Surrounded, bound, and outnumbered, Sabit took the only course that she could see. She went limp in her bonds.
The thralls to her sides struggled with the spear-ends, trying to keep her in place for the swordsman’s blow. The sativa-keeper ducked low to keep hold of her hair. The swordsman raised his blade.
With an explosion of furious strength, Sabit sprang to her feet. Her head smashed into the sativa-keeper’s jaw with a loud crack. With a duck and twist, she drove the spear-ends into the knees of both thralls beside her, sending them crashing to the ground.
A roll and tumble brought Sabit to where the sativa-keeper had fallen supine. Her knee found his throat. Shaking the leather sheathe from the iron spear-tip, Sabit pivoted to point it at the swordsman’s chest—both her arms still extended, yolked to its length.
The swordsman stood his ground. Lowering his blade, he pulled the wrappings from his head, revealing Allamu’s bemused expression. “I thought to repay one rescue with another. But I see that you have no such need. Perhaps I can assist you with a few of those ropes?”
Wayfarings of Sabit: Blossom of Ruin is copyright (c) 2016 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