Young Writers Society

Do'amha was awoken sometime in the night. It wasn't to anything in particular, just the soft sound of metal being scraped together. He rolled his head to the side and saw a figure working the lock on his cage. The figure was shrouded in black, but with his night vision he could see them as clear as day. Leather armor was fitted to their lithe body and holding a few daggers in easy to reach places. Their face was hidden by a hood that darkened their features further than Do'amha's eyes could see. He was about to speak when the faint sound of voice drifted from the slightly ajar door at the end of the pits.

The voices sounded urgent, like they were looking for someone. Do'amha could only guess that the person currently trying to pick his lock was the person that the guards were looking for.He quickly stood up as he moved to the door.

"You will not pick this lock in time," he said, making the figure jump. "The master has the best locks money can buy on these cages. There is an empty cage three down. Bury yourself in the straw."

The figure didn't have a chance to answer back. The guards came through the door carrying torches and quickly searching along the cages.

"You there! Slave!" one of the guards called out to Do'amha, who was now rather non-chalantly leaning against the cage door. "Have you seen anyone come down here?!"

"Only people that have been down here at this hour are you two knife-ears," he responded.

"Watch your tone, slave! Or maybe we should have you thrown in The Box."

"Go ahead." Turning to face them he hung on the bars of his cage and called their bluff. "Go ahead and tell Master Omeleron that you have put his best fighter in The Box the night before one of his most profitable fights. See how he reacts to that." He grinned as he saw the guards were taken aback by his counter. "I have heard the whisperings. He is supposed to be getting twenty times my weight in gold, should I win. Do you want to be the ones to tell him that he is going to lose that much of a payment?"

The guard glared at Do'amha, who just glared right back. "And if you're lying to us?"

"What reason do I have to lie? If someone is down here and I saw them, I would likely get a reward for telling you. If I lie and say I did not see someone when I did, then I will be punished. So you figure out the truth of it, though I am sure that Master Omeleron will not appreciate you keeping his best fighter up this late at night." The pair of guards gave a look to one another before leaving with a curse under their breath.

The pits were plunged into darkness once again as the door closed with the guards on the other side.

"You are good," Do'amha said down the aisle of cages. The rustle of straw and leather met his triangular ears before the figure snuck out of the cage and down to his door.

"Thanks," said a feminine voice. "I didn't expect to have to deal with so many guards around."

"Next time you plan on stealing from a place, you should make sure that it is not on the eve of their biggest draw of income."

"I'll make note of that in future." The woman paused a moment looking Do'amha over quickly. "Why did you help me?"

"I have seen what they do to thieves...while the males are killed, the females suffer a much worse...fate at the hands of the guards. I would suggest you leave quickly and do not return."

"It seems that my opening has come and gone. Know any ways out that won't be watched?"

"I would guess that the arena is not watched. I have seen several windows when I was out there. I have also seen moonlight at night so they don't cover them."

The hood gave small nod to show that she understood. "I will not forget your help. I only wish that I could repay it."

"Do not get caught, or they will make me regret having helped you."

A gentle laugh came from the shadow of the hood. It was melodious, like ringing crystal. In the harshness of the slave pits, something so gentle could have easily been lost. "Shadows preserve you," she said before sneaking her way to the entry to the arena.

Just before she disappeared out of sight, Do'amha caught the slight turn of her head to the cage and the glimpse of an amethyst eye. Then she was gone.

Do'amha returned to his place with a sigh. Why did I help her? he chastised himself. If they catch her it will come back onto me a hundred fold.

"No point worrying about it now," he muttered to himself before returning to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the first time in many moons, Do'amha had a dream. He could hear a voice - his voice - coming to terms on some deal. Though he dreamt, he couldn't see anything. There were only the voices. Whispering voices of things long forgotten. Voices of laughter and of sorrow. The dark haze seemed to be lifting. He could almost see something within the murky blackness.

Then there was pain. A searing, skull-splitting pain.

Do'amha jumped awake, his hands holding his head as he cried out in pain. Screaming until there was no air left in his lungs, forcing him to gulp down another lungful before screaming once more. The pain filled everything. His head. His fingers. His toes. Drowning out all other senses, even those of Vajrasha trying to calm him and asking what was wrong.

As quickly as the pain began, it was gone. The memory that came with it lost with the dream and the remnants of sleep. Do'amha fell back to the stones, still holding his head.What in Oblivion was that? he thought to himself. The ringing in his ears slowly dissipated until he realized that Vajrasha was yelling in concern at him. He could taste blood. It seemed that he had bitten his tongue during his pain-filled fit.

"I am alright, sister," he growled. "Quit your shrieking." He rolled to his side and spat out the blood that was slowly filling his mouth.

“Vajrasha has never seen Do’amha act like that before,” she replied in a quivering voice. “This one thought that you might be being punished in some terribly new way.”

“No. I’m not sure what it was, but it wasn’t magik.” Rinsing his mouth out, he spat out the tinted water and rinsed away the blood on the stones. “Watch how you are speaking, sister. You will be punished if one of the knife-ears hears you speaking in that fashion.”

Vajrasha looked at him in surprise. She hadn’t noticed that she began to speak in third person, as she had been raised. “Thank you, Do’amha. I am once again in your debt.”

The pair of them jumped when the sharp ring of the bars being struck echoed through the pits.Three Elven guards now stood at the cage door, waiting rather impatiently despite having only just arrived.

“Slave! You’re being called on,” the guard in front said.

Do’amha knew better than to ask who was calling for him. The last time he had asked he was answered with a backhand from a steel gauntlet. Giving a nod, he stood up and stepped to the door. When the gate was opened, iron shackles were immediately placed on his wrists and ankles. The closed locks pinching the fur that they trapped and giving a pull with every step he took.

The shuffle of his feet was accented by the clatter of chains that were dragging on the ground. He was immediately taken to the baths. Large pools heated by magic stones that would burn hot. The Elves loved imbuing all sorts of things with magik from Do’amha’s experience. Cooking inside of the steaming water were lavender petals, to make everything that was cleaned in them to have a nice fragrance.

If I am being bathed, then I must be going into public, Do’amha thought.They only care about my hygiene if they are showing me off. Stripped down to his fur save for the irons, he was shoved into the water. Servants began cleaning him with long handled brushes so that they wouldn’t have to get close to him. They scrubbed him down roughly to remove the matting from his fur before they hauled him out and made him stands beside an oven to dry off.

Next came the grooming. His hands positioned to cover his loins, the servants began to roughly brush him down, removing the tangles and giving him a presentable demeanour. Not an inch of him was missed, from the long hair on the top of his head to the end of his striped tail, he was brushed.

When they brought him fresh clothes he was rather shocked. Must be someone important.They never give us clothes, he thought as they began to dress him, removing the irons only long enough for him to get his arms and legs through.

Cleaned, dressed, and now smelling of lavender, he was carted off down the halls once again. Shuffling from the short length of chain between his ankles, he did his best to keep up with the insistent pace that the guards had set. Turning sharply he was led into a large room. A plush rug covered most of the floor and was soft to Do’amha’s bare feet. A massive four post bed, decorated with sheer lengths of grey cloth, dominated the room. The light of mid morning came cascading in through the two large windows across from the door.

Now everything made sense. The sudden call. The cleaning. The new clothes. Someone had bought his services for their pleasure. He sighed as he was roughly shoved to the bed and the irons around his wrists were exchanged for two long lengths of chain that were anchored to the wall. His ankles freed, the guards left him alone in the room. The length of the chain gave him near free reign of the room, but he didn’t have any time to explore. He could already hear the sounds of the only other door in the room being opened and the customer on the other side coming in.