Okay, I shall make an attempt to define everything that happens to Arden and Kel. I know what's going to happen afterwards, but I've no clue how to put the present stuff in words…oh well. Hey, Wake-Robin—I put you on my profile along with Kassi. You guys are the coolest. . I'll get to the others eventually.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I own nothing. I own nothing. I own nothing. I own nothing. Okay, I'm good for four more chapters.

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The sky was a swirling mass of sinfully evil clouds. Lightning cracked with wicked intent, and thunder roared its horror. Waves crashed up against the Abra Kadabra and the Sorcerer's Mistress, and many threatened to overturn a little lifeboat that fled the scene. Neither of the younglings in there were more than eighteen.

"What's going on, Arden?" Keladry screamed, sputtering through some salty sea spray. "Why are we running? Who are they?"

"I'll explain it all later," Arden yelled, his arms contracting heavily as they paddled with the oars. "Right now, we've got to get out of here!"

Waterspouts were forming by the dozen. There were so many waterspouts so close together that there was no space between them, save a gap about a mile wide. The hole was rapidly diminishing as waterspouts rose from the water in turbulent monstrosity.

(AN: Check out all these awesome describing words!)

The ship called Abra Kadabra made its way straight toward the Sorcerer's Mistress, not halting, simply flowing forward as though it meant to crash. Faintly Kel was aware of her lover murmuring "Oh gods oh gods oh gods oh gods" but she heard nothing else than the cry of the spouts and the howl of the wind. These men, these Priests of the Dark, were after them…why?

"Hold on, Keladry!" Arden shouted. "I'm going to try for that break in the spouts!"

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"Ew."

A cringing Joren wiped his hand on a cloth and stepped clear of Lucas' vomit. The Black Bandit captain had taken fever and a severe stomach ailment, but his convulsions had stopped and he breathed easier. Joren was covered in blood, pale and sweaty, but strangely triumphant.

"How's it goin'?" Kris asked, sticking his head inside. The blond squire did not look at him.

"He's much better. After I replaced the bandages and clothes with new, clean ones, he cleared up some. He's succumbed to a stomach complaint, I'm afraid, and a rather severe fever, but given a few more days' rest he'll be the same captain."

Relief radiated from the much older man's face. It was evident in the broad smile and the lit eyes. Lucas Murray meant a lot to his crew apparently…he was more than just their captain; he was their friend.

"Kris!"

Annoyed, Kris turned around and said irritably, "What do you want, Ray?"

Ray was behind the door, so Joren could not see him, but he could clearly hear his shrill voice.

"There are some storms up ahead. We need to turn around."

He frowned. "But the day's clear," he voiced.

"I know," Kris said. "Are you sure?"

"I'm positive. There are hundreds of waterspouts lined for about a mile or two. If we don't turn around now we'll head straight for them."

Kris swore. "Mithros! What are you waiting for, boy?! Sound the alarm!"

"Y-Yes sir!"

- - - - - - - - - -

Damn it all, Frenn cursed to himself as he slipped on the deck again. Gods, I hope the little warrior and my nephew will be safe…

At the time being he was not sure if anybody would be safe. Arden and the chit would have the best chance of escaping, as they were already outside the spout ring. Or, so he hoped.

The Abra Kadabra sidled up alongside his ship, not unlike the Mageskull had, and four of the many men on board leaped over the gap between them to land gracefully on deck. The one in front was obviously the leader, as in addition to the spear he bore a scepter crowned with a rotting skull. They were all dressed in black, from their head to their feet, and each wore a blood red mask.

The leader stepped forward.

"We seek the girl called Keladry," he said coldly.

"She's not here," Frenn replied shortly.

"I highly doubt that," the other said softly. "Tell me where she is, and you shall not die."

"I can't very well do that, Dark Worshiper," the assassin murmured. "For all I know, she could be drowned six feet under. I sent her ahead with a trusted man to escape. She's gone now."

In razor-sharp fury the man screamed. All the lightning cracked and snapped like living, glowing whips. One streaked toward the Sorcerer's Mistress. Its tip touched the ship and it blew apart in thousands of shattering, broken shards.