Maquesta Kar-Thon

Chapter 6

"Lendle! Fritzen-you're well! But what are you two doing here? You both should be on the Perechon." Maquesta wanted to scold them and hug them at the same time. But she was too relieved to be free to do either.

She encountered the pair just as she, Hvel, and Vartan emerged from Attat's walled compound. Maq ran her left hand through her hair and came away with fingers full of dirt and spiderwebs. Her right hand held a leather bag Attat had grudgingly given her. Maq looked down at herself for the first time in more than two weeks, thinking about how she must appear. Her clothes were ragged and filthy. She was sure she smelled terrible. The bruise across her cheekbone from where a guard had hit her shone a sickly yellow through her dark skin. However, Vartan and Hvel looked little better.

Lendle eyed her up and down, his gnomish eyes lingering on her smudged face. "We've been keeping watch on the compound. I was trying to figure out a way to get inside. I had plans drawn up for a catapult large enough to send Fritzen over the walls. But I didn't have enough coins to buy the materials and equipment to assemble it." The gnome reached up and grabbed her hand and started pulling her away from the palace. "Of course, I still hadn't quite worked out how Fritzen would return, there being no catapult on the other side."

As they walked, Fritzen offered a crooked smile to Maq, Hvel, and Vartan. The stitches in his face had been removed, and only a slight red welt showed any indication that his face had been slashed. "The city's guards refused to help. They said what goes on inside Attat's walls is his concern, and no one else's. I had just suggested a direct approach: gather the crew and storm his front gate. I might have talked Lendle into it, too, but you happened to come out." He gave her a concerned look. "You've been gone sixteen days. We really thought we were going to have to go in to rescue the lot of you. And you do look like you're in need of rescuing."

Lendle stopped and whirled around, dropping Maq's hand and staring up at her. "W-Wait!" he stammered. "Waitwaitwaitamoment." He cast a quick glance back at the palace. "Where's Melas? Where's Averon? Whatabouttheothers?" Lendle began pouring out questions in his best gnomish fashion. "WherearetheyMaquestaKarThon?"

Maquesta continued to stride away from Attat's home. "Slow down, Lendle. There aren't good answers for those questions. Let's wait to talk about it when we're back on the Perechon."

As the blocks passed on their trek to the wharf, Maquesta's pace slowed. Exhaustion finally swept over her in an overpowering wave, and she had to sit on a bench outside a tavern. She paused there only a moment to catch her breath, however, then she stood and forced herself to put one foot in front of the other to make it back to the docks. Vartan and Hvel walked just as slowly, asking from time to time to stop and rest. Lendle and Fritzen worried over the battered trio, but Maquesta was not in the mood for mothering.

Maquesta, Vartan, and Hvel did not protest when Fritzen said he would oar the longboat back to the Perechon by himself. His powerful arms brought them steadily closer to the ship, while the trio huddled together and tried not to doze off.

Once on board, Maquesta sat on a water barrel on the deck and motioned Lendle close. She handed the gnome the leather sack she had been carrying. Curiosity getting the best of him, he immediately grabbed it and stuck his face inside the opening. Inside were flour, beans, dried meat, spices, and other foodstuffs that made Lendle yip for joy. A smaller sack at the bottom contained three dozen steel pieces. "For provisions," she told the gnome. "I'm appointing you purser. You're family. I can trust you."

Lendle eyed her inquisitively. "WhoisthisfromMaquestaKarThon?" The questions tumbled from his rapidly-moving lips. "Whowouldgiveusfoodandcoins? Whereisyourfather? Didyoufinduswork? Didhefinduswork? Whathappenedtoyouthatyoulooklikethis? Wheredidthisstuffcomefrom?"

"From a devil," Maquesta replied quietly. "We're working for a devil."

She stood and looked down at her gnome friend. "For the moment, I am the captain of the Perechon. I need you to buy some supplies. I'll trust your judgment. We'll be sailing on a procurement mission for a few weeks. Make sure you have plenty of food to keep the crew full. That will help keep them happy. Now, I'm going to my cabin to take a hot bath. A very long, hot bath. I'll talk to you when you return."

