Maquesta Kar-Thon Read online

  Intended to impress as well as intimidate, the hall succeeded at both. Maq sensed the awe and trepidation in the other crewmembers, seasoned adventurers all, and felt it herself. Three times as long as it was wide, the hall extended nearly the length of the Perechon. Its upper reaches were hidden in shadows. Massive stone columns of polished granite marched down both sides of the room. Beyond them stood gloomy alcoves, some of which appeared to lead to other sections of the palace.

  At the far end was a broad, richly carpeted dais on which the minotaur lord sat in an imposing, carved wooden armchair. He was surrounded by guards, several of whom snorted as Melas and his associates drew near. Spread-eagled between two smaller columns behind the chair hung the golden-scaled skin of some large, winged creature Maq didn't recognize. The scales twinkled softly and warmly in the light that entered the room through a wall of windows behind the dais. That light was augmented by wall torches that burned even now, in the middle of the day. The windows opened on to what looked to be a well-landscaped garden filled with plants, statues, and colorful birds.

  In addition to Attat, his guards, and a few slaves, the great hall held a menagerie of fantastic creatures, each chained to one of the columns. A number of them Maq didn't recognize, but some she did. A griffon was chained directly across from a hippogriff—a cross between an eagle and a horse, which was the natural prey of griffons. Their proximity caused each constant agitation, an apparent source of amusement to Attat. An ice bear with startling white fur strained against its chain, occasionally emitting a growl of frustration. The distorted physique of a Gurik Cha'ahl goblin crouched near the base of one column, drooling and gibbering. The eyes of a mottled green, froglike creature bulged, and its tongue flicked out as they passed. "Bullywug," whispered Hvel at Maq's side. "Meat-eater."

  Maq shivered. The osquip she and Lendle had seen a minotaur leading a few days ago was no doubt destined for here. It would have been chained to one of these columns, she suspected—had its escort not sliced off its head.

  The lord kept his eyes on them from the instant they entered the room, almost as if he were measuring them up as potential additions to his private zoo. Now that she stood before him, Maq's eyes opened wide, and she took in a great gulp of air. She realized that this was the very same minotaur she and Lendle had seen at the waterfront the day before the race, the one who had made short work of the osquip. They had passed by Lord Attat himself, never knowing he held the Perechon in his hands as tightly as he held the chain about the unfortunate beast's neck. In addition to the jeweled girdle he had worn the other day, Attat now sported silver wristbands and a collar studded with large gems—any one of which likely could have purchased a ship the size of the Perechon.

  "How do you like my pets?" He addressed the humans in the common tongue, his voice deep, but not as guttural as Maq was used to hearing from minotaurs.

  "I don't imagine they're too affectionate," Melas observed drily, stepping forward while the others hung back.

  Maquesta watched her father and Attat closely. This lord obviously required his measure of recognition, but it was not in Melas's nature to pay tribute lightly. Maq hoped her father would keep himself in check.

  "True, but I derive other pleasures from them. And the guests in my dungeon seem to enjoy them immensely," Attat replied with a silkily dangerous insinuation.

  "I am Melas Kar-Thon and—"

  "I know who you are, human," Attat interrupted. "The famous sea captain, master of the oh-so-swift Perechon." He made it sound close to an insult. "I have been expecting you."

  Melas looked surprised.

  "You made no attempt to hide your procession to my humble abode," Attat explained. "And I am not without friends in this port who keep me informed of matters of interest to me." His eyes closed to slits, and he glanced briefly at Maquesta.

  Toadies and spies, you mean.

  For an instant, Maq feared she had lost her mind and spoken those words out loud, so strongly did she feel that they had been heard. But no. The lack of any reaction from those around her indicated she had kept her opinion of Attat's "friends" to herself.

  "You saved me a trip, Melas Kar-Thon," Attat continued. "I had planned to visit the Perechon later today and claim what is mine."

  Maq saw Vartan and Hvel, who were standing directly behind Melas, exchange surprised glances. She motioned them to be quiet. The minotaur's nostrils flared. He appeared to enjoy playing with them. Her hopes for a happy resolution to the question of remaining with the Perechon began to slip away.

