《Inheritance》


 Prologue: Distractions

    Soter stacked another blue block onto the tower of wooden blocks, hoping to distract himself. His hands trembled as he placed it. The whole room seemed to shiver with the light of the candle he had set in the middle of the floor, long shadows leaping up the walls.


    Soter finally let go of the block and the whole tower came crashing down. He looked at his hands. They had gone splotchy with blue, purple, orange hues, and they seemed to have taken on a life of their own, for no matter how much Soter tried to stop them they would not stay still.


    ¡°Why won¡¯t you calm down?¡± he asked them.


    Suddenly he heard the plap-plop of slippered footsteps outside his room. They fell quiet at his door. His breath caught in his throat. The door creaked open. Soter saw a tall shadow walk in, a silhouette against the daylight shining in from the opened door.


    ¡°I heard that. You talking to your hands, boy?¡± the shadow said in a gruff man¡¯s voice. He walked over to the curtains. ¡°Why do you always draw these, eh? It¡¯s broad daylight.¡±


    He opened the curtain and light of the midday sun poured in, revealing the long silks and brown stubble of Mitero, one of father¡¯s servants.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like it open,¡± Soter said.


    ¡°Never mind. It is time. Your father wants you,¡± he said.


    Through those words, his father¡¯s voice commanded the same obedience that it always had. Soter dared not refuse him.


    Mitero had also been a soldier once, Soter recalled, but not his father¡¯s. He spoke with a funny accent and people would often remark that he was from the West, as if it were something to be ashamed of.


    Soter followed Mitero through the hall as his blue cotton slippers plap-plopped ahead. Walking down the long halls of the family palace, Soter¡¯s mind latched on to anything it could to distract itself, to anchor itself to resist the dreadful tide. The sun shining through the curtains made them a lovely red. The flames flickered in torches lining the hall. Why were they burning at this time of day? He could smell the charred wood. Now he came to the stone faces that lined the hallway, the ancient, bleached-white eyes of those men staring down at him. Old great grandfather Kevan with a neck so fat that it looked like folded cloth, Grandfather Julian with a shaven head and a cross hanging on a chain. At the end of the hall was a statue, smashed and vandalised such that the face was unrecognisable, with crude charcoal drawings of genitals and obscene words over what remained. He would never forget when he asked his father about the one that had been defaced. Why don¡¯t we restore uncle¡¯s statue father? Soter had said, if you want our house to be respected then why let everyone see this disrespect?If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Because forgetting one¡¯s history makes one weak. Men are disposed to patterns of behaviour, my child, and if you forget the consequences of these patterns you will suffer for it.


    Mitero took him to the end of the hall and threw the twin wooden doors open, then retreated to a corner of the room.


    ¡°Ah, my son.¡±


    Soter¡¯s father strode up and wrapped one arm around him, the regal silken robe covering Soter like a blanket. He walked the boy towards the balcony, where Soter could hear the roaring, chanting and clapping of the crowd. Never had he heard anything so loud. He threw his hands over his ears, but his father pulled them away. They didn¡¯t stop walking forwards until they were at the very edge of the balcony, so close that the boy could see all the people gathered below. There were so many, so loud, and the warmth of air that rose from them carried the stink of thousands of unwashed bodies and rotting mouths.


    Now that they could see the Consul, Soter¡¯s father, they roared all the louder. Soter was reminded of the great roars of dragons in the old tales and why so many would-be slayers lost nerve and fled from them. His father opened his arms as if to embrace the crowd in its entirety. The boy looked up at him. His chin was lifted and he was smiling. There were almost tears in his eyes.


    The Consul shouted in a booming voice that silenced the crowd. ¡°My people. We are gathered here to now witness justice. As God most mighty has decreed, all those who break the rule of law must be punished. These men before you have broken the tenants of the Code of Narses by disobeying their rightful masters. For this criminal act, I, the Second Consul Alexander of the House Kronne, condemn these four people to lawful and holy punishment.¡±


    The boy watched as his old house servants ¨C the four of them - were paraded through the crowd onto a wooden platform.


    Remember, Soter, be brave. Your father will make you watch. For my sake, don¡¯t cry, Isaura had said when Soter¡¯s father had first sent the soldiers to drag her away. She had been a mother to him ever since he lost his own.


    The condemned lined up at the base of the platform. The executioner lifted his bronze facemask to ask forgiveness. Isaura bowed her head, while the others ignored the plea.


    ¡°Father.¡± Soter said. ¡°Father! Father! Stop. Please. She doesn¡¯t have to- You don¡¯t have to do this!¡±


    The Consul didn¡¯t hear him over the sound of the crowd.


    ¡°Father!¡± He tugged on his robe, but he was only pulled aside by one of the guards.


    ¡°Father! Father!¡±


    Isaura was the first. She marched up to the platform. A soldier held the woman¡¯s hands behind her back. Then the executioner took a glowing knife from the fire. He held the back of the prisoner¡¯s head and inserted the knife into the prisoner¡¯s eye, moved it around in the socket and tore out a lump of white-red while the condemned cried bloody tears. Her fingers, held behind her back, contorted. The executioner did the same for the other eye. The boy didn¡¯t turn away, though tears blurred it all he could imagine what was happening from the screams. He knew his father wouldn¡¯t be pleased if he turned away. But he could feel an ache behind his eyes. He had never heard a person in so much pain.


    For all his distractions, he couldn¡¯t avoid this. He couldn¡¯t avoid this scene etching itself so deep into his mind that he would never be the same again.

 Chapter One: Burn

    They marched through the streets, military boots stirring the dry dust of the cobblestone road into a long cloud trailing behind them. Ten men in a column, Consul Kronne at the head. Ptolemy ignored the people staring at him ¨C women, children, young and old, stall merchants, fishmongers, tanners. None had ever seen a soldier quite so grey in the hair.


    At times it seemed the whole world was reminding him of his age. That very morning the wife had pleaded with him to consider taking an honourable discharge.


    ¡°I¡¯ll never leave the Consul¡¯s side, until battle takes me.¡± He had said.


    Really, it wasn¡¯t about honouring an oath or any such chivalrous motivation. Ptolemy didn¡¯t know what he would do with himself if he wasn¡¯t marching through the streets or standing sentry. What would he do, tell stories to the grandchildren? Small chance, considering he never had children himself.


    The Consul halted the line when they were outside a manor that sat at the top of the Palatinate Hill. Inside it seemed at first that no one was there. Searching, they found a room adorned with the ancient and evil symbols of the Iconographers. She made no effort to hide her embarrassing ways.


    The Consul gestured to Ptolemy.


    ¡°I shall send for the headsman. She will be executed on the morrow,¡± said Ptolemy.


