Bandit Queen: Eight

The weight of the bandit king pressed down on Sabit’s gut as he loomed over her. She could not catch her breath. He laid one slab-like hand on her forehead while he grasped her jaw with stubby fingers that felt as solid as stone. The scent of rancid oil oozed from his skin.

“Call me a coward now, you worthless wretch!” the bandit king spat. He squeezed. The bottom of Sabit’s face imploded with agony. It felt as though her jaw were about to snap. A muffled scream died in her throat.

Sabit clawed at the king’s hands, unable to budge them in the slightest. His skin was as impervious as unliving stone. She desperately sucked in air through her nose, stars beginning to appear at the edges of her vision. Every breath was a fight, the fat man’s full weight pressing into her gut.

He was heavy for a man, but not so heavy as a man made of stone would be. The tattoos granting his resilience covered every inch of his skin. As the starbursts of pain and asphyxia consumed more of Sabit’s vision she could see no vulnerability.



Wayfarings of Sabit: Bandit Queen 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 at