The Cult of Sutek (8 page)

The wulfron turned back to its meal.

As long as it has its dinner, the world could burn, and it wouldn’t care.
He took a deep breath.
Only one thing left to do.

Rondel edged closer to the animal, mindful of the stench pouring off it and the fresh kill it guarded. With each step, the beast regarded him more closely, chewing slower as it contemplated Rondel’s intentions.

Though he was still some distance away, Rondel raised a free hand toward a small piece of the horse that had been flung from the main body. The second he leaned forward, the wulfron growled. It regarded Rondel much differently than before.

Now, I’m a threat.

The beast snarled. Drool and blood cascaded from its muzzle. The massive paws it inherited from the lion portion of its ancestry, touched lightly against the ground as it crept toward him. He withdrew his hand slowly, turning his body to the side, presenting a smaller target. He wondered if Andrasta was watching him do so, proud that he remembered at least something she had shown him.

The wulfron halted, lowering its shoulders and head. Its hind legs flexed.

Sweat poured down Rondel’s face.

Andrasta emerged from the woods in a full sprint. She took several long strides and leaped. The creature whipped its head around to meet her, twisting unnaturally to do so.

Andrasta’s blade struck the upper shoulder near the neck while the wulfron’s paw swiped her across her side. The weight of the blows sent both beast and woman tumbling.

The wulfron rose in a rage. Andrasta started to roll away but Rondel saw she wouldn’t be fast enough to beat the attack. He charged, short sword extended. The wulfron spun. Injured from Andrasta’s initial attack, it could not move fast enough, and Rondel’s blade sunk into the animal’s haunch.

The beast snarled and clamped its jaws around his shin guard. It pulled and whipped him to the ground. Teeth crushed the metal around his leg, scraping the skin over his bone.

He closed his eyes, screaming in anguish. A spray of hot blood fell across his face. He tasted copper and opened his eyes. Though lessened, the pain remained in his leg as the wulfron’s jaw released its hold.

Andrasta stood over the dead creature, blade dripping gore. The woman heaved a deep breath, then extended a hand which Rondel gladly took. She yanked him up.

He winced while placing weight on his injured leg. The shin guard was mangled and would need to be replaced. However, it did its job. He bled, but not from anything serious.

“That was interesting,” he said.

“Can you walk?” she asked. A slight frown adorned her face.

Wow. Is she actually concerned?

Distant howls ripped through the air.

The pack answering the call.

“Nevermind,” Andrasta said. “Can you run?”

The howls sounded again. Rondel’s rear clenched.

“It’s amazing how good my leg suddenly feels.”

She offered a slight smile. “Let’s get the girl.”

Andrasta ran over to the tree. With a swipe of her sword, she severed the rope at the girl’s ankle. She quickly cut the binds at Dendera’s wrists too.

“You’re letting me go?” Dendera asked.

“No,” said Andrasta. “Just run.”

Andrasta grabbed the most important of their things and took off. Dendera and Rondel followed behind.

“Where are we going?” asked Dendera, her head constantly looking over her shoulder in the direction of the last set of howls.

Andrasta pointed toward the hoof tracks behind them. “Away from the horses.”

“Why? We could use them to get out of here.”

The howls sounded again, much closer.

“It’s doubtful we’ll reach the mounts before they’re overtaken.”

“And we don’t want to be around any of those things while they eat,” added Rondel.

“Oh,” said the girl.

“Still wish we had left you alone?” asked Rondel.

Dendera scowled.

Chapter 4

After escaping the wulfrons, they traveled on foot for a full day before coming across a couple of bandits resting by a small stream. The bandits were asleep and without a watch. Therefore, it took little effort for Andrasta to steal their horses and make up lost time.

Maybe that was the beginning of some luck finally coming our way.

She considered that while resting in the saddle and staring at Girga’s outer walls crowning a wide hill. A long line of merchant wagons, men on horseback, and families traveling by foot, patiently waited to enter the city through its main gate.

