It was bloody raining now anyway.

“I don’t like it,” grunted Tunny, nudging back the wet bushes to peer across the Middleway.

“Neither do I,” said Hildi, wet shoulders hunched around her wet ears.

“Well, frankly, neither do I,” said Orso. “I can’t remember the last time I liked anything.” He puffed a sigh into the rain. “But what choice do we have?”

Royal servants aren’t generally supposed to disagree with kings, of course, but that had never stopped these two before, and he had been faintly hoping they might leap forwards with some unexpected alternative. The only sound they made, though, was the faint chattering of Hildi’s teeth.

Brock had the city sealed as tightly as Valint and Balk’s famous vault. They were hungry, cold, exhausted and entirely out of friends. A likely reward of thousands of marks for your capture really was a heavy load to place on anyone’s loyalty. It was getting to the point where Orso was considering turning himself in if it meant he could afford a decent meal.

They all shrank back at the sound of clattering hooves, a gilded carriage whirring through the wet night beyond the bushes in its own pool of light. Orso was sure he heard a drunken titter echoing from its open window.

“Guests leaving the royal function,” he murmured, wistfully.

“Wonder which of the perennial arse-lickers is in there,” grunted Hildi, with a sour sniff. “That lying slime Heugen. That treacherous bastard Isher.”

“Tongues neatly extracted from my rear and slipped between the Young Lion’s scarred buttocks without so much as a blush, no doubt. They used to huddle around me at those bloody events like geese at the trough.”

“You miss it?” asked Tunny.

“I don’t miss the sycophancy,” mused Orso, putting a hand to his growling stomach. “I do miss the food.”

“And the clothes,” said Tunny.

“And the roofs,” said Hildi, squinting up at the steadily pissing heavens.

“And the not being hounded by bitter enemies with unlimited resources who control every gate, wharf and corner.” Orso cringed into the shadows again at the sound of tramping feet. Beyond the bushes, wet armour gleamed as yet another patrol came past. “Those were good times,” he whispered.

There was a brief pause.

“Admit it,” said Tunny, “you miss the sycophancy, too.”

“Little bit, but, honestly? I was in a wretched state back then. I actually feel much more cheerful starving out here in the rain.” Orso gave a disbelieving chuckle. He was a riddle even to himself. “Once I’m out of the city…” He did not mention the other, more likely possibility. The one involving a halving of the number of living High Kings of the Union. “You should have no trouble getting away yourselves. Tunny, send that standard to my mother and sister in Sipani. They can use it as a tablecloth or something.”

“It’ll stay on the pole,” growled Tunny, “and be ready when you need it.”

“Let me come with you.” Hildi gripped him by the wrist. “You need…