‘You didn’t get drunk and fall down and break it again, did you?’ Barak demanded suspiciously. Barak had very little knowledge of human anatomy – except about where to hit someone with an axe or to run a sword through him which would have the desired, and usually fatal, results. The big red-bearded man reasoned somewhat foggily that if Drolag had achieved his weather sensitivity by breaking his leg, a second break might very well have taken it away again.

‘No, of course I didn’t, Barak,’ Drolag said disgustedly. ‘I’m not going to risk my livelihood for a few tankards of bad ale.’

‘How did the storm sneak up on you, then?’

‘I don’t know, Barak. Maybe it’s not a natural storm. Some wizard may have summoned it. I don’t know if my leg would react to something like that.’

‘That’s always an easy excuse, Drolag,’ Barak scoffed. ‘Any time an ignorant man can’t explain something, he blames it on magic.’

‘I don’t have to take this, Barak,’ Drolag said hotly. ‘I earn my way, but I’m not responsible for supernatural forces.’

‘Go below, Drolag,’ Barak told him. ‘Have a long talk with your leg and see if it can come up with a better excuse.’

Drolag staggered down the pitching deck talking to himself.

Barak was in a foul humor. Everything seemed to be conspiring to delay him. Not long after he and his friends had witnessed Agachak’s unpleasant demise, Seabird had struck a submerged log and sprung a seam. It had only been by dint of herculean bailing that they had been able to limp down river to Dal Zerba and to haul the leaky ship up onto a mud-bar for repairs. That chore had cost them two weeks, and now this storm from nowhere added to the delay. Then Unrak came up from below, trailed by the dull-faced King of the Thulls. Unrak looked around with the wind clawing at his bright red hair. ‘It doesn’t seem to be letting up, does it, father?’ he observed.

‘Not noticeably.’

‘Hettar wants to talk with you.’

‘I’ve got to steer this big brute.’

‘The mate can do it, father. All he has to do is keep her bow into the wind. Hettar’s been studying that map, and he thinks we’re in danger.

‘From this little storm? Don’t be silly.’

‘Is Seabird’s bottom strong enough to take on rocks?’

‘We’re in deep water.’

‘Not for long, I don’t think. Just come below, father. Hettar can show you.’

Grumbling, Barak turned the tiller over to the first mate and followed his son to the companionway leading below. Nathel, the King of the Thulls, trailed along behind them, his face incurious. Nathel was a bit older than Unrak, but he had taken to following Barak’s red-haired son about like a stray puppy. Unrak was none too gracious to his unwanted companion.

‘What’s this all about, Hettar?’ Barak demanded of his friend as he entered the cramped cabin.

‘Come over here and have a look,’ the tall Algar said.

Barak strode to the bolted-down table and looked down at the map.

‘We left Dal Zerba yesterday morning, right?’

‘Yes. We’d have gotten away sooner if somebody’d been paying attention to what was lying under the surface of that river. I think I’ll find out who was on bow watch that day and have him keel-hauled.’

‘What’s keel-hauled?’ Nathel asked Unrak.

‘Something very unpleasant,’ the red-haired boy replied.

‘I’d rather you didn’t tell me, then. I don’t like unpleasant stuff.’

‘Whatever you want, your Majesty.’ Unrak did have a few manners.

‘Couldn’t you just call me Nathel?’ the Thull asked plaintively. ‘I’m not really a king anyway. Mother’s the one who makes all the decisions.’

‘Anything you want, Nathel.’ Unrak said it with a certain pity.

‘How far would you estimate we’ve come since yesterday?’ Hettar asked Barak.

‘Oh, maybe twenty leagues. We had to heave to last night because we’re in strange waters.’

‘That puts us almost right here, doesn’t it?’ Hettar pointed at an ominous symbol on the map.

‘We aren’t anywhere near that reef, Hettar. We came about to southeast as soon as we came out of that estuary at the mouth of the river.’

‘But we haven’t been going southeast, Barak. There seems to be a current that comes down along the west coast of Mallorea, and it’s a fairly strong one. I’ve checked a few times. Your bow is pointed southeast, but the Seabird has been drifting sideways almost due south because of that current.’

‘When did you suddenly become such an expert on sailing?’

‘I don’t have to be, Barak. Take a stick of wood and throw it off your starboard side. Your ship will catch up with the stick in just a few minutes. We’re definitely drifting south in spite of whichever direction your bow is pointed. I’d guess that within an hour we’ll be able to hear the surf breaking on that reef.’

‘I do confirm that our friend speaketh truth, my Lord of Trellhiem,’ Mandorallen assured him. ‘I myself have witnessed his experiment with the stick. Truly, we are tending southward.’

‘What can we do?’ Lelldorin asked a bit apprehensively.

Barak stared gloomily at the map. ‘We don’t have any choice,’ he said. ‘We can’t get back out into open sea in this storm. We’ll have to drop both anchors and hope that we can find a bottom that’ll hold us. Then we sit tight and ride it out. What’s the name of that reef, Hettar?’

‘Turim,’ the Algar replied.

CHAPTER TWENTY

LIKE ALMOST EVERY other ship’s cabin in all the world, the one on Captain Kresca’s vessel was low and had dark-stained beams overhead. The furniture was bolted to the floor, and oil lamps swung from the beams as the ship, swinging at anchor, rolled heavily in the combers coming in off the Sea of the East. Garion rather liked being at sea. There was a calmness, a kind of suspension of care out on deep water. When he was ashore it seemed that he was always scurrying from place to place through crowds of people, all filling his ears with distractions. At sea, however, there was time to be alone with his thoughts, and the even, patient roll of waves and the slow movement of the sky made those thoughts long and deep.

Their evening meal had been simple, a hearty bean soup and thick slices of dark, rich bread, and they sat on the benches around the plain table after they had eaten, talking idly and awaiting the arrival of the captain, who had promised to join them as soon as he had secured his ship.