Maquesta shuffled away from Lendle, who still had a dozen more questions he wanted answers to. She washed herself, threw away the clothes she'd been wearing for the past two weeks, and then promptly collapsed into her bunk where she slept for half a day.

In truth, she could have slept much longer, but a knock on the door from Lendle awakened her. Without waiting for an invitation, the gnome bustled in carrying a mug of tannic tea. He thrust it beneath her nose as she sat, yawning, on the edge of her bunk. The tea's astringent aroma filled Maq's head, snapping her wide awake. She took a sip. "What is it?"

"Nevermindjustdrinkit," Lendle admonished. "Itwillhelpyouheal."

"I'm afraid it will take more than a strong cup of tea to do that," Maquesta said ruefully.

Lendle assumed an attentive, listening air that encouraged confession, and Maquesta poured out the story of Attat's palace, the fight, Averon's death, the dungeon's horrors, the mission she had agreed to lead in search of the morkoth, and the expected additions to the crew.

"We must be back at Attat's by sunset tomorrow to collect Father and the new crewmembers. Then we must be ready to sail the next morning," Maq said. "I had better get together the crew to explain what's happening and see if anyone wants to drop out. I hope they'll stay on. We've lost too many people already."

Lendle nodded in agreement while he rubbed some sweet-smelling salve into open sores on Maq's shoulders and arms, the result of the dungeon's constant dampness and considerable insect population.

"What about Fritzen Dorgaard?" Maq asked. "Is he fully recovered?"

"His body healed amazingly fast. But not his spirit, I fear," Lendle answered. "He ever wears a mask of good nature, though, to hide all the scars he has inside. I think he will be glad of something to do, and I suspect he'll stay on with the crew. He has nothing now that the Torado is gone. He's a skilled seaman and will be a great aid to you."

Maquesta stretched her arms out to her sides, then brought them in and felt her ribs again. She thought about getting something to eat, but realized there were more important things for her to attend to first. "I'll have to prepare the crew for the presence of the sea elf," Maq said, thinking out loud. "If she doesn't hold herself too aloof, they will come to appreciate her talents. She did what she could during the fight in Attat's palace. I believe she prevented Father from being killed.

"The shadowperson, though, I do not trust." Maq scowled at her recollection of Ilyatha. "He was the one who divined our escape attempt and betrayed us to Attat. In fact, he was the one who played the flute of wind dancing that caused us to lose the race in the first place. You must help me keep close watch on him, Lendle. And try to keep your mind focused on simple things when he is about. He can poke into a person's very thoughts."

"I do not think I would like that, Maquesta Kar-Thon," the gnome said, trying hard to speak slowly.

"And did I tell you that a minotaur sailor will be joining the crew?"

"A minotaur!" Lendle said, scowling. "What magical abilities does he possess? He's the addition you'll have to pave the way for, after what we heard about how Attat and his lackeys treated you."

"Why? Have Hvel and Vartan been talking? Were they up and about before me?"

Lendle nodded vigorously. Maq frowned. She didn't want to be seen as requiring more rest and recuperation than her men.

Her men, she thought. Her ship.

"They were not as badly treated as you, I think," Lendle said, understanding her concern. "The stories they told about that place and its occupants, though, curled my toes," he added.

Maq grimaced. "Yes, but this minotaur, Bas-Ohn Koraf, was not one of Attat's beastly minions. He was his prisoner. And he helped us break out of the dungeon. He's an ugly cur, but far different from Attat, I think," Maq said.

"But Attat, him we must be careful of, even tomorrow when we are supposedly there to do his bidding. That one is smooth on the outside, but all jagged, poisonous, and evil on the inside. If it weren't for the fact that he holds Melas, I'd say we should just take off in the Perechon, forget the debt, see if he could catch us."

Maq pursed her lips. "Vartan and Hvel told you about Father?"

The gnome nodded sadly.

Maquesta stood on the upper aft deck, having just finished telling the Perechon crew, assembled below her on the main deck, about what lay ahead if they chose to stay with the ship under her command. Even before she had begun to speak, Maq sensed a new level of respect from the sailors. By then, Vartan and Hvel's story about how she had led the escape attempt from Attat's dungeon was known to everyone on board.

