Rayshabu led Sabit through the narrow streets of Ghabar toward the northern gate. The streets were filled with people hurrying about their business—delicate bundles balanced upon heads and sloshing amphorae strapped to the flanks of donkeys. Every face was familiar to Sabit. She had passed each of them on the streets of the true Ghabar at some point, even if they had never spoken. There were no true strangers as she shouldered her way through the crowd.
Too soon, they were at the north gate. Auru—the woman who had succeeded Sabit as captain of Ghabar and died in the assault of the plant-prince—watched the gate. She raised her sword in salute. “Safe travels, Heguir’s Bane,” she said as they passed.
The road out of Ghabar ran through fields showing the first spring shoots of grain, just as Sabit remembered from the real Ghabar. But all too soon, the road twisted into the foothills surrounding Mount Irrent. Within moments, Ghabar had been swallowed by the horizon behind them, and they had circled to the far side of Irrent’s double-peak. There lay the city that had heaped so much suffering upon Sabit: Bahteel.
In the blink of an eye, Rayshabu had led them through the gates and past the bustling marketplace that Sabit knew so well. Fewer merchants packed the massive place, their wears all far more expensive than Sabit recalled. Here she glimpsed faces she did not know—sons of noblemen, tall and haughty; guardsmen, eyes ever watchful; attendants to the wealthy, their backs always half-bowed.
Rayshabu strode through the gates of a nobleman’s house, pushing open the polished mahogany with practiced ease. Inside the courtyard, paths of white marble wound among olive trees and sweet-smelling cedar. Servants greeted Rayshabu with warm smiles. As she sank into a padded couch, her servants brought sweet wine and fresh fruit.
Sabit refused the refreshment. “I do not thirst, yet my eyes would tell me we have walked from Ghabar to Bahteel. Such a journey ought to take three months or more of land-travel, plus a voyage across the sea. If this were truly Bahteel, simply rounding the broad base of Mount Irrent and climbing the steep road into the city would have taken more than a day. Yet, the sun has not yet reached its zenith. What is this place, Rayshabu? And why should I not bury you in it?”
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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/.