Maquesta Kar-Thon

Chapter 12

"A watcher charm-that is very old magic," Tailonna said thoughtfully.

Once the Perechon was sailing out of Sea Reach harbor-with new, crisp, white sails on the newly strengthened masts-Maquesta had asked the sea elf and Ilyatha to come to her cabin. She told them about what had transpired on the island, about Lendle's temporary servitude, the cache of treasure and weapons, Mandracore's appearance, and the charm.

"I am surprised that a simple merchant or even a pirate would know about such things as watcher charms, much less be able to put his hands on one," Tailonna continued.

"Well, Mandracore kept talking about the friends whose interests he was furthering. I wish I knew who they were," said Maq. She looked up from her thoughts to see that Lendle had slipped into the cabin. "How's Fritzen?" Maq asked the gnome.

Lendle had, once again, set up the armory as a temporary infirmary, with Fritzen as its sole patient. "He's stubborn, Maquesta Kar-Thon, and he keeps mumbling that being with you is very dangerous business. I am worried about him. He lost a great deal of blood, and he was still not fully recovered from the sea hag attack," Lendle replied, rubbing his chin in concern. "I am not certain what is necessary to treat him. I came to ask Tailonna and Ilyatha to consult with me on his care."

If the situation hadn't been so serious, Maquesta would have smiled at Lendle's phrasing. The gnome didn't like to admit to any gaps in his knowledge. And he wasn't one to ask for help.

"Tailonna, would you please take a look at Fritzen?" Maq asked reluctantly.

The Dimernesti nodded silently, and Maq suppressed a flash of irritation. Tailonna had already been of great help, and no doubt would be again before the voyage ended. But Maq found the sea elf maiden's remoteness annoying.

"We'll keep you posted on his condition," the gnome said. "Oh, one more thing, Maquesta Kar-Thon. Fritzen Dorgaard acquired pocketfuls of gold coins from the treasure cave. He had me divide them among the crew. Morale is much improved."

Maquesta grinned, pleased at Fritz's generosity. "Ilyatha, I'd like to have a word with you before you join them," she said unnecessarily. The shadow warrior had not made any move toward the door, having telepathically sensed Maq's desire before she stated it.

"Have you had any communication with Belwar since he left us the other day?" Maq asked once the other two had gone to the armory.

"No, I have not. Why do you ask?"

"See if you can contact him. If I know anything about Mandracore, he will try to follow us, and in Sea Reach he gave me cause to think he knew what our mission was," Maq said worriedly. "I know you, too, are anxious to return to Lacynos. Any interference from the Reaver could delay our return past the time… past the deadline Attat has set." Maquesta found she could not speak aloud words that referred to her father's possible death.

"How could the pirate know anything about what Attat has done?" Ilyatha asked, surprised.

"I don't know, but I intend to find out," Maq answered. "Mandracore referred to friends in Lacynos. The minotaur Koraf worked in the Horned Bay shipyards. I want to ask him what he has heard about the Reaver. I want your advice on how much I should tell him. Do you think I can trust Koraf? I made him my first mate because by doing so the crew would be forced to accept his presence. But could he be a spy Attat planted on the Perechon?" Maquesta realized she was asking the shadow warrior for his counsel as she once would have asked her father.

Ilyatha considered the question. "I sense a great anger in the minotaur, matched by an almost equal measure of gentleness," he replied finally. "His nature does not seem a duplicitous one. You have shown good judgment in your actions so far, Maquesta. Trust your own assessment. I believe you have his loyalty."

Maq smiled warmly at Ilyatha, grateful as much for his approval as for the advice.

Fritzen lay on a cot, pale and feverish, his eyes closed.

"Show me what medicinal supplies you have on hand," Tailonna told Lendle, more a command than a request. But since the gnome himself had no sense of social niceties, he didn't take offense.

Lendle went to the corner where he had left his medicine case, a wooden box with a handle and a latch. However, instead of having a top that unlatched and flipped back, as most such cases would operate, this one opened on all four sides with spring catches. When Lendle pressed on one of the catches, intending to open the front panel only, all four sides fell away, leaving him holding the top and bottom of the case, which were connected at the corners by leather thongs. Three open shelves of herbs and potions were promptly revealed, and these immediately began spilling out onto the armory floor.

"This case I made makes it much easier to get at all my herbs," said Lendle as he hurriedly scooped up his supplies. "But this has never happened before. It always works correctly."

"Of course," said Tailonna, showing a rather rare flash of humor. She bent over to help him, murmuring the herbs' names as she replaced them in the case one by one.

"You have collected a very useful selection of medicines," Tailonna said. Lendle beamed at the compliment. "Let me examine Fritzen first, then we'll see if you have what he needs."

