"You didn't get drunk and fall down and break it again, did you?" Barak demanded suspiciously. Barak had very little knowledge of human anatomy- except about where to hit someone with an axe or to run a sword through him that would have the desired, and usually fatal, results. The big red-bearded man reasoned somewhat foggily that if Drolag had achieved his weather sensitivity by breaking his leg, a second break might very well have taken it away again.

"No, of course I didn't, Barak," Drolag said disgustedly. "I'm not going to risk my livelihood for a few tankards of bad ale."

"How did the storm sneak up on you, then?"

"I don't know, Barak. Maybe it's not a natural storm. Some wizard may have summoned it. I don't know if my leg would react to something like that."

"That's always an easy excuse, Drolag," Barak scoffed. "Anytime an ignorant man can't explain something, he blames it on magic."

"I don't have to take this, Barak," Drolag said hotly. "I earn my way, but I am not responsible for supernatural forces."

"Go below, Drolag," Barak told him. "Have a long talk with your leg and see if it can come up with a better excuse.”

Drolag staggered down the pitching deck talking to himself.

Barak was in a foul humor. Everything seemed to be conspiring to delay him. Not long after he and his friends had witnessed Agachak's unpleasant demise, Seabird had struck a submerged log and sprung a seam. It had only been by dint of herculean bailing that they had been able to limp downriver to Dal Zerba and to haul the leaky ship up onto a mud bar for repairs. That chore had cost them two weeks, and now this storm from nowhere added to the delay. Then Unrak came up from below, trailed by the dull-faced King of the Thulls. Unrak looked around with the wind clawing at his bright-red hair. "It doesn't seem to be letting up, does it, father?" he observed.

"Not noticeably."

"Hettar wants to talk with you."

"I’ve got to steer this big brute."

"The mate can do it, father. All he has to do is keep her bow into the wind. Hettar's been studying that map, and he thinks we're in danger."

"From this little storm? Don't be silly."

"Is Seabirds bottom strong enough to take on rocks?"

"We're in deep water."

"Not for long, I don't think. Just come below, father. Hettar can show you."

Grumbling, Barak turned the tiller over to the first mate and followed his son to the companionway leading below. Nathel, the King of the Thulls, trailed along behind them, his face incurious. Nathel was a bit older than Unrak, but he had taken to following Barak's red-haired son about like a stray puppy. Unrak was none too gracious to his unwanted companion.

"What's this all about, Hettar?" Barak demanded of his friend as he entered the cramped cabin.