Hohenwerth island looked like the island of the cult in miniature in many ways, although for the moment it lacked the blackness of that bigger, more northerly island. Steep shale slopes rose from the surface of the water, topped by the green of good farmland and orchards. A sinister silence hung over the area, though, and it didn’t take Einarr long to realize why. There were no fishing boats out on the water, despite the time and the weather.
All eyes on deck were glued to the shore as an inlet came into view and, behind it, a village.
Even from here it was plain the village was a husk. Deserted, Einarr would have said, if not for Liupold’s story. Dead.
“That,” Captain Liupold confirmed, “is all that remains of Kettleness.”
Einarr hated to have to ask it, but: “Have the dead been properly buried?”
“The priests were arriving to…
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