Chapter 26: The Selection

  And so, we continue regular work for a few days until one morning there is an unusual activity. Before dawn, Gnoll warriors appear at the slave quarters, rousing everyone with harsh barks and weapon prods.

  "All slaves, gather!" Snik One-Ear shouts in his broken Lizardtongue and Frogman. "Alpha calls!"

  We're herded to the central platform where almost the entire settlement population is gathered.

  Atop of it stands Zhex, surrounded by his ceremonial bone totems.

  He appears to divine something in wisps of smoke from a ritual fire. His greenish fur glows in the pre-dawn light, and his presence is overwhelming, that intoxicating scent making it hard to think clearly when we get close.

  He begins speaking in Gnoll, his voice carrying across the assembled crowd with natural authority. My Basic language skills manage to catch a few words, just enough to understand the basics.

  "...ancient place..."

  "...stone spirits angry..."

  "...bring back treasures..."

  "...dangerous..."

  "...death and glory..."

  The Alpha gestures at Kor'ik, who steps forward with obvious trepidation. His earlier arrogance is completely absent as he faces the massive Gnoll leader.

  "Translate," Lord Zhex commands in Gnoll.

  Kor'ik's voice shakes as he switches between languages, addressing the mixed crowd of slaves.

  "The Alpha requires workers for an expedition," he begins in Lizardtongue, then repeats in Frogman. "You will travel to... to an ancient place deep inside Great Marsh."

  He swallows hard before continuing. "The ruins of a sunken city…” He pauses again, trembling. “...from before-times. A place of old magic."

  A murmur runs through the crowd. Even the most broken slaves react to this news.

  The phrase catches in my mind like a thorn. Before-times? What does that even mean? Before Ksh’zar’s war? Most likely something deeper, more ancient?

  My scientific curiosity flares again. Every culture has myths about golden ages, about times when things were different, better. But the way Kor'ik says it, with that trembling reverence, suggests something more concrete than myth.

  If I survive this expedition, perhaps I'll finally get answers about this world's history beyond the brutal present I've experienced.

  "It will be... dangerous," Kor'ik's voice drops. "Very dangerous. Many will die there."

  He pauses, his throat working as if the next words are physically painful to speak.

  "But Alpha needs strong workers to carry supplies and bring back old treasures for the Gnoll masters."

  Another pause. The gathered slaves are now completely silent.

  "You go, you may live. Get better food. Better treatment." Kor'ik's voice becomes hollow. "You refuse..."

  He doesn't need to finish. Everyone understands.

  And so, he starts pointing. A selection of slaves for the expedition.

  Zhex's massive hand rises, one clawed finger extended like a pronouncement of fate.

  He points.

  The first victim is one of the bog goblins. The creature visibly shrinks as that finger settles on him. No words, no explanation. Just the finger, and the certainty of what it means.

  And so he points to two other goblins, both reacting in similar fashion. I also notice that all of them have the water adaptation evolution. An apparent advantage for the “sunken” part of the expedition.

  Then his finger swings toward my section. My heart hammers against my ribs.

  It finally stops on Gorvash. The warrior straightens, meeting the Alpha's gaze with defiance rather than fear. At least this one will face whatever comes with his spine intact.

  And then unceremoniously, his finger moves again and lands on me.

  Time seems to slow. Zhex's dark eyes bore into mine with that same calculating assessment from our first meeting. Does he remember me?

  The moment stretches, then breaks and he moves on.

  The next one is the Frogman with the powerful legs that need weights to keep him from just leaping away. His expression is carefully blank, but I see his leg muscles twitching, calculating distances that don't exist.

  Another point. Another life claimed for this apparently suicide mission.

  But there's still one more. His finger returns, hovering over the remaining group before settling with deliberate finality on Kor'ik.

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  The Frogman's knees nearly buckle. His earlier arrogance evaporates like morning mist, replaced by raw, primal terror. His mouth opens and closes silently, unable to form words.

  Seven slaves. Seven lives offered to whatever waits in those ancient ruins. Could this number hold a deeper significance here as well? On Earth, many believed such numbers possessed magical properties.

  After Zhex finishes with us slaves, he gestures to a group of ten Gnolls led by that strange Gnoll warrior with elongated legs. The rest of their group consists of five hunters, three warriors and one of those creepy stalkers.

  From the deferential murmurs around me, I gather the other Gnolls refer to this leader as "Hynnal Death-Howl."

  I suppose when your entire culture revolves around violence and hunting, any subtlety in nomenclature would become somewhat a sign of weakness. Why call yourself "Swift Runner" when "Throat-Ripper" sends a much clearer message about your career achievements?

  Lord Zhex continues his speech and Kor’ik, now barely holding his tears, continues his translation.

  "When the sun touches water, you must leave. Take rations. Take weapons. Return before both moons go dark, or don't return at all."

  Damn it! The whole trip should take a few weeks and unfortunately cover the low tides period where I wanted to escape. And it would have been the perfect period with so many Gnoll fighters gone as well.

