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bizarre but he had seen similar things happen before – the bully could often become the strongest ally if he was beaten. We are no better than animals in that respect.  
    “You should not thank me.” But if I am to be merciful, I have to be sure that you will not see it as weakness. He had enough enemies already. “Nor should you ever meddle in my affairs again. I will not be so lenient if we cross paths in the future.”  
    Jhan Guttel nodded but remained mute.
    The night was a dead end. Guttel knew nothing of the attack. He was just a hired hand. “You swear to me that you know nothing of the attack on my house?”
    “I swear it. I do.”
    “But surely you must know the whereabouts of the preacher Marek Tyll?” Martius could not leave empty handed. Tyll was an obvious suspect after the attack at the Inn on the Green.
    “I don’t know where he is.” Some form of resolve seemed to creep into Guttel’s eyes. “I doubt it was him though. I heard he left the city and most of his followers went with him.” He took a long breath, then sighed. “Do you promise I’m free?” He sounded like nothing more than a lost child.
    Martius nodded. “You have my word as a Felix.” An unbreakable vow.
    “I heard a rumour.” Guttel rubbed his hands over his wrists, seeking to restore the circulation. “Don’t know if there’s any truth to it.”  
    “Rumour?” Some part of Martius suspected the answer. He knew what Guttel would say but he dreaded the truth of it.
    “Word on the street is,” Guttel grimaced and clenched his fists again, “the Emperor wants you dead.”

CHAPTER FOUR
Conlan

    CONLAN PACED THE COURTYARD of the Felix family townhouse. Brown stains marked the stone slabs at his feet. Some were small, not much larger than a coin, but in other places whole squares were discoloured. It was blood. Blood from some of the twenty-one men and women that had died three weeks before in the failed attack on General Martius and his family.  
    The courtyard itself had changed beyond all recognition since the attack. Where once a flower garden had vied for prominence with a small orchard and a vegetable patch, there now stood a small military encampment. The whole area was crammed with fighting men from the Phoenix Third; it had been since the evening of the attack.
    Conlan’s thoughts drifted back to the night of the assassination attempt.  
    Andiss, battered and exhausted, had stumbled into the command house of the Third legion and shouted “The general is in danger!”  
    Conlan had rushed to gather a cohort, instinct leading him to seek Jonas – newly promoted to command the ninth cohort of the Phoenix. They had run – with all the men they could gather – through deserted streets, occasional civilians and stray animals scurrying fearfully out of their way. Andiss had insisted on returning with them; breathless with exhaustion from his journey, he nevertheless found the energy to tell the tale of the attack as they hastened to their destination.  
    When they arrived at the townhouse, Conlan, expecting the worst, had immediately ordered the front door smashed open.  
    As they peered into the courtyard, the scene that greeted them confirmed the truth of it. Bodies lay in disarray all around, like dolls thrown down from the veranda above, clouds of flies circled busily around their open wounds.  
    An eerie and unnatural silence pervaded the place.
    “General!” Conlan had shouted as he followed Andiss up a staircase.  
    Andiss staggered as he climbed the steps, his body perhaps registering the toll his exertion had taken.  
    Martius had appeared in a doorway on the upper level, tunic and arms caked in blood, a familiar white handled sword in his hand. The general had said nothing, relief was clear on his face, there was no sign of the smile he usually wore to battle though. He looked grim as death itself.  
    “We are safe,” Martius intoned, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Bring the medics