Maquesta Kar-Thon

Chapter 4

"Luckily for Fritzen Dorgaard, his wound was apparently not from a sea hag. He was dazed, but he managed to tell me that his arm caught on a piece of the reef when he was knocked overboard. I've made a poultice, and it's already started to heal." Lendle showed Fritzen's forearm to Maquesta, then went back to mashing a concoction of foul-smelling herbs with a mortar and pestle.

Maquesta looked at the wounded half-ogre and decided they had a lot in common-aside from having mixed parentage. Fritzen's ship had been dashed against rocks. Her hopes for the future had been dashed just as harshly, and soon her father's ship would belong to someone else. They were both pretty much homeless.

While still immobile and flat on his back, the halfogre's eyes were closed, but the lids twitched slightly, and he did seem to be resting more comfortably. A little of his color had returned, which the gnome was quick to point out. Thankfully for anyone who ever became ill on the Perechon, Lendle's medicinal creations always worked better than his mechanical inventions.

"Did he say anything else after you gave him the chatterwort?" Maq asked the question idly, preoccupied with her scheme for bringing Melas, Averon, and the minotaur lord, Attat, together. Perhaps if she plotted well, the Perechon might not be lost to them after all.

"He is ashamed." Lendle stopped his mashing to regard Fritzen. "Ashamed and wounded where a poultice can't help him. He tried to tell his captain not to steer too close to the rocks, but his argument wasn't convincing. Not only did he lose the Torado to the sea hags, he wasn't able to save his captain. And in the end, he grabbed on to one of the hippocampi. He's cursing himself for abandoning the ship and the crew to save himself. I don't know if he will ever recover from that."

Yes, thought Maquesta, perhaps there are some wounds too deep to ever heal.

"Melas, Averon, I, and a few of the others will be going back into Lacynos later today. Is there anything else you need to take care of Fritzen?"

Lendle looked up at her sharply. "What business do you have in Lacynos? Your father does not seem of a mood to find the Perechon work so he can pay our wages. And more drinking of ale would not, I think, be to anyone's advantage."

"Don't worry, Lendle. We have a few things to straighten out, matters that might even lead to a payday in the near future."

Maq gave Lendle a tight-lipped smile that failed to reassure the gnome, then left the armory to arrange the shore visit with Melas. She strode quickly to his cabin, determined to make everything work out all right.

"Father?"

Maquesta pushed open the door to her father's quarters. Sunk in a black mood of despair, Melas had not left his cabin since the previous evening. She found him now seated once again at his desk, with Averon pulled up alongside him on a stool. Whatever the two had been discussing, they stopped when she entered the room.

Maq had not anticipated that the first mate would be with Melas. Unprepared, she feared the hurt and anger she felt showed plainly in her face as soon as she saw him. But Averon, sitting in profile to the door, did not look at her. He stared off, behind Melas's head, gazing through a porthole at the sea. She inwardly continued to fume at her father's best friend-a man she once considered a close friend, too.

"Father, I've found out who holds your markers. It's not the betting master. It's a minotaur lord named Attat Es-Divaq. Do you know him?" Perhaps, Maq thought, unknown to her, there was some bad blood between Melas and Attat.

Melas shook his head silently.

"I think you, Averon, and I should go to see him before he comes to collect his debt. We should offer to work off our obligations. It would mean being in the employ of a minotaur, but at least we would be able to keep the Perechon. And maybe there would be some extra steel involved to pay the crew."

It was only logical that Averon, as Melas's closest friend and first mate, should come along, and by making the suggestion in front of both of them Maq didn't see how he could avoid it. She felt certain that if she endeavored to bring Melas, Averon, and herself together in front of the minotaur lord who held her father's markers, she could provoke Averon into revealing his duplicity. But she expected Averon would try to avoid such a situation.

"Yes," Melas paused, reaching out to the idea tentatively. "Averon was just suggesting the same thing."

Why would Averon have made that suggestion? Could she somehow be wrong? That development troubled Maq. Yet she could glean nothing from Averon's current attitude. His attention remained fixed on the porthole. He wouldn't even look at her.

Melas, however, ever an optimist and a man who preferred doing anything to nothing, had begun to warm to the idea of visiting Attat.

"Yes, let's seize the bull by the horns, so to speak. We can make a good case for ourselves." Melas spoke to himself as much as to Maq and Averon.

