Shef caught Ordlaf by the shoulder, pointed across a half-mile of sea filled with shattered ships, drowning men, and desperate combats of single ships and groups. Through the showers of rain and spray picked up by the rising wind he could see the Raven banner still flying. But already turned and moving east. The Frani Ormr, masterfully handled, had swerved its way unscathed through the English line, swung about and was already in full flight. As the two men watched her sail swept down from the yard, bellied out, and began to glide easily to safety.
“Follow,” said Shef.
“She sails two yards to our one.”
“Cut her off from the open sea while you have a chance. Drive her inshore.”
“But that’s the Elber Gat,” protested Ordlaf.
Shef’s fingers tightened commandingly on his shoulder.