The City of Pillars (8 page)

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. Something’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?”

Khalil grunted. “Of our best at that. All at least a half-moon or higher.”

Omar faced Melek and saluted by cupping the three-quarter moon on his sleeve. “Captain?” he asked, waiting for the command.

“Begin,” said Melek.

The four rushed in at once, each covering a different angle, some high, some low. Omar dove and rolled away from the slashing practice swords, raising his own to deflect two as he twisted away from the others.

He rose and defended against a thrust from the man closest to him, countering with a cut to the side that would have sliced through their lamellar armor had his weapon not been blunted.

One down.

The remaining three attacked again in unison, one going high, another swepping low, while the third stabbed at the torso. Melek couldn’t help but wonder how much time the men fighting Omar had worked out their strategy, as it was clear they coordinated their efforts.

Omar kneeled to avoid the high blow and angled his sword in such a way it not only deflected the low attack, but also turned aside the thrust to the middle. He flicked his sword up as he stood, tapping the hand of his last attacker hard enough for the man to lose his weapon. The lieutenant slapped his sword against the side of the man’s helm, signaling what would have been in battle a death blow.

Two down.

The last two opponents paused in surprise at Omar’s avoidance of their assault. The pause, though brief, was enough for Omar to gain the advantage. The lieutenant went on the offensive, alternating half a dozen attacks with each man until both were called dead.

All five men in the circle faced Melek and saluted. They waited for his critique, as according to custom, Omar could not assess his own fight.

Melek cleared his throat. He stared at Omar’s opponents, meeting each of their disappointed gazes. “You each fought with courage and confidence, but sometimes that can be a hindrance. The four of you knew that Omar would select you for this match and therefore worked out a set strategy on how to handle the session. That was smart. However, you failed to deviate from the strategy when things did not go as expected. None of you stepped up to take command or talk to the others based on how the fight progressed. We are brothers, we must be willing to speak honestly with each other, especially in battle. Had this been real, you all would be dead. Think on this.”

They bowed their heads and were dimissed.

“Lieutenant.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“As always, your skill is impressive. Even among the most skilled fighters in the world, your expertise shines.”

“Thank you, Captain,” he answered, trying to hide his smile.

“However, you’re letting your natural ability affect your concentration.”

“Captain?”

“Twice you lost your balance. At the beginning of the tenth form, and at the end of the eighth form. It happened so quickly that you probably didn’t even notice it yourself as your speed helped you recover. However, there will come a day when even the smallest of breaks in technique will be what seperates you from victory and defeat. I don’t wish to see that day any time soon.”

Omar’s jaw clenched, but he bowed his head. “Of course.”

“Good.” He looked around at the tired faces of his men. “Those on first watch, get to your posts. The rest tie in for the night.”

Everyone saluted and left.