So the king and the rest of his men split themselves among the three crews, raised masts, undid mooring lines, and left Helsingland. A westerly wind blew loud and strong, but not too foul for poling out sails and tacking. Clouds flew ragged. The sea was a herd of white-maned horses, bucking and trampling. Still, it did not seem dangerous and the passage was merely across the strait, south-southwest to Zealand. They ought to make landfall sometime tomorrow.

Folk stood ashore looking after them until they were gone over the rim of sight—and belike longer, hoping to see a fisher craft.

Clouds smoked up. Soon they had swallowed the sun. The wind stiffened further. The gurly waters ran higher and wilder. Ships rolled, pitched, yawed. Their timbers creaked loud enough to hear through the brawling and whistling around. Waves sheeted over rails and sloshed in hulls. Men bailed hard. The cold numbed their hands.

“I fear we’ll get a gale, or worse,” shouted Hadding’s skipper, as he must to be heard.

“I know we will,” answered the king. “Reef sail.”

The wind mounted. Spindrift sleeted blinding and bitter. It stung where it struck. The seas were huge and going white. Their rolling began to shock as heavily as thunder.

“Cast out a sea anchor and strike sail,” Hadding bade. He took the helm, for whatever good that oar might do. If the ship did not keep bow-on to the waves, she would founder.

Night fell. Maybe it was as well to fumble blind with the bailing buckets. Else crews might see the drow go by in his half a boat and know they were fey.

Sunrise did not lighten the world much. Wind raved, sea ramped. When Hadding squinted through the scud, he spied another of the ships. She reeled as helpless as his. He braced legs the harder and kept his post. Once in a while somebody brought him a draught of ale or a bite to eat.

Slowly through an unknown length of time, a deeper gloom showed forth ahead. Dumb with chill and weariness, they watched it become a shore where breakers burst white. Even through the wind, the rage of that surf reached them.

“Sea room!” Hadding yelled. “We’re being driven aground! Claw off!”