Young Writers Society

Judging from the rays of light that he could see, it was probably mid-morning. Many of the slaves were up and awake, doing their individual methods of building strength, while a few others were enjoying their female rewards. With Do’amha locked in The Box, a few other slaves managed to gain a little favour with Omeloren.

I need to sleep, he thought. He nestled a little into the bed of hay and closed his eyes. Letting his weary body finally drift off to sleep, trying his best to ignore the sounds around him.

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Do’amha awoke only once since he closed his eyes. The loud strike against his cage door made him jump into consciousness.

“Your Master demands that you eat at least your evening meal. Can’t have you weak when you begin fighting again tomorrow,” the guard said holding out a tray of food.

Do’amha nodded as he took the tray and began to tear into the meal ravenously.

Too bad for the both of you that I will be long gone by the time morning comes, he thought with a secret grin. Fresh meat and bread was like a gift from the Divines. After a week of half rotten food, he thought that he might never stop eating the meal in front of him. But, within moments he had inhaled all of the food that had been on the tray and went back to his bedding to rest.

He wasn’t as tired anymore, he could at least keep his eyes open, but his body was still exhausted. There were aches in all of his joints, even his tail ached. It would be days before those joints would feel better.

Laying there, his eyes counting the stones above his head, he actually felt excitement. There was a chance for him to get away. To be free. After years of fighting in the arena he thought that excitement and adrenaline were things that he had become dulled to. But his heartbeat quickened as the pits became darker. The torches slowly being put out, casting the room in a dim glow from the splints of moonlight that pierced through from the arena.

When the door finally closed, he waited a few moments. His ears flicked this way and that to catch any trace of the guards of any slaves that might still be awake.

Only quiet snores met his ears.

With the comforting darkness around him, he made his way to the cage door. Slipping the key from his wraps he carefully placed it into the lock and turned it, the soft grinding of gears turning came from the lock before the bolt retreated into the mechanism.

Pushing the metal door open, Do’amha froze as the worst thing he could think of happened.

The hinges of the cage door gave out a shrill squeal that echoed around the enclosed area.

His heart hammering in his ears so loud he was sure that someone could hear it. For a long time he didn’t breath. But there was no yell. No cry of alarm. Only the gentle snoring of the sleeping slaves.

He released a sigh of relief when he didn’t hear any stirring and gently eased the door open enough for him to slip out and ease the door back to its closed position.

His padded feet made no noise as he carefully made his way to the arena entrance. It seemed that he might make it out with only that one issue. But his attention was pulled to a gasp from the cage beside him.

An Argonian woman had spotted him.

His eyes widened in fear as he saw her mouth opened to release a cry of alarm. His heart paused as time seemed to stop around him. He would be found out and beheaded, or worse thrown back into The Box. He stood there, waiting for the fateful scream to go out and his only chance of escape to fly away.

But the Argonian woman never made a sound.

As soon as she had sat up to call for the guards, the Argonian beside her gripped her throat tightly and stopped her cry before it could even utter a sound. He moved over top of her and bore all his weight onto her windpipe. She thrashed and swung at him as her eyes filled with horror. Only a grunt tore from his throat as he continued to add pressure until her struggling began to dwindle. Her hands stopped slapping and her scaled tail ceased its thrashing until she fell still, her eyes glassed over as she stared, lifelessly, at the ceiling.

The Argonian slowly slid off of the woman’s corpse, still panting from the effort.

“Why did you do that? Why help me?” Do’amha asked in a confused and hushed voice.

“I didn’t. I did it to help me,” the Argonian sneered. “Once you escape, or are killed, I will become the favoured fighter. Now get out of here. Careful not to lose your head.”

Do’amha nodded as he saw the Argonian’s point of view. He was taking advantage of Do’amha’s absence as a means of furthering his position within the pits. For Do’amha that didn’t warrant killing another slave, but it was already too late. With a sigh he tossed the key that he had been given to the Argonian. With a nod he hurried out into the arena, hearing a soft chuckle from behind him.

Making a run to the Northern wall he kicked off of the cracked stone, where the troll’s head had smashed it, and gipped the edge of the stadium rim. His blunt claws scratching the smooth stone as he slowly pulled himself up with a great deal of effort. The muscles in his arms were burning from exhaustion, but his determination won out as he finally managed to throw his leg up and roll into the stands.

No time to stop, he told himself as he hurried up the stairs two at a time. Running for the north-most window, he tried to spring up to the window ledge. The tips of his fingers could only barely brushing the bottom of sill.

His blunt claws scrapping on the lower edge of the sill before he stopped. His legs were just about out of strength as he hunched over, his hands on his knees for air, and shaking from pure exhaustion. He struck the wall in frustration to be so close to freedom but still mere inches from his grasp.Those inches might as well me miles with his weary body.

He was startled when a rope suddenly dropped down beside him. Looking up, he could see the hooded features of another Khajiit staring down at him with a wide grin on his feline features. He resembled a spotted leopard with light grey fur.

“You better hurry up,” the Khajiit whispered. “This one will not wait forever for you.”

Grabbing the rope, Do’amha’s ascension up the wall became a collaborative effort with him pulling his own weight up the rope while the smiling Khajiit pulled the rope until they were both crouched in the window.

Do’amha had never seen outside the building before. The building itself was not that large, it looked more like a storehouse for grains. The roof dropped off steeply on both sides, save for the point that gave a small path to rush across.

