《Sieged》


 Chapter One

    My stomach growls as I limp down the dark and empty street, the echoes of my old and tattered boots hitting the cobblestones no match for the sound of my hunger.


    A spoonful of soured cabbage and a sliver of salted beef as tough as my leather mail armor for dinner. How pitiful. Our rations are getting smaller and smaller with every passing month, the theft sure to quicken the decrease.


    Bastards.


    I have enough to deal with.


    Suddenly, my cravings, my ravenous pangs twist violently into a shearing pain and I wince in agony.


    Fucking leg.


    I fumble through my pocket and pull out a bottle, my hands shaking to get it uncorked. But it''s futile. There''s not a single drop of elixir left.


    Gods be damned.


    More than anything I want to let out my frustration, to yell, to cry as if I was on the battlefield, to smash the bottle with all my might against the earth, but a light soon floods around my black coat, casting my long-haired shadow onto a carriage wheel left to rot on its side.


    Gazing over my shoulder, I see a candle fluttering behind a window, its flame as meagre as its wick. But still. And for a second, I hear the soft murmurs of giggling children in their beds.


    With what this city has been through, with what they''ve been through, I commend them for still finding the muster to laugh. I wonder what the future will hold for them. I''m hopeful but I know the reality.


    I shuffle towards the light. And when I reach the thatched hovel, I rap quietly on its front door.


    A young woman in a ratty nightgown too big for her answers shortly.


    ''Sheriff Harg,'' she says, her mouth quivering in dread, ''is anything wrong? Has there been an attack? Did something happen to my husband? Please say no. I beg you, please say no. He is all I have left.''


    Apart from him being a soldier, I don''t know who her husband is. I don''t know who she is. Although, I''ve probably walked past her countless times on duty. I''ve probably even greeted and bowed to her.


    ''There has been no attack,'' I reply. ''We would have heard.''


    Relief washes over the woman''s pale face. She wipes away a tear.


    I continue, ''I came knocking to tell you that I can see your light from the street. If you''re going to use candles at night, or anything that produces a flame, you must close your shutters. You don''t want to give the enemy a target. Not only will you put your life at risk but others too.''


    ''I''m so sorry,'' the young woman breaths, mortified. ''I was certain I closed all the shutters before I lit the candle-which I rarely do, for it is the only one I have left. I always do. You must believe me. Am I in trouble?''


    I''m not going to throw her in jail. I would never for such a mistake. But even if I was a cruel sheriff and did lock her away, word would surely reach her husband and he''d not be too pleased. We don''t need any more wicks leading to our destruction to burst into flame, even if it is just a single star amongst the countless in the night''s sky.


    ''Just don''t do it again,'' I say with an unemotional smile and a curt nod.


    The young woman opens her mouth to respond when her stomach grumbles before fizzling out with a whistle.


    ''My pardons,'' she says, the dim candlelight showing her flush.


    ''No need for apologies,'' I reply, ''Everyone''s stomach is doing that nowadays.'' I then bow. ''I bid you goodnight.''


    ''Goodnight, sheriff,'' says the young woman.


    But as she''s about to close the door, I quickly blurt out, ''Oh, one more thing. . . .''


    ''Yes, sheriff.''


    ''When someone knocks, especially at night, make sure you know who they are before opening the door. Yes? As you know, the world has more evil than good.''


    ''Yes.''


    ''Good. And goodnight.''


    ''Goodnight, sheriff.''


    I bow again and trudge on, light soon vanishing from the street. I''m not far along when a breeze flitters by, carrying a familiar smell. It''s strong and earthy with a hint of pig dung. And it makes my belly churn again.


    After five years of this city under siege, I can''t believe he still has a supply of berry weed. The southern wall is not far away. Should I go and say hello to my friend? I haven''t seen him in ages. More than two weeks. A few moments won''t hurt my investigation. Who knows, maybe he can help or give me a pang of inspiration. My head always clears in his presence.


    I change direction and follow the smell. It takes me past my old army barracks, under one of the many disused and crumbling aqueducts in the city, and through a tiny park once lined with glorious silverbark trees, their foliage a vibrant purple. Now, and like many other parks in the city, it sprouts vegetables.


    Past the skeletal remains of the Southern Market, its thatched roof no more, I enter an alleyway, the narrow walk space eventually opening up into a small square. Soldiers, at least four dozen of them, and all dressed in armour, are resting, resting before their next shift.


    I hear loud snores and quiet chatter and see men eating their grotesquely small and cold rations. Several heads gravitate towards me. Some bow and I bow in return. Others salute but only soldiers are allowed to salute back.


    At the far end, a soldier stands guard below a set of stairs carved into the monstrous sandstone boulders of the southern wall, its tiny flecks of crystals glinting ever so despite the night.


    Closing in on him, I see through his crooked helmet that his eyes are shut.


    Unlike the other soldiers, he shouldn''t be resting. We don''t need some nefarious individuals sneaking up and causing chaos amongst our first and only line of defence.


    I stop in front of him and clear my throat.


    The soldier wakes with a start, taking a step back. His right hand grabs the hilt of the sword tucked into his belt.


    I do the same, to defend myself if it comes to that.


    I shouldn''t have startled him.


    ''Sheriff,'' he quacks, immediately releasing his grip. ''I just closed my eyes for a second, I swear.''If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    I can''t count how many times I nodded off at my post when I was in the army. And a few of those I was caught and punished.


    ''No worries, soldier.'' I say. I would be more concerned if there weren''t the other soldiers around. ''I won''t tell anyone.''


    ''Thank you, sir.''


    ''Just please don''t do it again.''


    ''Yes, sheriff.''


    ''Is Commander Frum up there?'' I nod above us.


    ''He is, sir, but I''m not sure where precisely.''


    ''May I. I need to have a word with him about something important.''


    With speed, and a bit of a stumble, the soldier moves aside.


    ''Thank you,'' I say before bowing and beginning the climb, my left leg tormenting me beyond comparison with every step not long after.


    Maybe this was a mistake.


    How I wish I was never injured. That was a dark day for me. One of many. But it paled in comparison with the blackest, the one that took my everything away from me. Took her. Took my true love.


    Making it to the top feels like I''ve just traversed the entire kingdom, before the war changed its borders, from the Sapphire Sea in the east to the Vanishing Dunes in the west.


    Between the wall''s merlons, alert soldiers stare out into the dark, the lights from the enemy''s giant torches spanning the entire horizon and all the way up the Dragontop Mountains.


    I eye the fabled peaks a little longer, imaging the flaming lights as the breaths of dragons.


    Those days are long gone. The real dragons that once caused havoc for the residents of a growing town that is now my city have turned to wooden ones, weapons of the enemy.


    ''Sheriff,'' a voice says, breaking me out of my contemplation.


    I glance over to see a soldier gazing at me, his loaded crossbow lowered, aimed at his feet.


    ''Any signs of an impending attack?'' I ask, hopeful of nothing. This city needs more time to calm and heal itself from the last barrage. It was quite violent.


    ''We''ve seen no movement from here,'' the soldier replies, ''or heard any horns, sir.''


    I just nod in response at the welcoming news but that could change any moment. ''Where can I find Commander Frum? I need a word.''


    ''He''s in the catapult tower, sir. In a meeting with the king''s advisor.''


    My annoyance shows and a faint grin spreads on the soldier''s pockmarked face.


    The king''s advisor is not the most respected person. Hated would be a better word.


    As I go on my way, I pass more soldiers, too many to count. Then I see it, appearing out of the gloom, emerging like a pillared nest of a winged leviathan.


    Built in the first war between our kingdom and the Kingdom of Rhagor, the catapult tower pierces the sky, shooting up into sailing and scattered clouds.


    Once there, I''m welcomed by a dozen of the commander''s guards stationed at the tower''s gate, men I trained when I was an army sergeant. It''s good to see them in one piece.


    ''Is that you, Mendy?'' I ask the baby-faced soldier.


    ''It is, serg¨C sir,'' he replies.


    Many, especially the ones I garnered close relationships with, still wrongly call me sergeant. And if Mendy didn''t correct himself, I would have set in right.


    ''It looks like you''re finally getting some stubble on your face,'' I say, knowing a bit of levity can take the edge off.


    The others laugh, which makes me smirk.


    ''Yes, sir,'' Mendy says.


    After a bit more banter, me doing all of it, the soldiers clear a path, two of them opening the gate behind them. I walk through and the smell of berry weed smoke hits me like an ax to the face.


    It truly is most oppressive and I still don''t know how he can smoke it. It tastes like the Bogs of Death. I tried it once with disastrous consequences and never had the desire to try again. I think I can taste the soured cabbage coming up.


    Inside is dark, too dark to see, but I know my way, the tower once a second home. I keep to the left and find the circular, ascending stairs. Relieved I don''t have to go to the very top, I climb.


    And slowly, light seeps eerily down from above. The further I go, the brighter it gets until it''s as bright as day. Several lamps fluttering before a set of hefty iron doors is the source.


    I stomp onto the dusty stone floor, off the stairs that continue up, and walk over to the doors. I can hear Sir Blouf, the king''s advisor, yelling at my old friend, his voice as sharp and painful as one of the queen''s yapping lap dogs.


    As commander of the king''s army, my friend deserves more respect than that. If it wasn''t for him, we''d have perished a long time ago.


    I decide to interrupt, pounding the side of my fist into the iron doors. It is beyond thunderous.


    The baying shouts stop before I hear Sir Blouf say, ''We''ll continue this conversation at another time.''


    ''If we must,'' the voice of my friend replies.


    The response makes me laugh.


    The iron doors soon fling open with force, almost catching me and sending me on my backside. Sir Blouf then marches out, a sour look on his severe thin face. One look at me, his black eyes boring a hole though my soul, and the sourness increases with a snarl.


    ''Sir Blouf.'' I bow deeply, my eyes following his blood red robe down to his serpent scale boots.


    New clothes. It must be nice.


    Not returning my gesture, Sir Blouf disappears down the stairs.


    ''I hate that man,'' a voice says behind me.


    I turn to see my old friend, his tired and weary round face aged since I last saw him. But always a sight for sore eyes.


    From his elven made chainmail, he pulls out the behemammoth tusk pipe I gifted him when we were younger. He lights it and raises it up to his greying brown beard.


    ''I hope he doesn''t hear you, Seamil,'' I say.


    ''I don''t care if he does, Pannor.'' Seamil takes a puff from the pipe and blows the smoke towards me in jest.


    He knows I hate it and I frown at his attempt at humour.


    ''You should care,'' I finally say after wafting the smoke from my face. ''He''s the king''s advisor.''


    ''The man is a pompous ass who thinks this city revolves around him.'' Seamil then snaps a finger at me. ''Do you want a drink?''


    ''What kind of drink are we talking about?''


    ''A drink that will put fire in your belly. Well, more an inferno than a fire. No, more hellwind than inferno.''


    ''I can''t say no to that.''


    I haven''t had a drink in months. Maybe it will help with the pain in my leg.


    I follow Seamil through the iron doors and into a room lit by more lamps. It''s not the most grand quarters for the king''s commander but Seamil has never cared for that sort of splendour, unlike other commanders in the past or city officials now.


    Apart from a hearth charred with soot and a moth-ridden cot in the corner, two tables take up much of the space. One is strewn with unfurled maps of the city and the surrounding areas, and the other is a desk, a pile of letters stacked high.


    Seamil walks behind his desk and sits down, his hand quick to an ugly flagon shaped like a giant squid, another one of my gifts. Then with his pipe hanging freely from his mouth, his other hand grabs a cup. He pours me a drink of dark green liquid and I take it, chugging its contents down with one gulp.


    He was right. It burns. But it''s pleasant.


    Seamil smirks. ''Needed that I''m sure.''


    ''Sure did.'' I raise my empty cup. ''What is it? More precisely, what''s it made from?''


    ''You don''t want to know.''


    ''It can''t be worse than that fermented bat shit you gave me a year ago.''


    ''There are a lot worse things down in the city''s sewers than bats.''


    ''Will I die from it?''


    ''I haven''t yet.''


    Seamil pours me another drink. I take my time with this one, just taking a sip.


    ''So what was that all about with Sir Blouf?'' I ask.


    Seamil takes a long puff from his pipe. ''The king wants to attack the enemy. He wants us to leave the city and try our luck.''


    ''That''s suicide,'' I reply, shocked at the notion.


    ''That''s what I relayed back to the king. And I advised him that we don''t. Sir Blouf did not take too kindly to that and came to see me, to see if I could change my mind. He actually showed me how we could do it.'' He waves to the maps on the other table. ''A man with no battle experience lectured the commander of the army on how to attack the enemy. It took a lot to not laugh right in his gormless face. In fact, it took a lot to not punch him. I have a feeling it was him who suggested the idea to the king.''


    ''Being the idiot he is, I''m sure it was,'' I say. ''He yelled at me too. This morning.''


    ''For what reason?'' Seamil asks.


    ''For not finding the culprit who stole the food from the granary.''


    Pouring a drink for himself, Seamil replies, ''But that was just a few days ago.'' He then proceeds to empty his cup.


    ''It was. I''m a smart man but that''s asking too much of me.''


    Speaking of food, and as I place my own cup down on the desk, I notice a bowl of porridge next to the pile of letters. My stomach begins to beg for it.


    Seamil sees my wanting expression. ''Have it.''


    I shake my head.


    ''Please. Eat. I''m full to overflowing,'' Seamil continues.


    ''Full? Please don''t lie,'' I reply. ''Nobody, except for the royal court and probably the granary thief, has been full in this city in a long time.''


    ''Suit yourself.''


    ''How''s the wife?''


    Seamil shrugs. ''I''ve seen you more than Lorma in the past couple of months. I haven''t been able to get away. I hope this is not asking much but do you think you could make sure she''s fine? Go over to that monstrosity of a house of ours? Her just seeing your old face for a second would ease my worry.''


    I nod. ''I''ll go tomorrow.''


    ''Thank you, old f¡ª''


    An ear-piercing roar bounded up from below and through the doors, making me tense up.


    ''ATTACK!!''


    ''WOODEN DRAGONS!!''


    ''ALL SOLDIERS TO THEIR STATIONS!!''


    The peel from the catapult tower''s earth-quaking bell follows, setting off the alarm bells in the city one by one, their sharp faint noise loud enough to hear.


    My friend and I give each other that look. A look of fear and determination with a hint of excitement. A look we''ve given one another countless times.

 Chapter Two

    ''ATTACK!!''


    ''WOODEN DRAGONS!!''


    ''All SOLDIERS TO THEIR STATIONS!!''


    Seamil and I bolt to our feet, him faster than I.


    ''Let''s go friend,'' he says, stubbing his pipe out with a finger. He bounds from his chair, grabs his golden elven helmet from the cot and shoves it over his head. Then after grabbing his sword leaning against the hearth, he flees down the stairs.


    Meanwhile, I down the rest of my drink and follow as best as I can, finding Seamil just outside the tower gate and looking out over the wall towards the Dragontop Mountains.


    I turn to them myself. And that''s when I see them, lights growing bigger and bigger. A strong wind whips at my face. They should be here shortly.


    Over the cannonade ringing of the bell above our heads, Seamil shouts to me, ''Pannor, go command the ballista tower on the west end. And hurry. We need javelins aloft immediately. Send these bastards a welcoming gift. Send them out of the sky.''


    He quickly forgets about my injury, that I''m not in the army anymore.


    ''Commander Frum,'' I shout calmly and respectfully. ''I need to get to my men. I have my duties.''


    Seamil looks at me and hangs his head in realization.


    He''s disappointed. As am I. I would give anything to fight beside him once again. To take up arms against the enemy.


    ''Yes,'' he then says bitterly. ''Be safe, Sheriff Harg.''


    ''And you, commander,'' I reply. ''Goodfight.''


    We shake hands and I depart, leaving him to the defence of the city.


    As fast as my injured leg can take me, I make it to the wall''s steps. Soldiers that were resting in the small square down below are now racing up with synchronized urgency, the sleeping soldier in the lead.


    ''Goodfight, men,'' I say to them.


    I''m halfway down when I hear a barrage of catapults being launched, shaking the air around me. The coming onslaught must be close.


    When my boots touch the square, everywhere lights up as if the sun has fallen from the sky.


    Damn! The catapults are missing.


    I look up to see the flaming wings of a gigantic wooden monster sailing over the wall, its suicide rider perched on the neck of the beast. And as it disappears over the roofs, streaking to find a target, I tail it back to the street, where chaos ensues.


    Screaming is all I hear.


    Families, women and their children, old husbands and wives, rush past me, petrified. It''s a scene I''ve witnessed countless times for five years and I''ve never got used to it.


    A family runs into me, a small girl hitting into my leg.


    I grimace, trying hard not to scare them even more.


    ''I''m sorry, sheriff,'' the mother cries.


    ''Please be careful,'' I reply. ''And please calmly make your way to a bunker.'' I then shout it to everyone else around me.


    Nobody listens. They never do.


    Looking back up, I see the wooden dragon glide deeper into the city. It descends with a roar before smashing into a building. The flames flare with an almost volcanic eruption, engulfing and spreading.


    I turn around. More are coming. Then suddenly . . . .


    BOOM!


    Wooden dragons explode in the air, sending fiery debris plummeting to the ground just before the wall.


    ''The ballistas have entered the fray,'' I say to myself.


    Good. They''re the best weapons we have for them. Unfortunately, however, they only stop a few, a line of the wooden dragons continuing, soaring over the wall and over my head. The heat from them beats down on my face.


    It''s time to get to my men.


    With every street I limp, more terrified residents clatter and scurry around. And at last, I come to the small stone bailey that is the sheriff''s keep. I rush into the yard and find my men waiting for me as they always do, staring up into the sky.


    ''What do we do, sir?'' asks my right hand man. He scratches the stump of his arm irritably.


    ''What we always do, Aldo,'' I reply. ''Make sure laws aren''t broken.''


    ''Jac?'' I turn to the one-eyed rake of a young man. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ''Yes, sir?'' he replies.


    ''Can you send a bird to Sergeant Merry? Tell him to take his men and help guard the granary and the greenhouses. This would be a perfect time for our thief to steal more food. Or anyone for that matter. Also, send a message to Sergeant Twine. Tell him I need him at the elixery. I got lambasted by an elixirman the last time we were attacked. He said an angry woman punched several of them for not tending to her injuries fast enough, obviously blaming us for her violence. That''s it.''


    ''Will do, sir.'' Jac runs off, bounding up the keep''s steps and inside, heading to the pigeon coop at the very top.


    ''We should be on the wall helping, helping to defend our people,'' the man before me says in frustration, making the gash running down his face open. He winces, a drop of blood pooling under his chin.


    I''m about to say my bit when another chimes in.


    ''You say this every time, Scar,'' the bald man next to him says. He taps his right leg, it sounding hollow as if he was knocking on a door. ''We''re gimps. Fucking deal with it. This is our duty. Our duty now.''


    I couldn''t have said it better.


    ''You may not be able to fight the enemy with that peg leg, Tready,'' says Scar, ''but I can.''


    Tready opens his mouth to respond, an insult about his face I''m sure, when I growl, ''Enough. Scar, Tready, go get the crossbows. Who knows, we may need them tonight.''


    ''Yes, sir,'' they both say, no hint of their bickering in their voices. Like Jac, the two men then rush into the keep.


    Once back and equipped, we head out. And the instant the city''s residents see my men and I carrying crossbows, their panic becomes more tame. The chaos lessens to a loud commotion.


    Violent weapons do wonders for order. Well, mostly.


    ''All right, men,'' I say, ''to your patrols.''


    My men split off, going in separate directions. I head to Tinney Street, where shops, some still operating, but mostly not, line the thoroughfare.


    A growing roar ruptures my ears. I look up only to be briefly blinded. A wooden dragon soars through the air. I lose sight before hearing a commanding crash in the distance.


    Down several streets, the crowds becoming less and less, I round a corner and see a woman late getting to her bunker. She''s doing her best to carry the two baby baskets in her hands but she''s struggling.


    I sling the crossbow over my shoulder and go help.


    ''Thank you, kindly, Sheriff Harg,'' she replies, as I take one of the baby baskets, a surprisingly sleeping baby inside.


    The tiny creature is used to the besieging drum. How very sad.


    ''Thank you,'' she repeats.


    ''Not at all,'' I reply. ''Come on, let''s get you and your babies to safety.'' I then guide her to the nearest bunker, a deep hole dug below a park rustling with golden wheat.


    The stone entrance is guarded by vigils, a group of people consisting of gimpy men, as Tready would say, and unmarried, childless women.


    Despite the involuntary duty, the vigils serve with honor and are a great help to my men and I in times of disaster.


    After making sure the woman and her babies are settled below, I head back towards Tinney Street. But I''m not far along, when I see a line of people side by side coming towards me. They''re not running but are swift, like a moving regiment. And they''re all carrying something.


    Weapons? Have the enemy breached the walls?


    I tense up.


    But I didn''t hear the ringing of the Breaching Bells.


    I raise my crossbow, ready to shoot, when I notice they''re not carrying weapons but buckets.


    More vigils. On fire-fighting duty. Off to collect water or extinguish a building.


    I lower my crossbow and continue on to Tinney Street, where the sound of shattering glass welcomes my arrival.


    Someone has decided to take advantage of the attack. Despicable for one of our people but sadly not rare. Where are their morals?


    Knowing the herbalist is still running his apothecary and is most likely the target, I cautiously wander over using a narrow and covered pathway behind the shops. Creeping with my crossbow raised, I reach the back door. I hear a clamour inside, the clanking of jars and bottles.


    This burglar has no care that someone might hear. The brashness of it makes me sick.


    I gaze down at my feet and see shards of glass, lights from the growing number of fires in the city making them shimmer like flecks of dried blood. I then look up and see a broken window on the floor above.


    The burglar climbed up. With my bum leg, I won''t be doing that to get in.


    ''It''s brute force or nothing,'' I say to myself.


    I lean back before giving it my all, driving my shoulder into the door. The barrier crashes open and I raise my crossbow once again.


    ''Shit!'' a high shrill voice yells in the dark.


    A moment later, I hear something whizzing through the air. I don''t duck in time and glass shatters over my crossbow, a few pieces hitting my face.


    It takes a lot for me to not shoot wildly into the abyss. And I don''t know why I don''t.


    Taking a step inside brings more bottles, one hitting my left leg and sending another violent pain through my body.


    But again, I don''t shoot, yelling instead, ''Show yourself.''


    This brings the brief scuttling of boots. Not mine.


    ''Show yours¨C''


    A tiny shadow bolts out of the darkness and bumps into me. Shamefully, the little impact puts me off kilter and sends me to the ground.


    ''Fucking leg,'' I scream as the tiny shadow flees out the back door.


    I lumber back to my feet and peer out into the pathway, the shadow disappearing.


    ''Shit!'' I grumble, unable to follow.


    But shit indeed. That voice sounded familiar.


    Despite the futility, I still search for the burglar as I continue my patrol. But that doesn''t last long.


    As I''m nearing the end of Tinney Street, light explodes above me and my face begins to sweat. I can hear the cackling cries of the suicide rider over the flaming wooden dragon''s pops and hisses.


    With a yaw the destructive beast dives before me and slams into a home. Flames mushroom and overwhelm, the heat hotter than hellwind. It''s as if a hundred suns had just appeared in the heavens.


    Vigils are quick to the scene, fifty or so of them, all carrying buckets.


    Being this is my patrol, I stay to help. We need to get the fire under control.


    Wearing a rusting old army helmet, worthless for a soldier on the wall, the leader of the group calls out to my dismay, ''This rages too much for us. Everyone, we carry on to the next.''


    The vigils start to leave when I pounce, ''Come on. We can save it.'' I yank a bucket out of a vigil''s hand to realize that it''s not filled with water but grit. I then grab another bucket. It too is filled with grit.


    ''Where''s the water?'' I yell.


    Walking with a more pronounced limp than mine, the leader comes over and says, ''The king has decreed that water can not be used to douse fires any longer, sheriff.''


    ''When did His Majesty decree this?'' I seethe, shocked at the news.


    ''Just yesterday.''


    ''Did His Majesty give a reason?''


    ''The water in the reservoir is beginning to run low,'' the leader replies. ''We must conserve for our survival.''


    ''We won''t survive if this city burns.''


    ''His Majesty has decreed it.''


    I lift up the bucket. ''So this what you use to extinguish fires now? Grit.''


    ''Yes, sheriff. And that is in short supply as well. We need to choose our fights.''


    I gaze at the burning building, the flames licking the air higher and higher. ''This could spread.''


    ''Yes, it could, but what can we do?''


    I curse the king once the vigils leave. A curse that brings a sudden welcoming noise. Bells. A parade of peels begin to dance around the city, announcing that the attack has ceased, ceased until the next.


    The curse also brings a drop of water to my nose. The wind that brought the wooden dragons has also brought rain.


    What luck.

 Chapter Three

    A plinking sound wakes me out of my poor, almost non-existent slumber. I crane my head and glance over the foot of my bed. Water seeps through a crack in the roof, trickling down into my near overflowing piss pot. I try to sit up but pain shoots up my leg and I fall back, almost slamming into the headboard.


    Thank the gods it''s still raining but it''s not kind to my body. Ever since my injury it never has. My head hurts too. It pounds and kneads. It''s as if I''ve been kicked squarely between the eyes by some raging warhorse.


    Gritting my teeth, I sling myself out of bed and thump to the window, catching myself with outstretched hands on the sill. The fresh morning air washes over me as soon as I open it. Rain pours onto the ghostly street below. It cascades and patters. It ebbs and flows with varying ferocity, and I can see no flame or smoke billowing in the air.


    Yes, such a gift from the heavens. I pray it continues forever. Rain means no attack from wooden dragons and if the reservoir is running low, this will surely make it swell. The parks in the city will thrive with all this water too, which will ease the theft''s burden.


    It''s early. Too early. I did not sleep long at all. A couple of hours at most. I still feel tired but I know I won''t be able to close my eyes again.


    I turn around and check the crack in the roof. It''s getting worse. Wider. Longer. And it festers just like my leg. With supplies I could fix it with ease ¨C getting on the roof would be the hardest part ¨C but there''s just nothing available left in the city. I empty the full piss pot before placing it back under the dribble.


    After getting dressed into my sheriff''s coat, I head downstairs to the kitchen, where I start rummaging through the cabinets. I''m looking for one thing. Elixir. But all I see are empty bottles. Too many to count.


    I need to get more. I yearn for it. I tremble for it. It tortures me like a brain in a rack.


    And as soon as my thoughts descend on the particular person that can give me what I want, he so happens to walk through the kitchen door without permission. As if what''s mine is his.


    ''You really hate knocking, don''t you,'' I say to my personal elixirman. ''Love sneaking into my home. Do you do this when I''m not here?''


    The man, five years my junior and wearing a vibrant blue cloak, trudges over to the kitchen table and sits down. Then combing his manicured mustache, he replies, ''Like all the times before, I just came by to see how you''re getting along.''


    ''Well my leg''s still killing me,'' I growl.


    ''Is that it?''


    ''Is that it!'' I raise my voice.


    ''There''s nothing else?'' he just asks without any reaction to my growing hostility.


    ''There''s never been anything else. It''s always just been my fucking leg. How many times do I have to tell you that?'' I then ape his question to myself, ''There''s nothing else? There''s nothing else?'' before saying, ''It''s as if you are day and night, echoing over and over and over.''


    My elixirman frowns.


    He always frowns.


    ''Don''t give me that face,'' I say. ''Just give me more of your elixir.''


    ''Unfortunately, sheriff,'' my elixirman replies, ''there won''t be anymore. I just can''t get a hold of the ingredients, any ingredients, these days.''


    ''You''re jesting me,'' I snap.


    ''I wish I was.''


    ''And what am I supposed to do?''


    ''There''s nothing you can do.''


    ''But what about my duties? It''s hard enough without me wanting to saw my leg off with my teeth.''


    ''That''s what I want to talk to you about. And you may not like what I''m about to say¨C''


    ''I''m sure I won''t¨C''


    ''But I implore you to retire from the law.''


    I give him a warning look. ''I will forget you said that. And I implore you to keep your opinions to yourself in the future. You are not my sage. You are not my friend. You are not my wife.''


    He gives me a frown again, something I''d love to wipe from his face. He then gets back to his feet.


    ''If you''re not going to listen, I should be off,'' he says.


    ''That''s a good idea.''


    Once the insufferable man leaves as quickly as he came, I eat my morning ration of food. More soured cabbage and salted beef. A cup of treebean brew would wonderfully wash it down and give me a jolt I need but I drank all my allowance weeks ago.


    My mind turns to Seamil. I hope nothing happened to him. I don''t remember seeing any of the wooden dragons hitting the wall and that gives me some relief. I then remember that I promised him I''d go see Lorma. I''ll do that before going to the Dumps. It will be nice seeing her.


    The stone dwelling that is my home is attached to a foundry, its blacksmith a kind old man with great talents. And as I walk outside, I can hear him hard at work. Metal pounds metal. He keeps extremely busy during these times, not even stopping when there''s an attack. Not a soldier but a warrior. It''s good to have him as a neighbor. He reminds me to keep plodding on. To stay with what this world has entrusted me with, my duties.


    I pull up the hood of my sheriff''s coat, hiding my face from the rain. I whistle loudly and sharply, the blacksmith stopping what he''s doing.


