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Tionfa stayed beside Serovek as they crossed the bailey toward the gate with its double portcullises. Serovek unbuckled his sword and some of his armor, handing it to the abbot. “Will you keep these for me until I can return for them?”
Tionfa nodded. “Or send them to whomever you choose.”
They both paused not far from the inner portcullis. Serovek bowed to Tionfa. “I and the Khaskem owe you much for keeping Megiddo safe until we can find a way to unite his soul with his body, and I personally am in your and your brothers' debt for saving me, Erostis, and sha-Anhuset. And for trying to save Klanek.”
The other man returned the bow. “The world is a better place with the brave and compassionate in it, margrave. We hope you all walk this fair earth for many years to come.” He glanced at the Beladine contingent waiting on the other side of the gates and lowered his voice. “Should you ever decide to take the throne, I think you'd find more support than you realize. The Beladine kingdom would thrive under your rule.”
Serovek darted a glance at his waiting escort and spoke just as softly “Don't say that too loud, abbot, or you'll be joining me on the journey to Timsiora, wearing a handsome pair of shackles of your own. Besides, I've no interest in such a thankless duty. Kings who were once free soldiers become prisoners of diplomacy and administration. That is a slow death.”
Tionfa accompanied him to the inner portcullis and gave the signal to have it raised, then lowered again once Serovek walked under it to stand before the outer portcullis. He nodded once to the waiting troop commander who nodded back in recognition of a peaceful surrender of a prisoner. Serovek didn't look back when the outer portcullis struck the ground with a bang and rattle of chains.
Two more soldiers joined their leader, each one reining their mounts on either side of him. One led another saddled horse behind him. The commander dismounted to meet Serovek halfway. He saluted, surprising Serovek with the gesture of respect. “Lord Pangion,” he said. “I'm Captain Ratik. I served at High Salure for a season when I first joined the army.”
A young captain, maybe a dozen years Serovek's junior with a familiar face under his helmet. He searched his memory for a green recruit newly arrived at High Salure and found what he was looking for. “I remember you. Your sister married Lord Canotkin's youngest son.”
Ratik cracked a smile until he remembered his duty and whom he addressed. “She did,” he said in a solemn voice. “Very good memory, my lord.”
One of the things Serovek had learned early in his years as a military leader was the importance of remembering faces, names, and some small personal detail tied to them. These were men who rode into battle together, sometimes died together, and defended each other. They followed the orders of a superior, most of the time unquestioning, and to Serovek's way of thinking they deserved some recognition from that superior that they were more than just a sword or a spear or blood to be spilled in pursuit of an objective. That philosophy had earned him a fierce loyalty among the men who served High Salure. His thoughts turned briefly to the treacherous Ogran. There were exceptions.
At Ratik's gesture, the soldier holding the irons came forward and stopped when Ratik held up his hand a second time. “Give them to me.” Once he held them, he stared at Serovek with a resolute expression, as if he was about to do something unpleasant or against a personal code. “Will I need these?”
Serovek had no intention of trying to escape. There was much more at stake here than his freedom. If that's all it was, he would have sneaked out with Anhuset and Erostis. But the manacles were more than just devices of restraint, they were a symbol, and he had no doubt Rodan expected him to ride to the capital and be presented to his king wearing them. “Probably,” he said.
The captain sighed, nodded, and clapped the manacles on his wrists. “You understand my opinion of this means nothing. I'm doing my duty.”
“As a Beladine margrave, I expect no less from any Beladine soldier.”
Once he was mounted on the borrowed horse, the troop turned as one and galloped back the way they came. Serovek glanced over his shoulder to see Tionfa once more on the battlements, a hand raised in farewell.
Their journey to the capital took four days through mountainous terrain and paths still knee-deep in snow in places. Serovek calculated their travel time against his trek to the Jeden Order and guessed his perfidious steward had sent a message to the king before Serovek was barely past the gates of High Salure. He'd hedged his bets on getting rid of his liege through a murder pact with Chamtivos, and if Serovek survived, then he'd exploit the king's suspicions about Serovek and turn Rodan against him. He hoped once they reached Timsiora, he'd find Bryzant there so he could kill him.
