The Cult of Sutek
Authors: Joshua P. Simon
The Cult of Sutek: The Epic of Andrasta and Rondel, Vol. 1
By
Joshua P. Simon
Copyright © 2014 by Joshua P. Simon
These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Joshua P. Simon.
ISBN: 978-0-9846988-7-5
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http://joshuapsimon.blogspot.com/
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Cover illustration by
Alex Wakefield
www.motorart27.com
Editing by
Joshua Essoe
www.joshuaessoe.com
The Epic of Andrasta and Rondel
The Cult of Sutek, Vol. 1
The City of Pillars, Vol. 2
The Tower of Bashan, Vol. 3 *forthcoming*
The Blood and Tears Series
Warleader - A Blood and Tears Prequel Short Story
Rise and Fall - Book One in the Blood and Tears Trilogy
Walk Through Fire - A Blood and Tears Prequel Novella
Steel and Sorrow - Book Two of the Blood and Tears Trilogy
Hero of Slaves - A Blood and Tears Novella
Trial and Glory - Book Three of the Blood and Tears Trilogy
Table of Contents
Excerpt of
The City of Pillars: The Epic of Andrasta and Rondel, Vol. 2
Maps
Prologue
A howl echoed off the dungeon’s dreary granite walls.
Rondel stirred on the damp, hard floor, grumbling. Without opening his eyes, he cupped a hand over each ear. He had heard all sorts of screams during his imprisonment, and he knew these would stop eventually.
They all stop when they’re dead,
he thought.
The howl came again, angry. It carried a certain amount of defiance, like a cornered wolf rather than the crying of a trapped lamb he had grown accustomed to hearing over the years.
He shifted his thin body, arm numb from sleeping. The cold air of the cell caused his pale skin to shiver. Approaching middle age, he felt like a man in his eighties.
Heavy footsteps, clanging armor, and urgent shouts told him that more guards had been called in to subdue the prisoner.
Interesting.
Rondel sat up blinking and rubbed his rough, unkempt beard with his good hand.
The sounds of the scuffle got louder as long shadows bounced off the wall in front of his cell. No one had given the guards so much trouble since they had arrested a behemoth from Kurk several years earlier. The guards had to break that monster’s kneecaps to bring him down.
Rondel wondered if they would resort to a similar technique as a shrieking guard thudded into a wall.
Was that Finn? He’s going to hurt come morning.
“Gods, she’s strong.”
“Grab hold of her arms!”
She? Her?
More guards rushed in, better organized than before. A dull thump sounded and the prisoner’s efforts ceased.
Heavy breathing filled the air.
Cerk, the head jailor, ordered his men to take positions around the prisoner. Shuffling feet and hushed curses followed his subsequent commands.
The battered group came into view. The guards dragged the slumping prisoner behind them in a way that made it impossible for Rondel to study the mysterious woman.
“Wait. We’re going to just stick her in with Rondel for right now,” said Cerk.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to mix women with men,” said another.
Cerk pulled out a key. “Please. Like Rondel is going to overpower her. Besides, do you really want to drag her down two levels at this time of night?”
An echoing squeal bounced around the space as Cerk opened the door. He led the group inside. They smelled of fresh sweat from their recent activity.
Rondel spoke without thinking. “Had a bit of trouble, I see.” He snorted. “And with a woman too?”
Cerk wheeled in anger, thick brows furrowed and face reddening. Rondel reflexively curled into a ball, immediately regretting his remark. Even after all these years, he still struggled to hold his tongue.
A heavy boot slammed into his back, the treaded sole raking across his skin. The air left his lungs, and his eyes watered.
“I don’t recall asking your opinion, old man.”
Two more kicks struck Rondel’s back. A third his head.
He wept.
“Don’t get too attached to your new cell mate. Like the others, she’ll be gone long before you get out of here.” Cerk called to the others. “Throw her in the corner and double her chains. You’ve seen what she can do.”
“It wasn’t a fair fight,” a guard muttered as chains slid across the coarse, gray granite and locks clasped into place. “She knew we had orders not to kill her.”
“And six against one was fair?” asked Cerk. “Shut-up and get back to your posts. All of you.”
The cell door closed. Footsteps faded down the hallway.
Rondel’s curiosity begged him to turn over and examine the woman who had handled six men, but the lancing pain in his side pleaded for him to sleep instead.
He managed a glance before the pain won the battle.
* * *
“Psst. You awake?”
The thickly-accented voice slipped into Rondel’s subconscious and interrupted his dreams. Those dreams had become the one salvation he had from the miserable hell his life had become. As a result, he tried to spend as little time as possible awake.
