Zola knew her freedom from the arena was close. All she needed was that last bit of armor. Well, that and live through the melee. Now that she’d made a name among the gladiators, she faced tougher opponents. Sometimes more than one.

They told her the rules were simple. You fight. If you win, you gain a weapon or piece of armor. If you lose, you die. Winning the final challenge sets you free. Very few succeed.

Zola had watched more than one aspiring to their escape get cut down by an unexpected opponent. She’d made her own wagers against some who lost, and had enough coin put away that she wouldn’t starve when she left this place.

Her time in captivity had taught her much. Few in the arena were to be trusted. And those few were worth their weight in the silver coins she had stashed in her cell. Despite being a slave, as a gladiator, her prowess on the sand had earned no small amount of autonomy within the confines of the arena and its grounds. She used that liberty to place small bets where she could, always keeping her winnings hidden so as not to attract the wrong sort of attention.

She kept her ears open, her mouth shut, and watched everything as she neared her chance to get out of the arena and experience the world outside. At any moment, a guard could bring her onto the sand to prove herself once again. In the past, she’d dreaded those moments. Now, though, she waited eagerly for that summons.

Zola Gathakavi, who called herself Dreamstalker, was beyond ready for her fate, whichever way that Kavaki, her creator, and guardian, willed the battle. Should she prove worthy in the eyes of the Ram-Lord, she would prevail. If not, she would die in the glory of one last battle.

The call, while not unexpected, came at the end of her morning training.

“It’s time,” said the training master, motioning her to follow the waiting guards.

They led her onto the sand, where a pair of hounds strained at the chains securing them to the outer walls. She had seen this before. Someone would unleash the hounds at the least opportune moment of the battle.

Her helmeted opponent stood at the far end, a longsword in one hand, a large shield strapped to his beefy arm. Dreamstalker assessed her foe as the guard handed her a polearm. The dogs barked, straining at their restraints. Keep one eye on that threat, then.

Her opponent raced across the sand, hoping to catch her off guard. That move told her exactly who she faced, and what to expect from him. Gellis was a half-orc bully-boy, a hand shorter than she. He used his size and strength to intimidate those he saw as below him. Dreamstalker let his ego prevail whenever they sparred, somehow knowing that the arena master would pit them against each other in the end. She’d seen the man watch them fight, the look in his eyes telling her he knew she wasn’t performing to her full potential.

This time, she would not hold back. Gellis deserved the beating he was about to receive. All the moons he had taunted and tried to corner her came rushing into her mind. She let the rage overwhelm her mind and body as he rushed at her.

At the last second, Dreamstalker feinted left, smashing the hard wooden shaft into his right elbow as the sword rushed at her head. A loud crack sounded as she rolled out of his reach. He dropped the sword, howling in pain and anger as he tried in vain to remove the shield from his left arm.

She ducked onto the sand as a flash of movement caught her eye and a four-legged set of slavering jaws flew over her head. Dreamstalker rolled once more to face the snarling creature. A quick look for the second dog revealed it had Gellis by his sword arm as the man tried to bash the creature with the shield still attached to his other arm.

Another movement. Instinct brought the blade of her weapon up in time to impale the charging hound. She tossed the now useless weapon down, diving for the longsword, as the second creature turned its bloody snout toward her.

“Come, you mangy cur, see what Dreamstalker did to your mate.”

With that, the creature sprang. She gripped the sword with both hands as it flew toward her. A powerful, rage-filled swing and it, too, lay dead at her feet. Dreamstalker looked around for Gellis. He lay sprawled on the ground, his right arm bloody, pumping crimson onto the sand.

One last time, the Dreamstalker dipped her hand into the spreading pool and laid it across her face. The crowd erupted in cheers.