Six colossal iron hulls sliced through the glowing purple chop of the Star-Marrow current like floating islands.
The triangular black pennants of the Ten-Year Slumber Vault snapped against the mainmasts, fluttering with cold authority in the steady trade wind.
From a distance, the armada looked like a routine naval patrol enforcing the quarantine around the inner sanctuaries.
Up on the bow of the lead flagship, things were considerably less military.
A broad wicker lounger was wedged between two brass deck cleats, sheltered from the spray by a silk sunshade.
Kaelen lay flat on his back, his straw hat tipped over his nose.
His right hand loosely held a six-foot stalk of yellow river bamboo.
A piece of coarse hemp twine dangled from the tip, hanging thirty feet down into the glowing purple water.
