Chapter 8
Crossroads
Rain arrived before sunset.
Not a violent storm, but a steady mountain rain that drummed endlessly against the caravan canopies and turned the roads into ribbons of dark, sodden earth.
By evening, the entire camp smelled of wet cedar, wood smoke, soaked leather and steaming broth rising from the cook fires.
The caravan had halted at a dangerous crossroads.
Two ancient routes split ahead through separate valleys.
One curved eastward through narrow mountain passes toward hidden monasteries and forgotten noble estates.
The other descended south toward the outer roads leading eventually to the capital of Silla.
General Hwan Ryuk ordered the camp secured early.
No unnecessary wandering.
No long evening walks.
No excursions beyond the lantern lines.
Even the atmosphere around dinner felt quieter than usual.
Officials spoke in lowered voices.
Soldiers rotated patrols more frequently.
Messengers moved constantly between fires carrying sealed orders beneath rain cloaks.
Something was wrong.
Everyone felt it.
Inside the covered dining pavilion, the rain muted the outside world into a steady silver roar.
Sunwoo still did his best to keep spirits alive.
That evening he served roasted chestnuts glazed with pine honey alongside warm rice cakes filled with sweet bean paste.
“Eat,” he ordered Jiho while placing another serving into his bowl.
Jiho looked exhausted already.
“You intend to feed me into battle?”
“You look better with meat on your bones.”
“You say that every day.”
“And every day I remain correct.”
Even Claire smiled faintly beneath her veil.
Yet beneath the warmth, tension lingered.
Taejin barely touched his meal.
Hanul kept glancing toward the outer tents.
General Hwan Ryuk spent most of the evening speaking quietly with Scholar Danyal ibn Safir over maps spread beneath the lanterns.
The astrologer’s expression revealed nothing.
By full darkness, the camp settled early beneath the rain.
There was no music.
No lingering conversation around the fires.
Only the steady movement of watch lanterns through the wet night as soldiers drifted silently between the wagons.
Inside the priestess’s pavilion, the women prepared for sleep.
The sacred relics had been hidden once again.
Crystals sewn into quilted blankets.
Pearls concealed within embroidered seams.
Ancient scrolls tucked beneath false wagon panels.
Nothing valuable appeared valuable.
That was the point.
Claire lay awake listening to rain strike the canvas overhead.
The tiny northern lap dogs slept near Hanul’s bedding beneath wool blankets while Bokjin snored softly nearby.
Everything felt strangely peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Then she heard it.
Not thunder.
Movement.
A faint scraping against canvas.
Her eyes opened instantly.
One of the little dogs lifted its head sharply.
Another sound followed.
The unmistakable slice of a blade cutting fabric.
Then chaos exploded.
The tent wall split inward.
Dark figures surged through the opening, masked men dressed in northern clothing, moving with terrifying speed.
One of the maids screamed.
A lantern crashed sideways across the floor.
“Protect the priestess!”
Someone seized Mirae violently, dragging her backward while another attacker overturned storage chests searching frantically through blankets and stitched bundles.
The dogs erupted into frantic barking.
Hanul shouted.
Bokjin rolled off his bedding in complete panic.
Claire moved without thinking.
One attacker lunged toward Nari.
Claire swung a heavy bronze lantern stand into his arm with enough force to send his blade spinning across the floor.
Hardly priestess behaviour.
Pure instinct.
The man cursed in a foreign tongue and seized her wrist.
Claire twisted sharply, driving her knee upward exactly as years of modern self-defence training had taught her.
The attacker staggered backward in shock.
Unfortunately…
That drew attention.
Another masked man grabbed Mirae completely now, wrenching her upright with a knife against her throat.
“There!”
Nari screamed.
“No!”
Claire froze.
Mirae’s terrified eyes met hers instantly.
The attackers had mistaken her.
Because of the veils.
Because of the rotating carriages.
Because the deception had worked.
For now.
Outside, steel rang against steel.
Jiho reached the pavilion first.
He and Taejin burst through the entrance almost together, rainwater streaming from their armour as swords flashed beneath the lantern light.
The entire tent erupted into violence.
One attacker lunged immediately toward Jiho.
Steel collided hard enough to throw sparks.
Taejin drove another man backward into a support pole while Hanul desperately pulled the remaining women toward the rear divider.
Claire dragged Nari behind overturned bedding just as another intruder seized her arm violently.
For one terrible second she thought they had recognised the real priestess.
Instead the man shoved her aside while reaching beneath the storage mats for the hidden relics.
The crystals.
That was what they wanted.
Not only the priestess.
The relics as well.
The fight became brutal.
