The Black Sentry Read Online Free PDF

reeling from the blow to his head.
    Daman found himself thinking of Evan’s parents, both kind and friendly people, and what it would mean to them if Evan lost.
    And then, without warning, the balance shifted. Evan dropped to the ground, as if his legs disappeared. Victor was unprepared for the sudden move. He lost his equilibrium and teetered, just long enough for Evan to jab his stick between Victor’s legs and twist, throwing his opponent even further off balance. Victor tumbled precipitously forward.
    His right foot hovered over the yellow.
    The shouting from the gallery reached a fevered pitch . Even those who lacked any personal involvement with the players shouted and cheered. At the last possible moment, Victor flung himself back onto his own color, but as he did so, Evan whirled and caught Victor with the sharp end of his winnower. The blade cut into Victor’s side, just below the ribs. Victor cried out. Blood splashed down on the grid.
    The tumult from the stands reached a thunderous high.
    Victor struggled to his f eet, one hand clutching the gaping wound. He seemed wobbly, uncertain. He knew what they all knew.
    T he Winnowing would not last much longer now.
    Victor, both hands on his stick des pite his wound, bravely blocked and parried his enemy’s blows. Each thrust knocked him lower. His resistance weakened.
    Evan landed another blow to the bleeding gut, and Victor tumbled to the ground. A cry rang out from the gallery. The crowd leaned forward, anticipating the final moment.
    Evan raised the bladed end of his winnower and ran at Victor for a final lunge. A second before he connected, Victor rolled out of the way.
    He h ad not been as exhausted as he led his opponent to believe.
    Evan’s stick rammed into the ground where Victor had been with such force that Evan was completely thrown off kilter. He tottered, twisted sideways, did everything possible to hold his position.
    But nothing worked . He fell forward, his left foot touching down on the red.
    The penalty gong sounded.   
    For one turn of the glass, while Evan remained limited to the yellow, Victor attacked from all directions. With newfound energy, and despite his seeping wound, Victor came at Evan from every position at once, poking and prodding and piercing him in more than a half dozen places. Finally, Victor feinted with the pointed end of the winnower, then whirled around with the bulb end, smashing Evan in the face.
    Evan fell , his body a blanket on the multi-colored Arena floor.
    In the stands, Daman clenched his hands, his heart in a knot. This was not right. This was simply not right…
    Victor pla ced the sharp point of the winnower on Evan’s chest, then raised his hands in triumph.
    The Acolyte signaled the end of the Winnowing. “Congratulations, Victor Timmons. A lifetime of glorious service, doing the Sentinel’s most important work, lies before you.
    “Evan Martel,” the Acolyte continu ed, “you have been winnowed. You know the choice that lies before you. Do you choose death or transportation?”
    Evan hesi tated so long observers wondered what he might say. “T–T–Transportation,” he finally managed.
    He would be taken b y the Black Sentry–blindfolded–to another village, far from his friends and family. There he would be assigned some menial work or hard labor, which he would perform day after day until his eventual passage to Balaveria.
    Victor, still dripping blood from the wound beneath his ribs, limped out of the Arena to cheers and applause.
    T he Acolyte was not finished. “There is one matter more. Sentence has been passed against a member of this village, a man called Joseph Anton. Step forth, Joseph Anton.”
    Several members of the Black Sentry dragged Mister Anton from the side of the Arena.
    Daman’ s heart fell. He knew Mister Anton well, and he knew why he was being sentenced. He had a barn near Blaine River where he kept pigs. This year, however, the river overflowed and flooded his barn. Most