Maquesta Kar-Thon

Chapter 5

Maquesta drifted in and out of consciousness. The race played over and over in her mind, and she felt her body being tossed about as if she were constantly cresting one wave after another. Numerous times she stared at the crew of the Torado going down to the fangs and talons of the sea hags, and she watched Lendle tend to the only survivor, Fritzen Dorgaard. She also saw her father's grinning face, and she recalled many of the pleasurable moments they had shared on the deck of the Perechon. Then she saw his heartbroken expression when the Katos pulled ahead for the last time. She saw her mother's face, too; the details of that pale elven visage were distinct and beautiful and put Maquesta at ease. It had been fourteen years since the elf's disappearance, and with each passing month it became more difficult for Maquesta to remember just what her mother looked like. But it wasn't hard to remember in her dreams. She tossed and turned and her mind whirled, churning like the water around the Eye of the Bull.

Eventually the visions vanished, and she slowly pulled herself back to ugly reality. Sweating, her heart pounding, she finally opened her eyes. She must have been hit harder than she remembered. She recalled being dragged down narrow stone steps, slimy with mold and fungus. The steps ended in an evil-smelling pit of darkness. There must have been doors, because she heard a number of them creak open on rusty hinges, followed by the sound of bodies being thrown or pushed inside and the doors loudly slamming shut. Then it was her turn to be tossed inside, and a door closed behind her.

Maquesta rubbed her eyes and propped herself up on her elbows. She remembered the cell as being very small. Looking about the dim interior, she decided her memory was serving her well. Standing, with her curls brushing against the low ceiling, she grabbed her throbbing head with both hands. Maq tenderly felt about until she discovered a bump just above her left ear. They had been none too gentle in subduing her. She paced back and forth, only three good steps between the walls. Her stomach rumbled, and her throat and mouth were dry. Feeling her ribs and gauging her hunger, she guessed she had been in here several days. Frustrated, she selected a wall that felt less slimy than the others and leaned against it. Sliding down to the floor with her back against the cool stone, Maq could almost stretch her legs out and touch the opposite wall with her feet. She had to sit with her back angled away from the damp stones in order to avoid slipping into the open refuse trench that ran around the entire perimeter of the room. She sat slumped uncomfortably like that for she knew not how long. Hours, she suspected, as her head had started to hurt less and her stomach rumbled more.

The sound of groans eventually roused her from her state of despair. When Maq opened her eyes, she was feeling a little better, though she was weak from hunger. Her eyes, more perceptive than a human's, adjusted well to the lack of light. She easily could make out the cell's wooden door with its grated window. What illumination existed came through that opening. At the very top of the walls on either side of the cell, a long, shallow gap, also covered with an iron grate, presumably led to neighboring cells. Groans filtered in to her through one of these.

Listening closely, Maq thought she recognized the tones.

"Father?"

The moaning stopped.

"Father?" She leapt to her feet and made it to the door in two steps.

"Maquesta?" The voice that spoke her name quavered with ill health and fatigue. Nonetheless, Maq felt tremendous joy and relief. She had feared her father was dead.

"Thank the gods you're alive, Father! How is your shoulder? Did they tend to it at all?"

"No. They did nothing other than handle me roughly. I fear it is infected. I have no way to clean it. But don't worry, dear. Your mother has come to nurse me. She will take good care of me."

"Mother?" An icy hand gripped Maquesta's heart. Melas must be delirious, which meant his wound was indeed infected. She had to think of a way to get him out of here! Maq slumped back against the wall and cried.

The next time Maq woke it was to the sounds of guards conversing in the guttural minotaur tongue. She heard the repeated metallic clink of keys banging together on a large key ring. The guards sounded nervous. Moments later, several pairs of hooves came clicking down the stone stairs. Maq pressed her face against the opening in her cell door. In the eerie light cast by several large braziers of glowing coals, Maquesta saw Attat sweep into the central court of his dungeon, which Maq could now see was used for torture. She stepped back away from the door and let the shadows hide her.

She heard Attat stalk directly over to Melas's cell. He called for one of the guards on duty to open the door.

"You have ruined my plans!" Attat spoke loudly, but Maq wondered if her father were even consciousness. She heard a dull thud, followed by a wince of pain.

