The Prince's Mark

The Road to Dezmer - Thirty

The sky, which had been cleared of foreign gray, finally let loose the wet it had held onto since autumn. Icy rain slammed into the ground below, forcing the dust to inch downward toward the ocean.

Dezmek had a long held belief that the transition between life and death takes time—much like how babies took nine months to grow ready for the world outside of their mothers, souls should not be torn from their bodies too quickly. Deaths by fire left relatives gutted not only by the loss of their loved ones but also by their loved ones' inability to make the change from dezmek to magic.

So the humans had to be buried. Perhaps their afterlife consisted of something else, but a preparation period couldn't hurt them.

No one asked Karthik what he wanted. He didn't voice any requests, instead watching the proceedings with empty eyes.

The rain cleansed the hills first. Gray sometimes pooled on the flatter land. If the sun suddenly returned, perhaps the dust would sink into the ground and ruin Ergakan.

For now, the hill that held up Tracou's manor had the least damage. The dezmek had to load the dead onto carts and wagons. The process of moving the corpses took hours, with the able bodied helping as best as they could. Night fell by the time every invader had been laid to rest.

Exhausted, the villagers returned to their homes. Less than one hundred and fifty of them remained. Hopefully, the ones who had fled would spread the word about the danger the Winleans posed.

Tracou now stood on his hill which harbored more dead than he could have ever thought possible.

Only Serpouhi, Garin, and Stepan lingered beside Tracou, the elves, and Karthik. Water soaked each of them to the bone. Perhaps they could have dried themselves, but the water kept falling, and burying the dead had taken its toll on them.

"What are we going to do?" Serpouhi asked, her voice small. "What if they come back with more people?"

Tracou bit his cheek.

They might sleep soundly tonight, but what about tomorrow? Some of those humans had fled—if they didn't return to their ships...

"I don't know," he said.

"You're going to leave me here. Right? To back with your elves?"

"That was the plan... Maybe I can ask the elves for help. Mirthal will help me..."

"I see." She paused. "I'll be the bailiff and I'll be in control. But... more people will leave. Maybe I'll be the last one here."

"Don't talk like that." Stepan shook his head, as though Serpouhi were worrying about a lone spider. "We have time to prepare, now. Maybe build some traps."

Tracou grimaced, stealing a glance at Pendaer. Good thing he couldn't understand.

"The angry elf thinks traps are a good idea, too."

"Really! He's a funny one. Always glaring at everyone, but he lured the humans for us. Is he shy? Ask him if he's shy."

This Tracou could support.

"Pendaer, Stepan wants to know if you're shy."

Pendaer pulled a face of pure disgust. "He what?"

Stepan cackled, Pendaer's tone of voice being more than enough to understand what he had said.

"Angry ones are the funniest. Now tell him we couldn't have saved Ergakan without him—that will throw him for a loop."

"This isn't funny, Stepan!" Serpouhi cut in. "Take this seriously! What are we going to do?"