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breathed. For a moment, she clutched the rail with trembling hands, then she whirled around. “Set all sail!” she commanded.
    The crew stared westward, their eyes and minds locked onto the approaching terror. Maquesta raised her voice and shouted her order again, her only thoughts on her beloved ship. The strength and calmness in her voice penetrated the first faint feelings of dragonfear creeping over the crew. Instinctively a few sprang to carry out their orders, then more followed. Koraf with his whip helped as well, striking briskly at any man who didn’t move quickly enough to suit him. Within moments, the great sails billowed out. Lines creaked ominously, the rigging sang a whining tune.
    “Keep her near the edge of the storm!” Maq yelled to Berem. The man nodded slowly, but it was hard to tell from the vacant expression on his face if he heard or not.
    Apparently he did, for the
Perechon
hovered close to the perpetual storm that shrouded the Blood Sea, skimming along on the surface of the waves, propelled by the storm’s fog-gray wind.
    It was reckless sailing, and Maq knew it. Let a spar be blown away, a sail split, a line break, and they would be helpless. But she had to take the risk.
    “Useless,” Raistlin remarked coolly. “You cannot outsail dragons. Look, see how fast they gain on us. You were followed, Half-Elf.” He turned to Tanis. “You were followed when you left the camp … either that”—the mage’s voice hissed—“or you led them to us!”
    “No! I swear—” Tanis stopped.
    The drunken draconian! … Tanis shut his eyes, cursing himself. Of course, Kit would have had him watched! She didn’t trust him any more than she trusted the other men who shared her bed. What a damn egotistical fool he was! Believing he was something special to her, believing she loved him! She loved no one. She was incapable of loving—
    “I was followed!” Tanis said through clenched teeth. “You must believe me. I—I may have been a fool. I didn’t think they’d follow me in that storm. But I didn’t betray you! I swear!”
    “We believe you, Tanis,” Goldmoon said, coming to stand beside him, glancing at Raistlin angrily out of the corner of her eyes.
    Raistlin said nothing, but his lip curled in a sneer. Tanis avoided his gaze, turning instead to watch the dragons. They could see the creatures clearly now. They could see the enormous wingspans, the long tails snaking out behind, the cruel taloned feet hanging beneath the huge blue bodies.
    “One has a rider,” Maquesta reported grimly, the spyglass to her eye. “A rider with a horned mask.”
    “A Dragon Highlord,” Caramon stated unnecessarily, all of them knowing well enough what that description meant. The big man turned a somber gaze to Tanis. “You better tell us what’s going on, Tanis. If this Highlord thought you were a soldier under his own command, why has he taken the trouble to have you followed and come out after you?”
    Tanis started to speak, but his faltering words were submerged in an agonized, inarticulate roar; a roar of mingled fear and terror and rage that was so beastlike, it wrenched everyone’s thoughts from the dragons. It came from near the ship’s helm. Hands on their weapons, the companions turned. The crew members halted their frantic labors, Koraf came to a dead stop, his bestial face twisted in amazement as the roaring sound grew louder and more fearful.
    Only Maq kept her senses. “Berem,” she called, starting to run across the deck, her fear giving her sudden horrifying insight into his mind. She leaped across the deck, but it was too late.
    A look of insane terror on his face, Berem fell silent, staring at the approaching dragons. Then he roared again, a garbled howl of fear that chilled even the minotaur’s blood. Above him, the sails were tight in the wind, the rigging stretched taut. The ship, under all the sail it could bear, seemed to leap over the waves, leaving a trail of white foam