Unlike his imprisonment under Chamtivos, his only hardships were the annoying manacles, the watchful eyes of his escorts at all times of the day and night, and a horse whose trot threatened to shake his teeth loose no matter how much he adjusted his seat to the animal's gait. Ratik and his troop were respectful to him the entire time, some even deferential. He ate what they ate and slept on the ground as they did, huddled in blankets. Sometimes he slept; other times he stared up at the night sky, worried for Anhuset and Erostis, worried about those at High Salure. Had Rodan sent more of his army to wrest control of the fortress from the High Salure troop? Gods forbid there had been any fighting. He prayed not. His reason told him he didn't have to fear for Anhuset or Erostis. Neither was a wilting flower. Still, he hoped they'd made it to Saggara without mishap and Magas with them.
They reached Timsiora at midday when the streets were packed with foot traffic as well as carts and other assorted livestock. The crowds parted for Ratik and his men, and several people who watched them as they passed exclaimed in shock, and even outrage at the sight of Lord Pangion, margrave of High Salure, hero in thegallawar, once a Wraith king, manacled and escorted as a prisoner to the palace.
“I don't believe it,” he overheard one man say. “I hear his fortress is finer than the royal palace.”
“I believe it,” another said. “Why stop at governor when you can become king?”
Serovek winced inside at the reactions. This would only make things worse for him. No doubt there was a spy at every corner who'd report back to the king about the crowd's response and fuel Rodan's belief that he had a potential usurper on his hands.
Ratik turned him over to a troop of palace guards. He and his men all bowed from their saddles and saluted. Ratik even offered a sign that Serovek recognized as a blessing of the creator god Yalda. “May the sun not abandon you to darkness, Lord Pangion. Good luck.”
Serovek nodded his thanks and followed his new escort into the palace itself. More stares and surprised exclamations, frantic whispers from courtiers lingering in the various corridors to gossip and plot or hope for an audience with the king. By the time he was led to Rodan's audience hall, he was certain the entire royal court was behind them.
The doors closed on their curious faces and Serovek strode toward the throne on its high dais at the chamber's other end. An old man perched upon the chair, gaze sharp as a raptor's and just as predatory. He didn't blink the entire time Serovek closed the distance between them or when he genuflected before the throne.
“Your Majesty,” he said
King Rodan reclined in his seat, one finger tapping the side of his cheek as he regarded Serovek silently for several moments. “So, the traitor has returned,” he finally said. “I'm told you didn't try to escape.” Once more a prolonged quiet. Serovek knew better than to speak without invitation. “Have you nothing to say, Pangion?”
“I'm innocent of the charges of both treason and sedition, Your Majesty,” he said, knowing such a simple defense would have no bearing on the king. “I have no reason to escape.”
Rodan reached for something on the small table next to the throne. A square of parchment with a wax seal broken open to show whatever the parchment contained, it had been read. “That isn't what this missive from your steward says,” he said. “Shall I read it to you?”
If he were honest, stupid, and suicidal, Serovek would have told him not to bother. He could guess at what pile of horse manure had been written there. “I would appreciate it, Your Majesty.”
Rodan moved the parchment away from him as far as his arm would stretch and cocked his head back so he could read. “I fear his lordship has changed, and not for the better, since his return from his battle with thegalla. His time as a Wraith king has altered his view of his own role as a margrave who serves the will of Your Majesty, especially since his popularity has grown and expanded far beyond High Salure. I write to tell you that he is now en route to the Lobak valley, ostensibly to return the body of the monk Megiddo Cermak to the Jeden Order. I believe, however, based on an informant's knowledge, he is meeting with the warlord Chamtivos. All in the Beladine kingdom know of this insurgent and his desire to wrest the lands from the Nazim despite Your Majesty's decree that the valley belongs to them. Two such men, with military knowledge and the leadership prowess that persuades other men to follow them, would be a force to reckon with should they decide to form an alliance. You may also find it of interest that a high-ranking ambassador of Bast-Haradis has accompanied Lord Pangion on this trip, though there is no reason why such a representative of the Kai kingdom is needed.”