    ¡°You misunderstand me. She is a heretic. She must burn.¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    --


    Burn she did. At the stake, at dawn the very next day. Wonderful way to wake the city, to the screams of a burning woman, thought Ptolemy, as he groggily awoke, headache and all, at the tavern. He thought he remembered walking home the night before. Perhaps he had been walking and forgot where home was.


    When he opened the creaky door and saw that dawn was only just breaking, so he went back into the tavern and shouted for a tabard. The owner stumbled in, apparently only just having awoken himself.


    ¡°What the hell was that?¡± the owner said.


    ¡°I said, another fucking tabard! Your strongest stuff.¡±


    ¡°No, that sound. Outside.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s that woman we found. Who was praying to those idols- You gonna get me a drink or what?¡±


    ¡°Praying to idols? Is that a crime now?¡±


    ¡°Sinful.¡± Ptolemy glared at the owner.


    ¡°By God that Consul is a hard man.¡± The owner disappeared down the stepladder to the cellar and came back up with a bottle.


    ¡°He keeps the peace. You should be grateful for that.¡±


    ¡°Oh I am.¡± The owner slapped it down on table with two dented old iron cups, took off the cork and poured. ¡°Three coppers that¡¯ll be.¡±


    Ptolemy fiddled with his belt, his purse jingling with each movement. When he had untied it, he threw it down on the table. The owner ploughed through all the gold and silver with his fingers, searching for the coppers. Ptolemy took his cup and gulped the whole thing down. The owner¡¯s breath became shallow.


    Ptolemy put his cup back on the table. He grabbed the owner¡¯s wrist and squeezed until he opened his hand ¨C a silver.


    ¡°T-thought it looked like a copper¡­ i-in this light.¡± He dropped the coin.


    Ptolemy shoved his empty cup toward the owner. ¡°More.¡±


    The owner poured. Then he poured in the second cup for himself.


    ¡°Cheers.¡± They said to each other.


    ¡°To another honest day¡¯s work.¡± Sighed the owner.


    Ptolemy collapsed onto the table.

 Chapter Two: A Messenger

    Soter sat in council beside his father. He was discussing some military matter with a man who had arrived at the city only a few days ago. His skin was as brown as wood from the years he had spent under that Eastern sun.


    ¡°Consul¡± the general said, bowing.


    ¡°Yes Lamachus, I heard that you had made the hard road back here.¡±


    ¡°Oh, the road back here is easy. It¡¯s the road there that is hard.¡±


    ¡°Well¡± said Alexander, ¡°Why is it that you made the journey here? If it was to enjoy the more agreeable climate here I shall have you hanged a deserter.¡±


    Lamachus chuckled nervously, ¡°No, no. I made the journey to deliver to you the direst news and request your immediate assistance. The Infidel has made an assault on us. Coordinated, all at once. Every one of our camps and our city barracks and the palaces where our governors rule from were attacked by multitudes of Infidel, mostly rabble, but strikingly well-commanded. Some of our more remote camps we still haven¡¯t received messengers from. We are forced to assume that these camps were overwhelmed in their entirety. Our other strongholds beat them back, but not without significant casualties. We require more men and more arms - for the local blacksmiths are vastly inferior to our own and unable to maintain our arms.¡±


    ¡°This is grave news Lamachus. Why is it, I wonder, that you left your command to deliver this news where a messenger boy would have sufficed?¡±


    ¡°Consul. I am obligated to deliver this news so as to ensure that you understand just how desperate our situation is. I could not possibly trust some boy with the army¡¯s very survival dependent upon aid from the capital.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    ¡°I shall consider it.¡±


    ¡°With greatest respect, may I ask you to recall your father and forefathers who originally took up the banner of God and marched East to slay the Infidel? Will you risk losing all that they gained, disgracing their very legacy? And how will you look, one of the only Consuls who shied away from command and let the armies disintegrate?¡±


    ¡°I am not a craven, Lamachus! I¡¯ll not march east to die in some waterhole like all the men before me. But I¡¯ll not abandon my father¡¯s legacy. I shall give the orders, when I see fit, to gather a new army and march it east under the trusted command of a Senator. Until then, enjoy your short stay here General.¡±


    Lamachus¡¯ face tightened to an expression of utter contempt. Any respect for the Consul was no longer there, ¡°What of the thousands who have died in the east, why should they die while you sit here on your fine throne trying to convince yourself that you are not a craven when your actions speak far louder than the hisses that come out of your fanged mouth?¡±


    Soter accidentally let out an exclamation of shock.


    ¡°Seize him!¡± screamed the Consul.


    The doors burst open and two guards, fully armoured, grabbed the General by either arm.


    ¡°For your treasonous words I strip you of your command.¡± Said Alexander, ¡°Let him rot in a cell.¡±


    The guards marched him out.


    --


    Later, Isaura came into the room sweeping the floor with a broom. Her short chiton was becoming brown on the edges with dirt and dust. She was managing her chores remarkably well considering her blindness. Soter remembered when he was a child and he first saw her after the blinding. He had been glad that she was still alive ¨C then he saw her. He could not bear to look at her face, and he had been grateful to God that she could not see what must have been the undisguised disgust and fear on his face.


    ¡°Soter, I¡¯m so sorry your father made you watch that. I hope you¡¯re alright ¨C where are you?¡±


    She had reached out to try to hug him but he couldn¡¯t bear to go any closer to that face - to those black, expressionless sockets. He had not known what he should have said so he said nothing and snuck as quietly as he could out of the room.


    Now he looked at her sweeping the stony floor.

 Chapter Three: Among the People

    There was a large crowd outside the church that morning. Ptolemy went every day but most others weren¡¯t so disciplined. His own wife only went every other day, and only then because of Ptolemy¡¯s incessant concern. Today though, it was the Day of Saint Aros, who had banished the evil spirits to the dark corners of the world. There would be a procession around the church, a play depicting the tribulations of Saint Aros, and bread and wine.


    ¡°Which do you think attracts the most people, Ptolemy, the procession, the play, the bread or the wine¡± said Margaret, looking over to her husband.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know dear. Please, not another¡­¡±


    ¡°Well from the look of them, I¡¯d say, the procession so that they can marvel at the rich artisanship which the church can afford, the play so that they can vicariously live the life of a saint, the bread because they cannot afford food and the wine because they want to forget the fact.¡± She said.


    ¡°There¡¯s no reason to your cynicism. The people are more pious than you give them credit for.¡± Said Ptolemy.


    ¡°Who wants the pain of religion when they can just get by?¡±


    He made his way through the stream of people entering the church by the narrow doorway. He passed between the ancient pillars which were inscribed floor-to-roof with hieroglyphs telling the many stories of the Holy Book.