Tailonna leaned over the patient, and lightly touched the handsome half-ogre's chest. Fritzen's eyes fluttered open for an instant, held Tailonna's gaze, and then closed. She removed the bandage Lendle had applied and gently probed around the edges of Fritzen's wound. Despite her gentleness, the half-ogre cried out in pain.

Tailonna stood up. 'The saber cut must have given the small amount of sea hag poison that was still in his blood the opportunity to grow stronger," she said, frowning.

"Will this happen every time Fritzen is injured?" asked Lendle.

"Just until his body has completely purged itself of the poison, but sea hag toxin is very potent. Many moons will cross the sky before that cleansing is complete. How did he receive the sea hag wound to begin with?" Tailonna inquired as she turned once again to the medicine case and began picking up various packets and vials. "I know of no survivors from sea hag encounters. My people stay away from waters where hags are reputed to dwell. We believe there is no need to present the vile creatures with victims."

Lendle told her briefly about the attack on the Torado during the race. "I thought Fritzen was injured on the coral when the hippocampi rescued him," he explained, "but that would not cause this infection. He was the only one of the Torado's crew to make it to the Perechon."

"Ah, that explains the suffering I saw in his eyes just now, something that is more than bodily pain," Tailonna said. Lendle nodded. "This only survivor carries many wounds with him."

After considering the medicines before her for a moment more, Tailonna turned to the gnome. "There is something else that would help him, something I don't see here."

"Where can we get it?" Lendle asked. "I don't think Maquesta will permit a return to Sea Reach."

"It's not in Sea Reach, but a much greater distance away. Here, come with me," Tailonna said abruptly. "I may need some help getting off the ship."

Lendle followed Tailonna willingly, fascinated to see what she intended. The sea elf stepped through the armory door, out onto the main deck where she walked over to one of the side railings. Standing facing the sea, Tailonna took off the nets and seashells that held her lengthy hair. She handed these to the gnome, who eyed them with awe. He fingered the nets gingerly, remembering the magic they'd released during the imp attack.

Next, she closed her eyes and extended her arms out to her sides, holding her hands with the palms facing upward, thumb and middle finger touching. Tilting her head back, she chanted a few words that sounded vaguely musical. Standing behind her, Lendle watched as the outline of the sea elf maiden's body softened into a wispy haze of pale blue-green, then it seemed to dissolve into the surrounding air. After a minute, her entire body had taken on an amorphous quality, becoming almost translucent. Then it started shimmering and pulsing with energy, and the gnome felt goose bumps race up and down his arms. The very air seemed charged. Once the substance of Tailonna's body had separated into particles suspended in the sea air, that suspension collapsed in on itself, becoming a concentrated mass that spun gently just above the deck's surface and darkened to a deep blue, then turned earth brown. In another minute, that mass elongated and took on concrete form once more, as a sleek, silverbrown sea otter. The creature rose on its haunches and placed its front paws on the deck railing so that its muscular body was almost as tall as Lendle. The animal glanced out to sea and cocked its head inquisitively to the side. Then the otter glanced over its shoulder at the gnome, its eyes a shimmering bluegreen that held Lendle spellbound. The otter chittered animatedly, nudged Lendle with its cold, wet nose, then looked out to sea again.

Lendle shook his head as if to clear it, then carefully set the hairnets and seashells on the polished deck. "OhyesIwillhelpyouTailonnatheotter," he gibbered. He lifted the otter's hindquarters, helping it slip over the side of the Perechon, into the waters below. Lendle watched with wide eyes as the animal rolled on its back and seemed to wave one of its forepaws at him. Then it turned on its stomach and swam off. Lendle gazed out over the gentle swells until the otter's small head was no longer visible. Then he looked around him on the main deck. Of the few sailors out tending to their duties, nobody else, it seemed, had seen Tailonna shapechange. Feeling privileged that the sea elf had shared something special with him, he bent over and scooped up her nets and shells. Then, jumping up and down with excitement, Lendle ran off to look for Maquesta.

Maq found the minotaur Koraf on the lower deck, checking and oiling the oarlocks. She stood by the foot of the stairs that led to the upper deck, waiting for him to notice her and considering exactly what she would say.

"Did you wish to speak with me?" Koraf asked, not looking up from his work.

"Yes, I need your help, Kof," Maq said. "Please, take a moment…"

The minotaur appreciated her honesty and, with the arrogance typical of his race, appreciated being asked for help. He put down his oil can and faced Maq.

She approached him and sat down on one of the rowing benches. She patted the bench next to her and, after a few moments of silence, the minotaur obliged, lowering his heavy frame onto the wood.

