Heguir led his guards and the shackled Sabit through the crowded compound, Rayshabu following behind. She held her head low like a chastized child. The procession wound through reeking barracks of chained captives, awaiting the next buyer of their misery. Their eyes passed over Sabit without hope or pity, the brutality of their daily labor having ground all such passions from their hearts.
On the far side of the compound, Heguir barged into a small shed, eagerly pushing open the curtain. Inside the dim chamber, a dozen women gathered around a table. Atop were piles of saffron flowers, each woman plucking the yellow stamen from its nest of petals.
“Qaansoole!” Heguir called out, a bright note in his voice. “Look! I have brought you a friend!”
“Speak not my name, Qaansoole!” Sabit cried out. “He only wants—” Her voice was cut off by a blow to the mouth from one of the guards. Sabit collapsed to the floor. The guard pulled back his hand, streaks of Sabit’s blood staining his knuckles.
Qaansoole rose to her feet. “Heguir, what is this?”
“This is your time to choose.” He touched one of the necklaces around his throat, rolling the charm of a tiny silver hummingbird between his fingers. “Do you tell me his woman’s name and walk the paths of pleasure for a full day? Or do you deny me … and know the icy touch of terror?”
Qaanssole looked from Sabit’s crumpled form on the floor to the slave-merchant Heguir. “I need not your threats, Heguir. I owe this woman for many wrongs she has done to me. What would you like to know?”
The slave merchant grinned. “Tell me everything.”
— — —
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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/.