Maquesta Kar-Thon Read online

  After a sleepless night in which she repeatedly questioned her decision to make Koraf her second, Maq took the helm. She had considered naming Fritzen, but Lendle had pointed out the half-ogre's continued depression, and counseled her against giving him too much responsibility too soon. Still, she had gone over her navigation route with Fritzen the night before. Her plan was to sail between the southernmost tip of Saifhum and the Outer Reach of the Maelstrom that churned the waters at the center of the Blood Sea, over the spot where the ancient city of Istar had stood before being struck down for its arrogance during the Cataclysm. The Maelstrom progressed in ever intensifying rings toward its center, the Heart of Darkness, as sailors called it. Any ship that broached the Outer Reach took the chance of being disabled by the constant storm that raged over the Maelstrom and sucked down to the bottom of the Blood Sea. The route Maquesta had mapped was riskier than it would have been to set a course around the northern tip of the island of Saifhum to reach the kuo-toa colony. But this route would save them considerable time. Bas-Ohn Koraf and Fritzen had reluctantly agreed.

  Before the sun had completely emerged from beneath the horizon and begun its ascent into the sky, Ilyatha briefly joined Maq on the upper aft deck. Though the light was still dim, he wore his hood pulled far forward, to shield his face. Away from Attat's palace and the massive minotaurs, the shadowperson seemed larger. He was several inches taller than Maquesta, and the cloak billowed about him in the breeze, making him seem wraithlike. And for the first time since making his acquaintance, Maq saw his lips move and audible words came out.

  "I must remain below during daylight hours, but if you need me, just think my name. I will know immediately, and I will help as I am able." His voice was mellow and sonorous, pleasing to Maquesta's ears.

  Maq smiled her thanks, comforted by his offer. Before she could speak to him further, he was gone.

  Depending on the weather, Maq expected to approach the Outer Reach early the following day. She scanned the skies. A pearl-gray sea gull circled far above her head, following the Perechon out of the harbor.

  After an uneventful day and an awkward dinner hour during which strange faces and grim memories squelched the usual camaraderie, Maquesta retired to her cabin. Fully clothed, she lay down on her bunk and immediately slipped into a deep sleep. However, the Perechon's intensified motion, combined with pounding on her cabin door, awakened her during the night.

  "Maquesta! You'd better get up!" Fritzen bellowed. "Koraf wants you on deck!" Even before she was fully awake, Maq realized by the way the Perechon pitched and rolled that a storm had hit. Rain pelted her portholes and the wind keened like something alive. Glancing out a porthole, Maq saw it was still dark. They couldn't have reached the edge of the Maelstrom yet. She rubbed her eyes and gathered her wits for an instant before going to answer the door, annoyed at Fritzen's insistent summons. What was wrong with him, anyway? He and Koraf could handle the ship in a storm.

  "Coming, Fritzen, com—" A high-pitched screaming and cackling cut through the shrieking of the wind. Alarmed, Maq yanked open her cabin door. She joined Fritzen on the main deck in time to see a macabre scene illuminated by a flash of lightening. The eerie light revealed a red mist seeping up over the deck on all sides. The red cloud carried with it the almost unbearable sound of screeching and wailing. As Maq watched, the mist covered the deck and began swirling up the masts. When it reached her feet, a clammy chill crept up her spine.

  Then, before her eyes, the mist took on solid form—dozens of solid forms—small red figures with horns, clawed hands, long, sharp tails, and tiny, pointed teeth. "Blood Sea imps," Maq murmured, despairing. When the imps attacked, their aim was to disable a ship and murder the crew, dragging the bodies to the depths. She had heard the tales—but they didn't come from survivors. She hadn't ever heard of anyone surviving an encounter with the malicious little things.

  The creatures raced about frantically and began pulling at the rigging. One floated up the mainmast and began clawing at the furled sail, rending it with his sharp nails. Two had climbed to the top of the mizzenmast and were jerking it back and forth in an effort to snap off the tip. Above the unnatural storm, the timber groaned in protest. A clatter of pots and pans sounded from the galley, where the imps must have been pulling down Lendle's hanging contraption.