"Do you know a pirate named Mandracore?" she asked.

"Mandracore the Reaver? A half-ogre?"

Maq nodded.

"I know him all right." Koraf snorted. "He wants people to know him. He has a very high opinion of himself, that one does." The minotaur shook his bull-like head and ran his thumb around the outside of the oil can. "His ship, the Butcher, is often moored in Horned Bay. It's a good ship. Too good for the likes of him."

"Do you know what he does in Lacynos? Who he sees?" Maq asked eagerly.

Koraf snorted again and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't waste my time keeping track of braggart halfogres. Why do you care?"

Maq related the essentials of her encounter with Mandracore on Sea Reach, including the fact that he bore a grudge against her father and seemed to have knowledge of their current voyage. Koraf thought a minute, absentmindedly fingering his waist sash. It was obvious he was uncomfortable talking about his experiences.

"Months ago, before I was imprisoned, I saw him down at the shipyard with Chot Es-Kalin. They were alone and had their heads together about something. I have no idea what," Koraf recalled. "But I thought it odd that Chot Es-Kalin, more wealthy and powerful even than Attat, would openly consort with someone like the Reaver. Some minotaurs believe that socializing with humans or other races lowers their station."

"But that was only once, months ago?" Maq pressed him.

"Yes, but I would have had no opportunity to see Chot since my imprisonment at Attat's. Chot and Attat are fierce rivals," Koraf pointed out. "Attat intends to surpass Chot in wealth and become the ruler of Lacynos. Attat might succeed if Chot is not careful. But Attat must be careful, too, of his tactics."

Maq nodded, remembering what Attat had said about the reason he wanted the morkoth for his menagerie. "The morkoth could help him," she said softly.

"On that count, Attat is deluded," Koraf volunteered.

"What do you mean?" asked Maq.

"Attat seeks to consolidate power by displaying his possessions. By capturing and dominating a collection of monsters, he thinks he is creating an impression, demonstrating his superiority," Koraf explained. "Chot seeks to consolidate power by using it. His method is more effective-at least for the time being."

"Then why does Chot care what Attat does? Why does the rivalry flow both ways?"

"Attat is like a thorn in Chot's side, an annoyance that by its constancy has taken on a greater significance," Koraf said. "He would like to humiliate Attat, and by humiliating him, destroy him. Where Chot could fail is if his attempts to humiliate Attat are unsuccessful. Then the humiliated one will be Chot, who could lose some of his influence."

Thinking about what he had said, Maq studied the minotaur before her. He displayed an acuity she didn't expect from members of his race. She was glad she had trusted him.

"I don't know how Mandracore figures into all of this, but I suspect he does, and that whether we want to or not, we're going to find out how," Maq said finally. "I expect him to come after us, and with Fritz down, we'll need everyone to stay extra alert."

Koraf grunted, turning back to his oil can and his self-appointed task.

By the next morning, the Perechon was approaching the east coast of Endscape and had started to turn north. It was making better time with new sails that didn't let the wind slip through all the patches and mends.

Tailonna still had not returned to the ship. From Lendle, Maq had heard a full account of the elf's shapechanging, and she wasn't pleased that Tailonna had left the ship without her permission. Perhaps she wouldn't be coming back. And without her, who could brew the potions that would let them breathe underwater? How could they capture the morkoth then?

Maquesta sought out the gnome and found him in the galley, brewing some tea. She had to duck her head when she entered, as Lendle had managed to string up his collection of pots, pans, and assorted utensils on a pulley system that looked even more complex than the previous design. Maquesta sighed and chose a route that would not take her near any knives and forks.

The gnome looked exhausted, having stayed up with Fritzen most of the night, catching a little sleep in a bedroll on the floor of the armory.

"How is he?" asked Maq, deciding not to scold him over Tailonna.

"The same," said Lendle in an unusually brief reply.

Maq, gripped by last-minute misgivings, hesitated before broaching the subject she had in mind to discuss with the gnome.

"Lendle, have you been able to make any progress in repairing your oar engine?"

The gnome's eyes lit up and his fatigue fell away. "Ilyatha and I managed to get most of the repairs done before we moored at Sea Reach. I still have a few adjustments to make before it's in working order, though. I'll see to it right away Maquesta Kar-Thon, if that is what you would like me to do."

Maq grimaced. Lendle and his adjustments. "When-and if-Tailonna returns, I would like her to take over Fritz's care, and for you to concentrate on getting the engine in working order," Maq said, fully aware that, as far as she knew, it had never yet been in working order. "We may need every trick we can muster to get back to Lacynos on time. The new sails are speeding us along, but still…" She paused and swallowed hard. "I want us to be ahead of schedule in case anything goes wrong. I don't want to jeopardize my father's life."