    Everyone was required to leave their shoes at the entrance.


    ¡°Please wipe your feet before you enter.¡± Said a priest dully at the entrance to the church hall. ¡°Remember the words of Saint Soro: To keep oneself clean is to keep one¡¯s own spirit clean.¡±


    The dirty peasants that entered wiped their bare feet on the mat provided at the entrance as best they could. Ptolemy saw the priest sigh as one peasant gave each foot a single wipe, then continued in with wet mud still between his toes and feet still smeared with dirt, leaving a trail behind him as he walked on the marble floor.


    Ptolemy and his wife took a seat in the middle. Before long the entire hall had been filled, with people packed shoulder-to-shoulder on the benches and standing around the edges of the room.


    The bishop hobbled to the center of the stage, leaning heavily on his long staff. His tall hat swayed from side to side as he moved, bells and copper symbols jingling and dangling.


    Ptolemy found a seat on one of the benches with enough room for both him and his wife. It was too late to move when he realised that the person sitting in front was so tall that he completely blocked Ptolemy¡¯s view of the chantry. So he bowed his head, closed his eyes and listened.


    ¡°It is said that God commanded Saint Aros to drive Drasil the Black Demon beyond the Western sea, to drive Ygran the Red into the heart of the mountains in the East, and to drive Rasson the White over the endless sand dunes in the South, all never to return. As the death of Aros¡¯ son allowed him to hear God, so the death of the Consul must open our ears to His voice; Destroy the Infidel, He is saying, banish the Heretic. Slaughter the Barbarian. As Aros scattered the Demons across the face of the world, scatter the unbelievers and take their treasures and build My Kingdom on Earth, build the Kingdom of God.¡±


    Then after the sermon, the Priest opened the thick old tome on the ornate bookstand in the center of the stage and read from the Holy book in the Old Tongue. As the priest sang each passage, Ptolemy thought that it was such a beautiful sounding language, he could understand why God chose to have his Word transcribed in that language rather than in the crude Common Tongue.


    Then the Bishop introduced the actors in the play by name.


    ¡°Here¡± he said, ¡°We have Xenon Dychas who will be playing Saint Aros.¡±


    The actor gave a solemn bow.


    ¡°And this¡± said the Bishop, ¡°Is Naro Myconid who is playing Arisor son of Aros.¡±The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    --


    ¡°We will not be ruled by a king! Down with the tyrant¡± the crowd chanted.


    The power of their combined shoving against his shield was more than Ptolemy could have expected from the grim crowd of starved, weary citizens. He shoved back, pushing one of them to the ground. None of the others noticed and his screams were drowned out by the angry chant of the crowd as they trampled his body.


    ¡°Down with the tyrant!¡±


    Suddenly a club flew at him, striking the side of his head. Ptolemy gasped. The crowd took advantage of his disorientation to push him over. He braced himself for the crowd to trample over him, unable to move, but a spear flew into the leg of one of the citizens in the crowd. Their pause gave enough time for another soldier to plug the gap in the shieldwall. As Ptolemy regained his senses, the sun that had been blinding him was blocked by a towering figure.


    ¡°You alright, Commander?¡± he said. Ptolemy recognised it as Menelaus, one of the soldiers under his command who he had recently made acquaintance with in the tavern.


    ¡°Yeah¡­ fine¡­ just¡­¡±


    ¡°Maybe you¡¯re getting a bit old for front line duty?¡± He chuckled.


    ¡°Fuck you.¡±


    Menelaus offered a hand and helped Ptolemy to his feet.


    ¡°You threw the spear?¡± Ptolemy asked.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Menelaus said.


    ¡°I said no bloodshed, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°They hit you with a club!¡±


    ¡°Then hit them back¡­ with a shield. No bloodshed.¡±


    Ptolemy put his hand on Menelaus¡¯ shoulder and turned him around to face a building; white-marble built, ancient and revered.


    ¡°The Senate.¡± Ptolemy said, ¡°That is what we are guarding. The Senate, where the Senators rule on behalf of the people.¡±


    Ptolemy saw another familiar face, half behind one of great marble pillars at the front of the Senate building. It was mischievous and scheming; a face belonging to none other than Alexander Orses, smiling at Ptolemy and beckoning him over.


    ¡°Excuse me Menelaus. I have business I must attend to.¡±


    Ptolemy approached Alexander. ¡°What is it? Be quick about it.¡±


    ¡°I see they¡¯re giving you trouble. A motley bunch of penny snatchers and guttersnipes if I ever saw one. And those citizens seem to be in a bit of a row too.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes very good. Why are you here?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ have need of you. I¡¯m in debt to the Daratines and they¡¯ve come knocking. I¡¯ve no way to repay them at the moment ¨C don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m working on it ¨C but right now I have guard duty at the Palatinate Gate. I find myself in need of a trusted co-conspirator. Doesn¡¯t hurt if they¡¯re respectable and able to deliver a mean punch if things go sour. Uh¡­ I need you to talk to their leader. Sort this out for me, eh? Tell them I can give them their money within the month. Guaranteed.¡±


    ¡°Well I myself have duty right now if you haven¡¯t noticed. No. I cannot.¡±


    ¡°Need I remind you of when I bailed your ass? You think it was a cakewalk for me? You think I didn¡¯t make sacrifices?¡±


    ¡°Get lost.¡±


    Alexander was taken aback. ¡°I-I¡¯m beginning to recall¡­ a soldier who failed to show for duty the other day. Perhaps the Captain would be interested to know that it was because he was in a drunken stupor at a tavern. How unprofessional! Imagine what the Captain would have to say to that.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t¡­¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t like to, no, but sometimes a man must do something whether he would like to or no.¡± Alexander smiled.


    Ptolemy spoke gruffly, trying to soften the anger in his voice, ¡°As you say, but you owe me one.¡±


    ¡°I owe you nothing ¨C I still kept your secret. I convinced the others to keep quiet, now you¡¯re just paying your debt in kind.¡±


    Ptolemy stomped back toward his soldiers.


    ¡°Hold the line men, you hear me? Hold. This. Line. But no bloodshed.¡±


    --


    Narses Daratine was a large man. When Ptolemy entered his house, he saw the man slowly lifting a pipe to his lips, puffing, lowering the pipe and blowing out. He was surrounded by beautiful slave women ¨C locals, Westerners, even one from the far east with a strange reddish skin Ptolemy had never seen the likes of in his life. Standing still by the side of Narses¡¯ chair was a hulking man dressed in leather armour and holding the pommel of his sword that was sheathed at his hip.


    ¡°Greetings, Narses,¡± said Ptolemy.


