Traitors' Gate by Kate Elliott Page A

other side of the street. “Hold on, ver. This part is tricky.”
    â€œWe’re going across?”
    â€œWe are. I’m taking you to your temple. But you’ll have to help me find it once we get down on the streets.”
    â€œThe soldiers will arrest us for being out after curfew. You’re not local, I can hear it. They’ll cleanse you.”
    â€œThey won’t catch us.”
    She let herself down the pitch, then helped him negotiate a pair of drops that brought them to the span. It was a festival arch, sturdy enough. In daylight it would be seen to be painted a brilliant yellow, but the shadows were kind and it was not difficult to scoot across with a leg on either side of the peak. They were about halfway across when the woman slumped against the tiles. Feet shuffled and slapped on the street below. He flattened himself as lantern light bobbed into view. Soldiers drove a mob of folk down the avenue. Many of the prisoners were sobbing; others trudged silently, heads bowed. A few called out.
    â€œAt least allow us to gather our belongings before you expel us! We never did anything wrong!”
    â€œPlease let me return and get my children! They’ll starve. You can’t be so heartless.”
    â€œSheh!” The swaggering man at the front barked a laugh. “They break curfew, and yet they complain about
us
!”
    â€œThey could have stayed in their villages instead of running to the city, eh?” agreed another soldier. “Makes ’em look like they have something to hide, I reckon.”
    A man broke, making a dash toward the alley snaking away behind the warehouse compound. While the forward contingent of soldiers pressed the rest of the group onward, three others went running after the fleeing man. So no one looked up as the crowd passed under the arch and down the avenue into a night illuminated only by the lanterns carried by the soldiers.
    From the alley, a man’s screams rose, then failed abruptly.
    After a moment, the three soldiers trotted out of the alley and hurried under the arch after the others, chortling and boasting as if they hadn’t just killed a man.
    â€œSo I said, ‘You’ve not fattened up that veal yet.’ Heh. That’s when I called you two over. We’d have given that foreignslave something to trim his pinched face, eh? Thinking he had the right to say no to us, eh! If sergeant hadn’t called up formation just right then, I’d’ve bust him down.”
    A comrade answered. “You report him? That you saw an outlander, I mean?”
    â€œSure I did, but I got no coin because their tent wasn’t there no more when I led the captain over that way. I wonder what happened to that lot of young whores.”
    â€œIf they tried to set up in the city, they’ll just be thrown out, neh? Like the rest of these gods-rotted refugees.”
    Their laughter faded into the gloom.
    His shoulders throbbed and his ankle burned, and he was furious and shaking, but he crept after his companion to the next roof and after that to another, the huge rations warehouse overlooking Terta Square. There, arms hugging the roof ridgeline, they rested.
    The square was lit by lanterns fixed on poles. Directly opposite, the temple dedicated to Kotaru was flanked on one side by a militia barracks brimful with enemy soldiers and on the other by a fire station left without a night guard except for its loyal dog. The rest of the square’s frontage was taken up by several large inns and substantial emporia now shuttered and dark. There were four wells sunk into the center, guarded by a contingent of soldiers. A long line of people still waited outside the Thirsty Saw, guarded by yet more soldiers. Several shuffled in through the door while, from the alley that led into the back courtyard of the inn where he had seen the Guardian, ten or more hapless folk came staggering out into the square clutching their left forearms. These