The storm was overtaking the galley.
The transparent greenish water became muddy, grey, whitecaps began to flash on the wave crests, further shading the rapidly thickening darkness. The wind, barely perceptible just a moment ago, now with a sharp, unpleasant whistle tore its way between the rigging, carrying with it handfuls of salty spray, lashing the face with such force that tears involuntarily came to the surface. The heavy black and gold standard, lazily ignoring the attempts of a light breeze to stir it, straightened up and trembled feverishly, bending the flagpole and flapping like a huge board with each new gust of wind.
The captain, who had been looking anxiously at the darkening sky for a long time and muttering something indistinctly about the north wind, was anxiously rushing about the deck, checking whether the barrels were securely fastened. Toril, wrapped in a long cloak, stood on the aft superstructure, looking at this fuss with slight disdain. She only pulled her hood up, hiding from the spray and foam. The captain shouted something to her from below, but the wind tore the words from his lips and carried them away, and she did not hear anything. The captain ran up to her, bent down to her ear and, straining himself, shouted:
— We might not make it in time!
"Why?" Toril didn't understand.
- We'll have to lower the sail. I'm afraid the mast might not hold up in this wind. And we won't get very far on oars alone.
- But why should we hurry?
- Please take a look, princess.
Toril, covering her eyes with her palm, peered where the captain's thick finger, covered with coarse black hair, was pointing.
- I don't see anything.
- Take a closer look, princess.
Toril squinted, and then it seemed to her that she could make out a vague black spot among the waves, something like a large black triangle.
"Is that what you mean?" she asked, smiling dismissively.
The captain's eyes widened in fear and he waved his hands at her.
- Shh... Hush, hush, - he hissed. - How can you talk like that about the servant of the Sea King?
Toril jerked her head up:
- You seem to have forgotten who I am!
The captain turned his head in confusion, clearly not knowing what to decide on. Then he bent down in a respectful bow, holding his hat with his hand, which was constantly trying to fall off.
"May your highness forgive me, but this power is much greater than yours. I have been sailing for a long time, but I have never heard of anyone succeeding... The Sea King does not want our galley to come to Acanton. Please note: the wind is from the north, towards us.
- So what?
"It was he who sent the storm, his servants are here... And I can't..." the captain babbled lostly, still not straightening up.
"Speak louder. I can't hear you!" Toril suddenly ordered.
The captain, grimacing pitifully, pulled his head into his shoulders so that only his disheveled black beard remained visible.
"I can't… I don't dare," the princess barely heard. "It seems to me that this is the White Death itself…"
Toril tore the ring off her finger, which shone dimly in the weak light barely penetrating the clouds.
- Here you go!
The captain's head popped out, he deftly caught the thrown ring, licked his wet red lips and rushed headlong from the stern platform down to the rowers. Toril saw how his plump, short figure was rushing about, how he was waving his arms and, it seemed, shouting something, but everything was drowned out by the mournful howl of the wind, in which Toril suddenly thought she heard some kind of whining lamentations, someone's unclear voices... The rowers objected to the captain, every now and then pointing to the foaming waves overboard, which had already begun to wash over the galley.
Toril noticed that the waves were gradually becoming completely different. The foamy fringe torn off by the wind had disappeared, and now huge blue-black waves were heading towards the galley. The crests of the waves grew above the mast, but the galley, which now seemed very small, stubbornly flew up, only to find itself again in the watery gorge the next moment.
A particularly large wave hit the galley with a crash in the stern, the breaking boards crunched, the stream, rushing over the platform, washed away the helmsman. Toril, blind and deafened, barely managed to hold on, grabbing onto some rope. The galley spun helplessly, but the captain, and he was apparently a good sailor, quickly flew up onto the platform and leaned on the steering oar, straightening the ship.
"We'll have to stop!" he shouted, his voice breaking. Noticing that Toril was taking off another ring, he shook his head. "No, no! It won't help, it's useless! The dead don't need gold. I'm a greedy man, but I want to live. I gave the order to lower the sail. We'll find out what the Sea King wants, and maybe they'll let us continue."
- May be?!
The captain wrung his hands in despair.
- But this way they will surely drown us!
Toril's blue eyes darkened to almost black.
- And you, as if, don't know what they need...
The captain blushed slightly and looked away lecherously.
The galley shook violently once more, in the noise of the wind Toril clearly heard a mocking, satisfied laugh, and then, drowning out the howling and whistling, a shrill cry came from below:
"Help yourself! Waver!"
The captain winced as if he had been stung, dropped the steering oar and turned around, crouching. Slowly, as if in a dream, a huge wave rose over the stern of the galley. Toril saw with horror that the whitish zigzags and streaks of foam clearly outlined round blind eyes, a crooked nose, a thin mouth, which, opening wide, turned into a bottomless black maw, lined with two rows of huge fangs. The maw smoothly moved towards the galley, the fangs, clanking, closed and bit off the stern decoration... The steering oar snapped with a crack, some splinters, scraps of ropes rained down... Several rowers, throwing away their oars, jumped overboard and immediately disappeared...
