Other ships follow it up from the depths, smaller, each bearing modified symbols of the Winged Eye. On one the wings have been scratched away, on another the eye is painted over, forced shut. A third is covered by scores of bloody hand prints. There are seven in all, spread evenly around First Circle, surrounding, intercepting hope. Axler’s voice punctuates shock, scrambling guards into defensive positions. A short distance across the water, the ships wait. They bear no flags. Broken swords hang above the decks, suspended from cables. The wind makes them chime, off key and eerie. Silence
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