"Get up when I'm speaking to you!" Attat said something in the minotaur language to the guards. Maq heard a rustling in the cell, then a sharp exclamation from her father. The guards must have grabbed him by his arms and forced him to his feet, wrenching his wounded shoulder. She couldn't bear to listen.

"There, that's better," Attat continued. "Normally I would have had you all killed for daring to attack me. But with Averon dead, I wanted you to go after the morkoth. I thought a week in my dungeon would teach you to have greater respect for me. But I see now that you're of no use to me in your condition.

"There's nothing for it-I'll have to find a new captain and crew, and you all will have to die. You last, Melas Kar-Thon, so you can watch your sailors pay for your foolishness and so you can watch your woman pay for your affront to me."

"Lord Attat! Lord Attat! May I please have a word with you?"

Maquesta summoned all her strength and presence of mind to call out to the minotaur noble. She had propped herself up against the wall for support, and maneuvered around to the door again, holding on to the bars with her fingers.

Attat, however, gave no sign of having heard her, or perhaps merely did not wish to respond. He began to walk toward the stairs.

"I can captain the Perechon! I can capture the morkoth for you!"

With a minotaur's infravision, his ability to see remarkably well in the gloominess of the dungeon, he turned and peered at each of the cells until his eyes lit on Maquesta's hands.

"And who might you be?"

"Maquesta Kar-Thon, daughter of Melas. I grew up on the Perechon. I've sailed my whole life. The crew knows me. I can do it. I even steered the ship through some tough conditions in the race."

"Daughter?" he purred. "I thought you were his doxy."

Attat's laughter echoed off the dungeon's walls. "I like a girl who has dreams, but not ones that I have to pay for," he said harshly. "I do thank you for one thing, however. Now that I know who you are, I can be sure to have you killed last, so you can watch your father die. Slowly."

Attat clapped his hands, and the guards came running. "I want them fed, though not much, and give them water. I want them reasonably healthy, clinging to life, thinking they have a chance. There's no satisfaction in it if they're praying for their deaths."

Over the next few days, Maquesta was forced to witness the horrific tortures of Magpie, Canin, and Gorz. The guards brought both her and her father out of their cells to watch the macabre rituals. For Canin it was the rack. Then, weakened by hours of torment, he was thrown back into his cell with a bullywug, which finished him off and then ate him.

For Magpie, it was hot coals and branding irons, followed by a one-sided encounter with a griffon. When Maq closed her eyes and covered her ears, she could still see the blood and hear his screams.

Gorz hung from his wrists for hours while a case lined with sharp spikes slowly closed around him, piercing his skin. The guards sneered that they left him alive so they would have someone to torment tomorrow.

Maquesta cursed herself for selecting the men to accompany her, her father, and Averon to the minotaur lord's. If the men had stayed behind on the Perechon, they would be safe and free. Tears streamed down her face, and she wondered if the rest of the crew had already left the ship. At least they would not fall prey to Attat, she told herself.

Through the horror, Maq was still thankful she could be near her father, though his condition was rapidly worsening. When the guards were preoccupied with their amusement, Maq did what she could to clean Melas's wound. The infection seemed to be spreading down his arm. Most of the time, he rambled-about Mi-al, about sailing ships, about his youth, but never about Averon.

Only once did the fog seem to lift completely. He looked at Maq clearly. "I got you into this mess, Maquesta, and it's all because I trusted someone I shouldn't have. Never make that mistake-promise me. You can trust your family, but no one else. Promise me you'll never forget. Promise!"

He grasped her arm and held her gaze until she nodded. "Yes. I promise," she whispered.

"Money is something that will never betray you, either. Remember that, too!" She nodded again.

Maquesta studied the dungeon's layout and the guards' routines every chance she had in the hopes of divining some means of escape. The cells extended in a horseshoe pattern around three sides of the large central area where the torture implements were prominently displayed. The only prisoners were, or had been, the Perechon crewmembers-except for one minotaur, a muscular, imposing figure whom Maq had never heard speak. While clearly a prisoner, the minotaur had something of a special status in the dungeon. Maq had never seen him tortured, for one thing. With his legs shackled, he was sometimes allowed out of his cell by the guards and commanded to aid them by doing such things as handing them hot branding irons while they "worked." From the way the prisoner minotaur regarded such activities, however, that may have been a type of torture.

