roared Jatu. “We are holed!” In the icefog, crewmen slid and slithered across the glassy decks. Someone somewhere began ringing a bell, while someone else winded a brass bugle, both bell and trump sounding a needless alarm, for the ship had been struck a murderous blow, shivering timbers, slamming Man and Dwarf and Mage and Pysk and Elf and fox into whatever stood in the way. Below decks, water thundered in through the gaping cleft where something massive had rammed through and then had withdrawn. Men and Dwarves alike regained their footing and led by Frizian they charged down the ladderways, hurtling past the lower deck and into the main hold, where icy brine of the cruel Northern Sea relentlessly poured inward, inundating all, the water so cold that it burned. Men cried out from the deadly chill, and even hardy Dwarves gasped as they fought their way toward the breech through the frigid rush. Taking up planks and hammers and long, heavy nails, and saws and axes and mauls and wedges, toward the break they struggled, the bitter sea washing them back, knocking Men down and dragging them under, Dwarves as well, trying to freeze them or drown them in their very own hold.
