1214-03-01
Adrian Kundra:
It's been about a week since the start of the siege. Everything couldn't be going better. We have plenty of food. We're swapping shifts every 10-12 hours, we're given enough time to rest, relax, and eat.
The soldiers standing guard over Kima remind me of times when I had to endure similar watches. I've had my fair share of standing for hours, but now, this routine—this cycle of standing and observing—has become a comfort. Watching the encampment and the city, these two critical points, feels like all that matters.
The camp itself is separated into three parts. The first is the civilians' section, directly behind the frontline.
Many women and children are placed there, given the space and protection they need. Soldiers aren't allowed in that section unless specifically invited.
The second area, the center, is where the food and drinks are prepared. Doctors reside there, tending to the wounded, while cooks work tirelessly to keep everyone fed. It's also where most of the mingling happens—soldiers exchanging stories, civilians gathering to share news, and officers coordinating plans.
The third section belongs to the soldiers. That's where we sleep, though I haven't been getting much rest these days. Like the civilians, no one from their section is allowed in ours, unless under special circumstances.
Despite being enemies, we've maintained a strange sense of respect toward each other. Over the days, some of the soldiers have grown close to the civilians of Wara.
Yet, for those soldiers, this siege has become harder. Bonds, even brief ones, complicate things.
I know the Emperor has a plan. He wouldn't have given up on us, not yet. But still, something feels off. There's another force at play here—some other action or strategy unfolding, though I'm not sure what it is.
What if we had killed them all? What if they had been left outside the city walls, slaughtered and forgotten, their bodies forming a grim barricade? Would the Emperor have ordered that?
I continued to walk the camp.
The medical tent is the largest of the middle section of the camp, a spacious affair of rugged beige canvas draped over wooden support poles.
It's not hard to spot by virtue of size and place, but it's actually the huge red lettering on the side that draws your eye—a dramatic sign that reads "MEDIC" in bold, legible lettering.
The paint has weathered a bit, but the color remains bright enough to serve as a beacon to the hurting.
Inside, the atmosphere is one of order amidst chaos and restraint with hurry. Rows of hastily made beds pack the space, each shared by a civilian or soldier bearing some wound.
Medics zip hither and thither, issuing orders in a low tone of command or calming reassurances in equal quiet firmness.
Supplies coil in a tidy heap in the corner—bandage rolls, salve jars, and glass vials of tinctures whose purposes are a mystery.
Behind it is a wooden worktable, long and broad, littered with surgical tools, needles, and bloodied rags. Lanterns hang from tent poles, casting a constant, warm glow that fights off the darkened corners.
In the midst of this ordered anarchy, I noticed one thing—a tourniquet hastily shoved into a brown bag.
The tent is quiet, and that brings me relief. I had ordered Lucius and his team to inspect everyone for diseases or illnesses; sickness is the real enemy in times like these, one that could bring down an army faster than any blade.
Inside, only one doctor remains, shuffling through papers at a cluttered table. A faint, contented smile plays on his face, a rare expression amidst the grim tension of war.
"Lucius," I call, stepping forward.
He glances up.His smile broadens when he recognizes me.
"Your Highness."
"At ease," I say with a nod. "What are the results of your testing?"
"No one was sick or showed signs of illness," he reports, his voice steady and reassuring.
"That's good," I murmur, half to myself. The words are a small comfort in the storm of everything else weighing on my shoulders.
Lucius tilts his head slightly, his expression softening.
"The men seem to be in good spirits, considering the circumstances."
"That's all we can ask for," I reply.
"Your Highness… any notion of how long this siege will last?"
"It's hard to say," I admit. "We've not seen anything of the emperor's army."
Lucius nods. "If anyone can, it's you, Your Highness."
"You've done good work, Lucius. The camp is better thanks to you," I say, deliberately changing the subject.
His smile returns, somewhat less pronounced this time. "Of course, Your Highness. My duty."
"Something else on your mind, Your Highness?"
I pause, then nod. "There is somebody that I need to ask about. Liliko."
"Liliko?" Lucius asks.
"Number 42," I explained.
"Oh." He turns abruptly back to the table, digging through his notes until he pulls out a specific paper. He holds it up, reading its contents briefly before speaking. "Liliko, a civilian. She had some scarring on her hands and back."
"What do you think caused it?" I ask, leaning forward slightly.
"The scars were deep," Lucius says thoughtfully. "I'd say fighting."
I narrow my eyes. "What did she say she did?"
"She claimed she was a cook," he answers, glancing up from the paper.
"And do you believe her?"
Lucius hesitates before shaking his head. "No, Your Highness. If I were you, I wouldn't trust her either."
His words hang in the air. My brain processes the thoughts.
Lucius completes re-organizing his papers and looks back at me, a glimmer of curiosity in his gaze.
"So, are you going to meet her?"
"I think I will," I say. "It's worth clearing things up."
Lucius gives a nod. "She was okay when I spoke with her. Asked me a few questions about the camp, just polite conversation. Did not give me any reason for alarm."
I take his statement into consideration as we step out of the tent together. "Sorry once again for canceling the service on Sunday," I tell him, shouldering the weight of my decision.
Lucius waves it off with a weak smile. "It's okay, Your Highness. This had to be addressed first."
I see a glimmer of disappointment on his face. He gazes out at the horizon.
"I'm looking forward to tomorrow, though."
Every week, we gather to worship the Lion. Even in this war, it reminds us of the path we walk and why we walk it.