The coast had a kind of bleak beauty to it. They drove north under a lowering sky keeping the land in view of their port side. At first Markus had tried to keep close to the coast, but was bedeviled by frequent shallow reefs that spread from ridges of volcanic basalt that forced them to tack hard into unfavorable winds. After the second repetition and with Indrin’s assurance that they could safely cruise further out, Markus had acquiesced. Both the wind and seas were steadily rising and even Emmaline could tell that the squally wind would be a full scale storm by nightfall. Despite the worsening condition the Dark Elven vessel cut the water as clean and gracefully as any ship Emmaline had ever traveled on. She didn’t point it out to Markus, but she suspected the Hammer wouldn’t have done near so well in similar conditions. Idrin and Sulandar worked tirelessly with Morek providing muscle, somewhat grumpily, wherever their skill alone wasn’t sufficient. Emmaline lacking the skill and the inclination to do any of the actual work of sailing, prepared a simple meal of cheese and bread from the stores and served the crew. She even tried to feed the few surviving slaves, the smell of slaughter in the hold was so bad she nearly vomited to enter it. The pitiful creatures refused the bread, cowering back in fear of retaliation from the dark elves when they took the ship back. That was a more likely outcome than not, but Emmaline didn’t imagine these slaves would be any better off for being hungry when it happened. “We should put out east into deep water,” Sulandar was arguing when Emmaline came back on deck, “we can wait out the storm.” Markus shook his head violently. “The storm is the only chance we have to slip into the city,” he countered, “I’m not going to miss it.” “Surely you can’t mean to sail into an enemy port in the midst of a storm,” Sulandar asked aghast. “Its.. its…” “It is called having balls Elgi,” Morek grumbled, running a thumb along the edge of a boarding axe, “Not surpised you haven’t heard of it.”