The Cult of Sutek (2 page)

“And you’d rather be here than looking for another woman to fall for your charms?”

Rondel sighed, hand moving to the scar at his throat, fingers scratching his scraggly beard. “The duke ensured that I won’t be seducing anyone with my voice again.”

“The lute?”

Rondel raised his left hand which he kept hidden out of habit. He wiggled his thumb and what was left of his fingers. The tips of all four had been removed at the first knuckle. “Engren saw to that too.” He laughed bitterly. “Considering what he caught me in the act of doing, I guess he could have taken more.”

“How long?” Andrasta asked, gesturing at their cell.

Rondel couldn’t recall the exact length of time, but the pasty skin and lack of fat on his frame told him it had been too long. “Years.”

“Then why not escape?”

“I tried once. I was beaten so close to death I swore I’d never attempt it again. I’ve watched dozens of others try without success. I suggest you get comfortable and put your time in. You’ll be out of here long before I am.”

“Swinging from a hangman’s noose.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“I killed three members of the watch.”

“I could see how that would do it. Why?”

Andrasta wrapped a length of chain around her hand and squeezed. “I tried to enter a bar. They forbade me to enter. They said it was no place for a woman, especially one of my color. Yet, that didn’t stop them from making a pass at me.”

“I take it you didn’t like that?”

“No woman from Juntark would. Women there are fighters. Strong. And no man there would be content to wait patiently in prison.”

Rondel laughed at her feeble attempt to convince him to join her escape plans. “Keep talking. I’ve heard it all before. I may not have much of a life, but I’d rather it than the alternative. At least here, I have my dreams to keep me company.”

A door shrieked opened, interrupting their conversation.

A small sliver of bright sunlight shone in from a high window.
It’s past dawn. No wonder I’m so hungry.

Cerk walked into view moments later. Rondel hadn’t expected him. A black ring encircled his eye and his bottom lip had swollen to twice its normal size. A strong medicinal odor hung in the air.

He had to treat his wounds. He really must be hurting.

“What are you two yapping about?” asked the jailor.

“Nothing,” said Rondel, knowing that another beating would come if Cerk knew they had even been thinking about an escape. “Just wondering about breakfast.”

“You expect food after your little comment last night?”

“You know I was only joking. Look, I’m sorry and I’m hurting bad.”

Cerk snorted and revealed a small loaf of bread from behind his back. Rondel’s mouth watered. The jailor pushed the loaf through the bars and Rondel snatched it away greedily. It was wet, probably ready to mold, but he didn’t care. It wouldn’t be the first time he had eaten moldy bread. He jammed a piece into this mouth.

“Do you have any water?” Rondel asked between bites.

Cerk smiled. “There should be enough in that bread you’re eating. I drank a lot last night and soaked it down good this morning.”

Rondel realized the odd taste in his mouth hadn’t been mold. He spat the bread out.

Cerk cackled. “I wouldn’t waste that. It’s all you’re going to get.”

“What about me?” asked Andrasta.

“What about you? You’ll be dead in a day. Of course, you could ask Rondel to share. That’s a lot of piss for any man to stomach.”

Cerk limped back down the corridor, shoulders bouncing with each step as he chuckled.

Rondel stared at the urine-soaked bread. He wanted to throw it out, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. He knew Cerk had not been joking—he would have to get used to the taste if he wanted to live. Rondel slid to the stone floor in defeat. He went down too quickly and wrenched his back.

Closing his eyes, he slammed his fist against the granite.

Why would I want to live like this? It will never get better. Even sleep brings me less joy. Nightmares from this cell keep taking the place of better memories.

Rondel stared at the small bit of sunlight from the high window. He longed to feel those warm rays on his skin again. He looked to Andrasta. “What’s your plan?”

“It’s good to see you draw the line somewhere.”

“You’ve won. Stop wasting time and tell me.”

She shrugged. “You’re not chained, so they obviously don’t think much of you. You’ll need to call the guard back and steal the keys away when he’s not looking. Once I’m free of my chains, I’ll take care of the rest.”

“That’s it?”

“What more is there?”

