Mlik.

Omar handed Askari his fighting pole. "He will try to kill you." Omar glanced over his shoulder at the man still chained to the wall, the links being pulled as far from the barrier as its length would allow. Soldiers were jabbing him with staffs. The slave raged at them, but the shackle held him firm against the straining muscles of his neck. "Use your weight. Though he is leaner do not underestimate him. He is strong. They have taken his soul, so look upon him as a bear, and not a man." Omar looked at the fighter again, and then back at Askari. "I need you to make him hear." He patted Askari on the shoulder, leaned in and whispered instructions in his ear.

When Omar stepped back Askari nodded. "I will do my best, Master Omar. I will honour you and my sultan." He bowed his head, gripped his pike in both hands, and faced his opponent.

Pasha Akbar waited until Omar took his seat, and then stood with his hands held out to the crowd seated in the Arena. "Welcome!"

The horde roared, stamped their feet on the timber seating, creating a beat to their warrior's name.

Akbar laughed and said to the Moroccans. "My people love me."

As he turned to face the crowd once more, General Dehbi rolled his eyes at Omar and whispered, "Yet, it is not his name they chant".

Omar chuckled as a response. He hoped his plan worked. Pasha Akbar needed to be brought down from his self-appointed pedestal. 

Waving his arms to quieten the crowd, Akbar yelled, "Your champion has another combatant. Today he will not kill." Akbar grinned and chuckled as he said, "That is, if the Sultan of Morocco's soldiers, can save their warrior before Mlik breaks his neck."

The people roared louder and chanted, "Mlik! Mlik!"

Akbar motioned the crowd to sit. "Let us begin!" he yelled, and then nodded his head to the sentinels, to indicate they should release Mlik.

Two heavy guards pinned Mlik's arms to the wall while one of the tormenting soldiers unlocked the chain around his neck. They jumped back the moment it released. Mlik lunged, lifted his weapon from the ground, swirled it around his head as he turned, and took out one of the soldiers who had been prodding him. The man flew forward. Mlik lifted his foot, was about to break the man's back with a downward thrust, when he was hit hard across the shoulders. He turned to face this new enemy, gripped his killing pole, and attacked.  The crowd roared.

Askari concentrated on the sound of the quarterstaffs hitting each other. Crack, crack! Crack, crack, crack! He moved with the rhythm, trying to tire his opponent, but the man just kept on coming. Master Omar's whispered words played in his head. "Mlik," Askari said as he blocked again. "Mlik." Crack, crack. "Your name is Mlik." Block, block. Crack, crack. "You must listen." Whack! "Ah..." Askari jerked back. The hit had been sharp and precise. He blocked again. Omar's words, use your weight, propelled him forward. He sprang into action.  Crack, crack. Crack, crack, crack. Whack! A hit.  Mlik stumbled backwards.

"Mlik. Your name is Mlik. Hear your name. Hear me speak." Askari watched his opponent's eyes.  Had there been a flicker of comprehension? Again, he called,  "Mlik. Your name is Mlik." 

Askari slammed the pike across the slave's hip. "Listen to me. Let me win and you will be saved." Before Askari could strike again, Mlik's staff  slammed into Askari's thigh, dropping him to his knees. Askari lifted his staff horizontally as Mlik came at him.   Askari twisted, then spun and jabbed his pole directly into the Mlik's jut. In desperation, Askari yelled above the noise of the crowd, "You can be saved!" 

Mlik fell backwards. Askari was on him, gripping the man by the neck before he could get his wind back. Pinning him down using all of his weight, Askari seized Mlik's head, and then slammed it onto the ground. With conviction in his voice he said, "Let me win and you will be taken away from this place." Black eyes stared up at him. Askari tried to see if there was any psyche left in the man. Not a single light. "You must hear my words." He grabbed Mlik's neck, shook, and then punched the side of his skull as hard as he could.  Mlik's skin split from the blow, blood flowed into his hair.  "Let me win and my master will save you." Askari was flipped onto his back. He could not believe the strength this man had. Askari's weight alone, must have been double his opponents. The crowd roared, but instead of being attacked, as he thought he would have been, the crowds favourite stumbled to his feet. Askari followed, and then stood ready to defend himself.