  Maquesta yelled in rage and darted back to her cabin to retrieve her sword. She heard the yells of her crew and the chattering of the imps behind her. Then she heard Koraf ordering the men to concentrate on one group of imps at a time. "Protect the sails first!" he hollered. As Maq raced from her cabin, short sword drawn, she saw that the men were complying with Koraf's command.

  She watched in horror as Fritzen thrust a dagger in his teeth and started up the mizzenmast. Three imps grabbed hold of his legs and tugged him free, dragging him across the polished wood on his stomach. As she dashed toward them, the trio glared at her and attempted to carry him over the side of the deck. They nearly succeeded, as his legs were dangling over the side, but with a menacing growl, the half-ogre grabbed the railing and kicked out, sending one of the imps flying into the mist. He pulled himself forward until he was completely on the ship again, then he jumped to his feet and faced the remaining two. He balled his fist and brought it down hard on one of them. Maquesta saw the little creature's head cave in, but it just as quickly reformed to its original shape. Then she spotted its companion backing away from Fritzen and heading toward Vartan, an evil gleam its little eyes.

  Individually, none of the imps could pose a serious threat to anyone. But in mass, like the wave of red that flowed outward from the galley, they presented a considerable challenge. Maq's legs pumped to carry her to the half-ogre's side. Coming at them were more than a dozen of the evil creatures—armed with butcher knives, iron pots, skewers, and all manner of other things Lendle used in his kitchen. Vaulting into a triple somersault, Fritzen scattered half of them easily. He swore loudly, however, as his blows and kicks passed through them without doing any damage. Maquesta was suddenly swarmed by the remainder, and she swung her sword in a wide arc. The blade passed through the torsos of the chattering creatures, but did not even serve to slow them down. Realizing she could do nothing to hurt them, but they could most certainly hurt her, Maq sheathed her short sword, crouched, then jumped straight up, grasping one of the sail's lines. Hand over hand, she hauled herself higher, and from her vantage point, she was greeted by the shocking scene below.

  Members of the crew rushed on deck after being wakened by the storm and the noise. Their efforts to fend off the imps' assaults were likewise meeting with no success. Five of the creatures set upon Hvel and succeeded in dragging him to the armory hold and locking him inside. Another group tugged Vartan over to the wheel, where they tied him to it with excess line.

  "The only way to attack a Blood Sea imp is with magic!" Maq shouted to Fritzen as he futilely continued his attempts to drive off the imps. "So the stories say!"

  Casting about for a course of action, Maq thought of Ilyatha's offer. She concentrated, and a few moments later the shadowperson appeared on deck. Maquesta started to climb down, but he shook his head at her. "Stay where you are." His words sounded inside her head as he took in the scene. "I fear I can do nothing to get rid of these scourges. Among my people I am a warrior." Here Ilyatha held up the staff that ended in a sharp hook, a weapon he seemed never without. "Not a counselor. What charms I know have to do with healing, nothing else. And I >see no other ships about, though I will try telepathically calling for aid."

  A paralyzing panic began taking hold of Maq. A small group of imps was now attempting to pound holes in the longboat. Fritzen ran at them, waving his arms and shouting, all to no effect. Near the bow Maq spotted Koraf. With a belaying pin in one hand and a sword in the other, he was swinging savagely at a pair of imps that were trying to break off the bowsprit. Two more imps crept up on Maq, climbing the line she was holding on to, and each attached itself to one of her legs. Their shrieks and
cackles in such proximity made it difficult for her to concentrate. She began dragging herself higher on the line as they nibbled at her calves.

  "But I can do something!" The voice was Tailonna's. The sea elf emerged from below-decks, appearing cool and calm in the midst of the chaos. Tailonna quickly paced the length of the Perechon, appearing to do some sort of calculation. Reaching the bow, she turned to retrace her steps, drawing a half dozen delicate ornaments from her long hair—gossamer nets that held Tailonna's mass of locks braided with seashells in soft loops around her head and shoulders.

  Turning first to the dozen imps wreaking havoc on the longboat, Tailonna took one of the nets, brought it to her lips and murmured several words into it, then tossed it toward the villainous creatures. In the air, the hairnet grew into a circular net of entrapment ten feet across. As the net settled onto the imps and tightened around them, they instantly stopped their shrieking and grew still, their eyes open but unseeing.

