The flesh-merchant sat on the ground, half-covered in human waste. The whites of his eyes, wide with terror, shown through the brown, stinking filth. Blood flowed from a cut on his forehead into his left eye. He rifled through the polished baubles around his neck. As Sabit approached, he snatched forth the talisman of a small silver hawk, holding it out like a shield. “Fear me, princess. Cower before your master!”
The tattoo on Sabit’s shoulder flared with pain. Terror gripped her heart. She tried to raise the bronze sword, but the weight of fear on the blade made it like lifting a horse. Sabit’s knees cried out to touch the ground before Heguir. How could Sabit stand up to a figure so terrifying? How could anyone?
Sabit turned and ran. Heguire laughed. “Yes, run you cowering cow! There’s no way out, your highness, until I let you out!”
Sabit charged into the storeroom where tall shelves groaned under the weight of plump clay pots. With panicked swings, her bronze blade shattered pots and shelves both. Streams of precious saffron spilled onto the ground. The tiny red strands lay polluted and worthless in the dust.
“No!” screamed Heguir, rushing to the storeroom. Sabit had already destroyed half the contents. As he approached, she toppled another shelf of clay pots to block the doorway, the magical fear driving her every move to stay away from the flesh merchant. “You’ve ruined everything, you cow!”
Sabit pulled down another shelf with a loud crash. Heguir spat out a curse. Holding the silver hawk between his fingers, he turned it upside down. Sabit’s shoulder went icy cold and she collapsed to the floor, her spirit pulled into the magic of the tattoo.
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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/.