Page 48 of Stalk the Sky

Grady’s grin faded with just the hint of dawning comprehension.

Fieran braced himself for whatever Commander Druindar said next. He was getting a gleam in his eye that was probably similar to the look Fieran had worn when getting them into this mess. Commander Druindar might not have been able to formally reprimand them without getting the Escarlish military involved, but there were plenty of other ways he could punish them by making their lives miserable.

“Well, then, gentlemen, let’s have a little fun, shall we?” The edge in Commander Druindar’s voice held all the glee of their drill sergeants back at basic who had come up with an especially creative punishment. He faced Grady once again. “You like building sand castles, don’t you, Lieutenant?”

Grady grinned once again. “Oh, yes, sir.”

If Fieran hadn’t been Grady’s commanding officer where physical violence to those in his command was frowned upon, he would have given Grady a smack upside the back of the head once this was all over.

“Good, good.” Commander Druindar pointed toward the double doors leading out into the storm. “Take off your helmets, go outside, and fill your helmets. All the way to the top now. You can’t skimp on your sandcastles. Move.”

Fieran spun on his heel and raced toward the doors with the others, tugging off his helmet as he went.

As soon as two of the flyboys hefted the stone doors open, a sheet of rain gusted inside, instantly drenching those nearest the door. A flash of lightning gave a brief glimpse of the several inches of water running over the road and sluicing off the cliffside above their heads.

This was going to be cold. And wet. And miserable.

Only right that Fieran lead the way. After all, he was the one who led them into this mess.

He dashed into the storm, and it was like stepping into the cold gush of a ginormous faucet. Rainwater dumped on him from the cliffs above while the icy rain sliced through his clothing to chill his skin.

Beside the main road that ran through the Dar Goranth base, the rain had turned the gravelly sand into a gloopy mess.

Fieran located a spot that was slightly higher and hadn’t yet become a puddle. He scooped a helmetful of the sand, using his hand to shove in more sand until his helmet was filled all the way to the top.

The others crowded around him, also frantically shoveling sand and gravel into their helmets.

Despite the downpour, Fieran waited for all of his men to rush outside and fill their helmets before he returned with the last of them, carrying his helmet in front of him.

Once inside, he joined the line of his men assembling on the slightly cleared spot before their mattresses. Each of them held a helmet filled with sand and dripped water into growing puddles on the stone floor.

Commander Druindar strode in front of their line, his hands clasped behind his back. “Now it’s time to build your sandcastles. Line up your mattresses, then dump your sandcastle onto your mattress. Don’t let it fall apart. It needs to be a good sandcastle.”

At that order, Fieran and his men scrambled to disentangle the mattresses and straighten them into neat lines, all while holding their helmets and not letting so much as a single pebble of gravel spill onto the floor.

Once they’d lined up the mattresses, Fieran knelt on a mattress, suppressed a grimace, and turned his helmet over to form a sandcastle, just as he used to do with a bucket when making castles by the shores of the lake at the elven summer palace of Lethorel.

The sand and gravel made a slurping, sucking sound as it glopped onto the mattress. With so much water content, it flattened in a gloopy mess rather than staying in the shape of the helmet, rivulets of sandy water running across his mattress.

Fieran patted the sides of the pile, mud coating his hands, until he corralled the castle back into shape.

Commander Druindar and Captain Gradrah strode between the mattresses, commenting on the sandcastles and making “suggestions” for improvements, such as Move that rock there for a gate. Every good castle needs a strong gate. Or Use that leaf for a pendant. Every good castle must fly the proper flag.

When they reached Fieran’s castle, Commander Druindar and Captain Gradrah spent an exceptionally long minute inspecting it before Commander Druindar pointed to a collection of pebbles that had rolled off. “Don’t neglect the battlements.”

Fieran hastily picked up the pebbles, flattened the top of his sandcastle, and delicately placed the pebbles in a ring around the top as if they were the crenelations on the top of a tower.

Seemingly satisfied, the two troll warriors moved on to Merrik, who ended up having to dig a moat and add a low earthen embankment around his castle.

Once they’d gone through all the sandcastles, Commander Druindar and Captain Gradrah brought out the ship captains to vote on the best sandcastle out of the bunch. The collection of ship captains—mostly trolls, but with a few humans from the Escarlish ships in the harbor—walked between the castles and debated the merits of each one with the seriousness of inspecting actual military fortifications.

Fieran’s face burned. Commander Druindar was succeeding with the humiliation part. The whole base was going to hear about this by morning.

The ship captains voted Lije’s sandcastle as the best. Lije had gotten a scoop with some larger rocks that he’d artfully balanced to form towers on the corners. For the “honor” of winning, Lije was sent back out into the rain to find a flat rock to act as his winner’s medal.

Once Lije returned, Commander Druindar turned to Grady once again. “Is this enough fun for you, Lieutenant?”

“I think so, sir.” Grady’s brown hair was plastered to his forehead while sand smeared his clothes.

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