    ¡°What brings a Commander of the City Guard to my presence? Not another misguided dogooder hoping to falsely accuse me of some crime I hope.¡±


    ¡°No, nothing of the sort. I am here on behalf of Alexander Orses¡­¡±


    The hulk¡¯s eyes widened. Narses drew a sudden breath of air.


    ¡°Alexander Orses? Speak not of that double-dealing little thieving bastard!¡± Screamed Narses.


    ¡°¡­here to tell you that Alexander will have your money to you within the month.¡±


    ¡°¡­Is that so?¡±


    ¡°By his own word.¡±


    ¡°The least trustworthy word in the city.¡±


    The hulk stepped forward and Narses began to grin. It sent a shiver down Ptolemy¡¯s spine. He knew things were about to get ugly.


    ¡°It is my mind that we need some form of¡­ assurance,¡± said Narses, ¡°Perhaps a hostage?¡±


    ¡°What, me? Do you really think he gives a shit about what happens to me, or anyone else for that matter? A hostage is not what you need.¡±


    ¡°I need a guarantee, Commander.¡±


    ¡°Then you have mine. Personally. If he doesn¡¯t pay, well, I¡¯m Commander of the City Guard. Understand?¡±


    Narses thought about it and began to slowly nod.


    ¡°Yes¡­ yes, I agree.¡±


    ¡°Very well.¡±


    Ptolemy turned and left the house.

 Chapter Four: The Business of Government

    Performance, Alexander called it. The Senate had gathered and the two hundred old men in rich clothes sat on the amphitheatrical steps of the Senate House watching their monkey named Alexander Kronne dance in the center, turning to and fro to face this question and that. Soter was not a senator ¨C far too young ¨C but was permitted to watch the proceedings with the sons of other senators. They all sat on the bench at the front of the room facing the senators. It made for great learning watching the reactions of the senators ¨C the cheering and jeering for this speaker and that, the disgust at propositions, as if they were physically about to regurgitate from the sheer awfulness of the bills presented.


    A glint of some metal caught Soter¡¯s eye and he turned to see Senator Nassos glaring at the Consul in contempt.


    Another one of those idiots who have nothing better to do than fret over the smallest hint of tyranny, Soter thought.


    Just as he thought of it, the word was uttered in the speech of the Senator who was currently speaking. Tyranny. It echoed through the senate chamber, carried on the whispers and thoughts of other Senators.


    The Speaker took his seat and Alexander rose to give his response, brushing aside his hoarse, grey fringe of hair and clearing his throat.


    ¡°I am no tyrant. I fought the Infidel with my armies, as did my father before me. When I was a child, my father told me of the debauchery of the Kings of old, just as your fathers told you all. Though you fine gentlemen think you can dictate who has power and for how long they have it, it is not so. Only the people have that power and so long as the people support me I will not step down.¡±If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°No one supports you! I was molested by a beggar on my way to this very senate house screaming, not for money, but for the tyrant to be stopped!¡± Said Nassos.


    Anger flared in Alexander¡¯s eyes. ¡°A single demented gutter rat is not representative of the whole¡­¡±


    A voice cried out from one of the senate seats, ¡°They want jobs! There are no jobs!¡±


    ¡°There will be many jobs.¡± Said Alexander, turning to his anonymous accuser, ¡°I have sent messenger boys to all the best blacksmiths in the city. We will begin recuitment soon. I am raising an army to send east.¡±


    ¡°War?¡± cried Nassos, ¡°You want war? You want to send yet more of our sons and fathers to die?¡±


    ¡°We are in a war whether you like it or not, Senator. The armies in the East need reinforcements. If they don¡¯t receive them, those sons and fathers will die.¡±


    ¡°It shall go to a vote then,¡± declared Nassos.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± said Alexander, ¡°All those in favour?¡±


    A portion of the Senate raised their hands.


    ¡°Against?¡± Said Nassos.


    It was a forest of hands. A clear majority. Soter saw something on his father¡¯s face he had never seen before ¨C surprise. Alexander was completely taken aback.


    ¡°What is this? Why do you not support me?¡±


    There was murmuring and whispering among the Senators. Alexander began shaking his head.


    ¡°I refuse to allow¡­ a hundred pale, togaed men to decimate our army. I will send the reinforcements. You hear that? The army marches!¡±


    The Senate erupted in furious discussion. The word tyrant was thick in the air like the pong of a corpse. Senators stood from their seats and entered the floor, senators screamed at each other flinging their arms about. Soter found it difficult to draw breath so thick was the air. A senator¡¯s son leaned over to him.


    ¡°Your father¡¯s really overstepped his authority this time,¡± he said, ¡°he¡¯s in the shitter!¡±

 Chapter Five: Foul Murder

    Ptolemy rushed toward the palace armoury, sword gripped tight. Ahead, a forlorn beggar saw him approaching. The sun-ravaged skin, taut like cured leather over his bony face, rearranged into a hopeful smile.


    ¡°Pleeaase?¡±


    The beggar stretched out an open hand onto the road.


    Ptolemy knocked the hand aside and continued without a word.


    There were no boys at the armoury to help him put his armour on, so it took him even longer than usual. It was silent, with most of the armour racks already vacated. Putting his armour on, Ptolemy made his way to the Senate as quickly as he could. There were no other guards standing at the entrance.


    As Ptolemy approached, he heard a large commotion in the Senate building. Suddenly, senators began to pour out the door, white robes flowing behind them. There was screaming inside.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening? What¡¯s going on in there?¡± Ptolemy shouted at the fleeing senators, but they were too panicked to notice. He tried to push his way through, slowly wading to the senate entrance. There were so many shouts Ptolemy could not make sense of them.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Finally he got into the Senate, where the crowd was thinner but still enough to obscure the source of the panic until he came closer.


    A dark red pool was flowing along the senate floor. It was now that he noticed smears and droplets of blood all over the senate, senators with their white robes stained red.


    ¡°Make way!¡± he shouted.


    The crowd dispersed around the body. There it was, the source of all this. The Consul¡¯s corpse with a dozen daggers scattered on the ground around it. One was still sticking out of his side. His robe was heavy with blood, soaked all the way through. It clung tight to his contorted form.


    No¡­


    Ptolemy turned to look around the room. He scanned the whole amphitheatre, every seat was empty.


    ¡°Soter!¡± he cried, ¡°Soter!¡±


    By now the entire crowd of senators had dispersed but for one old man standing by the wall, looking at the corpse, shivering and wide-eyed.


    ¡°Have you seen Soter?¡± said Ptolemy, walking closer to the senator, ¡°Where is he? Is he alive? Is he safe?¡±


    The old senator tried to open his mouth, but the only sound that he could make was the chattering of his teeth. He stood shivering. Ptolemy looked back at the corpse. He felt a shiver coming on himself.

