Abandoned (Born From Shadows #2)

The young boy clutched tightly to his pick axe, swing. Swing again. Just keep moving, don’t hesitate. Weakness is not tolerated and should be exterminated on sight.

No warning, just the whistle of the sword. Down and down it went till the man next to him head was no more. The death came as no surprise to the young boy, it was just another day. Perhaps tomorrow it would be his head, the child did not know. He just kept swinging.

The shackles around his ankles were being yanked from one direction to the other as the people around him moved. Crack. There goes the swish of the whip. It did not matter to the guards, the lives they took would be replaced tomorrow by a new shipment of criminals…if you could call them criminals.

One minute the young boy had a piece of bread in his hand…the next he was here. One piece of bread, for a lifetime of pain. He prayed one day death’s carriage would pass him by. He debated in his mind whether he should just drop the axe all together, it would be so simple. Yet his arms stayed in rhythm.

Once the sun went down, they returned to their barracks. The bodies were burned…both the dead ones and the ones too exhausted to get up. Their screams a reminder to the young boy that morality had no place when survival fought with the weight of humanity’s malice.

He fought for a spot on one of the beds, the barrack so small that even if four slept on one of the many single mattresses, there would still be an abundance of people left to sleep on the floors.

“Get up!” one of the men in royal uniform shouted. A stick struck down against the young boy’s leg. His faced scrunched in pain, but he was still quick to his feet. His body squashed between multiple other people.

They followed the guards without a second thought like sheep to a slaughterhouse. The courtyard was already filled with the women of the camp, once the men arrived all the young boy could see was torn clothes and the smell of human waste.

“Today, is a very special day for all of you!” a voice echoed across the courtyard. The young boy immediately recognised the distinct tone of the general who ran this camp. General Shitface as the people of the camp called him, only behind his back of course, as they did not wish to lose their heads…at least no yet. “You will be offered the chance at freedom.”

Hope cascaded into the mind of every prisoner present, but that hope was quickly snuffed out by fear. At what cost? What was the trick?

“Your task is simply really,” the general yelled. “Bring an Elf’s head, and all record of your crimes is gone. Tomorrow at sunrise you will all march to Lyracris, anyone who tries to desert will be shot or taken back to this camp. If you return empty handed, you will spend the remainder of your days here. Understood?”

The young boy may be scarcely ten but that didn’t stop him from understanding that this wasn’t about their freedom. This had nothing to do with them, they were just pawns for the King and Queen you just decided to go for war, and they were the vanguard sent to get the dice rolling. He did not wish to die, but anything was better than here. He knew that once he had left this camp he was never coming back, at least not without the head of an Elf or his consciousness no longer apart of this world. Morality exited as soon as the doors to war opened.