The Dark Magi (Part 2, page 3 of 59)


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Part 2

‘Tell me: how shall I find fit words that will release them?’

‘Leave it to a cleric,’ one of the less imaginative oarsman grunted, ‘and let us be done with it. It is the role of a cleric to speak fitting words, and to write letters to bereaved kinfolk.’

The men grumbled their disagreement. Ander well understood their reticence. They were superstitious about a night burial and rightly feared attracting the spirits of the Dead. Mixed rain and snow swirled thick about them like a promise of violence; the night-black water lay deep and viscid with cold, and seemed to suck at the whaler as though wishing to swallow it into black oblivion and sea-death.

Ander gave the order, and felt the burden of their apprehension as they shifted the death-heavy corpses over the gunnels. With a sound like a sigh, the weighted bodies sank into the eternal deep. But for several long moments the oarsmen ached after them, their eyes full of the fear that they had incurred a curse.

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