Andrasta had seen bigger walls since leaving Juntark, but she had never seen ones so unique. The stone held a golden hue, sparkling against the rays of the evening sun. Rondel explained that centuries ago builders had embedded pyrite, a rock that resembled gold but lacked its value, into the thirty foot walls. They had hoped the sight would give Girga the appearance of wealth, encouraging travelers to visit the city and spend their coin, thereby actually becoming wealthy in the process.

Andrasta had scoffed at such reasoning.

Only a fool would believe such nonsense.

Yet, according to Rondel, Girga was one of the richest cities in the country of Iget.

Apparently the world contains nothing but fools.

She squinted at the gaudy walls, trying to see them once more through the eyes of an idiot. She could not. Even with the proven success of the builders’ strategy, the effort seemed wasteful when compared to what could have been accomplished instead.

Her gaze drifted to the low mountains that stood behind the ascending city.
Why waste time and resources to give the appearance of wealth? They should have spent more time looking for the real thing.

She shook her head, certain that voicing her opinion would only garner a disappointed look from Rondel or the girl. Regardless of where she traveled, no one seemed to understand her.

Then again, who understood me in Juntark?

Andrasta eased her mount up as the line moved.

A dozen guards, each holding a round shield and long spear, flanked either side of the two great, cedar doors. They wore smooth breastplates that shone as though they hadn’t seen a single moment of use. Metal skirts of thin steel shaped into what looked like feathers protected the waists and upper thighs. Leather covered both shins and forearms.

The guards interrogated everyone wanting entrance to the city.

“Shouldn’t we push up to the front?” asked Rondel.

“Why?”

“Because we have the king’s daughter,” he whispered. “That should count for something.”

“Do you think they would believe us?”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“Because they’re gate guards. I doubt any of them have been within a hundred feet of the king, much less his daughter. They might think we’re lying and arrest us for suspicious activity. We say nothing until we reach Horus’s residence. His personal guard will recognize the girl.”

“Good idea. However, there is one problem.”

“What’s that?” she asked, frustrated by the smugness of Rondel’s tone.

“What’s to stop her from messing this up for us?”

She grunted again, not wanting to admit he had a point.

“I’ll handle her,” Andrasta said as she moved her horse next to Rondel’s.

With one arm, she grabbed Dendera around the waist and lifted her off Rondel’s horse. The mount whinnied. She set Dendera down in front of her. Andrasta withdrew a thin blade and pressed it into the small of the girl’s back. “You say nothing.”

The girl whimpered briefly, then nodded.

She clenched her jaw, agitated with all the delays.

Just keep thinking of the money this will bring. With it, we’ll be much closer to the Jewel of Bashan.

* * *

The sun set just as they entered the city. It had taken longer than Rondel would have liked to reach the main gate, but they managed the guards with no hassle.

Merchant wagons rolled past, wheels banging against the uneven, cobbled road as he inhaled the city’s smells.

Dirty. A monsoon would do wonders for improving that. It appears the time in small villages and the open road has spoiled me.

The last light of day danced off the tall, tan buildings of sun-baked brick and limestone. Large painted columns supported the front walls of each structure. Adorned in various colors, greens and yellows dominated the spectrum.

Statues of current gods and past rulers, marked the edge of the main road. Occasionally, a sculpture of startling proportions stood out among the rest. Those people depicted were often adored more than the gods themselves, legendary heroes from Iget’s most memorable histories.

Rondel smirked. As a minstrel he knew that many countries boasted similar tales with heroes and villains barely discernible from their neighbor’s. Sometimes the only difference was a change in name. He had brought that observation up to a prince once and vowed never to do so again.

I thought I’d have to pry my lips from the man’s backside by the time I was done smoothing things over.

Even without the sun, the streets were well lit with star-shaped lamps hanging from ropes that crisscrossed buildings on either side of the road.

“I don’t remember Girga being lit like this.” He looked to Dendera.

She frowned. “We only do this for the Festival of Nut.”

“As in the food?” asked Andrasta.

