Maquesta Kar-Thon Read online

  Maq sighed, turning to survey her ship. "Well, I wish he could create something soft and edible that would last," she said. "Lendle's in no condition to cook, we have a long night ahead of us, and I'm starving."

  "Oh, but he can," said Ilyatha delightedly and called out to the ki-rin, repeating Maquesta's request.

  Thus did an evening that began in rather desperate straits end pleasantly for the Perechon's captain and crew, with a sumptuous supper of roast joint, bread pudding, and mushrooms for Ilyatha.

  Maquesta, thinking about the meager provisions she had been so intent on bringing back from Sea Reach, looked at the banquet spread out before them and laughed aloud with joy. If only Father were here to see this, she thought.

  If only.

  Chapter 13

  Awakenings

  After snatching only a couple hours of sleep, Maquesta rose before dawn the next day to patrol her ship. She grimaced when she saw the six bodies covered by a tarp, the wounded sailors who had not pulled through during the night. They occupied a section of the main deck near the stern, and she planned to give a brief service for them shortly after full light. She sighed sadly. One of them was the young sailor who had gotten seasick during the race. She made a mental note to search his belongings and discover where his parents lived. They deserved a letter at least.

  She bowed her head, thinking that each of the men had deserved better than to die at the hands of Mandracore's pirates. Then she cursed herself. These six men were dead because of her desire to help one man—her father. Had she traded their lives for his? And would Lendle and Fritzen trade their lives, too? What price was she willing to pay?

  But to turn back now would mean the dead had sacrificed themselves for nothing, she thought. Maq mulled the possibilities over in her troubled mind as she walked toward the armory.

  Aside from the personal loss Maquesta felt, losing the six sailors meant the Perechon would be dangerously undermanned for the rest of the voyage. Though not as undermanned as the Butcher, she thought with some satisfaction. Many others among the Perechon's crew had suffered injuries in the fight, but those were relatively minor wounds—cuts and bruises mostly. Those sailors were resting in their hammocks, and Ilyatha, who had briefly tended to them, said they would be up and about in time for their duties later today.

  The shadowperson also had tended to Lendle. The gnome's wound must have been grievous, for Ilyatha had hovered over him for hours last night. Still, the mysterious telepath declined to tell Maq just how serious—had in fact outright refused to tell Maq, despite her repeated questions. At one point in the evening, he went so far as to order Maquesta out of the makeshift infirmary.

  Maquesta paused outside the armory door. She was going to get some answers this morning from Ilyatha. The telepath was going to tell her exactly how Lendle and Fritzen were faring. Taking a deep breath, she threw open the door and rushed in, a lecture already prepared that would get her some information.

  "I was busy taking care of your friends last night," Ilyatha said, looking up and sensing her thoughts. "I didn't want to take the time to talk, to explain things, to make you worry about Lendle and Fritzen perhaps more than you should. You needed some sleep. Besides, I wanted time to pass, to see if they might improve on their own."

  And…? Maquesta thought, unable to put voice to her fears.

  "And Lendle has shown some improvement, though not much. At least he is breathing regularly. He might be up and around in a day or two, but…" The shadowperson's voice trailed off, and he pointed at the gnome. "You must realize that injuries to the head are hard to predict. He could be unconscious for several days, a few weeks perhaps. Maybe longer. And he might not be himself for a while. The head is often more difficult to heal than the rest of the body."

  Maquesta's eyes filled as she looked at the gnome, but she steadfastly fought back the tears. "He will be all right? Won't he? Tell me he will be all right."

  Ilyatha's reply was soft. "My mind cannot touch his. I cannot sense his thoughts. That is what troubles me. I cannot tell you that he will be all right, simply because I do not know."

  Maquesta bit her lip to keep from crying. Captains don't cry, she told herself. Captains aren't weak. "Lendle has to get well, or we will all starve," she said, trying to sound stoic about the gnome's condition. "Hvel and Vartan said they would try their hand at Lendle's eel stew—minus the potatoes. But they're lousy cooks." She stared at Ilyatha and tried to blank her mind. Maq was thinking that she was too young to captain the Perechon, that she couldn't handle life and death matters when they involved people she truly cared about, that she wished her father were here, that she wished Fritz and Lendle would be all right, that she wished she were stronger.

