Chương 143: Once That Name Was Spoken

The front line arrived first as sound. A dull booming carried on beyond the road. Each time it sounded, small stones along the roadside trembled. The soldiers talked less. Those who had been joking tightened their helmet straps and pulled out the spears stuck between the carts, one by one. The supply captain rode back and forth from front to rear, closing the gaps between the loads. The road curved around a high rise. Beyond it, the front came into view.

Tents and wooden palisades stretched across a wide stretch of ground. Smoke rose from cook pots at the rear, and shields and spears moved densely at the front. Farther out, two masses of demonkin and Yao clashed and broke apart. Kichan's steps stopped. A cart came up behind them and the supply captain shouted.

"Get inside!" The group pressed to the edge of the road. In the middle of the battlefield were two people. One was a large, heavyset Yao. His arms swung slowly, but the ground sank each time he planted a foot. Across from him stood a woman. Even at a distance her back was straight. Her clothes were barely disheveled despite the fight. Her eyes were sharp. Each time the Yao commander swung his weapon she moved half a step, and behind that small movement the ground split.

Behind the woman, the royal guard in silver armor was drawn up in a long line. Shields and spears at the same height caught the sunlight and shone in a single line. They did not step forward, but their eyes followed the two fighters. Kichan went to the supply captain's side.

"Is she the one you serve?"

"She is."

"Then where is the guard captain?" The supply captain looked at the silver armor.

"I'd rather you not get close right now." On the battlefield, the Yao commander laughed. He was gasping for breath and still did not shut his mouth.

"Does your royal guard do nothing but watch again today?" She did not answer. The Yao commander rested his weapon on his shoulder.

"Hey, I hear you and that angel Zadkiel are joined at the navel?" Someone among the silver armor adjusted his grip on a spear. She stopped. The corners of her mouth hardened. The Yao commander's head flew off. Kichan did not see the cut. The heavy body stood as it was, then folded from one knee. The head reached the ground later. The sound of the battlefield cut out for a moment. She turned away without looking at the fallen body. The silver armor opened a path on both sides. She walked through it.

Kichan pulled his eyes from the closed path. Argaon looked at the fallen Yao commander.

"With just that?" Kichan nudged him with an elbow.

"Be quiet." The group passed two rings of palisade from the battlefield and went in behind the front line. Shields and spears kept moving at the front, but the hands inside the palisade were doing other work. They unloaded sacks from carts, boiled wet bandages, and cut broken spear shafts to firewood length. Three large pots boiled in the cook area. The smell of meat and root vegetables settled over the smell of blood. They had to wait a long while to be given an empty tent.

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators! The wounded had just been moved out of it, and the straw on the floor was pressed flat. Kichan and Riphiel carried the wet straw out and laid down fresh. Paul bent to help and stopped there with a hand on his knee.

"Father, sit inside."

"I can still use my hands."

"It's not your hands that are the problem, it's your legs." Kichan spread two layers of blanket at the back of the tent. That became Paul's place to sleep, and Riphiel and Kichan spread theirs near the entrance. Argaon came in, touched his head on the tent ceiling, and went straight back out.

"It's cramped."

"You're in human shape."

"Still cramped." Argaon spread a single blanket beside the tent and lay down. When night came, lights appeared that had not been visible during the day. On the battlefield side, high lights moved, while in the cook area low lights clung under the pots. People carrying stretchers went back and forth between them. Whenever the wind blew, the tent canvas pressed inward and then opened again. Kichan did not sleep for a while. When metal clashed in the distance, someone in a nearby tent rose.

When the sound stopped, the sound of lying back down on straw followed. Even asleep, Paul had the rosary wound around his hand. At dawn, everyone opened their eyes to the sound of soldiers' footsteps. When Kichan came out of the tent, the sky was still gray. Soldiers heading to the fighting moved down one road, and those who had fought all night came in on the other. The armor going out was polished; the armor coming in was caked with dirt and dried blood. Two lines had formed at the food pot as well.

The outgoing line took their bowls and ate standing. The returning line sat down on the ground and set their bowls on their knees. Kichan's group stopped between the two lines.