"Does anyone not want to ship out? I'll not hold it against you, nor will Melas. When it's time for him to sail again, I'm sure you can rejoin the crew. No hard feelings."

The men's silence gratified Maq.

Fritzen leapt up onto the steps leading from the main deck to where Maquesta stood. "Let's hear it for the new captain of the Perechon," he shouted. "If we close our eyes, it's just like being captained by Melas Kar-Thon, himself. But once we open them, we know we're much luckier than that!"

The sailors erupted into cheers and whoops of laughter.

Maq blushed and grinned broadly. "Only that the first seaman who tries to sail with his eyes closed on this voyage is bullshark fodder," she called out to more laughter. "Now that we're all agreed that we'll make the voyage, let's get to work."

Fritzen, cutting a handsome figure, bowed jauntily to Maquesta as she passed him on the steps. His bronzed skin showed a hint of green, which Lendle told her displayed health in the half-ogre. His long blond hair was neatly braided and tied with a new leather thong, and he had shaved off the stringy mustache that used to dangle above his lip. Maq mimicked a bow in return and hurried to the galley. She was ravenous and decided now was the time to attend to filling her rumbling belly.

Fritzen was not with Maquesta when she set off for Attat's estate late the following afternoon. Minotaurs were far from his favorite creatures, he said. "I'd rather sail in to the rescue, than risk endangering you in the first place by losing my temper in front of their foul lot."

"You should try to overcome that blanket aversion you feel," Maq told him as she and Lendle climbed into the longboat. "Remember, one of them will be joining our crew, and we'll have enough on our hands without any fighting among ourselves."

"I think I can handle one minotaur," Fritzen said flatly. "He'll be in the minority here."

Eagerness and trepidation battled each other as Maquesta and Lendle cautiously entered Attat's compound. There were more sentries stationed in the courtyard this time, she noticed, and they were more heavily armed. She grinned slyly. Perhaps her having killed two of Attat's lackeys put the minotaur lord more on guard. She could not wait to see her father, but the thought of confronting Attat again caused the bottom of her stomach to fall away.

This time as she entered the great hall, Attat's "pets" were absent. On the dais at the far end stood two chairs, and on one of them, propped up with pillows and wrapped in a light blanket, his shoulder carefully bandaged, sat Melas. Maquesta ran up to him, tears of happiness sliding down her cheeks. He was dozing when she reached the chair, and she decided not to wake him. Looking him over carefully, she felt as if she were being watched. Glancing into the shadows, she noticed that Ilyatha stood to her left, obviously in attendance on Melas.

Maq quickly looked way from the shadowperson and tried to empty her mind of the hostility that sprang up the instant she saw him. She sensed, however, that her efforts were in vain.

"Your father has been sleeping for some time now. He should wake at any moment."

Maq heard the words plainly, but saw that the shadowperson had not moved his lips. The proclamation was made inside her head. Maq continued to gaze down at Melas and refused to acknowledge Ilyatha's communication. But Lendle, whose shorter legs had just brought him to the dais, swiveled his head this way and that, trying to determine who had spoken.

Maq jerked her head in Ilyatha's direction. "He's a telepath, remember?"

Lendle, plainly curious, walked over to inspect the shadowperson more closely. Maq "heard" Ilyatha greet him. A second later, her father opened his eyes, and Maq became oblivious to anything transpiring between Lendle and Ilyatha. A broad smile creasing his ashen face, Melas leaned forward to embrace his daughter, wincing slightly. Though obviously still weak, he looked greatly improved. Father and daughter chatted about what was occurring on the Perechon, and for the first time in more than two weeks, Maquesta was happy.

"Where's Attat? Have we been announced?" she finally asked, anxious to gather up her father and the others and leave.

"He likes to keep callers, especially humans, waiting," Melas said. "But he's been very good to me these last couple days, Maquesta."

"Yes, well, I'm sure he had his reasons. And don't forget, he had a lot to make up for."

"The credit really should go to Ilyatha. He has cared for me day and night. And the poultices he made worked wonders on my shoulder. I think Lendle could learn a few things from him."

