By midafternoon, we found ourselves in the grip of a strong current that pulled us northwesterly. Captain Nugetre's instructions were to lay off any drag, take the sails down, and glide with the current. The first shift of crew took positions along the rails, in small groups assigned to one of the anchors or the oars or the extra rudders. But they were under orders to do nothing for the time being, to let the ship be sucked along the Outer Reach.

The Castor was swept along in a gradually accelerating curve. The skies above had darkened so that it was difficult to say whether it was night or day, based on the evidence of our eyes. Thunder exploded in the air, lightning flashed, and a stinging rain attacked us intermittently.

Captain Nugetre manned the helm of the ship. We all watched him as he stood in the aft castle, tossing the wheel back and forth violently, trying to correct the movement of the ship and keep it from being drawn into the Tightening Ring. Whatever else the crew was supposed to be doing, we all stole glances at the captain, knowing that beyond the Tightening Ring lay the Nightmare Sea and the place where Istar slept beneath the vengeful Blood Sea, the Heart of Darkness. No seafarer is known ever to have ventured beyond the Tightening Ring and made it back to tell his story.

I noticed that Kirsig ran to assist Yuril, whose job it was to move from post to post, calming the sailors. The half-ogre bounced alongside the taller, more muscular and handsome woman, making for an odd contrast. She amused the sailors with her half-comical presence yet did as much as Yuril to maintain discipline.

Flint and I dashed to vacant oar ports, ready to lend our muscle if the need arose. I have to say that Flint has bravely swallowed his fear of the sea and, although his face turned white in this instance, he stood ready to help in whatever way he could.

Raistlin clung to a center mast, buffeted by the growing winds but determined to stay and watch whatever developed.

A deepening of the darkness let us know night had fallen, and with it came the full horror. The skies erupted with thunder, the sea seemed afire with bolts of lightning, and the heavens poured icy, slanting rain. The waves rose to a towering height, then dashed violently over the decks. At one point we heard screams, and later we learned that one unlucky sailor had been swept overboard.

The ship listed crazily, and in the blackness of the night, there was no sure way to steer the Castor's course. The wind howled behind us, in front of us, all around us, impossible to reckon with. Yuril had relieved the captain and was at the helm when the worst began. She was soon joined by Nugetre; the two of them strained to keep the wheel from spinning dizzily. They shouted and cursed at each other and at the elements, linking arms around the wheel, desperate to steady the ship.

The continuous gusts of wind drove icy sprays into the ship fore and aft. Some bailing was necessary. The worst of it was that with the storm, the bailing, and the uncertainty, no real rest or food was possible all night. Both shifts worked alongside one another, weary, chilled to the bone, and filled with dread.

I argued with Raistlin, insisting that our goal would be better served if he were safe below deck. He refused to listen. However, in the early morning, when the storm abated somewhat and several of us hurried to catch some sleep, I saw that he was slumped at his post.

Kirsig hastened to help the young mage to his cabin below. Flint and I followed not long after, shivering in the wind and spray. From my cabin, I could hear Raistlin muttering and tossing in a restless sleep.

We all slept fitfully, cognizant of the ship's erratic movement and our own building fear.

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.

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.

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.