Oh it’s morning time, green-handed boys, let’s be on our way
We’ll break your boots and break your backs before the break of day.
All of the men were singing, their voices loud and lusty, stomping their boots and clapping their hands in marching rhythm, clearly a song to pass long and weary hours. And Ophele could see the memories that bound them together, the endless miles they had traveled, especially as Tounot picked up the next verse as if he had done it a hundred times before.
Oh the noon has come, brave soldiers all, and the day’s half-gone behind
A bite, a sip, a little breath, that’s all the rest we’ll find
Oh, the sun’s well up, you marching men, but smoke’s rolling in the sky
So check your armor, check your steel, for we’ll get there, by and by.
To her delight, Remin took the third verse himself, his deep voice strong and true, thumping into the notes along with the stomping steps, his big hands clapping.
Oh the evening’s come, you men of war, and a red sky lies behind
We broke the wall and burned them all, but there’s more hell yet to find
Oh the evening’s here, you iron sods, you proved the mettle of your soul
So pick it up and march along, for we’ve a long way yet to go.
“Been a while since I heard that one,” Davi said appreciatively, as the floorboards gave a final shiver beneath their feet.
“We used to sing it on the march,” Remin explained to Ophele. “It makes the time go faster, if you’ve got something else to think about besides marching.”
“I liked it,” she said sincerely, though it almost felt as if she were trespassing to listen. It was something she would never understand because she had not been there, something that was both mundane and sacred to them all.
Of course, Miche could not long abide the sacred. He picked up his flute to pipe a short and oddly familiar tune, and shot Ophele a wicked glance.
Oh you can search the Empire wide
And never find a better guide
To the precious things you unfortunately let fall…
“Oh, not again!” Ophele wailed as Remin burst out laughing, and Miche went merrily into the song of the Lady of the Wall, who this time sat atop it, peering into the distance in search of the home of the devils, and demanding whole libraries as compensation for her efforts.
It might be devils, plague, or plunder
That makes our blessed lady wonder
And there’s only one place that she’d think to look
Whether it’s a blacksmith’s iron bars
Or the sacred mysteries of the stars
Can you tell me, might I find it in a book?
Even Mionet laughed as Miche repeated the final chorus.
“Impertinent! You are impertinent, sir!” she cried, clapping her hands. “My lady, that is what is called achancunglore,a praising song, though many of them are affectionately satirical. And if it does not please you, it is acceptable to pelt him with sweetmeats.”
“It’s the only way a hardworking musician can get a little dessert,” Miche said mournfully.
“No, no, you are all ridiculous,” Ophele said, covering her mouth with her hand to hide her uncontrollable giggles. Stars, she had never expected to hear that again. And she wished even more that she knew a song herself, right up until the moment that Mionet volunteered her to demonstrate a different skill.