The narrow stairway leading up to the rest of Attat's palace was located on the fourth side of the torture chamber. The stairs afforded the only way in or out of the dungeon.

As a result, only two guards were routinely assigned to stand watch at a time, on rotating shifts. The two who worked at night seemed less responsible than the others, Maq had observed, occasionally bringing a flask of spicy spirits that they would imbibe late in the evening. It was during one of these episodes that Maq saw a dirk slip from one of the guard's harnesses. Without realizing what had fallen, the guard inadvertently kicked the dirk underneath one of the hot coal braziers, which sat on short legs, close to the ground.

The next day, Maquesta was let out of her cell to watch the final torment of Gorz, who was beaten until his flesh was bloody and then thrown in an iron-barred cage with an ice bear. While the guards watched the grisly scene with growing excitement, she edged away from them, squatted by the coal brazier, and reached about for the dirk. She burned her hand, but she managed to wrap her fingers about the weapon. Taking a quick look around before extracting it, Maq realized that the minotaur prisoner had seen her. His eyes met hers, and while his face remained impassive, she didn't believe he would sound a warning. Maq slipped the dirk into her back waistband and watched helplessly as the bear finished devouring Gorz.

Only Vartan, Hvel, herself, and Melas were left. She wasn't even certain Vartan was still alive, or what kind of condition he was in. He was never allowed out of his cell, so she hadn't seen him since they were all thrown into the dungeon. Still, Maquesta hadn't seen him tortured and killed, so that was some consolation. Hvel was alive. At night when the guards were drinking, he called to her. But he was not doing well. They were feeding him the same amount passed under the door to her, which was little, and the guards continued to berate him, teasing him about how he would be tortured and what creature he would soon fill the belly of.

Maquesta knew she had to act before she grew much weaker on the meager, gray gruel the guards fed them. She had to do something.

The next day when the guards dragged her and Melas out of their cells, she was ready. Maq watched until the guards unlocked Hvel's cell and started to drag him out. They barked some command in their language at the minotaur prisoner, who shuffled over to the cell. With all three of their backs turned to her, Maquesta braced her back against the wall near one of the hot coal braziers and used her feet to push it over, spilling the coals onto a pile of moldy straw. For an instant, she feared the straw was too damp to catch fire. Then the straw began to smoke and finally flames flickered up, dancing merrily in the still air.

"Fire!" She hoped the guards understood that word in the human tongue. Whether it was that or the smoke, they turned around in alarm.

One of them immediately ran over and began stomping on the straw. The flames licked about his hooves, and he howled as he continued his efforts, even thrashing at the straw with his club. Maq grinned-he was too stupid to realize the fire could not spread beyond the straw. It could not burn the stone floor or walls.

The smoke billowed about him, and he began to cough. Through the haze, she saw the other minotaur guard rush toward the steps. Hoping the smoke provided some cover, Maquesta slipped the dirk from her waistband and ran after the retreating guard. He covered the long distance quickly and placed his weapon against the wall while he fumbled about for his keys. She couldn't let him leave and sound a warning! Her feet pounded over the stones to close the distance, and she grabbed her side, which ached from the unaccustomed exertion.

The guard must have heard her coming, for he turned around and glared at her. She returned the menacing look and leapt forward even as he strode to meet her. Without hesitation, she shoved the dirk into the guard's chest where she expected his heart to be. He merely growled at her, raised his right arm, and slapped her away. She fell to her rump and was momentarily dazed. A shadow loomed over Maq, and she looked up to see the minotaur towering above her. With a grunt, he pulled the dirk out of his chest, looked at it, and growled even more loudly. He tossed the small blade to the ground and bent over to reach out for her. Maq deftly rolled to the side and pushed off from the stone in one fluid motion, landing on her feet. The minotaur's flailing hands closed on air, and he growled again.

