Running side-by-side over the uneven terrain, Sabit and Allamu kept ahead of the pursuing sentries. Both had long strides that ate up the distance to the white tent shining in the morning light. The sound of the sentries' cries grew more distant.
Cloaked figures milled about the tent in the morning chill. Sabit was almost near enough to make out individuals. Two were servants hauling bowls of steaming porridge and mugs of strong tea to the Prioress's tent. A third was an advisor with a long beard of plaited grey locks. The fourth had thrown open her cloak, revealing the captain's armor that had once been Sabit's.
The captain aimed a longbow and released an arrow.
Allamu let out a grunt. His run ended with a haphazard sprawl upon the rocky ground. The feathered end of an arrow protruded from his crumpled form.
Sabit looked back at her fallen companion. Glancing once more toward the tent of white silk, she slowed. Stopped. Turned back toward the spot where Allamu lay motionless on the ground.
Before Sabit could reach him, the guards were upon her.
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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
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Blossom of Ruin: A Wayfaring of Sabit
FantasyA world of dark sorcery-an age of sharpened bronze. Sabit lives by her wits and her spear. When a cutpurse makes off with a bauble, what will Sabit risk to regain what is hers? What bitter, uncanny fruit will bloom from her thirst for vengeance, or...
