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.
'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.