"The Perechon is a prize-none better-but she's a much richer prize with the best crew on the Blood Sea. Yes!" Melas rapped the flat of his hand down on the desk, startling both Averon and Maquesta from their separate musings. The sparkle had returned to his eyes, and he was quickly shaking off the effects of all the drink he had consumed the previous night.

"We'll go after lunch," Melas continued. "Get a few of the men together to come along. The wisest course is not to be too outnumbered when we venture into a minotaur stronghold."

"I think you're right, Father."

He rose from the table, and in three strides had his arms around her in a friendly bear hug. "We'll make this work, Maq." He released her and slapped Averon playfully on the back, then he turned and went to the door. He opened it with a flourish and extended his hand, indicating Maq should leave first.

As she did, she heard her father speak to Averon. "Well, come on, isn't this what you have been asking me to do?" She did not hear the first mate reply, but Averon was close behind her.

While the crew seemed gratified to have their captain out among them once more, even Melas's presence could do little to enliven lunch that day. A number of sailors remained too disabled by the aftereffects of drink to drag themselves to the table. Those who did dined on a thin bean gruel, which was all that Lendle, preoccupied with Fritzen's care and with very meager supplies at hand, could whip up. A mood of uncertainty in the wake of the Perechon's loss lingered over the entire crew.

Melas ate quickly, then rose from the table, giving orders with most of his old energy and authority.

"Averon, come with me. Maquesta, start lowering the longboat. We'll leave shortly."

Maq had put herself in charge of selecting the shore party, not wanting to chance Averon's doing it. Immediately after leaving Melas's cabin earlier, she had talked to Hvel again, and four others-Canin, Magpie, Micah and Gorz-telling each to be armed and prepared for trouble. Such advice was a given for any visit into Lacynos, so her words didn't surprise the sailors. Maq was glad Averon had gone off with Melas. She intended to repeat the advice again as soon as they gathered at the longboat. She wanted everyone to be on guard.

Standing herself, Maq signaled the others to rise. With irritation, she saw Vartan stand with Hvel. The two were best friends. When Maq approached Hvel, he had suggested Vartan come along. Maq had sternly vetoed the idea. The helmsman was an unproven commodity as far as she was concerned-just a pretty face. She shot Hvel a withering glance. He shrugged his shoulders, as if helpless. Maq decided not to make an issue out of it; she'd talk to Hvel about it later, after they'd returned to the ship. So now there would be an even half dozen coming along with her, Averon, and Melas.

The trip from the Perechon to the wharf passed quietly. The crewmembers still knew nothing of Melas's wagers and the risk of losing the Perechon. Maq had decided to keep that information from them until after the confrontation at Attat's unspooled. As far as they knew, they were accompanying Melas to an audience with a minotaur lord at which, most assumed, the captain would be soliciting an assignment for the Perechon. Averon's attitude still bothered Maq. She found it difficult to gauge. As the longboat drew closer to the wharf, both Melas and Averon exhibited growing agitation.

Once the longboat was secured at the wharf, Averon led the group off the pier, plunging ahead into the Lacynos streets.

"Shouldn't we get directions to Attat's?" Maq called from behind.

"Don't worry, I know the way," Averon called back, "just one of the many points on which I can be of service to you, Maquesta." Averon followed that remark with a joking aside to Melas which Maq could not hear. His bold assertion of the status conferred by close friendship offended Maq and steeled her determination to reveal him.

Attat's palace, it turned out, lay a good distance from the waterfront, a distance made greater by the fact that there was no direct way to get there through Lacynos's haphazard streets. The great majority of minotaur dwellings resembled the buildings Maq had been in earlier in the day-ramshackle, with ladders instead of stairs, never more than two stories high. A few of the very wealthiest nobles, however, had more elaborate homes. Maq had heard of the palace of Chot Es-Kalin, the self-proclaimed ruler of Lacynos, a veritable city within the city. Nonetheless, she was not prepared for Attat's palace.

Though still within the city walls, it sat surrounded by its own immense stone wall, which Maq judged to be at least twenty feet in height. Two massive minotaur guards clad in leather greaves and bronze chest pieces stood at the front gate, blocking their entrance. Each was armed with a bardiche, a long polearm with a curved, axelike blade on the end. It gleamed wickedly in the sun. Melas tried telling the guards what they wanted, but the minotaurs apparently did not speak the common human tongue. Vartan, it turned out, spoke some of the minotaur's language and was able to make their intentions clear. He smiled mischievously at Maq when it was obvious the minotaurs could comprehend what he was saying. The guards summoned a wretched-looking human slave, who went off and returned shortly with the message that Melas and the others could enter.

