Free The Humbled (The Lost Words: Volume 4) by Igor Ljubuncic Page A

would never ride through the city’s avenues and alleys, always walk. This humble sacrifice seemed to have resonated with the common people without reducing his might in the slightest. That was something he kept in mind and tried to practice. Only this midday, the occasion called for a horse.
    In the field before him, several hundred Athesian soldiers stood, bony, weak, their skin pale like slugs’. Well, these men had lived like slugs for the past year, hidden in dark, dank cellars and dungeons, awaiting their deaths. They were thin, their hair and beards grown absurdly long. They were filthy, their rags a uniform color of stale piss and shit and maybe food leftovers. No one would take them for the once brave defenders of the realm.
    They were looking at him, eyes squeezed almost shut, still not quite used to the glare of sunlight beating down upon them. It was warm and nice, but some of them shivered, and others were stooped and frightened, as if the daylight could hurt them.
    Sergei had mulled for a long while what to do with these men. Kill them? Let them go? Allow Sasha to continue her pointless hanging rituals? His sister was away, fighting her war against Amalia—unsuccessfully. The city was entirely his to govern. He had pondered for quite some time and then decided on a course of action.
    Release the prisoners.
    He remembered Amalia clinging stubbornly to her noble hostages. Then, he remembered letting all of them go home without any consideration for the future relations with Eracia and Caytor, choked with grief over the lost of his firstborn. Next, almost as a backlash, he had foolishly harbored the woe council, bringing shame and dishonor to his doorstep. All crucial players, and he had disregarded them, slighted them, ignored them.
    On the other hand, Sasha had chosen to vent all her frustration against the several hundred common troops, city watchmen, and soldiers who had surrendered after the fall of Roalas. Their value as hostages was nonexistent. Their strategicimportance was nil. He might have gleaned some military information from them, but they could have hardly changed the political picture in any way, and with every day, it was less relevant, and they were less and less useful. Keeping them locked up was meaningless. They were a constant, unneeded reminder to the people of the city that their new king sought revenge. Of all the people he should have kept close by, those weren’t the Athesian prisoners.
    He intended to rule Athesia properly. That meant peace and courage. Adam’s style.
    Several hundred emaciated, defeated men would never make any difference in a battle. But the citizens of Roalas were watching, and rumors were already flying. He was going to do what Emperor Adam had done when he had taken the city: offer them mercy. A powerful weapon if you had enough courage to wield it.
    Sergei knotted the reins on the pommel, clasped his gloved hands on it. He slanted his head ever so slightly, scanning the crowd, seeking defiance and hatred in those squinting eyes. He was waiting for an outburst of rage, a curse, anything that might make him doubt his decision. But all he saw was terrible weariness. The soldiers were exhausted, defeated, and resigned to their fate.
    Sergei looked at Giorgi and nodded. His personal adjutant handed a royal missive to an Athesian harker. This had to be done with a proper ceremony, the king knew.
    The other man opened his mouth and proclaimed loudly, “By the grace of His Highness, King Sergei, the king of Parus and Athesia, may the gods and goddesses protect him, you are hereby pardoned for your crime of insurrection against the Crown and released from prison.”
    If Sergei had ever so slightly expected an excited breath of wonder from the crowd, he was disappointed. There was barely a shrug among the prisoners. A few of them tilted their heads, perked their ears, as if hearing something intriguing, but otherwise, they remained like they were, a forest of brittle