since they would be in camp for an extra day, he didn’t want other travelers to stumble upon them, raising more questions and possibly the ire of acquaintances.
And then there is the threat of animals. I can’t imagine having to face another wulfron.
He and Jahi worked silently. Rondel thought it best to give the boy time to his thoughts since it was obvious the events from the morning weighed on him heavily.
It wasn’t until they were done with the bodies and searching a nearby thicket for a particular herb to treat Andrasta’s wounds that Rondel attempted conversation. “You know I met a lot of interesting people in my younger days.”
“Hmm.” Jahi’s head was down while pushing aside tall grass in search of the leafy idichit.
“Did you know that many people consider idichit to be poisonous? I used to think the same until I did some traveling with a healer. She was a genius with non-sorcerous techniques. She explained that people thought idichit was poisonous because of a lack of knowledge in how to prepare the herb. It’s sad when you consider how abundant the herb is.”
“Interesting,” Jahi mumbled.
“I think so. I learned a lot of things like that over the years. Here’s another. I was traveling to Kurk with a small squad of mercenaries once and—”
“You? Mercenaries?”
“Yes. Why?”
“It’s just that . . . well, I could see you doing that now, but back then, all the stories I’ve heard of you said . . . I don’t know.”
“That I was a fop?”
“That’s not what I meant. It just seems strange that you’d be hanging around with mercenaries.”
“It’s all right. The thing is, mercenaries, thieves, and murderers are no different than merchants, nobles, and the upper class in that they all like to be entertained. A good bard learns to diversify. You never know who your audience will be. Saying the wrong joke or singing the wrong song could mean your end.” He paused, considering the first year of his life as a minstrel when he learned those lessons the hard way. “In this case, I needed an escort to Kurk. I met this squad at an inn. I overheard they were heading there due to rumors of war, hoping they could get on with someone’s army. I worked my way into their conversation with a few stories that would make a whore blush. After that, they didn’t mind me tagging along.”
“Oh.” Jahi paused. “You were going to say something else though before I interrupted you.”
“Yes. Travel to Kurk took weeks and I developed relationships with many of the soldiers. One in particular was the squad’s old battle sorcerer. He had seen more than his fair share of war and sported the scars that backed up each of his claims. I asked him how he managed to live as long as he had since most in his line of work don’t exactly die of old age. He said, ‘simple—I learn from my mistakes.’”
There was a long pause of silence.
Jahi snorted. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“I was expecting some wise, deep revelation the way you built up the story, especially coming from someone who is a master storyteller. Anyone on the street corner could have doled out that advice.”
Rondel chuckled. “True. It might not be as entertaining as my other stories, but that’s because I didn’t intend it to be. My reaction wasn’t much different than yours either, when he told me. I might have even laughed at him. But he was right. And as simple as it was, it was probably the best piece of advice I was ever given.”
He paused, thinking of all the mistakes he had made in his life before his imprisonment. Gods, I was so arrogant. And lucky. I never saw those mistakes until they all caught up to me at once with Duke Engren.
He blew out a long breath. “Unfortunately, I didn’t see it that way for a long time.”
Jahi broke off a twig from the bush he stood beside. “I can’t say I’m sorry enough for this morning.”
“I’m not asking you to. Andrasta won’t either.”
“No? She seems really upset with me.”
“She is. But words mean little to her. It’s your actions that she remembers.”
“Or inaction in my case.”
Rondel frowned. This wasn’t going as he intended. “Look, I didn’t bring this up to make you feel worse. I did it to give you something to think about. That old sorcerer told me another story about his first time in combat. He was a few years older than you, never tasted real battle before, and said he wet himself in fright.”
“At least I didn’t do that. So let me guess, it all worked out in the end.”
“No. His entire unit was wiped out. He was captured by the enemy and tortured. During his torture, something snapped. He finally came into his own, learning how to focus under pressure, and was able to escape.”
Jahi swallowed hard.
“He was a good man, but the ghosts from that day never stopped haunting him. He used to talk to those that died when he thought no one was looking.” Rondel paused, clearing his throat. “My point is that this morning could have been worse. A lot worse. I’m not telling you this to bring you down. It’s just that we still have a long journey ahead of us and I don’t want you to have to experience something so drastic for things to fall into place. I know you have some skill with sorcery,” he thought, recalling Jahi’s lighting of the torches, candles and hearth in Horus’s hall, “but that doesn’t mean anything until you can put it to use under pressure.”
