The City of Pillars

by Joshua P. Simon

  Though she couldn’t see Rondel, she knew he stood at the opposite corner of the back wall. He held two smaller crossbows, one in each hand. Neither had the power of hers, but they’d do the job.

  Illuminated by a single oil lamp, Jabril, one of Zafar’s minor crime lords, sat alone at a plain table that leaned whenever someone put their weight on it. Dressed in pristine, white robes, the dim light gave Jabril the look of a bearded apparition.

  All the pieces are in place.

  In the week after their return to Zafar, Rondel had moved about the underworld they had once been a part of with a skill and finesse she hadn’t known he possessed. She watched him draw on his previous acting experience time and again as he slipped into persona after persona while manipulating more than two dozen people into doing things he wanted done.

  Their last adventure had changed him. In some ways she was glad to see him so focused and driven. He hadn’t made his normal careless mistakes. However, she had barely seen him smile since leaving the City of Pillars.

  He’s hurting bad.

  The cellar rested in the center of the East District, the low of the lows. Jabril owned the building and half the block.

  Andrasta and Rondel had little contact with him before the museum mishap. He simply hadn’t been able to pay them what they wanted on previous jobs. Because of that lack of contact, Andrasta had been hesitant to use him, especially in a situation where the stairs were the only way out. She had expressed those concerns to Rondel.

  “His lack of station is exactly why he’s the best choice,” Rondel had said. “He may pretend to be bad news, but he knows he’s not. He needs us more than we need him. If we went to one of the bigger crime lords, they’d have tried to double cross us before we got even this far.”

  “So, you’re saying he won’t try something?”

  “No. He’ll try something. In fact, he already has something in place. But I knew who he’d go to. I paid the sorcerer on his payroll twice what Jabril offered him.”

  She shook her head, in awe of what Rondel could do when motivated.

  A soft knock came at the cellar’s door.

  The door opened and one of Jabril’s henchmen poked his head inside. “They’re here.”

  “Send them in,” said Jabril.

  Both tall and lean, Wabu and Kamal strolled in, acting like they owned Zafar. Wabu stroked his long beard while Kamal puffed out a prideful chest.

  She and Rondel had learned that the two had been unable to find a buyer for the flute and had returned it to museum officials, claiming to have retrieved it from the real thieves. Along with the flute, they turned in an unrecognizable body of a man with part of his fingers missing on his left hand. They told city officials that Andrasta had managed to escape.

  The city wanted justice for the deaths at the museum so badly, they hailed Wabu and Kamal as saviors.

  Andrasta’s grip tightened on the stock of the crossbow. A part of her wanted to put a bolt through one of them without waiting.

  Rondel said to trust him.

  Her partner would not give all the details of what he had planned, not because he didn’t trust her, but because he said he wanted it to be a surprise.

  Jabril greeted Wabu and Kamal like old friends. “Ah, the great heroes of the city grace my presence. I am truly honored. I’d thought that given your recent deeds, old Jabril might be beneath you now. Please have a seat.”

  Kamal elbowed Wabu as they sat in the two empty chairs on the opposite side of the table. “Technically, you were always beneath us. Only now you recognize it.”

  Jabril’s face flashed anger. His eyes flicked to the corner where Rondel stood. He cleared his throat. “Well, again. Thank you for coming. I have something I thought you might be interested in.”

  “A job?” asked Wabu.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Just know that our rates have tripled. I know that might price you out, but there is a high demand for our services now. We really don’t even have time for this, but Kamal swore we owed you the courtesy.”

  “Enough chit-chat,” said Kamal. “Why are we here?”

  Jabril smiled. “Well, it boils down to the fact you made some really bad enemies. And they aren’t very happy with you.”

  Kamal leaned forward. “Are you threatening us?”

  “No. No. I don’t deal with threats. Only with truths. And the truth is, your enemies are right here in this very room.” He stood. “And this is where I leave you.”