  "A web net. She's hypnotizing them," Fritzen said admiringly as he continued to struggle with those creatures near him.

  Tailonna repeated the spell each time she approached a group of ten or more imps. Sometimes other imps would rush over and attempt to free their comrades, but they were powerless to rend the net. Its shimmering strands held the imps as unshakably as a spiderweb holds its prey.

  When Tailonna had used up all her nets, a couple dozen sea imps still remained. She met Ilyatha's gaze. After a minute, he communicated with the sailors still on deck.

  "She wants us to move upwind of her, and she wants my flute of wind dancing," Ilyatha told Maquesta.

  "Then give it to her!" Maq shouted as one of the little creatures bit solidly into the flesh above her kneecap.

  The storm winds buffeted the Perechon and caused Maquesta to swing on the line. "We don't need any more wind," she shouted. "We could lose a mast. But having any masts will be irrelevant if we're all dead!"

  On the subject of Tailonna's intentions, however, Ilyatha remained silent. Handing her the flute, Ilyatha stayed beside her, apparently waiting for further instructions. The elf immediately began playing a variation on the jig Maq had first heard the day of the race. A dust devil sprang up at her feet.

  Tailonna continued playing until it was fully formed, then nodded at Ilyatha. The shadowperson reached into the flowing cloak the sea elf wore, withdrawing a small pouch. He sprinkled a measure of what looked like yellow sand from the pouch into the center of the dust devil. Tailonna varied her melody, and the dust devil began to move up the mizzenmast to the two sea imps there. The tiny whirlwind spewed sand onto the pair. They dropped off to sleep, sliding down to the foot of the mast in the process.

  Tailonna continued playing, directing the dust devil over the remaining Blood Sea imps, including the pair pestering Maquesta. Soon the deck was littered with tiny, snoring red forms. Unfortunately, the unpredictable force of the storm that continued to rage carried the sand into the eyes of several Perechon sailors. They also fell to the deck, fast asleep.

  "We don't have unlimited time," Tailonna warned. "The sleep-sand will wear off in about an hour; the webnet's hypnosis lasts a bit longer. We have to get away from this section of the Blood Sea!" Tailonna spoke in a breathy, musical voice that had something of the sea about it.

  Maq slipped to the deck, rubbing at the small bites on her legs. "We can't risk raising a sail," she said. "The storm's force would break the mast. Then we'd be at the mercy of these things when they woke up again. We'll have to use the oars, but in these high seas I don't know how much progress we'll make. Wait a minute! Where's Lendle?" An image of the fire-driven contraption that the gnome had hooked up to the oars flashed through her mind. She wondered if she dared ask him to try it.

  The gnome came running up to her from the direction of the galley, apparently summoned by Ilyatha. He was covered with a sticky mass of fruit and beans, and he pointed at the imps and shook his stubby finger. When Maq questioned him about his invention, Lendle grew very excited. He answered her, speaking with excruciating slowness.

  "It is ready. I will have to go light the furnace."

  "Well, go do it, Lendle," Maq commanded. "And hurry up. We have little time."

  "Come and help me." The sea elf addressed Maquesta.

  Maq whirled. Tailonna's request came perilously close to an order. Koraf and Maq exchanged looks. Without waiting for a reply, the sea elf began picking up the sleeping imps and tossing them overboard. Standing almost as tall as Koraf, Tailonna didn't need any help lifting the tiny monsters, just extra pairs of hands. Fritzen, Maq, and Ilyatha pitched in.

  The mist continued to roll about the ship, its tendrils entwining around the rails and flowing up the lines of the mast. Maquesta cursed the crimson fog and peered into it to make sure no more imps were coming out. Satisfied, she ordered Vartan to gather up sheets. They were going to need to mend the sail on the mainmast as soon as they passed out of the storm. She looked over her shoulder to see Koraf inspecting the bowsprit. Smiling, she decided she'd made the right choice in a first mate after all. Fritzen was collecting the knives and other implements the imps had raided from the kitchen. Satisfied that everything on deck was in good hands, she went to check on the gnome.

  "Lendle, what's taking so long?" Maquesta stood at the top of the trapdoor leading to the cargo hold and called down. She could feel the heat from the furnace even where she stood.

  "Inaminutewaitaminute," Lendle answered.

