The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,151

previously slumbering guard kept a steady aim on him with a loaded crossbow.

“It seems your stay with us at the Zela is at an end, Lord Pangion,” the warden announced. “Though you aren't free.” He raised two sets of shackles. “Hands out first, and then we'll deal with your ankles.” He stood to one side as a second guard shackled Serovek's wrists, then looped a connecting chain to the ones encircling his ankles. Even if he thought to try something stupid like running, the irons made it impossible. His normally long stride was reduced by a third and he followed the warden down the hallway, descending the stairwell at a careful shuffle. Guards hemmed him in on all sides. He might be on his way to his death, but he muttered “Thank the gods,” once he stepped outside into cold, open air and morning sunlight.

Grown used to the Zela's gloom, he closed his eyes for a moment, opening them only when one of the guards nudged him toward a cart with planks built for seating on either side. Iron rings were fastened to the side boards and the floor. He stepped into the cart and sat down, watching as his escort attached the chains to two of the rings. A guard sat on either side of him with enough distance to keep out of reach. Two more sat across from him. The warden nodded once to him and then to the cart's driver who gave a sharp whistle. The pair of horses harnessed to the cart lurched forward, and they were on their way to the palace.

Serovek didn't look down or look away from the citizens of Timsiora as they watched the prison wagon roll past. If Rodan thought to humiliate his margrave by parading him down the main avenue in chains, then he would be sorely disappointed. Serovek was a prisoner, but he wasn't guilty of the crimes laid against him. There was no reason to hang his head in shame.

As they rolled closer to the palace, the streets grew even more crowded until the wagon came to a standstill. The driver cracked his whip over the heads of those in front of him, and the horses rattled their traces as they stomped their hooves and tossed their heads. The crowd didn't budge until one of Serovek's guards stood up and bellowed “Make way for the lord of High Salure.”

He might as well have uttered an invocation because the wall of people surrounding the cart shifted back and out of the way in a massive ripple, and the transport lurched forward once more. Serovek suspected his expression was as round-eyed and amazed as those who watched him from the crowds, though for different reasons.

The people had obeyed the guard's shouted command as if he announced the passage of the king himself. Unless he'd missed a coronation someone forgot to inform him about, Serovek didn't think he'd just succeeded Rodan as monarch of Belawat. So why the deference? He'd expected the curiosity. Trials, beheadings, and hangings always drew a crowd who found entertainment in death and bloodletting. He'd seen that in several faces, but something else as well, a fever-pitch excitement that audibly hummed in the air.

His unease grew when the cart turned off the boulevard leading to the palace onto the one leading to the amphitheater known as the forum. Public events of all kinds were held there: events for the festival of Delyalda, plays, exhibition games and displays of martial prowess such as wrestling, archery, sword-fighting and horseback riding. Colloquies between justiciars and defendants over petty crimes were held in the forum once a week as well. All of these drew crowds, but he'd never seen a turnout as large as this one.

Serovek's thoughts raced. Tribunals for imprisoned noblemen like him weren't typically held in the forum but in the palace itself in one of the larger chambers reserved for matters of state. All executions took place in another part of the city. So why was he brought here?

The forum came into view, unchanged from the outside, with its high curved walls and three sets of gates through which long lines of people waited to pass and find seats on one of three tiers. Another larger gate meant for those who worked at the forum or participated in any of the events held there lay on the opposite side where Serovek couldn't see. The driver guided the cart there, cracking the whip in warning to clear the way.