    ''Morning, sheriff,'' the man yells from inside, his raspy voice swelling out from the open entrance.


    ''Morning, Able,'' I shout in reply and he goes back to work. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    It only takes a dozen or so moments before I hear the clopping of hooves between Able''s hammer strikes. I look down the street and see the wet rag of a donkey appear, the intended target of my whistle. She stops to eat some grass poking up from the cobblestones before continuing towards me.


    ''Morning, May,'' I say as soon as the animal is in reach. I pet her, ruffling her soaking head with a hand. ''I hope all the commotion last night didn''t frighten you. Come on, I need you to take me somewhere.''


    May follows me to the back of my home, where my sheriff''s carriage awaits. I secure her to the reins and hop on the driver''s seat, which is easier said than done.


    ''Walk on,'' I say and we slowly head off.


    Passing the homes of several of my men, all still alive and asleep in their beds, we reach the gateway to the inner city, a walled off section for the higher ups, the officials, lords and lordesses, and the once  well-to-do merchants.


    The guards, looking worse for wear, let me through with ease.


    To say that the inner city is unlike the rest of the city would be putting it delicately. An entirely different world many have said. The siege, however, is doing its bit to slowly eat away at that. The grand homes and buildings are showing tear. Many probably have leaks in their roofs like mine.


    The streets of marble slab glisten with the rain, making it seem like the carriage is riding atop rivers. Before the siege, they were kept pristine, the slabs being replaced when they needed to be. Now, there are too many cracks.


    In time, I arrive at my friend''s home. It''s as big as all the other homes with a courtyard of overgrown hedges and a foul smelling, moss-covered fountain that has seen better days.


    I''m surprised to see Lorma staring out one of the large ground windows, her green eyes dazzling in the dreariness. She''s surprised to see me too, but a smile grows on her slender beautiful face and she waves. With my own smile, I wave back before she disappears.


    I fumble off the carriage to then see her standing inside the front entrance, a green morning robe to match her eyes wrapped tightly around her small frame. She would only greet a good friend in such attire. Yes, not very lady-like otherwise.


    I don''t know how long I''ll be here so I untie May and let her wander off once again.


    As I walk up, Lorma smiles again and says, ''Aren''t you a sight for sore eyes.''


    ''Likewise, lordess,'' I reply back, taking off my hood.


    Her smile fades and she gives me a wicked eye.


    ''How many times have I told you not to call me that,'' she says. ''I have known you, Pannor, as long as I''ve known Seamil.''


    I wink at her playfully. ''You know I jest.''


    ''But when have I ever laughed at that?''


    ''Never,'' I admit.


    ''But you continue to call me lordess.''


    With a smirk, I shrug.


    Lorma shakes her head before saying with a huff, ''Come in out of the rain.'' She then glides inside.


    I''m right behind, soon taking off my coat and hanging it on a hook next to the suit-of-armor the late lord, Lorma''s father, wore in battle. Memories flood my mind. Seamil and I fought under his command, leading to Seamil and Lorma meeting and getting married.


    ''Let''s go to the kitchen,'' Lorma says and guides the way.


    The kitchen has become the favorite gathering spot for many under the siege. Being close to your food is like sitting by a fire, someone said to me.


    We walk down a corridor where vases of exotic flowers once stood but now stand empty collecting dust and grime.


    The eeriness of the place gets me every time I visit. Noise from servants used to be endless, but since the males had to join the army and the females the vigils, sound is more than absent. I don''t know how Lorma can live in this big home all by herself. If I was Seamil, I would worry unceasingly.


    The kitchen is twice as big as my kitchen and bedroom combined. She waves a hand over a chair beside the work table and I take a seat.


    ''I see you have a new friend,'' she says, sitting down on the opposite side.


    I scrunch up my face, confused. The last friend I made was my wife. And before that, Seamil.


    ''The donkey,'' she explains.


    I grin from ear to ear. ''Ah, yes. And a good companion, too.''


    ''What happened to Bess?''


    ''She was taken. Confiscated.''


    ''Confiscated? Why?''


    ''For consumption.''


    Lorma gasps. ''Poor thing. I''m so sorry.''


    I nod somberly. ''If I ever get a ration of horse meat, I will not be eating it.''


    ''Neither. She was such a lovely creature.''


    ''Indeed she was. We had many a good rides.''


    ''So how did you come to be with the donkey?''


    ''The man who took Bess away gave her to me as an apology. He was assaulted several years ago at a tavern, almost meeting his maker, and I caught the man who did it. He said he owed me.''


    ''Do you board her at the same stables you kept Bess?''


    I shake my head. ''The stables were torn down to grow vining sugarfruit. All the horses there were confiscated.''


    ''Where do you keep her then? Don''t tell me you let her in your house. Fey would not approve.''


    ''No, she wouldn''t have,'' I say sadly.


    ''So where? At the sheriff''s keep? In the yard?''


    ''It gets too crowded there. I just let her go free. Let her wander the streets and I call her when I need her. Nevertheless, when it came to Bess, I couldn''t feed her any more. Nothing was available. She was starting to get thin.''


    ''Well how do you feed the donkey?''


    ''I don''t. She''s very good at sneaking onto the king''s lawns.''


    ''Really?''


    ''Yep. I saw her once feeding with the royal steers.''


    ''So the king gets to keep his horses?''


    ''Are you surprised?''


    ''Not at all.'' There''s a pause before Lorma asks, worry washing over her. ''Have you seen Seamil since the attack? He sent me a message saying he was fine but you know how he likes to tell me fibs about his health.''


    ''When has he ever done that?'' I play dumb. Well, try to anyway.


    ''The time he got stabbed at the Battle of Aporah. He never told me about it until I saw the wound mark.''


    ''I didn''t know about that.''


    ''Pannor, I''m losing my mind here while Seamil is on the wall. More so than when you and him were away for months on end with the army.'' There''s another pause before she continues, ''I wish Fey was still with us. I miss her so much.''


    ''I wish she was still here too,'' I say, fiddling with my wedding ring.


    ''She would have made everything so much better.''


    ''There''s no doubt about that.''


    ''You''re looking very skinny, Pannor,'' Lorma says after a pause. ''Fey would hate to see that. Would you like some food?''


    ''I can''t take your food.''


    ''Please, let me make you something. My hands are too idle these days.''


    I don''t refuse a second time.


    Lorma gets up from her chair and starts to cook, the smell of bacon sizzling in a pan soon wafting in the air and making me drool.


    ''Where did you get bacon?'' I say. ''I haven''t had a ration in weeks. I don''t think anyone I know has either. Well, except you clearly. Did you hear about the theft at the granary?''


    ''I did,'' says Lorma, flipping a rasher at the stove.


    ''They stole bacon, amongst other things. Oats, apples from the greenhouses, all sorts.''


    ''Did they now?''


    ''You''re not the thief, are you?'' I joke.


    She does not take too kindly to that jest either. ''You know I''m a good woman. I''ve been saving the good food I get, hoping to feed it to Seamil when he comes home, if he ever does.''


    I watch as she plates the bacon and brings it over, placing it in front of me. It is one of the most glorious sights. I then make Lorma frown for the umpteenth time in my life by using my hands instead of cutlery to eat.


    I can''t help myself. Salted pork is far superior to salted beef.


    Lorma sits back down. And as I start polishing off my plate, the two of us talk about a time when Fey was still around, long before the siege, about the story of our marriages and how we wed the night before Seamil and I had gone off to war.


    ''To be young again,'' I say as we recall our goodbyes the day after. ''You do know Seamil was crying like a baby for days on our march.''


    ''I know,'' Lorma says, ''he told me.''


    Finishing my last bite, I say, ''Well, Lorma, I must go. Thank you for the bacon.''


    Lorma looks disappointed. ''You are quite welcome.''


    ''I promise to visit again shortly.''


    ''That would be excellent. And how about taking something for later?''


    ''I can''t take any more of your food.''


    ''You will take some apples,'' Lorma commands. ''You need some roughage after eating all that bacon.''


    She sounds like Fey, always demanding I eat my fruit and vegetables.


    ''You won''t take no for an answer, will you?'' I respond.


    ''Absolutely not. And if you can''t finish them all, give the rest to your men or that donkey of yours.''


    She briefly leaves the kitchen before returning with three golden apples. And after handing them to me I bid her goodbye.

 Chapter Four

    Back in the outer city, I take the carriage to the sheriff''s keep, once again freeing May to let her wander and rest. She has pulled me enough today. I then start towards the Dumps, patrolling as I go. It''s time to question a certain shady someone about what happened last night at the apothecary. And I wouldn''t be surprised if he knew something about the theft of the food at the granary.


    As I walk, and as the cloud-cloaked daylight shines brighter and brighter, the city begins to come alive with what it can muster. I see the extent of the damage the wooden dragons caused. They laid waste to so many more buildings. The rain doused the flames but they''re mostly all uninhabitable now. Let''s hope the families who lost their homes can find somewhere else to live. Otherwise, it''s the dark and damp bunkers for them.


    The rain begins to let up as I trudge across Gryphon''s Market Square, a large statue of the winged beast collecting bird shit once again. A few people set up stalls with what little things they can sell. And not for money like it was before, but for trade. Money is useless now, it only good for melting down.


    Being that it''s in the far southeast, it takes some time before I get to my destination. Though the city feels smaller -- a cage would -- it''s still its vast and sweeping wen.


    The Dumps, the poorest district, sticks out like a sore dragon''s thumb, jutting out of the city''s almost round shape. Walled high on all sides, a result of a violent riot a dozen years ago, the residents are kept inside to fend for themselves.


    The devil''s drawbridge, the only supposed passage in and out spans a moat of spikes, another precaution of the riot. Usually it only opens once a month to let in rations, but they''ll open it for me.


    ''Coming in, sheriff?'' shouts a soldier on the wall above the drawbridge. Wearing a brown cape with an emblem of a beheaded snake, his only duty is to make sure the residents of the Dump stay inside. There are several of them, all armed to the teeth, more so than a soldier in the army.


    I nod.


    The drawbridge slowly creaks open from the top, the sound of chains starting to grind. Then it starts to drop faster until it lands with a crash, sending mud showering over me.


    I grumble and my coat soaks in the filth, it becoming a heavy, swamp-smelling heap.


    I thump across the drawbridge and over the spikes, the same old sun-bleached skeletons impaled at the bottom.


    Passing under the opened portcullis gate, the same soldier peers over the wall on the other side and asks, ''Here to make arrests? Need any assistance? I''m here to serve.''


    I wouldn''t trust any of the soldiers here to make an arrest unless I wanted the suspect peppered with arrows and dead.


    Shaking my head in response, a rat weaves between my feet, cheeping. It''s fat, ready to birth. It scurries away, dirt-caked children wearing sacks for clothes close behind with makeshift spears in their hands. I keep watch as I walk away, the rat diving under a bloated man hunched over on the street, a blood-soaked cap covering his face.


    The children rush over and start poking. The man doesn''t budge. And with one good whack of a spear, the man flops over, exposing a nest of feeding vermin. The dead man''s ass is shredded through his pants.


    I''m not shocked. I''ve seen worse here. I''ve seen worse on the battlefield.


    I don''t know how many piles of shit I rifle past as I make my way through the Dumps, the reason it was named as such. The smell is unbearable, wishing I was inhaling berry weed smoke instead.


    A group of adult males stare at me with hatred in their eyes. It''s pure as if an enemy''s.


    Unlike the rest of the city, the king deemed adult males here unworthy of being in the army or hold any position in regards to the safety of the city. He doesn''t trust them and neither do I. They are bred differently here, a fault of theirs or not. They are not exiled from the city either for many, if not all, would surely join the besieging enemy and fight against us.


    Spit flies in my direction.


    Is that their attempt at intimidation? Disgusting is all it is. Did I arrest one of them in the past? Or possibly all of them? I don''t recognize their faces.


    After skirting around a tented camp bursting with the overflowing population, screams and terror emanating from within, I find myself within a cluster of mud huts. The abodes soon change to stone and start closing in on me until I''m shuffling through a space no wider than myself. I step over dead bodies, drunks, and countless more rats.


    Everything then morphs into a set of descending crumbling steps, a flickering light at the end. When I reach it, a burly man perched on a stool awaits, a wooden door behind him.


    The man, his face bloodied, flat like a pan, glares at me with his good eye, the other closed, puffed and bruised.


    ''Win the fight?'' I ask. ''I bet the other looks worse.''


    He just groans.


    ''Let me in,'' I demand not too forcefully yet sternly as if I was speaking to one of my men.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    The man keeps seated and curls his mouth.


    ''Let me in,'' I say more loudly, showing I''m not to be taken lightly. I open my coat to show him my sword, the blade glinting in the light.


    This man could kill me with his finger no matter what weapon I had, but he knows who I am and if something happens to me, he knows a public death is in his future. But maybe he doesn''t care.


    His callused fists tighten but he does as I ask. He wheezes to his feet and pushes the gate open.


    Down a tunnel I go. And a long one at that. I hear a faint sound of cheering. It gets louder until I can''t hear myself think. I turn a corner and see countless people screaming at the bloodied fighters brawling in the middle. Fists are flying, fingers are gouging, teeth are gnawing and legs are kicking and restraining.


    The Pit it''s called. It''s one of many places where people come to waste their days away.


    Too enthralled with the fight, nobody notices me. I make my way to the other side of the chiseled-out hall of a cave and to another entrance way. I shift through and into a dimly lit tavern, the aroma of firewater immediately singeing my nose hairs.


    It smells stronger than the stuff Seamil gave me.


    Several people sit separately at their own grungy tables. They look at me, and so too does the haggard-looking tavern maid at the bar, a long dagger sheathed in her apron.


    One person in particular scowls at my presence.


    I knew he''d be here. Like stink on shit.


    The puny, gaunt-faced man moves to get out of his seat, to slink away, but I shake my head steadily. He slumps back down into his chair and mouths a curse.


    I walk over and ask, ''May I sit, Leech?''


    ''Do I have a choice?'' the man squeaks with a high-pitched bray, combing his greasy hair with his hand.


    ''You do,'' I reply back, ''but there''s only one right answer. May I?''


    The man nods eventually and I take a seat, quickly calling the tavern maid over.


    ''What do you want?'' she says in a not-so-friendly manner.


    ''Nothing for me, but get this man another of what he''s drinking?'' I reply.


    The maid waddles off back to the bar.


    ''So,'' I say. ''Have a nice little night out last night during the attack? Get something you wanted from the apothecary on Tinney Street.''


    ''I have no idea what you''re talking about,'' he replies sheepishly, looking away.


    I know it was him. He''s the only one in this city who''s as small as a gnome and bleats the way he does.


    ''Please, let''s not play this game,'' I say. ''We''ve played it too many times.''


    ''You know full well, sheriff, that we in the Dumps can''t leave. We are trapped like the whole city is trapped.''


    ''That''s your answer every time I come here to see you. You know I''ll eventually find out how you get out.''


    ''Good luck with that. It will take you forever because there isn''t a way. And if we''re finished here, I''d like to leave. I have things to do.''


    ''We''re not finished. Hear about the theft of the food at the granary?''


    Leech shakes his head. ''There was a theft? I didn''t know. We don''t get a lot of news down in the Dumps.'' His tone holds no concern or care. ''And what has that got to do with me?''


    ''Know anything about it?'' I pause to let the maid serve the drink before continuing, ''A reliable witness told me they saw you around the time of the theft.''


    That''s a lie but deceit is a good weapon in a lawman''s belt.


    Leech cackles as he usually does when faced with such a claim. ''What hogwash. You''re clutching at reeds here, sheriff. But I''ll let you in on a little secret.''


    ''Go on,'' I reply, not hoping for much.


    ''Food isn''t lucrative in the Dumps, for me. You and everyone else in the other parts of the city may think so but not here. Food is way down on the currency list. We, and which is quite surprising, get our rations here, though rotten they are, and there are plenty of rats to fill our stomachs.''


    ''So what is the best currency, might I ask?'' I say. I''m not really interested but want to keep the conversation going. Who knows, he may slip up.


    ''Firewater for one.'' Leech lifts up his cup and takes a big gulp. ''Gigglepower another. A good fight¨C'' he nods towards the Pit ''--and other forms of release, if you know what I mean.''


    ''Women?''


    He grins.


    ''Why are you telling me, the sheriff, all this?'' I ask.


    ''What can you do about it? And if you could, the people of the Dumps would not be happy. You''d have another riot on your hands. And bigger than the last as we have really nothing to lose here. You, the king, the city would not want that at this time.''


    He''s right. The little shit is right. Another wick would light.


    ''But as a token of our long standing relationship,'' Leech continues, ''and hopefully you''ll finally get off my back, I''ve heard a rumour that may help with your investigation.''


    ''What kind of rumor?'' I ask.


    Leech leans in. ''A rumour of spies and traitors causing chaos.''


    I''m not impressed.


    ''Really?'' I drone. ''This whole city is awash with rumors of spies and traitors causing chaos. We''re at war. Under siege.''


    Leech puts his hands up. ''If you don''t want to listen to what I have to say, you don''t have to listen.''


    I huff. What else do I have?


    ''Go on,'' I say.


    ''There have been rumblings about the reservoir. About an attack on it. Maybe the involved could have something to do with the theft at the granary.''


    There''s a pause.


    ''And?'' I eventually say, ''Is that it? A rumour I''ve heard before. Could this be an attempt to send me off on a wild goose chase?''


    With a smirk, Leech replies, ''I would never. And sorry you''ve wasted your time. Although, it has been good seeing you. But since you''re here, any chance of a game of Deadly Dice?'' He reaches into his tunic pocket and pulls out a small ragged velvet bag. He unties its string and turns it upside down, golden dice falling onto the table with a clank.


    Despite my annoyance, I humor him. ''And what do you want to bet?''


    ''If I win, I get that sword of yours. I''d love to put it on my wall at home. It''s as famous as the legendary Sword of Fum. Didn''t you kill Garbor the Brute with it at the Battle of Featherstone?''


    I''d never depart with my sword over a bet.


    ''I did.'' And although I''m very proud of that fact, I reply with no emotion, ''And if I win?''


    ''I keep my ears open. Maybe I''ll hear something else. Something about that theft.''


    ''That''s not a fair bet. Anyway, aren''t you supposed to have thirteen dice to play Deadly Dice.''


    Leech shoots a glare at the table top and slowly counts the dice using a finger. He finally counts twelve, cursing loudly and slamming his fist down.


    ''Watch it,'' the tavern maid bellows, brandishing her dagger. ''Do that again and I''ll rip you five new assholes.''


    Leech violently waves away the threat.


    His reaction gives me joy. And it''s almost worth it coming to the Dumps to see him like this.


    Leech''s anger quickly fades, a slight tremble beginning to pulse through his hands. He stumbles to his feet and says, ''I need to be on my way.''


    With nothing more for me to do with him, I don''t stop him. And I''m sure I''ll be back.


    Scuttling away like the roach he is, Leech leaves the tavern before the growling voice of the maid makes me jump.


    ''All done here?'' she barks.


    I look up behind me and see her still brandishing the dagger, holding it up menacingly. ''I am, ma''am. What trade for the cup of firewater? And it must be lawful.''


    ''You mean the ten cups.''


    ''Leech, you little shit,'' I mumble to myself.

 Chapter Five

    From the Dumps I make my way back to the sheriff''s keep, to see if my men have found any better leads from sweeping the granary again for clues or questioning the soldiers that were on duty the night of the theft, the first time allowed to my absolute annoyance, although I do completely understand the soldiers have more important obligations.


    The yard is filled with people of all stripes and divisions, lining up to get inside, all waiting to report a crime. Sadly, we won''t be investigating any of them until the theft has been dealt with. That is top priority, transcending even murder.


    Jac''s in the entrance hall, a domain lit by stained-glass windows that have dulled with time and cobwebs. He''s taking down people''s reports one at a time. Though not imperative, being seen doing at least something helps to quell any possible growing descent.  More deceit.


    ''While my family and I were in the bunker last night, someone broke into my home and stole my corset,'' I hear a woman tell Jac, making him cough in embarrassment.


    ''Can you tell me what it looked like?'' Jac stutters, going red in the face.


    Appearing as if she engages in harlotry, for her cheeks are rouged with possibly wild cherries, the woman replies, ''It''s a fucking corset. What do you think it looks like? I want it back. It''s my only one. Go out there and find it this instant.''


    Poor man, I say to myself, and quickly leave him to it, hobbling up the hall''s staircase and to my office at the back of the landing.


    Rolls of messages wait for me on my desk. One, I can clearly see, is from the king, a blood red seal marked with his insignia, a dagger and an ax.


    Sitting down, I open it and read:


    The Palace


    Dear Sheriff Harg, The Queen and I invite you to the celebration of the Princess'' nineteenth day of birth on the Twelfth of Mirra.


    We hope you can attend this glorious anniversary.


    It''s signed by the king.


    After five years of their people confined, waiting for the end, the palace still lacks sensibility. But at least celebrations are not as lavish as they once were. A day of birth before the siege would bring a parade down every street in the city.


    I''m not in the least bit interested in going but it''s my duty. I must reaffirm my fealty to the king and this kingdom and my presence is the only manner of doing such.


    I begin writing my response, a frayed quill in my hand dripping with a mixture of soot and water, when there''s a knock on my door.


    ''Enter,'' I say loudly.


    Aldo, Tready and Scar walk in and approach, all three looking eager to tell me something.


    ''Find anything in the granary?'' I ask. ''Please say, yes.''


    ''Sorry, sir,'' replies Tready, ''but there''s something else.''


    ''We talked to the soldiers who were on duty the day of the theft as you asked,'' continues Scar.


    ''Go on,'' I say.


    ''On the day, before the theft happened, half of the soldiers were ordered to the southern wall.''


    My eyes widen at the news before frustration creeps through me like poison slithering through my veins.


    ''Do you think there''s a connection?'' Aldo asks with a look of bewilderment and disbelief.


    Surely not. Right?


    ''I don''t know,'' I say. ''It could be that our thief just exploited the circumstance as we''ve seen many times.'' I then suddenly shove my response to the palace off my desk in anger and slam the quill down. ''You''d think they, someone would tell us this right after the theft. We''re just the ones investigating.''


    I seethe a bit longer before Tready asks, ''How do we proceed with this information?''


    ''Proceed that the thief could have just taken advantage and also not,'' I reply. ''Journeying down every avenue is a lawman''s charge.''


    ''What do you want us to do?'' asks Scar.


    ''Go question our city''s suspected thieves, like we''ve been doing.''


    ''I''ll go question Ma and Pa,'' says Aldo.


    ''They''re too old to have stolen the food,'' says Scar.


    ''Let''s leave no stone unturned,'' I say. ''There''s always a possibility, though slim it is, they were behind it.''


    ''I''ll go to the prison,'' says Tready, ''See if there are rumors flying around. People like talking there. It gives them something to do.''


    Again with rumours. We need more than that but I reply, ''Good idea.''


    ''I''ll continue working the vigils,'' says Scar.


    ''And I''ll go see if I can find out who ordered the soldiers to the wall,'' I say.


    It''s time to see my old friend again, but first I need to respond to the palace. And as I''m writing the letter alone in my office, my elixirman decides to show up again, barging through the door. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    ''Again with no knocking?'' I say to him. ''And the only reason I should be seeing you now is if you have elixir for me. Do you?''


    ''Nothing has changed with that,'' he replies. ''Still no ingredients to brew it.''


    ''Then why have you come to see me?''


    ''I was passing by, on my way to see my other patients, and thought I''d drop in. You forget that I was your wife''s elixirman too. And in that time I was, we became close. She would have wanted me to check on you and I feel it''s my duty to do so.''


    ''Sending her to you was definitely a mistake on my part. I regret it ever since.''


    ''Be that as it may, you still did. And here I am.''


    ''Look, I can''t jabber all day. I have duties too. Writing a letter to the king is one.'' I glance down at the parchment before looking back up.


    And he''s left.


    The fucking nerve of that man. He doesn''t knock or say goodbye or even finish a conversation.


    Once I finish writing the letter to the king and send a bird to deliver it, I leave the keep and take the carriage to the southern wall. Unlike me, May has had enough rest.


    I find Seamil is not in the catapult tower but high atop the observation tower in the observation room. I can''t feel my leg when I see him looking through the Peering Rod, a long, thick metallic tube. It makes far distances look as if they were only feet away.


    I wait until he''s finished before acknowledging my presence.


    ''See a fair lady in the ranks of the enemy,'' I jest.


    He turns around and replies with a smile, ''I wish. I''m getting a little lonely here at the wall. How does Lorma look?''


    ''She looks incredible as always. Good to see you weren''t injured during the attack.''


    ''Likewise, Pannor. Likewise.''


    ''Quite the spectacle, wasn''t it?''


    ''Indeed.''


    ''So, what were you looking at?''


    ''It looks like King Jabora has come to watch the siege,'' Seamil replies, ''I can see a mammoth tent in his colors being erected. It has to be him. Take a look.''


    I totter over to the Peering Rod and place my eyes up to the two small lenses on its side.


    I can see it. It definitely is. I''ve seen that tent numerous times on the battlefield.


    ''Hopefully this doesn''t mean a big offensive is in the near future.'' I shake at the thought. ''But if not, he has to be here for something.''


    ''Who knows, maybe he''s here to sign a peace treaty. Maybe he''s had enough.'' Seamil bursts out laughing.


    I copy his amusement. ''Good quip.''


    ''And what brings you back to see me? I have a sense it''s important, being that you walked all the way up here.''


    ''It''s about the theft.''


    ''The theft of the food at the granary?'' Seamil looks taken aback.


    ''Yes. I found out today that on the day of the theft that half the soldiers from the granary had been ordered here to the southern wall. Coincidence I''m sure, the thief just taking advantage, but I was wondering who gave the order.''


    ''Why ask if you think it''s just coincidence, which it is?'' Seamil seems offended.


    ''Friend,'' I say with a smile, hoping to ease his hurt feelings, ''I just need to know so I can vacate it from my mind and be done with it. It''s the way of being a sheriff, the way of investigating. Everything needs to be looked at. It''s like a commander going through every strategy before a battle. There are obvious strategies and the clearly ridiculous ones. You look at them all to bolster the right ones.''


    ''Hmmmm. You know you talk like a commander,'' Seamil says.


    ''I command my men,'' I reply.


    ''If it wasn''t for your leg, you''d be in my shoes right now.''


    ''There''s no doubt about that,'' I smirk.


    He smirks back. ''You know a good friend would have said, "No, Seamil, you are better at me in every soldiering way.'''' And to answer your question, it was the king who ordered the soldiers to the wall.''


    ''Why would the king do that?''


    ''Sir Blouf came to me and asked for an update on our enemy. That day I had seen a small build-up of troops near the siege line. I didn''t think much of it but I told Sir Blouf and he relayed it to the king, who then ordered more soldiers to the wall. The king says, I do.''


    ''I wonder if Sir Blouf suggested the movement.''


    ''It''s more than likely. Like it''s more than likely he was the one that suggested we attack the enemy. And Pannor¨C ''


    ''Yes?''


    ''It wasn''t just soldiers from the granary who came, but all over.''


    I bow. ''Thank you, old friend. And may I ask, did you get an invitation to the princess'' day of birth celebration?''


    Seamil furrows his brows. ''I did and I can think of nothing worse. Apart from being attacked that is. Although, it would be nice to have some time with Lorma. Pannor, would you like a quick drink?''


    I wag my head in sadness. ''How would I love that but I must be on my way.''


    We shake hands and I depart, leaving Seamil to spy on King Jabora once again.


    Back at the keep, I flop down on my chair for a well deserved rest. I start opening more of my letters when Jac comes into my office followed by a woman.


    I recognize her. She''s the woman I called upon, advising her to close her shutters. The one with the meagre candle. I wonder what this is all about.


    ''Sorry for barging in, sir,'' says Jac, ''but I thought you may want to hear this considering.''


    Considering?


    ''Is this about the theft?'' I ask.


    ''It''s not, sir. This woman says she was assailed last night during the attack¡ª''


    ''I don''t say,'' spurts the woman. ''I was attacked. And it was after the attack, after I was heading back home from the bunker.''


    My heart sinks. Jac would only bring her up to see me if there was a connection. Even just the smallest detail.


    ''Please, take a chair. . . .'' I say.


    ''It''s Pearl,'' the woman responds.


    ''Please, a chair, Pearl. And you can leave Jac. Thank you.''


    Jac bows and withdraws back to the entrance hall. Meanwhile the woman sits down in front of my desk.


    ''First off, Pearl,'' I say, ''are you injured? Do you need to go the elixary? I can take you there now if you want?''


    ''Thank you, sheriff, but I''m not injured,'' says Pearl. ''Just shaken.''


    ''Do you want me to send a bird to your husband? I''m sure he can get some time to come down. I''m sure it would be granted.''


    ''Please don''t do that. I don''t want him to worry.''


    I nod. ''So tell me what happened?''


    ''Like I said, I was walking back home from the bunker. Alone.''


    ''No children?''


    ''Not yet.''


    ''Which bunker? And which route did you take?''


    ''I usually go to the bunker under Rambula Temple during an attack but that was full ¨C I heard the warning bells rather late ¨C so I went to the one below Carry Avenue, which is a lot further. After the attack, I headed back home using the alleyway behind the Workshops ¨C a silly idea, I know¨C''


    ''Not silly. This is not your fault. Then what happened?''


