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looked on in astonishment. “Ayesh, I was wrong to doubt you about
     your friend: It’s a sorcerer he is!”
    “Hoy, ask and he’ll tell you it’s not him but the sword that wreaks the magic. A sword he did not make himself, but that was
     given to him. No wizard he, he’ll tell you again and again. Just a herder of cattle and sheep lucky enough to have learned
     friends.”
    She looked at him through the wind and rain. “Then which is he, Simna? What is the truth?”
    “The truth?” He considered a moment, then broke out in the irrepressible grin that, when words failed, defined him. “The truth
     is a riddle wrapped in an enigma—or sometimes in a nice piece of hot flat bread fresh from the oven. That’s my friend Etjole.”
    Stanager Rose was a woman of exceptional beauty and competence—but not a great deal of humor. “In otherwords, you don’t know whether he’s actually an eminent alchemist, or just a vector for the sorcery of others.”
    Simna nodded, rain dripping from his hair and chin. “Just so. But this I do know: I’ve seen renowned swordsmen battle a dozen
     skilled opponents at a time, I’ve seen them fight off beasts armed with fang and claw, I’ve watched others deflect the attacks
     of mosquitoes the size of your arm and thorn trees with minds of their own—but this is the first time I’ve seen anyone use
     a blade to fence with wind!”
    Indeed, Ehomba was not merely parrying the gusts that swirled around him, but doing so in a manner that saw one after another
     line up aft of the ship. Deflected by the weaving, arcing sword and its attendant indigo aurora, gale after gale was forcefully
     merged to blow steadily from astern. Gradually the
Grömsketter
stopped sailing in ragged circles and resumed a westerly heading. The storm continued to rage, but now the bulk of it, aligned
     by blows from Ehomba’s blade, raged from directly behind the ship, driving it across the wild Semordria in the direction it
     had originally been traveling.
    Steer the winds as he might, Ehomba could not subdue them, not even with the wondrous sword. Priget once more gained control
     of the helm, and managed to keep the ship on course, but before the herdsman had been able to get the winds organized and
     under control the
Grömsketter
had taken a terrible beating.
    “We need a respite.” Stanager had taken one half of the wheel, opposite her helmswoman. “A blow from the blow.” She flung
     her head to one side and slightly back, flipping sodden red hair out of her face. “An island in whose protected lee we could
     shelter would be best, but none lieclose on our chosen heading.” Tilting back her head, she examined the storm-swept sky. “Of course, we are no longer sailing
     on our original heading. I think we have been blown many leagues northward.”
    “Put me down, Hunkapa.” As the hulking biped obediently complied, Ehomba smiled up at him. “You did well, my hairy friend.
     Are you all right?”
    Through the rain and darkness the bulky figure beamed at him. “Hunkapa like to help. Hunkapa strong!” Long, powerful arms
     reached up and out, as if to encompass all ocean and sky.
    “Strong enough.” The herdsman blinked away rain, staring forward. Simna was at his side, trying to follow his friend’s line
     of sight.
    “What is it, bruther? What do you see? An island?” His tone was hopeful. Not that he cared overmuch for the condition of the
Grömsketter
, so long as she continued to float, but as a landsman raised on open plains and prairies, he felt himself overdue to stand
     on something that did not precipitously and unpredictably drop away from beneath his feet.
    “No, not an island,” Ehomba replied as softly as he could, given the need to be heard above the wind. “Something else.” Turning,
     he addressed the stalwart redhead. “Captain, I think if you head your ship fifteen degrees to port you may find the respite
     you are looking for!”
    Squinting into the squall, she