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 lie close 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.