Stooping to retrieve the dirk, she danced backward as he lunged at her. This time, however, his outstretched hand found her, his fingers closing about a mass of her curly hair. He pulled her to him roughly, and Maq felt as if he were going to yank her head off. Bringing her in to his chest, her face pressed up against his bleeding wound, he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed hard.

A jolt of pain raced up her spine, and Maq realized he meant to break her back! Clenching her eyes shut and futilely trying to block out the horrid sensation, she steeled herself and bit his wound. He howled in pain and eased his grip just enough so she could squeeze her hand out, the one that still firmly clutched the dirk. She jabbed at his side with the blade, repeatedly stabbing him until, with a groan, he let her go. This time he was the one to back up, shuffling to the wall where his own weapon, a large, curved sword rested.

No! Maq's mind screamed. She couldn't let him get that weapon. Then she wouldn't have a chance. "No!" she shouted aloud, as she used the last of her strength to melt the distance between them. She fitted both of her hands about the small pommel of the dirk, the blade pointed away from her. Closing to him, she jumped and shoved the blade upward, ramming it into his throat. The minotaur staggered backward, blood gushing from his wound. He thrashed about, and his hands clutched at his throat, trying to pull the dirk free. But Maquesta had used such force that the blade held, and the hapless guard fell heavily to his knees, then pitched over onto his stomach.

The clomping sound of hooves over stone behind her caused Maq to whirl. The second guard apparently had given up on the blaze and was running over to see what was happening. He was armed with a spiked club, which he swung at her as he approached. Maquesta squatted as the weapon whooshed in the stale air inches above her head.

Pushing off with her legs, she threw herself forward, her head and right shoulder hitting him squarely in the abdomen and knocking him back. The club clattered to the floor, and the guard swung his arms about, trying to keep his balance and stay on his hooves, as all the while he shouted what must be curses at her in minotaur.

Undaunted and determined to be free, Maquesta kicked hard, her foot striking him in the groin. Teetering, he bent forward in pain and surprise, then finally lost his balance and fell backward, his rump thumping hard on the stone floor. He groaned and toppled to his back, laying sprawled like a baby. Maq leapt over him and landed behind him, where his club had skittered. She bent to retrieve it, and her fingers closed about its thin handle just as he decided to struggle to his feet.

"No you don't!" she scolded. "You're not going anywhere."

The minotaur worked himself into a sitting position, his back an easy target for Maquesta. Dashing forward, she pulled the weapon past her shoulder, then swung it in an arc with all her might, aiming at the back of his head. Her aim was a little off, but she hit him between his shoulder blades, and he fell forward, his head striking the stone floor between his spread legs. Not sure if he would rise to fight again, she hit him a second time and grimaced when she heard the bones in his skull crack.

Finished with her ghastly work, she dropped the club and took in great gulps of the smoke-tinged air. Coughing, she staggered to the first minotaur she had killed and rolled him over so the key ring on his belt showed. She pulled it loose and nearly gagged. She needed fresh air! The smoke from her fire had reached all the way over here. Clasping the key ring in her trembling fingers, she ran over to unlock Vartan's cell. He staggered out, disoriented and weak on his feet. Hvel, she saw, wasn't much better. Her heart sinking, Maq realized she would not be able to count on these two to help her get Melas up the stairs. They'd be lucky to make it themselves. She looked up at the captive minotaur, who had busied himself with trying to put out the flames.

"If you help me, we can all go free," she told him.

He simply nodded. "And if you help me stop this smoke, no one should be drawn here to investigate." Maq grinned and helped him extinguish the last of the flames. The smoke was thick where they stood, but it had not yet reached through the barred door that led to the rest of the palace.

Maquesta pointed to her father, who sat with his back against the stone wall. His head had fallen forward on his chest, and he coughed softly. She looked up at the minotaur. "Could you help me carry him?"

"Wait just a minute," the minotaur replied. "Let me try to break my shackles." His voice was deep and rumbled out of his chest. He placed the chain that held his feet together over the brazier that still stood. When the links glowed a fiery orange, he smashed them with a giant mallet the guards had used to drive wedges into the rack, in order to lock the gears in place. The chain broke apart as if it were made out of toothpicks.

"I am Bas-Ohn Koraf," the minotaur said somewhat formally.

