Father’s man – Mitero the Westerling – had managed to find Soter amid the fleeing Senators, murderers slipping on blood and soldiers who had just entered who were struggling to figure out what had happened. Mitero took Soter to his own house, a place more humble than Soter was used to. By the time they got there, the sun had vacated the sky and great black clouds had rushed in to take its place. Rain pattered quietly on the thatched roof of the house. There was a thin iron knife lying next to two halves of bread on the table, next to which Soter took a seat. Mitero sat opposite to him.

“You must leave the city.” Mitero said.

“I will not.” Said Soter.

“If you don’t leave you will be killed. They risk your father’s loyalists rallying around you if they leave you alive.”

“I don’t care. I’ll kill them, I’ll kill them all.” Soter took the breadknife and stabbed at the wooden table. It sunk deep enough to stay standing.

“Come on now, that wasn’t cheap.” said Mitero “You can’t kill them. Not yet at least. Not for many years yet.”

“Are you saying I should live in exile? Where should I live, which way should I go? If I would die staying here, in the greatest city in the world, then how could I survive in the shit-filled streets of Roynar, or the Ruins of Karnak, or the causeways of Height, patrolled by heathen fanatics?” Soter tore the knife out of the table, causing small pieces of wood to erupt out of the wound, and gripped the knife as hard as he could.

“You won’t live in the cities. They are where your enemy’s influence is strongest.”

“I will not live an exile.” Soter rose from his seat and stormed out of the house. When he slammed the creaky old wooden door shut he thought it would smash into splinters, and wished it had.

The rain was truly pouring now. It dropped onto his hair, sunk deep all the way to the skull and sent shivers through his body. A stream poured down his fringe, over his face. Every time he stomped a foot onto the ground, the cold mud took it in a little deeper. Lumps of the mud stuck between his toes and between the soles of his feet and his sandals. Then he pulled up the foot, and wrested it from the earth, and with a long sucking, groaning sound the mud surrendered its grip.

Shielding his eyes from the rain, he looked up and sure enough, rising high above the rooftops of all the other houses, was the black silhouette of the Consular Palace with the moon shining brightly behind it. That’s where they’ll be.

As Soter made the slow march towards his old home he saw a beggar, bearded and grey, in the fetal position, leaning against the wall of a house. His face was between his knees as he shivered violently. He was quietly whispering to himself. “P-p-pleeaase. P-pleeaase. P-pleeeaaase.”

Soter heard boots marching towards him. Clanking steel. Rain drops pattering on metal plate. Torchlight approached from around the corner.

City guard? Soter asked himself not this late. Not in this place.

He ran behind the nearest corner. The clattering metal approached closer. Soter noticed his arms shaking.

“Have you seen a noble boy this way?” said one deep voice from behind a full helm.

“P-p-pleeaase?”

“Have you or have you not seen him?”

“P-pleeaase?”

Soter heard a gauntlet collide with flesh. The beggar gave a shout in pain, and another mailed, plated limb collided with his body.

“If you have nothing useful to say, shut up.”

Soter tried to walk away as quietly as he could, slowly drawing his feet out of the mud so as to not make noise.

He found a different path to the Palace, one far from any of the major roads. It was dark and the passage was narrow. On each side of him were cobbled stone walls, gone a deep grey with all the water washing over them.

Soter froze. There was a noise up ahead – rattling, clanging, banging. Furniture being thrown around in one of the houses. There was a house with the front door open, the orange flickering glow of a fireplace shining into the streets. Soter couldn’t see very clearly from this distance what was happening.

As he approached, the shrill scream of a woman came from the house, echoing off the wall of the narrow back street. Coming yet closer, he saw that there was a figure standing outside. Someone in armour – a soldier.

Soter snuck so close that he could peer in through one of the house’s side windows by climbing onto one of the protruding rocks of the wall. The guard out the front was only looking at the ground. Inside the house, it was a mess of splintered furniture, food emptied over the floor and thick black smoke pluming from the fireplace. Something, ruined and black now, had clearly been thrown into it.

The woman screamed from another room which Soter couldn’t see, “Get out! You can’t!”

A scornful man’s voice replied, “You sure the noble boy’s not here? Better check that room too lads.”

“Put that down! You have no right-“

“Are you trying to obstruct me? Are you obstructing me?”

“No. But you have no-“

“Get out of the way.”

“No.”

There was the sound of a mail fist being thrown and a body collapsing to the ground.

“Obstructing the law is a serious crime darling. You’re lucky you don’t get worse. Others aren’t so forgiving as us.”

Soter slipped. Trying to find something to hold onto, he grazed his arms and knees against the rough stone wall and collapsed into the mud. Its cold wetness seeped through his silk shirt and pants. For a moment he lay shivering, but then he noticed that the earth was trying to claim him, he was sinking deeper. He floundered and struggled to regain his feet as he heard clinking mail approach.

“You! It’s you!”

Soter managed to get to his feet and flee. As quickly as he could, in whatever direction was free. The soldier clinked after him, not far behind.

“Stop!” he shouted, “In the name of the law!”

Panting for breath, Soter didn’t stop. His whole body ached but he didn’t feel cold anymore. He ran and ran, and every time he heard, “Stop!” coming from behind, he ran a little faster. It didn’t seem to be more than a few seconds before everything started going even darker, and points of light began flashing in his eyes and his mind seemed to disconnect from his body. His legs gave up and he couldn’t manage lift one of his feet out of the mud. He fell over and when his head slammed into the muddy floor he was suddenly reconnected with his hurting, muddied, shivering body.

The clattering mail came to a stop before him. He felt steel, even colder than the mud, grip his arm. The armour glinted in torchlight, flashed bright in Soter’s eye for a second. He was reminded of that knife in the senate, which had also flashed in his eye, which had been used to murder his father.

“I will kill you all!” he screamed, grabbing the arm that held him and pulling the soldier into the mud. He collapsed beside Soter, who rolled on top and started throwing fists at the soldier’s face. Then one clanged on the helmet, and he shouted in pain. That was all the time the soldier needed to grab Soter’s arm and twist it, forcing Soter turn around. Then the soldier threw Soter into the mud beside him. Soter felt a gauntleted fist smash into his jaw. Then another. He tasted blood. His head was ringing such that he could hardly hear the clinking mail anymore. Then, with his face flat on the floor, he noticed that the knife was lying next to him. The knife from Mitero’s house. The breadknife. He grabbed it and another fist slammed into his face.

When the next fist came, Soter grabbed it, pushed it into the mud beside his face, pulled the mail glove back and stabbed at the veins in the wrist. The soldier screamed. He stabbed again, and the soldier reached for him with the other hand. Soter rolled away and tried to stand up. He was so dizzy he could only get to his knees. He leaped on top of the soldier, who was cradling his bleeding arm with the other hand. He aimed for the eyes, but hit the cheekbone and the knife glanced off. Then stuck again and hit his target. Then the other. Then he kept on stabbing. He was so dizzy now he didn’t see where he hit, he just kept stabbing. The knife would stop abruptly where it struck bone and sink deep where it didn’t. He couldn’t stop until his breath became so rapid that darkness crept over his vision and he collapsed.