 Chapter Six: Revenge

    Father¡¯s man ¨C Mitero the Westerling ¨C 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?¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°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 ¨C 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 ¨C 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.

 Chapter Seven: The Body in the Alley

    As Menelaus took him into a dark alley, sunk in shadow even then at noon from overhanging roofs and balconies and ledges, Ptolemy imagined that this would not be a pleasant place to die. To look up as you draw your final breath ¨C the last thing you see of this world being some slither of the sky obscured by shoddy, rotting wooden constructions, charcoaled so badly that even the graffiti had graffiti on it. As he stepped his boots squelched in the mud ¨C even at this time of day it remained damp, shielded from the drying power of the sun. Puddles lay next to the body, purple with flies sipping from them.


    ¡°No one¡¯s touched him since we found him. Pretty gruesome what a blade can do to a man, isn¡¯t it?¡± Menelaus said.


    Ptolemy looked back at him in surprise.


    ¡°I¡¯d forgotten that you never fought in a battle; a man of your strength, your grizzle.¡± Ptolemy said.


    ¡°I¡¯ve served a decade now, never seen the face of war. I count myself fortunate that I was too young to join when the last army left this city for the East. It¡¯s a terrible thing to take the life of another person.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t disagree.¡±


    Ptolemy turned back to the body and looked it over. A trail of dried blood ran down his left arm¡¯s mail. It had clearly been torn back from the hand, which was exposed and in fleshy strands. The other hand had blood on it ¨C maybe not his own.


    The face was a mangled wreck.


    ¡°Can¡¯t tell who it is, but sooner or later the wife might come forward and tell us her husband¡¯s missing, if he had a wife.¡± Menelaus said.


    The breastplate was covered in crusts of dried blood, smeared across it.


    ¡°Someone was on top of him, holding him down.¡± Ptolemy said, pointing at the blood smears.


    ¡°Ptolemy¡± said Menelaus, ¡°I¡¯ve spoken with Senator Nassos. He says that no one found the boy last night. He thinks that it¡¯s likely this was him. See, this is a dead end. He was probably cornered, had no other way to escape. Just like his father, he¡¯d never surrender. But how the hell did he do this to a fully armoured soldier? He probably had help.¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°Bullshit¡± Said Ptolemy, ¡°This could have been any old gutter rat, thinking a soldier¡¯s purse might be a decent snatch.¡±


    ¡°The purse is still on his belt, see ¨C there.¡± Menelaus said, pointing.


    ¡°I knew Soter¡± Ptolemy said, ¡°He couldn¡¯t have done this. He was kind and gentle, an avid reader of the philosophies, he¡¯d never kill another person¡­ especially not like this.¡±


    ¡°Well, no one knows for certain either way. We¡¯d better get this out of here before it stinks the place up.¡±


    Ptolemy placed the body, which had been washed and dressed in full plate armour, onto the reed barge. Then he placed an iron Ankh painted gold in the center of the soldier¡¯s chest and pushed the barge into the river.


    He made his way back to the congregation of soldiers who were standing on solid ground, watching respectfully as the barge meandered down the river until it had shrunk out of sight. Then an old priest hobbled in front of the congregation, supported by a long staff at the end of which was an orange Sun Disk.


    --


    The Senate reconvened as soon as the public servants had cleared the former Consul¡¯s body from the Chamber. Now, for security, the Chamber was covered in City Guardsmen, including Ptolemy. Ptolemy had never been inside the Senate before - he''d always served his duty outside the building. It was grander than he had ever imagined, perfectly clean even after blood had been spilled everywhere, with long marble pillars holding up the high ceiling. Paintings adorned the ceiling and walls - of scenes from the city''s history.


    The extra security was not simply to ward off another assassinstion - the Daratines had begun terrorising what they considered their portion of the city ¨C marching through the streets, extorting merchants in plain daylight. Just the day before a brawl had broken out in the streets when some City Guardsmen had tried to restore order. Their bodies were looted, stripped naked before they could be recovered.


    Fabian, Commander of the City Guard, stood at the top of the senate steps with hands on hips, looking down on the senate floor as Senators entered the chamber and made way to their seats.


    When those senators who were brave enough to come had all been seated, the Elder Speaker, who customarily stood in for the absent Consul until a new one could be elected, opened his mouth to announce the business of the day but was interrupted.


    ¡°We must elect a new Consul.¡± Shouted the Commander from the top of the steps.


    All the senators turned their heads to him, shocked.


    ¡°It is usually the Speaker who announces-¡° said the Elder Speaker.


    The Commander slid his right hand to the pommel of his sword and stepped down towards the center stage.


    ¡°Well I¡¯m announcing it now. Why don¡¯t you take a seat, you look weary?¡± said the Commander.


    ¡°It is my duty to-¡° the Speaker said.


    ¡°Please.¡± Said the Commander, gesturing to an empty seat, ¡°Don¡¯t strain yourself.¡±


    The old man begrudgingly hobbled towards the stone seat.

 Chapter Eight: Fever Dream

    ¡°Kill them.¡± Father commanded.


    He was leaning in, his face so close to Soter¡¯s that their noses almost touched.


    ¡°Kill them.¡± Father shouted.


    So Soter took the knife that his father was offering and stabbed that traitorous swineherd of a senator through the middle of his hand.


    Soter felt a sharp pain suddenly strike the middle of his palm. His whole arm began to ache. But the senator didn¡¯t even notice that he was under attack, so Soter stabbed again, this time at the jaw. With a sickening crack, the senator¡¯s head swayed to the side under the force of the blow and he crashed to the floor.


    Then Soter stabbed him in the cheek, and with another crack the blade slid into the old senator¡¯s head. Soter felt two blows to the side of his head, and his cheek and jaw erupted in pain. His whole face began to throb in pain and it spread down his neck and through his body until his entire body was hurting.


    He lashed out at the senator, stabbing him once in each eye.


    He turned to his father.


    ¡°Kill them!¡± he chanted.


    Soter turned back to the senator to deliver the final blow, but he found that it was actually Isaura, weeping red tears.


    He screamed and opened his eyes and suddenly all he could see was the face of Mitero looking down on him in concern.


    ¡°Keep still.¡± Mitero said, ¡°Having bad dreams?¡±


    ¡°Y-yes¡±


    Another face moved into sight and looked down at Soter. A tanned, middle-aged man with bristly eyebrows and a stern expression.


    ¡°As the man says. Don¡¯t move.¡± The stern man said.


    He reached out of sight and rattled through some collection of metal instruments. Soter flinched reflexively, a memory of a soldier¡¯s steel gauntlet flashing before his eyes.


    ¡°Keep still.¡± The man said.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry¡± Said Mitero, ¡°He¡¯s a physician. You got hit around pretty bad.¡±


    ¡°I-¡° Soter began.


