“Winds within the sea?” She frowned. “Are you speaking of controlling the currents?”
“I am not mariner enough to chance such a thing, and the effects of the sword are not so precisely controlled. But I think there is one path I might explore.” His smile widened even as his tone grew increasingly speculative. “It is a good thing that I have lived all my life close to the water. One does not have to spend time on a boat to know what wonders lie beneath the waves. Simply walking a beach can also be highly instructive.”
He was interrupted by Simna’s return. The swordsman held the sky-metal sword carefully in a double-handed grip. Having seen what it could do, he had no wish to find out what might happen if it was accidentally dropped.
“Here you are, bruther!” He passed the sword to its owner. “Now, by Geulrashk, call us up some wind and disperse this muck! Clear the air, Etjole!” Eyes shining, he stepped back.
“I cannot,” Ehomba told him. “Too dangerous. A ship is a fragile thing. We already have enough wind. What we need is a way to see clear to making use of it.”
“Gojom help me, I don’t understand, bruther.” It was a sentence Simna ibn Sind had come to use frequently in the presence of his enigmatic friend.
Grasping the hilt of the sword firmly in both hands, Ehomba slowly raised it skyward in front of him, the blade held vertically and as straight as one of the Grömsketter’s masts. An intense blue glow began to emerge from the metal, pale at first but intensifying rapidly to azure and then indigo. It pushed back the fog instantly—but only for a few yards on either side of the radiant sword.