Pursuit: Eleven

“We don’t want any trouble,” Allamu said as the bandits herded their four captives through a narrow passageway between looming boulders. The path of mud-covered rocks sloped up, away from the river.

“You may not want it, but you’ve found it,” the shorter bandit said. He had a scar along the side of his face that ended in the scarred remains of half an ear on the right side.

One of us has found trouble,” Sabit growled as she ascended the slope at the head of the procession. Behind her came Qaansoole, then Allamu. The shorter bandit followed, his crossbow’s aim never straying far from the center of Allamu’s back. Behind him walked Qays, the taller bandit close on the boy’s heels. He had Qaansoole’s bow slung over one shoulder and Sabit’s spear over the other.

“What are your intentions?” Qaansoole asked as she climbed the muddy slope. She moved slowly, seeming to struggle with the slick surface. However, her careful footwork gave lie to the ruse, ensuring that she always had solid stone underfoot and was ready to leap into action at a moment’s notice.

“Our intentions don’t much matter,” the short bandit barked out. “It’s the intentions of the maimed scorpion that ought to worry you.” Both bandits shared a cruel laugh.

Sabit reached the top of the rise. On the far side of the ridge, a steep slope of loose pebbles fell away into dark hole in the ground, half again the size of a woman. The depression was like a massive funnel with a hungry maw in the middle.

Scattered around the edges of the funnel lay piles of bones. Amidst the heaps of deer ribs and sun-bleached antlers were mixed several long, straight thigh-bones and high-domed skulls that could be the remains of nothing but human beings.



Wayfarings of Sabit: Pursuit is copyright (c) 2017 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters post every weekday. You can support this and other stories on Patreon: https://patreon.com/michaelsmiller or http://ipressgames.com/fiction/