Lendle indignantly drew himself up. "My engine is no trick, Maquesta Kar-Thon. It is science, and it will help you get back to Lacynos with time to spare."

"Whatever it is, I think we'll need it," she said.

When Maquesta left the galley, Lendle was humming happily as he stirred his tea. She stopped briefly in the armory, where the half-ogre was resting. Standing by his side, she placed her hand on his forehead. His eyes were closed, his face pale and drawn. His skin was hot, indicating a high fever. She looked about for a wet rag, and finding one, placed it on his brow.

"I wish I could do something for you," she said quietly. "I feel as though this is all my fault."

"You could stay with me for a while," Fritz answered, still not opening his eyes.

Maquesta jumped; she'd thought he was asleep. Not bothering to reply, she pulled up a chair and sat next to him until his gentle snoring indicated he'd finally fallen into a healing slumber.

It was late afternoon when Hvel, on lookout duty, spotted the black sail on the horizon.

"Ship ahoy!"

The words brought Maq bolting from her cabin, where she had been devising a plan for capturing the morkoth. She ran up the steps to the upper aft deck where Koraf had the helm, and pulled out her spyglass. She didn't really need the instrument to see the Butcher's black sail behind them, and to realize that it was gaining on them. Instead she focused on the men on deck to see how large his crew was. The pirates were all too numerous, and they were hard at work trimming the sails and working the rigging to get the best speed out of the ship.

Maquesta's lips drew into a thin, tight line. "He can't catch us. He just can't." Despite the Perechon's improved speed, she was worried. The Butcher was a three-masted ship with more sails and the potential for faster movement if the wind was strong.

"Vartan!" she shouted. "Get up the mainmast and trim our sails a bit. Let's see if we can get a little more speed out of the Perechon."

"Yes, Captain!" he called back, then scampered up the rigging.

"Hvel, get belowdecks and summon Ilyatha. Tell him we need his flute of wind dancing!" Maquesta looked out over the rest of the crew. "Be alert. Mandracore's on our tail!"

Maquesta was concerned about using the magical instrument, as she didn't want to test the masts, and she disliked forcing the shadowperson on deck during bright sun. But she saw little alternative. Raising the spyglass to her eye again, she confirmed that the Butcher, with its many ebony sails, was gaining. Though easily visible through the tricks of perspective played by the open sea, the Butcher had in fact first appeared when it was far, far distant from the Perechon.

Ilyatha, clothed in a voluminous cloak, with his head hidden in the hood's shadows, padded on deck. This must be important, he communicated to Maquesta. Being in this light pains me.

Maq pointed at the Butcher, and Ilyatha read the rest of her thoughts. Nodding, the shadowperson took up a position near the bow and brought the flute to his lips. At first the tune was haunting, almost eerie. The notes floated out of the instrument and across the deck, billowing the sails. The ship pitched and rolled, but it picked up more speed. Then the tune changed, becoming brighter, faster, and in response the wind increased, blowing more briskly right around the ship and causing the masts to groan softly in protest.

Maquesta looked at the water. The waves within several yards of the Perechon were choppy and had growing swells. But the water farther out was calmer. There, the wind was not as strong, not touched by the enchanted notes from the flute of wind dancing. She felt something tickle at her mind and realized Ilyatha was speaking to her.

The Butcher is too far away for me to slow the winds about its sails, he communicated. And I can use this flute but a few more minutes before it must build up its magic again.

I understand, Maquesta concentrated, satisfied that Ilyatha had picked up her thoughts. She remembered that during the race the flute was not used long on the Katos-just at the most opportune time. And it seemed Ilyatha had used it well now, to pull the Perechon far enough ahead so that the Butcher looked like a black dot on the water. The magic temporarily exhausted, Ilyatha returned belowdecks, communicating to Maquesta that the flute could be used again when evening approached.

Through the long hours of the afternoon, the Butcher steadily closed the gap, its numerous sails taking advantage of an increasingly strong wind. At one point, Maq went to the armory. She called Lendle to the doorway and handed him a belaying pin, a dagger, and a short sword.

"If Mandracore and his crew board us, make sure Fritzen has a weapon in his hand. I don't want him to be defenseless," she told the gnome in a low voice. "Mandracore will have a grudge against you, and against Fritz as well. You each killed one of his men."

It was late afternoon, and Ilyatha told Maquesta the flute had not yet regained enough magical energies. "Give it an hour or two more" he said. Maq knew they might not have that time to spare. Watching Mandracore's ship approach, Maq's blood started to boil. All thoughts of outrunning the Butcher left her. If Mandracore wanted a fight, she would give him a fight he would not likely forget.

