Iron-Scale dragged the chains across the cracked cobblestones of the central plaza. The metal links rattled anchoring massive wooden posts driven deep into the foundation.
Voranthar hung from the tallest beam in the center. Thick iron bindings secured his wrists above his head, pulling his shoulders out of their sockets.
Alden and hundreds of corrupt lords hung from the surrounding timbers. Tears streamed down their faces as they stared at the gathering mob.
Tens of thousands of citizens flooded the square. They carried rusted farming tools, broken masonry, and shattered glass.
Their ribs showed clearly through their torn tunics. Voranthar kept his chin tucked against his chest, refusing to meet the gaze of the people he had fed to the biological engines.
Iron-Scale stepped onto the raised platform directly beneath Voranthar. He drew his star-iron dagger and slapped the flat of the blade against the King's cheek.
The sudden impact forced his head upward.
