That night the House of Bouden was filled with music. Fire eaters and tumblers performed in the gardens while great racks of sheep and goat wafted their aromas from the kitchen, fat popping on the red-hot coals.
Rayshabu sat at the seat of honor—the place at her father’s right hand that had been empty since her elder brother’s death six years before. She was the hope of the house, and every other toast was to her name, to her honor, to her future.
Across the table sat Sabit, in the place of an honored dignitary from afar. On this night of revels, she had traded her threadbare tunic for the gauzy confection of a gown pulled from the storerooms of Rayshabu’s things. The intricate embroidery and delicate cut of the gown sat at odds with her long limbs and warrior’s posture. But as a guest, Sabit deferred to her host’s sense of occasion above her own comfort.
“So, a captain of Ghabar and a champion of Vert, as well as the foretold mother of a new dynasty?” Bouden asked of Sabit as he piled a piece of flatbread high with morsels of meat, pickled vegetables, and spice-laden sauces. “My Rayshabu never settles for second best. Of course her rescuer would be as accomplished as any king.”
“It is too much to call me simply her rescuer. My blow may have taken the slave merchant’s life, but it was Rayshabu’s blow that shattered his hold on me. What we accomplished, we did together. A phalanx fights stronger than sixteen men fighting alone. In the arena of Vert, a handful of champions could defeat mightier foes, so long as we stayed together. A finger alone is easily broken, but a fist is strong.”
“Sadly, the king’s vizier, Lovro, knows that lesson better than our divine king himself,” Bouden said. “He fans the discontent of the common people against the corruption of the king’s law, while he makes himself and his allies among the noble house fat off that same corruption. The law of Bahteel, that which set our fair city above the squabbling savages of the countryside is left to rot every day. No one will stand for justice. No one will stand for the law.”
“I learned a thing or two about justice when I fought in the Arena of Vert,” said Sabit. “I learned that just like a desperate tinker, justice must use the tools she has at hand. If the law will help her, justice must use it. If only the sword will do, then she must seize that.”
“To justice!” Bouden raised his golden cup of silver and let the deep red wine slosh onto his hand, staining his sleeve the color of blood
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Wayfarings of Sabit: Allies is copyright (c) 2019 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/.