  "I hope to convince you otherwise. I have a business proposition for you," Melas responded.

  "How interesting," Attat murmured. "So many propositions to consider, so little time."

  Melas, intent on presenting his case, ignored that comment and continued.

  "My idea is simple and benefits both of us. I and my crew stay on the Perechon and sail it where you direct until we've given you a value equal to the ship and bought it back."

  "Are you suggesting you'd work without pay?" Attat asked, clearly intrigued.

  "I would. And so would many of the others, I suspect. There are times we sail without pay as it is. For those who want pay, perhaps we could negotiate a reduced rate. We'd need something for repairs and maintenance of the ship, for food, and maybe some pocket coins for port visits," Melas said. "But it would be far less costly for you than running the ship and paying a crew full wages."

  "Hmm." Attat paused, apparently interested. "Why should I pay any sum for a crew that's bound to be more loyal to you than to me?"

  "Because, while the Perechon's a prize, she's less of a prize without the best crew on the Blood Sea."

  Melas stood with his hands clenched at his sides, waiting for Attat's decision. Maq noticed the tendons on either side of Melas's neck were stiff with tension. She needn't have concerned herself about Melas's remaining on good behavior. The future of his beloved Perechon would be decided at this meeting. And he knew it.

  "It happens I do have an immediate mission in mind for the Perechon." Attat's remark refocused Maq's attention. "Tell me if it interests you.

  "As you have seen, I collect exotic creatures." Attat waved his hand toward the chained monsters. "My collection is far more extensive than what you see here. I have built a zoo for them in my gardens." Here Attat nodded his head toward the windows behind the dais and proudly puffed out his considerable chest.

  "Yet there is one creature that would perfectly round out my collection—a morkoth. Have you heard of them?"

  Melas frowned in concentration, thought a minute, then shook his head. Hvel, who, it appeared, had a broad knowledge of Krynn's arcane zoology, jumped in.

  "A wraith of the deep they're sometimes called. Wicked creatures, deadly, and very crafty. I understand they live in underwater tunnels, and they're difficult to find—unless you know where to look. Some say a morkoth looks human, but with fins and gills on the rest of its body, and a head like a squid with a lethal beak. Others say they look more like a fish than a man, or are part octopus. I suspect there are actually few survivors to accurately describe one." Hvel stepped back, as if completing a recitation. It was obvious he was pleased with himself for knowing that bit of maritime trivia. He winked at Maquesta, and she grimaced in return.

  "That's right, very good," said Attat, somewhat amused. "There are conflicting descriptions, and that is one reason why I am so curious about the creatures. I want to see what one truly looks like. I want to own one. I built a grotto in the garden for a morkoth. The creature will be the centerpiece of my zoo, an achievement of acquisition and subjugation that should finally demonstrate to everyone on Mithas my superiority to that ignorant brute Chot Es-Kalin, who dares call himself the king of Nethosak," Attat exclaimed, using the minotaur name for Lacynos.

  "My scouts have acquired enough tales and rumors to pin down the approximate location of a morkoth in the waters called Endscape, off the northwest coast of Saifhum. It exists near a colony of kuo-toa. I
am not interested in acquiring a kuo-toa. I already have a pair."

  Everyone in the Perechon contingent knew of this race of fishmen who hated surface dwellers and were fearsome fighters. They did not want to tangle with kuo-toa.

  "You pose a very difficult mission," said Melas. "However, I fail to see why you have a particular need of the Perechon to accomplish it."

  "Well, I don't really need the Perechon for this mission, but a morkoth is what I desire," Attat said haughtily. "My ship, the Katos, is of course first-rate, but frankly not as fast as the Perechon. She never would have won the race except for that unlucky bit of weather you ran into."

  Maq gasped. So Attat was the owner of the Katos! That information, in the context of this meeting about his ownership of Melas's markers, made her deeply uneasy, though she wasn't sure quite why.

  "Then, of course, using a crew of mercenary human sailors would ultimately be far less costly than having to recruit and train my superb crew of crack minotaurs. Besides, if anything untoward were to occur, I would hate to lose the minotaurs," Attat continued, his nostrils flaring, which Maq had come to recognize as the only outward sign Attat made when he was amused.

