A new life...in chains.
Khalid swung the pick again...and a small stone was chipped away from the wall of rock in front of him. He coughed...the air was bad here...and the dust from the other diggers made it hard to breathe. The crack of a whip split the air and he felt a fire of pain across his shoulders as the lash sunk into his flesh.
"Back to work you dirty desert bastard!" Shouted the foreman.
Khalid swung the pick again...and bided his time. The last few weeks had been misery and chaos. First the attack on his tribe and camp, and then, falling to a warrior who possessed an un-natural light in his eyes. Strange, he had never lost in combat before...
He had awoken in chains, and was dragged across the desert with other captives. Then to a boat, his eyes blindfolded, his hands bound. Some of the other prisoners he had recognized from other clans...people he had made war on...at least in the traditional sense. Stealing goats and camels was a well respected tradition...but this...no Bedu kept slaves in the Haradwaith.
The memory of the burning tents and the slaughter remained etched in his mind. His family gone, all his cousins and relatives slain...and he the leader of his tribe! The shame washed over him again.
He would find his redemption. Khalid was no slave, but a warrior of great reknown! He had carried his families honour with distinction...continuing a tradition hundreds of years old. He was chosen as Sheik at the youngest age in generations...his spirit walk had been the tale around campfires for over a dozen years.
All gone now. He was the last of his tribe.
He swung the pick again. He did not know where he was. All he knew was that this tunnel in stone had become his world. Other men of the desert toiled next to him. Why did they dig here? Where were they? Hours of labour and then blindfolds again. Back to a dank cel for a few hours sleep, a stale crust of bread and back to the digging again.
The sweat grew cold on his back. Would he die here?
"Back to work you dirty desert bastard!" Shouted the foreman.
Khalid swung the pick again...and bided his time. The last few weeks had been misery and chaos. First the attack on his tribe and camp, and then, falling to a warrior who possessed an un-natural light in his eyes. Strange, he had never lost in combat before...
He had awoken in chains, and was dragged across the desert with other captives. Then to a boat, his eyes blindfolded, his hands bound. Some of the other prisoners he had recognized from other clans...people he had made war on...at least in the traditional sense. Stealing goats and camels was a well respected tradition...but this...no Bedu kept slaves in the Haradwaith.
The memory of the burning tents and the slaughter remained etched in his mind. His family gone, all his cousins and relatives slain...and he the leader of his tribe! The shame washed over him again.
He would find his redemption. Khalid was no slave, but a warrior of great reknown! He had carried his families honour with distinction...continuing a tradition hundreds of years old. He was chosen as Sheik at the youngest age in generations...his spirit walk had been the tale around campfires for over a dozen years.
All gone now. He was the last of his tribe.
He swung the pick again. He did not know where he was. All he knew was that this tunnel in stone had become his world. Other men of the desert toiled next to him. Why did they dig here? Where were they? Hours of labour and then blindfolds again. Back to a dank cel for a few hours sleep, a stale crust of bread and back to the digging again.
The sweat grew cold on his back. Would he die here?
posted by Skouser | 10:12 PM
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