He turned toward me, peering at me intently. Seeming to consider my question, he took a moment before replying. "The spell that I came across can be cast only by a high cleric of the minotaurs. It is a spell that would open a portal and invite into the world the god of the bull-men, Sargonnas, servant of Takhisis."

Now it was my turn to be silent, to consider. As an initiate magic-user, Raistlin believed in the gods of Good, the gods of Neutrality, and the gods of Evil, of whom Takhisis was supreme. While I had seen both good and evil in my life, about the gods I was not as certain as the young mage. Sargonnas was a god of whom I knew little.

Perhaps sensing my reserve, Raistlin turned away with a sigh. "That is not the aid of it," he said. "This spell can only be triggered during certain conjunctions of the moon and stars. The effort required to arrange it is extraordinary. It can only mean that the bull-men have a goal important enough to require the aid of Sargonnas. Morath thinks-and I concur-that this must be a plan to conquer all of Ansalon."

"But the minotaurs could never do it alone no matter how many they are or how well organized," I objected.

"True," said Raistlin, "but what if they forged alliances with unlikely allies-the evil races of the sea or the ogres, for example?"

"They are an arrogant race," I protested, "one that would never forge alliances."

"That may not be true," said Kirsig, stepping out from the shadows. The half-ogre had a way of creeping up on people, but Raistlin held an odd liking for her and did not seem perturbed by her presence, nor by the obvious fact that she had been listening to us from the shadows.

"That may explain something odd that has been happening at Ogrebond for the last several months," Kirsig went on.

"What?" asked Raistlin with interest.

"Delegations-galleys-of minotaurs have been visiting in order to parley with the different ogre tribes. It is most unusual. Before then, I never heard of any friendship between the ogres and minotaurs. Usually, in fact, it was quite the opposite: deadly enmity."

"Do you see what I mean?" Raistlin said to me, turning and clasping his hands over a rail, staring at the dark water and even blacker sky. "Caramon's fate is the least of my worries!"

In the early morning, one of the sailors thought he spotted something moving under the water alongside the ship. Everybody sharpened his guard, knowing that in these strange waters, it could be anything.

At noon, the creature was spotted again-a huge, gray, slithery shape that seemed to be following the Castor. Our progress lagged in the hot, hazy weather, and the creature mimicked our speed, seeming almost lazy in its sinuous movements. The creature remained so far below the surface that we could distinguish very little about it except that it was every bit as large and long as the ship itself.

By late afternoon, the curious creature had been pursuing us for a dozen miles without surfacing. This lack of action lulled us into complacency. Some of the Castor's sailors were belowdecks while others dozed at their posts when suddenly the thing reared its head and attacked.

I was amidships when I looked up to see a long, bulging, serpentine body bearing down on us.

Instantly I knew what it was: a nudibranch, or giant aquatic slug, rare in these parts. I fell back behind a storage box just in time, for the slug crashed its gaping maw into the stern and simultaneously spewed out a thick stream of corrosive saliva.

The Castor jolted backward. Everybody standing was flung to the deck, everybody sleeping stunned awake. One of the sailors had had no time to dodge the acidic spittle. She screamed and rolled on the deck, burning in pain. Another failed to see the nudibranch fast enough and was swallowed whole.

Those who witnessed the attack yelled for help, and their comrades came running, bearing weapons that seemed puny in comparison to the nudibranch's immense bulk. Captain Nugetre raced up from below, shouting orders. Yuril had been at the tiller.

Now she crouched next to me, gazing in horror at the rampaging thing.

As we watched, the giant slug lifted its ugly, tentacled head so high that we could see its dead white underbelly, then smashed downward into the deck, using its body like a battering ram. Wood and splinters flew in every direction. The nudibranch was half on the deck, half in the sea. The ship listed dangerously.

For several minutes, the giant slug's head disappeared out of sight below the deck. Gruesome slurping noises and the screams of sailors caught in their quarters signified the creature's bloody feeding frenzy.

"Flint!" I cried suddenly.

"Hush!" said the dwarf. "I'm right behind you."

So he was, and Raistlin and Kirsig, too. All watched with amazement as the giant slug reared its head again and smashed back into the ship. The deck sloped steeply. With each battering from the nudibranch, the Castor listed more dangerously.

"It's eating its way through the ship," said Raistlin.

"They will eat anything," said Yuril, "Plants, carrion, garbage-anything."

As we watched, one of the sailors, a black-skinned woman with short-cropped hair, whooped and leaped on the back of the giant slug, stabbing downward with a sharp sword.

But the nudibranch had a thick, rubbery hide, and the formidable blade barely caused a wound. The nudibranch paused in its attack on the Castor and, with surprising agility, managed to twist its head around, grab the brave sailor in its mouth, mangle her, then toss her body into the ocean several hundred yards away.

Without working out a plan, Flint, Kirsig, Yuril, and I rushed the creature and stabbed at it, landing some ineffectual blows. Other sailors joined us. The giant slug twisted and thrashed, knocking down several sailors, covering one of them with burning spittle. All we could do was harry it and do our best to stay out of the creature's reach.

I saw Raistlin at the far end of the boat, working at something. He turned and called out to Flint.

The dwarf hastened to him. Together they bent over and began to drag an object toward us and the giant slug. When two other seamen hurried to help them, Raistlin left Flint and ran over to the tiller, where Captain Nugetre was busy trying to keep control of the listing ship. Raistlin conferred briefly with Nugetre, who nodded at what the young mage was saying.

I could see now that Flint and the sailors were dragging the anchor toward us. Kirsig, Yuril, and I raced over to help them lift it up. Then, at a signal from Flint, we thrust it at the head of the giant slug.

As Raistlin had hoped, the nudibranch-not known for its intelligence-opened its mouth wide for what we were shoving in its direction. We released the anchor at the last moment and scurried to safety.

An almost surprised expression crossed the slug's rudimentary face as Captain Nugetre turned the wheel hard away from the creature. The sudden movement caused it to slide backward off the deck into the sea. Flint's anchor took it swiftly down into the murky depths until we could no longer glimpse any evidence of it other than the explosion of bubbles that rose to the surface.

The attack had left the Castor sorely in need of repair. Three sailors were dead, as we were reminded by the blood staining the deck, and Flint had to take up the task of creating another anchor from scrap metal.