Satisfied that ritual had been followed, Luciar turned to address the crew, which by now had assembled of its own accord. “Know that these two who fought are now reconciled,” the captain formally announced. “No more will the shadow of hate hang between them.” The ritual words spoken, the captain addressed the crew more personally. “This rite I have ordered because we may need all our strength in the days ahead. Word has reached me that minotaurs sail these waters.” The captain paused to let the import of his words sink in, and a gradual murmur of concern passed through the sailors.

While her father’s back was turned, Cwelanas fiercely whispered to Teldin, “I will not strike you again, but do not think this is over, human.” She gave a perfunctory curtsy and hurried for her cabin. Luciar bowed to Teldin, dismissed the crew, and followed in his daughter’s wake, stopping to answer questions from his crew along the way.

“What was that all about?” a mystified Teldin wondered aloud as he walked to the edge of the half-deck, his mouth still hanging open. He looked to Gomja, but the giff only shrugged helplessly. Galwylin, standing on the main deck below, overheard the farmer and looked up.

“The rual ‘Jithas, the rite of harmony. Our mate has made her peace for striking at you. The token you wear is the sign of apology. You should be honored, Bare Tree.”

“Fine,” Teldin answered, fingering the pin. He was far from convinced there was harmony between them, though. “What’s this about minotaurs?”

“Pirates, Bare Tree, pirates,” Galwylin answered darkly. “Worst of the kind, too. Tougher than humans, almost as good as elves on the sea. It is odd, though, for them to sail so far from their usual haunts. Raiding must be poor along the Blood Sea coasts. I tell you, it will be a bad day if we meet them. Pray to your gods that we do not.”

“If they find us, I will make it a bad day for them,” stated Gomja, patting his weapons. “We have pirates among the stars, and the giff have no love of them. But I do not understand one thing. What are minotaurs?”

Galwylin, unaware of the giffs origin, looked uncomprehendingly at Gomja, then shook his head and went back to work.

Although the tension between Teldin and Cwelanas was officially eased by the rite of harmony, Gomja found it hard to tell by judging from the mood on the ship. It seemed everyone save the giff was in a dark humor. The lookouts constantly were on guard, waiting for a menacing sail to appear on the horizon, while the rest of the crew stopped work at times to look beyond the gunwales. The giff, with the captain’s reluctant approval, began organizing the crew for a possible sea battle. While not inexperienced fighters, the crew was made up of elves who were sailors first and warriors second. Still Gomja diligently tested and instructed, refreshing the elves’ seldom-used skills until he was able to divide the crew into two simple platoons, one of archers and another of swordsmen. The work took the better part of each day, drawing on whatever elves were not involved in tasks at the time. Teldin stayed out of the way, watching the giff hesitantly attempt to command.

Afew mornings later the apprehension of the crew were rewarded by a cry from the mainmast. “Sail to the port, captain!” At those words, the elves assigned to the rigging scrambled among the yards, straining for a view of the ship the lookout had sighted.

On deck, Luciar and Cwelanas likewise peered to the port, their gazes sweeping over the expanse of gently swelling waves. Teldin looked over the ocean and failed to see a thing. Apparently the captain and the mate had, though, for the two were in quiet conference. Luciar shook his head and pointed in the direction of the wind. Cwelanas looked back to port, cupped her thin hands, and hailed the lookout. “What’s her rig?”

After a pause, the lookout shouted back. “Three masts, two square and a lateen aft. Showing a lot of sail-red sails, Captain Luciar!” Again Luciar and Cwelanas conferred, their faces so grim that Teldin wondered what it all meant. It was Galwylin who, seeing the human’s puzzled expression, gave him the answer.

“We are in for it, Bare Tree. Red sails mean our visitor is out of the Blood Sea. It must not pay to raid draconian ships these days.”

“Blood Sea? That’s beyond Estwilde, clear on the other side of Ansalon!” the stowaway exclaimed.

“I know,” Galwynlin commented, “but when the draconians get irritated, the minotaurs sail west to raid.”

From the afterdeck rail, Cwelanas ordered, “Full sail and quickly!” There was no mistaking the urgency in her voice. She spotted the giff and singled him out for special duty. “Boardbreaker, to the arms locker and bring up the weapons.” Gomja crisply nodded and set about his task. Teldin, meanwhile, scrambled up the ratlines.

For the next hour, the Silver Spray tacked and veered, struggling to catch every ounce of breeze available. The crew, Teldin included, worked constantly to adjust the running rig and trim sails to match new headings and variations in the wind. Each change of the wind, each slip of a rope, triggered another string of orders and corrections from Cwelanas. Their pursuer was close enough now to be seen by all; a three-master, it was flying before the wind with red sails billowing full.

The pirate vessel dogged the Silver Spray, shifting over and across the sea for every knot of speed. The elves watched to the stern with worried looks, fingering the swords they now carried at their belts. It was clear, even to a lubber such as Teldin, that the Silver Spray was outmatched. The pirates steadily gained.

“Bring her about!” Luciar shouted from the afterdeck. Teldin didn’t understand-such a move would send them directly back toward their pursuers. He collared Galwylin and asked the experienced sailor why.

“The captain figures that since we cannot outrun the foe, we are best to fight with the advantage of the wind. They will have to sail close-hauled, which makes them slow to turn. If the Silver Spray can break past, we might just lose them.” Galwylin’s voice was barely hopeful as he explained Luciar’s intentions. Before Teldin could ask further, Cwelanas called out more orders in her clear voice. Some of the elves scrambled into the shrouds, slender bows in hand. Each carried quivers filled with white-plumed arrows.

Gomja went to the aft stairs and, with a deferential salute, spoke a few words to the elf maiden above him. She gave him a quick nod of approval and turned to give the crew new orders. Soon, all the hands, including Teldin and Gomja, were hauling tables and benches from the mess hail belowdecks. The giff single-handedly carried the heaviest of the ship’s few tables and, under his close supervision, these were now turned on the side and lined along the starboard rail. Cwelanas looked over the crew’s handiwork approvingly as the last barriers were lashed in place. “What now?” Teldin anxiously asked Gomja as they levered an oaken bench onto the wall.

“I don’t know, sir. Boarding nets would be good,” Gomja explained, giving the mismatched furniture a condescending nod. “A proper spelljammer would have nets roofing the deck to discourage boarding. At least with these we’ve got a wall to fight behind.”

Running fast with the wind, the Silver Spray was almost upon its foe. The Blood Sea galleon had closed the gap, trying to work close enough to touch the elven ship’s hull. The feared red sails were almost parallel to the pirate ship’s keel, trying to catch the wind that blew against them. Captain Luciar had obviously chosen his tactics well, for the bulk of the minotaur crew was occupied with trimming the sails. Still, there were many others lining the sides, great bows and spears in hand.