Chương 91: A Table at the Border

The snow-covered mountains receded behind them. At first, there was only white. Snow, stone, and the wind scraping its way down between them. As the mountains lowered, black soil emerged beneath the white. Kichan looked down without letting go of the saddle strap. An empty yoke lay on its side in the middle of a field. Only hollow hoofprints remained where the ox should have been. The road once used by carts had become a chain of hardened mud pits instead of wheel tracks. Farther down, tents appeared.

Half had been taken down. The tents whose poles remained flapped open on one side in the wind. Black ash lay where grain should have been outside a burned storehouse. The Saintess, Seria, leaned forward and pointed toward the distance.

"The border lies between that river and the mountain ridge." Kichan looked at the folded tents rather than the river.

"Was that a market?" Seria lowered her hand.

"Yes."

"Where are the people?"

"They fled, or were conscripted into the armies..." The end of her answer scattered into the wind. The owls descended along the river. A low stone wall surrounded a cluster of black roofs. Inside stood a dense press of tents, wagons, and houses patched with planks. A faded strip in the colors of a human kingdom hung from a flagpole on one side. Opposite it flew demihuman tribal banners pieced together in the shapes of horns and claws. The central flagpole stood bare.

When the owls landed inside the stone wall, the people backed away first. Humans gathered near one wall. People with ears, tails, and horns sat among the tents on the opposite side. They shared one roof, but a long strip of empty ground ran between them like a road. The Saint, Theor, climbed down from the owl.

"We are from the Papal State." Several people rose. No one came closer. Batu, the saber-toothed tiger, was first off the owl. He leaped down and pressed one forepaw into the wet earth. Kichan descended into the place Batu had cleared. The ground gave softly beneath his feet. Dust escaped Riphiel's arms and chased a wet metal ring.

"Dust." Dust stopped. Kichan pointed at the magic bag, and it reluctantly returned to cling to the cord. Smells filled the enclosure before people did. Wet cloth, straw that had never fully dried, medicinal herbs spread over wounds, and burned wood had tangled together. Beneath them came the scent of watered grain. Kichan turned his head.

"Where's the kitchen?" Seria stopped in the middle of reading the children's list an elderly administrator named Dorman had given her.

"We should begin with the investigation-""The kitchen." Dorman pointed toward a tent beside a stone building. A single large pot hung inside. Its bottom had burned black, and what boiled within was closer to water than porridge. The wooden paddle swept through almost nothing but water. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Kichan opened the sack beside the pot. About two handfuls of grain remained at the bottom.

"How many people are eating this?" Dorman started counting on his fingers, then gave up.

"A little over a hundred, including those who arrived today."

"How much over?"

"Twelve." Kichan looked into the pot.

"This isn't food for a hundred and twelve people. It's water for washing the pot." Argaon leaned his head in from behind.

"It still smells like something."

"You're out."

"Why?"

"If you eat, there'll be nothing left for the other hundred and twelve." Kichan opened the magic bag. A slab of wyvern meat he had cleaned in the highlands dropped onto the worktable. Bundles of herbs, dried roots, and a pouch of salt followed. Riphiel folded her arms when she saw the size of the meat.

"Some of that is my share."

"There are a hundred and twelve people."

"Which is why I am telling you to set my share aside first." Kichan gave no answer. He unfolded the material board. One side split open into a griddle, while the other spread into a broad work surface. He cut the meat into small pieces. He pressed the knife down again to sever the tough tendons. Then he scraped the burned layer from the pot and filled it with fresh water.

"Is the water safe?" Dorman hesitated.

"It can be drunk if boiled." Kichan looked up.

"That means it isn't safe."

"Since the upstream channel was blocked..."

"Let's boil it for now." The smell changed when the wyvern meat entered the pot. Kichan crushed the dried roots and herbs before adding them. A bitter scent came first, followed by something hot and sharp once the fat rose. Valkyrie settled on the rim and pushed the rising foam aside with its fingertips. The empty strip inside the stone wall slowly narrowed. The children came first. A human child with close-cropped hair stood on one side holding an empty bowl.

Opposite him, a demihuman child with one folded ear held a wooden bowl in both hands. They watched the pot without approaching each other. Kichan picked up the ladle.

"Line up." No one moved.

"You don't want any?" The human child held out his bowl first. At almost the same moment, the demihuman child extended both arms. The wooden bowl held by the child with the folded ear was slightly closer. Kichan filled that one first. The next ladleful went into the human child's bowl. Someone behind them drew a sharp breath. Kichan fished out one extra piece of meat for each bowl.

"I can't give you much. There are a lot of people behind you." The child with the folded ear looked into the bowl.

"More meat."

"I just gave you extra."

"His is bigger." The human child pulled his bowl toward his chest. Kichan looked from one child to the other.

"Then I'll give you more when you're taller."

"When?"

"Next time."

"Tomorrow?"

"If you grow that fast, it'll be terrifying." The two children walked away with their bowls. A horned child came next, followed by a human boy wrapped in bandages. Kichan filled whichever bowl came closer. Adults received more broth. In every child's bowl, he hid one piece of meat. Argaon held out an empty bowl.

"What about mine?"

"Get to the back."

"I'm part of the group."

"Which means you won't die from missing a meal." Riphiel slid her bowl in beside Argaon's.

"I might."

"You too. Back."

"There were times when I helped catch it."

"There weren't."

"I helped in spirit." A brief sound rose among the people. It might have been a laugh or a cough. It vanished quickly, but the next person stepped toward the pot. Seria set the sealed box inside the tent and joined the distribution. Theor went to the wounded to record names and injuries. Argaon eventually stole a ladle, only for Kichan to slap the back of his hand. By the time the pot was half empty, Dorman returned. Three damp sheets of paper rested in his hands.

"The list of missing children." Kichan studied the papers while stirring.

"How many?"

"Seven. Three human, four demihuman."

"Where were they last seen?"

"Near the waterway. Patrols from both sides passed through the area." Dorman said nothing more. The people on either side of the pot also closed their mouths. Kichan divided the last pieces of meat among the children's bowls.

"How many wounded?"

"Thirty-four."

"And how much food?" Dorman looked at the empty grain sack. Kichan hung the ladle on the rim of the pot.

"Let's stay a few days." Riphiel looked at him.

"How many is a few?"

"Until we find the children, look at the wounded, and get them something to eat." Argaon scraped the bottom of his bowl.

"That may not be a few days."

"It'll be a few." Kichan looked in turn at the burned bottom of the pot, the empty sack, and the wet list. Beside him, the child with the folded ear was drinking the last of the broth from the bowl.