  The shadowperson cast Maq a concerned but tired look. He did not respond to her troubled and private thoughts, but instead glided to a chair next to the gnome. He dropped to the thin cushion, stretched, and yawned.

  When Maq asked about Fritz, Ilyatha just shook his head. "I am not familiar with sea hag venom, or many other aquatic toxins for that matter," he said sadly. "He is fighting for his life, but I fear he could be waging a losing battle. He worsened during the night. See how pale he is? The poison in his blood is strong."

  "Can you sense his thoughts?" Maq asked out of curiosity.

  The telepath nodded. "He dreams about his fallen comrades from the Torado—when he is not thinking about you."

  Maquesta paced about the armory, looking at Lendle, her long-time friend, and at Fritzen Dorgaard, for whom she had strange and persistent feelings.

  Propped up in the chair, the shadow warrior dozed along with his patients. Fritzen and Lendle lay on their backs, both of them breathing shallowly. Maq placed a hand on each forehead; they were hot. Her brow furrowed, and knowing that no one was awake to see her, she finally let the tears come.

  Occupied with such bleak thoughts, Maq did not at first hear her name being called. When she did and left the armory to find the source of the voice, she could not see who was calling. The deck was empty.

  "Maquesta," the voice continued. "Maquesta!"

  Wiping the tears from her face, Maq finally glanced over the side railing. Swimming in the water below, her long hair floating away from her face like a fan, was Tailonna. The sea elf waved and told Maquesta to throw over the rope ladder used to board the longboat. Complying, Maq vacillated between relief at Tailonna's return and irritation at her lengthy absence.

  The sea elf quickly climbed the ladder; once above the water the weight of the bulging sea-frond bags she carried strained at her shoulders. Maq made no move to help, but once over the railing, the elf handed her two large bags. Tailonna kept hold of the remaining two smaller ones.

  "Carry those to the armory for me, Maquesta," the elf said as she shook herself, the seawater spraying all over—much of it on Maq. "I've brought ocean herbs to cure Fritzen." With that, Tailonna strode toward the armory door, not bothering to see if Maquesta was following.

  Maq glanced at the retreating form of the elf and at the sea frond bags dripping water on her deck. Seething with anger over being ordered around, she opened her mouth to offer Tailonna a vicious retort, but thought better of it. The sea elf was going to help Fritzen. The retorts could come after the medicine was administered.

  "Lendle!" Tailonna cried in surprise the moment she stepped inside the makeshift infirmary. "What happened to you?"

  Ilyatha awoke at the sound of her voice and proceeded to explain to the sea elf all that had transpired while she was gone. Flustered and upset, the elf glided to an empty bench, knelt before it, and started unwrapping the bags, taking out various pieces of kelp, conch shells full of algae, stubby strands of sea grass, unusual-looking oysters, clumps of seaweed, bulbous roots, a six-legged starfish, and more. She placed each item carefully on the bench, making sure nothing touched anything else. "Maquesta, I need my other bags. Over here, and hurry. I must act quickly while my ingredients are still wet and fresh."

  Maq droppe
d the bags at the sea elf's side, then went to stand next to Fritz, her gaze drifting between the half-ogre, Lendle, and Tailonna.

  The sea elf opened the larger bags and pulled out fist-sized pieces of rock with tiny, colorful plants growing out of them. Next, she took one of the smaller, empty frond bags, placed her hand inside it to fashion a mitten, then reached inside the larger bags and brought out sea urchins, their sharp, spiny ridges lying limp in the air.

  "I need a knife and a bowl," Tailonna continued. "And get me two cups. One each for Lendle and Fritzen. I think I have sufficient material to mix up enough potions to help both of them."

  Ilyatha made no move to assist the sea elf, so Maq, huffing with resignation, whirled on her heels. "I'll get them out of the galley."

  When she returned—her arms filled with several small bowls, four cups, three knives, a large steel spoon, and a wooden cutting board—Tailonna looked up, offered a slight smile, and indicated where Maq should set the materials.

  "I didn't need that much," the sea elf said.

