The Assassin's Edge (Einarinn 5) by Juliet E. McKenna Page A

before retreating to the coruscating deeps. No hint of reefs threatened the ship shunning the lesser islets, intent on a narrow strait just visible between two emerald promontories.
    Clouds drifting unfettered cast light and shade on restless waters already brilliant with fleeting shimmers like fish darting away from inquisitive eyes. The isle ahead offered an impassive mosaic of greens unruffled by the steady wind carrying the fast-approaching ship inshore. Stalwart trees carried sober hues beneath the verdant highlights of new growth and underbrush, motionless patterns framed by the dark mossy bulk of the rising peaks. The wind shifted and moist earthy scents momentarily won over the scouring salt of the sea breeze and seabirds’ cries pierced the creak and thrum of rigging and sail.
    “I’ll be so glad when we land!”
    “That sounded heartfelt, Parrail.”
    The man clinging to the rail of the ship greeted this new arrival with a weak smile. “Naldeth, good day to you.”
    “Duty to you, gentlemen, but clear out of the way.” A sailor hurried past, bare feet deft on the swaying deck, oblivious to the chill wind despite his sleeveless shirt and ragged knee breeches. “Can’t you go below with the rest of the passengers?” He didn’t wait for a reply before hurrying up the ladder-like ratlines running from the rail to the crow’s-nest where the top half of the mast was securely stepped to the lower.
    Parrail looked apprehensively at Naldeth. “I don’t think I dare.”
    “Over here.” Naldeth led the way to a stack of securely netted cargo. He cast a wary eye up at sailors deftly reconfiguring the creamy sailcloth billowing on the Tang ’s tall square-rigged fore and main masts. “Still no sea legs?”
    “It’s not so much my legs as my stomach.” Parrail took a reluctant seat, lifting his head to see past the intricacies of ropes and pulleys. “It’s better if I can see the horizon. One of the sailors told me that.”
    “I do what I can to keep the ship on an even keel,” said Naldeth lightly.
    Parrail managed a faint smile. “My thanks to you, Master Mage.”
    “My pleasure, Master Scholar.” Naldeth made a comic attempt at a seated bow. Leaning back against the shrouded lump of canvas that was the ship’s boat, he yawned widely before looking around. Animation and intelligence lent distinction to an otherwise unremarkable face. “This trip’s taught me just how much I don’t know about the workings of water, but the winds have been favourable so I don’t think we’ve lost too much time.”
    “Dastennin be thanked.” Parrail’s intensity had little to do with devotion to the god of the sea. Much of an age with the wizard, the scholar nevertheless looked appreciably younger thanks to a snub nose, boyish features and wiry brown hair teased by the wind.
    Naldeth idly tapped a foot on the tightly fitted oaken deck. “Master Gede was saying we should be anchored and ashore in time for lunch.” He laughed. “I take it you didn’t want breakfast?”
    Parrail took a deep breath. “No, thanks, and I’d rather not talk about food.” He tugged absently at the laces of the plain linen shirt he wore beneath an unadorned broadcloth jerkin.
    “Sorry.” Naldeth looked up towards the sterncastle of the ship where captain and senior crewmen stood in purposeful conclave before the lateen-rigged aftmast. They broke apart, each one sliding deftly down the ladder-like stair, intent on his allotted task. The captain remained behind, scanning the vista ahead as he talked to the helmsman whose broad hands cradled the whipstaff that governed the ship’s massive rudder. The captain was a tall man, hair pale grey in contrast to brows still black and knitted in the scowl fixed on his weathered face by years of peering into sun and wind. He wore soft half boots and long breeches of plain blue broadcloth beneath a comfortably loose-cut shirt much the same as wizard and scholar wore. Where Naldeth had opted