    Pearl shakes her head. ''I didn''t hear him. I just remember the shadow of a gloved hand in front of my face before it clutched my mouth.''


    My heart starts to race.


    ''Did he say anything?''


    ''He called me a swine.''


    I put my hand to my head. I can feel a dizzy spell coming.


    ''What did he sound like? Did he have an accent?''


    ''I can''t remember, sorry.''


    ''That''s fine. How was his stature?''


    ''Taller than me.''


    That rules out Leech but I already knew it wasn''t him.


    ''Go on,'' I say.


    ''He pushed me against the wall but I was able to free myself. We struggled for sometime before I gave him one heck of a punch to the face.''


    ''You hit him?'' I reply, surprised, impressed.


    ''Sure did. My husband taught me a few things before he left for the wall. He said I might need it. He was right.''


    ''Did the assailant come after you again after you hit him?''


    ''No. He just giggled before taking off.''


    I nod and nod and nod again, my thoughts to the past. ''I apologize for this happening to you. Thank you for telling me all of this. And I promise to try my utmost to find this man so he can face the punishment that he deserves.''


    ''Thank you, sheriff.''


    ''We have a female vigil here if you''d like to talk with her. She''s very kind.''


    ''Yes, I''d like that.''


    ''Good.''


    After I take Pearl, I return to the office and pace around, my entire body feeling like I''m about to go into battle again.


    This can''t be happening. It can''t be him. I pray it''s not him. What terror this monster could bring back to this city.

 Chapter Six

    Has the Night Cleaver returned? The terror that caused devastation to this city, to the women, to the families. To me. This nightmare my people are under grows like a thick fog. It''s unrelenting and heinous. It''s as if the underworld has split open right under our feet, tossing out its servants.


    And as I leave home fitted in my sheriff''s best dress garb, a blue coat with a badge on the chest, I debate whether the public should be aware of the vile demon. If they''re told, the hysteria the news will cause will be tremendous. The residents may just give up and destroy the last vestige of the kingdom. A riot in the Dumps would pale in comparison.


    For now I''ve only told my men and the other lawmen throughout the city. Should I tell the palace too? Is it my duty? But what can they do? Set a stricter curfew? But the curfew now is already hard to enforce.


    I take the carriage to the inner city, where lords and lordesses, army officials in their regal uniforms and the city''s well-to-do meander through the streets towards the palace.


    Entering the main thoroughfare, a wide street lined with statutes of royalty past and present emanating power that they no longer have, the royal residence shoots up at the far end, its many turrets, all taller than the catapult tower, draped with banners for the celebration.


    The palace gates sparkle in the dying sunlight, like a gem encrusted crown. And from there, a winding gravel road leads me through the royal grounds to a crowded courtyard. I look for Seamil and Lorma but I don''t see them. The lieutenant of the king''s guards stands by the main entrance welcoming people inside, announcing names to nobody in particular. Such pomp is too much for me. It grinds my insides, tickling my leg until the bastard appendage spasms and cramps.


    Like times before, and once May and my carriage have been taken care of, I take a pathway round the side of the palace and to a narrow servant''s door, where four soldiers stand sentry. They allow me through, where I soon find myself face to face with someone I have no desire to see.


    ''Saw me coming?'' I ask.


    ''More like smelled that donkey of yours,'' Sir Blouf replies.


    I''d so love to punch this man. It would bring me a sliver of light in all this darkness.


    Sir Blouf continues, ''The king would like to see you in his quarters. And right this instant.''


    I nod.


    Sir Blouf spins around, his long cape whipping like the wings of a dragon, and slithers off.


    With a snarl, I follow the snake.


    The servants'' area is small and cramped, the sound of cooks preparing for tonight''s dinner in the kitchens prodding my ears. But through a curtain, we enter the pristine royal area. It''s as busy as the courtyard with everyone heading to the Queen''s Lounge to mingle and drink before the celebrations in the grand dining hall.


    I still don''t see Seamil and Lorma. They better not have skipped out. I would not forgive them. I know they have urges but to not even come would just be beyond selfish.


    We turn, cross the blue-tiled entrance hall and climb the well-polished grand staircase.


    I breathe a sigh of relief when Sir Blouf leads me into the king''s lift, a contraption that moves up and down through the walls of the castle. Inside, and while we head up to the king''s quarters, we wait in silence. But as soon as we reach the top floor of the highest turret and exit, Sir Blouf speaks.


    ''You better have some good news for the king regarding the theft,'' he says. ''His Majesty is getting impatient.''


    ''May I ask you a question before we head in?'' I ask.


    Sir Blouf stops abruptly and I almost walk into him. He turns.


    ''Speak,'' he blurts.


    ''On the day of the theft, half the soldiers guarding the granary were ordered away by the king. I was just wondering if you advised His Majesty of such counsel.''


    ''And why would you need to know that?''


    ''Just so I can cross you off as a suspect,'' I say, wanting to get a rise out of him.


    And I get it.


    Sir Blouf''s face reddens, as bright as I''ve ever seen. ''How dare you. To suspect me, the king''s advisor. This is treasonous. It''s as if you were suspecting the king himself.''


    Treasonous? Who does he think he is?


    ''My apologies,'' I lie.


    ''I should tell the king. But I won''t. He doesn''t need to hear this today. On my bri ¨C on the princess'' day of birth celebration.'' Sir Blouf spins back around and carries on.


    Three servants scuttle by, holding a silver-laced gown as big as them. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    The queen''s outfit for tonight I''m sure.


    ''Slow down,'' Sir Blouf barks at them, and they do, almost shrinking in fright.


    Suddenly, yelling explodes out of an open door down the hall.


    ''You are an idiot,'' shouts a voice. It''s the king. ''I should punish you for that. A good wallop would do the trick. GET OUT! AND BRING MORE POWDER FOR MY FACE!''


    A young woman appears in a flurry, tears running down her cheeks. Holding a pile of clothes, she heads our way. But one look at Sir Blouf and she changes direction, eventually disappearing down the hall.


    At the open door, the dagger and ax emblem of the king etched large, Sir Blouf peers inside.


    ''The sheriff is with me, Your Majesty,'' he says.


    ''Finally,'' the king growls. ''Enter.''


    I traipse in alone, Sir Blouf taking his leave, and I see the king standing over his desk, naked, his fists propping himself up. His curly blonde locks glisten with grease and his face is caked with cosmetics.


    ''Your Majesty,'' I say, bowing as deep as my leg can take me.


    ''I don''t have much time,'' the king snaps, not offering me a seat. ''Talk.''


    ''About the investigation into the theft?''


    ''What else do you think I want you to talk about?'' he yells, spit flying from his mouth. ''My shirt and dress pants that my bitch servant dropped on the floor and wrinkled?''


    ''My apologies.'' I bow deeply again before lying, ''I questioned a very likely suspect today who lives in the Eastern Thatched district.''


    Now with an evil calmness and grin, the king replies, ''My dear brother, the late king, made you sheriff. Was that a mistake? Was me keeping you on as the top lawman of the city a mistake?''


    That''s a likelihood, but I reply, ''No, Your Majesty, it was not a mistake.''


    ''I look like a jester because my sheriff can''t find the culprit.''


    You look like a jester with all that powder on your face, I want to say.


    ''Sheriff,'' the king continues, ''I want someone caught. Thrown in jail. No, beheaded. I don''t care if the person did it or not. Find someone on their deathbed and arrest them.''


    I will never put an innocent person to death but I reply, ''Yes, Your Majesty.''


    ''That will be it.'' The king waves at me to get out.


    I linger for a moment, wondering if I should tell him that the Night Cleaver may have returned, when the king eyes me ever so menacingly, ''Do you like what you see, sheriff? I wouldn''t have thought you the type.''


    I decide not to share the news and possibly never. If I get a hiding for it, so be it.


    I bow and leave.


    I can''t get to the Queen''s Lounge fast enough, firewater the elixir to my woes. And as I wade through the sea of people, all deafening in their chatter, I make my way to the glorious drink''s table. There, I pour myself a tall glass of the palace''s own stock. I''m about to take a sip when a hand slaps me on my back.


    Briefly forgetting where I am, a loud curse almost escapes my lips. I turn around to confront the perpetrator, to show that I''m not amused by the friendliness.


    ''Good. You''ve found the drinks. You look like you need it.''


    My irritation subsidies.


    It''s Seamil with Lorma locked in his arms.


    ''You clean up well, Seamil,'' I say. He''s wearing black pants and his gold button laden army coat. ''And you look beautiful, Lorma.''


    In a purple gown, she curtsies in jest.


    ''Glad you two showed up,'' I continue in a whisper. ''I couldn''t have done this alone.''


    ''Did you hear there''s a rumor going around?'' says Lorma, clearly eager to tell.


    ''A rumour?''


    More fucking rumours.


    ''Yes. It seems the king will be making an important announcement at dinner,'' Lorma replies.


    ''Where did you hear that, dear?'' asks Seamil.


    ''Lady Dee told me,'' says Lorma. ''I was just talking to her.''


    ''You know Lady Dee likes to make things up.'' Seamil pats his coat pocket. ''You two, I must leave for a moment. I need to go outside.''


    ''To smoke berry weed?'' asks Lorma, scowling. ''Please don''t. You smell something awful when you do and it irritates me ever so.''


    Seamil huffs. ''Fine I won''t.'' He then mumbles in my ear but loud enough for Lorma to hear, ''I can''t wait to get back to the wall.''


    Lorma''s not amused but Seamil and I chuckle.


    The three of us talk for some time after that. Despite my thoughts on the Night Cleaver, I appreciate the moment. And I will not ruin their night by telling them. A few more laughs are exchanged until Seamil and Lorma are yanked away to meet Lord Gray''s new mistress.


    Soon in their place waddles a man I have never seen before. He has pitch black hair, sports a trim and kept beard, and has a strange medal pinned to his tailed jacket.


    ''You are the sheriff, yes?'' he says keenly with an accent.


    It''s an accent I haven''t heard in five years and my hand moves towards my sword on instinct.


    ''Sheriff Harg, yes,'' I respond.


    ''It is a great honor to meet you,'' the man continues with a grin. ''You are respected deeply amongst my people. Your time in the army is looked upon greatly.''


    Why is this man petting my ego? Surely it''s not sincere.


    ''And who are you?'' I ask.


    ''I am King Jabora''s emissary, Sir Aguina. I was sent to pay my respects on this day.''


    What foolish, hollow-hearted theatrics enemies play. It grates me to no end. It always has.


    ''Is that why your king has come to the siege line? To send you? Or has he come to fight himself? Fight the war he started?''


    ''Let''s not talk about the battle at hand. How about the battles from the past?'' The emissary pours himself a drink.


    I have no desire for that.


    ''You know, the Battle of Waymore is talked about with reverie,'' he continues.


    ''Waymore? But you lost,'' I reply.


    ''Battles aren''t lost or won, sheriff. Wars are.'' There''s a sparkle in his eye.


    He has some gall saying that.


    ''Battles are to be dissected,'' the emissary adds. ''And your movements at Waymore are studied at length at our army university. You killed many of us.''


    ''Hmm,'' I acknowledge.


    ''Many of our greatest fighters.''


    All of your great fighters, I ache to say.


    ''I was sorry to hear of your injury. Not sorry that you weren''t able to kill more of us but sorry you aren''t able to die on the battlefield.''


    ''If your army invades, this city will become a battlefield and I''ll take as many of you with me to the afterlife.''


    ''Let''s hope it doesn''t come to that.''


    ''So you''ll continue the siege until there''s no food left and we all starve.''


    ''Like I said, let''s not talk about the battle at hand.''


    ''Let''s not talk at all, shall we?'' I growl.


    I thought he''d be offended by that but he doesn''t seem to be.


    ''As you wish,'' he replied. ''But I''ll depart with one last word.''


    ''Be quick with it.''


    The emissary inches towards me, craning his head. ''If you ever want to leave this city, there is a choice.''


    ''A choice? I have no choice.''


    ''King Jabora would be welcoming. He''s very eager to meet you and will give you peace if you wish for it.''


    Is this man trying to turn me? Is he trying to make me some sort of trophy?


    ''Do you respect me like many of your people?''


    ''I do.''


    I inch closer to him this time. ''Then show me some and get the fuck out of my face.''


    Still showing no offence to my words, the emissary bows and leaves. Sadly, the talking that night is not done there.

 Chapter Seven

    Rubbing shoulders with the city''s elite is the most tedious and tiresome exercise. I''ve done it too many times, as an officer in the army and now the sheriff.


    My heart jumps in relief when the king and queen make their appearance with Princess Andrea, Sir Blouf trailing behind like a dog. The princess is the spitting image of the queen with flowing auburn hair and high cheekbones you could cut salted beef with.


    Swiftly, the room goes silent and we all take a bow. I eye the emissary in the corner, another smirk gracing his face.


    I do not like him.


    The royal family makes the rounds, greeting everyone. More bows ensue. And when that''s finished, they lead us to the great dining hall.


    I''m the last out of the Queen''s Lounge, wanting to finish my drink and gulp down another.


    Music from a string of lutists awaits when I finally arrive. The great dining hall beckons opulence. Arches of gold span the cavernous ceiling. Banners of fine silk, sirmoth wool and dragon scales made into thread comfort the walls. Round tables gleaming with silver cutlery and cups dot the floor with the royal table at the far end draped in elven cloth.


    Being the lowly sheriff, I sit with the bastard adult children of lords near the main door. Not the most glorious of honors but they never talk to me. I think I may frighten them.


    I see Seamil and Lorma further towards the front, closer to the royal table.


    I scrunch up my face, seeing for the first time Sir Blouf sitting next to the Princess.


    Of all the times I''ve been invited to the palace for dinner I''ve never seen him sit at the head table. Interesting. And should I be afraid?


    Hitting a spoon against his cup, the king stands, a big smile on his face. The lutists cease their painful plucking.


    ''Ladies and gentlemen,'' he bellows, ''thank you for coming to this celebration of the day of birth of my beautiful daughter, Princess Andrea.'' He looks over to the right of him, over the head of the queen and gives his daughter a wink. She smiles back, beaming with delight.


    All this happiness when the enemy is at our doorstep, attacking us only days ago, is beyond absurdity. I almost chuckle at the folly. Have we all sniffed gigglepowder? They take being anointed by the gods too comfortably.


    ''So stand everyone and raise your cups,'' the king continues, and all the guests do. A glint of hundreds of glasses in the air sparkles brightly. ''To the princess!''


    ''To the princess!'' everyone copies.


    The king goes over to his daughter and gives her a peck on the cheek. Then back in his place, he says, ''Please remain standing, for it is with great pleasure that I share with you all some delightful news.''


    So the rumour of news is true. Has the war ended? Is there a peace treaty? Is that why King Jabora is on the front line? Is that why his emissary is here? But if that''s the case, why would the weaselly man try to turn me? This does not make sense.


    A suppressed babble filled with anticipation echoes around the colossal chamber.


    ''On the first day of next month¨C'' the king pauses to calm the increasing chatter, raising his hands ''--my daughter and my dearest friend, Sir Blouf, will be married.''


    Shock rattles through the great dining hall as if a wooden dragon just crashed inside. Some of the lordesses shriek. One even faints. At the same time, Seamil finds me and we look at each other. He''s trying hard not to express his rage.


    The king continues, ''Please stand, you two.'' He nods to Sir Blouf and the princess. They stand. ''And everyone, please raise your drinks again. To the daughter I love and to my trusted advisor, may your union be eternal and filled with love.''


    The princess and Sir Blouf look at each other, a surprising warmth clearly there.


    ''Hear, hear,'' bellows a voice.


    ''Hear, hear,'' comes everyone else.


    ''Please, no more surprises tonight,'' I say to myself. My mind can''t take any more.


    As Sir Blouf and the princess sit back down, the king turns somber. ''I do wish my brother was here to see this. The princess and he were so fond of each other . . . .''


    ''You shouldn''t have poisoned him then,'' the voice in my head shouts. But I soon admonish my tipsy self for giving credence to a dreadful rumour. A lawman should never do as such. And especially someone who has been condemned to a dreadful rumour himself.  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    The past crimes of the Night Cleaver flash before me. One in particular. The first.


    Everyone over the Dragontop Mountains and beyond had been rumoured to be the killer, including an accented foreigner from the enemy''s population. The king, a prince at the time, as well. It was thought that he snuck out of the palace in disguise to commit the atrocities. Leech was another and so too were a number of vigils who were allegedly involved in some evil worship, prowling the night together.


    My mind draws back to the celebration at hand to hear the queen announce, ''Now, we eat.''


    Food, food and more food appear posthaste with every table receiving a roast pig, a platter of bread rolls piled high, plump fruit and much more.


    While the rest of the city is on rations, with many starving, and even after the theft at the granary, we still eat and eat and eat. It''s disgusting but I fill my belly, the guilt driving me to steal several bread rolls for my men, stuffing them in my clothes. The bastard children glare at the pilfering but I just snarl at them.


    I pass on the dessert, a blue velour cake lathered in sugary white icing, preferring to slip out until dinner is officially over. I''d like to leave the palace all together, to go back home, but there''s a party after and the palace would not take kindly to my departure. Someone, Sir Blouf most likely, would notice.


    With as much finesse as a newborn long-necked deer, my bad leg dead and the other asleep, not to mention a bit wobbly from the firewater, I sneak out of the great dining hall. I quickly decide to go up to the royal aviary, a place I haven''t been since I was posted there in my first year in the army. I had some good sleeps up there. Maybe a little nap will do me well.


    I meander back into the servants'' area and take a servants'' lift all the way up, finding a young soldier next to the aviary''s door. He''s sitting on a chair, sleeping.


    My heavy feet wake him. He bolts up and gives me a salute.


    ''May I help you, Sheriff Harg?'' the young man asks.


    ''Just want to look around, if that''s all right. Get some fresh air and have a good look at the night sky.''


    The young man opens the door then asks, ''How''s the celebration?''


    ''Good,'' I say, remembering the bread rolls I took. I take one out and hand it to him.


    ''Thank you so much, sir.'' The soldier doesn''t wait before wolfing it down.


    I shake my head. Soldiers should be eating all the food in the great dining hall tonight. They need it more than anyone else.


    The royal aviary smells like shit, the floor covered in it, but I like the aroma. It takes me back to my youth. Holes chiseled into the walls bustle with pigeons, ravens, owls and flying squirrels. I''d rather hear their chirping than the animals downstairs.


    I find a clear spot to sit and stare up into the open sky, Fey''s favourite star shining brightly up above.


    I miss you. And I know you wouldn''t want it but I still blame myself.


    I don''t know how long I sit in relative silence, and I may or may not have closed my eyes, but a loud squawk tells me to be on my way.


    Back down, and as I enter into the royal area from the servants'', a commotion greets me.


    ''Time to dance,'' I hear the king yell.


    Everyone is pouring out of the great dining hall. The king and queen are in the lead, acting like they''ve had too much to drink. The king pirouettes around and around as he crosses the hall and into the ballroom. I see the princess, Sir Blouf, the emissary, and Seamil and Lorma. Those two seem to be appreciating the rare time together.


    I wait until the last guest disappears inside the ballroom before following.


    With my leg, dancing is out of the question, but I really should congratulate Princess Andrea and Sir Blouf on their engagement, even though I despise the man. I can''t imagine him being king if the princess becomes queen one day.


    As I reach the entrance way, however, the lutists recommencing their babble, something catches my eye.


    It''s just for a moment, but I''m sure I saw the flash of a very familiar blue cloak. I turn my head and look down a corridor that heads off from the hall. It''s empty but I see a moving shadow around the corner at the end.


    ''What the fuck''s he doing at the palace?'' I say to myself.


    Could he have been promoted to the royal court? He is a good elixirman but the king already has many to care for him. But if he has, maybe he has access to the palace''s ingredients. I''m sure the king isn''t running out. And maybe he can pilfer some for my elixir.


    My leg groans in agreement as I trudge off to find the man. And down the corridor I go. Then rounding the corner, I see him. At the opposite end of another hallway, this one lined with paintings. He''s standing still, looking at one. It''s of a gory battle scene, body parts strewn across a blood-soaked field, a faceless blur of a warrior in the centre admiring his creation.


    I know the painting. It was commissioned by the late king to mark the victory at the Battle of the Tumefy. And that warrior is of me. We lost some good men that day.


    I''m about to call out when whispers draw my attention. A fleeting look leads to an open room beside me. And when I turn back around, my elixirman has gone. I have to chuckle. The man appears and disappears as if he''s a phantom.


    I can''t be bothered going after him. I''ll talk about my elixir when I see him next.


    The whispers from the room continue and my sheriff''s curiosity gets the better of me. I shuffle over and peek inside. And what I see, causes me much concern.


    In front of a grand fireplace engraved with dragons stands Sir Blouf and King Jabora''s emissary. They are in deep conversation but I can''t make out a word.


    Is the emissary trying to turn the king''s advisor, the king''s soon to be son-in-law, as he tried with me? Or maybe Sir Blouf has already been turned. I wouldn''t be surprised.


    Leech''s words come back to me, of a rumour of spies and traitors causing chaos. Am I looking at a spy and traitor now? Was Leech right? And could the possible reappearance of the Night Cleaver be connected? Maybe the villain was an accented foreigner from the enemy''s population after all, the emissary himself a possible suspect.


    He does look like a slimy fiend.


    And could the theft at the granary be connected too?


    Guards were ordered to the southern wall by the king but I have no doubt it was on Sir Blouf''s advice. And what about the king wanting to attack the enemy as Seamil told me, leaving the safety of the city. That had to be on Sir Blouf''s suggestion as I mused. I thought he was just being an idiot but now it clearly looks traitorous.


    And what else did Leech say? Oh, yes, something about the reservoir. Is it about to be sabotaged?


    I should tell the king but accusing Sir Blouf would not go down well. But the king could be in danger himself. If he was to die after the wedding, Sir Blouf would become king. I need to be sure before I throw any allegations around.


    I leave the spy and traitor, and tonight''s celebration.

 Chapter Eight

    Please let me take you,'' I say, looking at Fey as she gets ready to go to Lorma''s house.


    She''s wearing my favorite dress and has her hair up in a bun. The way I like it.


    ''You say this every time,'' she replies, turning and giving me the most beautiful smile in all the lands, kingdoms and heavens. ''I''ll be fine. I''m a big girl.''


    ''I know. I just don''t want anything to happen to you.''


    ''It hasn''t before.''


    I limp over to her and place a kiss on her ruby lips. ''I know I''m a little overprotective but that''s who I am. Who I''ve grown to be. At least let me come get you.''


    Fey rubs a speck of surrendering rouge from my mouth and replies, ''How about this? We meet at the entrance to the inner city and you can walk me back home. Like always¨C''


    *******************************


    A noise jolts me awake.


    Is it another attack?


    But I hear no peels from the city''s bells.


    It''s probably the blacksmith. Or my elixirman checking up on me.


    I then sit up in my bed and furrow my brows.


    I don''t remember coming back home. But I haven''t had a good sleep in a long time, so maybe my body''s just shot. Or maybe I just had a bit too much firewater. It was good.


    My mind recalls the spy and traitor but it''s unable to hold on to it for long. I soon close my eyes.


    ********************************


    My heart pounds as Lorma opens the door.


    ''Is Fey still here?'' I ask with a quiver.


    Worry creeps on Lorma''s face. ''She left at the usual time. You didn''t see her?''


    I shake my head. ''That''s why I''m here. Are you sure she''s not still with you?''


    ''You probably just missed her. She could be back home.''


    ''I waited and waited at the gate to the inner city, she couldn''t have passed me. And I arrived too early.''


    ''Maybe she went for a stroll around the greenhouses and lost track of time. You know she likes it there.''


    ''Yes, you''re probably right. I''ll check.''


    ''I''ll come with you. We can take a carriage. Let me just put something decent on.''


    I don''t wait. And I run and run, my leg giving out several times.


    When I reach the greenhouses, I don''t find her.


    Maybe she is back home, waiting for me.


    Heading back, I sprint past the small park where I proposed to her. It''s then that I smell an aroma. Fey''s perfume.


    I relax. Fey''s probably in there, reliving that most precious time.


    I follow the smell into the park, my heart jumping with glee, wanting to gaze at her beauty as if the world was ending.


    ''Fey,'' I call out. ''Fey.''


    She''s not answering.


    Maybe she just left, on her way to the inner city entrance to meet me.


    I turn back when I see something lying on the ground beside a tree.


    ''NOOOO!''


    *******************************


    I arouse with another start, sweat pouring down my face this time. I can''t breathe. I stumble out of bed, tears beginning to fall, and rush over to the window.


    Throwing it open, I inhale deeply.


    It''s still dark outside. It hasn''t been long, a few hours at most, since the end of the celebration at the palace.


    My eyes then descend on the street below, my despair instantly vanishing and my pulse quickening.


    A figure stands in the shadows.


    Are they looking this way? At me?


    ''Who''s there?'' I shout.


    The figure doesn''t answer or move.


    If it''s my elixirman, he would reply.


    I shut the window and fumble downstairs, almost tripping on a step. I open the front door in fervour and step out, ready to confront whoever it is. Stolen novel; please report.


    But the figure has disappeared.


    I whirl my head around, looking down both ends of the street.


    Nothing.


    Was it even there, I ask myself? Is my lack of sleep playing tricks on me?


    Frustrated, I go inside and putter to the kitchen. Sitting down on a stool next to the sink, my thoughts go to my investigations, connected or not. The theft at the granary, the possible return of the Night Cleaver, and maybe the future sabotage of the reservoir. Even though the city''s officials have planned for a deliberate disruption to the city''s water supply, I should explore the lead.


    I quickly dress and call for May when I''m outside, the figure not reappearing. And when she shows, I take the sheriff''s carriage to the factory district in the north where the entrance to the reservoir is located.


    Carved out of bedrock, and like all of the crucial infrastructure in the city, the opening is guarded by a dozen or so soldiers.


    ''Good evening, sheriff,'' one of them says, a tired look on his mole-covered face.


    ''Good evening, gentlemen,'' I reply. ''May I enter?''


    ''I''m sorry, sir,'' says another soldier, his red beard ratty, ''we have orders to not let anyone down there. The tunnels have become unstable from lack of maintenance and supplies.''


    Though he could be telling the truth, a suspicion grows within. Could it have been on Sir Blouf''s advice that this order was given?


    ''I can take care of myself,'' I reply before lying, ''And this is to do with an investigation ordered by the king. It''s of a secret matter. We can get His Majesty if you want to ask him? Wake him from his slumber? Bring him down here?''


    ''No, no,'' the red-bearded soldier responds, putting up his hands. ''Let''s not waste the king''s time. Let the sheriff through.''


    The rumor of the king being violently grouchy when woken is a good card to pull out now and again. And I''m sure being who I am helped with the decision too.


    I enter the tunnel and start my way towards the reservoir underneath the city, light from glowing Thandora Rocks illuminating my path. And the deeper I go, the temperature rises, causing me to sweat for the second time tonight.


    The tunnels look to be in good shape but I do see several cracked wall braces.


    The end feels like an eternity away, and my leg gives out several times, but I finally make it, stepping out onto a small and narrow ledge, the great expanse of the reservoir dazzling under a stalactite encrusted ceiling. It looks like another world.


    And all I see is water. A lot of it. Still as a sheen of ice. If it was drying up as the vigil told me on the night of the attack, the rain we just had clearly refreshed it. It''s a good sight to see.


    Suddenly, I hear the crunching noise of arousing footfalls. I look over my shoulder to see a masked figure all in black rushing towards me, their hands outstretched, ready to push me off the ledge.


    I dive out of the way just in time, hitting the wall of the tunnel with excruciating force. My leg spasms beyond belief.


    The masked figure skids to a halt, themselves almost plummeting down to the water, and turns around. I lurch back to my feet as my assailant then brandishes a dagger.


    Replying with my own display, I unsheath my sword. Then with an uncontrolling slash, I strike as hard as I can, my grip almost coming loose. But I get him.


    The figure winces in pain. And as I stagger backwards from the hack, he drops his weapon and clutches his upper left arm.


    Now unarmed, the dagger finding its way off of the ledge, the figure takes his chance to flee his unsuccessful attack. He barrels past me, knocking me back to the ground, and escapes up the tunnel with speed.


    That''s the second time in the past few days that I''ve been knocked on my arse.


    ''Come back here, you swine,'' I shout at them, my voice reverberating throughout the reservoir.


    Even if I had two good legs I wouldn''t catch him. I get up and peer over the ledge, seeing if there''s any sign of the dagger. Nothing. It must have gone into the water and down into the depths, possibly never to be seen again.


    Agony grips me as I start my way back to the surface. And the very second I spring from the entrance to the reservoir, I eagerly ask as I pant like a dog on the hunt, ''Where''d they go?''


    The soldiers give me confused looks as if I have lost my mind.


    ''Who, sheriff?'' the red-bearded soldier asks.


    ''Didn''t someone run out of here?'' I stammer.


    The soldiers shake their heads.


    ''Someone just attacked me down at the reservoir,'' I continue. ''They were headed this way. Someone must have come out.''


    The soldiers'' bewildered demeanours turn to shock.


    ''Attacked by someone?'' grunts the red-bearded soldier. ''But that''s impossible. You were the only one down there, sheriff.''


    ''I haven''t made it up,'' I growl. ''They must be still down there.''


