#sotat

One of the men ahead rode forward until he was a yard from Briar. “Pahan Briar Moss of Winding Temple and Summersea in Emelan,” he intoned in a wooden voice. “You are invited to speak with Mutabir Kemit doen Polumri.  At once.”

Old instinct and new learning fought bitterly in his head. Instinct told him to leap from his horse's back and run, as far and as fast as he could. He clenched his teeth and fought it, sweating. He wasn't a thief anymore, wasn't a street kid, wasn't meat for the Watch to grind up and spit out. He was a citizen, a pahan, not a criminal. Citizens didn't run from the Watch.

“You would have liked it if they sold you before they left?” Jayat sounded shocked.

“It would have made more sense,” I answered. “In Chammur I was a stupid slave who could barely talk. I had to run away, my master beat me so much. Then I lived on the street. You really see the good side of people that way. They chase you from their garbage heaps with brooms and rakes. They dump chamber pots on your head. They scream ‘thief!’ when you walk by, they steal what little you have, they kick you when they pass...For every person who did me a kindness, I knew twenty who left bruises on me.”