  The assembly is dismissed. Those selected are separated from the general population, given time to prepare for the journey.

  Gorvash finds me almost immediately. "Ancient ruins," he says, his eyes gleaming with something between fear and excitement. "They say if you die there, you become ghost.”

  "Never heard of the place. And what is this before-times thing?” I ask, still curious about the place.

  Kor'ik's interjects, his eyes are unfocused, staring at something only he can see. When he speaks, all his usual pretension has stripped away, leaving only raw fear. "You don't understand. The Sunken City... it's not just dangerous."

  His webbed hands tremble. "It's where the old gods left their treasures and their curses. My clutch-mother told stories when I was young, stories that kept me awake at night."

  I lean closer. "What kind of stories?"

  "Few explorers return from there. And those who do..." He swallows hard. "Lord Vex'mor himself once ventured into those ruins. He came back stronger, wielding his famous magic blade. They say he found it in the depths of that place."

  "Then it's survivable," I say, trying to find hope in his words. Not only this, but there is certainly power to be gained there.

  "You're not listening!" Kor'ik hisses. "For every one who returns in triumph, dozens come back broken. When they come back at all. Shells of what they were, minds shattered by what they saw. Some can't speak, others won't stop screaming. They say the stones there remember, and they don't forgive any trespasser."

  He finally meets my eyes, and I see genuine terror there. "We're going to die in that place. All of us."

  I glance at Gorvash once more, and unlike Kor'ik, his eyes still hold that glint I'm starting to associate with madness."You look almost eager. Even the Gnoll warriors appear fearful of this place.”

  Gorvash's mouth curves into something that might be a grin. His thick scales gleam as he flexes his claws. "Finally, a chance to prove my worth. To fight something real instead of surviving as slave."

  "This isn't a fight," I counter, gesturing at the assembled group. "This is more like a death sentence. Especially for us that will most likely be used as cannon fodder or to carry their spoils. You heard Kor'ik, most don't return."

  “If I die, I die as warrior." Gorvash says simply, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Isn't that better? I'd rather fall fighting an ancient guardian than waste away hauling rope for these dog bastards."

  His certainty is almost infectious, but I can't share his enthusiasm. "Death is death, Gorvash. There's no honor in dying pointlessly."

  "Maybe not to you." He looks at me with those battle-hardened eyes. "But I was bred for war. Raised to fight and die… like my brothers. If I'm going to fall, let it be against something worthy. Something that might actually test my scales."

  I study him for a long moment, trying to relate to this warrior's mindset. Perhaps it's a cultural difference, or perhaps it's the desperation of someone who's been a slave-soldier his entire life, finally seeing a chance to die on his own terms.

  "Just throw your life away needlessly" I finally say. "I'd rather have you watching my back than dying gloriously."

  Gorvash actually laughs at that, a graver hiss sound than I ever heard before. "Fair enough, small one. It will be good to fight alongside a brother again."

  Kor'ik, meanwhile, looks like he might vomit. "We're going to die. We're all going to die."

  "Then make sure you're useful enough that they keep you alive," I tell him bluntly. "Because if you break down now, you definitely won't survive."

  He glares at me but says nothing, too consumed by his own fear.

  As for the others, the silent Frogman, who I still need to learn the name of, simply stands apart from everyone, his expression unreadable.

  The Bog Goblins huddle together, chittering in their own language.

  As the sun rises and our departure time approaches, I take stock of our group.

  Kor'ik, the arrogant translator, skilled with languages, but terrified. Not much fight in there.

  Gorvash, the defiant warrior, unbroken and ready to fight.

  Three Bog Goblins, small but adapted for all sorts of water travel.

  The shackled Frogman warrior, an unknown oddity that even Kor’ik appears to be afraid to talk to.

  And ten Gnoll, led by Hynnal Death-Howl, all natural fighters and killers.

  Plus me, a Minor Lizardman. Actually thinking about it, I’m the piece that fits the least in here, being still a Minor species afterall. Maybe I distinguished myself too much by speaking a bit of Frogmen and Gnoll’s language or holding my own in the duel.

  I should be terrified.

  And part of me is. But as I prepare for departure, checking my few possessions and flexing my claws, I feel something unexpected. The scientist, the explorer, the stubborn survivor who's defied death many times already, is brimming with something else.

  Anticipation.

  Ancient ruins, magic items, stone spirits, ghosts and who knows what else. For the first and maybe last time, I feel like going on an adventure.

  This death trap could also be the opportunity to learn about this world's history, about magic, about the core stones that I've only just begun to understand.

  And most importantly, it could be a chance to grow stronger. To evolve. To move one step closer to whatever I'm becoming. If Red Frog went there and came back, so can I.

  These canine bastards are in for a surprise if they think we will just play along as their disposable slaves.

  The ruins call to me with promises of answers I desperately need. And whatever waits in those ancient depths, I'll have to face it the same way I've faced everything else since awakening in this world.

  By fighting, adapting, evolving and surviving.

  Let’s see what secrets the deep marsh holds.

  Sunset can’t come soon enough.