    ''You stay here, sheriff. We''ll check.'' And with several other soldiers right behind, the red-bearded soldier bounds down the tunnel.


    I wait patiently for them with the remaining guards, keeping myself at the ready in case the fiend comes galloping out. And we hang fire for roughly an hour before the red-bearded soldier returns, nobody in his clutches.


    ''Nothing, Sheriff Harg. Absolutely nothing,'' he puffs in exhaustion. ''Shall we get more soldiers? Do another search, sheriff?''


    I shake my head.


    The soldiers of this city are best served where they are. I could get my men but they''re probably still sleeping, rest they need and deserve.


    ''The perpetrator will have to come through here eventually, unless he wants to wither away down there,'' I say. ''Keep your eyes peeled.''


    ''Yes, sheriff.''


    Traveling back home, I remember the figure I saw from my window. Could that person have been my attacker? Did they follow me to the reservoir and somehow snuck in? Could they be waiting for my return? Am I being followed now? And who was my attacker? Is this something to do with Sir Blouf and King Jabora''s emissary? Are my suspicions about them correct? Could it have been the emissary himself that just attacked me? Or someone under his command?


    So many questions without answers.


    Annoyed, angry, dissatisfied about the night, and slightly afraid at what else could be in store for me and this city, I head to the granary. It''s on my way. I need evidence. I need a proper lead. Maybe my men missed something, missed a clue.


    The southern granary explodes out of the ground like a great dome of a far away place of worship. A hole in the metal roof, which the thief had made, is patched up as best as one could do.


    I move to where the frayed piece of rope was found, right next to the wall of the granary, on the other side of where the guards were stationed the night of the theft.


    The thief had some gall climbing up out in the open. And a question I''ve been asking myself ever since that night then pops back into my mind. How did the thief, after climbing back down, carry all that food through the streets without being noticed? Someone, a resident looking out of their window, a vigil, or a lawman on patrol, should have seen something. Surely.


    My gaze moves up and to the roof of a three story stone dwelling beside the granary, a length not impossible to traverse if you know what you''re doing. Could the thief have made some sort of rudimentary bridge made out of rope to get to the granary instead? Then crossed back over to escape, away from prying eyes?


    Why didn''t this cross my mind before?


    I grunt in anger before looking around me, making sure my attacker isn''t lurking anywhere.


    Being it''s still dark outside, this could be a possible waste of time, but my desire to find something eggs me on.


    I find an abandoned home close by, it gutted by a fire from a wooden dragon, and enter. Carefully, yet with much difficulty, I then make it to the top of the half-eaten roof.


    With the granary in my sights, I move forwards, crossing more roofs, residents fast asleep below my feet.


    It''s on the roof next to the granary that I find what I''m looking for. It''s another piece of frayed rope.


    I was right.


    I pick it up, about to inspect it, when light from the stars catches something. I pocket the piece of rope and inch over, finding wedged at the bottom of the roof''s chimney, a small, sparkling cubed ingot.


    ''That little shit,'' I say, seizing the golden die.

 Chapter Nine

    A yawn escapes me. I''m standing in my office, looking up at Fey''s portrait hanging above the hearth. She sat for the painting wearing the same dress she wore that soul-crushing night. It pains me to keep it up but it''s the only picture I have of her.


    I stroll over to my desk, sit down and begin tapping my fingers.


    Aldo and Scar should be back from the Dumps soon. I wonder what that little shit has to say for himself when I show him what I found.


    A knock cracks on my door.


    Readying myself for the confrontation, I straighten my posture and puff out my chest. No  more games.


    ''Enter,'' I say, but it''s Tready who walks in. Slightly disappointed, I ask, ''Anything?''


    ''The emissary was staying at Sir Blouf''s residence,'' Tready replies irritably. ''And I was told, he''s already left the city.'' He shakes his head.


    ''What''s the matter?''


    ''I can''t believe he was allowed here--'' Tready lowers his voice ''--Invited to the palace, sir.''


    ''You and me both. Here''s a promise . . . if this siege, this war ends, if we survive, I''ll take you out for a drink and we can both whine about it until the sun appears the following day.''


    ''Deal, sir. So why did you want me to look into the emissary?''


    I haven''t told my men about my suspicions. But I will if more evidence comes to light.


    I lie. ''With the possibility of the Night Cleaver returning I thought it prudent to investigate our enemy. And speaking of the Night Cleaver, any more reports of attacks on women?''


    ''Nothing.''


    ''Nothing yet,'' I reply, certain there will be, and my guts lurch at the thought. ''Thank you, Tready.''


    ''No problem, sir.''


    Tready leaves me to wait for Aldo and Scar again.


    I get up from my chair and hobble in anguish over to the cabinet wedged in the corner, withdrawing an empty bottle of elixir. I was hoping there would be at least a small drop left but it''s as dry as the Salt Deserts. There is, however, a bottle of something else. And it''s full to the brim. It''s poison, a faint image of a skeleton on its side and the word, Ellhdoow, written below.


    Strange. When did I possess this? Where did I possess this?


    I pick it up, ready to scrutinize the vessel of death, when I hear the door open. Expecting Aldo and Scar, I glower at who it is.


    My elixirman.


    ''I saw you at the palace,'' I say, returning the bottle and shutting the cabinet.


    ''Did you now?'' the man just replies.


    ''Have you been promoted to the royal court? I''m hoping you have.''


    ''That is none of your concern.''


    ''None of my concern?'' My voice is raised. ''None of my concern? Of course it is. You could brew me my elixir with the king''s supplies.''


    My elixirman doesn''t respond. Instead, he walks past me, stares up at the portrait of my wife and says, ''Have you thought any about what I said to you? About retiring from your duties.''


    Rage begins to bubble inside me. ''I told you to never mention that ever again. I will not warn you a second time.''


    ''She would want it.''


    I''m about to lose more of my patience on him when another knock comes at the door.


    ''Enter,'' I snarl before making my way back to my desk.


    And this time, it is Aldo and Scar. Leech is with them, shuffling in chains. It looks like he gave up a fight, all three with cut lips and brows, and growing bruises.


    ''Morning, Leech,'' I say to him, my elixirman seeming to have slinked away unnoticed. ''Please take a seat.''


    Aldo and Scar plop him down violently on a chair before leaving themselves.


    ''You can''t do this to me,'' bellows my detainee as he holds up the chains around his hands and shakes them. ''I''ve done nothing wrong.''


    ''Nothing?'' I reply smugly. ''Evidence points to otherwise.''


    ''What evidence?'' he says, a brief flash of fear streaking over him.


    With a leer, I reach into my coat and pull out the golden die, holding it with two fingers as if it was a magnificent royal gem.


    The look on Leech''s face is priceless. As if he just went a few rounds in the Pit.


    ''Where''d you get that?'' he sputters with a swallow. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ''Where do you think? It''s the reason why you''re here in chains. Enough with the games. Your need to play with me ends now.''


    Leech puts his head in his cuffed hands and mumbles, ''What''s going to happen to me?''


    ''You''ll be hanged.''


    ''Hanged for stealing food?'' he shrieks, his legs beginning to tremble madly.


    ''Not for that but for attempted murder.''


    ''Attempted murder?''


    I stare at Leech frigidly. ''My attempted murder.''


    ''Is this some kind of joke, sheriff? I didn''t try to kill you.''


    ''Are you sure about that?''


    ''What would I gain for killing you?''


    ''Depends on who you''re working for.''


    I walk over to him and raise my hands. He cowers deep into his seat. He thinks I''m going to hit him but I just lift up the sleeve on his right arm, revealing no wound.


    It wasn''t him who attacked me down at the reservoir. If I could remember how tall my attacker was, there would have been no need to check.


    Leech then surprises me by saying, ''I didn''t try to kill you. I swear. All I did was steal the food. Someone hired me to do it.''


    Now we''re getting somewhere.


    ''Who asked you to do it?'' I snap.


    ''I don''t know. I didn''t see his face. It was dark when he came to me about stealing the food.''


    ''That''s not going to cut it. I need something more.''


    ''The only thing I can tell you is the smell.''


    ''The smell?''


    ''He smelled like berry weed. Smoked it as we talked.''


    My mind starts to spin.


    It can''t be.


    ''Did he smoke it from a pipe?'' I ask, sputtering.


    ''Yes,'' Leech replies eagerly, ''from a pipe.''


    Feeling dizzy, I stumble to my desk and collapse down on my chair. A suffocating ringing fills my head. I can''t think.


    I glance back at Leech. His mouth is moving but I can''t hear him talk. He looks scared.


    Then all of a sudden, a monstrous force throws me into the air. I hit the ceiling with a head-splitting crack, sending my sight into fits. And as I drop back down, I smash onto my desk and flop to the floor. The pain is unbearable but I stagger up to my feet, soon realizing there''s a bright, unfocused light all around.


    What is this? Have I gone to the afterlife? Am I about to see Fey again?


    My hearing and vision, however, soon return.


    Daylight and the sounds of explosions flood through a vast hole ripped into the wall of my office. Stone and debris cake the floor.


    The keep was hit.


    Looking over my destroyed desk, I see the lifeless body of Leech, his head caved in and unrecognizable.


    Fuck.


    My thoughts turn to my men, to everyone else inside the keep.


    Through the debris, I wade outside to the landing, muffled screams and groans treading on the dusty and putrid air. I rush over to the top of the staircase and peer down to the entrance hall. Half of it''s gone with bodies littering the remnants, some alive and some not.


    The hell with my leg, I say to myself, and bolt down several steps at a time.


    I hear a labored voice.


    ''Help me,'' it mumbles. And close by, I find a woman gurgling blood.


    With all my might, I grab her and throw her over my shoulders, proceeding to the yard where a crater billowing smoke has unearthed most of it.


    I see more bodies.


    After laying the woman down on one of the last clusters of yard, more blood spurting from her mouth, a hand grabs my right arm.


    I wince in pain as the explosions around the city begin to cease.


    Everything''s hurting.


    ''Sir.''


    I turn around to see Scar, another cut, albeit small and shallow, carved into his face.


    ''It''s good to see you alive,'' he says.


    ''And you,'' I reply.


    ''What about the other men?''


    ''I don''t know, sir. What do we do?''


    ''Just get everyone out of the keep who''s breathing. It may collapse at any moment.''


    ''Yes, sir.''


    Together we go back in and do just that, eventually finding all of my men alive and relatively well, Aldo''s peg leg being blown off the only issue.


    And it takes us half a day to clear the keep, an elixirman, not mine, appearing by the end.


    ''We''ve put all the ones still alive over there,'' I say to him, pointing. ''And the others that were alive but haven''t made it . . . we''ve placed inside the crater.''


    It''s not the best of resting places for the deceased but the room in the yard is slim.


    ''Thank you, sheriff,'' the elixirman replies, ''That''s a huge help.''


    ''What''s it like everywhere else?'' I ask.


    ''As bad as here and some worse. It''s all over the city. Please, I must see to the people.''


    ''Yes, of course,'' I reply, moving out of his way.


    My men and I help the elixirman as much as we can but more people die, including the woman I carried out. And my help isn''t done after that. Leaving Jac and Aldo behind to care for the healing, I take the others and follow the elixirman out of the bailey to see who else we can save.


    As I step out of the gate, I witness the rest of the city''s destruction. Where homes and shops once stood, now have crumbled into piles of rubble. The carnage is so severe many streets are impassable and I see vigils digging for survivors. The attack was so fast nobody had a chance to get to a bunker. It must be a new weapon of the enemy.


    For two days my men and I don''t sleep, but I''m used to that. We help as much as we can. It''s when nothing more can be done when I head back home, my body withering in numbness.


    I didn''t know if my house would still be there but it is. I''m grateful.


    And as I fumble through the door, I finally have time to recall what Leech said before he died.


    Seamil has some explaining to do.


    How much do I want to confront him at this very moment, but my mind and body need relief.


    Getting to my bedroom, I don''t bother taking off my blood-drenched clothes or muddy boots and just fall onto my bed, almost breaking it in two.


    I look up at the ceiling, picturing the horrors I''ve just witnessed. All the death and agony brings me back to my fighting days.


    My gaze lurches towards the window.


    I see something, a silhouette of a figure, a figure inside my bedroom.


    ''Seamil?'' I gape, lifting my head.


    The only answer is the flourishing of an ax.


    I barely have time to react as the figure lunges. I roll onto the floor as the weapon comes down, finishing off the bed and splitting it apart.


    Splayed on my back, I reach towards my belt, for my sword, but it''s not on me.


    It must be back at the keep. I must have placed it down somewhere while I was helping the injured.


    The figure lunges again but I kick him hard in the stomach, sending him fumbling back and the ax out of his grasp, it coming to rest in the corner.


    Watching my attacker steady himself, I grab my bed pan. And as I get to my feet, gripping it tighter, he charges.


    I swing but my perception betrays me. I miss and get punched in the face.


    Stunned, the figure kicks the bed pan from my hands and goes for another swing but I block his fist and strike myself, hitting the mask I now see.


    The cold sting of metal cracks my knuckles, making my hand shudder in pain. And as the figure claws for my face, I punch and punch again with no regard until I can feel blood dripping down my arm.


    But my effort has no effect and the figure gets his turn, digging his fingers into my eyes. I yank my head back in agony to then see the blurry figure dart for the ax.


    I race after him, sending a leg whipping through his. He trips and careens to his knees. I bound over him and to the corner, picking up the heavy weapon for myself.


    A fist flashes towards me the moment I spin around, but I''m too quick with the handle of the ax and hit the figure squarely in the chest.


    He staggers with a grunt, falling back to the window.


    I raise the ax, ready to finish him off but he jumps out. I bolt over and see him climbing down the wall of my home.


    I throw the ax, hoping to connect, to smash his head in, but it misses.


    Now down on the street, the figure retrieves the weapon before vanishing into the darkness.

 Chapter Ten

    The city still cries in despair as I clamber down the remnants of a cobbled street. I see a group of twenty vigils filling a crater with rubble, to even the thoroughfare as best they can. They look exhausted, on the verge of keeling over like everyone else.


    Another wick has been lit. And lit not by some tinder box, but the breath of a dragon.


    It will take the vigils forever to fill every cavity in the city, I say to myself. Maybe we should just keep everything as is. If the enemy ever decides to rush the city, to end the siege, it could be to our advantage to have mounds of debris to hide behind and lie in wait. It''s a good strategy I''ve seen before and which enemies have used against me.


    Everywhere seems like all is lost but I still need to do my duties as sheriff. Laws need to be upheld. And the attack on me last night will not deter me either. Nothing has ever deterred me. I never let anything stand in my way.


    I grab the hilt of my sword, making sure the blade is still there. I retrieved it from the ruins of my keep and I will never be parting with it again.


    I stop and glance over my shoulders. Nobody is following me. I continue on.


    Scrambling over a pile of bricks, the question of who attacked me fills my head like the gloom all around.


    Seamil was my first thought, considering what Leech said before he had his head smashed in and my suspicions about the theft of the granary being a part of a bigger plot. But Seamil would never want to kill me.


    Doubt, however, burrows itself in my mind and I think of all the times the two of us argued or jesting insults cut too deep.


    A short time later, I turn down another street and remember the woman who was attacked. She lives down here, her home escaping destruction.


    I walk over to her front door and give it a knock. And once again she answers without asking who it is first. It annoys me. It makes me angry.


    As the door opens, and as I see her nervous face, I quickly say, feigning tenderness, ''I just came to see how you''re doing.''


    ''So it''s nothing to do with my husband?'' she replies, putting her hands to her heart.


    ''No, it is not.''


    ''So he''s fine? I''ve had no word from him since the explosions. No letter. Nothing.''


    ''He probably has no time to send a message. Every soldier is probably on the highest of alerts. But I''ll go call about him, if you like.''


    ''Would you?'' The woman softens. ''But please don''t if it puts you out of your way. I know your time is precious.''


    Everyone''s time is precious. And more so in the last five years.


    ''It won''t interrupt my duties.'' I say. ''I''m headed to the wall right now. Right after here. And I''ll come back to tell you his situation. You have my word.''


    ''Thank you so much, Sheriff Harg.''


    ''I also want to tell you that there has been no progress in finding your attacker. I''m sorry. We don''t really have much to work with.''


    ''I''m sure you''ll eventually get him.''


    ''Let''s hope that''s the case. And speaking of which, have you seen anyone following you, seen anyone lingering in your street that you don''t know or have never seen before?''


    ''Do you think the attacker knows where I live?''


    I can hear her heart racing.


    ''That is a possibility,'' I reply.


    At this moment, my hunch is that whoever attacked me is the same person who attacked her. It could be wrong but that''s all my thoughts can muster.


    I continue. ''It would probably be a good idea if you found somewhere else to live. Do you have family you can stay with?''


    ''My husband and I aren''t originally from this city. We''re from Hartly Glen.''


    I slump my head in sadness. ''My condolences. So no family then?''


    I know the answer.


    ''All gone, sheriff,'' the young woman replies.


    I can tell she''s made peace with it.


    ''But I can stay with a friend,'' she adds. ''She lives on Regent Road.''


    ''I think it best that you do that. And quickly too.''


    ''Yes.''


    ''If you want, I can get a vigil to assist you, to help gather your things. I''m sure there''s one close by I can ask.'' This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ''Thank you but that won''t be necessary. We don''t have much.''


    I just nod before saying, ''Well, I must be on my way. Have a good day.''


    ''And you, sheriff.''


    I bow and leave for the confrontation I''ve been dreading. Thank the gods the streets aren''t passable for my carriage, for I need the time to settle my nerves, to clear my head. Although, all this walking isn''t doing wonders for my leg. It pangs and twinges not just with every step but with even the littlest movement. But I grit my teeth and plod along.


    When I finally reach the southern wall, the small square where soldiers once rested is now empty and no guard stands before the steps. Everyone has been called up.


    The catapult tower reeks of berry weed more so than any other time I''ve visited. And when I reach the door to Seamil''s office, I don''t knock but barge in.


    A look of surprise and shock would tell me all I need to know, but a withered, yet warm smile is what Seamil has for me.


    Could it be a fa?ade? And if so, how long has he been putting it on?


    Standing by his desk, Seamil says with heavy eyes, ''Good to see you, my dearest friend.''


    ''Good to see you, too,'' I reply.


    He moves towards me and I tense up, the doubt that it wasn''t him wielding the ax making me so. Yet I embrace him, grabbing his upper arms and squeezing. A gesture I''ve done a million times but this time with one motive only.


    He doesn''t flinch and I''m relieved. He''s not hiding a wound. He''s not the one who attacked me.


    Seamil copies the gesture before asking, ''Have you checked on Lorma?''


    ''I haven''t had time,'' I reply as we then sit down.


    ''She sent me a bird saying she was fine but you know how she is. Did you see the inner city was hit as much as the outer? That''s never happened before. The enemy''s weapons and their range are getting better. Next it will be the palace¨C''


    ''I''ll go check on Lorma again,'' I interrupt. ''I was going to anyway.''


    ''Thank you. I heard your keep was hit fairly badly.''


    ''More than that. It''s completely destroyed. It''s a ruin.''


    ''Shit. Were you inside at the time?''


    ''I was.''


    ''Are you injured?''


    ''Just a few bruises, a few scratches,'' I reply. ''That''s it. The same goes for the rest of my men but a lot of others weren''t so lucky. Any injuries, damage here? I couldn''t see anything.''


    ''Nothing,'' Seamil replies, slowly shaking his head. ''They weren''t aiming for the wall. Just over. Just into the city.''


    Our enemy is toying with us as if we are caged animals.


    ''What were they?'' I ask. ''These weapons?''


    ''We guess they were some kind of incendiary powder contained within a projectile. We also think the incendiary powder was not only used to cause damage but to propel the projectile too.''


    ''To propel it, too? I''ve never heard such a thing. What kind of witchcraft is that?''


    ''We''re essentially a target range for them, Pannor. They''re just keeping us around to test out their new advancements for their future wars.''


    ''Were you able to take any down? The new weapons?'' I ask, briefly forgetting why I came.


    ''We tried but the projectiles were too fast for us to hit. This changes everything.'' Seamil breathes a deep sigh. ''You''re a good friend to come and see how I was doing, Pannor.''


    It''s time to confront him.


    ''That''s not the only reason I came, Seamil,'' I say, looking him dead in the eyes.


    Seamil leans back in his chair. ''What''s the other?''


    ''My duty as sheriff,'' I reply.


    His eyes suddenly focus deeply on mine and he stays quiet.


    Just by this I know Leech was telling the truth and that Seamil got him to steal the food. I''ve known him for too long. I know what every little change in his demeanour means.


    ''Before the attack,'' I continue, ''right before the keep was hit, I was questioning a suspect ¨C he died. But not before divulging something to me. Something I found very shocking.''


    ''It must be important.'' Seamil''s tone is rigid.


    Another tell.


    ''It is. It''s about the theft at the granary.''


    Seamil now shows his cards, giving me a ''you''ve caught me'' smile. He knows that I know.


    ''Pannor, old friend,'' says Seamil, ''you clearly live up to your name. I knew I was being foolish when I thought that you wouldn''t find out.''


    I knew he''d come right out and confess. A true friend, he is.


    ''So have you come to arrest me?'' he asks.


    Arresting him never crossed my mind. Not even for a single moment. And I don''t want to.


    I don''t answer but just ask, ''Why?''


    Now, I want to know if there''s anything more to this.


    ''Why? It''s fairly obvious,'' he responds.


    ''Is it?''


    ''Yes. The food. My soldiers need food. We get the same rations as everyone else and that''s not nearly enough. It barely keeps us on our feet. We have become the walking dead up here on the wall. That''s what drove me to extremes. Drove to steal food from the granary. I had to do it. There was no choice.''


    ''Why didn''t you ask the king?''


    ''Pannor, please. Surely you know I would have done that.''


    ''And?''


    ''No. Both Sir Blouf and the king laughed in my face at the idea.'' Seamil slams his fist into his desk. ''While the king and his royal court feast every night, this city''s soldiers, the defenders of this fucking city go hungry. It''s a disgrace.''


    We both think alike. We''ve always had.


    ''So how did the theft come about?''


    ''I asked around for someone dodgy ¨C I didn''t say what for ¨C and they put me on to someone. I met the person and he agreed to do it.''


    ''His name was Leech.''


    ''The suspect that died?''


    ''Yes.''


    ''How?''


    ''He took a huge chunk of the keep''s wall right to the head.''


    ''Shit.'' Seamil glances away in dismay.


    ''So Leech stole the food and brought it here, to the wall, to you?'' I ask.


    ''He didn''t know who I was and I wasn''t going to let him find out. I told him to leave it somewhere. Then, I got someone else I don''t know to take it somewhere else. I did that over and over again until the food made its way to my house.''


    ''Your house?'' I spit, taken aback. ''So Lorma knew about this?''


    I joked about her stealing the food from the granary and she told me she was a good girl. Hah. The bacon, the apples. She wasn''t saving them up for Seamil, they were from the granary.


    ''She did but she had no choice, Pannor,'' says Seamil.


    A quake in his tone tells me he''s not telling me the whole truth there. He wants to keep her safe.


    Seamil adds, ''Nothing happens to her, Pannor. Yes? I roped her into this. She''s not a willing participant.''


    Again, I don''t answer.


    ''So is it Lorma who brings the food to you to give to the soldiers?''


    ''She gets some of our old servants, who are now vigils, to bring food now and again.''


    ''Quite the enterprise. And that''s it? There''s nothing more behind it.''


    ''More? Like what?'' Seamil crosses his brows.


    ''Like being a part of a conspiracy involving the enemy to cause chaos within the city.''


    Seamil''s eyes go as wide as I''ve ever seen them go. ''Is there such a conspiracy?''


    Trusting my friend, I say, ''I believe there is.''


    ''I would never conspire with the enemy, Pannor. You must believe me.''


    ''I believe you. And I believe Sir Blouf may be a part of it.''


    ''That crumby piece of shit. And he''s marrying the princess.''


    ''Indeed.'' The two of us then sit in silence, me contemplating what to do, until I ask, ''Why didn''t you tell me, Seamil?''


    ''Tell you what?''


    ''Tell me you wanted to steal food.''


    ''Tell the sheriff?'' He gives out a chuckle.


    I frown deeply. ''No, tell an old friend. I would have helped.''

 Chapter Eleven

    Pinning the entire theft on Leech made the king delighted even though the food wasn''t returned. Sir Blouf, on the other hand, was clearly perturbed. A sign of his guilty ways? That the bit of chaos that the theft had caused hadn''t swelled into something more? Or maybe Sir Blouf is innocent and that he just hates others who please the king. I wonder what his thoughts are of the queen. Or the king''s many mistresses.


    Though just one, a wick has been extinguished.


    I''m not too thrilled Leech had to share all the blame, and it eats away at me now and again, but it had to be done. And fortunately, Leech is not around to wag his tongue. Seamil is the only one who can command the king''s army. If he was to be accused and charged, which I would never let happen, it would surely be the end.


    I''m truly glad this has finally been put to rest. But onto the other issues at hand. And with the sheriff''s keep destroyed, finding somewhere to house my men and I was my first act.


    The city''s prison was my initial proposal ¨C it''s the only place now that has cells ¨C but they had no space to spare. The warden said I had done too good of a job enforcing laws. I don''t know if he was jesting or being snarky. The prison was also disgusting, noisy, unkept and the smell was sickly. Even if they did have room, I wouldn''t have been able to think.


    After finding no other suitable place, no higher city official helpful on the issue as usual, Seamil sent me a message suggesting we use his and Lorma''s home. I''m sure it was their way of apologizing for the waste of time and energy they caused. And I agreed. Their neighbours weren''t too thrilled by the change in activity but they can kiss my arse.


    ********************************


    The portrait of Lorma''s late father glares at me with judgment. It''s a keenness I have witnessed countless times in the past. It rattles my nerves. He was a great man and kind when he wanted to be but I don''t miss his disapproval.


    ''Sorry, sir,'' I say, ''you''re coming down.'' I give the picture a salute before unhooking the frame. I carefully turn it around and place it against the wall on the hardwood floor. I then grab the portrait of Fey and hang her up.


    My nerves settle in haste.


    I''m so grateful I found her relatively unscathed inside the keep. There are a few tears in the canvas but they''re not noticeable if you step back.


    ''You always said you wanted a house like Lorma''s,'' I say. ''This is your home now.'' I give her a wink and turn around to walk across Lorma''s study, the room racked to the brim with shelves of books.


    Reaching a tall window, the sill coated with almost a finger of dust, I peer out and glance down at the fountain in the courtyard, my carriage idling by. Dead leaves collect inside, a pigeon rummaging, pecking around for insects.


    I''m envious of the bird. Such a simple life. And it can go wherever it pleases.


    A sharp bray pings my ears and I lift my gaze. I see May trotting down the street, chasing a toppling sprig of tumble grass. She seems to be enjoying the hunt. Another simple life.


    I hear the door to the study open and I turn around.


    It''s Jac.


    ''Sorry, sir,'' he says, ''but I keep getting lost in this place. It''s quite big, isn''t it for a house? A home?''


    ''You think this is big, you should see inside the palace,'' I reply. ''Now that''s a big home.''


    ''I doubt that will ever happen.''


    ''You may. But let''s hope you don''t.''


    ''Excuse me, sir?''


    ''If the city ever gets invaded, the last stand will be inside the palace. So let''s hope that never happens.''


    ''Yes, sir. One question, which rooms are out of bounds again? I keep forgetting.''


    ''The ones that are locked.''


    ''And why aren''t we allowed inside?''


    His lawman''s curiosity is as hungry as mine but it is an inappropriate question to ask.


    The truth is that the locked rooms are filled with the food stolen from the granary. There''s no other place in the city to store it, my home not big enough, so it''s all staying put.


    ''I''m sure the commander and the lordess have personal things they don''t want you to see, Jac,'' I say.


    ''Of course, sir,'' he says.


    ''And remember the east wing is out of bounds too. We don''t want to disturb the lordess. She''s been kind enough to give us her house. We won''t want to anger her and have it taken away.''


    ''Yes, sir. Well, I''d better be getting on with the reports. Now I just have to remember how to get back to the servants'' quarters.''


    ''Take the stairs down to the entrance hall, make a left, go down the corridor, through the third door on the right and down another set of stairs.''


    ''Thank you, sir.'' He''s about to leave when he asks sheepishly, ''And how do I get to the stairs to take me to the entrance hall?''


    ''Take a right out of the study and just walk,'' I reply with a smirk. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Jac bows and leaves, closing the door behind him.


    With everything going on, a moment of peace flitters through my thoughts, the pain in my leg seeming to disappear. I look out the window again and see Able, the blacksmith. He''s pushing a cart this way.


    He''s the spryest old man I''ve ever known.


    Moments later, I greet him down in the courtyard, sweat trickling down his wrinkled face and glistening his flabby yet bulky discoloured arms.


    ''I have what you asked, sheriff,'' he says.


    ''Thank you, Able,'' I reply before looking inside the cart.


    The weapons that were housed at the keep that my men and I used were crushed beyond repair and I asked Able if he could forge us new ones. And like the man he is, he obliged without asking for anything in return.


    ''There are some older weapons of mine that I''ve added, if that''s all right?'' he said. ''I''m not as swift as I used to be.''


    ''Of course,'' I reply. ''And you should have told me you were coming today. I would have sent my men to fetch them.''


