"Wait!" Maq grabbed Averon's arm. "Shouldn't we try to help? Can't we do something?" This time she got someone to listen to her, but little good it did.
"Do what, girl?" Averon impatiently shook off her hand. "Once we got within thirty feet of the Torado, those hags could use their powers to paralyze us-and all we'd be doin' is presentin' 'em with their dessert, served up nice as you please. No thank you, Maq."
Averon signaled for a few nearby crewmembers to help him unfurl the sails they had just fastened. As scared as they were, and as eager to leave the area, the crew hesitated, waiting to hear the order from Melas.
As Maq continued to stare at the gruesome sight of the Torado, the race suddenly seemed very unimportant to her. "But we can't ignore that crew. I see a few sailors still alive."
"All we can do now is help ourselves by getting away as quickly as we can, before the sea hags start looking for another target and before the bullsharks arrive. When a pack of those sharks gets together with their appetites whetted, they can batter a hole in a ship even the size of ours. Let's get going!"
This last Averon addressed as much to Melas as to Maq. Averon kept his gaze fixed on his friend and captain. Maquesta pulled her attention away from the Torado to look pleadingly at her father. Melas had not budged from the helm. He still held the wheel firmly. But she saw that his face had lost color beneath its burnished surface.
"Father…"
"No, Averon is right. There's nothing we can do," he said grimly. "Not unless we want to die with them. And I certainly don't. Besides, by the time we got there, Maq, there'd be no survivors to rescue." Casting a final glance at the Torado, he tightened his grip on the wheel. "Vartan! You and Hvel raise the mainmast topsail. Let's see just how fast we can thread this needle. We'll have to be quick, the Katos is moving up fast. We need to beat them through it!"
Melas was swinging the Perechon to the west, to position her to enter the Eye of the Bull, when Vartan, at the top of the mainmast, called to him. Maquesta saw the Katos gaining on the Perechon, not bothering to stop for the Torado either, nor even to slow to see what was transpiring.
"Captain-to the starboard, off our stern. What do you make of it?" Vartan's voice held an edge of fear. When Melas, Maq, Averon, and everyone else on deck looked where he had directed, they saw a cresting wave that appeared to be pursuing the Perechon. Beneath its white foam, the wave shimmered aqua in the morning light. It moved at an incredible speed, gaining on the Perechon instant by instant.
"What say you, Captain, should we man the oars?" asked Hvel, who had been helping Vartan with the topsail. The crew paused in what they were doing, waiting for Melas's answer, and knowing that using the oars would violate the rules of the race. The crew of the Katos would see the oars extended and would win by default. The captain kept his attention fixed on the wave, using his spyglass to take a closer look.
"Vartan, take the helm! Averon, Maquesta-lower a rope ladder over the starboard side and stand by." Melas barked the commands almost angrily, then rushed down the steps from the aft deck as soon as Vartan reached the helm. Maq caught Averon's eye and she raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question. He shrugged his shoulders in reply. Averon obviously didn't know what was going on any more than she did. Maq watched the approaching wave apprehensively. A sea hag? It certainly wasn't a bullshark; the fish didn't move that fast.
"Look, the Katos is even with us!" one of the sailors called. "We can't afford to be stopping. We've got to move!"
Melas ignored the cry, and with impressive agility, he swung over the side of the deck and began climbing down the ladder.
"Father, what on Krynn are you doing? Be careful!" Realizing she still had Averon's spyglass, Maq pulled the instrument out and was about to use it when a high-pitched neighing checked her hand.
"Hippocampi!" Averon called. "A sea steed!"
Relieved but still curious, Maq leaned over the side, her mood now one of eager anticipation. All sailors knew the stories, or knew someone who knew someone else who had been aided by the benevolent marine steeds called hippocampi, but Maq had never seen one. She strained forward, staring at the wave, certain it was being generated by hippocampi bringing something to the ship.
Within a couple of minutes, Maquesta could make out three horselike creatures speeding toward the Perechon. Their equine heads, topped by manes of long, iridescent fins, rose gracefully out of the foam, appearing at first to be carried along by the wave. As they drew closer, Maq realized that it was the hippocampi themselves churning the water with their powerful front limbs. They were creating the crest.
The wave subsided as the hippocampi slowed their pace in their final approach to Melas, who now was at the bottom of the rope ladder, one arm linked through the rough hemp, the other swinging free. Maquesta could make out their features better with the water calm about them. One creature, closest to the ship, was aqua. Another was ivory, while the third was pale green, nearly the color of the sea. Their forelegs and torsos were horselike, covered in short hair. But their front hooves were webbed fins. Past the hippocampi's rib cages were long, thick fishtails. It was as if the gods had combined the best features of a horse and a fish to make the creatures. The tails, with their triangular-shaped dorsal fins, waved slowly back and forth in the water and kept the hippocampi's heads above the chop.
Two of the creatures hung back while the largest rose up through the water on its beating tail, trying to reach Melas. Its aqua-colored coat caught the sunlight and reflected back, so that the exposed pelt shimmered wildly. Three gills cut deeply into the skin on both sides where the creature's head joined its muscular neck, enabling it to breathe water as well as air. Up close, Maq could see that the mane was actually a flexible membrane that looked like a fin and that grew down the center of the hippocampus's neck.
The creature paused in front of Melas, fixing its intelligent eyes on the Perechon's captain as it dipped its head down in greeting. Melas returned the gesture. Lifting its head to utter a gentle whinny, the hippocampus swung around to the side, presenting its flank to Melas. A tangle of wet clothes clung to the steed's back. Melas bent down and, with a powerful arm, scooped it up. Only then did Maquesta realize that inside the clothes was a person! Melas and the hippocampus bowed at each other again, then the hippocampus rejoined its companions and sped off. Melas shifted the person's weight to his shoulders and slowly climbed the ladder, a feat that would have been impossible for a smaller, weaker man.
"Call Lendle," Melas grunted as Maq and Averon helped him and his burden onto the deck. Maq's mouth fell open in surprise as her father laid the man on the deck. It was the Torado's first mate, the handsome half-ogre she had watched battling the sea hags. His clothes were in tatters, and his bronze skin was crisscrossed by cuts from the hags' nails. In the center of his chest was a deep bite mark, where one of the hags had gouged him with its teeth. The half-ogre's hair was long and blond, braided from the nape of his neck to the middle of his back. But it was crusted with blood, and the leather thong that held it was frayed. A thin mustache was plastered by the sea water across his angular face, and a broad gash that still bled cut down through his right cheek and stopped at his jawbone. Maq mused that it would probably scar.
"His name's Fritzen Dorgaard," Melas announced. "He's sailed with Limrod for the past three years." Maq saw her father look about the deck, then point to a couple of muscular sailors. "Take Fritz down below to the crew's quarters and see what Lendle can do for him. I'm surprised the half-ogre would leave the ship. Of course, maybe he didn't. Maybe the steeds pulled him away. In any event, he must be the only survivor."