From beneath his bed, Gitata could see shadows moving under the door. Frozen as he was by fright, he could still tell that the fighting outside the room was drawing closer. His hands did little to block the sound and he heard each metallic impact more loudly than the last. The melee pressed on for some time, until eventually it calmed amidst the patter of boots running away along the hallway. He could see four feet stood on the other side of the door now and removing his hands from his ears, he could hear the panting of the two figures. The door creaked open, swinging slowly and thudding against the wall behind it.

He saw the sandals of the men more clearly; one wore a soldier's greaves and the ankles of the other man were licked by long, flowing robes.

"Empty, they must have him," said one of the voices, "look about, see if you can find him."

Gitata curled even tighter against the wall, the two pairs of feet began to circle around the room. The robed man stopped at a cupboard, swinging the doors open and rifling through its contents. The soldier's feet stood at a large trunk in the corner, toys falling to the floor about him. Then, there was a rise in the noise coming from outside of the open door.

"What's that!? Get the door!" said a voice from the robed man.

The soldier's feet turned quickly to the door, which was closed tight in the blink of an eye. The feet now pivoted to face the bed, slowly, softly, they approached the prince's hiding place. The soldier's feet hissed and the robed man likewise came closer to the bed. Seeing this, Gitata balled his fists, preparing himself for certain death, struggling to contain himself, not to cry out and call for his mother. There came the creak of leather straps being undone as a shield was propped against the wall at the foot of the bed and then a robust hand was thrust under the bed, grasping at the wooden frame and yanking it away from the floor, exposing the defenceless lad to the open air. With the lamp-light of the corridor flooding the room, Gitata could not make out the faces of the two men, who loomed over him like giants of myth from his perspective.

"Ahh, there you are," said the robed man, with a tone of relief, "we've been looking for you, Sire, we thought… something terrible had happened."

As his eyes adjusted to the new light, Gitata began to make out the features of the men. One was the high priest, Shio'adarod, a man who Gitata hardly knew, the other, a far more familiar and comforting sight, Reshabpash, in full battle array, already splattered with blood.

"Teacher! What is the meaning of all this, what's going on in the hallway, it's keeping me up!" Gitata snapped, releasing the pent up fear of the last torturous moments.

"No time for bluster, Lord, we have to get you out, now," replied Reshabpash, grasping the prince with his free hand, dragging him from the corner and to his feet.

"Don't handle me like that!"

"Stop it, Sire, you have to do exactly as I say now, this is no time for your pride."

"Reshabpash, we have to get moving, there aren't enough of us," said Shio'adarod looking at the closed door as if he could see through it.

"The priest is right, Sir, we have to go. Get your robes on and here, take my knife, you may need it."

"I don't like your tone, I am a prince."

Reshabpash looked down at the half naked boy and shook his head sternly, "Not for much longer if you don't shut up, Sir."

The prince was about to open his mouth and protest again, when the priest gathered the discarded robes and threw them over him, "We don't have time for this, we'll all be dead if you don't come with us now!"

Then Reshabpash flung open the door, running along the hallways of the living quarters, followed closely by the prince and the priest. The fires in the lamps flitted in the breeze of their passing, throwing shadows about the corridors. The darkness danced across the faces of the bodies which lay in the passages, their faces twisted in the final agonies of death, blood gushing from open wounds. Turning along one corridor, they came to the quarters of the serving women, the doorways and rooms echoing with the screams of slave girls as the palace was overtaken by some aspect of the gods of rage and hatred. More than once, Gitata's bare feet slipped in warm puddles which ran out beneath doors and dripped from the tops of short stairways, their unknown sources hidden just outside of his view.

They came to the kitchens, which had been full of cooks and slaves just minutes earlier, all working to prepare the evening meal for the Enen, now they were scenes of equal carnage as the rest of the living quarters.

"I need to rest, we cannot run all the way out of the city like this!" spluttered Shio'adarod, slamming the door shut behind him.

"We are still in the middle of it all, we can't stop now or they'll find us," replied Reshabpash.

"What is going on? I demand to know!"

"Sire, your life is in grave danger, that is all we have time to tell you now, you really do need to simply trust and follow me."

The high priest walked over to a large jar of wine, which was sat on the table at the centre of the room. He scooped a few handfuls from its cool interior, drinking deep, "Do you want some, Reshabpash? Something for the, umm… Nerves?"

"Now is not the time to drink. The boy I can carry, but I shall not be carrying you, Priest, now let's go!"

Grabbing the prince by the shoulder, Reshabpash knelt to stare him in the eyes, "Lord, draw the dagger and be ready, do not lag behind, you're their main target now. We're going to take the servants passageways to the stables, they hopefully won't be there yet, especially if your father's guards are still holding out in the feasting hall. I hope you remember the chariot lessons I've been giving you."

No time to respond, the veteran was already flying along the dark tunnels of the servant's passages. The palace was riddled with them, narrow, low-ceilinged and lit only by the cheapest and dimmest of candles, they were the manner in which the royal family ensured that their house would not be muddied by the sight of so many slaves about the place. Gitata's little legs moved at double speed, struggling to keep pace with his guardian as his lungs spasmed in breathless panic. The priest was faring even worse, falling further and further behind. These tunnels were wretched, poorly plastered, with unsurfaced floors and centuries of dust piled in every possible location, Gitata had never seen them before, and was glad of it, unpleasant and unbecoming of a young royal, he thought. Luckily for the prince, the stables were not too far from the kitchen when one followed this secret route and soon he and his teacher were there, waiting only a few moments for the arrival of old Shio'adarod.

