Maquesta Kar-Thon Page 9

  The smoke billowed about him, and he began to cough. Through the haze, she saw the other minotaur guard rush toward the steps. Hoping the smoke provided some cover, Maquesta slipped the dirk from her waistband and ran after the retreating guard. He covered the long distance quickly and placed his weapon against the wall while he fumbled about for his keys. She couldn't let him leave and sound a warning! Her feet pounded over the stones to close the distance, and she grabbed her side, which ached from the unaccustomed exertion.

  The guard must have heard her coming, for he turned around and glared at her. She returned the menacing look and leapt forward even as he strode to meet her. Without hesitation, she shoved the dirk into the guard's chest where she expected his heart to be. He merely growled at her, raised his right arm, and slapped her away. She fell to her rump and was momentarily dazed. A shadow loomed over Maq, and she looked up to see the minotaur towering above her. With a grunt, he pulled the dirk out of his chest, looked at it, and growled even more loudly. He tossed the small blade to the ground and bent over to reach out for her. Maq deftly rolled to the side and pushed off from the stone in one fluid motion, landing on her feet. The minotaur's flailing hands closed on air, and he growled again.

  Stooping to retrieve the dirk, she danced backward as he lunged at her. This time, however, his outstretched hand found her, his fingers closing about a mass of her curly hair. He pulled her to him roughly, and Maq felt as if he were going to yank her head off. Bringing her in to his chest, her face pressed up against his bleeding wound, he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed hard.

  A jolt of pain raced up her spine, and Maq realized he meant to break her back! Clenching her eyes shut and futilely trying to block out the horrid sensation, she steeled herself and bit his wound. He howled in pain and eased his grip just enough so she could squeeze her hand out, the one that still firmly clutched the dirk. She jabbed at his side with the blade, repeatedly stabbing him until, with a groan, he let her go. This time he was the one to back up, shuffling to the wall where his own weapon, a large, curved sword rested.

  No! Maq's mind screamed. She couldn't let him get that weapon. Then she wouldn't have a chance. "No!" she shouted aloud, as she used the last of her strength to melt the distance between them. She fitted both of her hands about the small pommel of the dirk, the blade pointed away from her. Closing to him, she jumped and shoved the blade upward, ramming it into his throat. The minotaur staggered backward, blood gushing from his wound. He thrashed about, and his hands clutched at his throat, trying to pull the dirk free. But Maquesta had used such force that the blade held, and the hapless guard fell heavily to his knees, then pitched over onto his stomach.

  The clomping sound of hooves over stone behind her caused Maq to whirl. The second guard apparently had given up on the blaze and was running over to see what was happening. He was armed with a spiked club, which he swung at her as he approached. Maquesta squatted as the weapon whooshed in the stale air inches above her head.

  Pushing off with her legs, she threw herself forward, her head and right shoulder hitting him squarely in the abdomen and knocking him back. The club clattered to the floor, and the guard swung his arms about, trying to keep his balance and stay on his hooves, as all the while he shouted what must be curses at her in minotaur.

  Undaunted and determined to be free, Maquesta kicked hard, her foot striking him in the groin. Teetering, he bent forward in pain and surprise, then finally lost his balance and fell backward, his rump thumping hard on the stone floor. He groaned and toppled to his back, laying sprawled like a baby. Maq leapt over him and landed behind him, where his club had skittered. She bent to retrieve it, and her fingers closed about its thin handle just as he decided to struggle to his feet.

  "No you don't!" she scolded. "You're not going anywhere."

  The minotaur worked himself into a sitting position, his back an easy target for Maquesta. Dashing forward, she pulled the weapon past her shoulder, then swung it in an arc with all her might, aiming at the back of his head. Her aim was a little off, but she hit him between his shoulder blades, and he fell forward, his head striking the stone floor between his spread legs. Not sure if he would rise to fight again, she hit him a second time and grimaced when she heard the bones in his skull crack.

  Finished with her ghastly work, she dropped the club and took in great gulps of the smoke-tinged air. Coughing, she staggered to the first minotaur she had killed and rolled him over so the key ring on his belt showed. She pulled it loose and nearly gagged. She needed fresh air! The smoke from her fire had reached all the way over here. Clasping the key ring in her trembling fingers, she ran over to unlock Vartan's cell. He staggered out, disoriented and weak on his feet. Hvel, she saw, wasn't much better. Her heart sinking, Maq realized she would not be able to count on these two to help her get Melas up the stairs. They'd be lucky to make it themselves. She looked up at the captive minotaur, who had busied himself with trying to put out the flames.

  "If you help me, we can all go free," she told him.

  He simply nodded. "And if you help me stop this smoke, no one should be drawn here to investigate." Maq grinned and helped him extinguish the last of the flames. The smoke was thick where they stood, but it had not yet reached through the barred door that led to the rest of the palace.