    ¡°We¡¯ll talk about it later.¡± Said Mitero.


    The physician nudged Mitero and they walked into another room. Soter heard the wooden door creak closed, but he could still make out their muffled words.


    ¡°There¡¯s severe swelling. This isn¡¯t going to be easy. I¡¯ll need to put him back to sleep.¡±You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    ¡°If you say so.¡±


    The door creaked back open and their footsteps approached.


    Mitero¡¯s face hovered into view.


    ¡°The physician says you will need to be put back to sleep to recover.¡± He said.


    ¡°No. I don¡¯t want to dream anymore.¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry. Anaesthesium never induces a dream state.¡± Said the physician.


    Tears welled in Soter¡¯s eyes as he remembered all that had come to pass. He realised that his hope that it had all been a bad dream was now shattered. Now he was alone, truly alone. He had once thought himself alone, stuck in some room of the palace with his father busy administering the realm. Now he would give everything if he could just wake up and go back to that life.


    The physician put a bag of herbs in his mouth. Soter quickly found his eyes becoming unfocussed and his mind wandering until it all went blank.


    --


    When Soter woke, the pain was gone. His muscles ached from sheer weariness but it was far better than the pain had been. Mitero was sitting by the fireplace warming his hands, with his sheathed sword lying on the floor next to him.


    ¡°Good¡­ ah¡­ morning?¡± said Soter.


    ¡°Afternoon. And how are you?¡± said Mitero.


    ¡°I¡¯m feeling better. Much better. Thanks.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ well, you¡¯re lucky I found you. It was stupid to run off like that. Stupid, you hear? A warrior doesn¡¯t give in to anger. He doesn¡¯t endanger his life, or that of his dynasty. Your father was a great warrior, but he never set foot upon the battlefield. He would sit in his tent, in safety, and draw maps and write analyses. And he always won. He conquered the world, boy. The greatest warrior ever known.¡±


    ¡°Well he was a coward. And you didn¡¯t know him ¨C he did give in to anger¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t speak of the dead that way. And stop talking nonsense. Never mind what happened. We need to get you out of the city. Those soldiers haven¡¯t stopped looking for you. By night they scour the streets and by day they check everyone who passes out of the gates.¡±


    ¡°H-how long was I out for?¡±


    ¡°Oh a few days. So be ready by midnight, that¡¯s when we go through the gates.¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t they find us on the streets at night?¡±


    ¡°Not if we¡¯re quick. And quiet.¡±


    --


    They slipped through the streets under the cover of darkness. Soter could see the sky was vacant of any moon. He never left the side of Mitero, who pricked his ear up at every sound like a hunting wolf and never allowed his right hand to let go of the pommel of his sheathed sword.


    Soter knew the moment they had reached the gate, because it was bathed in a flickering orange from torchlight. There was the long shadow of a single man standing guard.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have a sword.¡± Soter whispered.


    ¡°You won¡¯t be needing one. Stay quiet and follow me.¡±


    Mitero walked plainly over to the guard. Soter nervously followed.


    The guard drew his sword halfway out of his scabbard, flashing the polished steel blade menacingly.


    ¡°Halt!¡± the guard said, ¡°Who goes there?¡±


    Mitero tossed a small bag and the guard caught it in one hand with a clink. He sheathed his weapon and stood aside, fingering the bag open to check that he had been paid the correct amount. When he was satisfied he stuffed it into his pocket.


    ¡°Wait here.¡±


    The guard walked over to the flight of stairs which led to the gatehouse. The gate soon ponderously ground open.


    It stopped at only a fraction of the way.


    ¡°Go¡± said Mitero.


    ¡°What about you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll stay.¡±


    ¡°No, no I need you. What the hell am I supposed to do on my own out here?¡±


    ¡°Stay alive. Go south and find your aunt the queen. The road will not be hard.¡±


    ¡°How the hell do I get there?¡±


    ¡°Follow the South Road until you find a village. Buy a horse and a guide. A weapon too, if you can.¡±


    ¡°I-I¡¯ve never been outside the city¡­¡±


    ¡°Go.¡±


    Soter ducked under the iron gate and it slammed back down behind him. Mitero reached through it and tossed a coin bag at Soter. He fumbled but caught it between his hand and stomach.


    ¡°Goodbye.¡± He called to Mitero.


    ¡°Goodbye Soter. God be with you always.¡±

 Chapter Nine: Mercenaries

    Ptolemy didn¡¯t need a map to find where the camp had been set up. He had been hearing the cracks of black powder going off since dawn, echoing through the city streets.


    On the dark green plain outside the walls was the camp, stretching out for a mile along the riverside. Hundreds, maybe thousands of tents were pitched, with smouldering campfires giving off thin trails of smoke.


    The sky was bright and blue without a cloud in sight. An ibis was flying in lazy circles some way off.


    When Ptolemy reached the camp he saw that most of the soldiers were only just beginning to crawl wearily out of their tents, tiredly strapping on their gambeson and tying their leather bracers around their arms.


    ¡°Where is your commander?¡± Ptolemy asked the most aware soldier he could find.


    ¡°Who asks?¡± the soldier said scratching his thin beard.


    ¡°Nassos, Senator of the People of Konstantyne and Commander of the Armies.¡±


    ¡°Nah, Nassos is a younger fella ain¡¯t he?¡±


    ¡°I am his representative.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s ah¡­ probably not at his tent. Probably at the practise range. Loves to shoot early in the morning. Not hunting, mind you, just shooting. At a wall, at a stack of hay, what have you. Over that way.¡± The soldier pointed in the direction that the blackpowder sound was coming from.


    Ptolemy made his way up there, passing marching columns of halberdiers, wielding their fierce weapons in both hands, clad in puffy costumes with bright blue and red patterns and feathered caps. Ptolemy wondered how they managed to fight in such a getup. Perhaps the gold would have better been spent on proper soldiers, not maintaining the princely attire of these jumped up stage actors.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    At the range, Ptolemy found the commander, Captain Ferros, just as he had been described ¨C tall, bearded, with scraggly long brown hair and a big smile that never left his face. His beard was not so wild as his embroidered costume which was even more flamboyant than that of his soldiers. He was eagerly shouting firing instructions at his men who were lined up in front of a dozen hay stacks. The stack in the middle had a smiley face painted on it.


    ¡°That¡¯s the leader men. Aim for the leader. Always aim for the leader. Fire!¡±


    There was a great eruption of crackling black powder as the weapons of the soldiers ignited. The targeted hay stacks exploded, with straw flying through the air. When it subsided, however, the smiley face was still perfectly intact.