  "To be honest," said Melas, "as you've described it, if the kuo-toa are nearby, they might be in alliance with the morkoth. If such is the case, and with the capture of a morkoth the goal, I think you would have to expect something untoward."

  His statement made no obvious impression on Attat.

  "Even were we to make it past the kuo-toa and capture the morkoth, how would we bring it back here? More to the point, how would we get to it in the first place, since none of us has gills for breathing underwater?" Melas asked.

  "I have considered that problem. Guards!" Attat clapped his hands sharply. Two of the minotaur guards marched over to the wall of windows behind the dais. They pulled aside a curtain and swung open a set of double glass doors. As if they had been standing outside awaiting this signal, two other guards stepped inside, each roughly holding one arm of a tall sea elf. She had pale blue skin that glistened with a silver sheen. The knee-length white gown she wore was plastered against her slim body, indicating she had just come from a pool. Her long blue hair, slick and straight, fell to the back of her thighs and dripped water on the floor behind her. Eyes the color of emeralds looked furtively about the room, refusing to rest on Attat. Her webbed hands were bound before her. Her feet were shackled, so she was forced to shuffle as the minotaurs jerked her forward. The elf held up her head proudly, managing to convey both a fierce defiance and a profound humiliation at being thus chained and handled.

  "Allow me to introduce Tailonna," Attat said mockingly. "One of the many guests staying in my humble home." The minotaur rose from his chair and waved a hand to his side, indicating the guards should bring his guest to him. Then he sat heavily and looked at the sea elf.

  Tailonna, who had been dragged to stand just to Attat's right, stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the minotaur or his introduction, and avoiding the gazes of Melas and his crew. Maq was impressed with the captive creature's dignity.

  "Tailonna comes to us from coastal waters near the kuo-toa colony," Attat continued. "My scouts were lucky enough to… acquire… her during the same expedition as when they discovered news of the morkoth. Unfortunately, because of her ability to shapechange into an otter, and because she possesses a number of other magical capabilities, we have had to keep her in a special tank during her visit here and use these chains strengthened with a special lock spell when we do let her out. So I'm afraid she has found our hospitality somewhat lacking."

  Tailonna maintained her stony facade throughout Attat's derisive speech.

  "She should prove very helpful in any attempt to capture the morkoth," Attat added. "Among other things, she knows how to brew a potion of water breathing that allows humans and other surface creatures to breathe underwater."

  Why should she help you? Maquesta startled herself with her own boldness. But when Attat didn't react, she realized she had only thought the words, not said them aloud, though once again her sense of having been heard was strong.

  The question was a pertinent one, and Melas voiced it himself, couched more politely, a moment later.

  Attat shrugged. "I've found Tailonna is more trouble than she's worth in terms of the amusement she provides me. If she helps capture the morkoth, once it is safely ensconced here, I have agreed to release her. Knowing how honorable the elvish people are, I believe I can trust her to help you." Again, Attat mocked his captive.

  Melas looked askance at the sea elf prisoner. Nothing in his exchange with Attat had made him feel more uncomfortable. He held his fists clenched at his sides. Every aspect of his bearing conveyed tension, Maq observed with concern.

  Again, Attat clapped his hands, this time saying nothing. Maq looked around the hall. Her search ended at an alcove just to the left of the minotaur lord's dais. A heavy red velvet curtain that covered the alcove's arched opening into the great hall was being pushed slowly to one side by someone or something standing behind it. A cloaked figure stepped forward from the alcove's dark recess, holding a tall staff that ended in a wicked-looking hook.

  Maquesta stared at the figure, thinking she had seen it before. As she continued to gape, Attat motioned the figure to approach.

  "Here is another useful addition for the Perechon crew during the morkoth expedition. Ilyatha, pull back your hood!" the minotaur commanded.

  The figure had remained just inside the alcove's archway, declining to step into the main hall, which was well lit by the late afternoon sunshine streaming in through the windows behind the dais. A slender, clawed hand reached up and pushed back the hood. The creature's green eyes blinked rapidly, and it appeared to shrink away from the light.