Indeed, if the gnome's animated gestures and grimaces were any indication, he seemed to be engaged in just such a conversation with the shadowperson at that moment.

A slave entered the hall, bearing a note to Maquesta. When she opened it, a bold, scrawling hand-Attat's she presumed-informed her that the minotaur lord had been delayed by his efforts to prepare something special for Melas. Maq should feel free to stay in the hall or visit the garden. Attat would be down shortly.

Maq snorted with impatience. By the time she looked up from reading the note, however, Melas had dozed off.

"He does that quite often. Your father needs sleep in order to mend."

Maq again made no attempt to communicate with Ilyatha, unwilling to credit him even for helping her father. Maq motioned for Lendle to come over to stay with Melas. She intended to visit the garden to escape the sense that someone was eavesdropping on her emotions.

"I would like to show you something, Maquesta Kar-Thon. Will you permit me?"

The request caught Maq just as she was about to go through the glass doors into the garden. Ilyatha had followed the shrouded perimeter of the hall until he stood at its head, off to one side of the windows.

Maq sighed and nodded. The shadowperson was going to be on the Perechon, and she was going to have to get used to being around him, but she didn't have to like it.

"Do you see those stone formations in the garden?"

Maq nodded before she remembered she didn't have to show the shadowperson her response.

"Visit them when you go into the garden, then come back, and I will tell you what you saw."

Tell me what I saw! Maq fumed at the creature's arrogance. She pushed through the doors in a huff, striding out into the welcoming, warm sunlight.

Attat's garden was truly lovely, filled not only with flowers and shrubs but occasional pieces of fine sculpture. Still riled up about Ilyatha, Maq held off doing what he had asked until she felt it was almost time to go back inside to await Attat.

At first, she didn't notice anything in particular about the stone formations. Then she realized that a number of them were actually hollow caves, and several of those caves had bars covering their openings. She was drawn to the largest one of these by whimpering and squeaks that sounded like an animal in pain. Because of how the cave was situated, it would have been in shadow for most of the day. But at this time of the afternoon, with the sun beginning its descent in the sky, strong beams of light illuminated the cave's interior.

Lying on its side on the floor of the cave, with its knees drawn up and its one arm and the attached membrane held out in a feeble attempt to block the sun's rays, was another creature like Ilyatha, only smaller, more delicate, and female. The creature seemed in terrible pain, and Maq found herself wanting to help it. The whimpering stopped as Maq reached the bars. The small shadowperson lifted her head and tilted it toward the front of the cave. Her eyes were open, but unseeing. She was blind, Maq realized with horror.

"Father?" the shadowperson asked tentatively. Then, probing Maquesta's thoughts and understanding that it was not her father but some stranger, the shadowperson laid her head back down. The whimpering began again.

Maquesta hurried back to the great hall. Ilyatha began communicating with her even before she entered.

"That is my daughter, Sando. We live in an underground shadowperson community located on the other side of Mithas. Shadowpeople cannot stand sunlight. We venture to the surface world only at night when the hated rays of the sun are hidden. I am tormented by the memory of the night. Sando convinced me she should come with me on an expedition to collect a piece of sculpture. I never should have said yes. It was in Attat's garden, the piece we wanted. It was to be a gift for a friend of mine, and I had brought gems to leave in exchange. Payment. I did not intend to steal it. But Attat's guards captured us. He allows me free run in his compound because he keeps Sando locked in that cave. For two hours each afternoon, sunlight streams into the cave. For Sando it is torture without the need for implements of torture. For me, it is torture also. The sunlight blinds Sando every afternoon. She recovers each night, but I am worried that the ultimate effect of this daily torment will be to leave her sightless, or perhaps maimed.

Attat has promised to remove Sando from the cave, and place her in an environment of constant darkness if I help you in your quest for the morkoth. I know that I affronted the balance of right and wrong by announcing your escape attempt to him the other day. I am sorry. But to have done otherwise would have been to risk my daughter's life."

Maquesta did not have to attempt to hide her thoughts from Ilyatha at the end of his explanation. Her thoughts reached out to him in sympathy and compassion.

