Yarik and Pyotr carried Hob's body as respectfully as they could. It was an effort. Yarik's leg yelled at him with every step, and by the time they reached the pyre he was panting. If you had told him before the storm he would have cared enough to give Hob a fair burial he would've laughed, but now... However Yarik felt about the student, he regretted his death. Hob had been starting to treat Yarik like an actual person after Maria's death, which was a miracle, but that didn't matter now. They lifted him to the pyre and rolled him onto it. Yarik arranged Hob's arms for the last time and whispered, "Dawn greet thee."
The rain still poured, but Mareth didn't seem to think it would interfere with the giving of bodies to the dawn. All except a small watch on the battlements gathered around the same pyre where Maria had burned. Four students now slept on the wood. One of them had his face covered on account of an ugly wound.
The Prelate stepped forward without a word, holding a long iron rod. He placed it at the base of the pyre and held it with both hands. Tendrils of smoke started drifting up from the kindling. The rod heated to a deep red orange, boiling the rain that fell on it before the kindling leaped to flame. Mareth stepped back, watching the rest of the oil soaked pyre be consumed. Is Cavaar going to be able to do that? Yarik wondered. The Prelate offered no explanation for the small miracle he had just performed, keeping his eyes fixed on the burning students.
Yarik looked past him at the dark clouds and the smoke drifting upwards. This was not the dawn they had been expecting. Yarik didn't know much about the politics of the realm but he knew that the Blades were a neutral party that kept itself as far as possible from the power struggles that went on between lords. He could understand why Dindra might want control of the castle, but to kill students? Was that really the way of the world?
They kept the vigil until the moon dropped below the horizon. Yarik realized how tired he was when it finally did. He limped to the barracks and fell into bed, throwing his saber onto Cavaar's empty mattress. He fell asleep to the sound of the rain pummeling his roof.
Pyotr shook him awake after what seemed a few moments. Yarik glared at him with a groggy eye. His friend smiled. "It's our watch friend."
Yarik responded with a half awake growl and rolled out of bed. He strapped his saber back on and walked into the day. He cursed when he was hit by the rain, still falling, then he cursed again when he started walking and the water pooled in his boots. He climbed the stairs behind Pyotr and relieved two of the students who had taken first watch.
"You're late." One of them growled, shouldering Yarik on his way to the stairs.
"You're welcome." Yarik said, watching him leave before turning back to the courtyard. A small lake was forming around the battering ram. There was a blackened hole in the roof where his lance had landed.
"You know any songs?" Pyotr asked suddenly.
"What?"
"Songs."
"Uh, not really." The Blades were not given to singing, though bards sometimes composed ballads about them. The songs Yarik could remember were the ones his mother used to sing, and that was a long time ago. "You know any?"
"A couple, I grew up singing them in Valem. Everyone in my village did before... before..." Pyotr tried to bring himself to continue but couldn't. The two students stared at the broken gate.
"Why don't you sing one now?" Yarik asked.
"No way, I haven't sung since..." Pyotr put up his hands. "Trust me you don't want to hear it."
"Listen," Yarik said. "We're probably going to die anyway, so I'll be the only who knows how terrible you sound." He smiled.
"Fine," Pyotr laughed and looked toward dark horizon. "Stop staring at me!" Yarik smiled and followed Pyotr's gaze. His friend coughed and inhaled.
"Oh, the sun sets on a stormy-" Pyotr halted, not satisfied.
"The sun sets-" He sang to himself to get in the right key.
His voice grew stronger as the notes came back to his memory. Pyotr began to tap his foot in a steady beat, just audible over the sound of the rain:
"Oh, the sun sets on a stormy sea,
And the waves crash on the salty shore.
And the night will find you
No matter where you are."
"It will find the fisher in his boat,
It will find the mother in her home
It will find the baby in its cradle"
"Mmm it'll find you"
"Oh you'd better not be alone
When you see the sky grow dark
And the waves grow tall"
"When the sun sets on a stormy sea
And the waves crash on the salty shore
And the night will find you
No matter where you are."
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