    ¡°You idiots. Reload!¡±


    Ptolemy approached the commander, ¡°Greetings, I am here on the behalf of Senator Nassos.¡±


    The commander turned to Ptolemy, ¡°You¡¯re the commander of the city guard I presume?¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯m Ptolemy, a captain of the guard. I was sent to discuss-¡°


    ¡°A captain? The Senator himself should be greeting me after I marched all the way down to this sweltering shit pile of a country. I came here for the sake of my brothers in faith, to end that fruitless war that you started so that good holy men don¡¯t have to continue to die for the sake of some dishonour done to some Consul a half dozen generations ago. And they send a captain to treat with me!¡±


    ¡°As you say, but I came here on behalf of the Senator to discuss issues of¡­ security¡­ with you.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s security?¡±


    ¡°The realm¡¯s. Senator Nassos requests that you remain encamped here to dissuade any treasonous sentiments among the people. The city guard is only able to do so much.¡±


    ¡°So I was hired to serve as a constable, a justicar?¡±


    ¡°It is not so, Nassos requires that you merely remain outside the city walls. The mere proximity of your soldiers will dissuade trouble.¡±


    ¡°Oh, so I¡¯m your scarecrow. A pumpkin on a stick.¡±


    ¡°You will be paid.¡±


    ¡°Let us¡­ put this aside for a moment. Perhaps we can come to an agreement over lunch.¡±

 Chapter Ten: Into the World

    The sun was setting as Soter left the city by the Southern Road. Not far from the city he found a huge camp of tents and smoking campfires and armoured men carrying spears. When he heard the chatting of two approaching men he hid in the scrub beside the road. They were soldiers, clearly from the camp, patrolling. Why are these soldiers here? Soter thought. Are they all looking for me?


    Soter stayed off the road as he passed the camp. As each patrol came he¡¯d duck behind a bush and stay as still as he could until they had passed. Soon the camp was far behind him and, having not come across any patrols in a while, Soter took to the road again.


    The sky darkened quickly. When the last wisps of light from the sun had left the sky, Soter looked up and could see a great band of stars and celestial clouds stretching across the sky. There were hundreds of stars, more than Soter dared count, some small and dim, some exceptionally bright. The books Soter had read as a child had said that the stars were holes in the great celestial sphere. But Soter looked up and thought he could see into infinity. If there were so many holes, surely the sphere would collapse? Perhaps the writers of those books had never been outside a city at night. When Soter chanced to glimpse up at the night sky back in the city, he could almost count the number of stars he saw with his fingers.


    The vastness of the heavens made Soter feel even more alone. He could hear insects chirping, an owl hooting, the wind blowing through distant trees. Where were the cries of babies echoing through the streets? Creaking wagon wheels, armoured soldiers marching heavily, the muffled sounds of a hundred different conversations?


    It was more solitary than anything Soter had ever experienced. The lack of human activity was deeply unsettling. As he walked he heard footsteps behind him, but dared not turn around. He saw eyes staring back at him out of the shadowy bushes, felt the cold spectral fingers of demons on the back of his legs. The howling wind was the cry of a devil who had for some reason a vendetta against this poor human traveller.


    Without anything but the clothes on his back and a purse of money, he found a soft patch of grass away from the road and curled up into the fetal position to keep warm. The wind had picked up ¨C it was assaulting him, draining his warmth. Cool tendrils slithered underneath his shirt and up his back. He began to shiver, more and more the longer he lay there. He was too cold to sleep.


    There was the snap of a branch. A careful, slimy footstep. This was real ¨C so real it broke through Soter¡¯s imaginings of demon screeches and eyes looking at him. He opened his eyes and there it was before him, a silhouette against the night sky ¨C the form of a man, but not really a man. It was hunched over, its right arm was larger than its left, its head small and misshapen.


    With a gurgling sound like a drowning man it lurched towards him. Soter jumped to his feet and ran away. He could hear it squelching after him, not far behind. Terror gave him speed, but he couldn¡¯t outrun it. Soter could hear it still behind him at the same distance. If it were a demon it would chase him until he collapsed from exhaustion, if it were another kind of monster¡­


    Soter snatched his coin purse from his belt and flung it at the thing following him. He could hear a bubbling sound fade into the distance as he continued to sprint away. An offering, a sign of submission to satisfy its hunger.


    There would be no sleep that night. Soter stopped at a stone and sat down on it to regain his breath. Looking around, he saw tall trees in one direction and in every other direction, scrubs and bushes, some tall and some low. None of it looked familiar and there was no road in sight.


    But then he remembered from a treatise he had once read, On the Practical Applications of Astronomy. He looked to the sky once more. There was Ykrab, a few degrees from the zenith. The head of the middle of the thrice-arrow constellation ¨C he could see it clearly now, in the city he could only ever see one of the arrow heads. The middle arrow head points East, therefore South is¡­ that way.


    --


    There it was. Black shapes against the starlit sky. A plume of smoke rising wearily out of one building. Dimlit lanterns along the road which paved it¡¯s way through the village. Some of those buildings were more huts than houses ¨C flat, rounded constructions made from dried mud or manure ¨C Soter could not tell which.


    As he approached, Soter hear the sound of merriment coming from some building ahead. That must be the inn, he thought.


    ¡°Who are you anyway?¡± said Soter to the man sitting next to him at the tavern.


    ¡°Borin Kotor, ranger and huntsman. Who¡¯s askin¡¯?¡±


    ¡°A person, a refugee from the greatest city in the world.¡±


    ¡°Which one?¡±


    ¡°Konstantyne.¡±


    ¡°Ah yes, I could have guessed as much. Have a drink? On me if you¡¯re short for coin.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll have one, then.¡± Said Soter, ¡°Thanks.¡±


    --


    ¡°You¡¯re a god ¡®mong men, m¡¯lord.¡± Said Borin, ¡°The story brings a tear to m¡¯ eye. Must be, I¡¯m thinkin¡¯, some devil spirit latched onto ya, some bad luck ghost. Such misfortunes do not befall even the grav¡¯st a sinners in my ¡®sperience.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Soter was feeling light headed. He knew that it was stupid to tell people things like this, with men looking to kill him, but at that moment he didn¡¯t care at all.


    ¡°Sounds like horse shit to me.¡± Said Soter.


