King of The Murgos

luminous line of the horizon that divided the black waves from an even blacker sky. The Murgo captain came forward in the windy twilight with a worried look on his face. Respectfully, he touched Urgit's sleeve.
    "Yes, Captain?"
    "I'm afraid there's trouble, your Majesty."
    "What kind of trouble?"
    The captain pointed toward the line of the southern horizon. A half-dozen ships were running before the wind, coming directly toward them.
    Urgit's face grew slightly sick. "Malloreans?"
    The captain nodded.
    "Do you think they've seen us?"
    "Almost certainly, your Majesty."
    "We'd better go talk to Belgarath," Silk said. "I don't think any of us counted on this."
    The conference in the aft cabin was tense. "They're making much better time than we are, Grandfather," Garion said. "We're quartering the wind, and they're running with it dead astern. I think we're going to have to turn north—at least until we can get out of their sight."
    The old man was staring at a tattered map the captain had brought with him. He shook his head, "I don't like it," he said. "This gulf we're in right now funnels into the mouth of the Gorand Sea, and I don't want to get trapped in there."
    He turned to Silk. "You've been to Mallorea a few times. How good are their ships?"
    Silk shrugged. "About the same as this one. I'm not trying to be offensive, Captain, but Angaraks aren't the same kind of sailors—or shipbuilders—that Chereks are." He considered it. "There might be a way to escape them," he said. "Malloreans are timid sailors, so they won't spread all sail at night. If we turned north and put up every ounce of canvas we can, we could be a long way ahead of them—no more than a blinking light on the horizon once it gets dark. Then we drop the sails, reset the rigging, and put out every light on board ship."
    "But we can't do that," the captain objected. "It's against the law."
    "I'll write you an excuse, Captain," Urgit said drily.
    "It's too dangerous, your Majesty. If we run without lights, we could collide with another ship out there in the dark. We could be sunk."
    "Captain," Urgit said in a patient tone, "there are six Mallorean ships chasing us. What do you imagine they're going to do if they catch up with us?"
    "They'll sink us, of course."
    "What difference does it make, then? At least if we put out the lights, we'll have a chance. Go ahead, Kheldar."
    Silk shrugged. "There isn't much more. After we blow out the running lights, we hoist sail and run east again. The Malloreans won't be able to see us, and they'll charge right on across our wake. By tomorrow morning, they won't have any idea about where we are."
    "It might just work," Belgarath conceded.
    "It's dangerous," the captain said disapprovingly.
    "Sometimes even breathing is dangerous, Captain," Urgit told him. "Let's try it and see what happens. What I can't understand, though, is what Mallorean ships are doing this far west."
    "It's possible that they're marauders sent to harry the coast lines," Sadi suggested.
    "Perhaps," Urgit said dubiously.
    They ran due north before the rising wind that swept up from the south polar icecap. The deck lanterns swung and bobbed in the wind, peopling the storm-whipped rigging with wildly dancing shadows. The six Mallorean vessels, running cautiously under half sail, dropped behind until their running lights looked no larger than tiny twinkling stars on the horizon far astern. Then, about midnight, the captain gave the order to drop the sails. The sailors quickly reset the rigging and the ship's master came aft to where Garion stood beside the steersman. "Everything's ready, my Lord," he reported.
    "All right then. Let's blow out all the lights and see if we can sneak out of here."
    The Murgo's stiff face creased uncertainly into a rueful grin. "When we get out of this—if we get out of it—I think I'll take to my bed for a month," he said. He raised his voice to a shout. "Extinguish all the deck lights!" he commanded.
    The resulting blackness was so intense as to be very nearly palpable.
    "Hoist the sails!" the captain shouted.
    Garion could hear the creaking pulleys and the flapping of canvas. Then there was the heavy boom of the sails catching the wind and the ship heeled over as she swung to starboard.
    "There's no way to be sure of our direction, my Lord," the captain warned. "We haven't got a fixed point of any kind to refer to,"
    "Use those," Garion suggested, pointing at the winking deck lights on the Mallorean vessels