"Everybody!" Maq had climbed up to stand near the helm. She addressed her crew.

"I think you all know the Butcher and her captain, Mandracore the Reaver." The sailors gathered below her muttered oaths by way of assent. "Well, it looks like he wants something from us. Are we going to give it to him?" Maquesta yelled.

"No!" several sailors shouted in unison, their fists toward the sky.

"If he wants his ship stuffed down his throat, then I think he'll get what he wants from us!" shouted Hvel from the back of the group. Everyone cheered.

"Prepare your weapons, then," Maq ordered. "If we can't outrun him, we'll give him a fight he won't forget."

Just for the pleasure of frustrating Mandracore, Maquesta tacked and otherwise maneuvered the Perechon to keep it out of the Reaver's reach for a while longer. Tired of being the mouse in that cat-and-mouse game, she knew to fight him-which was what she wanted-would risk the Perechon, her crew's lives, and her father. But Mandracore's ship kept gaining, and when the afternoon sun hung low in the sky Maquesta set a straight course and waited for the Butcher to pull alongside.

The first grappling hook thrown caught the Perechon amidships. Three other lines soon followed. As the Butcher and the Perechon floated side by side in a forced misalliance, Maq ordered Hvel and Rawl, who were standing by the main ballista, to start firing. Round missiles shot by the crossbowlike weapon began pummeling the Butcher's sailors as they attempted to swing ladders across the gap between the two ships and board.

Noticing that the minotaur Koraf stood at the end of one of the ladders, waiting to engage the first pirate from the Butcher who attempted to set foot on the Perechon, Maq called out to him.

"Kof! Kof!" When she got his attention, Maquesta made a shoving motion with her arms. The minotaur nodded. Despite the fact that three of the Butcher's crew had mounted the ladder and were attempting to cross over, the minotaur easily lifted his end, shoved it back toward the Butcher, then yanked it down so the ladder and its passengers tumbled into the sea. Maq mimed her approval.

Soon, however, in spite of other such tactics and the ballista, a dozen pirates from the Butcher had boarded the Perechon and were engaging Maq's crew in fierce combat. And more were coming. Ordering Vartan to remain at the helm, Maq jumped into the fray, drawing her short sword and shouting curses at Mandracore, who was nowhere to be seen. Swordplay had been an early game of hers. She'd played it often, wooden sticks standing in for weapons, with Lendle, Averon, and her father. Unlike many mariners, rather than a curved saber she preferred a straight-bladed sword. She wielded it now to disarm a pirate who had pinned Rawl against the steps leading to the upper aft deck. Rawl picked up his own sword and finished the job.

Maq scanned the deck, trying to spot Mandracore's bandanna, but she didn't see it anywhere. Just as she was turning to check on Vartan at the helm, she felt a stinging around her ankles and was whipped off her feet. Lying on her back, momentarily breathless, Maq looked up to see a hulking blue-skinned ogre from the Butcher, holding a whip. He yanked on it, tightening its coils around her ankles. Convinced she was held securely, the beast straddled her, limiting her ability to roll away from an attack, and drew his sword. Maq grasped the hilt of her own weapon and tensed, preparing to evade the ogre's blow and strike back.

But before she could act, two massive arms covered with brown fur circled the ogre's upper arms and chest, applying a stunning pressure that caused the monster to drop its sword and whip. Maq quickly rolled away and began pulling the whip off her legs. Holding the ogre from behind, Koraf lifted the creature up even higher and slammed him to the deck. The wind knocked out of him, the beast staggered forward, but was too slow. Koraf growled and drew his dagger, grabbed the ogre by the hair, and slit his throat.

"Maquesta! Maquesta!"

Maq jumped out to see where the urgent summons was coming from. Koraf, wiping the blade of his dagger on his thigh, pointed to the bow with his other hand. Looking in that direction, Maq soon located Hvel, jumping up and down near the armory door, waving his arms wildly.

"Kof, come with me!" she commanded. The two of them fought their way forward, killing three of the Butcher's sailors in the process.

When they reached Hvel at the door to the armory, Maq saw why she hadn't spotted the Reaver earlier. Lendle lay in a far corner of the room, unconscious, the color drained from his ruddy brown face. Blood ran from a nasty gash on his head and stained the gnome's white hair red. In front of him, Mandracore and three of his ogres stood around the head of Fritzen's cot, swords and daggers drawn. Fritzen smiled weakly at Maq as she and Koraf came to the door. The pirate captain held the belaying pin and the dagger Maq had given Lendle. He used the belaying pin now to viciously prod the half-ogre's injured shoulder. Fritzen clenched his teeth, refusing to cry out.

