At least Averon didn't hold a grudge. Maq had started down the other side when they were both stopped midway by an ear-splitting crash and keening wrench, like that of a giant limb being split from a tree. For an instant, Maq thought the awful sound had come from the Perechon. Then, with the advantage of her elevated perch, she saw its origin.
The Torado, pressing forward through the shallow coastal waters, had run aground, snagged by the submerged ridge. The great ship had pitched to its leeward side, and Maq could see a jagged hole just above the waterline and almost directly under the bowsprit.
"Ha! That will teach Limrod," Melas called out from the helm. "He and his crew will be twiddling their thumbs on the shore or hiking overland to Lacynos when we sail into the harbor to claim our prize! We might even sail back to pick them up-after the race is over." Sailors on the deck of the Perechon hooted and whistled in appreciation of their captain's prediction.
With the Torado stuck a couple hundred yards off the Perechon's starboard bow, Melas began gaining even more on his only remaining rival, the minotaur ship. As the Torado started listing, her crew began lowering a longboat over the side. The boat would have to make two trips to transport the more than twenty crewmembers to shore. Maq could imagine the sailors' mood. She almost felt sorry for them, but she quickly shook off the emotion, knowing a soft heart proved to be of little benefit on the open sea.
Having reached the bottom of the rigging, she was about to turn her attention elsewhere, to see where Averon had ventured to, when a strange turbulence in the water around the Torado caught her eye.
"Averon, what do you make of that?" she said, spying him over by the railing.
The first mate pulled a small, collapsing spyglass from his pocket and placed it to his eye. After a minute, he gave a low whistle. "Well, Limrod got more than he bargained for with his shortcut, that's for certain. Have a look." Averon handed the spyglass to Maq and called up to Melas to take his own out and point it at the Torado.
Maquesta could not, at first, divine what Averon meant. She could see Limrod still at the helm, gesturing at his crew. Then, scanning the ship, she noticed unusual seaweed formations clinging to the sides of the Torado. "Where did that seaweed…" Maquesta started to ask, then stopped, her attention riveted by what was happening on the Torado. "That seaweed's moving," she whispered.
Limrod was gesturing wildly now, his every movement communicating terror. His first mate, a handsome half-ogre, had a harpoon in hand and was spearing a piece of the seaweed that had oozed up over the railing. All the rest of the crew who were visible stood stock-still. The longboat dangled halfway between the deck and the water, swaying slightly.
The clumps of seaweed kept moving. Maq's stomach tightened; her knees felt weak. Even at this distance, she knew what the crew faced. Training the glass on a clump, she confirmed her suspicion. The seaweed was actually long, green hair attached to perhaps the most feared inhabitants of these waters: sea hags. Maq shivered, the appearance of the creatures filling her with fear. One of them turned to glance at the Perechon, and Maq saw its sickly yellow skin. Patches of green scales dotted the bony protrusions on its fingers, and its impossibly long fingernails looked like dirty claws. The thing's eyes were red pinpoints, the color of a sunset before a storm. For an instant it seemed as if the withered creature were staring back at Maq, but she realized the Perechon was too far away. The hags' ghastly appearance had the power to frighten intended victims into momentary weakness, allowing the creatures to move closer and cast a deadly paralyzing glance that rendered the victims helpless. Then they moved in for the kill. Sailors claimed the sea hags lived only to kill, and ate only a fraction of what they rended.
More hags crawled onto the deck from the far side of the Torado. There must be two dozen of them! Maq focused on one of the hags as it approached a sailor who had managed to fling one leg over the deck rail before being frozen in his tracks. Scrawny arms with hands that ended in nails like talons reached out from the curtain of seaweedlike hair and gripped the unwary man. Maq watched in disbelief as those seemingly decrepit arms snapped the sailor's neck with apparent ease, then ripped off the poor man's arm as though it were a leg of chicken and began chewing on it. The creature pushed the rest of the body into the water and began looking about the deck for another victim. The sea hags enacted similar attacks on every one of the Torado's sailors. Only the captain and his first mate seemed to be putting up any kind of a fight.
"Can't we do something?" Maq heard herself say. "We've got to do something." But her words went unanswered.
She watched Limrod use his curved blade to gut one of the hags. A green-black mixture poured out of the creature's stomach and onto the deck. Still, the hag did not die. It glared at the captain and raised its filthy talons, raking them across his face. Maq was too far away to hear what was transpiring, but she saw Limrod's mouth open, and she imagined that he was screaming in pain. The captain was determined, however, and he brought his sword around once again, this time sending the blade deep between the hag's neck and shoulder. The hag thrashed about wildly and fell to the deck. Limrod, not stopping, stepped over the body and began battling another one. The Torado's captain was strong, but he wasn't a young man, and even from this distance Maquesta could tell his sword swings were slowing with fatigue.
Maq chewed on her bottom lip and mentally urged him to move faster, to swing higher, to back up against the poop cabin for defense. She gasped in relief as the second creature he fought fell to the deck. But there were three more to take its place. The trio moved in slowly, perhaps relishing the moment, or perhaps being apprehensive of the big man who seemed immune to their paralyzing gaze. They started to circle him, and he danced around furtively. Choosing a target, he swung his sword and cleaved off the smallest hag's leg. The creature fell, writhing, and its two companions moved in, seemingly oblivious to their fellow's predicament.
One grabbed the captain's sword arm, digging its claws in, biting down hard with what Maq imagined were foul, sharp teeth, and making Limrod release his weapon. The other came at the captain from behind, raking its talons down his back. Maq looked away for an instant when she saw Limrod's skin and shirt shred like paper. When she glanced back, the captain was on his stomach, and the two hags were fighting over him. He wasn't dead, Maquesta could tell, for he was struggling to rise.
In that instant another sailor moved into her view, the Torado's first mate. The tall half-ogre kicked one of the hags off his captain, then drove a belaying pin between the shoulder blades of the other. He helped Limrod off the deck, then the two stood back-to-back, keeping an ever-increasing number of hags at bay. For a time, Maquesta believed they might actually be able to drive the hideous creatures away, but the hags were too numerous for the pair to handle. After three more hags were killed by the two, she watched with horror as the captain fell to his knees, at last succumbing to his horrid wounds. She scanned with the spyglass to see other parts of the Torado. A lump formed in her throat-the ship's deck was awash in blood. A red stream trickled lazily over the port side.
"If those creatures weren't reason enough to leave these waters, that blood is," Averon warned. "As soon as it hits the water, every bullshark and barracuda within miles will be headed here. Melas, can't we put on some speed?" Averon called out to the captain.