  Maq had no idea what she was looking at. It looked vaguely like a man, but short, smooth black fur covered its head and body, and under the voluminous cloak it was covered in an expensive-looking brocade tunic that looked more like a tabard because of its side slits. Its glance, as it surveyed Melas, Maq, and the others, suggested exceptional intelligence and commanded immediate respect. But the face, with its squashed-in appearance, pug nose, and sharp lower canine teeth protruding over its upper lip evoked the image of some sort of beast, perhaps an ape. Maq turned to Hvel and raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question. But even Hvel looked perplexed.

  I am a shadowperson.

  Even though she knew she hadn't voiced her question about the nature of this creature, Maquesta once again felt she had been heard—and this time, answered. Hvel had heard, also. His eyes grew round, and Maq realized why. Shadowpeople were the stuff of legends, not real! She stared at the creature.

  I am, to my dismay in this instance, indeed flesh and blood. In your tongue, the closest rendering of my name is Ilyatha. Like Tailonna, I also am a prisoner of Attat's. The reasons for my compulsory attendance here are perhaps more subtle than hers, but no less real.

  Ilyatha spoke with great sadness. Only Maq was looking straight at him, and she hadn't seen his lips move! Maquesta furrowed her brow and started to open her mouth, a question burning on her lips.

  "Yes, Ilyatha is a telepath," Attat explained. "He not only communicates his thoughts without speaking; it is useless to try to hide yours from him. An annoying talent, at times, but one that should prove invaluable in your quest to outwit the kuo-toa and bring back the morkoth."

  Melas regarded the shadowperson suspiciously. "Can he sail?"

  "Indeed, yes," said Attat, chuckling. "Ilyatha has a special proclivity for traveling by wind power. In fact, you saw a demonstration of it during the race. Ilyatha, show the honorable captain what I mean."

  With apparent reluctance, the shadowperson drew a long, thin, delicately carved flute from inside his cloak. When he raised the instrument to his mouth, Maquesta, fascinated, saw that his arms were attached to the sides of his body by thin membranes, like the webbing of a bat's wing. He began to play a pure, high-pitched melo
dy that soared and dipped and turned back on itself, tugging at Maq's memory. As the pace of the melody picked up, Maq noticed the curtains behind the dais begin to sway, the wall torches flicker. A light breeze tousled her hair, then a gust of wind caught Maq unawares, knocking her off balance and causing her to stumble into Vartan, who grabbed her by the arm and offered her a condescending smile. She could see he himself had planted his legs wide apart in order to maintain his footing against the wind that had inexplicably sprung up in the great hall.

  Then Maquesta recalled when and where she had heard that music before—on the Perechon, during the race, when the Katos had finally overtaken them. Her fascination turned to fury at both Attat and Ilyatha. They had connived and used magic to make the Perechon lose! She looked over at her father and saw, by the storm gathering in his face, that he had realized the same thing.

  The wind tore at a decorative metal shield suspended above Attat's chair, pulling it down and tumbling it off the carpeted dais onto the hall's stone floor with a loud clatter.

  "That's enough!" a clearly vexed Attat bellowed. He snapped his fingers, and one of the guards rushed to pick up the shield.

  Ilyatha took the flute from his lips. The wind died away instantly.

  "You try my patience, Ilyatha, and that is not a good thing, as I shouldn't have to tell you." He glared at the shadowperson, who pulled his hood up over his head and stepped back into the dark alcove.

  "What about my patience?" Melas demanded, his every word filled with unconcealed fury. "How can you expect me to take on this mission and sail the Perechon for your benefit with the aim of earning her back when you have so clearly demonstrated your untrustworthiness? You used magic to win the race! That is forbidden by the rules! I am going to complain to the Supreme Council!"

  The minotaur threw back his head and laughed, the deep bass tones reverberating off the chamber walls. "Come now, Melas. Don't be foolish. I should simply deny it, as would every sailor on the Katos. Do you really think the highest minotaur ruling body would take the word of a human against that of one of its own nobles?" Attat asked, his nostrils flaring. "Oh, I suspect you'll go after the morkoth for me. I suspect you'll do it because it's your only chance, however tenuous, of getting back your precious Perechon."