Sabit looked at the three jars: the lead of the common folk, the silver of the trusted nobleman, the gold of the king allied to her cause. Her head throbbed from the smothering scent of incense. Her throat burned with thirst. In the pool of cool, placid water, she could see glimpses of Kehnan’s three bloody deaths. Which would she have by gift of the goddess?
With a sudden splash, Sabit plunged her hands into the bowl and brought the cool water to her lips. She drank and drank until the bowl was empty, relishing the cool wetness on her parched throat.
Looking up at the old man, she said, “I am Sabit. I thank the goddess for her insight. In gratitude, I will restore her temple in Bahteel when I cast down Kehnan and his king. But I came here for wisdom only. I will fight my own battles. I will win these forces to my side through my own efforts. I need the gift of no goddess, merely her smile.”
The old man burst into laughter. “That you have earned, flower of battle. Come, let us get you properly refreshed.”
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Wayfarings of Sabit: Dawn is copyright (c) 2018 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters post every Thursday (and the occasional Monday). You can support this and other stories on Patreon: https://patreon.com/michaelsmiller Find more sword and sorcery fiction at http://ipressgames.com/fiction/.