Melas led the way across a dusty courtyard, empty except for more armed guards, similarly dressed and equally as heavily armored as those at the gate. Maquesta wondered if there were likely other guards they could not see. Cautious, the group made its way to a pair of towering wooden doors inlaid with hammered silver, minotaurs' preferred precious metal. Maq was surprised at the doors' workmanship, which could have stood alongside the finest anywhere in Krynn. As she studied the panels, they swung open silently on well-oiled hinges-even before Melas could knock. The group entered a small anteway that gave onto a second entrance flanked by elaborately carved wooden columns. Two more guards, wearing breastplates made of steel, stood aside to allow them to pass into the palace's great hall.

Intended to impress as well as intimidate, the hall succeeded at both. Maq sensed the awe and trepidation in the other crewmembers, seasoned adventurers all, and felt it herself. Three times as long as it was wide, the hall extended nearly the length of the Perechon. Its upper reaches were hidden in shadows. Massive stone columns of polished granite marched down both sides of the room. Beyond them stood gloomy alcoves, some of which appeared to lead to other sections of the palace.

At the far end was a broad, richly carpeted dais on which the minotaur lord sat in an imposing, carved wooden armchair. He was surrounded by guards, several of whom snorted as Melas and his associates drew near. Spread-eagled between two smaller columns behind the chair hung the golden-scaled skin of some large, winged creature Maq didn't recognize. The scales twinkled softly and warmly in the light that entered the room through a wall of windows behind the dais. That light was augmented by wall torches that burned even now, in the middle of the day. The windows opened on to what looked to be a well-landscaped garden filled with plants, statues, and colorful birds.

In addition to Attat, his guards, and a few slaves, the great hall held a menagerie of fantastic creatures, each chained to one of the columns. A number of them Maq didn't recognize, but some she did. A griffon was chained directly across from a hippogriff-a cross between an eagle and a horse, which was the natural prey of griffons. Their proximity caused each constant agitation, an apparent source of amusement to Attat. An ice bear with startling white fur strained against its chain, occasionally emitting a growl of frustration. The distorted physique of a Gurik Cha'ahl goblin crouched near the base of one column, drooling and gibbering. The eyes of a mottled green, froglike creature bulged, and its tongue flicked out as they passed. "Bullywug," whispered Hvel at Maq's side. "Meat-eater."

Maq shivered. The osquip she and Lendle had seen a minotaur leading a few days ago was no doubt destined for here. It would have been chained to one of these columns, she suspected-had its escort not sliced off its head.

The lord kept his eyes on them from the instant they entered the room, almost as if he were measuring them up as potential additions to his private zoo. Now that she stood before him, Maq's eyes opened wide, and she took in a great gulp of air. She realized that this was the very same minotaur she and Lendle had seen at the waterfront the day before the race, the one who had made short work of the osquip. They had passed by Lord Attat himself, never knowing he held the Perechon in his hands as tightly as he held the chain about the unfortunate beast's neck. In addition to the jeweled girdle he had worn the other day, Attat now sported silver wristbands and a collar studded with large gems-any one of which likely could have purchased a ship the size of the Perechon.

"How do you like my pets?" He addressed the humans in the common tongue, his voice deep, but not as guttural as Maq was used to hearing from minotaurs.

"I don't imagine they're too affectionate," Melas observed drily, stepping forward while the others hung back.

Maquesta watched her father and Attat closely. This lord obviously required his measure of recognition, but it was not in Melas's nature to pay tribute lightly. Maq hoped her father would keep himself in check.

"True, but I derive other pleasures from them. And the guests in my dungeon seem to enjoy them immensely," Attat replied with a silkily dangerous insinuation.

"I am Melas Kar-Thon and-"

"I know who you are, human," Attat interrupted. "The famous sea captain, master of the oh-so-swift Perechon." He made it sound close to an insult. "I have been expecting you."

Melas looked surprised.

"You made no attempt to hide your procession to my humble abode," Attat explained. "And I am not without friends in this port who keep me informed of matters of interest to me." His eyes closed to slits, and he glanced briefly at Maquesta.

