The furious roar of the charging troops washed over the rampart like a wave. This is the moment when Sabit would know whether her assortment of outlaws, drifters, farmers, and petty craftsmen had the courage in their bellies to stand like stone before the charge, or would break like a pile of sand before the tide.
The bandits that had seen Sabit face the Onyx Python roared back at the encroaching troops, their defiant fury kindled by a lifetime of fleeing the king’s standard, slinking past the haughty looks of the king’s guards, hiding their tattooed faces from the eyes of all. They would rather die proud than live in fear and filth.
Next to them, stood Htet, the head-woman of the village. Tears of fear streamed down her face. The makeshift spear topped with a bronze kitchen knife shook in her hands. But her feet did not move from her spot. Every villager looked to Htet and held their place, their fear of disgracing their fellows greater than the fear of death. Better to have no grandchildren than to tell them the tale of how you fled when your village needed you.
Behind the lines, Regida and Verdandi stood with bandages and medicines and buckets of water. A cool autumn dawn could quickly become a hot and thirsty autumn morning. Regida jangled from side to side, the stump of her arm twitching with her desperate, hopeless desire to lift a bow and fight.
In that instant, Sabit knew she had strength at her side and at her back. She had peril before her, but allies soon to arrive. She glanced down at the charging troops. With a practiced eye, Sabit chose which breast would first taste her iron spearpoint.
And then they were upon her.
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Wayfarings of Sabit: Betrayal is copyright (c) 2017 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters post every Thursday. You can support this and other stories on Patreon, https://patreon.com/michaelsmiller, or at http://ipressgames.com/fiction/.