"I'm sorry, Maq," said Hvel, wringing his hands. "He said if I didn't call you, or if I tried to call anyone else, he'd slit Fritzen's throat."

"It's all right, Hvel," Maq said, patting the sailor's shoulder. "The Reaver likes to stack the odds so he never has to fight an honest battle."

A shadow of anger crossed the pirate's face, but he controlled it. "Tell your crew to stop fighting, Maquesta." Mandracore ordered.

"Why should I do that?" asked Maq innocently. "From the looks of things, we're winning."

"If you don't order them to throw down their weapons, I'll kill your sick friend here and slit the gnome's throat wide open. Then I'll come for you," the pirate snarled.

"I think you'll do that anyway," Maq said with a composure she didn't truly feel. Desperately, she cast about for a way out of this situation. With a glimmer of hope, Maq thought she saw Lendle, who lay on the floor behind Mandracore, open his eyes. Then she realized that even if the gnome regained consciousness, in his injured condition he could do little against Mandracore and the three others.

Because Mandracore knew Maquesta had spoken the truth, he made no response. The muscles in Maquesta's legs tightened, and she prepared to leap at Mandracore if any of them made a move to harm Fritz. Better to die fighting than sniveling for mercy at the hands of vile creatures such as these, she vowed. Only the thought that her death would inevitably result in her father's death caused Maq a pang of regret.

Lendle's eyes fluttered again and this time stayed open. Maq forced herself not to look directly at him, not wanting to give him away. Mandracore had just turned to one of his ogres when the noise of fighting on the deck outside the armory died away. The momentary silence ended with an explosive crack, like a clap of thunder-only there was no storm outside. Everyone in the armory stood frozen in their places.

"Captain Mandracore! Captain Mandracore!" First one, then a half dozen voices took up the call. The summons sounded faintly, yet persistently, in the armory. Cursing, Mandracore took another jab with the belaying pin at Fritzen's wound, then ordered one of the ogres to cover his back while he went to see what had happened.

"The rest of you," he barked to his ogre cronies, "stay here. You! Put your knife to the half-ogre's throat. You-watch the gnome! If any of 'em moves, kill the half-ogre first. He killed my first mate!"

Maquesta heard Kof growl softly beside her. She hoped the minotaur would restrain his temper until they were presented with a good opening-one that wouldn't risk Fritz's and Lendle's lives.

Out on the deck, only scattered pairs still fought. The rest of the pirates and sailors stood transfixed, staring at the Butcher, where chaos had erupted. Belwar hovered above the pirate ship in a halo of light that was caused by the rays of the setting sun reflecting warmly off his golden scales. Below him, the Butcher's mainmast lay split in half, cracked by a metal ball the size of a boulder that had been dropped on top of it by the ki-rin. As the ball crashed through the main deck, fires had erupted, engulfing the ship in flames and smoke. Waves of heat from the flames swept over the Perechon. The smell of burning wood and canvas sails permeated the air. Pirates who had remained on the Butcher were jumping overboard or attempting to board the Perechon.

In the light cast by the flames, Maquesta, positioned athwart the doorway to the armory, observed Ilyatha climb the forward steps from the lower deck, carrying his shadowstaff. The firelight glinted off additional weapons she hadn't seen before, attached to a girdle he now wore. Maq's eyes met his. Clearing her mind of extraneous thoughts, she concentrated on communicating essential information. The half-ogre with the bandanna and earring is Mandracore. Maq stared at the pirate captain and was relieved when she saw Ilyatha follow her gaze. One of his ogre warriors is in the armory, poised over Fritzen's cot. Lendle is wounded but alert and is being guarded by another ogre.

I will take care of Mandracore first, Ilyatha returned.

With new pirates coming over from the Butcher, the fighting on the Perechon's main deck had resumed-this time more fiercely than before. Maq saw Hvel and Vartan each trying to loosen one of the grappling hooks to allow the Perechon to float free of the burning Butcher. But because they continually had to fend off attacking pirates, neither was making much progress.

Clearly furious at the fate of his ship, Mandracore had just pivoted on his heel to return to the armory to mete out a suitable punishment to Maquesta when Ilyatha attacked. Unobtrusive with his dark fur in the dusky light, the shadow warrior glided forward silently and with a swift motion drove his hooked staff deep into Mandracore's body. The pirate screamed, more in rage than in pain, and bent over in the middle, grasping at the staff, his expression incredulous. Just as swiftly as he had thrust the staff, Ilyatha twisted it, causing another flash of disbelief to cross Mandracore's face. The shadow warrior pulled the staff free, and Mandracore fell to his knees, then dropped face forward onto the deck. Ilyatha knelt and grabbed Mandracore's cloak, using it to wipe the blood off the staff.