*

Mlik staggered. The world turned. He spun with it. Blood trailed from his wound, and down his neck.  Blurred vision of people standing, holding their hands out to him, their mouths opened, silent, spiralled around him. Shay's tiny face came into focus.

Stray... we are stray's...

Mlik gasped and clutched either side of his head. I am Mlik.

You are ...

"La." No. Mlik shook his head to stop the world from spinning.  Not Mlik. Who?

Shay's hand reached out to him. Save yourself...

Mlik turned to face the man standing before him. He looked at the weapon in his hand, and then raised it above his head. The crowd roared in anticipation.

Let him win...

His opponent lifted his pike. Mlik let his muscles relax. He closed his eyes as he brought his pole down.

Askari sensed change. He watched Mlik close his eyes as he slowly lowered his pike. His words had been heard. Swinging his weapon in an upward motion, Askari put as much force as he could into the blow, and caught Mlik under the chin.

The blow lit a flame in Mlik's soul. His arms flew backwards and elevated him into the air. He was flying. Shay's hand stretched across the span of sky.

You are saved...

Mlik woke on the hard ground. The man in the brown burnoose was standing beside him. Pasha Akbar was pacing backwards and forwards, yelling and waving his hands in the air at the group of men. Khalil was on his knees, blood streamed from his nose.

"You trained him!" Akbar spun and backhanded Khalil. "I told you what I would do if you failed!"

"Pasha Akbar." General Dehbi stepped forward and bowed his head. "It was a fair fight. An honourable fight. Your warrior did you proud."

"He is no warrior! He is a curse!" Pasha Akbar spat at Mlik. The clump of mucus landed in the dirt just missing his face.

Mlik tightened his grip on the pike which still lay within his reach. Hate flourished in his core as he watched Akbar turn his attention back to Khalil. Blood thirst rose. Somewhere from the back of his mind he knew he had vowed to kill these men.

"In Algiers we do not invest in failures." Akbar sneered and drew his flyssa from the sheath on his belt. The steel and brass hilt of the sword caught the sun's rays as he raised it above his head.

In the darkness that owned Mlik's mind a shaft of light flared. He knew this was his moment. He would kill them both. Springing to his feet, he hurled himself forward.

Omar Jannat was ready for it. As the warrior leapt, he shouldered him mid-air. Mlik tumbled sideways.

Akbar's arm came down driving the blade through the centre of Khalil's chest. Khalil gripped the blade with his hands and stared up at Akbar. He stood, staggered backwards, and then drew the flyssa from his body. Blood seeped and slithered like tendril vines from the wound. As he fell forward, he swung the sword, its tip sliced Akbar's throat, the artery severed, gapped like the maw of a snake. His hand clutched his throat. Valleys of blood flowed through his fingers, as he stared wide-eyed at the men in front of him.

Dehbi made a move toward Akbar, but Omar gripped his forearm, shook his head and murmured, "Hell has waited a long time for this man. It would be wrong of us to delay his arrival."

Mlik watched from where Askari had him pinned to the dry dusty earth. Khalil fell on his knees. He crumpled to the ground his face a foot from Mlik's. Their eyes met. With his last breath Khalil whispered, "You live..."

Throwing Askari off of him, Mlik tried to get to his feet. Revenge would not be taken from him. Two Moroccan soldiers jumped him, and held him down so he could not move. He roared from the cavern of his soul. The last thing he saw before everything turned black was Pasha Akbar dropping like a fallen tree. 

Finally there is hope for Samuel.

Akbar, the creep is finally dead.  The only good thing Khalil did.  

Top photo taken from DevianArt

2nd photo taken from OpenArt