Chapter 11: Death would be preferable
Mordred felt a powerful hand come down on his shoulder.
- You. Move.
The tone was dry, without appeal.
One of the guards beckoned him forward, and despite the chaos in his mind, his body obeyed before he could think.
He moved forward.
His footsteps echoed faintly on the rough stone floor, each sound seeming louder in the deathly silence that hung over the slaves still present.
The girl... was gone.
She was really gone.
Mordred wanted to turn around, to try and catch one last sign of her presence... but he knew it would be useless.
So he gritted his teeth and moved on.
The slaves designated for the quarry were separated into small groups under the constant watch of the reptilian creatures. They were led out of the barracks, through a long stone corridor where the smell of mold mingled with that of dried blood.