  Wabu stood, hand going to his waist. “You’ll stay right here or—”

  “Sit down,” said Rondel, his voice lower and rougher than anything Andrasta had ever heard out of him. He eased out from the shadows and into the light, his two crossbows trained on Kamal and Wabu.

  Andrasta noted their surprise.

  “Are you really that crazy to come back into the city?” asked Wabu.

  Rondel ignored the question and instead gestured to Jabril. “You and your men can go. The local authorities will be along soon to pick them up.” Kamal started to interrupt, but Rondel took another step forward and the man froze.

  Jabril walked to the cellar door.

  “By the way,” Rondel called. “Don’t count on Hosni, I paid him off a week ago.”

  Jabril turned, looking offended. “I wouldn’t—”

  “Stop. You would, and you did. And you can wipe that smug grin off your face because I also took care of Imad, Kapur, and the Abadi twins.”

  Jabril’s mouth dropped. Andrasta grinned.

  Gods, he even managed to sway the Abadi twins.

  Rondel shooed him with the one of the crossbows. “And don’t get any ideas about payback. I’ve bought off three men on your payroll as well and they have strict orders of what to do to you if you don’t let matters drop. Go.”

  Rondel sat in the now empty chair. Jabril bristled at being dismissed, but left anyway.

  Kamal started to open his mouth, but Rondel leaned over and looked into the man’s eyes over the top of the crossbow. “Don’t. I’m in no mood for arguing, cursing, pleading, or begging.”

  And neither am I, thought Andrasta.

  “We would never beg,” spat Wabu.

  “Of course not. Pride, right?” said Rondel.

  Kamal sat back in his chair. “I take it Andrasta is here as well?”

  “Of course. She escaped from your heroic recovery of the flute after all.”

  “Look, we never meant to—” began Kamal.

  “I didn’t give you permission to speak.” He flicked his gaze at Wabu. “Andrasta. If Wabu continues to go for the knife at his waist, please put a bolt in his gut. I hear that’s really painful.”

  “With pleasure,” said Andrasta, stepping out of the shadows.

  “Now,” said Rondel. “Since everyone finally understands the situation, we can begin. Unfortunately, you were a few minutes late, so I don’t have as much time to fully explain. You’ll just have to settle for a summary.

  “You took something that we had rightfully stolen. It held little value to you. Because of that, and the lies you spread afterward, you made our lives hell in more ways than you’ll ever know. Many people died. A part of me wanted to simply hunt you down and kill you. But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it if for no other reason than the fact you had no control over how things escalated after we left the city. Still, that night in the museum was the catalyst for everything that came afterward. Because of that, I can’t simply forgive and forget.”

  Neither of us can.

  “You’ll be arrested for breaking into the museum last night and stealing the very flute you returned to them as well as stealing items from half the third floor. All the expensive ones. Things that are very important to the city.”

  Kamal snorted. “No one will believe that. We weren’t anywhere near the museum last night. In fact, I’ve got four reputable witnesses to vouch for us.”

  “You mean Bulus, Daud, Atallah, and Esmail? Yeah, it didn’t take much to pay the
m off. Nor the other dozen people we have as witnesses who went to the watch and explained that they saw you sneaking in and out of the museum with the loot.”

  Kamal’s mouth twisted. “They won’t believe your lies. We’re heroes now.” He tried to look tough, but Andrasta could see his confidence waver.

  He chuckled. “By the way, you’ll also be charged with fraud and murder for the false body you showed the watch that was supposed to be me.”

  “Murder? The man was already dead!” screamed Wabu. “Some bum we found on the street.”

  Rondel shrugged. “Those are the breaks. Don’t worry, all the evidence against you is carefully laid out where even the watch couldn’t screw things up.”

  “You won’t get away with this,” said Kamal.

  Rondel stood slowly. “You think that highly of yourself that you can escape the hell coming down on you and still manage to come after us for another taste of revenge? Please, try it. We’ve tasted hell and liked it. It will take someone better than you to bring us down. Now stand up.”