    ''No worries, sheriff. It''s nice getting a bit of fresh air now and again. It can get a bit stuffy at my place. I also wanted to tell you something.''


    ''What''s that?''


    ''Something odd. Although, it could just be me getting more senile.''


    ''Go on.''


    ''Well I''ve noticed a few times recently that weapons in my foundry are not where I left them. As if someone''s been sneaking in while I''m sleeping and moving them around.''


    I tilt my head, puzzled. ''How odd indeed.'' But a possibility of a connection between my attacker and this soon washes over me.


    And it''s Able who makes the connection. He reaches into the cart and pulls out an ax. It''s the same ax that my attacker tried to kill me with.


    ''This was one of the weapons that did a walk about,'' he says. ''You can see it has no legs.'' Then laughing, he places it back inside the cart.


    Is my attacker playing with me?


    I''m about to warn Able of what happened, which I should have done right after the incident, when a yell makes me spin on my heels. Then looking down the street, I see Tready running towards the house, a look of panic on his face.


    Something''s happened. A woman''s been attacked. I can feel it.


    I watch as he bounds into the courtyard and over to me.


    ''What is it?'' I ask hurriedly.


    Tready looks like he''s about to expel his bowls, terror in his eyes. He''s pale as a ghost.


    ''What is it?'' I ask again.


    ''Sir . . . sir ¨C'' he pants.


    ''Spit it out.'' Shivers tinkle up my spine.


    ''There''s a body. A woman. It''s the Night Cleaver. There''s no doubt about it.''


    The words squeeze my chest as if the weight of the entire city is pressing against me. I try to remain calm. I try to breathe.


    ''What makes you have no doubt it''s him,'' I stutter.


    ''By how the woman''s been handled. It''s not pretty. Not pretty at all.'' He then adds, ''I''m sorry, sir.''


    ''Where? Where was the woman ¨C the body found?''


    ''Regent Road, sir.''


    Hearing the name makes me scream in anguish and I steady myself against the cart.


    It can''t be her. I just talked to her a few days ago. Had the Night Cleaver followed me to her house and then followed her to her friend''s?


    Blinking rapidly, as if it would change the circumstance, I mumble softly, ''Show me.''


    ''Pardon, sir?''


    ''Show me for king''s sake,'' I say more forcefully.


    *********************************


    I''ve never worked May so hard before as we fly through the streets of the city, Tready sitting next to me on the driver''s seat.


    But finally, we make it. And as the carriage skids to a halt before a crowd of onlookers, May squeals at me in disapproval.


    On our feet, Tready leads me through the throng of gawking people.


    ''What''s happened, sheriff?'' stutters an old man, trembling on his walking stick.


    ''Has someone been murdered?'' asks a middle-aged woman. She tightens the nightgown around her neck.


    ''We demand that you tell us,'' comes another voice.


    ''Is it to do with the enemy? Have they sent us a plague with their weapons?''


    That''s all we need, I say to myself. And I wouldn''t be surprised if that was in the cards.


    ''Out of the way,'' Tready yells at the gatherers. ''And go back to your homes or we''ll start throwing you all in prison.''


    The crowd doesn''t heed the warning but parts, opening up to the entrance of a pathway between two derelict shops. A sign nearby reads, ''Regent Road.''


    With an all too familiar feeling, trepidation eats away at my nerves as I limp towards the scene. And as I pass skeletal fences that have been stripped of wood, a cool wind whips at the back of me.


    It''s when I see Scar looming over the cloak-covered body, a pool of vomit and blood mixture beside him, that it truly registers.


    My boot crushing a piece of stray glass sends Scar cowering in fright and clattering to the ground, chunks of his morning ration down the front of his uniform.


    He wasn''t with us the first time the Night Cleaver came to terrorize the city.


    ''Sir,'' pants Scar, beads of sweat dangling on his forehead. ''I thought ¨C I thought you may have been¨C''


    ''No worries,'' I reply and give him a helping hand back to his feet despite it hurting my leg. ''Who found her?''


    ''Children,'' says Tready. ''Three of them. They were playing.''


    Shit. Children shouldn''t have seen this brutality, this evil.


    ''Scar, would you remove the cloak please,'' I say.


    ''Yes, sir,'' he answers but doesn''t move a muscle.


    ''Scar?''


    ''I''ll do it, sir,'' says Tready.


    ''Thank you,'' I reply.


    Tready bends down and takes off the cloak, revealing a grotesque, animalistic savagery. The body is carved up like a roasted pig at a palace feast, her face barely recognizable. I cover my nose, for there''s a stench, the insides beginning to putrefy.


    ''It''s her,'' I say.


    ''Who, sir?'' asks Tready as Scar darts off to the side and spews once again.


    ''The woman who was previously attacked,'' I answer. ''The one that came to us.''


    ''That can''t be her.'' Tready looks beyond shocked.


    ''It''s her. And we''re definitely dealing with the Night Cleaver. I can''t count how many times she''s been hacked.''


    ''And it''s to be with a heavy weapon. The wounds are deep and thick. An ax most likely.''


    My body goes numb. Not only has my nemesis returned but he''s after me too.


    Scar fumbles back to us and sputters, ''An ax? That means it''s not the Night Cleaver.''


    ''The Night Cleaver used many types of weapons to do his deeds,'' Tready replies before I have a chance. ''The Night Cleaver was ¨C is just a moniker.'' A few silent moments pass before he asks, ''Sir, what should we do with her? Being that it''s destroyed, we can''t store her at the keep.''


    ''We''ll have to take her back to the house. The cellar will be good, it''s cold down there. And I''ll send for an examiner to come and have a look at her. We''ll use the carriage to bring her there.''


    ''Will the lordess mind?'' asks Scar.


    ''I''m sure she will but there''s nowhere else to do the examination.''


    ''When should we inform the family?'' asks Tready.


    ''She only has a husband here in the city ¨C poor man,'' I respond. ''He''s on the southern wall. And we should inform him as soon as possible. Him not being told in a reasonable time would be beyond cruel.''


    I should have informed him when she was initially attacked. I''ll regret that forever.


    ''I''ll do that, sir,'' says Scar.


    ''Are you sure you''re up for it?'' I look at the fresh vomit on his clothes.


    ''This spell will go.''


    I nod but then give it some thought. ''But first make sure he''s been at the wall all this time. Who knows we could be wrong and he might be the murderer. As you know, we''ve seen many spouses do away with the other.''


    ''Yes, sir.''


    I glance down at the body, my heart aching with grief. It''s a sight I thought I''d never see again. I should have done more to assure her safety.


    ''Should we tell the public now?'' Tready asks. ''Tell the public that the Night Cleaver has returned?''


    ''We shall. More fear is not what I want for this city but now I''d rather have that than have women hunted without them knowing. At least the public had some time to enjoy the fact that we caught the culprit who stole the food. Men, let''s put the cloak back over her and grab what you can. Let''s take her to the house.

 Chapter Twelve

    ''I don''t feel like eating anyway,'' I mumble as the image of the young woman''s body interrupts a piercing headache.


    I thought it had been another nightmare, mutilated corpses coming too easily for me in my sleep, but it was as real as the bare cupboard before me.


    I tense up as a knock thumps on my door.


    I limp out of the kitchen to see who it is.


    Cautiously, I grab the handle and pull, ready to defend myself if need be. But it''s only a vigil, a middle-aged man with bushy, wilding eyebrows. He''s carrying hundreds of small hemp bags laced on the stick he''s balancing on his shoulders.


    Rations.


    ''Here you go, sheriff,'' he strains, an old war injury making it hard for him to talk and breathe. He grabs a bag tied with a thin red string and yanks it free from the stick.


    Grabbing it, I ask, ''Anything good, Barth?''


    ''The usual shit. But I put an extra fatty chunk of salted beef in there for you.''


    I have no desire to eat another piece of salted beef ever again. Even if it was covered, wrapped in bacon, but I smile and bow at his goodwill. ''Thank you, Barth.''


    ''Have a good day, sir.''


    ''And you.''


    Barth leaves to carry on to the next home.


    My ears perk up at the sound of Able pounding away, hard at work once again. I then look down at the hemp bag and decide to give it to him.


    If I get peckish, which I doubt, I''ll just grab some food at Lorma''s.


    But as I''m about to go over, I see my elixirman strolling towards me. And when he graces my presence, I say, ''Still alive I see.''


    I want to add, ''What a shame,'' but bite the urge.


    He frowns. ''May we have a word inside.''


    ''If we must,'' I reply, gesturing him in.


    We go to the kitchen and sit down.


    ''I haven''t seen you for a while,'' I tell him. ''I guess I''ve been too busy that you''ve been unable to find me.''


    ''So my fear has been realized,'' he just responds. ''The Night Cleaver returns. I knew this would happen.''


    ''Really? And would you be so kind as to enlighten me?''


    ''I have dealt with many patients who have lived with madness. It never leaves. It can hide. Bide its time.''


    At this moment, Sir Blouf is still my only suspect and if he''s mad in the head, I wouldn''t be surprised.


    ''What are you going to do about it? my elixirman continues.


    ''Do what I can to stop this villain and make him pay.'' My thoughts turn to Fey.


    ''And do you think you''re the right man?''


    He pushes it too far now.


    I bolt to my feet and take a swing, striking him flush in the face. And still in his seat, he hits the floor with a crash, blood soon dripping from a gash in his head.


    ''I told you to keep your mouth shut,'' I yell. ''Test me any more and you''ll get more than a punch next time.''


    ******************************


    My leg pangs as I walk outside with the bag of food, soon trudging next door. And I have to pound it numerous times before I''m heard.


    Several moments later, Able greets me, his face as red as a forge.


    ''Good to see you, Pannor,'' he says. ''I hope there''s nothing wrong with the weapons I gave you.''


    ''Not at all,'' I reply. ''They are perfect.'' I then lie, lifting up the bag, ''The vigil gave me double rations by mistake. Here. This city needs our blacksmiths'' bellies full.''


    ''Are you sure?'' he asks.


    ''Quite.'' I hand the bag over.


    ''Thank you. And please, let me do something in return.''


    ''There''s no need. You''ve done more than enough.''


    ''I insist. May I see your sword.''


    I unsheath my companion and display it with a swoosh.


    ''Yes, beautiful,'' Able says. ''Even on his deathbed, my father had the strength to forge the divine.''


    ''Like father, like son,'' I reply.


    ''But a good sharpening it needs. The edges would have a tough go at cutting salted beef. I''ll make it sing if you like. I''ll give you another sword to hold you over until I''m done with it. I''ll get it back to you by the end of the day.''


    ''Deal,'' I say.


    ''Wait here.'' Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    With the hemp bag and my sword, Able disappears, coming back not too long after with a different blade.


    ''It''s not as long as yours but it will get the job done.''


    As I grab the hilt, Able notices my hand. It''s blackened with sooty ink. ''Just sent countless messages,'' I explain to him. ''The ink can be quite messy.''


    The messages are for the vigil leaders across the city, telling them to warn the public about the Night Cleaver''s return. They''ll send out the lower vigils, send them door-to-door as they do with our rations.


    But there is one vigil I want to tell personally. And while my men will be canvassing Regent Road for witnesses or clues today, I''ll be doing that. There''s also something else I''d like to tell her, to ask her.


    I sheath my new sword and say, ''Thank you. Oh, and have you witnessed any more of your weapons moving around?''


    ''Not since I last talked to you.''


    ''That''s good. But if they start again, please tell me.''


    ''Will do.''


    May''s still miffed at me for exerting her the previous day but comes when called and is still willing to take me wherever. I''m grateful. And today she''ll be taking me to the western wall.


    It takes longer than usual to get there, owing to the fact that if the Night Cleaver follows me I''d like to lose him before reaching my destination. I double back countless times and take alleyways the carriage is barely able to squeeze through. It''s slow but I reach the western wall and the small stone house built against it.


    Clambering off the carriage, I notice the residents of the street staring at me. They look shocked and confused. I''m probably the first man to come calling here.


    The second I knock on the home, a voice yells from within, ''Fuck off. I''m busy.''


    ''Trin, it''s Pannor,'' I reply loudly.


    ''Pannor! I''ll be there shortly.''


    I can hear mumbles inside. Trin''s talking to someone.


    Suddenly, the front door bursts open and a woman, not Trin, runs out, her curly fair hair and dress disheveled. She crosses the street and dashes into another stone house.


    Another woman then appears at the door, her freckled red cheeks glowing. With a swish of her short black hair, she gives me a smile.


    ''Trin,'' I just say.


    ''Pannor,'' the woman replies back.


    ''Sorry for interrupting.''


    ''No worries. I''ll see her again tonight.'' Her smile turns sheepish.


    ''In times like these, you always know how to make the most.''


    ''With husbands on the wall, wives aren''t getting what they want. I''m just doing my duty. Here to keep spirits up.''


    I frown disapprovingly.


    Trin raises her hands defensively. ''I''m joking, Pannor. That woman''s a vigil like me. I thought that would give you a chuckle.''


    ''But are you joking though?''


    Her smile widens from ear to ear. ''You know me too well.''


    ''I sure do. Glad to see you''re well.''


    ''Barely. That last attack was quite the barrage. We were extremely lucky down this street to not get hit. How did you fare?''


    ''The home''s fine but the sheriff''s keep was destroyed.''


    ''Shit. So what brings you here then?''


    ''Sorry to say but it''s of a serious nature. Can I come in?''


    Trin''s smile vanishes at my curt tone. ''Of course.'' She steps aside.


    A sitting room draped with colourful cushions and linen is where she leads me.


    ''Off you get,'' says Trin, waving at black cat lying on a chair. ''We have another guest.''


    The cat just stares at her owner smugly.


    ''Now, Pussy!'' Trin demands, her voice louder. ''Off!''


    The cat bolts from the chair and to a corner where she resumes her lying.


    ''Sit,'' Trin then demands me.


    Like the cat, I do as I''m told and she sits down beside me.


    ''Is this about the theft of the food?'' she asks. ''But I heard that you caught the culprit.''


    ''It''s not about that, Trinity,'' I say dolefully.


    ''Trinity? I don''t think you''ve called me that in years. This must be serious.''


    ''You and I share ties. The first working together when I was in the army and you a spy. And the second is having our loved ones taken away. What I have to tell you is something to do with the latter.''


    Trin''s face turns blank and her body tightens. ''He''s not back, is he?''


    ''I''m afraid so, Trin.''


    ''So there''s been another attack then?'' Trin''s voice quivers ever so.


    She''s trying desperately to keep it together I can tell.


    ''Yes,'' I reply.


    Trin digs her head in her hand. ''I thought that was over, Pannor. I thought the nightmare had ended.''


    ''I''m truly sorry.'' I take her other hand, put it into mine and give it a slight squeeze.


    She quickly drops the hand from her face and places it over mine. Then with a tear running down her cheek, she says, ''I don''t want to live through that again. I can''t. It''s too painful, Pannor.''


    I feel the same as her but reply, ''But you must make it through. Do it for her. Do it for Rachel.''


    Trin nods her head over and over.


    ''And I promise,'' I continue, ''I''ll get him this time.''


    ''You better.''


    We unwrap our hands and stare at each other fondly.


    With a deep breath, and after wiping her eyes, Trin then asks, ''Would you like something to drink? Tea?''


    ''Tea? Where''d you get that?''


    ''I have a few plants growing by my kitchen window. They''re a bit puny and leggy but they do throw a leaf out now and again.''


    ''I''d love some.''


    Trin leaves and is back a short time later with two mugs of steaming brew, handing me one. I give it a sip as she takes her seat again.


    ''Incredible,'' I say. ''I didn''t think I''d miss tea but I do. The bitterness is nice.''


    ''I miss a lot of things I didn''t think I would,'' says Trin. She gives her tea a puff and takes a gulp.


    ''There''s also another reason why I came to see you,'' I say.


    ''And what''s that?''


    ''It''s for a favour.''


    She gives me a sad smile and replies, ''I don''t think I can help you with that, Pannor. I haven''t been with a man since gods know when.''


    A soft chuckle escapes my lips and she apes it.


    ''You know it''s not that,'' I say, shaking my head. ''I need your other talents. Your spying prowess.''


    Trin leans back, an intriguing look gracing her features. She places her mug of tea down and says, ''Spill.''


    ''I need you to shadow someone for me ¨C but I can''t tell you the reason.''


    ''Fair enough. So who?''


    ''The king''s advisor, Sir Blouf.''


    ''Sir Blouf?'' she spits. ''Is it that you suspect him of being the Night Cleaver?''


    ''He''s as likely as anyone else,'' I lie. ''And that''s all I''m going to say, Trin.''


    ''Ah, you can''t blame me for trying to get it out of you. So what do you want me to do?''


    ''I''d like for you to follow him if he strays from his residence or the palace. I need to know where he goes and if he meets anyone. Can you do that for me?''


    ''It''ll be like old times,'' Trin says. ''Something I miss dearly.''


    ''As I. As I. So you''ll help?''


    ''You don''t need to ask me again. I will.''


    ''I''m indebted to you as always.'' And I take another sip of tea.


    I only stay at Trin''s for a second mug before going to Lorma''s to see how my men have fared with the investigation. And sadly, they have found no clues and the only residents that witnessed anything were the children who came across the body. The examiner has nothing helpful for me either. I also tell Lorma about the Night Cleaver''s return. She doesn''t take the news well, locking herself away and wailing for hours.


    It''s night time when I return home. I park the carriage and free May from her reins, immediately remembering my sword and that Able had promised to sharpen it. It''s then that I notice no noise coming from the foundry.


    Strange. Able is usually still pounding away at this time.


    I slowly make my way to his front door and knock.


    There''s no answer.


    I knock again.


    Still nothing.


    I unsheathe the sword I was given, raise it and enter.


    A heat as hot as a flaming wooden dragon cascades over me, penetrating my cold bones. Numerous glowing forges and benches dot the spacious workshop. And apart from the flames and I, there is no movement, no noise.


    I raise the sword higher and meander between the benches, the hemp bag with the red string catching my eye. It''s been opened, its contents strewn on several stools.


    Getting closer, my eyes flash down to the ground and to a hammer lying on the floor. I reach to pick it up when I see boots, Able''s, their toes pointing to the ceiling. Then peering over an anvil, I see him.


    Dead.


    Congealed saliva clings to his mouth, blood weeps out of grotesque and engorged eyes and puss drips out of a mass of crust that are his ears.


    A loaf of bread sits beside him, a bite taken from it.

 Chapter Thirteen

    ''He was poisoned,'' the examiner tells me as we stand over Able''s body in Lorma''s cellar.


    ''As I had suspected,'' I reply, bobbing my head in acceptance. ''As sheriff and being in the army, I''ve seen many poisonings in my lifetime. I would not want to leave this world in such circumstances. It is wicked. More wicked than other ways no matter how brutal. Do you have any idea what kind of poison?''


    The symptoms do look familiar but I can''t place where I''ve seen them.


    ''I''ll need to do a thorough inspection of his blood to give you specifics.'' The examiner takes off the round spectacles from his crooked nose before holding up the vial of blackish-red liquid he just siphoned from Able.


    The blood swirls with corruption.


    ''How long will that take?'' I ask.


    ''It first depends if I can make the concoctions that will provide the answers,'' the examiner replies.


    ''So you may not be able to?''


    ''Unfortunately. As you know, as everyone knows, resources are hard to come by.''


    A torment suddenly races through me like a violent thunderstorm sweeping the Godly Plains, making me wince and clutch my leg.


    ''That looked painful,'' the examiner says, a look of pity in his keen dark eyes.


    I don''t need his compassion. I don''t need anyone''s compassion.


    ''Any chance of knowing someone in the city''s physician community that has a drop of strong elixir that they can spare?'' I say. ''My elixirman has nothing to give.''


    The examiner sharpens his stare, his features creasing. ''I didn''t know you acquired a new elixirman.''


    The image of me hitting my elixirman the other day flashes through my thoughts. ''I may need of a new one now.''


    ''Excuse me?'' asks the examiner.


    I wave him away. ''It''s nothing. It''s nothing. A personal matter.''


    After a pause, the examiner says, ''Pardon my advice but it looks like you could use some sleep. Lack of it can play havoc with the body. And not just physically.''


    ''Like resources, that''s hard to come by too. Well, I''ll let you get back to your other obligations, Ren. Once again, thank you for coming by.''


    The examiner leaves me to stew in the cellar alone, to glare at the bodies of Able and the young woman lying side by side.


    Clearly the poisoned food, the loaf of bread, was intended for me, my attacker, and who surely must be the Night Cleaver, trying his luck once again.


    I need to know who he is.


    Barth, the vigil who has always brought me my rations, whom I''ve grown to know in five years, has some questions to answer for. And I fear I won''t be pleasant with him.


    I wait and wait, my senses easing to the growing stench the bodies expend. But rage begins to boil away within. And my desperation feeds my anger until it''s a red-hot pit.


    Hours go by, I''m sure of it, when I hear footfalls plodding down the stone steps to the cellar. Then beside me, a door opens and in walks Tready and Scar, again with a suspect yet unchained.


    The three immediately gasp and cover their noses.


    Barth''s eyes draw to the bodies, candles lighting the fetid rotting corpses.


    ''Gods fucking shit,'' he strains as his face whips away at the sight. ''What''s all this?'' He begins gagging, setting off Scar. ''Why did you send for me, sheriff?''


    ''Leave, you two,'' I say coarsely to my men, and they quickly oblige, eager to leave noxious hell.


    ''Not a great sight, is it?'' I continue once I hear boots climbing back upstairs, my voice rising.


    ''What''s the meaning of bringing me here?'' Barth stares at me, dazed.


    ''Look at them again, Barth.''


    ''Pardon, sheriff?''


    ''I said, look at them again. The bodies.''


    ''Why?''


    ''Because I fucking said so,'' I shout, my words bouncing off the walls.


    ''I can''t,'' Barth whimpers.


    ''You''ve seen worse than this on the battlefield. Do it now?'' I yell.


    ''I don''t understand what''s happening.''


    ''I will not tell you again!''


    Barth slowly turns his head back around.


    ''See that man. You know him,'' I say. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ''I do?'' Barth stutters.


    ''That''s the blacksmith who lived next door to me.''


    ''Gods fucking shit. What happened to him?''


    ''He was poisoned?''


    ''Poisoned?''


    ''Poisoned from the food you brought me the other day. I gave it to him and he ate it. His death must have been excruciating.''


    Sweat dripping from his unkempt brows, Barth says, ''I ¨C I ¨C I didn''t ¨C I ¨C It wasn''t me. I just deliver rations to people, sheriff. I don''t cook the food. I don''t even touch the food.''


    ''If it wasn''t you who poisoned the food, who was it?''


    ''I don''t know.''


    ''I don''t believe you,'' I growl. ''And this is what I do believe . . . . See the woman. . . it was you who did that to her, wasn''t it? Then you tried poisoning me because you didn''t want me around to investigate your return because I would have caught you this time.''


    ''My return?'' Barth cries.


    ''You''re the Night Cleaver. Admit it.''


    I know my anger is getting the better of me but I can''t help myself.


    Barth drops to his knees and sobs, snot bubbling from his nose. ''It''s not me, sheriff. I swear. You must believe me.''


    I glare at him and glare at him more.


    I know when someone is truly innocent. And this man isn''t faking his tribulation.


    I let him sob for a while before saying, ''Get the fuck out of here, Barth.''


    ''Sheriff?'' Barth doesn''t look at me.


    ''I said, get the fuck out of here. Or do you want me to change my mind and arrest you.''


    Almost tripping over himself, Barth scrambles out of the cellar.


    Shit. I shouldn''t have done that, and to a former soldier too.


    Get it together, Pannor, I say to myself.


    I slam my fist into the cellar''s wooden door, punching a hole clean through.


    How do I wish to be alone with my thoughts for the remainder of the day, but more visitors make their appearance. Firstly the undertaker, who comes to take away the young woman''s body, to give her a fiery burial outside of the city wall, then lastly, and to my surprise and shock, the king''s guards.


    I''m in Lorma''s study responding to letters when I hear the sound of hooves. I look out of the window and see several of them riding the king''s horses and all dressed in their shining armour. They''re heading this way.


    Has something happened to the king?


    There''s a serious mood about them. As if they''re on a mission.


    I greet them as they enter the courtyard, all arranging in a line in front of the fountain.


    ''His Majesty wants a word. We''ve come to take you to the palace,'' says the guard in the middle, the only one wearing a red cape. He''s the commander of the king''s guards, his brown eyes piercing through his feather-topped helmet.


    So nothing''s happened to the king. I''m grateful. And the city should be too.


    ''I will follow with my carriage, Sir Edmir,'' I tell him.


    The commander nods to an unmounted horse behind him. ''You''ll ride with us, sheriff. This is urgent.''


    Maybe something has happened. Maybe the king is on his deathbed.


    ''Is the king well?'' I ask.


    ''As well as ever,'' Sir Edmir replies. ''Now let''s make haste.''


    Mounting the golden-haired steed takes great effort but as I begin riding it feels like no time has passed since I was last on Bess.


    Galloping through the streets, I feel like I''m back on the battlefield, charging the enemy. And I forget the pain in my leg. I forget everything.


    We finally make it to the palace, where Sir Blouf waits at the grand entrance.


    My pain and anger return. I feel like accusing him of plotting with the enemy right then and there but I keep my lips sealed.


    Climbing down from the steed, Sir Blouf waltzes over.


    ''The king''s waiting,'' he says.


    ''After you,'' I reply.


    Sir Blouf doesn''t lead me inside but through the palace''s grounds. And as we pass onto a footpath confined by ancient willow trees, I plant my stare on the back of his head.


    It would be too easy to rid this city, this world of the man right here and now.


    Beyond the footpath, we come to the list field, where royal fighting tournaments of years past were once held, where royalty, lords and lordesses would come watch the greatest fighters in the kingdom. It now stands empty except for two unskilled sparring individuals.


    Getting closer, I see the king sitting in the royal box transfixed on the fighting.


    Sir Blouf leads me up. And we wait until His Majesty notices our presence.


    ''Good, you''re here, sheriff,'' the king finally says. ''Please, take a seat.''


    He waves at the queen''s chair, a copy of his, a tall black oaken throne set high on a platform, but I would not dare grace it with my arse. I meander over and sit on the other side of the king, in a seat of less grandeur and well below him.


    ''Leave us, Sir Blouf,'' the king says


    I don''t watch the man take his departure.


    ''Look at my young cousins down there,'' the king continues. ''You''re thoughts? And don''t restrain yourself.''


    I do, holding my tongue as usual. I''m sure the king doesn''t want to hear they look like two blubber seals with no limbs or heads.


    ''They''re getting better, Your Majesty,'' I reply instead.


    The king gives me a smirk, waiting for me to continue but I don''t, finally saying, ''Quite diplomatic, sheriff.'' He then shouts, ''Cousins! Cousins!''


    The two stop their sword play and gaze up.


    ''That''s enough for today,'' the king tells them. ''You may go and rest.''


    The two bow and clunk away across the arena.


    ''So why was I brought here by your guards, Your Majesty?'' I ask. ''Is this about the return of the Night Cleaver?''


    The king''s eyes narrow. ''Sheriff, that is your concern not mine. But I do wish for a swift conclusion. Like your response to finding the culprit to the theft at the granary. Yes?''


    Impossible. This is by no means like the theft, and I was lucky there, but I reply, ''Yes, Your Majesty.''


    ''What I have summoned you for is of the utmost importance. It''s for the survival of this city and my people.''


    Does he know of a plot? Of spies and traitors? Could he suspect Sir Blouf of something? And if he does, I will tell him that the Night Cleaver could be connected then.


    However, the king continues, ''You will be going on a diplomatic mission. You will travel to the siege line and talk with King Jabora. You will do your best to persuade him to leave with his army, to spare this kingdom.''


    My surprise shows and my anger grows once again.


    ''I have been conversing back and forth with King Jabora with letters. The time and place has been set. Sheriff, you''ll meet him in three days.''


    ''Why me, Your Majesty?'' I ask.


    ''You are a legend amongst the enemy, one of only a few that could hold a candle to King Jabora.''


    ''An over exaggeration.''


    ''Maybe but my efforts have failed and I thought you''d have more luck than anyone else.''


    Thinking of this complete absurdity, I don''t breathe a word until an unease comes between us.


    ''I will do as I''m asked.'' I bow. ''I will take a couple of my men and we''ll leave tomorrow.''


    ''You will go alone,'' the king replies firmly.


    ''Alone?''


    Is he mad?


    ''Those are the terms I had to agree with. You will be permitted to take one of my steeds with you.''


    ''Thank you, Your Majesty.'' I then add with a slight mocking tone, ''Am I allowed to take a weapon?''


    The king looks me dead in the eye. ''There''s no need for that demeanour, sheriff.''


    ''My apologies, Your Majesty.''


    ''The palace will also give you provisions to take with you. Roasted pig, duck, whatever you like.''


    My stomach growls in pleasure at the thought but after almost being poisoned, I will not be eating anything anyone gives me from now on. I will take food from Lorma''s to bring with me.


    ''Thank you, Your Majesty.''


    ''Sheriff, what you''re about to do is our last chance. If you fail, our fates are secured in the underworld.''


    That may not happen if my suspicion is correct, that Sir Blouf has allied with the enemy and wants to be king.


    My hunch is on the tip of my tongue but I just reply, ''I understand.''


    ''And may the heavenly creatures guide you to a favoured outcome.''