  "That's all right," Maquesta replied. "I didn't want to make a second trip." Intrigued at what the sea elf was mixing, Maq pulled a chair next to Ilyatha and sat down to watch. She made no move to hide the animosity she felt toward the haughty Tailonna, and she briefly wondered if the shadowperson felt the same.

  The elf used a frond to hold the spines of one of the urchins down, then she brought the knife through the little creature, cutting apart its brittle shell with a sickening cracking sound. Carefully holding the halves over a bowl, she waited until all the liquid—Maq suspected it was the equivalent of blood in a human—ran out. Tailonna did the same with two of the other urchins, then proceeded to mix the bulbous roots in with the liquid. She mumbled a few words Maquesta couldn't understand and waggled her fingers over the bowl. Apparently satisfied with her concoction, Tailonna rose, padded over to Lendle, and opened the gnome's mouth. Putting one hand behind his stubby neck, she tilted his head and poured the mixture down his throat. The gnome involuntarily swallowed most of it, but a good bit ran out of his mouth and down his chin.

  "Clean him off, while I work on a poultice for Fritzen," Tailonna directed Maquesta.

  Maq gritted her teeth and pushed off from her chair. Finding a small towel, she carefully wiped the thick, smelly liquid off the gnome's face, then strode to the elf.

  "What did you give him? And just what will it do?"

  Tailonna was busy cutting up pieces of seaweed, soaking them in urchin blood. It was obvious she was going to use all the utensils Maq brought her. "A potion my father taught me to make," she said simply. "It has incredibly strong curative powers. There's a bit of magic about it." The sea elf reached past Maq and selected a couple of the odd-shaped oysters. Prying one open, she pulled out the meat and added it to her mixture, then stirred in some algae. "I'll need a cloth."

  Fuming, Maq stomped to a cabinet. Finding no cloths or towels, and realizing the towel she had used on Lendle was the only one in the armory, she took off the sash from around her waist and passed it to the sea elf. "Will this do?"

  "I suppose," the elf answered, taking it from her and soaking it in the pungent liquid. Rising, she glided to the half-ogre, sat at his side, and proceeded to wrap the sash around his arm and shoulder. "This will draw out the sea hag poison," she explained. "It should work rather quickly, especially since he has merrow blood in his veins. It is odd that though he is a half-ogre, he looks so human and is so handsome. Merrows are typically an ugly lot. Fritzen was fortunate he inherited none of the merrows' facial features, only their size and strength."

  "Does this poultice have a touch of magic, too?" Maquesta asked curtly.

  "Of course." The elf went back to her bench and resumed her work.

  "Now what are you doing?" Maquesta's tone was demanding, her impatience coming to the fore.

  "I want to make an additional healing potion for Fritzen, and I intend to create a stimulant for Lendle. I suppose while I am at it, I should make as many healing potions as possible. You do seem to need them around here." The sea elf turned away from the bench, and her blue-green eyes caught Maq's gaze. "I do know what I am doing, Maquesta. My skills are considerable, and my potions will save them. But I could use some help… if you don't mind."

  Ilyatha, whether sensing Maquesta's irritation or genuinely wanting to aid the sea elf, rose from his chair and moved to the bench. "Let me," he offered. "Maquesta has many other things to do on this ship, and many other pressing concerns."

  "I have dead to bury," Maq said. Turning, she left the armory, fervently praying that Tailonna's skills and mixtures would be enough to help two people she cared deeply about.

  Dawn came to the sea, the sun rising and coloring the water and tinting the sky a rosy pink. With it came sailors to the deck of the Perechon. Koraf took the wheel, and Vartan and Hvel busied themselves with trimming the sails. When enough of the men were gathered, Maquesta walked over to the bodies and pulled the tarp back from their faces. The crew gathered around.

  She was nervous, but she tried not to show it. She'd watched her father give final words over sailors before, though never this many bodies at the same time. Now the task was hers.