"And I am Maquesta Kar-Thon," Maq grunted as she tried to get Melas's arm over her shoulder and lift him to his feet.

"Here, allow me."

The minotaur picked up her father easily, cradling him in brawny arms. Maq herded Hvel and Vartan up the stairs as the smoke started to dissipate around them.

Several minutes later, they slipped out through one of the glass doors leading to the garden, finally free of the dark confines of Attat's dungeon and his palace's twisting corridors.

"Let's head for that tall tree near the wall. We can climb it and jump over," Maq said urgently. She knew it wasn't much of a plan, but it was all she could think of, and she didn't want to wait around to come up with something better. The minotaur nodded.

Circling behind a half-moon of terraced rock garden, Maq had just turned to urge the minotaur to hurry when the look on his face caused her to turn back. Directly in front of her stood Attat and a cloaked Ilyatha, flanked by a troop of guards.

Maquesta's heart sank, and she fought back tears.

"I have to admit, I am impressed," Attat said, his voice betraying more menace than approval. "At the human, Koraf, not at you," he snarled at the minotaur carrying Melas.

"How did you track us so that you ended up in front of us?" Maq demanded.

"I had no need to track you, not with the help of Ilyatha here."

Maquesta could not see the shadowperson's face, but she glared in his direction. Ilyatha bowed his head. Maq couldn't decide whether the gesture was in acknowledgment or in shame.

"I may have spoken too hastily before," Attat continued, striding forward until he stood only a few feet away from Maquesta. "I think I will indeed allow you to captain the Perechon. I could do much worse, like with Koraf there."

"What about my father?" Maq's tone was brusque, almost demanding. She'd been pushed to her limits, and she no longer feared what the minotaur lord would do to her. "I want him to come with me. He can mend on the voyage and be of great help to me."

"No, no, no. I don't think he's quite up to a rigorous ocean voyage, do you?" Attat asked with mock solicitude. "I have other plans for him. He's my insurance-that you will come back. And your motivation-to successfully accomplish the mission."

"I want him to come with me," Maq said flatly. "I don't want him back in that dungeon of yours. I don't think he'd last another day there. And with my father dead, you have no insurance, and I have no motivation."

Attat smiled at her, his bull-like lips curling upward. He crossed his chest with his muscular arms, and his bracelets sparkled in the sunlight. "I'll concede you something, Maquesta. He won't be returned to the dungeon. While you are getting the Perechon ready for your voyage, I'll give him a room in the main part of the palace, have Tailonna tend to his wound. She will make certain he has something nourishing to eat. He'll be better by the time you leave. The only one going back to the dungeon is Koraf here."

Maquesta heard Koraf growl softly, and she decided to press Attat into a second concession.

"No. He comes with me." Maq stood with her arms crossed, mimicking Attat. "You've killed three sailors from my crew, four if you count Averon. I'm shorthanded, and I've already seen that Bas-Ohn Koraf is an able worker. I'm sure I can teach him what he needs to know about sailing before we leave. You can do whatever you want with him once we return with your precious morkoth."

The minotaur lord threw back his head and chuckled, then leveled his gaze at Maquesta, his eyes seeming to smoulder. "Oh, you don't have to teach Koraf a thing about sailing. Shipbuilding is his trade."

Attat stroked his chin and looked at Ilyatha. The shadowperson faced him, and Maq suspected some kind of conversation was occurring between the two. She smiled weakly; apparently Attat was considering her demand to allow Koraf to go free.

At last the minotaur whirled to face her and took a step forward until he was now only inches away. She could smell the strong, musky odor of him, but she refused to move. Glaring down at her, he raised a lip in a sneer, then relaxed his expression.

"Go ahead, leave," Attat said abruptly. "Just you and the two others from the Perechon," he added, pointing at Vartan and Hvel. "I expect you back here in two days, ready to depart. I'll give you my decision then. In the meantime, Koraf stays here."

Maq looked into the eyes of the minotaur Bas-Ohn Koraf, but couldn't read what she saw there. He did nod slightly, as if giving her permission to leave.

After making sure Melas was settled comfortably, Maquesta grabbed Hvel and Vartan by their hands and hurried out the hammered silver doors, through the gate, and into the muddy streets of Lacynos.