  The two rose slowly.

  “I want you to look at this whole situation in a positive light. Think of this as us doing you a favor. If you survive, I promise you’ll be better off because of it.”

  Both crossbows went off. Quarrels embedded themselves in each man’s thigh. They fell, clutching at their legs.

  I wasn’t expecting that.

  Wabu and Kamal yelled obscenities at both of them.

  Rondel put the crossbows away. “Lesson one, learn not to let injuries hamper your ability to function or think clearly.” He walked around the table. As he passed by Kamal, he planted a boot in his side. Air left the man’s lungs. “Let’s see what kind of survivors you are.”

  * * *

  Rondel had underestimated just how close the city watch had been. He and Andrasta barely snuck out of the building ahead of the authorities’ arrival.

  Outside the city, they planned to keep riding through the night and the following day. They needed to put distance between themselves and Zafar in case Jabril got a wild hair and decided to pursue them after all.

  Andrasta rode just ahead of him, stroking the neck of her mount. It surprised Rondel how much she seemed to have missed Jewel.

  “Those plants you said you put in Jabril’s circle. That was a lie, wasn’t it?” Andrasta asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “And the witnesses to Wabu and Kamal’s crimes?”

  “Half as many as I said I had. Still more than enough to get the watch after them. I just wanted it to sound more hopeless.”

  She grunted.

  “Impressed?”

  “Very. Worried I might have to start sleeping with one eye open.” She grinned. “I didn’t think you had that in you.”

  Rondel worked his jaw. “I didn’t either to be honest. But any time I started to chicken out, I thought of Shadya and—” he cleared his throat before he got choked up. “Well, it helped me refocus.”

  She grunted again.

  He hadn’t been able to delay telling Andrasta about what had happened to him. Three days after leaving the City of Pillars he had spilled everything. She listened without ridicule or pity, simply nodding and lending an ear. In return, she opened up about the feelings she had developed for Melek. She had let him glimpse her youth where the only interest she received was from those wanting to bed her as a novelty. Because of her mixed blood, no man in Juntark would ever consider loving her.

  Neither pushed their discussions further, knowing it would take time to open up more about their hidden pasts. However, breaches had been made in the walls they had each erected around themselves. Rondel found contentment in that.

  He shook his head lightly, not wanting to go down the dark paths of what could have been with Shadya and their child again. The son of a goddess, he thought, recalling what Andrasta had told him from Melek.

  Gods, my life has been interesting. Unbelieveable. It’d make a great song. I wonder. . . .

  “So,” said Rondel. “I killed a god.”

  Andrasta scoffed. “Well, you weren’t the one that actually killed him. I believe Melek cut off his head.”

  Rondel lightened his tone, hoping that doing so would help force him out of his funk. “Please. A minor technicality.”

  “Cutting off someone’s head is a technicality?”

  “I was the one who softened him up. If not for me, you’d have never been able to hack at his leg and bring him down so the others could get to him.”

  “I guess you have something there.”

  “Pretty impressive, huh?” asked Rondel.

  “A little.”

  “A little?”

  “Well, Nasnas was only a half-god.”

  “No one else needs to know that. Besides, ‘half-god’ doesn’t work as well in rhyme as ‘god.’”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I uh, well, I’m sort of writing a song about us.”

  “Really? When did you decide to start?”

  “About a minute ago.”

  She snorted. “I thought you gave up music.”

  “I did, but I figured that even though I can’t play or sing like I used to, I can keep writing. The way I see it, in just one year’s time, we’ve already ended a cult and killed a god. And that’s not even referencing the smaller adventures we’ve had, like those poachers. I tell you, we’ve definitely got the beginning of an epic saga.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to try to find a new singing and playing style so you can perform the song?”

