The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,26
own survival, even when they know there was nothing they could do for those who perished.”
Serovek’s breath steamed from his nostrils on a long exhalation. “Sometimes I think we stand easier under the yoke of our own sacrifices than we do under the yoke of someone else’s.”
How well she understood that sentiment. The image of his expression at the moment she had stabbed him to trigger the magic that would turn him eidolon remained emblazoned in her mind. Agony, shock, even when he knew what to expect and joked about it until the moment the sword entered his body. She remembered the feel of severed muscle clenching involuntarily around the blade as she drew it out, the weight of his body when he collapsed in her arm, the hot gush of his blood saturating her midriff as she held him.
He had never forgiven her for that violence because he had never blamed her for it. She carried enough self-blame for them both. He had saved her once. Her gratitude had been brutal.
Footsteps entering the barn intruded on her dark thoughts. The tread didn’t belong to Pluro Cermak. It was confident instead of diffident, and without fear.
Janner, one of the High Salure soldiers, appeared at the doorway. His gaze flickered briefly to Megiddo before settling on Serovek. “The wagon is right outside, margrave. We’re ready when you are.”
Serovek nodded. “Let’s get to it then. No need to linger here any longer than necessary.”
The room was too small for more than two people to maneuver the bier and carry it through the doorway. Serovek didn’t question whether or not Anhuset was strong enough—for which she was most pleased—only instructed her to stand at one end of the platform while he stood at the other and lift.
They carried the bier into the main part of the barn where Serovek’s men waited to take a position on either side and act as pall bearers. Anhuset gave up her spot to one of the soldiers to follow them outside where the wagon was parked just beyond the entrance.
Except for a clutch of hens loitering nearby in case someone chose to scatter feed on the muddy ground, the yard was empty. She eyed the manor house and caught a glimpse of faces peering from the windows in both the ground floor and upper stories. Servants, most of them, but Anhuset would have bet her favorite horse that Pluro Cermak and his skittish wife hid among the watching crowd.
They put Megiddo’s bier into the back of the wagon and strapped the platform down with rope so it wouldn’t move as they traveled over rutted roads. One of the men brought a large blanket and cast it over the monk. The fabric didn’t fall directly onto his body but draped above it as if Megiddo lay within a box whose sides and lid the blanket now covered. Serovek spoke briefly to the wagon driver for a moment before turning to the rest of their escort.
“Mount your horses. We’re done here.”
Anhuset guided her horse until it stood alongside Serovek’s. “No farewells for Megiddo’s brother? He hasn’t even seen fit to come out and bid you good journey or thank you for making the trip.”
The margrave’s upper lip lifted in a sneer as he raked the manor house with a hard stare. “He’s probably too busy trying to find where he misplaced his spine. Gratitude and good wishes from a sniveling coward like that is worth less than his silence.” He tapped his heels to his horse’s sides, and the animal stepped high into a brisk walk. “We ride,” he called to the group.
By unspoken agreement, the riders arranged themselves into a chevron around the wagon with Serovek taking point lead and two riders behind him and in front of the wagon. Anhuset joined the remaining three soldiers in the back. Megiddo, his bier strapped down securely in the wagon, slept undisturbed.
They traveled the road that wove back and forth across both Kai and Beladine lands until it curved toward the banks of the Absu to run parallel to the shore. The remains of a wooden bridge stood on either side where the river was narrow, its piles cut away by ax or saw where they would have supported the pile caps, stringers, and deck.
The soldier riding in front of Anhuset spoke. “I think every bridge that crosses the river has been destroyed. I’ll bet some of Cermak’s men turned this one to kindling when they were running from the