Sieged

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. 

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.