Maquesta Kar-Thon Read online

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Mandracore the Reaver? A half-ogre?"

  Maq nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "What do you mean?" asked Maq.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Ship ahoy!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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