 Chapter Fourteen

    The sound of May''s bray wakes me and I find myself sitting on the driver''s seat of my carriage, reins in hand yet about to slip out.


    I must have closed my eyes on my way back home but I don''t remember even feeling tired.


    At a crawl, the carriage meanders down the dark street, the wheels squeaking like a nest of mice.


    I remember endless clouds saw me off when I left Lorma''s home. Now the stars shine brightly down, Fey''s star twinkling warmly as it always does on a clear night.


    How long did I doze off for?


    Not the smartest of actions, Pannor, I say to myself, as the feeling of being watched creeps through my thoughts and wriggles through my veins.


    And as a cold shiver slithers over my body, I swing my head around, looking to see a figure in the shadows, but there''s nobody.


    With a harmless whip of the reins, as if I''m giving an eager pat, May speeds to a trot. And as I continue towards home, the demand that the king placed on me earlier in the day begins weighing down.


    Surely I can''t be the last resort of our people, of this kingdom. How am I to convince King Jabora to end the war, to let us be? I''m a man of action not words. I am no diplomat with a silver tongue.


    Maybe I am a legend to our enemy, the emissary at the celebration at the palace telling me such, but I''m not the right man for this. My hatred for the enemy, I have no doubt, will ruin my attempt at diplomacy.


    But perhaps my meeting is of a nefarious nature, a plot thought up by Sir Blouf and the enemy. Could I be walking to my death?


    This is a fallacy by the king but I''ll do my duty as always. And if I die, I will take as many as I can with me. That is for sure.


    My home calls at me like a lighttower in rough seas. It beckons me as much as Fey''s star above. Owing to the attempts on my life, I should never set foot near it again but it''s the only place I feel comfort, relative ease. It was the last place I saw Fey alive and I will not have my life dictated by fiends.


    Yet I do take precautions, halting the carriage several streets away at the end of my travels through the city.


    If the Night Cleaver, my attacker, is waiting for me, I don''t want to flaunt my arrival.


    Once May is free from her harness, I begin skulking back home, keeping my ears open, my eyes peeled and my wits about me. It doesn''t help that every umbra I see stops me in my tracks.


    I''m rounding a corner when suddenly I hear the clack of a heel behind me, just steps away.


    Is this it?


    As fast as a skipping stone, I spin around expecting to see the face of terror, the face of my nightmares. Instead, it''s Trin clad in black, a woolen cap on her head.


    Her hand is quick to muffle my outburst of fright, my anticipated and sadly meagre last intake of breath.


    ''Sorry for startling you, Pannor,'' she whispers, ''but I''m glad I found you. I was on my way to your house when I saw you.'' She takes her hand away from my mouth.


    ''You could have called out for me instead of almost putting me in my grave from shock,'' I talk softly back.


    ''I''m sorry again, but I don''t know who could be around listening.''


    There''s a seriousness in her tone but it doesn''t surprise me.


    ''Like who?'' I ask, lowering and cocking my head. ''What is it, Trin?''


    ''I was at Sir Blouf''s residence not that long ago when I saw a figure lurking nearby.''


    ''Was it Sir Blouf? What was he doing?''


    ''It wasn''t Sir Blouf. The king''s advisor was inside taking a shit. And the figure just seemed to be waiting.''


    ''Waiting for what?''


    ''It seemed like they were making sure nobody was around.''


    ''What did they look like?''


    ''I couldn''t tell you.'' Trin raises her hands to the skies. ''It was dark.''


    ''Are they there now?''


    Trin shakes her head in disappointment. ''Sorry, Pannor, but I tried getting closer to whoever it was but they heard me coming and ran off. My spying, creeping skills have decreased since I last did this. It has been long. I tried chasing them but they ran like the wind. They almost ran as fast as you did before the injury to your leg. I couldn''t catch up.'' The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ''Who the fuck could it have been?'' I start aloud before ending in a murmur.


    ''You have no idea? Pannor, what the hell is this all about? If I''m going to continue with this, with what you have asked of me, I need to know. If I''m in danger from whatever this is, I need to know. It is only right.''


    ''Trin¨C''


    ''Tell me now or I''m out. You can find someone else to shadow Sir Blouf. I could be back home with a beautiful woman wrapped around my legs.''


    There''s nobody else like Trin.


    ''Fine,'' I say, ''but you can''t tell anyone. I mean it, Trin. No blabbering to your lady friends.''


    ''I used to be a spy, Pannor,'' she replies. ''I know how to keep quiet. Remember I was almost beaten to death and my lips never moved.''


    ''Yes, you''re right. And I remember that.'' I nod my head. ''I will tell you. I believe Sir Blouf is working with the enemy.''


    Trin presses her lips together before bursting out, ''That fucking pile of shit.''


    ''But I don''t know for sure, Trin.''


    ''Your hunches rarely turn out otherwise.''


    ''But they do.''


    Trin lifts her finger. ''Maybe this figure I saw was trying to contact Sir Blouf.''


    ''That is a possibility. Trin, you need to go back to Sir Blouf''s residence and see if the figure returns.''


    ''Would they be stupid enough to do that?'' Trin asks.


    ''If it''s the enemy,'' I reply, ''then yes.''


    ''I''ll be on my way.''


    ''Do you have any weapons on you?''


    With a flourish, and as fast as I could ever unsheath a sword, Trin pulls out two stiletto blades, holds them out for me to see before making them vanish again.


    ''Good,'' I continue. ''And if the figure does come back, you have the permission of the sheriff to use them to incapacitate.''


    ''Yes, Pann¨C''


    A yell punctures the air around us, whipping through the street like a winter chill. Trin and I swivel our heads in its direction.


    ''What the fuck was that?'' grunts Trin.


    ''It sounded like a lawman on patrol,'' I reply. ''I hope he hasn''t found anything.''


    My bones stiffen at the thought of what it could be.


    Has the Night Cleaver struck again?


    With a deep breath, I begin dragging my feet towards the disturbance, Trin shuffling beside me.


    We reach the end of the street when I see the faint bubble of light emanating between tall beanstalks growing inside a park. Once within, we weave our way through the monstrous crop until we come out at the other end.


    We stop in our tracks at the scene, Trin gasping in horror.


    The light is from a lawman''s box lamp. And its owner, not one of my men, stands petrified over the mangled body of a woman.


    ''Officer,'' I say calmly.


    The lawman drops the lamp in surprise.


    ''Who''s there?'' He shrieks. Then scurrying to pick up the lamp, he says, ''Identify yourself or else.''


    ''Calm yourself, lawman,'' I reply. ''It''s Sheriff Harg. And I''m with a companion.''


    Grabbing the lamp, the lawman raises it, shining it on Trin and I. ''Sheriff Harg, thank the gods it''s you. I just found her like this.''


    With Trin following behind, I close in. ''What''s your name, officer?''


    ''It''s Alup,'' he says. ''Alup Jinnseng, sir.''


    I glare down at the body. A mass of blood glistens under the light, giving off faint wisps of steam.


    ''The wounds are fresh, the body still warm,'' I say as I hear Trin begin to shudder. ''Her murder was very recent. Alup, how was she found?''


    ''I was walking past the park, on patrol,'' replies the lawman, ''when I heard something. I came inside and that''s when I found her. Is this the doing of the Night Cleaver, sir?''


    With the numerous wounds, I have no doubt.


    ''It seems so,'' I reply. ''Hmmm, I wonder what the woman was doing out at this time?''


    ''Could have just gone for a stroll, Pannor,'' Trin murmurs.


    ''Knowing the Night Cleaver has returned? Madness.''


    ''Sometimes people just need to go for a stroll in peace.''


    I understand, and I''m never the one to blame the victim, but she should have known the risk.


    I shake my head at the unnecessary loss of life and stare at the body for a while before saying, ''I''ll get my carriage. And once the body''s inside, ready for transportation, we can sweep the park for clues. I''ll like to get my men to come and help too.''


    ''Give me something to do, Pannor,'' Trin quivers. ''I''ll get the carriage and your men too. Just tell me where they live. I''ll be quick.''


    ''Quicker than me. Thank you, Trin. You''ll need my donkey, May, for the carriage. I''ll call for her now.''


    I''m just about to whistle when my gaze hurtles past Alup and through the beanstalks.


    I see something. Someone. A figure stands in the shadows of a mouth of an alleyway across the street from the park.


    Pointing, I whisper, ''Don''t move your light, Alup, but there''s someone over there.''


    ''Where?'' Trin breathes softly, ''I can''t see him.''


    ''You must. He''s right there. Where I''m pointing. Inside that alleyway.''


    Without warning, Trin flashes her stiletto blades and bounds into the beanstalks.


    ''Shit,'' I burst out before turning to Alup. ''Stay here. Do not leave the body. You hear?''


    ''Yes, sir,'' Alup answers.


    I run after Trin, diving into the beanstalks, but she''s too fast and I quickly lose sight of her.


    Bursting out into the street, my sight narrows onto the entrance to the alleyway. The figure''s gone and Trin seems to have vanished out of thin air.


    ''Trin,'' I call out, scrambling to the alleyway. ''Trin!''


    She doesn''t respond.


    Pitch black hails my arrival into the dirt covered strait. It''s so dark that I can''t see my hands in front of me. I barely have room to wield my sword.


    Creeping into the depths, I call out again, ''Trin?''


    The only response is the clacking of my heels.


    A bend in the alleyway signals me to slow my pace even more. I raise my sword higher and inch along until I reach the corner, stopping. Then as fast as I can move, I lunge around, prepared for a fight, but nothing attacks.


    It''s lighter further down, the alleyway ending and opening onto another street. I head towards it. But it''s then that I tread into something with a soft thud.


    Please no, I say to myself, glaring down at a dark shape stretched across the path.


    ''Trin?'' I breathe.


    I drop to my knees, releasing the grip on my sword, and feel around, hoping the Night Cleaver hasn''t struck again. All I hear is my heart race and I touch cloth. I delicately move my hands more, expecting to feel skin, to the feel the face of Trin, but it doesn''t come.


    I then grab a handful of cloth, my fingers poking through numerous holes, and realize it''s some sort of bag, an old vegetable sack perhaps left to rot in the alleyway.


    Relief slowly eases within. But where''s Trin?


    ''Trin!'' I yell.


    I grip my sword again and struggle to my feet. I raise my head and see a figure drop down before me.


    ''Sheriff,'' it says, causing me to stagger.


    ''Fuck, Trin,'' I pant, ''You almost put me in my grave again. Where were you?''


    ''I just wanted to get a better vantage point. See if I could see the Night Cleaver. I climbed up to the roofs.''


    ''And?''


    ''Nothing. He must have fled.''


    ''Shit!''


    So much for going back home tonight.


    After calling on my men and helping them rummage around the park for clues, I take the body back to Lorma''s and down to the cellar, placing her next to Able. Then I realize it''s just hours before I must leave for the siege line, to meet King Jabora, and I start gathering provisions.

 Chapter Fifteen

    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.

 Chapter Sixteen

    ''Where''s the steed?'' I say with apprehension as I get to my feet. Worry sets my head on a swivel.


    The strong wind has died to a gentle breeze yet the morning air is colder than the day before.


    I stamp out what''s left of the fire and hurriedly gather my things. Then with my satchel slung over my shoulder, I limp out of the hollow.


    And it''s at that moment that an enemy soldier wearing a bloodhound shaped helm appears from behind a thicket of trees, the king''s steed in his grasp.


    I stare at him, his face matted with scars, and wait for any sudden, threatening movement.


    ''Sheriff Harg,'' the soldier says in the accent of his kingdom, ''we''ll be escorting you the rest of the way.''


    We?


    The soldier continues, ''His Greatness, King Jabora, is looking fondly at the meeting with you. He speaks of it much and with vigour.''


    I cannot say the same and just grumble a response.


    The sound of a snapping twig diverts my attention and I see another enemy soldier emerge before me. Then comes another and another and another.


    Soon I''m surrounded by ten men and my hand is quick to the hilt of my sword, ready to unleash if I must.


    Before my injury I would have dispatched these soldiers with ease, without a thought, and without so much as breaking a sweat.


    Fucking leg. I wish I could turn back the sandglass. And not just for that.


    ''Please, sheriff,'' the soldier says. ''We''re here to do you no harm.'' He lets go of the steed''s reins and the horse trots over to me.


    The effort and unease it takes to mount her, my leg acting up, leaves me beyond embarrassed and I say with hostility, ''Let''s get on our way. Get this over with.''


    The enemy soldiers close in around me before leading me out of the grove and we start towards the siege line.


    With them on foot, the traveling is slow. But thankfully, they aren''t talkative, only grumbling in their language every once and awhile.


    We continue on the road until long and deep trenches blotch the land. They were once one of our defences, designed to slow the enemy''s advances, their warhorses, their other dragoon means, but now have been relegated to mass graves pecked of their tenants.


    With care we traverse the maze of burial pits, eventually coming to the Cliffs of the Sage.


    The idea of jumping off does rattle through my mind, an invasive thought, but the notion goes as quickly as it comes as the City of the Lakes appears in the far distance. It was once a gem in our kingdom.


    Fey always wanted to visit and I always promised her we would but I always put it off, my army and sheriff duties the reason. Another regret of mine.


    After the cliffs, we take a rest on the steps of the foothills of the Dragontop Mountains, the majestic rocky behemoths breaching the skies and most of my vision.


    A cold gale whips down from the frigid peaks, making my leg creak and moan. A sip of firewater would surely help but I refrain. I need my head as clear as possible.


    A faint movement on the mountains attracts my scrutiny. I squint and see an endless line of enemy soldiers marching up. There are thousands.


    Are they preparing for another wooden dragon attack? And while I''m traveling to meet King Jabora about ending this war?


    My suspicion grows.


    Before long, I''m back on the steed and on the move again.


    At first the foothills are a challenge. It''s clear a rain has come through recently as the ground is soft and muddy. The soil grips the steed''s every step and does its hardest to not let go. But as we progress the wind from the mountains quickly dries our surroundings.


    Half a day more and we finally crest the final hill. And that''s when I see it.


    The siege line.


    It''s monstrous, like a gigantic snake as thick with soldiers as the First Forest is deep with trees. I see siege weapons too. There are hundreds of them, all tall as the catapult tower on the southern wall.


    The enemy has come a long way in five years.


    And like a colorful oasis in a gloomy sea, a structure sticks out. King Jabora''s tent.


    I wonder if Seamil is gazing through the Peering Rod at this moment. I''m sure he is. Can he see me?


    The sun disappears behind the mountains when we arrive, the eyes of every soldier trained on me. They''re all standing at attention, motionless around their own smaller tents.


    As we enter the sea, passing through a barricade of mounds, ditches and palisades, I only hear the growling brays of warhorses I cannot see. They are roaring, yearning for conflict.


    The soldiers leading me take me along a road made of wooden planks coated with pitch, King Jabora''s tent at the end.


    Even though I''ve seen it many times while I fought in the army, it perched in encampments far from the battlefields, it still surprises me how big it is. Three great war galleys could easily fit inside.


    The entrance to the fabric palace is guarded by a ring of a hundred bandors, elite soldiers dressed in ancient dragon scale armor. Though we are in the shadows of the mountains, the blue plating dazzles as if the sun was glaring down.


    A few faces jog my memory. Faces seen a long time ago. Faces that have grown old like mine.


    The bandors part to let us through and my guides take me to a marquee sheltering silvery white Sable horses, King Jabora''s famous racing breed. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    One of the guides ties my horse up to a post and I climb down. They then lead me to the entrance, where two bandors greet me by staring at my sword.


    Do they want it?


    With speed I unsheath my blade, not one soldier flinching, which annoys me, and hold it up to be taken.


    ''You may keep your weapon, sheriff,'' comes a familiar voice from within the tent.


    The emissary from the celebration of the day of the princess'' birth appears behind the bandors. He''s wearing a native robe made of red silk with black sandals poking out from below.


    I bow at the respect for letting me keep my weapon, nothing more, before putting it away.


    ''Please,'' the emissary continues, waving for me to come inside.


    My guides don''t follow as I shuffle past the two bandors and into the godly abode, where thick tapestries sewn with the rarest starling gems and depicting victorious battles of new and old separate every room and corridor.


    The emissary leads me into the devoting room, to a shrine devoted to King Jabora, a pillar in every home and workplace in the enemy''s kingdom.


    I want to spit, piss on it. I want to break it into a thousand pieces.


    After kneeling and praying in front of a statue depicting the upper body of a three-headed bloodhound atop a man''s, something I do not copy and will never copy, the emissary takes me through to a hall.


    Blanketed with the pelts of hairy winged cats, the echoing room bleeds King Jabora''s comforting ways. An empty throne made of spirit gold stands tall at the opposite end and a dozen more bandors stand rigid around the walls. Yet, I catch a few briefly looking in my direction.


    Walking down the centre, the emissary says, ''His Greatness apologizes for not greeting you himself but he has other matters to attend to. He is away but will return shortly. His Greatness and I hope no offense.''


    ''No offense taken,'' I reply. ''Although I did hope for my visit to be swift.''


    ''In the meantime, you can rest. I''m sure you are tired from your journey. And we will chat. Something we didn''t do as much as I would have liked the last time we met.''


    That''s because I told you to fuck off.


    Through more and more tapestries we reach a room with tables of food wrapped around a pit of cushions.


    My stomach curls as I see plates of plump black grapes and beef that hasn''t been salted to death.


    ''This is the private resting room of His Greatness,'' says the emissary. ''We have permission to enjoy it. Would you like some food? Take as much as you desire.''


    ''The journey has upset me,'' I lie, my attempted poisoning still very much on my mind.


    ''As you wish. Perhaps a drink? I''m sure that will do wonders.''


    I''m sure it will.


    ''Thank you, but I must decline.''


    If I''ve insulted the emissary, he doesn''t look it. But even if I did, I wouldn''t give a shit.


    ''Please take a seat with me,'' he says, waving his hand towards the cushions.


    The emissary then walks into the pit and takes a seat. I follow, struggling to get on my arse without looking like a jester, but I fail.


    ''Your injury?'' the emissary asks.


    I do not want to talk about that with him and I don''t respond, saying instead, ''Those weapons you used on us in the last attack . . . something new or something you''ve been keeping?''


    ''Please sheriff, let''s not¨C''


    ''Talk about the current battle,'' I finish for him. ''But isn''t that why I''m here.''


    ''Yes, but you may talk to His Greatness about the battle at hand. However, I would like to offer you, and on behalf of His Greatness, what I offered you at the celebration of the princess'' day of birth.''


    I scowl. ''For me to turn, to change sides?''


    ''Yes, sheriff.''


    ''But if I''m here to try to persuade King Jabora to end this war peacefully, why offer this again before I meet with him.''


    ''It''s out of our deepest respect for you, sheriff.''


    I smell warhorse shit. Am I here on a fool''s errand? I feel like a fucking fool.


    The emissary continues, ''We will give you lands to do with as you wish. Lands so fertile and teeming with ore and gems. And we will give you women that will please. Hundreds, thousands of them if you desire.''


    I desire only one.


    And a strong swift punch is what this emissary needs but I refrain and reply with composure, ''Let me meet with King Jabora first.''


    The emissary bows. ''As you wish.''


    King Jabora''s private resting room becomes a tomb. No more words are spoken for gods know how long until I hear the sound of trumpets blare outside, it soon morphing into a tune I''ve heard many times, a tune that has sent many men cowering.


    But not me.


    ''His Greatness has returned,'' the emissary says with a smile and he gets to his feet. I flinch to copy when he says, ''Please, sheriff, stay seated. His Greatness will not mind. He knows of your injury.''


    I take no notice and grope my way up through the cushions. ''Shall we greet him?''


    ''We will wait here. His Greatness knows our whereabouts.''


    The bellowing trumpets finally end and are replaced by the faint sound of jangling chains, which grow and grow and which is accompanied by the pounding of boots.


    Then with a rush, tapestries fling open and in plods King Jabora in all his stoutness. Necklaces of spirit gold dangle from his thick neck and his grand bejewelled beard weighs down from his many chins.


    He''s become more robust since the last time I saw him. This war has done him too well.


    The emissary is quick to his knees, bowing deeply so that his nose touches the ground.


    I do not ape the king''s servant and just incline my head.


    ''Sheriff Harg,'' wheezes King Jabora. ''It is an honour to finally meet you.''


    He holds up his bulbous hand, each sausage finger dazzling with rings.


    Does he want me to kiss it? I''d rather kiss the backside of the king''s steed but I give in.


    ''It''s an honour to meet you, King Jabora,'' I add, hating myself for the words.


    The king looks down at his emissary and says, ''Up.''


    The emissary springs to his feet. ''Your Greatness.''


    ''Leave us,'' says the king.


    ''Yes, Your Greatness.'' And like an obedient hound, the emissary scuttles out of the room.


    King Jabora stares at me with his round, protruding eyes. ''Did my emissary offer you food, something to drink?''


    ''He did.''


    ''Good. Now sit.''


    I respond to the demand by doing so. Meanwhile, the king waddles over to a table and pours himself a tall glass of amber wine. He brings it over to the pit and thumps down, flattening cushions.


    The king raises his glass and smirks. ''Here''s to you, sheriff.'' And in speed, he gulps down the wine, much of the liquid dribbling down his face and onto his clothes.


    After tossing the glass over his shoulder, it hitting a tapestry older than him, he then asks, ''Did my emissary mention an offer?''


    ''He did.''


    ''Have you an answer?''


    Watching the king begin to play with his rings, I reply, ''What is the purpose, Your Greatness?''


    ''A man like you should live out your life with the glory that you deserve. To ascend to greatness that you have never seen.''


    His words want to make me laugh. And I''ve had enough with this game. Time to confront the enemy with my suspicion.


    ''Why the attempts on my life then?'' I ask, making King Jabora lean back, his chins creasing together.


    ''If there are attempts on your life, it is not me. I would never¨C''


    ''Pardon if I don''t believe you.''


    The king frowns at this, his lips curling with disdain and his hearty attitude spoiling.


    I''ve hit a nerve.


    His tone now darker, the king says, ''When you were in the army, that was all I wished for but now¨C''


    ''I demand the truth,'' I say. ''Your spies are trying to kill me.''


    ''Let me make this clear sheriff,'' the king growls, ''never interrupt me again. And regarding your speculation, I have no need for spies.''


    ''Bullshit.''


    The king''s fatty eyes widen, making it clear that nobody has ever sworn in his presence before.


    ''The Night Cleaver? You''re behind it. And you''re working with Sir Blouf?


    ''I have no idea of this Night Cleaver you say.'' The king''s voice rises, sweat beginning to pool on his brows. ''And Sir Blouf? Your king''s advisor? I wouldn''t let that weasel lick the hairs on my toes. Sheriff, you are delusional.'' He then huffs, wheezing with anger, ''And I hereby rescind my offer. You have been too disrespectful.''


    ''I''d rather die than become your trophy, to become your pet,'' I say, adding snidely, ''Your Greatness.''


    ''You will get your wish. We are done here.''


    ''I don''t know how the heavens could grant you and your people such victory over us,'' I say, standing up.


    I don''t wait for a response and leave, shuffling past the emissary waiting just outside.


    ''Take me to my steed, and be swift,'' I snap and he leads me back through the fabric palace.


    When my boots touch dirt, the emissary stops, letting me continue to the king''s steed alone, before shouting, ''You should have taken the offer, sheriff. When we enter your city, we will not be merciful to anyone. Do you hear?''


    It takes a lot for me to not turn around, to not unsheath my sword and take his ugly enemy head off.


    At the marquee, I untie and mount the king''s steed. Then with one good kick, digging my heels in her side, she takes off and plows through the bandors.


    Enemy soldiers just stare at me like before as I gallop past their tents. And once I break through the siege line, I head back home.

 Chapter Seventeen

    My head pounds and my leg spasms as the grove I slept in the night before draws me once again. And with only the light from the stars up above, I stumble down into the hollow, into the bosom of the earth, the king''s steed following behind.


    A cold nips at my face and I''m quick to start a fire, the walls of the sunken earth soon illuminated by dancing flames, the silhouetted trees aloft looking like an army of the antlered giants of yore.


    With force, I toss on a fallen wet branch, it eventually hissing and popping, before bemoaning my missed opportunity. And not the chance of accepting the offer or begging for the survival of my people, the reason why I was sent to the siege line, but the opportunity to kill King Jabora.


    I fill my lungs with air and release it with a booming yell.


    I was alone with him. Though fucked my leg, I would have carved him many more chins before his wails of agony attracted any of his soldiers. At least something good would have come from this waste of time.


    Why didn''t I do it? Why?


    He said he doesn''t have spies within the city. Of course that ogre does. This is war. And him not colluding with Sir Blouf? What lies. I can feel it. I know it to be true. It''s the only explanation. I saw Sir Blouf and the emissary talking alone at the palace. What other reason could there be? If their talking wasn''t nefarious, they''d have spoken more openly, not when the king and everyone else was in the ballroom.


    Rage burning inside of me, I tear open my satchel and rummage around, tossing items out haphazardly. And I find what I''m craving. The firewater Seamil gave me. It''s the only release I have. It''s the only thing I have.


    With my teeth, I rip out the cork and gulp the liquid down until half the bottle has gone.


    If I go blind, so be it. I don''t want to see more of my city getting destroyed or more mutilated women anyhow.


    I yell again as this time the searing milky liquid funnels down my innards.


    Shit, that burns. It feels like I''m being fed a hot poker.


    And the effects are swift, the pain in my head evaporating and my leg''s tremors easing until I feel nothing. I don''t even feel the cold air or the heat from the fire.


    But then, as if by magic, as if a deep wound has made me feverish, something I have witnessed and personally suffered many times, the king''s steed and the fire morph into one another, becoming Gnisqua, the mythical mare of my childhood fables, stories my mother used to tell me before bed.


    ''What in the names of the gods is this?'' I try to scream, but all my ears hear is, ''Fucking swines. I''ll kill you all.'' And it''s in a voice I don''t recognize.


    What is this madness that Seamil has gifted me?


    I look down and gasp, not hearing that either but a wicked grunt instead. And where a bottle should be gripped in my hand, I see a pumping heart in its place, it oozing with blood.


    With haste, I lift my gaze and see Gnisqua, the flaming beast, galloping around the hollow, her speed gaining with every pass. Dust kicks up until she vanishes behind it.


    The air is so thick it looks like I''m back in the western deserts, marching with my fellow soldiers and shoulder to shoulder with Seamil to claim the rights of the kingdom, eddies of sand whipping all around.


    Suddenly, a swirl forms and grows before me, sending out tentacles that drift like weeds in the sea. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    This must be a nightmare. It surely must.


    Raising the pumping heart, it soon crumbles to dust and joins the growing arms, which start to thrash and warp.


    And before I know it, I see a nose, then a chin, then flowing hair.


    Fey.


    Looking at the beautiful face of my only love, I reach out but she''s too far away. I try to move but my legs won''t shift.


    I''m so sorry, dear. My anger got the best of me as always. Please forgive me.


    I reach out for Fey again but another figure joins her, swirls of dust cascading down to form his cloak.


    My elixirman.


    The two stare at each other as if lovers before resting their eyes on me, an aura of pity and guilt washing over them. But their features soon turn sinister as if I''ve set my sights on the Night Cleaver himself. They open their mouths and burst forth the most heinous, spine-tingling of laughs. A laugh that ruffles the now existent antlered giants above.


    In a flash, the two disappear in an eruption, yet the particles soon conjugate once again to form another.


    It''s a young woman. I don''t recognize her face, her blue eyes seemingly resting on her high rosy cheeks, yet I recognize the clothes she''s wearing. A yellow flowery dress but there are no tears or cuts in it and it''s not drenched in blood.


    I remember her name. It was Collette. She was the second victim of the Night Cleaver.


    The young woman distorts, her dress transforming into a ruby gown with puffed sleeves before her features recast into someone older, the third victim of the Night Cleaver. With greying hair billowing from her wrinkling powdered mask, it''s the first time seeing her face too.


    Without realizing, all the victims of the Night Cleaver start to churn before me, the last being the woman from the park.


    ''I''m sorry,'' I yell. And again, it''s not my voice and it screams instead, ''I''ll gut you all.''


    But then the dust in the hollow falls back to the ground in a crash, as if someone had just cut its string. Gnisqua still gallops but quickly turns back into the king''s steed, the flames rushing to the fire.


    Is this nightmare over?


    Yet ease doesn''t come.


    The king''s steed stops before me, snorts madly and begins to stomp her front hooves.


    She''s frightened. But of what?


    Another sound rings in my ears. A sound I know all too well. It''s the clanking of armour plating.


    It''s right there that I see several boots appear on the tops of the walls of the hollow from the darkness above. And the boots stretch into legs that contort into dragon scales.


    Bandors. Many of them.


    I''m surrounded again.


    ''To disrespect His Greatness,'' says one of them, his greasy dark hair shimmering like black pearl, ''is to die a painful death. His Greatness wants your head as decoration and we will retrieve it.''


    ''I dare you to try,'' I bellow back. And in a blur, I leap to my feet and brandish my sword. ''I''ll gut you all, swines.''


    A howling bandor meets my rage. Our weapons clash, sparks flying with contact. I dip. I swerve. I dodge. I pivot.


    I feel alive. I feel immortal. I feel at peace.


    I play with him for a while before spinning around, evading his lunge, and planting my blade into his back. And I don''t rip it out cleanly but thrust it through his upper body and head.