Toadies and spies, you mean.

For an instant, Maq feared she had lost her mind and spoken those words out loud, so strongly did she feel that they had been heard. But no. The lack of any reaction from those around her indicated she had kept her opinion of Attat's "friends" to herself.

"You saved me a trip, Melas Kar-Thon," Attat continued. "I had planned to visit the Perechon later today and claim what is mine."

Maq saw Vartan and Hvel, who were standing directly behind Melas, exchange surprised glances. She motioned them to be quiet. The minotaur's nostrils flared. He appeared to enjoy playing with them. Her hopes for a happy resolution to the question of remaining with the Perechon began to slip away.

"I hope to convince you otherwise. I have a business proposition for you," Melas responded.

"How interesting," Attat murmured. "So many propositions to consider, so little time."

Melas, intent on presenting his case, ignored that comment and continued.

"My idea is simple and benefits both of us. I and my crew stay on the Perechon and sail it where you direct until we've given you a value equal to the ship and bought it back."

"Are you suggesting you'd work without pay?" Attat asked, clearly intrigued.

"I would. And so would many of the others, I suspect. There are times we sail without pay as it is. For those who want pay, perhaps we could negotiate a reduced rate. We'd need something for repairs and maintenance of the ship, for food, and maybe some pocket coins for port visits," Melas said. "But it would be far less costly for you than running the ship and paying a crew full wages."

"Hmm." Attat paused, apparently interested. "Why should I pay any sum for a crew that's bound to be more loyal to you than to me?"

"Because, while the Perechon's a prize, she's less of a prize without the best crew on the Blood Sea."

Melas stood with his hands clenched at his sides, waiting for Attat's decision. Maq noticed the tendons on either side of Melas's neck were stiff with tension. She needn't have concerned herself about Melas's remaining on good behavior. The future of his beloved Perechon would be decided at this meeting. And he knew it.

"It happens I do have an immediate mission in mind for the Perechon." Attat's remark refocused Maq's attention. "Tell me if it interests you.

"As you have seen, I collect exotic creatures." Attat waved his hand toward the chained monsters. "My collection is far more extensive than what you see here. I have built a zoo for them in my gardens." Here Attat nodded his head toward the windows behind the dais and proudly puffed out his considerable chest.

"Yet there is one creature that would perfectly round out my collection-a morkoth. Have you heard of them?"

Melas frowned in concentration, thought a minute, then shook his head. Hvel, who, it appeared, had a broad knowledge of Krynn's arcane zoology, jumped in.

"A wraith of the deep they're sometimes called. Wicked creatures, deadly, and very crafty. I understand they live in underwater tunnels, and they're difficult to find-unless you know where to look. Some say a morkoth looks human, but with fins and gills on the rest of its body, and a head like a squid with a lethal beak. Others say they look more like a fish than a man, or are part octopus. I suspect there are actually few survivors to accurately describe one." Hvel stepped back, as if completing a recitation. It was obvious he was pleased with himself for knowing that bit of maritime trivia. He winked at Maquesta, and she grimaced in return.

"That's right, very good," said Attat, somewhat amused. "There are conflicting descriptions, and that is one reason why I am so curious about the creatures. I want to see what one truly looks like. I want to own one. I built a grotto in the garden for a morkoth. The creature will be the centerpiece of my zoo, an achievement of acquisition and subjugation that should finally demonstrate to everyone on Mithas my superiority to that ignorant brute Chot Es-Kalin, who dares call himself the king of Nethosak," Attat exclaimed, using the minotaur name for Lacynos.

"My scouts have acquired enough tales and rumors to pin down the approximate location of a morkoth in the waters called Endscape, off the northwest coast of Saifhum. It exists near a colony of kuo-toa. I am not interested in acquiring a kuo-toa. I already have a pair."

Everyone in the Perechon contingent knew of this race of fishmen who hated surface dwellers and were fearsome fighters. They did not want to tangle with kuo-toa.

"You pose a very difficult mission," said Melas. "However, I fail to see why you have a particular need of the Perechon to accomplish it."

"Well, I don't really need the Perechon for this mission, but a morkoth is what I desire," Attat said haughtily. "My ship, the Katos, is of course first-rate, but frankly not as fast as the Perechon. She never would have won the race except for that unlucky bit of weather you ran into."

Maq gasped. So Attat was the owner of the Katos! That information, in the context of this meeting about his ownership of Melas's markers, made her deeply uneasy, though she wasn't sure quite why.