The dim-witted ogre guard next to the pirate captain had only just realized something was amiss as Mandracore began to crumple. With a blood-curdling yell, he lunged at Ilyatha, who was cleaning his staff. The shadow warrior dropped Mandracore's cloak and pivoted. He brought the clean staff up to block the new attacker, and the ogre's sword harmlessly bounced off the wood. Rising to his feet, Ilyatha made another strong thrust forward with the staff, driving the sharp end into the ogre's belly. The ogre stood only because Ilyatha held the staff, but when the shadow person tugged the weapon free, the ogre crumpled to join his captain. Again, Ilyatha cleaned off his weapon and looked about the deck for a foe. Seeing none within his immediate reach, Ilyatha ran toward the armory.

Maquesta saw a pirate rise up from behind a barrel of water and leap after Ilyatha. About to call a warning, she realized she didn't have to, as her thoughts were enough. Ilyatha pulled a cord with a sharp, hooked blade at one end and a weighted ring at the other from his girdle, spun around, and threw it expertly at the attacking pirate. The cord whipped around the unfortunate sailor's neck, driving the hook into his throat. The shadow warrior resumed his movement toward the armory, and Maq glanced inside. Not knowing what was happening outside the cabin, the remaining ogres had started to look nervous and a little confused. Out of the corner of her eye, Maquesta saw that Lendle was now fully alert, though he was feigning unconsciousness. When the ogre guarding him glanced away, Lendle snapped his eyes open and spotted his dagger, which lay on the floor between him and his guard-just out of reach. Whatever happened now had to happen quickly and silently, Maq knew, or there was a good chance the other ogre would simply bring the sword he was holding down across Fritzen's throat. The half-ogre was unaware of his peril, having lost consciousness again. Maquesta nervously chewed her bottom lip. She didn't want to lose Fritz. Not this way. Not any way.

Call out Mandracore's name, then step away from the door, Maq heard Ilyatha think. The minotaur, Koraf, standing next to her, must have heard a similar message, as she saw him blink and his brows furrow. Not yet completely comfortable with the shadow warrior's method of communication, Koraf started slightly, then glanced down at Maq, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Mandracore!" Maq called. She stepped outside with Koraf, leaving the doorway clear. In the same instant, Lendle slid forward along the floor and grabbed his dagger, folding his stubby fingers about the worn pommel. He prepared to leap up to protect Fritzen or to attack the ogre who was inadequately guarding him. The gnome's ogre guard offered invaluable assistance to their scheme by forgetting his orders. Seeing the doorway was clear, he plunged forward, apparently assuming Maq and the minotaur had joined in some new attack on Mandracore. The ogre standing over Fritzen barked a command that served to slow the running guard, who had just realized he shouldn't have left his post. Ilyatha appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, planting himself in front of the guard and using his shadowstaff, thrusting its wooden end at the ogre's chest, thumping him soundly and causing him to fall backward.

The ogre near Fritzen growled and raised his sword, preparing to bring it down on the half-ogre's throat. Lendle saw the attack coming and shot forward over the floor, stabbing the ogre in the back of the thigh and causing the brute to whirl and face him. The ogre laughed when he saw his tiny assailant. That was his undoing. The gnome moved in again, thrusting upward and sending his dagger deep into the pirate's belly. Furious and in pain, the ogre reached down and grasped Lendle's shoulders, shaking the gnome so hard he dropped the dagger. Bringing the gnome up even with his eyes, the ogre growled menacingly and opened his mouth, angling Lendle so the gnome's short neck was even with the pirate's teeth.

"No!" Maq barked as she slipped back inside the armory.

Her shout momentarily drew the attention of the ogre, giving Lendle another opening. The gnome kicked forward with both legs, his feet smashing in the front teeth of the pirate. The ogre howled and dropped his small assailant, and Lendle landed crouched, but on his feet.

Maquesta drew her sword and charged, meeting and parrying the swing of the ogre's blade. She brought her weapon back and swung forward, but as she stepped into the swing, she slipped on the growing pool of ogre blood on the floor and ended up on her rump.

The ogre grinned, raised his sword above his head, and started to bring it down on Maquesta. She was quicker, though, and jabbed her short sword upward, piercing his abdomen and running him through. She rolled to the side, avoiding his falling form, and felt the floor shake when he landed.

Brushing off her hands, she rolled the pirate over and extracted her weapon. "Lendle, are you all right,?" she asked. The gnome still stood, a little wobbly from the drop. He nodded yes and picked up his dagger. Blood no longer flowed from his head wound, but his face was drained of color.

