Kneeling alongside the fallen Dessine, the sorcerer shifted the tone and volume of his chant back to its previous soft, low rumble. He leaned over the chief huntress until the ends of his long hair—stringy and purest white—touched her face. The sour stink of his breath mingled with the low vibration of his wordless song to fill Dessine’s every perception.
She pulled her head away and swung her left fist toward the sorcerer’s head. In the fury of the attack, Dessine could not say why her eyes slipped open a sliver—
—but they did.
The sorcerer’s gaze filled her vision, her awareness, her body. Every fiber of her being locked tight, paralyzed. Her left arm wrenched itself in its socket as her arm muscles fought against the force of the punch she had thrown. Dessine’s fist came to a stop, harmlessly grazing the sorcerer’s mane of unruly white hair.
His chant shifted tone, its wordless tune painting images of devotion to the sorcerer’s will on the back of Dessine’s mind. The song overwhelmed her years of devotion to the Sisterhood and the Pride like a flood inundating a sapling. The sorcerer’s voice ate into her own ambitions to lead the Sisterhood by any means necessary like acid. Dessine’s resolve, her hope, her will were as nothing before the sorcery.
What havoc could the chief huntress of the Sisterhood of the Lioness wreak, bound to the will of such a man?
—–
Wayfarings of Sabit: Sisterhood of the Lioness is copyright (c) 2017 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters post every weekday. You can support this and other stories on Patreon: https://patreon.com/michaelsmiller or http://ipressgames.com/fiction/