![]() He’d been there since dawn first paled the sky, unmoving, unblinking. Unclothed-on a gusty, open deck in a winter far colder than was usual for the Vilhon Reach-the man seemed oblivious to the brisk wind that blew a spray so chilling that the sailors above worked with clumsy, cold-stiff fingers as they hauled up the canvas sail. The second was the fact that he was unclothed, save for his tight-fitting breeches and a black leather glove on his left hand. He lay facedown, his rigid arms holding his upper torso away from the wet fo’c’sle deck, his head bent back so that he appeared to be looking straight up at the spot where six sailors toiled above him, reefing the foresail. Two things, however, made him remarkable. ![]() His ornaments were few: a slim chunk of clear crystal hanging on a leather thong at his neck a bracelet of braided leather around his right wrist and a thumbnail-sized dark blue stone, flecked with gold, that he wore on his forehead in the spot where the Learned painted their marks. Of average build and height, and with dark, shoulder-length hair drawn into a knot at the back of his neck like a sailor’s tarred bun, he would have blended into any crowd. ![]() The man on the ship’s fo’c’sle would have gone unnoticed in other circumstances. ![]()
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