  “Gods, no. I want people to actually appreciate it. I think that by the time our tale is done, thereby our song, people all over the world will be begging to perform it. With any luck, Armand the Golden will want to be the first.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “A former pupil and later rival. He’s very good. Almost as good as I was. Why not let him be the first to sing The Epic of Andrasta and Rondel? One thing I’ve realized as I’ve gotten older is that a song will live on long after the person performing it.”

  “So, I get top billing then?”

  “Alphabetical.”

  “Ah. We should probably work on filling out the rest of the material then.”

  Rondel reached back and tapped his saddlebag. They held his notes from the library. “The Tower of Bashan should make one heck of a third verse.”

  END

  Thank you for reading my story. If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a rating or review at the site of purchase as well as other places such as Goodreads and Librarything. Like many other indie authors, I do not have a marketing team working for me and a positive review (even if only a couple of sentences long) can go a long way in enticing others to give my works a try.

  The Epic of Andrasta and Rondel has been a fun world to create. I hope you’ll consider reading the next standalone novel which will be released by the end of Summer 2014. I currently have plans for another five books in this world to be released over the next couple of years. I’ll also be releasing more novels in other worlds during the same time period. If you’d like to know when these will be made available, please consider signing up for my mailing list. It is used solely to announce new releases or other major announcements.

  You can sign up here.

  Thanks again for your support.

  Joshua P. Simon

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Joshua P. Simon is a Christian, husband, father, CPA, fantasy author, and heavy metal junkie. He currently resides in Atlanta, Georgia, and hopes that one day he can leave the life of a CPA behind and devote that time to writing more of the ideas bouncing around his ADD-addled brain.

  EXCERPT OF RISE AND FALL - BOOK ONE OF THE BLOOD AND TEARS TRILOGY (COMPLETE SERIES NOW AVAILABLE)

  “…This is the one that will break their back for sure, Commander. We’ll smash them to pieces. They will be talking about tomorrow for years to come…”

  Aye, for years to come they’ll talk about tomorrow as
one of the worst bloodbaths this continent has ever seen.

  Jonrell stared across the open landscape below. The cliff gave him a full view of an expansive plain, littered with rows upon rows of tents from the opposing army’s encampment, more than double the size of their own forces. Two years after taking this job and I’ve regretted every minute of it. Shorting us on pay, ignoring advice, putting us in dangerous positions…why am I here again?

  “...I won’t be able to sleep tonight in anticipation…”

  Anticipation of what? Stuffing your face while others fix your mess? I haven’t seen you do anything besides that since I’ve known you. “I think the men are a little too eager,” said Jonrell.

  Melchizan continued. “…Oh, yes. Naturally. They feel the significance of tomorrow as well…”

  Jonrell cleared his throat and cut in, “I think we should withdraw to more favorable ground.”

  “…yes, we will slaughter them, we will…” The would-be conqueror almost choked on his last words as he turned in the saddle of his mount. The short man’s demeanor suddenly turned from one of excitement to confusion, and then anger. “What do you mean withdraw? We have them right where we want them. This is what we’ve been waiting for…”

  The setting sun bled across the land, reflecting dark purples and reds off the white canvases of the enemy’s camp. Reminiscent of a bruise. A bleak reminder of what awaits us tomorrow. No Melchizan, I haven’t waited for that.

  “Commander! I’m speaking to you,” said Melchizan, his great jowls swaying.

  “I hear you. And unlike you, I actually listen to the person I’m talking to.”

  Melchizan’s face reddened. “It’s bad enough you and the rest of your tattered outfit of mercenaries fail to address me as your lord, but I will not be spoken to like some common soldier. Is that understood?”

  “No. You are not our lord and definitely not a soldier, just an employer. The Hell Patrol will not bend a knee to you. If you want someone to kiss your rear, you’ll have to look to the rest of that motley army of yours.”

  “Have you forgotten that motley army has conquered over a dozen cities and hundreds of miles of land? An army you command?”