There, each in their own booth, were the chariots of the palace. There were heavy chariots for four donkeys, waggons with four wheels and chariots like the one that Gitata trained on. There also, most important and beautiful of all was the chariot of the Enen. That chariot was centuries old, crafted by masters in each trade which had gone into its construction; the cedarwood frame was carved with pig-headed lions and the yoke at the front was shaped like the horns of a monstrous bull, details all across it were picked out in red paint and gold leaf. It was plated in shining silver and copper and encrusted with lapis lazuli and other precious gemstones, the reins were studded with golden rivets.

"That's our chariot for today, Lord," said Reshabpash, hurrying to move the Enen's prized donkeys into position to be harnessed.

"Father's chariot? No, we can't take that."

"I doubt he'll be upset, little master," said Shio'adarod, breathless, resting against a wall.

"Help me to get these bloody donkeys into place, Priest, make yourself useful!"

The old priest looked hurt but he did as he had been told, Gitata jumped into the chariot, taking up the reins and marvelling at the craftsmanship of the carvings. Finally, not long after, the two donkeys had been prepared and the two men jumped in either side of the prince.

"Do you remember what I told you about sparing your father's donkeys, Sire?" asked Reshabpash, "Ignore it today."

Gitata gave a wide grin, he was going to enjoy this. He cracked the reins, spurring the donkeys on as the chariot leapt to life, accelerating like a loosed arrow. Out of the stables, into the yard of the palace precinct, they raced, faster than the Prince had ever imagined to be possible. Outside now, Gitata could see that the fighting was between men in identical dress, all of them appeared to be the men of his father. It was then that it dawned on him what was happening; this was a coup.

"Is my father dead?"

The two men looked at one another over the boy's head, but he caught their reaction from the corner of his eye.

"Is he dead?"

"We do not know, Lord. He is certainly still inside the palace, he sent me personally to ensure that you were safe," replied Reshabpash.

"And you priest, why are you here?" asked Gitata.

"I, mm… I was in the, er, servants' quarters when it all started happening. I was with a… Lady."

Reshabpash chuckled quietly as the chariot rattled through the gates of the precinct and began to descend the main avenue from the tel. Gitata did not know what was so funny, he thought it was a very odd time to be laughing at anything.

Ahead of them, shoulder to shoulder and weapons readied, was a formation of Royal guards. They stood resolutely, facing the oncoming chariot in the middle of the road. Reshabpash seized the reins from the prince's hands, taking command of the beautiful chariot.

"Sorry, Sir, but I think this may be a bit too advanced for your current teaching."

The donkeys bellowed as they were forced to turn on a pinhead, the wheels of the chariot drifting hard to the right as is forged ahead down a side street and into one of the city's many marketplaces. The three of them ducked low as the galloping creatures smashed through stall after stall, shattered glass and pottery mixed in with the splintered remains of benches and torn awnings. Leaving the market behind them, they sped on, into more tight alleys and side streets, the wise teacher knowing the city like the back of his hand led them out and around the roadblock.

Skidding sideways, raised up onto one wheel, the chariot came back onto the main avenue, behind the formation of soldiers and only a few lengths from the great blue gates of the city. In the gateway, two teams of men struggled with all their might to shut the gates as the shining chariot rumbled towards them at breakneck speed. By the time they had reached the gate, the doors were almost too narrow to get by. In the very last moments before they were closed, first the donkeys and then the chariot passed through them, the axle tore chunks of cedarwood away from the gates, bending the bronze banding outwards as it went between them.

They were away, unpursued and the three of them flew like eagles, chased only by a cool wind which blew up the river to the north.

"Where now, Reshabpash?" asked Gitata.

"Your father ordered me to take you to your uncle, the Enen of Visig, there you shall be safe for the time being."

"Oh! Visig, such a wonderful city, have you ever been, Lord?" added Shio'adarod, "The green gates to match the blue of Dipor, the Dawn Road running to the East from its walls and all around, for miles and miles, date orchards which bear the best fruit in all the riverlands, such beauty!"

Gitata looked at the old priest, who seemed to be recalling something of his past.

"Not exactly the most appropriate time for fond reminiscences, Priest," said Reshabpash, slackening up on the donkeys slightly and passing the reins back to the prince.

"What of my father, if he is not dead already, he surely will be soon. What of my mother? Oh, gods!"

"Calm, young Sir, we will make it all alright, don't worry."

"How can I be calm, when everything is going so wrong? We have abandoned my parents to die!"

"I have done as ordered by the Enen, nothing less, you remain safe and that was always my task. First off, we need to find somewhere to stay, and tomorrow, we will have to send for help, Shio'adarod, I believe that will be your job."

"I am not going back in there!" protested the priest, eyes wide.

"Yes, you are." came the stern response.

After hours of hard riding, well into the night, the three finally made a stop in a small village beside the river. There they were welcomed, the son of the Enen and his two retainers, given bed and board for the evening and their donkeys fed and watered. The only room in town was in the house of the local big man, the village chief, who had a single storied villa. The place was grand by his own standards but unbelievably humble compared to Gitata's usual environment. All night, as he slept in the woven reed bed, the boy was tormented by mosquitoes and troubling thoughts of the near future. To his host not a word had been spoken of the circumstances which had brought him there and Gitata wondered if that had been different, would the man have handed them over to the perpetrators of the plot.

In the morning, Shio'adarod was sent off, back to the city on the cart of a local cheesemaker, who had a large shipment to deliver to a merchant there. He was sent with a message for Gadono, the chief eunuch of the court, determined by the priest to be one of the most loyal men there. The contents of the message remained largely unknown to the boy, though he was aware that the major topic was the formation of a small fighting force of still-loyal men somewhere in the hinterlands of the city. Gitata and Reshabpash, however, remained behind, politely uncomfortable in the rural home of this lesser nobleman, under fed and overheating in the midday sun, worrying about the outcome of the high priest's mission.