Qaansoole moved swiftly, but did not hurry. Her senses—honed over a childhood spent hunting game both large and small—swept over every pebble and blade of grass as she moved along the rough pathway between boulders. Although Qays was a different quarry than she was used to, and this a far different place than her forestland home, her son was far more difficult to track. Qaansoole had taught the boy the ways of trailcraft since he could walk. She had faith that her son had concealed himself somewhere quite safe until he was certain the danger had passed. Qaansoole continued toward the river—her bow nocked, but held loosely in both hands—checking that there were no other bandits concealed between the massive stones.
A scattering of pebbles drew Qaansoole’s attention. To the left side of the path, a small, dark opening could be seen between two towering boulders. Squatting before the opening, Qaansoole gazed into the inky shadows within. “There you are,” she whispered.
With a single motion, Qaansoole pivoted her body sharply and drew her arrow to her cheek. Barely four cubits behind her stood a slave-driver wielding a thin wooden staff. Qaansoole’s arrow did not waver from targeting his heart as she spoke. “I’ve seen you before. You’re one of the mercenaries from Vert. What are you doing here?”
The bald slave-catcher smiled, his twin mustaches twitching with the motion. “At the moment, I am mourning the death of Sabit.”
Qaansoole scowled. Without warning, the slave-catcher threw his staff at the archer, while at the same instant leaping behind an outcropping of rock.
Qaansoole’s arrow flew, shattering against the surface of a boulder.
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/