The Outsider of the Summerset Isles

Chapter 5

Anglor, a Bosmer warder, unlike his fellow colleagues, didn't like to visit the wing for prisoners sentenced to death, but it was his shift to bring them food that day. Doomed criminals were unpredictable, and Anglor wasn't a very brave warder. The other warders never would go to this wing alone, and the prisoners didn't allow themselves that bad behavior with them because they knew the consequences. But not only prisoners always made fun of Anglor but his colleagues too, so they never helped him with this task.

This time, as always, he stepped inside the airless dark room where prisoners' cells were and locked the door behind with trembling hands. They felt his fear and started to shout and laugh at him. Something soft flew out of the nearest cell and landed on his shoulder. The Bosmer went along the cells throwing little boxes with food towards the gratings and trying not to step too close to them. Suddenly, he heard someone's high scream and looked back.

"He's dead! Dead! Guards! Guards! Take it out of my cell! I hate the dead!"

"Shut up!" Anglor shouted back, but the screams only got louder.

The Bosmer got out his sword and walked toward the cell from which the scream was heard.

"Ah, it's you again," Anglor knew this one, the harmless crazy cat who always sat in the corner of his cell and muttered something meaningless. Several days ago, the head of the prison put a Dark Elf in his cell, for there wasn't an empty one.

"Take it out!" squealed the cat and other prisoners started to shout as well.

Anglor peered into the cell and saw the Dark Elf who indeed looked dead. It wasn't a surprise, for the Bosmer had seen how the guards clobbered him almost to death. He wasn't feeling any pity for the Dark Elf because he knew of his awful crime — he murdered some official from the Thalmor and had been wanted for countless robberies throughout Auridon. He did felt pity for the Khajiit though, as he believed that he had been put here undeservedly. Poor crazy thing obviously got framed, Anglor always thought.

"All right, I'll take him out if you stop screaming," he said to the Khajiit and unlocked the door of the cell. "Be still, or I will have to do your execution today."

The cat got quiet in his corner, and Anglor made a careful step toward the bed where the Dark Elf was lying. His head was thrown back and his face was frozen up with a creepy grimace. The warder outstretched his hand to check the Dark Elf's pulse. Suddenly, the eyes of the prisoner opened and they were black as darkness itself. Anglor was about to jump back when the deadman grasped his hand and pulled him down powerfully. The Bosmer twisted his hand trying to get free from the elf's strong grip, then drew up his sword, but it was too late — he was set off the balance and the next moment something heavy struck his head from behind.

***

"Well done, cat," Llanas threw the Bosmer's body off, trying not to pay attention to cries of the prisoners from other cells. They made so much noise that other warders might hear it and suspect that something went wrong. He searched the Bosmer for the keys, and when they were found, leaned on the Khajiit's shoulder and they went out.

There was nobody outside the door, and hope gave Llanas some extra strength. They crept to the next door and stopped — subdued voices could be heard from behind it. There wasn't another way out, so the escapees searched the previous room for weapons and clothes, but couldn't find anything useful. Anyhow, they took positions on each side of the door and waited. Not long time passed and they heard someone approaching the door. Llanas glanced at Robasha, not being sure if he was capable of killing if that would be necessary. Unexpectedly, he saw wicked fires in the cat's eyes, and his mouth curved in some kind of a smile. The door opened, but the appeared warder even hadn't had time to get surprised, as the next moment, Robasha's claws slashed, opening his throat. Llanas now looked at him in amazement, as his movement was precise and sharp — the skill that only professional killer or soldier could have. The Khajiit caught the warder, preventing him from dropping onto the floor, and softly guided his heavy body down.