The morning light peers over Lorma''s house as I climb onto the steed, a beautiful chestnut beast, sent to me by one of the king''s guards not too long ago.
Even though it''s far from what I want, I have to let my men deal with the investigation into the latest victim without me.
''We need to identify the woman,'' I say to them as they and Lorma stand in line in the courtyard. ''Go around to every home in the area and ask if anyone''s missing.''
''Will do, sir,'' replies Tready.
''And make sure someone''s here when the examiner arrives today. We don''t want him waiting around, wasting his time. Time is precious.''
''I''ll look out for him,'' breathes Lorma, a look of fear in her eyes, ''let him in. That''s the least I can do.''
She''s afraid for my safety, I can tell.
''Thank you, lordess,'' I reply, bowing.
She doesn''t frown or look disappointed at me calling her by her title. She must be truly beyond frightened.
And I''m fearful for her safety too.
''Which one of you has decided to take up residence here?'' I ask my men.
''Again, Pannor, that won''t be necessary.'' Lorma says.
''Please, lordess,'' I reply. ''Knowing you have someone here to protect you will bring me great comfort on my journey.''
She bows in defeat.
''It''ll be me, sir,'' says Jac. ''I''ll be taking the spare bedroom next to the study. If I can remember where it is.''
''Good,'' I reply.
Lorma inches up to the steed, pulling a letter out from her coat. ''Can you give this to Seamil? He said he''ll say goodbye to you at the wall.''
''Will do,'' I say and take the letter, putting it in the satchel at the steed''s side.
Tightening my grip on the reins, I take a deep breath and say, ''I better be off.''
''Safe travels, sir,'' my men say together.
''And good luck,'' Tready adds.
I look down at Lorma, a tear running down her cheek.
She wipes it away before saying softy to me, ''Pannor, you and Seamil are all I have left. Don''t do anything foolish. Promise me. Promise me.''
If anyone else told me not to be foolish, I''d defend my character with a raised voice. And on the rare occurrence, a showing of my blade too.
''I promise,'' I whisper back. ''I''ll be as sensible as Fey.''
Lorma taps my good leg and says, ''Safe travels.''
I bow.
Leaving the courtyard, May comes to say goodbye as well, riding beside me for a while before trotting off to a patch of weeds sprouting nearby.
And as the city starts to breathe with souls, though pitiful it is, I take the steed easy through the streets. I don''t want to risk her going lame just as we''ve started our journey to the siege line.
Before I know it, the gate of the southern wall greets me like a monstrous iron beast, its wooden bolts like an armor of ribs. Getting closer, I notice a narrow door opening at the side.
Seamil appears.
I plod over and say, ''Thank you for seeing me off, old friend. It means a good deal. Truly. You have no idea.''
''I wish I was coming with you,'' Seamil replies, patting the rump of the steed.
''It would be nice to ride together like we once did.''
A smirk graces Seamil. ''That''s not the reason. I want to join you to make sure you don''t fuck this up.''
I smile back at the jest but it bites at me like a cold winter''s night. Deep down, does he believe I''ll do something foolish, too?
''Can you believe the king has put the fate of the city, of our people, in my aching hands and leg?'' I say.
''I can believe it.'' Seamil comes closer and whispers, ''He''s an idiot. A fucking jester.''
My smile widens and I take out the letter. ''It''s from Lorma.''
Seamil takes it and gives it a sniff before tucking it away in his uniform. ''And I''ve got something for you, too. A parting gift.'' He pulls out a corked glass hip bottle, a milky white substance sloshing away inside.
''What''s that?''
''A most potent firewater. The strongest yet. Sincerely, be careful with it, Pannor. Take too much and I''m sure you''ll go blind. Nay, your body will render into a pool of slop.'' If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.
I grab the bottle, slightly concerned it may erupt, explode like the enemy''s newest weapon, and put it away.
''Now enough with this standing around,'' says Seamil. ''I may get emotional.''
''Like the time at Giantfoot Bluff.''
Seamil frowns, making me chuckle, before he cranes his neck and yells, ''Open the gate.''
With a thunderous crack, the wooden bolts begin to slide, funneling through large slits in the side of the wall until they vanish with a rap. Then a soft creak sets off the gate. It opens up slowly from the middle before the gap widens in a rush.
''Safe travels, Pannor.'' Seamil sticks out his arm. ''And come back in one piece.''
''Will do.'' I lean over and grab his forearm and he grabs mine, a soldier''s handshake. ''And don''t steal anything while I''m gone.''
We share a hearty laugh before I steer the steed through the gateway and out of the city.
How strange, I say to myself, as a brisk breeze ruffles my hair. And all I see is the vast swath of brush and saplings where farmers fields once dotted the landscape. I also see the charred remnants of countless crashed wooden dragons.
I haven''t been outside since the siege began. It feels like I''ve been set free. Yet set free into the unknown, as if I''ve plunked onto the shores of some distant mysterious land with monsters ready to eat me alive.
I turn to see Seamil standing inside the gate. He gives me a salute, which I return eagerly and with esteem. Rules be damned.
The last time I shared a moment like this with him was when I retired from the army.
Seamil then yells, ''Close the gate.''
Swivelling back around, I set off, the Dragontop Mountains my guide to the siege line, to King Jarbora.
