Page 49 of Stalk the Sky

Fieran bit back his groan. Not the right answer.

That gleam returned to Commander Druindar’s eyes. “You think so? Hmm. That means you might still be in need of more fun.”

As Fieran expected. Apparently Grady hadn’t learned his lesson well enough back in basic training.

“Every castle exists to protect a kingdom from an enemy.” Commander Druindar swept a glower over all of them. “You’d better build your enemy sandcastle.”

With that, they were all sent back into the storm to fill their helmets yet again. After fetching another helmet’s worth of sand, they all built a second sandcastle on their mattresses. At least this time Captain Gradrah and Commander Druindar didn’t make such a production out of it, and there was no voting by the ship captains on these castles.

Instead, Commander Druindar’s glower deepened as Fieran and his flyboys finished their sandcastles and stood. “In case you have forgotten, we are at war with the Empire of Mongavaria. We might even find ourselves under attack once this storm lifts. As it seems you need a reminder, your castles will come under attack.”

With that, Commander Druindar and Captain Gradrah walked between the mattresses. One by one, they had each of the flyboys shake his mattress back and forth so that the castles “attacked” each other, the rocks and gravel breaking apart and sliding all over the place and onto the floor.

At the end of a seemingly random, indeterminate amount of time, the troll warriors called a halt, then assessed the amount of sand left of each castle to declare a “winner” of either the Alliance castle or the Mongavarian castle. How they could possibly tell which sand belonged to which castle, Fieran had no idea. They were probably just making it up at random.

Those who had the Alliance declared the winner were told to rebuild a single, large castle with all the sand on their mattress and the surrounding ground. The unlucky ones had Mongavaria declared the winner. They had to go back outside, fetch two more helmets’ worth of sand, and conduct the battle again until Commander Druindar and Captain Gradrah were satisfied that the Alliance was the winner.

When it was Fieran’s turn, he had to conduct the sandcastle battle three times—going out into the rain an additional four times for all the extra castles—before the troll officers declared the Alliance the winner. When he piled all the sand and gravel on the end of his mattress, it formed a sandcastle mountain nearly two feet tall and as wide as his mattress. Parts of it kept sliding off onto the floor.

At last, Commander Druindar declared the battles over, and all the sandcastles had been rebuilt into large, victorious Alliance strongholds.

Commander Druindar faced Grady. “Have you had enough fun now, Lieutenant?”

Fieran held his breath, willing harder than he’d ever willed in his life that Grady would come up with the right answer.

There were no grins this time as Grady, even more begrimed and bedraggled, replied, “Yes, sir. I’ve had enough fun now.”

“Good.” Commander Druindar’s tone had a sharp edge. “Then you’ll all sleep here tonight, guarding your sandcastles. I want to see them intact when I inspect them tomorrow morning.”

With that, Commander Druindar, Captain Gradrah, and the ship captains went their separate ways, finally leaving Fieran and his flyboys alone on the Level 1 parade ground.

Fieran let his shoulders slump as he faced his men. They were a sorry-looking lot. Smeared with sand. Clothes still dripping. Hair plastered to their heads. Instead of lifting their spirits, all he’d succeeded in doing was getting them into trouble. “I’m sorry. That didn’t go according to plan.”

“It was fun while it lasted.” Grady cheerfully plopped onto his mattress, almost absently fixing the part of his sandcastle that had collapsed with the movement, before he curled onto his side, heedless of the sand smeared over his entire mattress.

Fieran waited for someone to pipe up that it hadn’t been worth it. Yet, strangely, no one did.

Instead, the rest of them followed Grady’s example and lay on their mattresses in various curled and contorted positions to avoid knocking over their sandcastles.

With a rather pointed I told you so but I did not try too hard to stop you either look at Fieran, Merrik crossed the room and switched off the magically powered lights, plunging the room into darkness, lit only by the warm glow of lights in the stairwell, which were never shut off.

As Merrik headed back toward them, Sticky’s voice broke the silence. “You know, I think the commander was just as bored as we were.”

“You think?” Pretty Face snorted. “What gave that away? The sandcastles? The overblown sandcastle competition? The sandcastle wars? The utter glee they all took at the whole thing?”

“So glad we could provide their entertainment.” Fieran lowered himself onto his mattress with his head just below his sandcastle and his legs below his knees hanging off the end. Tall as he was, there was no way he would fit on the mattress unless he curled into a tight, uncomfortable ball.

Not that he was comfortable as it was. His clothes were still soaked through, sticking cold and clammy against his skin. The canvas of the mattress, while more or less waterproof, had soaked up some of the water from the sand, making its surface both damp and gritty. He didn’t have a pillow or any blankets.

This was going to be one long, cold, uncomfortable night.

Chapter

Fourteen

The next morning, Fieran stood at attention once again, grimy and gritty.

Commander Druindar paced before them, sweeping an eye over their sandcastles. “I see your sandcastles survived the night. But now it’s time to stop playing and get back to work.”

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