“What madness is this?” Anhuset's eyes were like torches, her lips drawn back to expose her teeth as she demanded an explanation.
His thoughts racing, Serovek stared past her and didn't answer.
This was Bryzant's doing. Of that, he had no doubt. His steward, excellent with accounts, was also obviously a fair hand with strategy. He hadn't relied on one plan to get rid of Serovek. He had two. If an upstart warlord with delusions of kingship failed to do it, then a king consumed by paranoia and jealousy just might.
Popularity wasn't a sin unless it bought one the admiration of a kingdom's populace. Then it became a threat, at least to the current ruler. What venom had Bryzant poured into the king's ear to convince him his suspicions were not only unfounded, but so much worse in truth? Another thought made Serovek's blood run cold. He was currently in a stronghold, just not his, and if a contingent of the king's men had ridden this far to capture him, what was going on at High Salure?
“Say the word,” Anhuset continued. Her hand dropped to her sword pommel. “I will fight with you against this idiocy.”
This woman, parsimonious with her displays of affection, willingly courted her own death to defend him. A romance unlike any other, he thought with an inner smile. He stroked her arm.
“Ah, firefly woman, how I wish such a situation might be solved with the hard swing of a blade and some bloodletting,” he said. “Unfortunately, this isn't one of those time and will require a lot more delicacy if we don't want to start a war on two fronts.”
The abbot employed an old but effective tactic of delaying any acknowledgment the commander's statements, allowing Serovek time to plan what he might do. He shouted over the battlements, “Why would you think the margrave of High Salure is here?”
“Let's not play games, abbot,” the troop's leader shouted back. “Half the valley knows he's here, along with a Kai ambassador from Bast-Haradis.”
Tionfa glanced at Serovek, one eyebrow raised in question.
“Tell him sha-Anhuset is no longer here. That there was no reason for her to stay once we brought Megiddo safely to you, and she's returned to Bast-Haradis.”
“What are you doing?” Anhuset practically hissed the question.
When Tionfa relayed Serovek's words, the troop leader shrugged. “She isn't our first concern. We're here for the margrave. If you don't turn him over to us, we'll simply return with a larger force and take him.”
Serovek had expected just such an answer and was ready with one of his own when the abbot said “What do you wish to do?”
“Give myself up, of course.”
This time Anhuset shoved him. “Are you mad too?” she snapped. “That's an admission of guilt, and you aren't guilty.”
He grabbed her shoulders. She was stiffer than a pike stand. “Listen to me. I hoped something like this wouldn't happen, though I'm not surprised it did. This is Bryzant's doing. I know it. A secondary plan in case Chamtivos didn't successfully complete his task. I can explain more later.”
Not at all appeased, she lashed out at him. “You say that as if you'll live to do so.”
He'd have to step carefully and present his argument posthaste, before she decided he was too much of a dimwit to understand his own dire circumstances and take the decisions out of his hands. He wouldn't put it past her to suddenly pull back and punch him hard enough to knock him unconscious.
“That's certainly my intention.” He stroked her arms, speaking urgently. There was only so long the troop's captain would be this patient. “Rodan is a suspicious bastard who sees a threat to the throne in every shadow behind every tree, but he's also clever and a good strategist.
“He has two advantages in play at the moment. I'm away from High Salure, in the territory of a rebel warlord, and enjoying the hospitality of priests many in this kingdom consider heretics. If I remain behind these walls, Rodan will raze my fortress to the ground and arrest those he considers loyal to me. He'll then send a full army to attack the monastery and declare the Nazim heretical.” Tionfa's nod and grim face lent strength to his argument. “This valley finally has a chance for peace. It doesn't need another conflict created by a one man's ambitions or, in my case, one man's innocence. I'm no more guilty than you or the abbot here, but if I don't willingly turn myself over to them, the repercussions will be far greater than my arrest. War started, lives unnecessarily lost. And you need to be well away from any of it. You know as well as I do that Rodan has been spoiling for war with Bast-Haradis since King Djedor signed that trade agreement with the Gauri.”
