Sieged

Chapter Three

'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–' 

'I'm sure I won't–' 

'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. 

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.