Sieged

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.