“Abbot,” the captain bellowed from below, “I don't have all day. Give us the margrave.”
Serovek jerked Anhuset in his arms and kissed her scowling mouth. She returned the kiss just as hard and was still scowling when he let her go. He joined Tionfa at the battlements, leaning out so those below could clearly see him. Anhuset's expletive-rich snarls about staying out of arrow range singed his ears. “Keep your boots on, man. I was just fetched from my bed. I'm coming down now.”
He retreated from the wall along with Tionfa and discovered Anhuset nearly standing on his heels.
“What do you want me to do?” she said.
I want you to become my wife and share my bed for the rest of our lives. Instead he gestured to the abbot. “Follow Tionfa's first suggestion. Use the back gate. Take Erostis with you. If Rodan's man asks, I'll say he didn't survive his wounds and his body was burned. Return to Saggara on Magas.” He'd turn himself over to his captors without struggle. Magas though was his and his only. “Rodan has always coveted him. He's out of a mare from Nadiza's lightning herd. The king doesn't get my stallion as a bonus.”
“He shouldn't be getting my stallion either.” She glared at him as if he were the one who instigated all of this.
A euphoric swoop of joy at her words bottomed out his stomach. He considered pulling her into his arms a second time but as that glare turned even hotter, he thought better of it. “So I'm yours now?”
Before she could blister his ears about the poor timing of his teasing, Tionfa interrupted, motioning to the hall where his escort waited. “Margrave.”
He and Anhuset followed them down the stairwell. They'd split off from each other at the bottom. “Tell Brishen to keep an eye on his borders and a tight net on any Kai raiders trying to cause trouble on the Beladine side,” he instructed her. “Rodan is just looking for an excuse.”
“And I'm just to forget about you being led off in shackles to face a traitor's fate?”
He wouldn't pay her the insult of patronizing her by saying all would be well. No one could predict such a thing. “That honeyed tongue you said I had? Not only useful in seducing a prickly Kai woman. The king knows my value to him. I'll talk my way out of this one.”
“You are far too sure yourself sometimes,” she said as they reached the last step and. This time it was she who grasped his arms as if trying to resist temptation and hold him prisoner herself.
He kissed her forehead and the frown there. When he pulled back, he smiled. “Maybe, but here you are in my arms, so I must be doing things the right way.”
Their goodbye kiss was as swift and intense as the one on the battlements. Serovek set her from him and stepped out of her reach. “Go. If I were the captain of that troop, I'd send men to scout the surrounding area just to see what might be found. Fetch Erostis and get out of here quickly. Don't be found.”
She nodded and bolted down the hall leading to the stairwell that would take them to the wing of the monastery where guests were housed. Another pair took off for the stables at the abbot's instructions. If Magas and Anhuset's horse were already saddled, she and Erostis would be galloping away from the monastery before Rodan's men could clap Serovek in irons.
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?”
T
ionfa 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 the galla war, 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 pa
rchment 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 the galla. 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.”
When he was done, he refolded the missive and dropped it back on the table. “There's more, mostly groveling praise of little consequence. I won't bother reading that part. I've known you long enough, Pangion, to know you have no more patience for that sort of thing than I do. But what your steward says here.” He tapped the missive with a finger tip. “And the information he has paints a picture a grim picture of a man with aspirations that are… problematic to say the least. What do you say to all of this?”
I'd say you're a blind fool for believing the words of an upstart steward with ambitions far beyond his capabilities instead of looking at years of unswerving loyalty. Instead, Serovek replied with “You're correct, Your Majesty. You've known me a long time, and in that time, I've served your interests faithfully, kept your borders secured and the kingdom of Belawat safe from man and demon alike. My steward's concerned message consists of crumbs of truth wrapped in a layer of lies, a toxic cake with no substance except its poison.”
The Ippos King: Wraith Kings Book Three Page 29