Chapter 11
Two brown rats hissed at each other on the branch of a mostly bare fig tree just up the trail from where Andrasta rode. She hated the annoying creatures. If she had the energy she might have thrown a dagger to kill one out of spite. However, she had just found a comfortable position in the sad
dle for her injured leg and she wouldn’t move for anything except a threat on her life.
Nearing the two animals, one of the rats snatched a fig from the other and took off like a crossbow bolt, zipping through the branches. The other caught up quickly and pounced on its back. They rolled along the branch, hissing and screeching louder than before. She could only imagine what curses rats yelled at each other in such heated moments.
Her eyes stayed on the fight until her horse passed the fig tree, its leaves putting off an odor reminiscent of cat urine.
The two rodents fell, still pawing at each other during the descent. They crashed into a bush, separating and running off in opposite directions. She noticed the fig that had been the cause of the fight lay a few feet away from where they had landed.
She grunted in amusement. Neither would enjoy its sweet taste.
“What’s so funny?”
Andrasta’s smile vanished. Rondel’s mount edged up next to her.
“Nothing.”
“Hmm. How’s the leg?”
“Good. I can feel it healing faster with the herbs you packed around it.”
“If the pain gets bad, we can stop or I can try to find you some—”
“I said it’s good.”
He clicked his tongue, but said nothing, allowing his horse to slowly drift back.
Andrasta clenched her jaw and released it at the twinge of guilt for being so short. She knew she should be thanking Rondel for his help, but showing gratitude had never been a strength.
I could at least treat the man with more respect. Why is that so hard?
Too many people in her life had sought to take advantage of her, doing things for her only because they expected something more than what she gave in return.
Usually sex.
She hated that Rondel had seen her unclothed. It was bad enough in the dungeons in her undergarments. But none of that compared to being completely naked. If she had not been so angry, so caught in the moment after killing the first four men, she would have immediately leaped back in the water to hide herself.
But I knew there were others.
Rondel surprised her when he tended her wounds. He managed to keep his mouth shut and his hands focused on the task. For that she did respect him, which oddly enough only angered her more. It brought the ever-present guilt at the back of her mind forward for not thanking him for his efforts.
But she couldn’t allow herself to do that. To her, it meant showing vulnerability, and she had sworn never to show anyone any sign of weakness.
It allows for friendships to develop. I don’t need that complication.
She swore under her breath in her native tongue.
Andrasta questioned again why she ever partnered with the former minstrel.
Nothing but problems. Well, that’s not entirely true.
Rondel had made many mistakes in their short time together, but he had also done things that gave her pause, allowing her to see his value.
Even though they had little to show for it yet, she had to admit his wisdom in taking the girl to Girga had been sound.
I would have never known who she was. And it wasn’t his fault the king had no money. Her hand drifted to her belt where she tickled Jahi’s money pouch. Even if we fail now, we’ve gotten something out of the ordeal.
He’s even improving as a fighter.
She hated to admit the positives were starting to outweigh the negatives.
Her old Master’s words came to her. “Never rely on someone else. It’s dangerous and makes you weak.”
She thought again of the wound Rondel had tended. It may have been difficult for her to handle on her own but in the past she would have managed it somehow.
I’m letting it happen already.
Chapter 12
Dendera watched the large mountain rise out of an unforgiving landscape of rock, sand, and dirt. Very little vegetation littered the mountains in the Talmis Range. In fact, other than a few mice, snakes, birds, and insects, the only true sign of life she saw was when they passed The Blood Forest on their way into the mountains.
Like most people in Iget, Dendera had never seen The Blood Forest before. She had no reason to. Even from a distance, the sea of red leaves sent a chill up her back, especially when the wind picked up. The swaying branches made the forest appear as a pool of spreading blood.
Though they gave The Blood Forest a wide berth, entering the Talmis Range through the main road, she still shuddered from the proximity of the place.
More than a mile away and I still feel its dread.
Through a series of valleys and concealed paths off the main road, they reached a cave at the bottom of the highest mountain within the Talmis Range. Six men walking abreast could easily pass through the mouth of the cave. Ten cultists stood guard at the entrance.
She thought of the horrors recently associated with the Talmis Range.
If this is the base of the Cult of Sutek, no wonder they’d been hearing stories in Girga.