  Maquesta pointed to her father, who sat with his back against the stone wall. His head had fallen forward on his chest, and he coughed softly. She looked up at the minotaur. "Could you help me carry him?"

  "Wait just a minute," the minotaur replied. "Let me try to break my shackles." His voice was deep and rumbled out of his chest. He placed the chain that held his feet together over the brazier that still stood. When the links glowed a fiery orange, he smashed them with a giant mallet the guards had used to drive wedges into the rack, in order to lock the gears in place. The chain broke apart as if it were made out of toothpicks.

  "I am Bas-Ohn Koraf," the minotaur said somewhat formally.

  "And I am Maquesta Kar-Thon," Maq grunted as she tried to get Melas's arm over her shoulder and lift him to his feet.

  "Here, allow me."

  The minotaur picked up her father easily, cradling him in brawny arms. Maq herded Hvel and Vartan up the stairs as the smoke started to dissipate around them.

  Several minutes later, they slipped out through one of the glass doors leading to the garden, finally free of the dark confines of Attat's dungeon and his palace's twisting corridors.

  "Let's head for that tall tree near the wall. We can climb it and jump over," Maq said urgently. She knew it wasn't much of a plan, but it was all she could think of, and she didn't want to wait around to come up with something better. The minotaur nodded.

  Circling behind a half-moon of terraced rock garden, Maq had just turned to urge the minotaur to hurry when the look on his face caused her to turn back. Directly in front of her stood Attat and a cloaked Ilyatha, flanked by a troop of guards.

  Maquesta's heart sank, and she fought back tears.

  "I have to admit, I am impressed," Attat said, his voice betraying more menace than approval. "At the human, Koraf, not at you," he snarled at the minotaur carrying Melas.

  "How did you track us so that you ended up in front of us?" Maq demanded.

  "I had no need to track you, not with the help of Ilyatha here."

  Maquesta could not see the shadowperson's face, but she glared in his direction. Ilyatha bowed his head. Maq couldn't decide whether the gesture was in acknowledgment or in shame.

  "I may have spoken too hastily before," Attat continued, striding forward until he stood only a few feet away from Maquesta. "I think I will indeed allow you to captain the Perechon. I could do much worse, like with Koraf there."

  "What about my father?" Maq's tone was brusque, almost demanding. She'd been pushed to her limits, and she no longer feared what the minotaur lord would do to her. "I want him to come with me. He can mend on the voyage and be of great help to me."

  "No, n
o, no. I don't think he's quite up to a rigorous ocean voyage, do you?" Attat asked with mock solicitude. "I have other plans for him. He's my insurance—that you will come back. And your motivation—to successfully accomplish the mission."

  "I want him to come with me," Maq said flatly. "I don't want him back in that dungeon of yours. I don't think he'd last another day there. And with my father dead, you have no insurance, and I have no motivation."

  Attat smiled at her, his bull-like lips curling upward. He crossed his chest with his muscular arms, and his bracelets sparkled in the sunlight. "I'll concede you something, Maquesta. He won't be returned to the dungeon. While you are getting the Perechon ready for your voyage, I'll give him a room in the main part of the palace, have Tailonna tend to his wound. She will make certain he has something nourishing to eat. He'll be better by the time you leave. The only one going back to the dungeon is Koraf here."

  Maquesta heard Koraf growl softly, and she decided to press Attat into a second concession.

  "No. He comes with me." Maq stood with her arms crossed, mimicking Attat. "You've killed three sailors from my crew, four if you count Averon. I'm shorthanded, and I've already seen that Bas-Ohn Koraf is an able worker. I'm sure I can teach him what he needs to know about sailing before we leave. You can do whatever you want with him once we return with your precious morkoth."

  The minotaur lord threw back his head and chuckled, then leveled his gaze at Maquesta, his eyes seeming to smoulder. "Oh, you don't have to teach Koraf a thing about sailing. Shipbuilding is his trade."

  Attat stroked his chin and looked at Ilyatha. The shadowperson faced him, and Maq suspected some kind of conversation was occurring between the two. She smiled weakly; apparently Attat was considering her demand to allow Koraf to go free.

  At last the minotaur whirled to face her and took a step forward until he was now only inches away. She could smell the strong, musky odor of him, but she refused to move. Glaring down at her, he raised a lip in a sneer, then relaxed his expression.

  "Go ahead, leave," Attat said abruptly. "Just you and the two others from the Perechon," he added, pointing at Vartan and Hvel. "I expect you back here in two days, ready to depart. I'll give you my decision then. In the meantime, Koraf stays here."

  Maq looked into the eyes of the minotaur Bas-Ohn Koraf, but couldn't read what she saw there. He did nod slightly, as if giving her permission to leave.

  After making sure Melas was settled comfortably, Maquesta grabbed Hvel and Vartan by their hands and hurried out the hammered silver doors, through the gate, and into the muddy streets of Lacynos.

  Chapter 6

  Leaving

  "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 mo
rning," 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?"