Road of Woe: Thirteen

The eastern sky grew warm with the first blush of dawn by the time Sabit had finished her work. Using the sharpened edges of her spear point, she trimmed the leaves and cut the branches from the powerful, main trunk of the dead husk that had once been the prince of Ghabar. All that remained was a tall, sturdy length of wood. Whorls and knots squatted in the wide grain of the wood, but as Sabit mounted the spear point upon the blood-red shaft, she was certain it would serve her well.

But serve her to what end? The future lay before her like the rising sun—beautiful and full of potential, both unspoken and unspeakable. The valley around her sported a vibrant covering of greenery, far more than the arid climate would normally support. The wide leaves sprouted most densely from hundreds of mounds the size of a fallen human body.

Sabit stooped at the foot of one of these mounds. A single arrow-shaft stood tall upon the mound, its length wrapped in ivy and topped with a blood-red flower. From the ground beside the leafy grave, Sabit lifted a horn of finest silver. She could not recall ever seeing the fine craftsmanship of its noble curve. Yet, its heft felt true in her hand. Without a thought, Sabit lifted the horn to her lips.

“Wouldn’t you agree that these troops have earned their rest?” asked a woman’s voice from behind the spear woman’s back.

Sabit spun to face the new arrival, spear lowered and ready for a killing thrust.



Wayfarings of Sabit: Road of Woe is copyright (c) 2017 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters are posted on Monday and Thursday. You can support this and other stories on Patreon: or