The woman—small and lithe—extended her hand to pull Sabit to her feet. As the spearwoman rose, she felt the pain of her battle with the boar—bruised ribs ached, cut flesh burned—but it was distant, more like the memory of pain than pain itself. She stood up and gazed down at her rescuer, a full head shorter than Sabit.
“Was it too much to hope that this wretched realm would have brought you down to a more reasonable size?” said the woman with an expression of bemused affection.
“Just what realm is this, Qaansoole? I have traveled far to retrieve you, but I do not know how far I have come just to be here,” Sabit said.
“How I wish that were so! If the true Sabit had come for me then I would know that my time among shadows was at an end. Instead, this mirage finds new barbs to press into my heart. Yet, there is some sweetness in this torture. Even your shadow reminds me of our days together upon the road,” Qaansoole looked away. “When my dear Qays walked beside me in freedom, the loving sunlight upon his face.”*
“The flesh-merchant does not hold your son in bondage, my friend,” Sabit replied. “Qays rides with his father’s war band and refuses to leave unless you come for him. He is as stubborn and loyal as his mother.”
“You lie, phantom!” Qaansoole spat, drawing her short sword from its sheath. “Heguir holds Qays in a mine more than a day’s journey from his walled compound. Every day he sends a dove to the mine with a slip of parchment bound to its leg. That parchment keeps my son alive for another day. If the message does not arrive, Qays will die. I am chained t this place not by this foul dream-sorcery, but by my son’s life. I will gut any phantom that would ask me to put my boy in danger. Even shadows bleed in this place.”
“Qaansoole, I am no shadow,” Sabit said, the blood flow from her wound nearly stopped. “I saw Qays at the last half-moon. Spoke with him. I had tracked you both to his father’s war band, but found only that bright, stubborn lad. He is the one who told me of your captivity. This is not like the Arena of Vert, Qaansoole. Your son is not being held hostage for your compliance. You are being held captive for _his_.”
Qaansoole’s eyes went wide. She let the tip of her sword dip toward the ground. Sabit reached out to reassure her and the sword sprang up between them. Hope and doubt warred across Qaansoole’s features. “If you are lying, my boy will die.”
“I have broken vows to you before. You have no reason to trust me. But I never meant your son harm. I am here to rescue you from Heguir. Let me make my amends through action.” Sabit extended her open hand to Qaansoole. The blood upon her arm wafted in a red mist from her cuts. The strong, brown fingers followed suit, dissolving like smoke in the breeze. A chill went through Sabit’s body.
“What’s happening?” Sabit cried out. Her entire arm had blown away. Her shoulder burned. Her feet went cold.
“Heguir summons you,” Qaansoole sighed. “When you wake, look for—”
In a swirl of dust, Sabit was gone.
——
*-Qaansoole and Qays traveled with Sabit in Wayfarings of Sabit: Broken Justice, Tumult, Pursuit, and Bazaar of Death.
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Wayfarings of Sabit: Chains 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/.