"I wish you the best, Maquesta Kar-Thon." Attat's words rang hollow. But he continued to speak with false good cheer and feigned concern. Maq, Melas, Lendle, Ilyatha, Tailonna, and Bas-Ohn Koraf were gathered in front of the dais, facing the minotaur noble. Today he wore an embroidered tunic with black pearls sewn about the neck, armholes, and hem. His hands displayed more rings, and his throat was circled by a thick silver band set with purple stones. A cloak of rich satin hung from his shoulders. It was obvious to Maq that he was dressed regally to lord his position over her.

Attat lifted his hand, and a minotaur shaman, wrapped in a red robe embroidered with feathers and beads, stepped from behind the dais. He held a small pouch in one hand, sprinkling some dust from it onto Tailonna's shackles. The chains snapped open on their own. For the first time since Maq had met the sea elf, she saw a faint smile cross her blue lips.

"Now everyone is free to leave with you, Maquesta, even Koraf. There are times when simpleminded brute strength has its applications. With the addition of Koraf you will be well equipped to bring back the morkoth.

"I am, however, a worrier. I like having added insurance for a challenge such as this." The minotaur lord snapped his fingers, causing the bracelets on his wrists to jangle discordantly.

With that, two guards stepped forward, grabbed Melas, and threw him onto his back. A third pried open his mouth, and two more guards rushed toward Maquesta to keep her from interfering. The shaman stepped near Melas, this time holding a vial filled with a viscous black liquid. He poured its contents down Melas's throat. Maquesta, horrified, brushed past the guards and slid to her father's side. He gagged and then lay still, panting. Maq helped him to his feet. All the tentative good health and color that had started returning to his countenance had vanished, replaced by a sickly gray.

"What have you done!" Maq screamed at the shaman. She glared angrily at Attat. "We had a deal, and this was no part of it!"

The minotaur lord approached her slowly, then looked down his bull-like nose at her.

"Your father stays here. And just to make certain you're properly motivated, we've given him a dose of slow-acting poison-a potion of choke weed," Attat hissed maliciously. He held up another vial, this one containing a golden liquid. "You have thirty days to bring back the morkoth. Within those thirty days, this antidote will save him. Longer than that, well…" The minotaur shrugged his shoulders. "If it takes you longer than thirty days, Melas will not survive."

In a somewhat more ramshackle compound not far from Attat's, a different sort of minotaur lord met with a pirate called Mandracore the Reaver.

Chot Es-Kalin, dressed in worn brown robes with a voluminous hood to mask his identity, went to the locked desk in the dingy office and picked up a piece of curling parchment. After turning the letter this way and that, he threw it at the pirate, a brutish half-ogre who sat in a rickety wooden chair.

"Why do they send me information this way? It's worthless!" Chot snarled. He waved his thick arm about for emphasis and spit in the direction of Attat's palace. Chot spoke minotaur, the only language in which he had any fluency He stamped his hooves and glared at the pirate.

Mandracore scanned the paper quickly, then stood. "It says Attat is sending out another expedition for one of his prizes, off the coast of Saifhum." The pirate sneered. "He's just trying to add to his menagerie. Maybe he's after a bullshark or another sea elf. He's sending the Perechon, a ship he recently acquired after the race. It's of no concern to us."

"The ship's crew?" the minotaur persisted.

"Humans," Mandracore replied. "The same crew who used to man the ship, only now they're working for Attat."

The minotaur pulled the parchment from the pirate's hands and crumpled it angrily. "It is of concern to us. He's after something dangerous, else he would have sent a minotaur crew. Follow them, and if you can, destroy them!" Chot ordered. "It will be the perfect way to strike at Attat-to keep him from gaining something he clearly wants quite badly!"

Mandracore looked surprised. "We have other, more pressing business in those waters. I don't think our friends would be happy to see us stirring up trouble there… yet," Mandracore said silkily.

"Never mind what makes them happy. I'm not their lackey, though you are mine! And crushing Attat in everything he attempts makes me happy," the minotaur snapped. "Anyway, a talented half-ogre such as yourself should be able to keep everyone satisfied: our friends, yourself… and me. Now go!"