Broken Justice: Twenty-One

Sabit was still three strides from Qaansoole when the little archer reached her first arrow.
Sabit was two strides away when the archer plucked her arrow from the sand.
Sabit was one stride away—spear raised for a killing strike—when Qaansoole nocked the arrow and drew it to her cheek.
Qaansoole’s arrow flew. Sabit sped past her. The Magistrate’s bodyguard fell, an arrow through his throat.
Reversing grip, Sabit charged toward the wall beneath the Magistrate, where Illi wore an eager grin. Sabit vaulted onto the big man’s shoulders and in an instant loomed over the Magistrate’s cowering form. The golden sunlight anointed Sabit’s brown skin like the kiss of the lady of justice herself.
A guard of the King of Rurr lunged at Sabit with a dagger. The champion broke the man’s arm and took the dagger. Tossing it to Melcior, Sabit took her net in her hands. With a quick twist of wrist, the peculiar knots came loose, forming a long, sturdy rope. The ship’s captain had lodged the dagger firmly into a joint between stones of the forum. Anchoring one end of the rope to the dagger, Sabit tossed the other down into the arena.
Moments later, the champions of the forum of justice filled the stands, leaving the arena empty behind them. Qaansoole seized the silver horn and blew three notes—two in quick succession, the third after a pause. It was the signal to Allamu and the other adult hostages to rise up against their captors.
The Magistrate snarled, “You have done nothing but condemn your friends and children to the sword. Where do you think you can go after this?”
With both hands, Sabit seized the Magistrate and picked him up until his feet dangled off the floor. Her nose nearly touching his, Sabit growled, “We are going to your home. It was built from our blood, it is only just that we are welcome there.”

Wayfarings of Sabit: Broken Justice is copyright (c) 2016 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters post every weekday. You can support this and other stories on Patreon: or