“And I do not take criticism of my profession from a yowling devourer of carrion.” When the big cat chose not to respond, Simna turned back to his lanky friend. “Having seen what this remarkable blade can do, I would no more try to make use of it than I would a sculptor’s chisel or a musician’s lute.”
Ehomba smiled softly. “You did, once.”
A startled Simna looked sharply at the seated herdsman. “I thought you were asleep!”
Ehomba looked away. “I was.”
The swordsman started to reply, discovered that he did not have an adequate response at hand, and decided against it. Instead, he laid the wondrous weapon carefully down alongside his seated friend and pulled the thin blanket a little higher on Ehomba’s narrow shoulders. The herdsman had spent far too much time with his hand and part of one arm immersed in the cold water. Sorcerer or not, he was starting to shiver.
“I will be all right.” He smiled reassuringly up at his concerned companion. “The ocean below my village is much colder than this, and I have spent many an hour wading and swimming in its waters.”
“I don’t care,” Simna told him. “Any man can catch a chill and die from the complications.” He looked out to sea. “Attract like to like, you said. More like light to light. It was a grand sight. I never dreamed quite so many splendid phantasms dwelled in the sea, and all of them lit from within by sorceral glow.”
“Not sorceral,” Ehomba corrected him. One hand held the edges of the blanket tight against his throat. “The lights you saw were all natural, manufactured from within their own bodies by the creatures themselves. There was nothing of sorcery about it.”