Fallen Reaper (Fallen Power Book 4) by Leo Hull

Author:Leo Hull [Hull, Leo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-10-06T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

The first Yuelan patrol found them north of the beach where they had buried Liv and Mathias. The ship ran up a series of flags that no one on board understood, but it never set a course to intercept. By the time the scarred site of the battle with Lowen and Konan was to port, the escort had swelled to five distinct sets of masts, apparently content to observe and monitor even when the Horizon anchored for a night to remember the Kaethlans and Vielans that had died on the beach or in the swamp.

Erosion had scrubbed away evidence of the fight. The mound where Lowen the Mudslinger had raised his enslaved Bound was no more than knee high. A few Spark-fused fragments stuck above reeds that were just starting to grow. When last here, Liv’s massive mammoth corpse had sat offshore. Tides and scavengers had reduced it to a few ribs sticking above the water at low tide. Logs that had been used to shift the massive Vielan Fallen relic to a barge were the most obvious remainder. They formed a path to the sea. Soon they too would vanish. The swamp would reclaim Viela’s burned-out village. Nothing would remain but memories.

They feasted that night out on the deck. Dina shared stories of Liv and Mathias from before Konan had ever set foot in the north and spread the Fallen poison. Lydia spoke of growing up in the swamp and the childhood game of baiting swamp dragons. Even if children still lived here, no one would dance forward with a stick to tap them on the nose now. From the deck, occasional gouts of flame burst to life on the coast. Konan’s toxic legacy lived on.

In the morning, two more sets of masts were visible to the southwest. By sundown, their escort had swelled further. A fleet had come north, two dozen strong. But they executed a sweeping pivot south rather than engage, and they flashed lights that many of the existing escort answered.

It all made Tristan nervous. The Horizon could outrun the fleet, but Hedra insisted on keeping a polite pace and anchoring one last time so that they would arrive at Yuela in the late morning. It was the diplomatic thing to do and set a tone of mutual respect.

She also insisted they not appear as beggars. None of them were skilled tailors, and neither did they have delicate fabrics in trendy colors, but they made do as they could. Furs and animal skin outfits were set aside. Salvage from the Yuelan military was taken apart then reassembled into uniforms that would at least not mark them as savages. Last of all to go was Tristan’s beard and his wild mane of hair.

“They will respect you more with a mustache,” Hedra said. “It’s all the rage. You saw the officers.”

Tristan stood in front of a mirror, soap lathered on his face and a razor in his hand. Remains of his first beard filled the basin. The Corp had mandated shaving and Tristan had maintained the look until entering the Kaethlan wilds.

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