A road barely visible through the overgrowth and remains sends me passing farmhouse after farmhouse, with many looking as they did before my people''s imprisonment but I''m sure the roofs are as leaky as my home''s.
And one farmhouse in particular makes me stop, the stone hovel looking as small as it ever has.
I''m thankful my parents aren''t with me anymore, dying when this kingdom was at its highest, its biggest, when their son was still fighting, bringing honour to them and the family.
A glint in the window and a flash of blue makes me squint and contort my mouth.
''What in the names of the gods?'' I say before shaking my head.
For a moment I thought I saw my elixirman. My eyes deceiving me is not a good start. And I don''t linger for long after that.
Carrying on down the road, I see no sign of the enemy. Not even scouts. But maybe they are around and I just can''t see them. I resign myself to the possibility that an arrow or multiple arrows could pierce my heart at any given moment, a feeling I haven''t possessed in a very long time.
Beyond the tangled farmers'' fields, the edges of the First Forest drift into view. Like the Dragontop Mountains, it was once home to not only dragons but other mythical and legendary creatures that were hunted to extinction to feed a growing city.
I hesitate before continuing inside, the road seemingly vanishing under the forest floor. Though the dangers of yore have long gone, bandits had become prevalent before the siege, something I worked tirelessly to combat as sheriff yet failed terribly. Surely, they''re still not around.
After tapping the steed with the heel of my boot, we cross the tree line and into a world of gigantic gnarled tree roots, ponds that will suck you in and never give you up, and vines where one touch will send boils the size of eyes protruding out of every inch of your body. The road was the only guide through the hazards but without it I have to be more diligent of where I''m stepping.
The going is tough at first and gets harsher as the day continues. It''s a slog that tires the steed and myself out quickly. But gratefully, and as the sun reaches its highest in the sky for the day, we reach a familiar sight.
Darmor River.
Yet where water would once rage this time of year now only a trickle meanders through the forest.
The enemy is to blame for this. To quench their thirst during the siege, they dammed the river far upstream.
Still, there is water.
Stopping, I climb down and let the steed go free. She''s quick to quench her own thirst.
I, on the other hand, feel like something stronger. I take out the bottle Seamil gave me and take a seat on a rock, my back cracking in relief.
Being I haven''t been on a horse for such a length of time for so long, my body aches and my arse is numb.
I uncork the bottle and take a whiff.
''Fucking shit!'' I burst out, the steed pausing her drinking to give me an inquisitive look.
The smell alone would make someone high as a cloud in the sky.
I brave myself and take a sip, the milky white liquid burning my throat like hot wax. And the taste is beyond anything I''ve ever tasted. It''s like rancid butter. But the firewater does the trick, blurring my pain and my thoughts.
That''s enough for now, I say. I cork the bottle and lean back.
Memories soon wash over me as I watch the steed wander off to forage for food, making sure she doesn''t stray too far from the safety of the river bank.
I cross my brows, quite sure this is where Seamil and I would come to fish when we were children. Yes, the bend downstream looks familiar.
We''d have a wonderful time catching merass, the biggest and sweetest fish in the kingdom. What challenge they gave us puny youngins.
A chuckle escapes me as I recall always catching the heaviest between us. Seamil was sour every time.
Before we were married, Fey and I would come to the river too. We''d just swim all day, amongst other things, and have the most fun I remember ever having with her.
An image of us splashing in the water glides before me. It feels so vivid.
It''s when the steed begins drifting back to me and the firewater''s effects begin to lift when I decide it''s time to carry on with our travels.
I''m glad when the First Forest is behind me, but that soon changes when I come to the small village of Melow. I don''t enter but skirt around using another wildly overgrown road.
It was the site of the last hand-to-hand battle in this war and it shows. Every structure has been flattened except for the hall in the middle, the enemy''s banner flapping in the wind above. It fell too easy as Seamil told me, our soldiers getting quickly overpowered.
The emblem of King Jabora''s family crest, a three-headed bloodhound, sends my hatred spewing from me. I so want to rip that symbol of evil down but it''s then that I see the first enemy, a single soldier dressed in green stone mail, a bow in his hand.
He shows no sign of aggression, no sign of pursuing me.
He knows who I am and my purpose.
Once I pass the town, the road gradually clears of vegetation, becoming the bright white sandstone it should be. Then not long after, I come to a fork and the Growlers Inn, a shabby haunt I once frequented many times as a youthful soldier in training. Yet it''s enemy soldiers who come calling now.
I can see at least ten of them, a few mounted on gigantic warhorses, beasts twice the size of the king''s steed.
The soldiers eye me and let me on my way too.
I continue heading towards the Dragontop Mountains until the light begins to fade.
A strong wind starts to gust as the day draws to a close and I find shelter in a grove of trees next to the road, in a hollow sunk into the ground.
Thankfully the wind isn''t blowing towards the south. But would the enemy attack with wooden dragons if it was, knowing I''m coming? Knowing who they are, I''m sure they would.
I find a cozy spot, a wedge cut into a rocky outcrop, and build a fire with what I can gather. And once flames start to rage, sending plumes of smoke into the night air, I pull out a pot from my satchel and start cooking, my appetite growing. Soon, the hollow sizzles with the smell of bacon and the king''s steed lays down next to me.
When my stomach fills, it gurgling with delight, I rest my weary mind and close my eyes, hoping I don''t get killed in my sleep.