Wrapped in the appropriated cloak of a servant and carrying a pair of buckets, Allamu moved through the siege camp as though invisible. There ought to have been guards at the Prioress's white tent, but the sounds of raised voices and raised weapons from Sabit's appearance and capture had lured them from their posts.
Allamu stepped into the tent. The air was close, thick with the pungent incense burned in remembrance of the dead.
"How goes the siege?" came the Prioress's voice.
Allamu turned to face her. Clad in white from square-brimmed hat to pristine boot, Prioress Irkalla was the picture of a mother consumed by mourning.
"The siege will be a curse upon your son," Allamu said. "Through bad fortune and misadventure I have come to know how your beloved Ishum died. He did not die the death you think." Producing the circlet of ivory and jade, Allamu held it out toward the grieving mother.
Color rose in the face of the Prioress. She took the circlet in trembling hands. "Tell me what you know."
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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...
