By the time the sun had reached its zenith, the forum of justice boasted a small crowd. Nearly a third of the spectators’ seats were filled with the hangers-on of the rival houses, various functionaries and officials of the Magistrate’s court, and a handful of local workers here more for the spectacle of bloody entertainment than for the edifying sight of divine justice played out upon upon mortal flesh.
Sabit stretched her limbs and rolled her shoulders in preparation for the coming battle. Although the laws of the forum forbade striking a champion on the ground, there was no prohibition against killing strikes while one’s opponent was still on their feet. She needed to be limber.
Sabit looked across the arena to the other champion’s preparations for the contest. The head of house Lanyon would be championed by Illi, a massive man from the far south. He stood a full head taller than even Sabit’s considerable height, with legs like tree-trunks and a chest as broad as a barrell. Illi prepared for the oncoming fight by gnawing on a joint of roast mutton, gobbets of fat clinging to his long, black beard.
“Illi’s been known to shatter bones with that mallet of his,” came a voice from the stands. Sabit glanced up to find a woman looking down at her with a lopsided smirk. Her eyes were bright and her tight, black curls were cropped close to her scalp. The woman wore a simple blue tunic and a cloak festooned with patches. A quiver of arrows rested on her hip. “He favors his right side, so if you keep low and to his right, you won’t give him a clean shot.”
“You broke my spear!” Sabit shouted at the woman. In the center of the forum, the Magistrate yammered on about something. Sabit paid him no mind as she confronted the infuriating archer. “You shot at me!”
“Yes, I let loose an arrow in your direction. If I’d meant to hit you, I would have,” the woman retorted. In the distance, a horn sounded. “You looked like you would make a good champion, but I had to test you. The lady of justice only wants the most skilled in her service. You passed the test.”
“Come down here and I’ll show you a test worth passing!” Sabit bellowed.
“Sadly, I was recently scratched by a spear and am still recovering,” the woman laughed. “I’m sure we shall test one another’s mettle soon enough. Keep alert! Here comes Illi!”
The mountain of a man trundled toward Sabit, mallet raised high. The contest had begun.
Wayfarings of Sabit: Isle of the Wicked 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 or http://ipressgames.com/fiction/