When the Martial prisoners realize what is happening, they fight too, chains and all. All of my hate, all of my frustration, every sleepless night during which I raged against my own inaction pours out of me. I tear another knife from my belt and plunge into the fray. Fights break out, and the Karkauns shout, grasping for their weapons, realizing that the enemy is among them. It begins at the back of the Karkaun throng, but my men move quickly. Ī cry of victory goes up from the Martial prisoners still being marched through the Karkaun crowd, and all the hells break loose. If ever there was a clearer signal than this. The city is filled with the sounds of battle, and in the distance, the lockstep thud of boots echoes. “This is the man you called king?”įor a seemingly unending moment, the Karkauns are silent. “This is your leader?” I turn to his men. Blood geysers over me as I kick his twitching body off the cliff, dig my fingers into his hair, and hold up his severed head. His shoulders sag, and when I whip my scim across to take off his head, he cannot stop me.
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