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

human statues, swaying, shivering, scowling.
    The silence stretched almost for too long. Then, in the second row, one of the soldiers raised a thin, grubby hand. Giorgi frowned, then glanced at Sergei, uncertain. As far as ceremony was concerned, this wasn’t a part of it.
    “Speak,” Sergei said, surprised at the note of his own voice. It sounded harsh.
    “We are free to go, my lord?” the prisoner asked.
    Sergei took a deep breath.
My lord
. But he let it slide. “Yes. You are free to go. If you swear a solemn oath that will never raise arms against my people, or me. If you wish to remain in Athesia, then you must also swear fealty to the Crown.”
    The prisoner let his hand drop. “That’s it?”
    Sergei waved his hand. “Yes, that is it.” He leaned forward in his saddle. “I do not know what ideals you worship, or what you fear, so I cannot ask you to swear in the name of the gods and goddesses. But if you wish to leave the dank cells of the city, then you will promise to live peacefully and abide my law.”
    “What if we refuse?” an unnamed face shouted.
    Sergei could feel his retinue getting somewhat restless. Leather groaned as men shifted their stances, hands going to sword hilts. Anywhere else, this kind of insolence would be considered a grave insult against the king. But Sergei was long past caring about such trifles. Roalas was a dangerous, miserable city. A lack of honor was the least of his worries.
    “If you refuse, then you will die,” he told the sorry audience.
    “Then it’s fucking simple, isn’t it?” There was a growl in the crowd, and a man went down on his knees.
    Slowly, one by one, the former soldiers knelt or bowed, acknowledging his terms. They did not say any wise words or recite any great promises. Sergei did not expect them to do anything of that sort. It would mean nothing. He didn’t need empty words. He needed Roalas’s sympathy and loyalty. He might lose these several hundred men, they might become rebels in a few weeks, but he would have the respect of the thousands of souls looking on behind him, clothiers, gardeners, bakers, and shoemakers.
    “You may not remain in the city, though. You will be escorted to Keron or Gasua, whichever you prefer.”
    The affair was over, and Sergei was glad to put it behind him. Parusite soldiers moved forward, gently but firmly driving the prisoners toward a long train of wagons waiting some distance away. A bloodless resolution to a sore situation. Sergei hoped there would be no scuffling or mad attempts by a few deranged souls to seize swords from his troops. He did not want bloodshed right after promising these men their freedom and giving them their lives back.
    “You have done a very brave thing, Your Highness. I must say I am touched,” Genrik, the high scribe, confessed. His usually unforgiving eyes brimmed with regard for his liege.
    Sergei nodded. He hoped today’s event would go into Genrik’s writing. So one day, long after he died, people might read about the mercy and benevolence of King Sergei. Right after reading about Adam the Godless.
    That gave him no peace in this life, right then, though.
    His son was still very much dead. The campaign in the north had taken a turn for the worse, with a bitter defeat against Amalia’s forces. Apparently, the girl’s miraculousreturn had made her that much wiser and harder—and luckier. At least her half brother had died. That was some small consolation, although it meant Sergei would have to negotiate with the High Council now. No one could really predict how they would react to James’s demise. There might be a civil war in Caytor. Or they might turn their confusion against him. Sergei did not like the unpredictability of the whole thing.
    He turned Marusya around and led back toward the city. Boris’s men spread about, their parade lances erect, flags hanging from blunted tops. Well, if needed, those staves could still clear a crowd at full gallop.
    The scenes of the city