As the first rays of dawn washed over her, Sabit drank deeply of the thick brown stuff in the bowl. It was warm and filling—tasting of shared cups of wine, honest sweat, and the savor of a lover’s kiss. Lost in reverie, Sabit dreamt.
*
Sabit upon a throne not her own. Around her, the walls carved of wood. Each panel bearing an image from within her mind. The nearst panel showing her as bandit queen, loyal followers smiling beneath her watchful eye.
The next panel. Sabit upon the bridge, triumphant. The fat, old bandit king plunging into the rushing river.
The next panel. Sabit over the fallen plant-prince. His body shaped into the shaft of her spear. Verdandi rescued from the road.
The next panel. Meriama alive. The leader of the Sisterhood saved from her traitorous captain by Sabit’s hand. The vanquished sorcerer. The respect of her fellow hunters.
The next panel. Sabit standing between two men, Kehnan and Allamu. Sparing Allamu his death by sending him away.
… Allamu …
The next panel. Sabit knee-deep in a river-ford. The beaten slave-catcher face-up in the water. The freed captives cheering her name.
The next panel. The freed champions of the arena. The Magistrate brought low before Sabit. Justice returned to the arena.
The next panel. Sabit over the fallen priest. A god defied to save a mortal man.
… Allamu …
More panels and more still. A wall of triumph and respect and love. Stretching as far as eye could see. And farther still.
*
The sun was high overhead when Sabit opened her eyes. The taste of flower petals lingered on her tongue. Her cheeks ached from smiling.
“What did you see, flower of battle?” asked the old man, holding out a clay jug of water.
Sabit drank deeply, the water as cold and clear as the days ahead. “I saw the source of my strength. Kehnan may have men and horses, swords and spears. But he will never match my heart.”
—END—