  Facing the rising sun, she ran her fingers absently through her curls, composed herself, then turned to face her crew. She slowly recited the names of the dead men. "These sailors gave their lives for yours, for the Perechon, and for the hope of returning Melas to us. They paid the highest price a sailor could, and we stand here honoring them for their acts of courage." Her voice was strong, and she noticed all eyes were on her. "May Habbakuk, god of the sea and of eternal life beyond the world, watch over them as their spirits embark on a new journey. Now we give our friends and comrades to the water. Let the sea embrace those who loved her dearly."

  Koraf blew into a steel whistle, low then high, sharp tunes signaling the end of the brief service. Maquesta padded away from the rails, and the crew set about the business of sending their dead comrades overboard. She heard the splashes behind her as she walked toward her cabin, intent on putting the final touches on her plan to capture the morkoth, and flinched at the finality of the sound.

  An hour later a persistent rapping at the door roused Maquesta from her notes. Before she could invite the person inside, the door opened wide, and Tailonna strode in. Her hair was once again artfully wrapped about her head with the small magical nets and decorative seashells in place.

  "Where were you?" Maq sputtered. "We needed you."

  "I was in the armory, you know that. I was tending to Fritzen and Lendle. I saved them."

  "That's not what I mean," Maquesta continued, fuming. "Where did you disappear to for better than a day? You didn't even ask my permission to leave."

  "I don't need anyone's permission—" Tailonna began.

  "No?" Maq pressed. "I'm the captain of the Perechon, a fact you seem to constantly overlook. Captains give the orders on their ships. It's that simple. And while you're on my ship, you're part of my crew. You follow my orders. Understand?"

  Tailonna drew herself up to her full height and regarded Maq coolly. "I was obtaining the necessary herbs to help Fritzen. Fortunately, they are also helping Lendle."

  "Where did you have to go for them?" Maq snapped. "Back to Lacynos? If you don't want to be a part of this, Tailonna, you're free to go. Though I would appreciate it if you first made us those potions that will let us breathe water." Maq rose. Hands on her hips, chin raised aggressively, she confronted the sea elf. "I don't think I've ever understood why you agreed to help in the first place. But if you stay with us, remember that you're under my command, and you don't leave again unless you've discussed it with me first!"

  The sea elf's eyes darkened, and she returned Maquesta's icy stare. "I am going back to the armory. There, my talents are appreciated. When you can pull yourself away from your plans, feel free to visit us—but only briefly. My patients need rest and quiet." Like a dancer, the sea elf pivoted on the balls of her bar
e feet and glided out of the cabin.

  It was clear to Maquesta that Tailonna didn't enjoy being reprimanded. "Well, I don't like being treated with disrespect," Maq muttered to herself. She glanced at her papers and decided to work on her plans only a little while longer and then go check on her friends. She wanted to see if Tailonna's magical healing could work the wonders the elf claimed.

  Tailonna stormed into the armory, angry about being spoken to by Maquesta in such a rude manner.

  "Well hello, fair lady," Fritzen offered as a greeting. The half-ogre was sitting up on his cot, his legs crossed under him and a blanket wrapped around his broad shoulders. "I understand from Ilyatha that I have you to thank for my improved state of health."

  Tailonna's expression softened at seeing Fritzen. A hint of a blush crept to her face, and she sneaked a glance at the telepath. Ilyatha was hovering over Lendle, seemingly oblivious to her. Smiling, Tailonna glided toward the half-ogre and sat next to him. The sea elf was angry at Maquesta, and a little angry at herself as well, for being attracted to this surface dweller whom she considered a half-breed.

  "You're strong," she stated. "I did not think my healing poultice would work so quickly."

  "I'm not one to stay down long," he replied. "Bed rest is boring, and I've always believed one mends better by being up and moving around."

  "Be careful not to overdo it," she admonished. "The sea hag toxin will be in your blood for quite some time, and any further injuries you suffer could give it a chance to take hold again." Tailonna brought her hand up to his forehead. "You're still a little warm, but there is not much fever left." She let her hand linger there, amused that she found herself captivated by the handsome half-ogre.

  Tailonna, Lendle's waking up!

  The sea elf heard the words inside her head. Ilyatha's urgings drew her away from Fritzen and over to the gnome's cot. Lendle's eyelids were quivering, and his head rolled slowly back and forth. At last, he opened his eyes and stared up at the shadowperson and sea elf.