It was also why he often woke in a sour mood.
“I hate that question,” he huffed in a raspy voice, eyes still closed. “If I was asleep, I couldn’t very well answer you, could I? And if I was awake and didn’t respond, then chances are I was trying to ignore you. Yet, you would keep persisting until I answered, thereby waking me if I actually had been asleep.”
“What’s your problem, old man?”
Rondel opened his eyes, blinking at the wall he faced. “Old man? I’m still in my thirties.” He paused. “I think.” The years had rolled by too quickly.
“That’s what the guard called you.”
“That’s because he’s got the brains of a donkey.” Rondel rolled over. “I thought you were out when they chained . . . you . . .”
Rondel’s voice trailed off as he took the woman in. She sat hunched over with arms resting on bended knees, back against the wall. Her long, thick limbs caught his eye as she wore little in the way of clothing. Muscles flexed beneath her brown skin. Fresh scrapes competed for space with the plethora of scars already adorning her body.
Broad shoulders. Lean. Thick hands. No wonder the guards had trouble with her.
Rondel’s eyes reached the woman’s face only to see it covered in a mat of dark, stringy hair that hung down from the top of her head.
A loud sob from somewhere deep in the dungeons rang out. It broke him from his trance as he realized he was staring at the woman. The wail elicited little more of a response. Years in prison had hardened him against the misery of others. He doubted any felt sorry for his pain so why should he feel sorry for theirs.
He sat up, wincing from his fresh injuries. “You weren’t really unconscious when they brought you in?”
She grunted in what could have been laughter. “It made more sense to wait for a better opportunity.”
I bet.
Rondel knew what the woman would say next and decided he wanted no part of it. He slid back a few feet to make sure he was out of her reach and yawned. He shrank to the floor, mindful of his latest bruises. He bit the inside of his cheek to redirect the focus of his pain.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Going back to sleep.”
“I thought you were getting up.”
“I was, but I know where this conversation is heading, and I have no interest. You can plan your own escape.”
“You won’t help?’
“No.”
“Are you a coward?”
Rondel thought about the beating he had received the last time he tried to escape and shivered.
“Absolutely,” he whispered before falling asleep.
* * *
The stabbing pain of a full bladder woke Rondel with a start. He stifled a moan as he climbed to his feet and shuffled over to the chamber pot in the corner. The throbbing in his back brought on by Cerk’s boot caused him to hunch while he fought with the tie around his thread-bare trousers. He cursed his damaged hand until the tie came loose. Biting his lip and leaning against the wall in front of him, Rondel pressed his head against the cold granite while relieving himself. He stayed there long after finishing, catching his breath.
Tying his trousers, he moved away from the corner. The whites of the big woman’s eyes peered through the shadows over her face. Pupils tracked his every move.
He eased down to the floor, his calloused feet scraping against stone.
“I’m Andrasta. What’s your name?”
“Does it matter?”
“Just trying to pass the time.”
He closed his eyes. “Rondel.” He waited for the inevitable reaction, but none came. His eyes opened. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“My name. Rondel. Don’t you recognize it?”
She shrugged her wide shoulders. “No. Seems like a good enough name.”
Rondel started. “Of course it is.” He raised an eyebrow. “You really don’t know who I am?”
“Should I?”
“Rondel the Bard? Rondel the Minstrel?”
She shrugged again.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’ve made kings laugh, queens swoon, and soldiers cry with a lute or even just my voice.” When that failed to elicit a response, he continued. “I’ve traveled from one end of Untan to the other. I’ve played before Emperor Bachal in the south, King Ursey in the west, and the Great Sultan Sabdan in the east along with every man in between who had his own castle. Each one offered me a place in their court, and in many cases their daughters offered me a place in their beds. People know me everywhere.”
“Not in Juntark, they don’t.”
“Juntark?” The name tasted funny on his tongue.
That explains the color of her skin. Though she looks lighter than the few from there I’ve seen.
“Andrasta doesn’t sound like a Juntarkan name. More Caelic, I think.”
“I didn’t know you were an expert on my birth country,” she hissed.
“I’m not. I guess that’s why you’ve never heard of me. I’d never set foot in that place.” Rondel paused and smiled. “No offense.” He cleared his throat. “Still, I’m practically a legend.”
“Why is a legend rotting away in prison?”
His smile faded. “I got caught in bed with the wrong person’s wife. Even a legend cannot escape the wrath of a jealous husband. Duke Engren was quite upset.”