"Then, of course, using a crew of mercenary human sailors would ultimately be far less costly than having to recruit and train my superb crew of crack minotaurs. Besides, if anything untoward were to occur, I would hate to lose the minotaurs," Attat continued, his nostrils flaring, which Maq had come to recognize as the only outward sign Attat made when he was amused.

"To be honest," said Melas, "as you've described it, if the kuo-toa are nearby, they might be in alliance with the morkoth. If such is the case, and with the capture of a morkoth the goal, I think you would have to expect something untoward."

His statement made no obvious impression on Attat.

"Even were we to make it past the kuo-toa and capture the morkoth, how would we bring it back here? More to the point, how would we get to it in the first place, since none of us has gills for breathing underwater?" Melas asked.

"I have considered that problem. Guards!" Attat clapped his hands sharply. Two of the minotaur guards marched over to the wall of windows behind the dais. They pulled aside a curtain and swung open a set of double glass doors. As if they had been standing outside awaiting this signal, two other guards stepped inside, each roughly holding one arm of a tall sea elf. She had pale blue skin that glistened with a silver sheen. The knee-length white gown she wore was plastered against her slim body, indicating she had just come from a pool. Her long blue hair, slick and straight, fell to the back of her thighs and dripped water on the floor behind her. Eyes the color of emeralds looked furtively about the room, refusing to rest on Attat. Her webbed hands were bound before her. Her feet were shackled, so she was forced to shuffle as the minotaurs jerked her forward. The elf held up her head proudly, managing to convey both a fierce defiance and a profound humiliation at being thus chained and handled.

"Allow me to introduce Tailonna," Attat said mockingly. "One of the many guests staying in my humble home." The minotaur rose from his chair and waved a hand to his side, indicating the guards should bring his guest to him. Then he sat heavily and looked at the sea elf.

Tailonna, who had been dragged to stand just to Attat's right, stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the minotaur or his introduction, and avoiding the gazes of Melas and his crew. Maq was impressed with the captive creature's dignity.

"Tailonna comes to us from coastal waters near the kuo-toa colony," Attat continued. "My scouts were lucky enough to… acquire… her during the same expedition as when they discovered news of the morkoth. Unfortunately, because of her ability to shapechange into an otter, and because she possesses a number of other magical capabilities, we have had to keep her in a special tank during her visit here and use these chains strengthened with a special lock spell when we do let her out. So I'm afraid she has found our hospitality somewhat lacking."

Tailonna maintained her stony facade throughout Attat's derisive speech.

"She should prove very helpful in any attempt to capture the morkoth," Attat added. "Among other things, she knows how to brew a potion of water breathing that allows humans and other surface creatures to breathe underwater."

Why should she help you? Maquesta startled herself with her own boldness. But when Attat didn't react, she realized she had only thought the words, not said them aloud, though once again her sense of having been heard was strong.

The question was a pertinent one, and Melas voiced it himself, couched more politely, a moment later.

Attat shrugged. "I've found Tailonna is more trouble than she's worth in terms of the amusement she provides me. If she helps capture the morkoth, once it is safely ensconced here, I have agreed to release her. Knowing how honorable the elvish people are, I believe I can trust her to help you." Again, Attat mocked his captive.

Melas looked askance at the sea elf prisoner. Nothing in his exchange with Attat had made him feel more uncomfortable. He held his fists clenched at his sides. Every aspect of his bearing conveyed tension, Maq observed with concern.

Again, Attat clapped his hands, this time saying nothing. Maq looked around the hall. Her search ended at an alcove just to the left of the minotaur lord's dais. A heavy red velvet curtain that covered the alcove's arched opening into the great hall was being pushed slowly to one side by someone or something standing behind it. A cloaked figure stepped forward from the alcove's dark recess, holding a tall staff that ended in a wicked-looking hook.

Maquesta stared at the figure, thinking she had seen it before. As she continued to gape, Attat motioned the figure to approach.

"Here is another useful addition for the Perechon crew during the morkoth expedition. Ilyatha, pull back your hood!" the minotaur commanded.

The figure had remained just inside the alcove's archway, declining to step into the main hall, which was well lit by the late afternoon sunshine streaming in through the windows behind the dais. A slender, clawed hand reached up and pushed back the hood. The creature's green eyes blinked rapidly, and it appeared to shrink away from the light.

