The Second Book of Lankhmar

terror of the bergship. Although the bergship was real as death and ever inching nearer, that eerie light sometimes seemed to Fafhrd and the Mouser most akin to the glows seen crawling on the inside of closed eyelids in darkness absolute.
           Second, there was the cold that was a part of the anti-sunlight and struck deep with it, that penetrated every cranny of Sea Hawk and Flotsam , that had to be fought with both protective huddlings and violent movement, and also with drink and food warmed very slowly and with difficulty over the enfeebled flames — a cold that could paralyze both mind and body, and then kill.
           Third, there was the potent silence that came with the unnatural dark and cold, the silence that made almost inaudible the constant creakings of rigging and wood, that muffled all foot-stampings and side-flailings against the cold, that turned all speech to whispers and changed the pandemonium of the great gale itself driving them north to the soft roaring of a seashell held forever to the ear.
           And then there was that great gale itself, no whit weaker that it had no great noise — the gale that blew icy spume over the stern, the murderous gale that had always to be struggled against and kept watch on (gripping with fingers and thumbs like gyves to hopefully firm handholds when a man was anywhere on deck or above), the gale near hurricane force that was driving them ever north at an unprecedented pace. None of them had ever before sailed before such a wind, even in the Mouser's and Fafhrd's and Ourph's first passage of the Outer Sea. Any of them would have long since hove to with bare masts and likely sea anchor, save for the menace of the bergship behind.
           Last, there was that monstrous craft itself, deathberg or bergship, ever gaining on them, its leggy oars ever more strongly plied. Rarely, a jagged ice block crashed in black sea beside them. Rarely, a black ray teased at hero's heart. But those were but cackling reminders. The monster craft's main menace: it did nothing (save close the distance to its fleeing foes). The monster-craft's intent: grapple and board! (or so it seemed).
           Each on his ship, Fafhrd and Mouser fought weariness and chill; insane desire to sleep; strange, fleeting dreads. Once Fafhrd fancied unseen fliers battling overhead, as if in fabulous aerial extension of the sea war of his and Mouser's craft 'gainst iceship huge. Once Mouser seemed to see black sails of two great fleets. Both masters cheered their men, kept them alive.
           Sometimes Sea Hawk and Flotsam were far apart in their parallel flight north, quite out of sight and hail. Sometimes they came together enough to see glints of each other. And once so close their captains could trade words.
           Fafhrd hailed in bursts (they were whispers in Mouser's ears), "Ho, Small One! Heard you Stardock's fliers? Our mountain princesses ... fighting with Faroomfar?"
           The Mouser shouted back, "My ears are frostbit. Have you sighted ... other foe ships ... besides monstreme?"
           Fafhrd: Monstreme? What's that?
           Mouser: That ill astern. My word's analogous ... to bireme ... quadrireme. Monstreme! — rowed by monsters.
           Fafhrd: A monstreme in full gale. An awful thought! (He looked astern at it.)
           Mouser: Monstreme in monsoon ... would be awfuler.
           Fafhrd: Let's not waste breath. When will we raise Rime Isle?
           Mouser: I had forgot we had a destination. What time think you?
           Fafhrd: First bell in second dogwatch. Sunset season.
           Mouser: It should get lighter ... when this black sun sets.
           Fafhrd: It ought to. Damn the double dark!
           Mouser: Damn the dimidiate halved white astern! What's its game?
           Fafhrd: Freeze fast to us, I wot. Then kill by cold, else board us.
           Mouser: That's great, I must say. They should hire you.
           So their shouts trailed off — a joy at first, but soon a tiredness. And they had their men to care for. Besides, it was too risky, ships so close.
           There passed a weary and nightmarish time. Then to the north, where nought had changed all the black day of plunging into it, Fafhrd marked a dark red glow. Long while he doubted it, deemed it some fever in his frozen skull. He noted Afreyt's slender face bobbing among his thoughts. At his side Skor asked