blood up, you know? I’m not trying to be anything.”
“You’ll be a Darkly Departed is what you’ll be if you don’t watch it,” Teeter added. “You don’t want to be joining our dead like Meri and the rest of those poor souls.”
“I can take care of myself,” Alwyn said. He could feel the color coming to his cheeks. This was nothing he wanted to talk about.
“Now, now, leave the lad alone. He’s young, he’s foolish, and he’s got a magical tree for a leg,” Yimt said. “I think it’s just a matter of the wood wanting to get ashore so it can plant itself and start sprouting some leaves.”
Laughter echoed off the timbers and Alwyn found himself chuckling.
“You mock his plight,” Inkermon said, setting down his parchment and pointing his quill at Yimt.
“He’s just kidding,” Alwyn said. “There’s still hope.”
“Hope? You mock that, too,” Inkermon said. “You all mock this…this abomination that has befallen us. Do you not see? Our curse grows with every passing day. The foul temptress haunts our dreams even as She calls forth creatures long dead, and now the very earth we walk attacks us, burning our very souls alive.”
There was only the sound of the wind and the creaking of wood. Inkermon had touched on something none of them wanted to talk about. Alwyn and Hrem looked at each other, then quickly looked away. Feeling his shadow burn had been pain beyond his experience, but there had been something else as well. For a moment, before he extinguished the white fire, Alwyn had felt a clarity and sense of peace that he had not known since taking the Blood Oath. It was as if Her powers were being cleansed from his very soul.
Yimt slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. “Right. Put a big bloody cork in it, all of you,” he said, turning to look each one of them in the eye. “What is or isn’t the state of our eternal rest is a conversation for another day. Right now, it’s time. Grab your kit and get topside. We’re going to honor the poor bastards while the weather holds.”
Hrem climbed to his feet and began buttoning up his tunic. He gave Scolly a gentle nudge with his boot. Scolly opened one eye and looked around.
“Are we going to bury them now?”
No one said anything. Finally, Alwyn nodded. “Yes, Scolly, we’re going to bury them now.”
Scolly opened the other eye and sat up, stretching and yawning as he did so. “Only, I was having a dream and the Shadow Monarch was there. She seemed…happy.”
SEVEN
T he wind began to swirl, snapping the canvas sailcloth above their heads like the musket fire they’d become all too familiar with. Alwyn kept his eyes on the four bodies laid out on the deck in front of him. Each dead soldier was sewn into an old hammock. Iron ingots from the ship’s ballast had been placed inside first to ensure the bodies slid out of sight quickly, but experience had shown it wouldn’t matter. The Queen’s Colors draped each body, though the flags would remain as the bodies were pushed over the side. They were bound to be used again.
The regiment formed a three-sided square around the bodies, although this meant many soldiers were perched on barrels, crates, and parts of the ship in order to see. No sailors were present. Even the ship’s captain, Captain Ervod, was absent. He’d insisted on presiding over the first ceremony, but after the shock of the first one, Captain Ervod left it to the regiment to handle.
Prince Tykkin stood off to one side, tapping a white-gloved hand against his sword hilt. The silvery-green of his uniform jacket looked new and was a marked exception to the dull appearance of his men. Even Major Swift Dragon’s uniform looked grubby by comparison. It was only natural that the future King look the part, but Alwyn knew the main reason was that the Prince stayed on board while the Iron Elves cleared each island. It spoke volumes that no soldier ever complained about it; they all preferred the Prince out of
“You’ll be a Darkly Departed is what you’ll be if you don’t watch it,” Teeter added. “You don’t want to be joining our dead like Meri and the rest of those poor souls.”
“I can take care of myself,” Alwyn said. He could feel the color coming to his cheeks. This was nothing he wanted to talk about.
“Now, now, leave the lad alone. He’s young, he’s foolish, and he’s got a magical tree for a leg,” Yimt said. “I think it’s just a matter of the wood wanting to get ashore so it can plant itself and start sprouting some leaves.”
Laughter echoed off the timbers and Alwyn found himself chuckling.
“You mock his plight,” Inkermon said, setting down his parchment and pointing his quill at Yimt.
“He’s just kidding,” Alwyn said. “There’s still hope.”
“Hope? You mock that, too,” Inkermon said. “You all mock this…this abomination that has befallen us. Do you not see? Our curse grows with every passing day. The foul temptress haunts our dreams even as She calls forth creatures long dead, and now the very earth we walk attacks us, burning our very souls alive.”
There was only the sound of the wind and the creaking of wood. Inkermon had touched on something none of them wanted to talk about. Alwyn and Hrem looked at each other, then quickly looked away. Feeling his shadow burn had been pain beyond his experience, but there had been something else as well. For a moment, before he extinguished the white fire, Alwyn had felt a clarity and sense of peace that he had not known since taking the Blood Oath. It was as if Her powers were being cleansed from his very soul.
Yimt slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. “Right. Put a big bloody cork in it, all of you,” he said, turning to look each one of them in the eye. “What is or isn’t the state of our eternal rest is a conversation for another day. Right now, it’s time. Grab your kit and get topside. We’re going to honor the poor bastards while the weather holds.”
Hrem climbed to his feet and began buttoning up his tunic. He gave Scolly a gentle nudge with his boot. Scolly opened one eye and looked around.
“Are we going to bury them now?”
No one said anything. Finally, Alwyn nodded. “Yes, Scolly, we’re going to bury them now.”
Scolly opened the other eye and sat up, stretching and yawning as he did so. “Only, I was having a dream and the Shadow Monarch was there. She seemed…happy.”
SEVEN
T he wind began to swirl, snapping the canvas sailcloth above their heads like the musket fire they’d become all too familiar with. Alwyn kept his eyes on the four bodies laid out on the deck in front of him. Each dead soldier was sewn into an old hammock. Iron ingots from the ship’s ballast had been placed inside first to ensure the bodies slid out of sight quickly, but experience had shown it wouldn’t matter. The Queen’s Colors draped each body, though the flags would remain as the bodies were pushed over the side. They were bound to be used again.
The regiment formed a three-sided square around the bodies, although this meant many soldiers were perched on barrels, crates, and parts of the ship in order to see. No sailors were present. Even the ship’s captain, Captain Ervod, was absent. He’d insisted on presiding over the first ceremony, but after the shock of the first one, Captain Ervod left it to the regiment to handle.
Prince Tykkin stood off to one side, tapping a white-gloved hand against his sword hilt. The silvery-green of his uniform jacket looked new and was a marked exception to the dull appearance of his men. Even Major Swift Dragon’s uniform looked grubby by comparison. It was only natural that the future King look the part, but Alwyn knew the main reason was that the Prince stayed on board while the Iron Elves cleared each island. It spoke volumes that no soldier ever complained about it; they all preferred the Prince out of
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