about to give birth to a new world.
"No, lord," he murmured. "In a generation, they will be calling you the same thing as everyone else. Verice Demansk, the Great."
Chapter 19
Demansk's soldiers brought him Casull's corpse before the day was over. The King of the Isles had been aboard one of the galleys stormed by the Confederate soldiers. The crew of that galley, no doubt because the King was there himself to stiffen their spine, had not surrendered. All of them had been killed, either in the fighting or in the massacre of the wounded afterward. Casull's body had been found under a pile of corpses. The soldiers hadn't been entirely sure of his identity—none of them had ever seen Casull in person—but his garments and the accouterments of his office made it clear that, whoever he was, he was someone important. So they brought the body to Demansk.
Thicelt identified him. "That's Casull, all right." He inspected the wounds on the corpse. "Say whatever else you will, he was no coward."
Forent Nappur didn't seem impressed. "I can say the same for every man in my squad—almost every man in the army, for that matter. So why does a fucking king get special credit for doing something any peasant takes for granted?"
There was no particular heat in the words. But the anger simmering beneath them reminded Demansk, if he needed a reminder, how much bitterness and animosity the selfish and ruthless conduct of the Confederation's ruling class had stored up in the hearts of its own citizenry.
Sharlz shrugged. "A peasant doesn't have much choice, Forent. A king does. I guess that's the difference." He straightened up from the kneeling posture from which he'd been examining the corpse, and held up a hand in a little placating gesture. "But I'm not trying to start an argument. I can't say I was all that fond of Casull myself."
He glanced at Demansk and made a chucking gesture with his thumb. "Over the side?"
Demansk shook his head. "No. We'll give him an honorable burial—that's how you do it here in the islands, if I recall? Not cremation?"
Thicelt nodded. But Demansk was really watching Nappur, whose sour expression made clear that he'd personally have been inclined to toss the former king to the sharks.
Demansk understood,
"No, lord," he murmured. "In a generation, they will be calling you the same thing as everyone else. Verice Demansk, the Great."
Chapter 19
Demansk's soldiers brought him Casull's corpse before the day was over. The King of the Isles had been aboard one of the galleys stormed by the Confederate soldiers. The crew of that galley, no doubt because the King was there himself to stiffen their spine, had not surrendered. All of them had been killed, either in the fighting or in the massacre of the wounded afterward. Casull's body had been found under a pile of corpses. The soldiers hadn't been entirely sure of his identity—none of them had ever seen Casull in person—but his garments and the accouterments of his office made it clear that, whoever he was, he was someone important. So they brought the body to Demansk.
Thicelt identified him. "That's Casull, all right." He inspected the wounds on the corpse. "Say whatever else you will, he was no coward."
Forent Nappur didn't seem impressed. "I can say the same for every man in my squad—almost every man in the army, for that matter. So why does a fucking king get special credit for doing something any peasant takes for granted?"
There was no particular heat in the words. But the anger simmering beneath them reminded Demansk, if he needed a reminder, how much bitterness and animosity the selfish and ruthless conduct of the Confederation's ruling class had stored up in the hearts of its own citizenry.
Sharlz shrugged. "A peasant doesn't have much choice, Forent. A king does. I guess that's the difference." He straightened up from the kneeling posture from which he'd been examining the corpse, and held up a hand in a little placating gesture. "But I'm not trying to start an argument. I can't say I was all that fond of Casull myself."
He glanced at Demansk and made a chucking gesture with his thumb. "Over the side?"
Demansk shook his head. "No. We'll give him an honorable burial—that's how you do it here in the islands, if I recall? Not cremation?"
Thicelt nodded. But Demansk was really watching Nappur, whose sour expression made clear that he'd personally have been inclined to toss the former king to the sharks.
Demansk understood,