The Marenon Chronicles Collection - By Jason D. Morrow Page 0,39

barracks.

A horn blew in the distance and a bell started ringing, announcing to all, the arrival of the group. He could see people scrambling around, but could not tell what they were up to. The hunger pit in his stomach turned into a tumbling roar as he watched. Perhaps it was not as simple as crossing a bridge. He desperately wished it were. Despite their apprehension, they kept walking.

Wordlessly they were flagged to a position, only yards from the wooden door that all of them hoped would be their easy entrance into Marenon. A guard, another man in a soldier’s outfit, but much less intimidating than Barron, stepped on his own wooden platform and prepared to address the battered crowd as they approached.

“Who is the leader designated among you?” the man asked.

All eyes fell on Silas. He looked at Dink almost as if to ask what he was supposed to do. Dink shrugged and Silas stepped forward. “I am.”

The guard looked down at him for a moment then sighed. “Choose your nineteen strongest.”

“What?” Silas asked confused.

“I said, choose your nineteen strongest individuals.”

“I heard what you said,” Silas replied angrily. “What do you mean?”

“Either you choose your best nineteen people or I will kill you where you stand.”

Slowly, he turned to the crowd of people. He couldn’t believe this was happening. What was he supposed to do? They were all battered and torn. Was he to choose the strongest people simply to help open the wooden door? After moments of hesitation he heard the guard give an order and five other guards immediately had their arrows pulled back and trained on Silas.

“Do it now, or you die!”

“Dink,” Silas said. He then pointed to red-beard and seventeen others, picking out those that would be strong enough to help push open the wooden door. He hated having to do this.

The guard smiled and said, “Now was that so hard?” He looked at the other guards. “Take the rest!”

“Where are you taking them?”

The crowd of fifty or sixty people that Silas had not chosen was herded away like cattle by several soldiers. A few tried to protest, but were beaten into submission while the others were led behind a couple of buildings in the distance. The remaining twenty people looked up at the guard, staggered.

He spoke. “You will now enter in through the wooden gate,” he said. “Through the gate is the gauntlet. If you survive this, you may enter into Marenon. If not, well, then I don’t have to worry about you.”

Silas could hear screaming in the distance. Pain, fear. They were screams of death. He had unwittingly sentenced the others to be executed, simply by not choosing them. What sort of place was this? A new wave of nausea came over Silas, his dry heaving producing no vomit, for he had eaten nothing in his new life. Whatever king decided this was the best way to welcome newcomers deserved no less of a punishment. The thought then occurred to him that his grandfather might not have survived the selection! But surely he did. Garland Ainsley was a master fighter.

All thoughts fled from Silas’ mind as the wooden gate slowly opened. In the darkness beyond, waited the gauntlet, reeking of death. Silas knew he would either have to survive this, or face his second passing.

Chapter Ten

It quickly became obvious that the gauntlet was designed to feed the bloodlust of the barbaric people occupying the bridge-town. Once inside, the victims were to become a show for the guards and other people, from where, Silas could not guess. The spectators stood on the lofty walls on either side of them. Silas could see them pointing at him and others in his group. It seemed they were making bets. Who would survive? Who would make it to the end first? Who would be killed first? It didn’t matter. There were endless ways to make money at the expense of those facing their second death. Their jeers and laughter made Silas wish that he could vomit. But his empty stomach prevented him from getting that kind of relief.

A masked guard, fat and bulging, walked to each of them with shackles clanking and hanging from his meaty arms. He silently clasped chains to the wrists of individuals to make pairs. Two-by-two they would run the gauntlet. Silas wished he could get a glimpse of what was to come, but once inside the gate, they were herded into a courtyard to wait. They saw nothing but high stone walls