'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.
'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 – I – I didn't – I – 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.'