“What’s going on?” Though intensely curious as to what the tall passenger was about, Stanager would not abandon her position by the helm.
“I don’t know.” Tensely, the swordsman watched his friend continue his descent. “But I can tell you this much—he’s not out for an afternoon’s swim.”
The bottom of the ladder trailed backward in the dark water. Ehomba reached a rung where his feet were occasionally submerged and stopped there. Still firmly grasping the tough, sea-cured rope with one hand, he abruptly let gravity take hold of the mass of the weapon and swing the point downward. Keeping the fine edge facing forward, he was able to maintain his grip as the blade cut through the water. The deep blue radiance was clearly visible beneath the surface.
Even though the edge sliced easily through the gentle swells, the ocean still tugged and pulled on the sword. Gritting his teeth, Ehomba held on, the hilt locked in his long-fingered grip, the blue glow penetrating deeply into the waters that tried to steal it away from him. Above, Simna and Hunkapa Aub watched from the rail. The swordsman could see that the strain of holding on to the ladder with one hand and the submerged blade with the other was tiring his friend.
“Want me to spell you awhile, bruther?” he called out.
The herdsman’s face turned upward. Somehow, he managed to grin. He’ll grin when he’s on his deathbed, Simna mused. It’ll be the last expression he wears.
“Thank you, friend Simna, but all is well.”
“Well as what?” the swordsman retorted. “What is it you hope to do?”