Guards took their mounts and led the animals to a side passage not far from the mouth of the tunnel. Someone had carved alcoves out of the stone and filled them with hay. Dozens of other horses waited inside. The smell of manure and old straw overpowered her as she passed the underground stables.
The rest of her kidnappers had been dismissed, leaving her alone with the captain. He grabbed her arm and jerked her forward.
An assortment of oil lamps and torches rested in wall sconces every fifty feet. It wasn’t enough light to mimic the outside world, but more than needed to illuminate their path.
They walked for what felt like miles into the cool caverns, going up and down stairs carved into limestone, in and out of numerous side corridors. In some places she had to duck or turn her body sideways to pass. In others, the tunnel widened enough for two wagons to pass without touching.
How is the mountain still standing with so much of it hollow?
Everyone seemed to have somewhere to be or something to do inside the underground network. Some cultists guarded doors. Others stacked barrels and crates. Several sparred and exercised in groups while more prostrated themselves before the numerous shrines of Sutek.
There must be hundreds. Maybe even thousands. Gods, this is worse than Jahi imagined.
Eventually, the captain halted outside a pair of double doors and knocked. A moment later, both swung inward.
The person that answered the captain’s knock blocked the entrance in much the same way the two doors did. He stooped slightly so as not to bang his head on top of the doorframe. His shoulders were wider than any she had ever seen, limbs thick as tree trunks, chest like a barrel. Yet despite the man’s size, he did not look fat. In fact, his waist tapered inward.
She recalled the stories her kidnappers had told at the campfires toward the end of their journey.
Nizam.
Dendera looked into the man’s eyes and immediately wished she hadn’t. They were not dark brown as was common among her people. Nor were they rare blue or green.
White. Completely without color.
She wanted to look closer to be sure she hadn’t missed a hint of brown, but when Nizam caught her staring, she quickly turned away, shrinking back under his scrutiny.
The captain started to open his mouth, but a voice came from inside. “Let them in.”
Nizam stepped aside, and Haji led Dendera into the room.
Her mouth dropped in amazement once she gathered the nerve to raise her head. Shelves lined every wall of the room. On them sat the most beautiful works of art Dendera had ever seen. Statues of gold and precious metals, pottery painted in vivacious colors, and jewelry of rare gems crowded the space.
At a second glance, however, the marvels brought her horror. Looking past the materials used to construct them, she saw what they depicted—sacrifices and unspeakable tortures. Legends and lore commonly associated with the Cult of Sutek were detailed on the pottery or mimicked by the jewelry and statues. The beauty of a poli
shed ruby meant little to her when it represented a heart ripped out of a young boy.
Dendera cast her eyes down, feeling faint. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, swallowing the welling of saliva as it filled her mouth.
A small chuckle sounded. “I take it your father does not have such works of art in his private collection.”
Dendera looked up. The man across from her wore the same black and gray garb as others except his included ornate symbols of pale yellow over the chest, arms, and head. A neatly trimmed beard framed his lean face. She estimated he had not yet seen forty summers.
“No.”
“Probably destroyed like most others found by the populace. Too bad,” said the man. “Even if one does not honor the great Sutek, I find it sad that so few can appreciate fine craftsmanship. But people are superstitious and believe that once the material is used for something they deem to be evil, it should never be used again.” He snorted. “Funny how no general feels that way on a field of battle. They square off against an enemy they believe to be evil and in victory, armor and weapons are gathered and redistributed among their own, replacing those damaged or of lesser quality.”
“I wouldn’t know . . .” She stopped herself from calling him what she wanted to truly say, thinking it best to at least maintain an air of civility toward her captors.
The man gave her a knowing look. It chilled her. “You may call me High Priest Menetnashte as others do.”
She leaned forward. This man who claimed to be Menetnashte had the barest of wrinkles around his eyes and only a hint of graying in his beard. “You’re too young to be him.”
Menetnashte raised his hands and bowed his head. “Sutek has blessed me generously for returning his people to the old ways. His rituals bring us all strength which is why our numbers have grown. And after the Heka we will be strong enough to no longer hide. Iget will serve Sutek above all others.”
Heka?
“And you will rule Iget afterward?”
A twinkle shone in Menetnashte’s eye, then quickly faded. “As always, I will do as Sutek wills.”
The Cult of Sutek Page 16