Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 248
Lavin caught his breath. Muskets were the property of
the royal guard. Always had been, as far as he knew... and he
was right. Even so many generations ago, Iapysia had been
exactly as it was when Lavin was a boy. And then came Galas,
to break all the ancient traditions and bring her people to ruin.
Something else glinted in the torchlight. He bent closer
to examine what might be the soldier’s hand. "More light.
Bring some hurricane lanterns here. I want to see it." People
hurried to obey. Lavin heard Hesty chuckle behind him.
Yes, your distraction worked, Hesty, he thought. Be
smug about it if you want.
When they had brought the lanterns Lavin took another
good look. He was right: preserved in the salt, wrapped
around the withered finger of the soldier, was a silver ring.
He stood back, knuckled his eyes and was rewarded by a
salty sting. "I want that."
"Sir?..."
"The ring. Get it off the corpse. Bring it to me." He
blinked around at the men. They looked uniformly
uncomfortable.
"I’m not grave-robbing. We’ll return it to him after the
siege, and accord him full honors as a member of the king’s
guard when we inter him. But this ring is a powerful symbol of
the continuity of the dynasty. Think about it. I want it on my
hand when I ride into battle."
With that he turned away to remount his horse.
Back in his tent he prepared for bed. Something told him
he would sleep this time. His lamp still burned above the camp
table, and as he bundled his shirt to use as a pillow, his eye was
drawn to Galas’ book, which still sat open to the passage he
had read earlier.
Lavin marveled that he had been so mesmerized by the