"OfcourseIamallright," Lendle protested, taking one step forward and collapsing to the floor in a dead faint next to Fritzen's cot.

"Kof. Stay here with Lendle and Fritzen!" Maq ordered. She knew it wouldn't be the minotaur's choice of assignments, but she hoped he would realize there were few others she would trust with the job of defending her friends. Koraf frowned, but positioned himself outside the armory door, weapons drawn.

Back on deck, an exhausted Hvel and Vartan had succeeded in loosening all the grappling hooks. Maquesta watched them toss the hooks and line back toward Mandracore's ship. The Perechon now floated free of the Butcher, which at this point was all but consumed by roaring flames, a brilliant orange torch adrift on the sea. Belwar wheeled and soared above the Perechon, using his horn and his hooves to help pick off those pirates who were still fighting. Not that many were. Demoralized by the sight of their burning ship and the spreading word of Mandracore's fall, most of the Butcher's pirates who remained on board the Perechon stood together in stunned silence, their hands away from their swords and belaying pins. While they hadn't turned over their weapons, they made no attempt to use them. Their surrender was clear.

A number of pirates milled about in the water near their burning ship. Maq saw that someone had managed to lower the Butcher's three longboats into the sea. Several sailors had already pulled themselves into the boats.

The Butcher had suffered heavy losses. With Mandracore injured, possibly dying, Maq didn't feel compelled to eradicate the crew at the cost of more injuries to her sailors.

"As captain of the Perechon, I declare victory!" Maq shouted. "Put down your arms. Anyone from the Butcher who wishes may join their comrades in the water. Those who don't will be thrown in our brig-to be turned over to the proper authorities when we reach port. This is a shipping lane, and you can take your chances at being picked up. Otherwise you're welcome to the hospitality of the next port's jail."

"And maybe the possibility of a noose!" Vartan howled.

The Perechon sailors cheered.

At that, every pirate who could manage to stay afloat went over the deck railing into the sea. Two ogres picked up the limp form of Mandracore, who was breathing shallowly, and they jumped into the water with their captain.

"Why'd you let them take Mandracore?" Hvel asked Maquesta. "You should have let us finish him off."

"I refuse to sink to his level, and if I put him in our brig, he'd die and stink the place up," she answered coldly. "And I don't want Lendle taking time to mend someone I want to see dead. Let the elements claim him. It's a more fitting end for him, anyway."

"And if the ogres get hungry…" Hvel laughed. "It will be something other than the sea claiming his remains."

Vartan organized a crew to throw the dead sailors from the Butcher into the water. Most were ogres, and required two or three men to pick up one body. No one objected to the grisly task; it was evident they wanted the bodies gone as quickly as possible. Vartan, looking over the Perechon's crew, was pleased to tell his captain there were no fatalities-yet-though there were enough injuries to keep Lendle and Ilyatha busy for many days.

To everyone's amazement, once the Perechon's decks were clear of pirates, the flames engulfing the Butcher vanished. Not even a whiff of smoke lingered in the air. Maq couldn't believe her eyes. The Butcher was still disabled with a broken mast, but it appeared not even to be singed. Belwar, hovering above the Perechon's deck, erupted in deep, mellifluous laughter at the gaping faces below who looked up from the longboats.

"The fire was just an illusion created by Belwar," said Ilyatha, who had joined Maq.

"An illusion? How could that be?" she demanded. "I felt the heat. I smelled the smoke."

"A ki-rin's magic is very powerful," Ilyatha said simply.

Maq still stared at the Butcher. "But the mast, the broken mast is real?" she asked.

"Yes, the split mast is real, but the boulder that broke it was created by Belwar," Ilyatha advised her. "See, the boulder, too, has disappeared."

The hole in the Butcher's deck created by the large metal boulder was still visible, but the boulder itself was not. "When the ki-rin creates something as hard as metal, it does not last long," the shadow warrior explained.

Maq sighed, turning to survey her ship. "Well, I wish he could create something soft and edible that would last," she said. "Lendle's in no condition to cook, we have a long night ahead of us, and I'm starving."

"Oh, but he can," said Ilyatha delightedly and called out to the ki-rin, repeating Maquesta's request.

Thus did an evening that began in rather desperate straits end pleasantly for the Perechon's captain and crew, with a sumptuous supper of roast joint, bread pudding, and mushrooms for Ilyatha.

Maquesta, thinking about the meager provisions she had been so intent on bringing back from Sea Reach, looked at the banquet spread out before them and laughed aloud with joy. If only Father were here to see this, she thought.

If only.