Rondel shook his head. “That’s an awful plan. Cerk’s too smart to let me steal the keys away.”

“Our options are limited given our time and resources.”

Rondel stood again and started pacing. He bore the pain of his injuries in order to get some feeling into his limp muscles. The excitement coursing through his veins had a positive effect on his demeanor. “That’s no excuse.”

“You got a better idea?”

“Maybe. It at least has a bit more flair. First, we’ll wait until after shift change . . .”

* * *

“Guard! Come quickly!”

“I told you to sound scared,” Rondel whispered. “Pitch your voice higher.”

“Shut up. You’re supposed to be dead.” She tried again. “Guard! Hurry!”

“You sure won’t win any roles at the theater,” Rondel muttered.

Rondel suppressed a smile as the weight of plodding steps indicated that the heavy-set guard named Lesh had fallen for Andrasta’s poor performance. Labored breathing confirmed his suspicions.

“Back away from the bars,” Lesh said. “What are you going on about? Why is Rondel on the floor? What did you do to him?”

Andrasta finally managed to pitch her voice higher. “I didn’t do anything. He complained about his side, then collapsed. I think he’s dead.”

“He can’t be dead.”

“It looks that way. He’s got blood around his mouth.” She paused. “He kept complaining about the beating he took yesterday. He must have bled internally.”

Lesh swore and fumbled with jingling keys. “Trust me, I’ve seen Rondel take worse beatings. He ain’t dead. Move back against the wall so I can check him.” The lock clicked and the cell door creaked open.

The sliding of chains confirmed that Andrasta had backed away. The groans of the fat man easing himself to the floor followed. Rondel made sure to position himself so that Lesh would have to put his back to the woman.

Rondel caught a whiff of greasy sausage on Lesh’s breath as the guard’s sweaty hands checked for a pulse. The former minstrel had done his best to slow his breathing and heart rate using techniques he learned in his life as a performer. Anyone with half a brain would have been able to see the ruse.

Half a brain is giving Lesh double the amount of credit he deserves.

Rondel felt the guard’s hand recoil. “I don’t feel a pulse. He is dead! I gotta tell Cerk before he blames me for this.”

Rondel rolled over and opened his eyes. “Boo!”

Lesh screamed like a maiden and fell backward into Andrasta’s waiting arms. She spun him around and her fist crunched into his face. Lesh slumped. Blood flowed from the man’s ruined nose. He lay sprawled out as she took the keys from his belt.

“Did you kill him?”

“Not yet.”

“Don’t. He wasn’t as bad as the others, and he has kids.”

She shrugged.

Rondel chuckled. “That was easier than I thought. I guess your performance wasn’t so bad after all.”

The first of her manacles fell away, and she grunted in relief. The others followed. He offered a hand to help her to her feet. She grunted again, this time in annoyance as she ignored his gesture.

He expected her to be taller than him. He did not expect her to have such a feminine appeal in spite of her height and knotted muscles.

I suppose the skimpy attire has something to do with that,
he thought, eyes drifting to the loin cloth hanging from her waist and a thin piece of fabric draped over her breasts.

He managed to tear his gaze away from her body, moving his eyes upward. Her hair had fallen away, revealing a long scar that ran diagonally from her hairline on the left, to the right of her jaw.

“What are you staring at?” she asked, shifting back into the shadows.

“Sorry, I was just thinking that I understand why the guards stopped you from entering the bar. Other people in Juntark may dress like this, but most people here would consider it lewd.”

“These are my undergarments, you fool. The guards stripped me of clothes and armor before sticking me in here. Now lead the way so I can get them back.”

Andrasta shoved him forward.

How was I supposed to know? No one knows much about Juntark.

They moved quickly down the hallway, slowly at first, until the prisoners in cells they passed began begging for help. Andrasta paid them little mind, and Rondel did the same. He was risking enough already without trying to orchestrate the escape of the entire prison.

They picked up their pace as the begging turned into shouting. Surprisingly, they didn’t come across a single guard while traversing the dark hallways.

Must be nearing shift change. That worked out well, then.