    Blood spurts.


    Flanking me, two more bandors come to dance. But with a slash, I decapitate one swiftly before targeting the arms of the other. I swing and swing again, his limbs floundering to the ground. He screeches in agony but he fights on, though feeble it is.


    Admirable, I must say, but his weak kicks quickly bore me. I hit him with my hilt and he crumbles to his knees. I finish him off by impaling his eye, the squelch it renders giving me utmost satisfaction.


    Now the rest charge.


    A worthy challenge.


    With speed, I sweep at three, severing their legs at the knees before the others rain down on me with their weapons. And again, I shirk and evade, deciding to have some more amusement.


    I plunge my weapon into the ground before clawing wildly, like some rabid creature. I grab a face, gouge my fingers into the jaw and rip. The head splits apart, the cracking of the skull echoing inside my mind. And brains fall, fouling my hands.


    Another head is next. And I squeeze and squeeze, it caving in with a mighty crush. Then I swing my arms, wrap them around a neck and constrict like a snake until it parts. And as the beheaded body thumps to the ground, my eyes descend on the two remaining lunging towards me.


    I grab my sword, take aim and slash, my blade sending a weapon flying. I then kick, dropping its owner to the ground before finishing off with a heel to the crown. One more kick pounds crotch and I too send its owner to the afterlife with a thrust to the heart.


    I roar in delight, my body yearning to spill more blood. But as I scan for more enemies, I see none, all the bandors dead and lying mutilated at my feet. Though still craving, euphoria suddenly takes hold, making me cackle until my breath is taken away.


    I fall to the ground dizzy and the world goes blank.

 Chapter Eighteen

    The trickle of water arouses my sight as if the gods were forming the world before me, a blurry reality becoming focused and sharp.


    And expecting to see the walls of the hollow, I''m confused at the scene before me.


    It''s not a pit in the earth but a river. The Darmor River. It''s the same spot I rested before, where Seamil and I fished when we were young.


    I mumble a curse at my bewilderment.


    How in the heavens did I get here? I do not remember.


    Realizing I''m sitting against a rock, my eyes drop down to a patch of blood on my coat near my abdomen.


    Have I been wounded?


    In panic, I scramble to uncover my undershirt but I see no more blood. Yet, I press my stomach, waiting to feel the pain of a puncture but it doesn''t come. Then with my fingers, I rub the stain. It''s dry.


    As my confusion grows, an offensive smell wafts past, following the calm wind drifting down the waterway. I turn my head ¨C it aches ¨C and see the charred remains of a small creature, a flying squirrel perhaps, skewered on a spit over the embers of a fire. It is blackened as if it was covered in tar.


    I look down at the blood stain again and back at the fire.


    Did I kill the rodent?


    I don''t remember. I don''t remember anything. The last moments I can recall is leaving the siege line and riding the king''s steed towards the hollow.


    And where is the king''s steed? She''s disappeared from me again.


    I clamber up, pain immediately shooting through my leg. As I wince, I knock something with a clank.


    Glaring down at my feet, I see the bottle, the firewater Seamil gave me. It''s uncorked and empty.


    Surely I didn''t drink all of it. Or maybe I did.


    Could it have made me think I stopped at the hollow when in fact I stopped here?


    Shit. Seamil was right about the potency.


    A flash of chestnut flickers in the corner of my eye and I lash my neck around, making it wrench in agony.


    If an enemy or a vicious beast was stalking me, I''d surely be done for, but it''s only the king''s steed trotting out from a large bush.


    Though my neck is not pleased with her appearance, I''m happy to see her, to see she hasn''t met her fate from the dangers in the forest.


    The mare clatters over the rocks and softly plants her muzzle into my cheek.


    It''s a pleasant feeling and I can tell she wants to go home. So do I.


    ''Let''s go, Bess,'' I say.


    And as I mount, I''m overcome with guilt. Guilt of failing at what I was sent to do.


    What will the king have to say? What will Seamil have to say?


    But why should I feel this way? King Jabora was never going to end this war in peace.


    I surrender to these thoughts, eager to pick up my sheriff duties once again. I wonder how my men are getting along.


    The slog through the First Forest is slow as it was the previous time but I eventually make it out and onto the wilding road.


    Clouds soon fill the clear sky and rain is quick to follow.


    The rest of the journey back to the city is a somber one, yet I make swift work, the farmers'' fields skipping by like flat stones on a pond.


    I must say, I''m glad when the southern wall appears to emerge from the ground, the gate not a beast anymore but a budding warm embrace.


    I''m even more delighted that it''s still light outside despite the weather. I''m in no mood to be mistaken for an enemy and die by a weapon of my people.


    As I get closer, the faint shouts of my name drift towards me from the top of the wall. Not long after, the gate opens its arms and a man walks out. Seamil has come to welcome me back.


    Yes, a good friend.


    With muted joy, I gallop to him and he graces me with a smile. I return the gesture.


    ''Pannor, what a relief,'' Seamil bursts out, grabbing the steed''s harness. ''The heavens answered my prayers.'' The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ''You prayed to the heavens,'' I reply, crossing my brows. ''Now I''ve heard everything.''


    ''To be truthful, I always do when it comes to you.''


    ''I will take that not as an insult.''


    I climb off the steed and we shake hands, a soldier''s handshake once again.


    ''What happened there?'' Seamil asks, glancing down at my clothes and the spot of blood shimmering with rain. ''Did something happen? Were you attacked? Was it the enemy?''


    ''A flying squirrel took my fancy,'' I reply before lying, ''It went down well. There''s nothing like fresh meat.''


    Seamil looks relieved. ''Did you bring me any?''


    ''You have access to enough food.''


    He frowns. ''You know, this joke will eventually get stale.''


    ''As stale as stolen¨C'' I start.


    ''Enough,'' Seamil bursts out a chuckle. ''Come, let''s get out of the rain.''


    ''Indeed.''


    Seamil leads me and the king''s steed through the gate and to the side door in the wall from where he had appeared to see me off.


    ''After you,'' he then says.


    I enter, shuffling through to a room cramped with large wooden gears encompassing almost every inch apart from a small space in the middle where a table and two chairs sit.


    After tying up the horse to a brazier outside, Seamil follows me in.


    ''When did the gear room get these?'' I ask, nodding to the furniture.


    ''I brought them down for you,'' Seamil answers. ''I thought you may want to rest on your return and I didn''t think you''d want to walk all the way up to my office.''


    ''That was kind.''


    ''It''s a shame all the taverns are closed in the city. I would have taken you there. It would have been like the old days. Coming back from war and having a good long drink. Getting pissed until the early hours the next day.''


    ''I miss those days. Speaking of which, I saw the old inn. It''s still standing.''


    Seamil shakes his head as he takes a seat. ''The stunts we used to get up to in there, hey?''


    I sit down too and reply, ''The dagger throwing tourneys will be etched into my brain for eternity.''


    ''I still can''t believe nobody was killed.''


    Suddenly, the wooden gears in the room begin to spin, making my ears throb. And it awakens an ache in my head too.


    I wince.


    ''Are you well?'' Seamil asks.


    ''Just a bit tired.''


    When the wooden gears stop turning, the gate thudding to a close outside, Seamil asks eagerly yet calmly, ''So, Pannor, what''s the news from our enemy? From the siege line?''


    I hate to give him the bad news.


    ''Sorry, old friend. My attempt at peace has failed. I''m sure King Jabora was never going to even contemplate the thought. I was there for amusement only.''


    As if I''ve just punched him in the gut, Seamil briefly looks away before replying, ''Pannor, you have no need to apologize to anyone, let alone me.''


    Silence passes between us until I say, ''Though our future looks certain, at least my travels have made me certain of something. That Sir Blouf has embraced the bosom of the enemy.''


    Seamil regains some vigour. ''We should go to him at this very moment and do to him what should have been done to him a long time ago.''


    ''That will not help matters, Seamil.''


    ''But nothing matters anymore.''


    ''To preserve our way of life for as long as we can matters.''


    Seamil furrows his face.


    ''What?'' I say.


    ''Enough with the freethinking talk,'' Seamil replies. ''Let''s drink our worries away.''


    I snort. ''Yes, let''s. But maybe I should see the king first before we commence our partaking.''


    ''That imbecile can wait.'' Seamil pulls from under him a dark glass bottle and plonks it on the table.


    ''More of that firewater you gave me?''


    ''A little less potent,'' he replies, grabbing some glasses, too. ''Did you have some?''


    I nod as Seamil begins to pour.


    ''Quite something, hey?''


    ''Indeed,'' I reply.


    Seamil then hands me a glass and whips up his own. ''To what''s to come. Whatever that is.''


    With haste, I down my drink.


    **************************************


    I don''t know how many rounds Seamil and I have in the gear room. All I know is that it''s pitch black before I come to, finding myself riding back home on the king''s steed.


    And I''m drunk. Wasted.


    Less potent, Seamil said. I''m not sure about that. Or maybe I just can''t take my firewater anymore.


    As I dawdle down a lane, weaving through rubble the vigils have not yet cleared away, an old army shanty springs from my lips.


    I raise my voice with every chorus about the Jolly Giant Slayer, not caring of the chance the Night Cleaver will hear.


    Did he know I was away? Does he know I''ve returned? Could he be following me now?


    My singing erupts thunderously, echoing against the buildings still erect.


    If the Night Cleaver, or whoever wants me dead, is around, I dare him to pounce. I want him to pounce. I''ll run this mare right through them.


    But he doesn''t show and I soon tire of warbling to this doomed city.


    Another chorus, however, picks up the mantle, a chorus of neighs that the king''s steed joins with strength.


    Entering my street, I see the source. Another welcoming party awaits. And a much bigger one.


    Surrounded by a dozen torch-wielding guards on horseback, the king''s golden carriage sits by the front door of my home.


    Shit.


    I can see a shadow inside the closed coach, the silhouette of a crown perched on its head.


    Shit.


    I wonder how long His Majesty has been waiting. Not too long I hope.


    I curse again, knowing I should have gone straight to the palace the instant I returned instead of getting drunk with Seamil.


    My old friend has always been a bad influence on me.


    And once again, guilt riddles my body.


    Does His Majesty know I''ve failed? I''m sure he wouldn''t be here otherwise. Well, I''m about to find out.


    I slap my face as I near but it doesn''t do much to sober me up.


    With a string of boisterous neighs, my ride gives my approach away and a guard is quick to trot to the window of the carriage. He mouths a few words and the carriage door opens as swift as an airborne arrow.


    The king appears from within and climbs down, his regal cloak making him look as hefty as King Jabora. And his gaze latches onto me like flies on shit.


    Once over, I bow deeply, catching myself from falling from the steed. ''Your Majesty,'' I slur.


    The king looks me up and down, a scowl on his painted face, before growling back, ''Sheriff. Inside. Now.''


    ''Yes, Your Majesty.''


    I fumble from the steed, a guard ready to take the reins, and I lead His Majesty inside my home, the first time he''s ever graced my abode.


    To the kitchen we go, the only room acceptable to receive him. But he doesn''t look impressed at the humble accommodations.


    After lighting a candle, and as the king takes a seat, I say, ''I would have come to the palace¨C''


    ''But you didn''t,'' he snaps.


    ''No, Your Majesty.'' I stumble to pull a seat out for myself.


    ''I haven''t given you permission to sit.''


    I bow. ''Forgive me, Your Majesty.''


    ''Forgive you for what? For failing at what I had asked of you?'' The king then shouts, ''Or for you being completely drunk in front of your liege?''


    I lower my head in respect and shame.


    ''You are a disgrace, Pannor Harg,'' the king continues. ''And I have no choice but to relieve you of your sheriff duties.''


    My heart falls into an abyss at the words. I want to argue but I don''t.


    ''Yes, Your Majesty,'' I say.


    The king stands, shakes his head and leaves.

 Chapter Nineteen

    Staring at the spot where the king vanquished my only worth in this world, I sit for hours. I sit until the morning light peers through the kitchen window, until my mind is clear from the drink.


    I yawn but there''s no time for sleep. I must tell my men of the king''s directive.


    But first, I wash and change my clothes.


    Stinking of firewater and from the days of travel are not what I want the people I''ve worked with for many years to remember on this day. I want to leave them with a clean visage of me.


    As I limp outside in a fresh coat, dew collecting on it immediately, I call for May. As always she eventually shows, and with a spring in her gait.


    She''s glad to see me. I''m glad to see her.


    After a welcoming rub of her muzzle and a few playful nudges from her, I take her round to the back and harness her to the carriage. I clamber up to the driver''s seat and head off to Lorma''s.


    Being that it will be the last time, the ride is a somber one. The city''s residents are out, going about their day, with many calling out to me.


    ''Morning, sheriff,'' they say as happy as one could be.


    I don''t correct them. And little do they know about my failed attempt at peace. It''s hard to look at them. But look at them I must. And I return their greetings.


    With the streets less crowded, the inner city is a welcome sight. And when I sidle up to Lorma''s home, I see her and my men waiting with smiles, and all looking eager for positive news.


    I ache at the disappointment I''m about to inflict.


    Yet, I greet them warmly once my boots touch the ground inside the courtyard. I shake the hands of my men and give Lorma a respectful peck on the cheek.


    ''Seamil just messaged that you returned,'' Lorma says. ''We all felt like waiting for you. We were very anxious.''


    ''Did he mention anything about the return,'' I ask.


    ''Like what?''


    ''Oh, nothing,'' I reply, thankful he hadn''t mentioned our get together inside the gear room.


    I don''t want Lorma to judge us, to judge me. Many don''t like ones that drink their sorrows away.


    ''How went the meeting with King Jabora?'' asks Tready. ''Is there peace in our future?''


    It hurts me to answer with words and so I just shake my head. And they react as Seamil did.


    After a moment, Tready asks softly, ''What do we do now, sir?''


    ''Like you always do,'' I reply.


    My men nod their heads before Jac says, ''We were able to identify the Night Cleaver''s last victim.''


    ''That''s a good start,'' I croak. Even though I''d rather the situation be a terrible fantasy, I''m delighted. ''And?''


    ''Remember the woman who came into the keep to report that someone had stolen her corset¨C''


    ''It was her?''


    ''Yes.''


    ''Shit.'' I pause, shaking my head, before saying, ''Anything else found?''


    ''Sorry, sheriff, that was all we could find so far.''


    ''So there have been no more attacks since I left?''


    ''Nothing.''


    Relieved, I let out a sigh, but maybe the Night Cleaver wants me around.


    ''Oh, and the examiner was able to find out the poison that killed the blacksmith,'' says Tready. ''He said he was able to analyze the blood. He wrote a letter detailing everything. It''s on your desk.''


    Not my desk anymore. It''s time to tell them.


    ''More sad news I''m afraid, men,'' I say. ''It''s with a heavy heart that I tell you this but the king has seen it fit that I no longer be the sheriff.''


    Lorma gasps as my men mumble in confusion.


    ''This cannot be,'' says Tready.


    ''But why?'' asks Jac.


    I shrug.


    ''Is it because the meeting with King Jabora didn''t go well?''


    ''It doesn''t matter the reason,'' I say.


    ''That¨Cthat fool,'' stutters Scar. ''How could he do this in the middle of everything?''


    ''Hey,'' I reply sternly to him, ''enough of that.'' Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ''But you''ll still be a lawman, yes?'' asks Tready.


    ''My lawman days are over too.''


    Everyone is shocked again.


    ''This is a mistake,'' says Lorma.


    ''It is not,'' I reply.


    ''I must go to the palace and ask His Majesty to reconsider. I''ll beg, I''ll get on my knees if I have to.''


    ''You will do no such thing, lordess.''


    ''Please, Pannor. You are the only one for the sheriff position.''


    ''There are many able men in this city,'' I reply.


    ''But who?'' asks Tready. ''Who will take over?''


    ''Until the king says otherwise, fills the position, you must do it, Tready,'' I say.


    Tready straightens himself and nods, yet a look of dread washes over him.


    ''What will you do, sheriff?'' asks Jac.


    ''It''s Pannor from now on,'' I reply. ''And just because I''m not sheriff anymore doesn''t mean I can''t help all of you out with the investigation into the Night Cleaver.''


    ''We''re pleased to hear that,'' says Tready.


    ''Well I just came by to tell you all the news and to leave the carriage. I don''t know if May will pull any of you around, or even come if you call for her, but you can try.''


    I take a step back, ready to leave when Lorma bursts out, ''Don''t leave yet, Pannor. Let me make you breakfast again.''


    With just the dregs of firewater in my stomach, it responds with an overwhelming grumble.


    ''That does it,'' she says, ''Let''s go.''


    While my men stay in the courtyard to stew over the news, Lorma leads me inside and to the kitchen. I take then a seat and watch as Lorma proceeds with her cooking.


    The smell of bread and eggs frying in lard soon wafts over from the stove.


    ''Where did you get the eggs?'' I ask. ''I didn''t think you had any.''


    ''I found them in a nest inside a bush in the courtyard,'' Lorma replies. ''They''re pigeon eggs.''


    ''I can''t say I''ve had a pigeon egg before.''


    Once plated, Lorma brings the food over. ''Now eat.''


    I grab a fork, ready to dive in when the deafening noise of plodding hooves thunders into the kitchen through a window.


    It sounds like a cavalry charge on a battlefield.


    ''What in the heavens is that?'' bellows Lorma. ''Are we being attacked?''


    We both scurry over to the window and peer out. All I see is the king''s guards. Not just a dozen but a hundred of them, funnelling into the street below, heading this way.


    ''Have the walls been breached?'' Lorma asks me. ''Are they here to defend the inner city?''


    ''We would have heard the alarm bells,'' I say.


    ''Could it be Seamil?'' Lorma cries. She begins to shake. ''Has something happened to him? Pannor, has something happened to Seamil? Are they here to tell me something''s happened to him?''


    I''m sure the king wouldn''t react by sending out so many of his guards just to inform Lorma if something bad has befallen Seamil.


    I''m about to tell her this when she rushes past me and out of the kitchen.


    Like always, I do my best to follow yet I get to the entrance hall as Lorma has already gone outside, the front door open a sliver.


    ''Is Pannor Harg here, lordess?'' I hear a guard growl, anger and urgency in his voice, a reason I don''t make my presence known.


    Have I somehow insulted the king again? I don''t feel like another tongue lashing.


    ''Why?'' Lorma answers back. ''What''s happened?''


    Meanwhile, my men appear around me from all over.


    ''Sir¨C'' Tready starts to speak but I put a finger to my mouth, silencing him.


    ''What''s happened?'' Lorma asks again.


    ''There''s been a murder, lordess,'' the guard answers.


    ''A murder?''


    My heart skips as Lorma cries, ''Is it Seamil?''


    ''It''s not the commander.''


    Could it be the king?


    But it''s not. And the next words the guard speaks takes me by surprise.


    ''It''s Sir Blouf. He was found this morning butchered to death at his residence.''


    The words rattle me with utmost shock.


    ''And what has this to do with Pannor Harg?'' Lorma asks with a stupor.


    Yes, I''d like to know that too. And I''m ready to join Lorma outside when I hear, ''He has been accused of the heinous crime and has been sentenced to death by the king. We are here to carry out His Majesty''s wishes.''


    Along with my men, I am deaden, unable to move, to speak.


    ''What utter lunacy,'' Lorma stutters. ''This is absurd. Preposterous.''


    ''There is evidence, lordess.''


    ''What evidence? I demand you tell me.''


    ''Pannor Harg''s sword was found at the scene. It was the weapon that brought Sir Blouf''s brutal demise.''


    My sword? But I have my sword on me.


    I open my coat, look down, and as if I''ve just been hit by the enemy''s newest weapon again, my eyes widen at what I see.


    My sword isn''t there.


    But how is this possible? I''m sure I had it on me when I left home. Didn''t I? Is my mind playing tricks with me? Is it still befuddled by the drink?


    My attention drifts back as I hear the guard ask again, ''Is Pannor Harg here, lordess?''


    Sternly, and to my surprise, Lorma replies, ''He''s not.''


    My men don''t give me up either but they look at me with suspicion. It''s slight but it''s there.


    ''Do you have any idea of his whereabouts?'' the guard asks. He sounds more forceful now.


    ''His home, perhaps?''


    ''Other than that?''


    ''I''m sorry, I cannot think of anywhere.''


    ''Thank you, lordess, for your time. We''ll be on our way. And if he shows, please send a message to the royal guards'' barracks.''


    The dying sounds of beating hooves brings Lorma inside and she''s straight to asking me, clearly knowing I was listening, ''Pannor, please forgive me, but did you have any involvement with Sir Blouf''s murder?''


    I''m not offended. Not in the least. It''s a good question. A lawman''s question.


    ''I promise,'' I say, ''I had no involvement.''


    ''How is it that they found your sword?'' asks Tready.


    I turn to him. ''Someone must have planted it there.''


    ''You''re telling me someone has set you up?''


    ''It is the only reason.''


    ''But why?''


    ''Someone clearly wants me out of the way for whatever purpose.''


    Being that it can''t be Sir Blouf anymore, is it the one plotting with the enemy?


    I continue, ''I need to see the crime scene. I need to clear my name.''


    ''We''ll do it, sir,'' says Tready. ''You need to go into hiding.''


    ''You can hide here, Pannor,'' says Lorma.


    I shake my head. ''The king''s guards will come back and may turn the place down. I need to go somewhere else.''


    I know where. To Trin. She''ll take me in. I hope. And maybe she witnessed the murder.


    ''I have a place in mind but thank you, lordess,'' I reply. '' And thank you, and everyone else, for not turning me in. Now, I should be going.''


    ''You can''t, sir,'' sprouts Jac. ''It''s daytime. Someone will see you.''


    ''You''re right. I will wait here until night falls.'' I then ask, looking from Tready to Lorma, ''May I use the study to write some letters?''


    ''Of course,'' replies Lorma.


    ''You don''t need to ask,'' replies Tready. ''Everything that is bestowed on us is at your disposal, sir.''


    The others nod in agreement.


    ''Thank you,'' I reply.


    ''And we''ll start getting to the bottom of this, sir,'' says Jac.


    To the study I hobble, the pain in my leg as agonizing as it has ever been. And still disoriented by the news, I step inside, light a candle on the desk and close all the blinds.


    I don''t want anyone to spy me from the outside.


    Back at the desk, I sit down and pull out two pieces of parchment and a quill.


    I must warn Trin about what happened and ask if she will harbor me. Seamil should know about this too. Maybe he can help. Maybe he can gather information my men will not be privy to.


    I dip the quill into the sooty ink, ready to write, when I see the letter the examiner sent me.


    Curious, I set the quill down and grab it, unfolding the thin bark of the ruby birch tree. I glance down and try desperately to decipher the handwriting.


    And there it is. Ellhdoow, the poison that killed Able.


    Why does the name look familiar?

 Chapter Twenty

    Using Lorma''s carrier owl, I sent my letters off to Trin and Seamil hours ago. And it wasn''t long after I did when Seamil replied, conveying his absolute shock and dismay at the accusation against me. He promised to do everything in his power to prove my innocence.


    I knew he''d have my back in this but it helped deeply to see it written down. Not a good friend, but a brother.


    Trin, on the other hand, hasn''t answered. I sent the letter to her home. Maybe she''s not there. I''m slightly worried but she can handle herself.


    A knock rattles my thoughts and I look away from the portrait of Fey, her eyes seemingly moving from the flickering candle light.


    ''I''m not the sheriff anymore,'' I call out. ''You don''t need to knock.''


    With a look of pity and sadness, Tready enters the study before saying, ''Sir, Jac just came back from Sir Blouf''s residence--''


    ''And?'' I say, anxious at any information. Just hearing the tiniest would comfort me.


    ''It''s swarming with the king''s guards. Jac asked if we could see the crime scene and he was quickly dismissed.''


    Getting into the residence and searching for clues to the real killer is my only hope at not being executed.


    Shit.


    ''Thank you for telling me,'' I reply.


    ''Also, sir, I sent a message to the examiner,'' Tready continues, ''asking if he could get in touch with the palace''s. They''re good friends, are they not?''


    I nod.


    ''I''m sure he can get something from him,'' Tready adds, ''information about Sir Blouf''s murder.''


    ''Yes,'' I pipe up with relative delight. ''It was a very good idea to do that.'' I''m not surprised at his well-reasoning. I''ve taught him and the others well. ''Thank you again.''


    ''There''s something else.'' Tready moves closer to the desk. ''The king has put a guard on almost every corner of the city. There''s one outside here. He just came. Scar noticed him.''


    From my chair, I get to my feet and hobble across the room to the nearest window. Then peeking through its blind, I see him. He''s at the far end of the street, standing and staring in this direction.


    ''The king is determined to find you, sir,'' says Tready.


    ''Indeed he is,'' I breathe back.


    I''ll need to be careful tonight when I leave for Trin''s. Even if I don''t receive a message back, staying with her is the plan. Now her accepting the plan is another story. But I''m sure she will. We''ve been through too much for her to leave me out in the cold.


    Unfortunately, she still hasn''t answered my letter when night falls and I''m getting more worried. But maybe she has company over. A woman that has kept her.


    And now with the blinds open and the candle extinguished, I stare out at the king''s guard from behind a bookshelf, his armour shimmering in the starlit night.


    Suddenly, I hear the study door open before the dim beam of a lamp washes over the bookshelf.


    ''Pannor, are you there?'' comes a whisper.


    With my mind continuing to play tricks on me, I think it''s Fey at first and my heart leaps like it hasn''t leapt in ages.


    ''Pannor?'' comes the voice again.


    ''Over here, Lorma'' I reply, sticking my hand out above the tomes beside me.


    Lorma places the lamp down and finds her way over, joining me in staring outside.


    ''Any more news?'' I ask her.


    ''Tready informed me only a moment ago that the city''s lawmen have been told of the accusation against you,'' she replies, ''And by decree from the king, they''re to join the king''s guards in searching for you.''


    ''I''m not surprised by that. I am an outlaw now.''


    ''Please don''t call yourself that, Pannor.''


    ''I''m just speaking the truth.''


    ''I''ve gathered some supplies to take with you, Pannor. They should hold you out for a few days. And are you sure you don''t want to hide here? This is a big place. It will be easy to vanish.''


    ''It may be so but if by the minuscule chance I''m caught here, the king may sentence you to death for helping me.''


    A moment of silence falls between us before Lorma asks, ''When will you be off?''


    ''Soon,'' I reply. I then gesture to the king''s guard outside. ''Not surprising but that man is a man of routine. Every once and a while he leaves his post to walk the neighborhood. The next time he does, I''ll sneak out.'' Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    And it''s not long after when it''s time.


    Down in the laundry room, at the opposite end of the house, my men and Lorma see me off once again.


    ''We need to stop meeting like this,'' I joke as I sling my satchel over my shoulder, but it falls on deaf ears.


    They''re nervous for me.


    ''One of us should come with you, sir,'' says Tready. ''I should come with you, sir.''


    ''I''ll be fine,'' I reply. ''I need all of you to continue with your lawman duties, to continue investigating the Night Cleaver and to help find out who really murdered Sir Blouf. Yes?''


    ''Yes, sir,'' my men say at once.


    ''Good.''


    ''Remember, sir,'' adds Jac, ''there are king''s guards everywhere. You''ll need to watch yourself.''


    I nod before saying, ''Well, all of you, here''s to seeing you again. Oh, and if a letter comes for me, rip it up and burn it. Leave no trace.''


    ''Will do,'' says Scar.


    With that, and as Lorma begins to tear up, I open the back door and breathe in the night air. Then stepping out, I don''t look back, continuing on a path of stepping stones through the backyard until I reach a rusty gate.


    A moan from the swinging bars salutes me into the unwelcoming city.


    After making sure the coast is clear, I hasten to the shadows and start prowling the gloom. Soon, I feel as if I''m a ghost, as if I''ve become the Night Cleaver.


    Found on my patrols, I take the city''s shortcuts, the secret passageways only a few souls know. And it keeps me unnoticed until a flash of metal from an armour plate skips before me as I shuffle down a narrow crevice.


    The king''s guard pauses on the street ahead and gazes in my direction. It''s too dark to see me but he senses someone.


    ''Who goes down there?'' he growls as I continue towards him, my footfalls as silent as a grave.


    I don''t respond and watch as the king''s guard stays rooted to the spot until I''m only yards away.


    A wisp of breath escapes his lips as he grumbles, ''Fucking vermin.''


    Death could be swift for him if I desired it. So swift that he wouldn''t know what hit him.


    ''Fucking vermin,'' he says again before turning and carrying on.


    Stepping out of the crevice, I follow, padding directly behind.


    It''s then that something rekindles inside of me. A thrill. A thrill I only found on the battlefield. It calms me.


    Is this what the Night Cleaver feels while stalking his prey?


    Disgusted at the thought of a shared feeling, I leave the tail of the guard and slip into an alleyway, continuing on towards Trin''s.


    It is shortly afterwards, however, when a huge obstacle stands in my way.


    The inner city wall.


    From behind a discarded and moss-laden wooden barrel, I spy the gate and see a dozen guards, both regular and belonging to the king. The portcullis is closed, a rare sight even under the siege.


    Fortunately, I know a way to the other side without being noticed.


    Entering the park, my body begins to pound with heartache. I''ve been here many times since that day, when my world was taken from me, and it never gets any better.


    I can''t bear to look at the spot where I found her, found Fey, and swiftly carry on through a patch of gourds. A pond lies beyond, the entrance to a storm drain on the other side.


