We all slept fitfully, cognizant of the ship's erratic movement and our own building fear.
FIFTH DAY
Day and night the weather worsens, and our peril increases. After a brief respite, the storm returned in full fury. Huge waves crashed into the ship, and violent rain soaked us to the skin. We were deluged by water. We had to shout into each other's ears in order to be heard over the deafening thunder. Though Nugetre remained at the helm, I couldn't imagine his efforts had any effect. The Castor seemed lifted and flung like a cork in the surf. We lurched drunkenly from the attack of the Blood Sea.
The seething chaos did not let up. In the late afternoon, Captain Nugetre, his red-rimmed eyes burning, announced that we had crossed over into the Tightening Ring. Now, he said, it was mandatory that we break the grip of the current and somehow lead the Castor east and north, back to the Outer Reach.
Otherwise we would be sucked into the Maelstrom.
Nugetre banished Yuril from the deck, sending her below to get some rest. Until then, she had refused to let anyone spell her in her duties. Alone, he held the tiller until full evening. I shall always remember how, while he was steering that day, he sang out some lusty sailor's song that I had never heard out of anyone else's mouth. His brazen confidence as he struggled with the ship seemed to infect the other sailors, who didn't flinch from their posts despite the brutal elements.
The captain ordered some of his crew to the oars on the port side and others to raise the smallest sail. Shouting orders and encouragement, Nugetre and his sailors somehow managed to wrestle the Castor back to the Outer Reach.
Raistlin reappeared on deck at midday. Obviously still fatigued, his face wan, Raistlin still gave off an aura of excitement. I could see that his strength and determination had been renewed. How long, I asked him, do we have to endure this?
"My guess is that we have gone some hundred and fifty miles," answered the young mage, "That means we have another hundred and fifty to go before we try to break free of the Outer Reach and come out in the Northern Blood Sea."
"Another night and day," estimated Kirsig, who had come up behind the Majere twin.
"Where's Flint?" I asked her.
"Over there." The female half-ogre pointed proudly to one of the masts, where Flint sat, drenched with water, his face glum but resolute as he held tight to one of the ropes that restrained the rudders.
FIFTH DAY: EVENING
A night that took us to the limits of our endurance. The wind shrieked as it turned the seascape into a black haze of blinding spray. Thunder boomed without interruption, and at one point, volleys of lightning hit the deck, toppling a secondary mast and crushing the neck of the unfortunate sailor beneath it. We had to tie ourselves to pegs and poles in order to avoid being washed into the churning waters. No one slept. Even momentary rest was made impossible by brutal interruptions—a lightning flash, the peal of thunder, stinging rain, or something hard flung into our faces by the incessant wind.
Still Captain Nugetre and Yuril clung to the tiller.
SIXTH DAY
Two of the crew have been lost in the struggle with the Blood Sea. The rest of us, facing the prospect of a never-ending tempest, almost long for surrender to the wrathful Maelstrom.
Raistlin stayed in his cabin for most of the day, exhausted. Flint, his eyes pouchy and his eyebrows sodden, was sent below by Yuril, who noticed his dazed behavior.
At midday, the storm entered a brief lull, the type we knew would bring a fearful escalation in its aftermath.
In the relative quiet, we heard moaning, screaming, and cackling borne on the wind. The ship began to spin crazily with a frightening speed that was worse than anything we had experienced thus far.
The crew members, nearly hysterical, stood and pointed at the churning waters. I could see nothing, but they babbled about horrors—grinning faces, clawed hands, and wicked horns—pushing at the ship, causing it to pitch and spin.
Yuril shouted at them to return to their posts. Captain Nugetre himself looked stricken with horror, but his was not imaginary.
"We've gone too far! We're into the Tightening Ring, approaching the Nightmare Sea!" he cried, his face twisted with apprehension. "Man the oars! Throw the anchor! Make ready—"
His voice was almost drowned out by the rising clamor. A red mist swirled up from the sea, flowing onto the deck and through the portholes. Small red impkins, with leathery, batlike wings, barbed tails, and twisted horns, formed out of the vapors and swarmed up the masts, pulling on the rigging and loosening ropes. Like the Blood Sea itself, their skin was dark red, their jagged teeth a gleaming white.
Giggling, screaming, and ranting, they unleashed panic on the ship.
Some of the men rushed to grapple with the imps, but the captain screamed at them. "You fools, they are illusions!"
Illusions they may have been, but in the next instant, I saw two of them grab one of the sailors and heave him overboard.
I spotted Raistlin standing on the steps that led to our cabins. He bent his head, moved his hands, and uttered some incantation. To my astonishment, the impkins vanished, although the red mist lingered. In the next instant, the young mage sank back out of sight. Few had noticed what he had done.
In the meantime, the storm resumed its fury.
Flint fought his way over to me, looking as frightened as I had ever seen him. "What should we do?" he shouted.
For a moment, I was uncertain. "There!" I cried. We saw Yuril and a couple other sailors struggling to unloose the heavy, claw-shaped anchor, a task made all the more difficult by the fierce wind and