Maq had no idea what she was looking at. It looked vaguely like a man, but short, smooth black fur covered its head and body, and under the voluminous cloak it was covered in an expensive-looking brocade tunic that looked more like a tabard because of its side slits. Its glance, as it surveyed Melas, Maq, and the others, suggested exceptional intelligence and commanded immediate respect. But the face, with its squashed-in appearance, pug nose, and sharp lower canine teeth protruding over its upper lip evoked the image of some sort of beast, perhaps an ape. Maq turned to Hvel and raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question. But even Hvel looked perplexed.

I am a shadowperson.

Even though she knew she hadn't voiced her question about the nature of this creature, Maquesta once again felt she had been heard-and this time, answered. Hvel had heard, also. His eyes grew round, and Maq realized why. Shadowpeople were the stuff of legends, not real! She stared at the creature.

I am, to my dismay in this instance, indeed flesh and blood. In your tongue, the closest rendering of my name is Ilyatha. Like Tailonna, I also am a prisoner of Attat's. The reasons for my compulsory attendance here are perhaps more subtle than hers, but no less real.

Ilyatha spoke with great sadness. Only Maq was looking straight at him, and she hadn't seen his lips move! Maquesta furrowed her brow and started to open her mouth, a question burning on her lips.

"Yes, Ilyatha is a telepath," Attat explained. "He not only communicates his thoughts without speaking; it is useless to try to hide yours from him. An annoying talent, at times, but one that should prove invaluable in your quest to outwit the kuo-toa and bring back the morkoth."

Melas regarded the shadowperson suspiciously. "Can he sail?"

"Indeed, yes," said Attat, chuckling. "Ilyatha has a special proclivity for traveling by wind power. In fact, you saw a demonstration of it during the race. Ilyatha, show the honorable captain what I mean."

With apparent reluctance, the shadowperson drew a long, thin, delicately carved flute from inside his cloak. When he raised the instrument to his mouth, Maquesta, fascinated, saw that his arms were attached to the sides of his body by thin membranes, like the webbing of a bat's wing. He began to play a pure, high-pitched melody that soared and dipped and turned back on itself, tugging at Maq's memory. As the pace of the melody picked up, Maq noticed the curtains behind the dais begin to sway, the wall torches flicker. A light breeze tousled her hair, then a gust of wind caught Maq unawares, knocking her off balance and causing her to stumble into Vartan, who grabbed her by the arm and offered her a condescending smile. She could see he himself had planted his legs wide apart in order to maintain his footing against the wind that had inexplicably sprung up in the great hall.

Then Maquesta recalled when and where she had heard that music before-on the Perechon, during the race, when the Katos had finally overtaken them. Her fascination turned to fury at both Attat and Ilyatha. They had connived and used magic to make the Perechon lose! She looked over at her father and saw, by the storm gathering in his face, that he had realized the same thing.

The wind tore at a decorative metal shield suspended above Attat's chair, pulling it down and tumbling it off the carpeted dais onto the hall's stone floor with a loud clatter.

"That's enough!" a clearly vexed Attat bellowed. He snapped his fingers, and one of the guards rushed to pick up the shield.

Ilyatha took the flute from his lips. The wind died away instantly.

"You try my patience, Ilyatha, and that is not a good thing, as I shouldn't have to tell you." He glared at the shadowperson, who pulled his hood up over his head and stepped back into the dark alcove.

"What about my patience?" Melas demanded, his every word filled with unconcealed fury. "How can you expect me to take on this mission and sail the Perechon for your benefit with the aim of earning her back when you have so clearly demonstrated your untrustworthiness? You used magic to win the race! That is forbidden by the rules! I am going to complain to the Supreme Council!"

The minotaur threw back his head and laughed, the deep bass tones reverberating off the chamber walls. "Come now, Melas. Don't be foolish. I should simply deny it, as would every sailor on the Katos. Do you really think the highest minotaur ruling body would take the word of a human against that of one of its own nobles?" Attat asked, his nostrils flaring. "Oh, I suspect you'll go after the morkoth for me. I suspect you'll do it because it's your only chance, however tenuous, of getting back your precious Perechon."

For an instant, Melas stood erect with fury, staring at Attat. A pulse throbbed visibly at his temple. Then his shoulders slumped; his gaze dropped. The intricacy of Attat's plotting and arranging overwhelmed him. Was it possible the lord had this planned from the very beginning, intending to find a pawn for his creature hunt?

