The Witch Yeti (7)

The Grate Oni

Volume (1) Benoni Chapter (13)

Six months passed.

Yeti and Artha now lived in a house far better than the shabby hut they'd first rented.

Artha, once only a hunter, had become captain of the village guard—and the darling of all the local women. Yet because the entire village believed Yeti was his wife, those women could only admire him from afar.

At the moment Yeti sat in a chair. Her belly was round—seven months pregnant. In roughly two months she would give birth.

She glanced at her stomach and went expressionless.

Toward evening Artha came home. Unlike usual, his face looked grim.

"What's wrong?" Yeti fluttered her eyelashes.

"I heard the Empire's soldiers who've been hunting us are nearby. They'll reach this place soon," Artha said while taking off his leather jerkin.

"Do we have to leave?" She looked at her belly.

"Hopefully we have about two months. It'll be safer to travel after the baby's born."

He stripped off his shirt, revealing old sword scars and newly-regained muscle.

"Yeah… I hope so," Yeti answered, weary-eyed.

Artha changed into fresh clothes, walked over, and patted her head.

"Don't worry, kid. While I'm here no one will lay a finger on you."

She gave him a sideways look. "All right, all right."

Artha laughed. "Ha-ha-ha!"

>_<

Two months later, Yeti's due date arrived.

Li Fan—inside her mind—kept a deadpan face. "Damn," she muttered.

The doctor and an experienced grandma were present; Artha waited outside the door, sword at his belt.

A village sentry ran up and spoke urgently:

"Captain Artha! More than a thousand Imperial troops are camped in Natin Forest. According to the scouts they're headed this way."

Artha's face hardened. "Very well. Stay inside the village walls; I'll go look. I'm leaving its defense in your hands."

He took a horse and galloped toward the forest.

___

Inside, Yeti screamed in pain.

"Damn it, it hurts!" Her pretty face turned pale.

"Push, little miss," the grandma said, gripping her hand.

___

Elsewhere, Imperial commander Sandar led a thousand infantry in sun-brass armor; a priest with a scarred cheek rode beside him, smiling smugly.

This Sun-Armored Legion was famous across the Empire: once, with only a thousand men, it had fought off ten thousand enemy soldiers.

"With a force like this, those two won't stand a chance," the priest chortled.

Commander Sandar smirked. "Relax, Father. The five hundred men who fought Prince Artha before were regulars with hardly any battle experience. My Sun-Armored troopers have fought countless wars; each one equals five common soldiers. Nothing to worry about."

The priest nodded. "I'm sure the Sun Legion will triumph. Capture Prince Artha and you may be promoted to Grand Marshal, Commander Sandar."

He chuckled obsequiously.

Sandar laughed. "I wouldn't dare imagine such glory, Father."

Just then a lone rider appeared in the distance.

The priest peered closely and recognized the horseman. "Commander, that's Prince Artha."

"Indeed, still as bold as ever," Sandar said, grinning.

He suddenly kicked the priest off his horse; the priest tumbled to the ground, crying out as a rib snapped.

"What are you doing, Commander Sandar?" he wheezed.

Sandar gave no reply—only smiled, dismounted, and walked forward until he stood six paces from Artha. Then he dropped to one knee and bowed his head.

"The Loyal Sun-Armored Legion greets Prince Artha."

At once the entire legion knelt, helmets clanging, their shout shaking the earth:

"The Loyal Sun-Armored Legion greets Prince Artha!"

Birds scattered from the trees. The priest lay on the ground, trembling.

A scout watching from afar scribbled a report, tied it to a bird's leg, and released it toward the capital.

___

In the resplendent imperial palace the wise old king played a game of military chess with his prime minister.

Moving a piece, the prime minister said, "Your Majesty, we've learned that the Sun-Armored Legion has sworn itself to Prince Artha. Why did you send them on this mission?"

The king, smiling as he counter-moved, asked, "What, Prime Minister—do you doubt my decision?"

The minister bowed. "Never, Your Majesty."

The king chuckled and strolled away.

The prime minister watched him go and cursed silently: *You crafty old fox—did you just hand Prince Artha an army on purpose?*