They reached the guard station and found Andrasta’s weapons and armor hanging by hooks inside of an enclosed metal cage that stood at the center of four intersecting hallways. Rondel didn’t see anything remarkable about the attire except that they appeared well-used.

He bounced in place, glancing around nervously, as she dressed.

All semblance of womanhood disappeared with each layer of clothing and armor she added to her frame.

They both turned at a scraping sound that came from the hallway to the right.

A lone guard stood some distance away.

Rondel and Andrasta both froze, barely breathing, as if doing so might stop the guard from seeing them in the open space.

The guard took a step forward, paused, glanced to his right as if reconsidering the situation. He disappeared down a side hallway. Ringing bells followed as he sounded the alarm.

Andrasta cursed as she finished with the last of the straps on her shin guard and picked up her shield.

Guards poured in from another of the hallways carrying rope and drawn swords.

“Can we go a different way?” she asked.

“The only way I know to get out is up ahead.”

Rondel felt something jammed into his grip. It was Andrasta’s short sword. She held her long sword in one hand, her shield in the other.

“What do you want me to do with this?” he asked.

“Fight.”

“But, I’ve never killed anyone.”

“Seems like a good time to start.”

She roared and sprinted toward the guards.

What was I thinking? I’ve placed my life in the hands of a crazy woman.

Out of the corner of Rondel’s eye, the lone guard who sounded the alarm had returned from the other hallway. The guard grinned.

Why wouldn’t he? I’m alone.
Rondel realized he hadn’t been in a fight since he was a boy.
And that was with nothing sharper than our fists.

The guard jogged forward, confident, sword held loosely.

The clash of steel and anguished screams from where Andrasta met the other guardsmen echoed in the enclosed space.
She’s fighting how many? And I’m afraid to handle just one?

A flood of anger washed over Rondel as he thought of all the pain and ridicule he had endured over the years. Bile boiled up his throat, burning the back of his mouth as he screamed in fear of spending more years in his cell. He rushed toward the guardsman, noticing briefly that the man’s eyes had widened.

Closing the distance, Rondel thrust his sword out.

He tripped over his feet and lost his weapon as it struck the guard. The man gasped before Rondel slammed into the ground.

* * *

Rondel opened his eyes to blurry vision and a pounding headache. A streak of blood ran down the bridge of his nose. Andrasta stood over him.

He swiveled his head. “Where are we?”

She inclined her head to the solid oak door and whispered. “We’ve made it to the main office. Can you stand?”

“No way of knowing until I try.”

She lifted Rondel to his feet. The dimly lit landing swayed for a few moments, but he willed it to cease. “I can manage. By the gods, did you carry me all the way over here?”

“Yes. You blacked out.”

“Well, that’s humiliating.” He paused. “I take it we won, then?”

“Shh.” Andrasta put her ear to the door. “I don’t hear anything.”

Recalling the small horde of guardsmen that had been running toward them earlier, he snorted. “You may have killed everyone on duty.”

She tried each key on the ring she had confiscated from Lesh until the lock turned.

They stepped into the empty main office of the prison. Two large desks filled with paper sat in the room’s center. Benches and stools rested against the walls. Chains and manacles were anchored into the walls next to the benches. The room had no windows and the stale air lingered with the odor of ink. A thick door stood opposite to where they entered.

Rondel’s breath caught in his throat as the reality of the situation sank in.

I didn’t make it half this far last time.

“What’s wrong?” asked Andrasta.

“That door leads to the main street. We’re going to make it.”

“We still need to get out of the city.”

That sobered him. “Then let’s get going.”

He took a step forward when Andrasta’s hand darted out and pressed against his chest. “Wait.”

The locks spun, and the front door flew open.

Rondel’s mouth dropped as Duke Engren’s personal bodyguard stepped through the entrance sideways, his broad shoulders preventing him from clearing the doorframe otherwise.

It had been years since he last saw the man, but it was hard to forget Fern. The man stood at least a head taller than Andrasta.

Fern’s eyes narrowed when he caught sight of Andrasta’s drawn sword. He drew his own blade in less than half a breath.