"Which line are we?" When Kichan asked, the demonkin stirring the pot pointed at the empty line with his ladle. The four of them stood in front of it. The thin porridge held finely chopped meat and root vegetables. Holding the hot bowls in both hands, palms that had gone cold all night loosened. Riphiel took the first spoonful, then took out a small spice pouch. She sprinkled a little powder and tasted it again. Argaon fished out and ate all the meat in his own bowl first, then looked down at Kichan's porridge.

"There isn't any." Kichan said first.

"I hadn't even said anything yet."

"It's written on your face." Paul ate about half the porridge and set his spoon down. A stretcher was passing beside the cook area. The bandage on the arm of the soldier lying on it had come loose and dragged on the ground. Paul handed his bowl to Kichan and stood.

"I'll be back shortly." Riphiel swallowed the rest of her porridge quickly too.

"I'll come as well." The two followed behind the stretcher. When the sun came up, the open ground behind the palisade turned into a market. The traders unfolded cloth they had kept folded and opened their boxes. Bandages, gloves, and shoelaces hung on one side. Across from them, thin strips of meat went onto a brazier. When the fighting grew closer, one trader swept the knives on display back into a box. The shop next door lowered its cloth halfway as well. A moment later the sound moved off.

The trader took the knives out of the box again. He set them down one by one in the same places as before. The man grilling meat had never taken his hand off the brazier. Kichan stood in front of him.

"One of those, please." The grilled meat was crisp at the edges and tough in the middle. Kichan chewed for a while, and the shopkeeper pushed a small salt dish toward him. It was not white salt but salt mixed with red grains. One dip cut the bitterness left at the end. Kichan looked into the salt dish.

"Where does this come from?" The owner pointed at the road opposite the front. It was the direction the supply carts came in from. Kichan moved his eyes to that road. Two children carrying empty water pails ran between the carts. A man mending armor, needle in his mouth, called out to a passing soldier. A soldier with one boot off held on to a comrade's shoulder and stuck out his ankle. Noon passed and Paul and Riphiel did not return. Kichan went looking for the tents behind the market.

Past the pot boiling bandages, the smell of herbs thickened. Paul was sitting beside a low cot. The injured demonkin stiffened when Paul took out the rosary. He still did not push it away with his hand.

"I will pray that the pain eases where it hurts." Paul said first. The demonkin looked at the rosary for a long moment and nodded. When the prayer began, a small golden light gathered between his hands. The people around the cot watched the light without speaking. The wound did not close, and the bandages did not turn clean. Paul finished the prayer and picked up the water bowl. While the demonkin raised himself, he braced a hand behind his back and wiped the water that ran to the corner of his mouth with a cloth.

Riphiel was standing at the entrance.

"You need to rest now."

"Just that one man." Paul looked at the next cot.

"You said that earlier too."

"This really is the last one." Instead of answering, Riphiel set an empty chair beside him. When Paul came back to the tent, the sun was going down. The smell of medicine clung to his cassock sleeves, and dried dirt stuck to his knees. Argaon was grilling meat outside the tent. When Kichan sprinkled on the red salt bought at the market, he ate one piece first. He narrowed his eyes slightly and pulled the salt dish in front of himself.

"Not bad."

"Don't eat the dish too." Riphiel took meat as well and put one piece in Paul's bowl first. As the night deepened, the lights of the distant battlefield and the lights of the cook area could be seen together. The high lights moved; the low lights stayed in place. The next day, Kichan passed the three large pots and went to the market. Where the herb smell thickened, the wounded tents were near. While the supply carts came in, the northern road was blocked.

The road the silver armor used ran separately inside the palisade. Kichan walked up to that road and stopped. One silver-armored guard disappeared through a gate. Kichan remembered her face as she turned away after the head came off, on the day they first arrived. Kichan took a bite of the meat skewer in his hand and turned back toward the market. The next day he stopped in front of the same road again. This time two of the royal guard came out from inside. Kichan stepped aside and went to the cook area.

Paul was in the wounded tents, and Riphiel had already gone to fetch him. Argaon was following the meat sacks off a supply cart that had just come in. At a late lunch, the four gathered again at the market entrance. Kichan walked toward the eatery first, and Argaon stuck to his side. Riphiel picked the bits of herb off Paul's sleeve. The supply captain appeared from the other direction. When he saw Kichan, he lengthened his stride.

"So here you were!"