  Maq had just started down the ladder when a percussive explosion rocked the Perechon. Sooty black smoke began billowing up from the cargo hold. She jumped back up to the main deck.

  "Oh, Lendle," Maq moaned. She looked through the trapdoor—just in time to hear the sizzle as Lendle threw a bucket of water on something burning. More smoke poured out, making Maquesta wheeze. Peering through the cloud, Maq tried to see if the gnome was all right. Climbing out of the hold, he smashed into her.

  "Justafewadjustmentsandwe'llbeflyingthroughthewater." He pulled a piece of paper and a stick of chalk from the pocket of his overalls and began jotting down calculations.

  Maq left him and strode toward the poop deck.

  "Koraf, gather enough sailors to man the oars and get them down there fast."

  "What about Lendle's invention?" the first mate asked.

  Maq shook her head ruefully. "You don't want to know. Just make sure the fire's out before you go down into the cargo hold.

  "Fire?" Fritzen, who was heading toward the galley, blanched.

  Maquesta didn't notice; she was watching Ilyatha, who was gazing intently into the skies above the ship. Maq also looked up. The lightening and thunder had ended. The storm was breaking up, but not fast enough to permit their escape under sail power. Squinting up into the heavens she saw nothing but warm driving rain that stung her eyes. Then Maq thought she glimpsed the gray sea gull that had flown above them when they sailed out of Horned Bay the previous day. Within minutes, she perceived that something far larger hovered over the Perechon.

  Fritzen set down the kitchenware, drew his sword, and held it by the hilt like a spear, prepared to aim it at the creature. Tailonna quickly walked over to him and pulled down his arm.

  "Have you never seen a such a creature before?" Disdain showed in Tailonna's tones. "It is a ki-rin, and it can only be here to help us. Don't harm it in any way, or you will bring doom down upon us all," she ordered.

  With difficulty, Fritzen restrained his anger at Tailonna's high-handed treatment. Developments with the ki-rin soon distracted him.

  Amid gasps from the few crewmen left on deck, the ki-rin dropped down until it hung next to the Perechon, at deck level, opposite Ilyatha. Maq had never seen anything like it before. She judged the creature to be the length of two good-sized men put feet to feet. A single spiral horn that glistened like mother-of-pearl protruded from its forehead. A thick mane of burnished brass lay flat against its head and neck. It had a tail and hooves, of a similar color to the mane, but the creature
did not really look much like a horse. Wings sprouted near its shoulders, small and feathered and tinged with gold. Even in the darkness, the ki-rin's coat showed a faint luminosity, revealing tiny golden scales that shimmered and twinkled like stars.

  Without a word being audible, the creature and Ilyatha appeared to be holding a conversation. The shadow warrior gestured. The other occasionally nodded. After several minutes passed, Ilyatha bowed deeply and turned to face Maquesta and Koraf.

  "I apologize for our rudeness," he communicated, speaking directly to Maquesta. "This is Belwar, a ki-rin. Oh, I see you knew that already. I hope you don't object. I sent out a telepathic distress call while the imps were running amok. Belwar heard it. He has agreed to help us leave this place."

  The ki-rin circled the Perechon once at deck level. Ilyatha cocked his head to one side for a minute, then hurried forward. While the ki-rin waited off the bow, Ilyatha secured one end of line to the bowsprit, then threw the other end to Belwar, who caught it in his mouth. With powerful wings, the ki-rin began flying away, dragging the Perechon with him as if it were a toy boat being pulled by a child.

  Tailonna began removing the webnets from the groups of hypnotized sea imps, whispering a few words to each group. Under her command, they lined up neatly and in precision filed overboard.

  Maquesta threw her arms around Ilyatha and hugged him.

  "This night ended far better than I could have hoped. I thought we were all going to die. Thank you. Perhaps this Belwar is a good omen."

  "Let me out of here! Hey! I'm in the armory, let me out!"

  Koraf was the first to hear the cries coming from the bow of the ship, as he and the rest of the crew cleaned up the debris left behind by the Blood Sea imp attack. He signaled for silence and cocked his head, listening, worried at first that an imp had remained on board and was playing some sort of trick. Then Vartan brushed past him, placing his ear against the armory door for a moment before yanking it open. A red-faced Hvel tumbled out.