“No,” snapped the girl. “Nut is the goddess of the sky who protects us from the harsh rays of the sun and the worst of the rainstorms. The lamps are shaped like stars as a way to honor her. They hang above our streets just as the stars hang in the sky to light our path at night.”

“I never got a chance to visit during the festival,” said Rondel. Dendera’s frown deepened. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just . . . I didn’t think father would hold the festival with me gone.”

Andrasta laughed. The sound caused Rondel to jump for he had never heard more than the rare snort or chuckle escape the woman’s mouth.

“What’s so funny?” asked the girl.

“You run away from your father when he needed you, not caring how it would affect him. Yet you’re hurt because he chose to continue living. Would a covering of black draped over each of your silly lamps have appeased you?”

“I hope Nut drops the sky on you both,” Dendera hissed.

The crowds began spilling out into the street. Conversations ran together into a mess of noise that reminded Rondel of old women gossiping loudly over tea.

He cleared his throat. “We should find a place for our horses and continue on foot. Staying mounted in the middle of the celebration will only draw attention.”

“Do you know any stables we can trust?” asked Andrasta.

“If I remember right, we take this left and there should be a place half a block down.”

They secured one of the last available stalls. Based on the pungent smell of manure, Rondel determined business had been good for the owner.

He and Dendera waited out front as Andrasta gathered what they didn’t trust the stable hands to watch over.

The girl leaned against a post with arms crossed over her chest, angry and defeated. It surprised him that she had not tried to flee since their run-in with the wulfron. Even now, he wondered why she hadn’t tried to escape with Andrasta gone.

“You know, the festival really doesn’t mean anything,” said Rondel.

Dendera’s head snapped toward him. “How dare you insult—”

He raised a hand, cutting her off. “I didn’t mean the idea of the festival. I meant the fact that your father still went on with having it. You shouldn’t consider it a reflection of how he feels for you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You feel slighted that he kept with tradition, right?”

“Yes. I thought he might delay it, or at least not make it so grand.”

“Given what you told me about your father’s situation, why do you think he would do that? It should be pretty obvious.”

Her thin eyebrows came together and her nose crinkled. Rondel assumed she was trying to recall some lesson, but to him it looked as though she’d caught a whiff of the stables as the wind shifted.

She hesitated. “This is all for appearances?”

“That’s the way I see it. Even though you’ve only been gone for a few weeks, I’m sure most of your father’s enemies know of your disappearance. To cancel the festival out of worry would make him appear weak. Even vulnerable. By throwing a bigger celebration, it shows his enemies that he’s confident in his position. It also shows his callousness since it seems that he isn’t concerned about the disappearance of his eldest child.”

“But wouldn’t it be wiser to use all this money to strengthen his defenses?”

Rondel shrugged. “Possibly. However, I once entertained the great General Lavitcus from Edomah. He said that most wars are won off the battlefield by making your opponent see what you want them to see. You want them to think you’re wealthy, act wealthy. You want them to think you’re strong, act strong.” He tapped his cheek. “Besides, there are a lot of people spending their coin in Girga. Taxes on all this revenue will surely be high. Horus might expect to make back everything he spent and then some.”

Dendera inclined her head. “You know, when I was younger I thought you were like a jester.”

“What?”

“Well, you did wear ridiculous costumes.”

Rondel’s eyes narrowed.

“Anyway, you’re actually much smarter than I gave you credit for.”

“Is that an apology?”

“Just an observation.”

Rondel was ready to fire back something about her being even more of a brat than he remembered when a sack hit his chest.

“I’m not carrying your share as well,” said Andrasta. She grabbed Dendera by the arm. “Let’s go. And keep your head down.”

Rondel took the lead once more upon re-entering Girga’s main thoroughfare. He glanced over his shoulder as the crowd thickened, noticing the tension tug at Andrasta’s face with each person that bumped her. The first few instances she seemed to take in stride, but when one particularly large man jostled her, she lashed out a string of profanity so foul the man recoiled.