    ¡°I meant no ¡®ffence m¡¯lord. I¡¯s jush you shou¡¯d ssee tha¡¯ Shaman. He dealsh in tha¡¯ stuff ¨C spirits an¡¯ th¡¯ like, bad luck if ya want ta think of it tha¡¯ way. Lives ¡®n th¡¯ woods. Sells us oi¡¯ments. Salves. Herbs. You¡¯d be amaze¡¯ what sprinklin¡® a couple bits a leaf into a soup will do for th¡¯ flav¡¯r.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t think I would.¡±


    ¡°True enough.¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon I¡¯ll take ya to ¡®im. Promise ya won¡¯t tell no one¡­ the priests don¡¯t like what he says¡­ don¡¯t like what anyone says but them, really. C¡¯mon, the Shaman can help ya. Just promise¡­¡±


    ¡°I promish.¡± Said Soter, rising from his stool at the bar. He swayed, almost losing his footing. Borin put Soter¡¯s arm over his shoulder to help him stay on his feet, but Borin was also unsteady.


    ¡°Yer lookin a little shaky there.¡± Said a patron, ¡°Yer bloody drunk.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not. Jus¡¯ tired. Cmon let¡¯s see th¡¯ Shaman. Get yer purse, I¡¯ll pay yeh back tomorrow.¡±


    --


    Borin and the others took Soter into the wood. The ground had a mist hanging around it, even at this time of day, tendrils parting as Borin made his way forward along the path that he had obviously travelled many times before. The trees were so thick that they formed a roof which kept the sun¡¯s light and heat out entirely. As a result the ground was bare, moist dirt. There were a few clumps of grass and flowers at points where the canopy was thin enough to let some sun through. As they made their way further inwards, Soter noticed that the trees themselves were changing. Where at the outer edges they had been tall, straight and strong, further inward they became gnarled, twisted, tortured forms which seemed barely strong enough to hold up the roof of leaves that they did. There were rock formations, pointing upwards as if they had been torn right out of the ground.


    Finally they came to a small round hut, cobbled together with bark and wood and vines. There was a circle of stones surrounding the hut, and as Soter approached he saw that they were each engraved with some complex symbol which he had never seen the likes of before. Borin stepped over the stones, careful to not accidentally touch any, and knocked on the moss-covered wooden door. The hut was like a forest of its own ¨C with lichen, mushrooms and mosses of all colours.


    The door rattled. ¡°Just a minute.¡± Came an old woman¡¯s croaking voice from within.


    It rattled some more, there was the sound of a lock sliding, then the door flew open. The woman behind it was bent over a stick which seemed far too short to be of any use to her for walking. She was covered in long necklaces and hanging wooden ornaments which all had the same style of arcane lettering as the stones did. Tendrils of fuzzy, dreadlocked hair covered her face as she stared impatiently at Borin.


    ¡°What is it?¡± she demanded.


    ¡°A man,¡± said Borin beckoning Soter to come closer, ¡°a man with bad luck. Evil spirits.¡±


    The woman waved the hair away from her face, revealing a stern, wrinkled expression. She was covered in copper, silver and gold ornamentation; a band of silver through the bridge of her long nose, disks of polished copper with faces on them stuck in the stretched skin of her earlobe, small, circular metal piercings around her face which held some precious gem in the center. Her eyes narrowed as they interrogated Soter.


    ¡°Bad spirits eh? What makes ye think so lad?¡± she said.


    ¡°I-I suggested it.¡± Said Borin, ¡°He-¡°


    Soter interrupted, ¡°My father was murdered, my mother died giving birth to me, my brother was killed in battle. The only person who ever loved me was blinded in front of me for a crime she didn¡¯t commit. Then she died. I was forced to flee the place that had been my home since I was born. Tell me this isn¡¯t an evil spirit. Tell me that God just decided that this was to be my lot in life.¡±


    The Shaman¡¯s stern expression became concerned. She gestured for Soter to wait and slammed the door shut. A noise erupted from inside of things being thrown around, glass clinking against glass, a frenzied search for something long lost.


    Soon the Shaman reappeared. ¡°Follow.¡± She said.


    She hobbled off into the wood and Soter and his company followed.


    At last after what seemed like hours following the hobbling Shaman, they reached a clearing in the forest where the Shaman stopped. The sun blinded Soter for a moment. He hadn¡¯t realised how dark it had been in the forest. It was midday now. As Soter¡¯s eyes adjusted, he saw that the clearing was around a shallow pool of water fed by three great toad statues. They were ancient and cracked. The opals that were the pupils of their eyes gittered in the sunlight just as did the water that gushed out of their open mouths.


    ¡°Here is a place of ghosts. We shall see. Enter the water.¡±


    Soter stepped into the pool. It was warm and steam rose from it into the air. It reminded Soter of the baths he had at home. He hadn¡¯t had a bath in a few days now. He remembered when he felt safe, when he wasn¡¯t alone and in exile. When he wasn¡¯t a refugee in the country that should by right have been his. His father had always told him that.


    The steam in front of Soter suddenly condensed and twirled around itself. As he looked at it in wonder, he saw the eyes of his father staring back at him.


    ¡°I told you that it would be yours if you were virtuous. You never listened to me Soter, I was only ever concerned for your future. Your brother listened to me. He would have been a good ruler. He wouldn¡¯t have had to flee the city.¡±


    ¡°I never saw my brother, I never knew him. He was in the East my whole life, fighting your war. I tried to avenge you. I tried to kill them. I¡­ I¡­ I failed. I¡­¡±


    ¡°You are weak.¡±


    ¡°I tried.¡±


    ¡°You are weak like your uncle. You have resigned our family to extinction and disgrace.¡±


    Soter swiped at his father but his hand went right through him. He swung his other hand in an arc downward. It flew right through the form of his father and slapped into the water.


    He kept on flailing his arms, expecting his father¡¯s form to disintegrate like a wisp of steam. But he didn¡¯t, he just stood there glaring at Soter, the disappointment obvious in his eyes.


    He heard a shout from the shore. Hands grabbed him and pulled him out of the pond.


    As he lay on the muddy ground, panting for breath, Soter saw Borin was extremely worried.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter? You alright? What¡¯s going on?¡± said Borin.


    ¡°Stand back.¡± Said the Shaman.


    The others that had come with Borin were whispering to each other. One would occasionally glance down toward Soter out of the corner of his eye but then immediately look away when he saw Soter looking back.


    The Shaman bent down over Soter.


    ¡°Rest.¡± He said.


    Soter nodded.


    --


    After Soter had regained his strength, the Shaman took him back to his hut. Borin stayed at the lake after he got in a heated argument with the others from the village.


    ¡°You are cursed.¡± The Shaman said, ¡°You have evil spirits.¡±


    ¡°Why am I cursed? What have I done to deserve this?¡±


    ¡°Your father¡¯s blood debt must be satisfied. Gaeia gave him his throne back after your Uncle lost it. He thought he could kill the gods with his Inquisitions before they reaped their price from him.¡±


    ¡°How do I fix it?¡±


    ¡°You must drink blood from the Heart of the Forest.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°Go into the dark forests of the West. The tribesmen there will be able to guide you to where you need to be.¡±