"Yes, I'll do it," he said, his voice pitched just above a whisper. "When do you expect us to leave? It will take a day or two to lay in supplies, and-"

"No!" The objection came from Averon, who had stood silently next to Attat throughout the meeting. Averon directed his exclamation not at Melas, but at Attat.

"We had an agreement! I paid you! I am to be the captain of the Perechon on the mission to catch the morkoth!" Averon shouted, thrusting himself forward to the edge of the dais.

Melas looked in astonishment at his friend. "Paid him? Why? With what money? What do you mean, you would be the Perechon's captain?"

"I wanted to help," Averon said, turning, wild eyes toward Melas. "Don't you see, I wanted to help you instead of you always helping me. I wanted to show I could captain the Perechon and help you get her back!" Averon pleaded, sounding more desperate each second. Melas stared at him in disbelief.

"Your friend here," Attat interjected sarcastically, "is the proud new owner of a tidy purse as a result of a bet he placed on the race, a large wager that the Katos would win."

The enormity of Averon's betrayal shattered Maq, even though she knew it was coming. He must have known the Perechon couldn't win, perhaps had even plotted with Attat to arrange the loss. Maq closed her eyes for an instant. She opened them in time to see Averon, uttering a strangled cry of protest, leap onto the dais, pull a dagger from his waistband, and lunge at Attat. In that same instant, Melas pulled his sword from its scabbard and leapt up after him.

Maq wasn't sure whether her father intended to hurt or help Averon. She simply couldn't tell. But it didn't matter. With a graceful series of movements, Attat rolled aside to avoid Averon's dagger, stood up from the chair, pulled a clabbard sword from his harness, turned and, holding the hilt of the sword with both hands, sliced off Averon's head.

Everything that followed took on a slow-motion, dreamlike quality for Maq. Averon's headless body crumpled at Attat's feet, spurting blood, while his head rolled off the dais and landed with a sickening thud on the paving stones, the eyes open. His eyes blinked once, a muscle reflex, then became glassy and fixed.

On the dais, one of the minotaur guards next to Tailonna aimed his barbed shatang throwing spear at Melas, who stood with his sword drawn facing Attat. Just as the guard made a move to throw the shatang, the sea elf jostled against him, knocking the spear off its intended target at the center of Melas's chest. The shatang hit Melas in the shoulder with such force that it knocked him backward and pinned him to the dais.

"No!" Maquesta screamed, jumping forward to reach her father.

Guards moved in from both sides of the hall to contain Maquesta and the others. Instinctively, she swung her right leg out in a roundhouse kick that struck one of the guards in the groin, causing him to drop his shatang and double over in pain. She drove her elbow up into another guard's stomach, just below his rib cage.

The blow was well placed and caused the huge beast to pause, but only for an instant. He was upon Maq before she could draw her short sword. He struck her across the face, knocking her to the ground, where she lay, face against the cold stones, the guard's hoof in the small of her back, holding her down.

Vartan had managed to draw his weapon and wielded it expertly against one of the guards who looked clumsy with his. After a final parry, he stuck the guard through, but wasted too many seconds appreciating his own handiwork. With a roar, another guard leapt at Vartan from behind, bringing a studded tessto down on his shoulder, causing Vartan to drop his sword and fall to his knees, groaning in pain. Attat must have instructed his guards not to kill any of the sailors if there was trouble because Vartan's attacker, instead of finishing him off, kicked him, then sat on the human to immobilize him.

Micah was not so lucky, however. In the first moments of the melee, he had jumped on a guard's back, stabbing at the minotaur with a dagger. The creature smashed his antagonist against one of the stone columns, trying to dislodge Micah. The guard's aim was, perhaps intentionally, a little off. Micah's head flew back hard, becoming impaled on one of the daggerlike points of the metal torch holders. He hung there, the point protruding from his forehead.

Greatly outnumbered, Canin, Magpie, Gorz, and Hvel were swiftly and efficiently overpowered. A cacophony of roars, grunts, and howls filled the hall as the chained monsters vocalized either their bloodlust or fear. The guards looked for further instructions, but Attat only paced back and forth across the dais, occasionally kicking Melas savagely.

"Take them to the dungeon," he snarled, finally turning to address his lackeys. "Take them all below!"