“Are you with Karliah?” Do’amha asked quietly.

“No,” the Khajiit answered with quick sarcasm. “Ri’shaad is a traveling merchant interested in selling his wares in the middle of the night. Have you need of a bear skin rug?”

Do’amha’s glared at the snickering Khajitt as if his sarcastic comment was the funniest joke in all Tamriel.

“Ri’shaad can tell that while you may live, your sense of humour died long ago. Here. You might need this. Scroll of fireball. If things go bad then use it. Careful not to singe your tail.”

“Enough with the jokes. What is the plan?”

“We follow the rooftop. Ri’shaad has horses waiting and we will ride off through the fields.”

“Won’t we be seen?”

“With as many break-ins this one has done. Ri’shaad has found that guards do not look above them. Just don’t fall and you will be fine.”

Do’amha rolled his eyes as Ri’shaad gave out another snicker before dashing off along the roof. The Khajiit’s padded feet ran the narrow edge with practiced precision.

Do’amha had to stop every few feet to throw his arms about to keep from falling.

Climbing down the rope to the roof, the pair quickly got up into the saddles of the horses. As Do’amha was about to send the beast charging forward, though he really didn’t know how he was going to do that, he felt Ri’shaad grab his arm.

“You need to wait. If we go too soon we will be spotted and shot down before we make it to the fields.”

Do’amha nodded as he waited for Ri’shaad to give some sort of signal to move.

For all his jokes, he seems to know what he is doing, Do’amha thought as he saw the Khajiit spur his horse into a gallop with a sharp kick to the equine’s sides.

Do’amha followed the same action of kicking the horse’s flanks and quickly fumbled for a hold as the mount took off. Holding on desperately to the horn of the saddle, he was alarmed to hear a shout go out from the guards that saw the pair making their escape. Archers from a large building began firing ceaselessly into the air, raining down a storm of arrows.

The bolts narrowly missing the pair and embed harmlessly in the earth as the entered the fields. Do’amha looked over his shoulder with a grin as it seemed that they were home free.

But he suddenly found himself soaring through the air as the horse beneath him collapsed.

One of the arrows had struck through its neck and threw Do’amha from its back. Ri’shaad fared little better as he was shot through the shoulder with one of the many arrows, his horse galloping off into the darkness.

“That could have gone better,” Ri’shaad growled as he crawled over to use the fallen horse’s body as a barrier from the guards that were suddenly bearing down on them. “Your scroll. Use your scroll.”

“What do I do with it?!” Do’amha hissed at him as he opened it seeing the foreign and somehow familiar runes written on the paper.

“You read it! You know how to read do you not?!”

Do’amha looked at him with a glowering glance. “I have been a slave all my life! What makes you think I can…”

He paused as he looked at the runes once more. Something in the back of his mind suddenly seemed to recognize the symbols and began to feel magik collecting in his hands. The paper burned away and in its place was a small ball of flames, floating calmly.

“Good! Now throw it! Take out the archers on the roof!”

Do’amha turned to hurl the burning ball of magik, when he had a different idea. Instead of throwing the magik at the roof, he threw it against the ground at the beginning of the field. The flames quickly spread and started to consume the entire crop. He smiled as he saw the guards quickly run back.

Then he felt the wind change and the fire began to surge toward them.

“Are you insane?! That fire is coming right for us!” Ri’shaad cried before scrambling to his feet with Do’amha right behind him.

“They won’t be able to see us with the smoke!” Do’amha countered as they tried to outrun the wall of fire. The roaring flames growled like a hungry, snarling beast chasing after them to devour all in its path. The flames leapt and danced about as the surged through the dry wheat for more to feed its unending hunger. The heat was almost unbearable. The wheat around them crackled and popped from the flames that cooked them completely. Flames licked at their feet and fur, trying to sample a bite of its quarry.

The smoke that filled the air choked their lungs and stung their eyes, obscuring their vision of the end of the field. Blindly they ran on, hoping that they would find their way out into the safety of the forest beyond.

When they finally came out of the field they hurried into the nearby forest before pausing to look back, coughing roughly to expel the smoke that had gotten trapped in their lungs. The devouring inferno burned quickly through the fields, spreading to any of the nearby ones as figures could be seen trying to put them out.

“That was a risky move,” Ri’shaad said with the first serious tone that Do’amha had heard him use.

“I cannot get that knife-ear back for all the pain he caused me. So I figured I would hurt him where he would feel it most…his coin purse,” Do’amha replied as they started trudging through the forest.

“Shouldn’t we get that out?” Do’amha asked motioning to the arrow in Ri’shaad’s shoulder.

“It is best to leave it in. Ri’shaad will have the healer take care of it when he returns to the guild.”

When they came upon a swift flowing river Ri’shaad pointed downstream.

“Karliah will meet you down that way on the opposite shore,” he said. “Ri’shaad will go upstream to throw off any trackers. Good luck.”

“Thank you, Ri’shaad. I am in your debt.”

“Karliah saved this one’s life once. This was to repay that debt. Do not go starting anymore fires until this one is far away. Ri’shaad would rather not have to outrun another one.”

Do’amha chuckled before the wounded Khajiit began following the riverbank upstream. Do’amha turned to head the other direction, praying that he found Karliah in the dim forest before Omeloren’s men could regroup and follow after him.