    Wading through, water seeps through the cracks of my boots. And as I reach the grate of the storm drain, I grab a hold of the bars, rip it off and enter.


    With only the brick walls to guide me, I traipse through the confining blackness, eventually coming to a fork. Turning left, squeaks and scurrying at my feet greet me. And several trodden rats later, the brick scratching my steering fingers turns to stone.


    The foundation of the inner city wall.


    Soon, I''m shuffling through the beams of moonlight descending from grills above my head. Talking drifts down too.


    King''s Guards.


    Their voices fade as I proceed, my surroundings slowly beginning to shrink around me. They close in until I have no choice but to crouch, my knees almost touching my chin.


    My leg does not appreciate the torment, creaking with every step.


    But my limb''s objection is only short lived as I come to the end, to another barred grate, albeit smaller. After peering out and seeing no sign of movement in the street on the other side, I open the metal lattice and clamber through.


    As I stand up, my leg wails again. Much so that I stagger and drop the grate, making it clatter to the ground with a loud echo.


    Shit.


    The pounding of boots follow before a king''s guard emerges into the street.


    He sees me immediately. But does he know who I am?


    ''You, stay where you are,'' the guard bellows and I do as I''m told.


    If I could run, I would.


    As he slowly approaches, the guard asks with weight, ''What is your purpose here? You do know there is a curfew?''


    I don''t respond.


    ''What is your name?'' he yells.


    If he keeps this up, he''ll attract more guards, but again, I say nothing.


    He continues to creep towards me, shouting commands, until he comes to a stop and goes quiet.


    Now I can see his long narrow bearded face, meaning he can see mine.


    ''Pannor Harg?'' he hisses, breaking the silence, his quizzical look turning to anger.


    ''That is me,'' I reply with dignity.


    ''Get on your knees.''


    ''I''d rather not.''


    ''Get on your knees, traitor.''


    Traitor? That makes me livid.


    ''Make me,'' I growl.


    ''It will be my pleasure.''


    The king''s guard unsheaths his sword. And once he inches closer, we share a little dance, sizing each other up. Then I wait for him to make the first move.


    When he does, yanking his sword over his head, I pounce as if I was young again. I swat his slicing thrust away with one hand and plant the other between his eyes, knocking him out cold.


    Dropping the sword, the king''s guard buckles to the ground.


    Leaving him to his slumber, I leap back into the shadows. It takes me half the night to reach Trin''s street, but thankfully, I don''t run into any more guards.


    A figure awaits as I approach Trin''s house. Whoever it is, they''re banging on the front door anxiously.


    Edging closer, I see it''s Trin''s lover. And for some time she keeps on knocking.


    Shit, Trin''s not home.


    The woman eventually halts her calling and goes back to her house across the street.


    What now? I want to know if she saw something at Sir Blouf''s residence.


    With no other choice, I elect to wait for her inside. Hopefully she''ll forgive me for breaking in. But as I creep to the side of the house, I find that someone has already done so. A glass pane from a window lays shattered on the ground.


    Panic stings my senses.


    Shit.


    I crank my head, listening for any sign that the perpetrator is still inside. I hear nothing but they could still be here.


    Carefully, I open the window and grab a chopping log nearby, dragging it over. And with its help, I scramble through the window and into the dark sitting room where Trin served me tea.


    ''Shit,'' I blurt out once my eyes adjust to the lack of light.


    There has been a struggle. Chairs and furniture are overturned.


    I shuffle through the mess and to the door to the room. Then opening it, my eyes draw to something down the hall. Seeping through the bottom of another door is the flicker from a candle.


    Squeezing out, I inch over, passing slashes carved into the walls. Once over, I place my ear on the dried, unpolished wood of the winking entrance.


    Nothing.


    I take a deep breath, rock back before leading with my shoulder. And as I burst through, a wave of foul, putrid air swarms around me.

 Chapter Twenty-One

    As flies swat my face as if I''m being peppered by sleet, and as I cut through the fetid haze, I know the horror that awaits but I must see it with my own eyes. I need to.


    I can''t believe this has happened.


    And shuffling past the bed, sheets scattered all around, I see her, it feeling like I''m discovering Fey''s body anew.


    My tormentor has struck again. And he''s been as cruel to her as the rest. Too fucking cruel.


    Unable to control my emotions, I wail and drop to my knees beside Trin''s mangled legs. I hover my hands over, wanting to comfort her as I did with Fey but I resist. Instead, ball my hands into fists and start smashing them into the floor until my blood fuses with hers, until pain overwhelms my broken heart.


    It''s my fault that she''s dead. I shouldn''t have asked her to assist in my investigation. She''d still be alive if I hadn''t.


    ''I''m sorry,'' I yell, not caring if someone may hear. ''I''m fucking sorry. Please, please forgive me.''


    My mind flashes back to the last victim, the one found inside the park by the lawman.


    Had the Night Cleaver stuck around after Trin had chased him? Had he followed her home on the same night and killed her then?


    He must have, for Trin''s body has long since started to decompose.


    And whomever did this was strong, for Trin was a great fighter, someone who could dispatch many soldiers with ease. Unlike my attacker. If I could dispatch of him, as I did, so could Trin. I''m more than sure of it. So then could my attacker and the Night Cleaver be different people after all?


    Unable to think about it any further, my mind aching at the sight before me, I wipe away my tears and stumble back to my feet.


    I should do something with her. Bury her. She deserves the dignity and the honour, but I have no means or time.


    Instead, I grab a blood stained sheet and place it over her, sending more flies into the air.


    ''Please forgive me, Fey,'' I mumble, catching my mistake, before raking my gaze around.


    I see no clues in the despair. Nothing that would point to the identity of the demon.


    With nothing left for me to do, I leave the bedroom and Trin to hopefully rest in peace, the thought of her and Fey getting together in the heavens and beyond the only glimmer for me in this rapidly expiring world.


    I should check the rest of the house for leads to this crushing riddle but I don''t. And in my rush to escape the terror, to escape outside, I forget to depart the same way I came.


    As I open the front door of Trin''s house, I''m confronted by a confused face that quickly turns to a penetrating one.


    Trin''s lover.


    Shit.


    ''What are you doing here?'' she snaps aggressively as if she''s just uncovered a tryst between Trin and I.


    She doesn''t know I''m a wanted man. Not yet. And I can tell she has deeper feelings for Trin. Poor young woman. Poor creature. I ache for her. It''s not easy to lose a loved one.


    ''Where is she?'' the woman adds. ''Is she hiding inside? Hiding from me?''


    I''m lost for words, and my first instinct is to say that nothing has taken place, for her to not worry, but the air from the bedroom soon answers the woman''s questions, it wafting outside like haar from Fury Fell.


    Trin''s lover covers her nose with her hand and mumbles, ''What''s that?'' Her sharpened features then turn to accusatory and she barrels past, thumping into my shoulder.


    I don''t wait around for her to discover the body.


    Shortly after I slink back into the shadows, into the gutters, a scream punctures the night like a death cry in a raging skirmish. And as I pass a lawman rushing towards the noise, like a phantom with no shape, I ask myself, where to now?


    My only option is my elixirman. I''m sure he will take me in, won''t rat me out to the king''s guards. That''s if he''s forgiven me for attacking him.


    He did deserve it. I warned him. He should not have taken it as far as he did. He lessened my manhood.


    I wander the city towards his place, once again keeping to the city''s secret passageways and alleys. And not only do I spy king''s guards and lawmen looking for me but vigils too. They''re out in force, going door to door to the homes still standing asking residents of me. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ''Have you seen the man once called Sheriff Harg?'' I hear a guard ask a candle wielding old woman standing inside her doorway.


    She should really put that light out.


    ''Sheriff Harg, you say?'' the old woman replies. ''Can''t say that I have.''


    ''If you do come across him, comes knocking here at your home, don''t open the door. The man is dangerous. He has killed and will may kill again.''


    As the old woman gasps with fright, I slip down a side street and carry on to my elixirman''s residence. And as I''m limping around a mound of rubble, I spy two lawmen walking side by side in the dim, their voices and their visible injuries giving their occupation away.


    ''It has to be a mistake,'' says one of them as his dragged right boot scrapes the ground. ''Sheriff Harg would never do such a thing.''


    Sounding as if he had an arrow shot through his throat in his past life, the other replies, ''I''m not so sure about that. I have heard rumours about him.''


    Rumours? What nonsense is this?


    ''Tell me,'' the first man says.


    Yes, please, tell him.


    But as the other man is about to unleash his babble, I hear a galloping ruckus.


    A cavalry of king''s guards is close and getting closer. It sounds like a swift moving storm.


    I break off from the gossip and trudge on, but several streets later, the pounding of hooves grows too loud and bubbles of expanding radiance start to appear at either end of the lane.


    It is indeed the king''s guards. More idiots who don''t know that light is another enemy at night. Being that they''ve been in relative safety guarding the king at the palace, their idiocy does not surprise me.


    But shit. I''m surrounded.


    All the buildings down the street are gutted or crumbling so I fumble into the closest one. It used to be a dress maker''s shop. There are half-eaten counters, wooden mannequins that have been charred and blackened crispy rolls of fabric dot the floor.


    I shift over to a hole facing the street, crouch down, making my leg spasm and cramp, before peering out.


    Now the light has exploded so much that I can see in detail the entire street before me. Then suddenly, the mounted troops arrive, many of them holding flaming torches.


    ''Check every building,'' I hear a guard yell. ''If you find Pannor Harg, you have my permission to execute him on the spot. We will not have him as a prisoner.''


    Shit. I need a better place to hide.


    I scan the room and see stairs at the other end. And as the sound of boots from the king''s guards plod down from their horses, I trudge through the debris before ascending.


    The stairs continue up, a few steps almost tumbling under my feet, but the first landing leads into a room where I see a refuge. Despite the sparse and burned floor boards, I traipse inside and over to the large fireplace, the darkness inside beckoning me to disappear within.


    I''m about to enter into the cramped abyss when I hear something that sends a chill down my side.


    Someone''s cackling.


    At first I think it''s a child but the soft giggle turns uncontrolled and wicked, and it gets louder with every moment. I soon realize that it''s coming from the floor above.


    Who could it be? A homeless madman playing with a ghost perhaps? But whoever it is, they need to stop. The king''s guards will surely hear it and search me out.


    I retrace my steps, leave the room and skulk further up. As I reach the next landing, the cackling becomes shrill, it whipping through the doorway ahead.


    Whoever''s making it is only yards away.


    I take a deep breath, ready to confront, to silence, before barging inside the next room. And in that instant, and as I see a dozen silhouetted figures whip across my vision, the cackling abruptly stops.


    My heart almost gives out at the trap facing me but I snatch up a fallen plank of wood lying close by. However, my flinch for the rudiment weapon gathers no retort, no reply, and I quickly figure I''m staring at more wooden mannequins, each one wearing remnants of garments.


    A slight solace washes over me but it''s then that the cackling picks up again. This time, it''s nowhere near, and my eyes snap to the framed remains of a window across the room.


    It''s coming from outside. But how''s that possible?


    I creep over to the window, finding it opens onto an alleyway below, and peer out. The cackling draws me to a shadow, a shadow of a figure standing against the wall of a building, as if they''re taking a rest. And I can see the whites of their eyes staring at me.


    Could it be the Night Cleaver? My attacker? Sir Blouf''s murderer? But how the fuck did he know I was here?


    He must have followed me.


    Is he taunting me?


    I want to yell at him, to demand that he not move, and by the command of my former occupation, but the king''s guards will surely hear, the noise of their searching becoming harsher.


    Throwing myself out of the window tempts me, to take the figure out and me if necessary but the figure gives one last villainous bray before vanishing, his outline blending into the blackness.


    Shit. He''s escaped my clutches again.


    My desire to go after him makes me stumble back and I trip, crashing into a wooden mannequin and sending it flying into others. And the racket it produces and my yell of pain delivers my whereabouts on a golden platter.


    ''Did you hear that?'' I hear a king''s guard faintly growl. ''Someone''s inside that building over there. Unsheath your swords, men. And remember, you have my permission to execute Pannor Harg on the spot.''


    The next thing that rattles my brain is the rustling of armor and quickened boots bursting through the shop below. I''m barely back on my feet when my pursuers bound up the stairs.


    I have no time to find a hiding place. They''re going to find me.


    I take position behind a wooden mannequin that is still standing, my only option, and wait to be caught.


    A glow from countless torches marks the arrival, the gleam brightening the room as if all the stars in the sky have descended on me.


    ''Pannor Harg! If you''re in here, show yourself.''


    My leg moans, racking my insides, and I contemplate if I should just accept my fate and step out.


    Boots shuffle towards me and other wooden mannequins fall to the ground one by one.


    ''I don''t think he''s here.''


    ''Check behind every one of these things.''


    Soon I hear the heavy breathing of the guards and their heartbeats too. And right behind me, a wooden figure takes a tumble, crashing into the one I''m standing behind. It bumps my leg.


    The agony is unbearable and I''m about to open my mouth to scream when the sound of alarm bells ring out across the city.


    The king''s guards stop their advance and shudder at the noise.


    ''We''re being attacked! Everyone back to the palace.''


    Before long, the light in the room vanishes and pounding boots echo outside before cantering hooves take their place.


    Yet another light soon creeps into the room. It''s coming from the window. I limp over and again peer out.


    I see hundreds. Hundreds of fiery wooden dragons filling the sky. More than I have ever seen before. I then hear screams, screams from residents bursting from their homes.


    I don''t want my people to suffer but this will give me a chance to get to my elixirman''s residence without being noticed.

 Chapter Twenty-Two

    Like the times before, the streets are deranged and all looking like raving battlefields but with fear instead of animalistic rage. Flesh scatters and flees rather than clashing in that age old brutality.


    People scream. They cry. They pray to the gods. They shake in hysterics. They caress their loved ones. Something I can never do again.


    And I want to help them, the elderly, the ones with children, to get to their bunkers and it hurts not to do so.


    I see lawmen, more of the king''s guards heading back to the palace. They''re too busy to see me in the sea of mayhem so there''s no need to stick to the shadows. Even so, I keep my eyes peeled as I limp with speed, my gaze only lifting to see more wooden dragons crossing the southern wall and flaming above the city, watching many until they strike with ferocity.


    Again, I can feel their searing heat and spy the crazed suicide riders crowing in ecstasy, reminding me of my cackling tormentor.


    I''m sure he''s following me and it would be so easy for the demon to rid this world of me without being noticed, but for some reason I don''t look over my shoulders. I don''t try to spy him.


    Maybe I want him to sneak up behind me. Maybe I want him to attack me again. At least I''d have a chance to finally finish him off, ending my nightmare and to get revenge, to fulfill the promise that I made to many.


    All of a sudden, a wooden dragon screeches above my head, its roaring flames burning white, before it smashes into a roof. Shingles crash around me, flickers of embering ash raining down with them.


    It''s then that more cinders invade my senses. It encircles me. It swirls. It gales. It meanders. It crawls.


    It''s as if King Jabora has unleashed the entire underworld on us, the fiery pit, the hellwind. But I can feel his fury is not done. Tonight feels different. But it doesn''t deter me from my goal of seeking refuge.


    Down an engulfed street, the debris from a flying monster scattered around my feet, the walls of fire on either side make my face burn, sweat and raw to the touch. Vigils rush by, grit spilling from their buckets. I recognize some of them, one once being a servant of Lorma and Seamil.


    I wonder how the commander and the lordess are doing.


    I turn towards the southern wall again but I can''t see through the grey speckled and flashing clouds.


    I''m sure Seamil and his soldiers are giving the enemy their all. And for a brief moment, through all the noise, I''m positive I hear a thundering twang from a javelin.


    I hope it takes out many.


    On and on I continue, the fires in the city increasing in number and size with entire neighborhoods reducing to rubble right before my eyes. Buildings yaw and buckle, sending more filth into the sky. And I''m hoping to see my men, just to see a glimmer of familiarity, but I don''t.


    My destination takes me through more carnage and I begin to see bodies pile up, the torched remains of residents that weren''t quick enough to escape the wooden dragons yet able to writhe free from their engulfed homes. Several dozen of them I see, all sprawled on the cobblestones, the odour of their cooked flesh mingling with the air''s acrid stench.


    It''s around a corner, and not far now from my elixirman''s residence ¨C and which I hope can still give me refuge ¨C when the sky erupts with blaring whistles and screeches. The terrifying noise gets louder, making me stop, until it feels like my head is being stabbed with a thousand needles.


    What the fuck is that, I say to myself, before seeing flashing streaks rain down through the murk as if the stars were falling. I then soon realize what they are, for ear-splitting explosions begin to make the ground beneath violently quake and hastening more buildings to collapse.


    Immediately, a blinding light washes over me from above and a moment later I feel as if a hundred giant warhorses have plowed through every inch of my body. I don''t grasp or care where the exploding projectile hits but it lifts me off my feet, whipping my head back. And as I tumble through the air, slamming into other airborne lives, my heart retches at the exertion. I don''t know how high the force takes me but it quickly releases its grip and I crash to the ground, landing hard on my bad leg.


    My yells and curses are drowned out by more explosions. It feels like the world is about to break apart and descend into the abyss. More shit fills the air but the glow from the everlasting advance of wooden dragons is still visible.


    But then, as if the gods had abruptly vanquished them from reality, the explosions cease. I hear no more incoming projectiles either. No whistles or screeches. But there are screams, the choir of fear and agony getting louder with every moment, with every inhale and exhale of my breath. And all around I can see the injured lying with me, arms and limbs tangled together.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Freeing myself, I hobble to my feet and try to find a path through the rug of weaved bodies. But there is none.


    ''Up you get,'' I say to everyone in between me and my goal, grabbing an arm and pulling no matter if injured or not. And half fall back down but others plant their legs and stand with me. And I tell them, I scream to them, ''Get to a bunker. Get to safety. Do it now.''


    I don''t know how many people I raise but I eventually find myself turning a corner, it opening out onto the street where my elixirman lives.


    I know that his home being untouched would be a miracle now but relative surprise awaits. There are no fires but there is damage, all the buildings on the street ravaged and disemboweled.


    I cross my brows at the scene and determine that the culprit of this destruction was not tonight''s attack. It''s been like this for ages as I can see vegetation growing within the dwellings. Saplings, grasses, brambles and vines.


    Why didn''t my elixirman tell me his home had been destroyed? How very odd. But come to think of it, we never talked about his life. Just mine. And I''m sure I won''t find him here, but his home, as I recall, does have a cellar.


    I''m sure he told me that. He must have or how would I know. Despite him intruding on my abode countless times, not once have I entered his.


    I limp over.


    His home is bigger than mine. It''s slim but four stories high, its roof caved in. The front door has long since gone and as I step inside, the sound of more whistles and screeches reverberate above me.


    Fuck. Another bombardment is coming. Another hail of fury.


    I shuffle through the musty entrance hall, crossing over splintered floorboards and past the remnants of a winding staircase. And as the first explosion erupts off in the distance, I stagger down a corridor, its walls of exposed brick crumbled and littering the floor.


    I wade through the debris, each step a toil for my leg, until I reach the kitchen at the end. Then entering with a stumble, more explosions erupt in my ears, each one seemingly getting closer and closer.


    Skirting around a decaying, overturned table, I make my way to the other side, where a door stands, albeit crooked and off its top hinge. I grab its handle and pull, revealing a long set of stairs leading down into the darkness.


    Strange. Being that I''ve never stepped foot inside my elixirman''s home, how did I know where to go, where the cellar was?


    I don''t trust my leg or my senses to descend safely in the pitch black. Falling down stairs is not how I want it to end for me.


    I need a light.


    Closed cabinets still dot the kitchen and I don''t hesitate to search for one. Not surprising, there are many bottles and vials stored away. To me and my leg''s dismay, they''re all empty. But I do find a candle and a tinderbox tucked behind a set of plates.


    After lighting the wick, I trudge back over to the door to the cellar before making my way down. I only take a few steps before the ground starts to shake from more explosions too close for comfort.


    I may end up falling to my death regardless of a light.


    Hobbling off the last step brings me some relief. As I lift up the candle, I look around the cool room. There''s nothing, the place bare. And I see no damage unlike the rest of the home.


    It is a cellar after all.


    Yet there is something.


    My gaze wanders to the back wall. It''s not like the other three. It''s not made of stone but brick. And I can''t take my eyes off of it. It draws me. Like a secret that I cannot rid.


    It draws me so much that I feel myself gliding over. But I don''t get far, for a rolling boom cascades down the cellar''s stairs. Everywhere violently shudders and dust torrents down from the ceiling.


    I barely have time to realize how close the explosion was when another comes.


    The walls begin heaving to-and-fro, the bricks at the back shaking more so. Their mortar cracks and pops, each one becoming loose until my senses flood with an even bigger blast.


    The new eruption throws me to the ground and the cellar goes dark. But I quickly fumble to rekindle the candle. And when I do, I see the brick wall has completely collapsed, revealing a hidden area, the walls of which are of the stone that the rest of the cellar is made of.


    Although it still draws me, it doesn''t attract my suspicion. That is until I see a glint of blue fabric peering out from behind the mound of ruins.


    I squint.


    I know that colour.


    Tremors continue as I crawl back up to my feet. And with every forward step I take, the blue fabric grows. It lengthens and widens until it morphs into a cloak.


    I know that cloak. It''s my elixirman''s.


    What''s it doing there?


    I tumble over the rubbled bricks, grab the garment and lift it, ready to inspect, but I uncover something that makes me cower back and gasp in surprise.


    It''s a skeleton, its arm and leg bones tucked into one another as if it was just thrown inside and forgotten.


    Surely it can''t be. It can''t be my elixirman. I just saw him the other day. A body does not decompose to bone with such haste. And who would do such a thing?


    Could it be my tormentor?


    My eyes then catch something else, something underneath the skull.


    With a heave, I move it out of the way as if it was a fiery log, giving way to a white scarf blotched with blood stains.


    I know this scarf too.


    But how?


    I feel a tear starting to fall as I bring the scarf to my face. And there''s a smell. It smells of her, of her perfume.


    She was wearing the scarf the day she was murdered. How did it end up here? Why did it end up here?


    Confusion thunders through me as the sounds from above grow in every manner, it feeling as if the city is getting flattened over and over again.


    I don''t understand. What is the meaning of all of this?


    Then swiftly, I hear the soft and slow thuds of boots coming down from the kitchen. I whip my head, lifting up the candle to expose the bottom of the stairs.


    ''Who goes there?'' I yell weakly.


    But whoever it is, they don''t answer and I just stare as boots slowly descend into the candle''s light.


    My tormentor has come to face me again it seems.


    Eager, I lift the candle higher, as far as my arm can take it.


    A blood stained shirt I see. Then comes a face. A face of guilt and pity.

 Chapter Twenty-Three

    With a shudder, I stare into the eyes of my elixirman.


    I step back, almost fumbling onto the mound of bricks, before my fear makes me scan for a weapon in his grasp, but I see nothing. Nothing in his hands or hidden in his fouled clothes.


    I truly don''t know what to make of this.


    ''Here to see me?'' I eventually ask in a whisper as if anything louder could unleash my tormentor.


    My elixirman stops just beyond the last step of the cellar''s stairs and replies with no menace, no change in his usual demeanour, ''I am.''


    ''Funny, you always know where to find me, don''t you?''


    ''It''s not that hard.''


    ''Or maybe you followed me here? A habit of yours perhaps?''


    ''I have no need for that.''


    ''I see you''re not wearing your cloak. Lose it somewhere?''


    My elixirman glances past me before saying, ''No. I know exactly where it is. And it will always be with me.''


    Is this some sort of riddle? Is he playing with me?


    ''And what happened to you?'' I then ask. ''Were you injured out there in the attack? Or helping the injured?''


    He peers down at his blood-stained and shredded shirt. ''You don''t remember?''


    I shake my head. ''Remember what?''


    My elixirman looks back at me and creases his features with judgment. ''You did this.''


    ''Did what? You''re not making sense.''


    He frowns like he always does. ''You killed me.''


    Stunned, confused at the words, I''m voiceless, but anger soon starts burning inside and I growl, and no longer in a hushed tone, ''Why are you jesting with me like this? Are you mad?''


    ''Mad? Not I.''


    ''Are you the Night Cleaver? Are you the one that attacked me?''


    ''Not I.''


    ''You are testing my patience for the last fucking time! Explain yourself. Explain what the fuck is going on.''


    My elixirman grabs a tear in his shirt and pulls it apart, making me gasp at what he reveals.


    It''s a wound, deep, hacked mercilessly.


    The man pulls apart another tear and then another, each one revealing a different yet similar laceration.


    ''How-how-how is it that you are still alive?'' I stutter.


    ''But I''m not. I told you, you killed me.'' My elixirman glances past me again, his gaze dwelling on the blue cloak.


    The words I utter in reply are of more irritation and probing than anything else. ''If I killed you, how is it that I can see you?'' This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ''Because what you see standing before you is a figment of your wounded and dying mind. I am your creation.''


    ''What madness is this?''


    Rage now grips me tight. It thirsts for action. I''ve had enough with these fucking games.


    I Iunge, run at the man, pulling back my arm to land a fist, to break whatever this spell is.


    My elixirman doesn''t flinch and says calmly before contact is made, ''Your leg seems to have healed, Pannor.''


    I stop my attack dead, realizing the man is speaking the truth.


    My leg doesn''t hurt.


    ''What in the gods¨C'' I say, staring down at my limb, making it move with ease. And I wait for the pain to return, to send an agonizing shudder through my body but it doesn''t appear.


    ''Another symptom of your decaying mind,'' my elixirman says.


    ''Have I died and gone to the underworld?'' I spurt. ''This truly is madness.''


    ''Madness, yes. Delusion. Your delusion. Your hallucinations.''


    ''My hallucinations? I have no such malady.''


    ''You''ve never had the courage to face it.''


    ''What are you speaking? And if you are to be believed, if you''re not truly standing before me, you''ve been the only one.''


    ''Have I?''


    ''Stop with this,'' I yell. ''For the love of the gods, stop with this.''


    ''I will not. There have been many others, figments, the most recent being the one that attacked you down at the reservoir and also at your home.''


    ''My attacker? The Night Cleaver? But that''s impossible. The Night Cleaver has never been a figment of my imagination. He is real. With real victims.''


    My elixirman shakes his head. ''Indeed, he is real, because I''m looking at him.''


    His words confuse me even more. ''Looking at him? But you''re looking at me.''


    ''Indeed I am.''


    My face muddles, my thoughts too, until I realize what he''s trying to tell me.


    ''Enough with this,'' I shout. ''This is lunacy. Fancy. I, the Night Cleaver?'' I give out a chuckle at the invention and then another before I catch myself cackling, giggling. ''I''m sure I''d remember if I murdered my wife, butchered her beyond recognition.''


    ''Not if your madness committed the crime.''


    ''My madness?''


    ''It shows itself when you refrain from your medicine, the elixir.''


    ''I take the elixir for my leg.''


    ''That''s what we made you think.''


    ''We?''


    ''Your leg is fine. A delusion of yours like I said. The elixir was to help with the blackouts, the hallucinations, the memory loss, and to quell your madness.''


    ''You keep on saying ''we''. Who is ''we''?''


    ''Your wife and I,'' the man replies with too much tenderness. ''On that day, the elixir was no match for the rage your madness conceived, a rage you have only felt when on the battlefield.''


    ''On what day?''


    ''The day she was taken from this world. The day you saw us together in the park. You saw us kiss and that was it, the Night Cleaver was born. You killed me first before slaughtering your wife, leaving her to be displayed. You hid me in the storm drain running from the pond in the park until you could sneak me out in the dark, bringing me here, down in the cellar and hiding me away, bricking me up.''


    I want to contest. I want to deny it all. But no challenge springs from my lips. I look down at Fey''s scarf and start to feel a frenzy, a fit deadening my soul.


    I snap my gaze back at my elixirman with a titter. ''I always had a suspicion that something between you and Fey had started. I should never have introduced her to you.''


    ''She still loved you but she couldn''t take your decaying mind any longer, your delusions, for they were getting much worse year after year. That''s when she came to me, wanting me to help, to find you an elixir. More and more time was spent with each other, and at the start every conversation was of you, but those words and thoughts diminished with time until a relationship bloomed.''


    My fevering fury claws over me like festering blood rot. My body bulges with veins. I can feel it. I can see it writhe over my hands. It spreads up my neck, choking, growing. And when it advances, caresses my mind, images of my wife, Trin and all the other victims of the Night Cleaver churn before me. Then with a voice I don''t recognize ¨C or do I ¨C I growl, ''Harlots. Fools. Swines. Witless.'' Sir Blouf and the blacksmith join the women. ''More fools who prattled too much.''


    It''s then that I hear something glorious and wonderful. It makes me giddy with excitement.


    I contort my head to the sound of the Breaching Bells ringing above through the ever growing explosions and screams.


    I cackle.


    I cackle until I turn back to see that my elixirman has vanished. But he hasn''t left me alone. A masked figure now stands before me. The masked figure. Slowly he takes off his metal disguise, revealing my twisted and deformed face, my eyes glaring with an evil never seen before.


    Then I speak.


    ''It''s time to set me free, to let me be truly unshackled.''


    I can feel a wrathful grimace knot my mouth before words rush into my mind.


    Kill. Kill. Kill . . . .


    THE END