Jiho moved with frightening precision, forcing two attackers backward despite the confined space.
Then one of the northerners struck Taejin across the head with the hilt of his weapon.
The blow dropped him instantly.
“Taejin!”
Jiho turned.
Too late.
A blade drove into his side beneath the armour plates.
Claire heard the impact before she heard anyone scream.
Blood spread instantly across the dark fabric.
Even wounded, Jiho drove his sword through the attacker’s shoulder before the remaining intruders fled into the storm.
They vanished into darkness.
Taking the screaming Mirae with them.
Then there was only rain.
And blood.
Everything afterward dissolved into confusion.
Soldiers flooded the camp.
Lanterns blazed.
Horses screamed.
Search parties scattered into the night while General Hwan Ryuk’s voice cut through the storm, barking orders loud enough to drown the thunder itself.
Claire barely heard any of it.
Jiho had collapsed against one of the pavilion supports, one hand pressed tightly against his side.
Nearby, Taejin groaned weakly, blood running down the side of his face.
Jiho’s wound was bad.
Too low for the heart.
But deep.
And bleeding heavily.
“Get the physicians!” someone shouted.
“There is no time,” Claire snapped.
Every head turned toward her.
Even she seemed startled by the authority in her own voice.
“Boil water. Clean cloth. Strong spirits. Bring me alcohol if you have it.”
Hanul blinked.
“What?”
“Move!”
Something in her tone left no room for argument.
People obeyed.
Jiho looked pale now, rainwater and blood soaking through his armour as Claire knelt beside him.
“You’re not dying tonight,” she muttered.
Somehow he still managed a weak laugh.
“That sounds encouraging.”
“Be quiet.”
The physicians arrived halfway through her work.
They stopped in astonishment.
Not because she had failed.
Because she was succeeding.
Claire had already cleaned the wound as best she could with heated spirits, removed fragments of torn leather and begun controlling the bleeding with calm efficiency.
Basic first aid.
Basic infection control.
Knowledge from another lifetime.
Jiho hissed sharply as she threaded a curved needle.
“You’ve done this before.”
Claire hesitated.
“In another life.”
The answer felt strangely true.
His gaze lingered on her despite the pain.
Outside the pavilion, soldiers came and went carrying reports through the rain.
No sign of the attackers.
No sign of Mirae.
Hours later, the camp finally settled into grim silence.
Jiho remained propped against folded bedding with fresh bandages wrapped tightly around his side.
Taejin sat nearby, insisting repeatedly that he was perfectly conscious despite swaying every few minutes.
Claire sat quietly beside the lanterns, her hands still stained with blood and medicinal herbs.
Jiho spoke first.
“If they discover…”
He paused.
“…that they took the wrong woman…”
The sentence needed no ending.
Claire lowered her gaze.
Mirae would suffer for that mistake.
Interrogation.
Threats.
Perhaps worse.
All because she had looked enough like the priestess to die in her place.
Silence settled over the pavilion.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
Then the entrance opened.
General Hwan Ryuk stepped inside, rain dripping steadily from his cloak while several officers followed behind him.
His face had hardened into stone.
“There are spies within the caravan,” he said bluntly.
No one argued.
“We approach the outer territories of Silla within days. Once we reach the southern estates, the priestess will disappear from the caravan entirely.”
Claire looked up sharply.
The general continued.
“She and one attendant will travel disguised as noblewomen under private protection.”
His gaze shifted briefly toward Jiho.
“You and Taejin will continue the escort.”
Taejin looked deeply offended.
“I was struck unconscious.”
“You are still breathing.”
“Unfortunately.”
Even wounded, Jiho snorted softly.
For the first time that night…
Claire almost smiled.
By General Hwan Ryuk’s orders, a smaller carriage was quietly prepared near the eastern ridge while the main caravan continued making noise and movement along the southern road.
Blankets containing the remaining relics were bundled carefully into hidden compartments beneath the carriage floor.
Crystals were sewn into quilted linings, pearl cases disguised as medicine chests, and the Tears of Amalion concealed beneath common wool wrappings blackened with ash to resemble ordinary trade cloth.
Nothing sacred appeared sacred anymore.
That was survival.
The carriage itself was smaller and lighter than the priestess wagons that had travelled before it, built for rough terrain and fast movement should escape become necessary.
Taejin sat rigidly upon horseback despite the bruise darkening half his face.
Earlier that morning Claire had personally reapplied fresh bandages around Jiho’s side.
“You are not allowed to lose consciousness again.”
Taejin blinked.
“That feels unreasonable.”
“Stay awake.”
“I was struck by a man built like a fortress.”