The wave crashed down with a roar, dousing Toril with murky, stinking foam, and the terrible face disappeared. When Toril opened her eyes, she did not recognize the galley. The mast was gone, half the oars were broken, a good chunk had been torn out of the side, and the hole bristled with frayed boards. Toril shook herself in disgust.
— her entire cloak was covered in sticky greenish slime.
The captain, sitting on the deck, babbled with trembling lips:
— We died... The Wavers came, and we died... Damn you, witch...
Toril spat in his face.
- Coward! You forgot who I am!
"Damn you…" the captain muttered again, as if he hadn't heard.
- Dog! Don't you know who rules the city of Tan-Khorez?!
She jerked open her heavy black cloak, and the captain recoiled as if scorched by three scarlet tongues of flame embroidered on the dress.
"Lords of Fire!" he squealed, covering his face with his hands.
And behind the stern a new wave was rising. It wasn't even a wave, but a whole mountain of water, blocking out the sky. The whitish, blind eyes were rolling around with effort, as if they were trying to see something and couldn't, couldn't, and still tried. The greedy mouth lazily opened and began to move toward the galley, apparently intending to swallow it.
Toril snatched a small Golden Torch from the folds of her cloak, decorated with an intricate pattern of intertwined laurel branches and stars, and held out her hand to meet Waver. The top of the Torch glowed with a dim red light, growing brighter and brighter with each passing moment. And suddenly, from the ruby star that crowned the Torch, a blinding fountain of white sparks burst forth, illuminating everything around, and three long red tongues of flame darted straight into the gaping mouth. There was a hissing sound, clouds of white steam billowed out, a burning smell filled the air, and a deafening howl was heard.
When the steam dissipated, it turned out that the wave had disappeared. Moreover, a small lake of calm water with an even border, as if outlined by a compass, had formed around the galley, the furious howl of the wind had died down… The waves were still raging, the wind was carrying torn shreds of foam, but the galley had stopped.
"Now we can sail further," Toril, hiding the Torch, pushed the captain.
"Yeah, we can," he agreed, getting to his feet. But then he threw himself face down on the deck, covering his head with his hands. Screaming hysterically, he began to twitch, trying to squeeze under a box lying nearby.
Toril turned around and shuddered. Slowly and silently, like in a bad dream, when you see danger, try to run from it and can't.
— an invisible, irresistible force fetters the legs, — a gray tower rose behind the stern of the galley. Streams of water broke off from it, whole waterfalls collapsed back into the sea, but not a sound was heard.
The tower turned smoothly, and Toril saw with horror that it had an eye. A small, bloodshot eye regarded the princess with cold, evil curiosity. With a weakening hand, Toril tried to feel for the Torch under her cloak, but her fingers were numb and refused to obey her. She wanted to scream, but her tongue seemed frozen to her throat.
And the tower rose higher and higher, it was already hanging over the stern of the galley and could have been level with the mast, if it had not been broken. Suddenly, the dirty gray surface of the tower, the color of melting April snow, seemed to split in half, opening a greedy mouth with six rows of sharp teeth, in which a person could easily fit. And then Toril realized that it was not a tower at all and not a stone block, but a huge shark's head. That's what the captain was talking about! White Death! Although how white is it? Some kind of gray ... A monster from legends, a servant of the Sea King, an ominous ghost, meeting with which brings misfortune. Toril had heard a lot about it, but she did not think that it would be so big. Strangely enough, as soon as the princess realized what it was, the invisible web that bound her burst. The most terrible danger, but known, visible, tangible, is not as frightening as an unknown, uncertain threat. From the unknown you always expect something even greater, and here you can fight.
Toril snatched up the Torch again. The ruby star on its top sparkled and glittered, scattering trembling red flashes. This light was reflected in the shark's eye, and the monster recoiled with an elusive, completely imperceptible movement. The dull, senseless malice in its eyes was replaced by a glimmer of feeling. And this feeling was fear! Toril raised her hand with the Torch. The shark, still lazily, reluctantly, but with grace, even grace, dove. A foaming fountain shot up, a thunderous splash was heard - the first sound Toril heard - and again everything was silent.
Toril wiped the sweat from her forehead with a slightly trembling hand. Taking a shaky breath, she nudged the captain again.
- Get up!
The captain raised his head warily.
"Is it all over yet?" he asked curiously in the voice of a seriously ill person.
"That's it, that's it…" Toril reassured.
Drawing his head into his shoulders, the captain stood up.
"And indeed, it passed us by," he agreed.
"When we get to Acanton, let them know," Toril ordered, getting ready to go down to her cabin. And then she felt her legs giving way.