“You must beat her within an finger width of her life,” Heguir said, handing a switch of rattan to Qaansoole. “You have the skill to keep her alive but make her wish she were dead.”
“I will, of course, do as you ask, Heguir,” answered Qaansoole, taking the switch from his hand. “I only wonder why you would yield the great honor of this task rather than perform the torture with your own hand.”
“Because I am too much in fury’s grip to keep from whipping her to death! I suffer no such fault in your case, so do as I say without impertinent questions—lest I you find yourself on the other side of the switch before long.” The flesh merchant turned on his heel and vanished into the shadowed doorway of his home.
Qaansoole approached the little hut where the defiant were disciplined. Its tar-black walls soaked in the heat of the sun all day long. Opening the door, a gust of hot wind bathed her in the smell of old blood. Sabit hung from bronze manacles, her body dripping with sweat.
“Heguir is too angry to punish you with his own hand,” Qaansoole said. “He’s afraid he might kill you.”
“Fear of a death is fitting,” Sabit whispered, the words scratching across her dry throat.
“Indeed. Although the death he ought to fear is his own,” Qaansoole said, prying open the bronze cuff around Sabit’s wrist.
— — —
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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/.