Maquesta Kar-Thon

by Tina Daniell

  "A minotaur!" Lendle said, scowling. "What magical abilities does he possess? He's the addition you'll have to pave the way for, after what we heard about how Attat and his lackeys treated you."

  "Why? Have Hvel and Vartan been talking? Were they up and about before me?"

  Lendle nodded vigorously. Maq frowned. She didn't want to be seen as requiring more rest and recuperation than her men.

  Her men, she thought. Her ship.

  "They were not as badly treated as you, I think," Lendle said, understanding her concern. "The stories they told about that place and its occupants, though, curled my toes," he added.

  Maq grimaced. "Yes, but this minotaur, Bas-Ohn Koraf, was not one of Attat's beastly minions. He was his prisoner. And he helped us break out of the dungeon. He's an ugly cur, but far different from Attat, I think," Maq said.

  "But Attat, him we must be careful of, even tomorrow when we are supposedly there to do his bidding. That one is smooth on the outside, but all jagged, poisonous, and evil on the inside. If it weren't for the fact that he holds Melas, I'd say we should just take off in the Perechon, forget the debt, see if he could catch us."

  Maq pursed her lips. "Vartan and Hvel told you about Father?"

  The gnome nodded sadly.

  Maquesta stood on the upper aft deck, having just finished telling the Perechon crew, assembled below her on the main deck, about what lay ahead if they chose to stay with the ship under her command. Even before she had begun to speak, Maq sensed a new level of respect from the sailors. By then, Vartan and Hvel's story about how she had led the escape attempt from Attat's dungeon was known to everyone on board.

  "Does anyone not want to ship out? I'll not hold it against you, nor will Melas. When it's time for him to sail again, I'm sure you can rejoin the crew. No hard feelings."

  The men's silence gratified Maq.

  Fritzen leapt up onto the steps leading from the main deck to where Maquesta stood. "Let's hear it for the new captain of the Perechon," he shouted. "If we close our eyes, it's just like being captained by Melas Kar-Thon, himself. But once we open them, we know we're much luckier than that!"

  The sailors erupted into cheers and whoops of laughter.

  Maq blushed and grinned broadly. "Only that the first seaman who tries to sail with his eyes closed on this voyage is bullshark fodder," she called out to more laughter. "Now that we're all agreed that we'll make the voyage, let's get to work."

  Fritzen, cutting a handsome figure, bowed jauntily to Maquesta as she passed him on the steps. His bronzed skin showed a hint of green, which Lendle told her displayed health in the half-ogre. His long blond hair was neatly braided and tied with a new leather thong, and he had shaved off the stringy mustache that used to dangle above his lip. Maq mimicked a bow in return and hurried to the galley. She was ravenous and decided now was the time to attend to filling her rumbling belly.

  Fritzen was not with Maquesta when she set off for Attat's estate late the following afternoon. Minotaurs were far from his favorite creatures, he said. "I'd rather sail in to the rescue, than risk endangering you in the first place by losing my temper in front of their foul lot."

  "You should try to overcome that blanket aversion you feel," Maq told him as she and Lendle climbed into the longboat. "Remember, one of them will be joining our crew, and we'll have enough on our hands without any fighting among ourselves."

  "I think I can handle one minotaur," Fritzen said flatly. "He'll be in the minority here."

  Eagerness and trepidation battled each other as Maquesta and Lendle cautiously entered Attat's compound. There were more sentries stationed in the courtyard this time, she noticed, and they were more heavily armed. She grinned slyly. Perhaps her having killed two of Attat's lackeys put the minotaur lord more on guard. She could not wait to see her father, but the thought of confronting Attat again caused the bottom of her stomach to fall away.

  This time as she entered the great hall, Attat's "pets" were absent. On the dais at the far end stood two chairs, and on one of them, propped up with pillows and wrapped in a light blanket, his shoulder carefully bandaged, sat Melas. Maquesta ran up to him, tears of happiness sliding down her cheeks. He was dozing when she reached the chair, and she decided not to wake him. Looking him over carefully, she felt as if she were being watched. Glancing into the shadows, she noticed that Ilyatha stood to her left, obviously in attendance on Melas.

  Maq quickly looked way from the shadowperson and tried to empty her mind of the hostility that sprang up the instant she saw him. She sensed, however, that her efforts were in vain.

  "Your father has been sleeping for some time now. He should wake at any moment."

  Maq heard the words plainly, but saw that the shadowperson had not moved his lips. The proclamation was made inside her head. Maq continued to gaze down at Melas and refused to acknowledge Ilyatha's communication. But Lendle, whose shorter legs had just brought him to the dais, swiveled his head this way and that, trying to determine who had spoken.

  Maq jerked her head in Ilyatha's direction. "He's a telepath, remember?"

  Lendle, plainly curious, walked over to inspect the shadowperson more closely. Maq "heard" Ilyatha greet him. A second later, her father opened his eyes, and Maq became oblivious to anything transpiring between Lendle and Ilyatha. A broad smile creasing his ashen face, Melas leaned forward to embrace his daughter, wincing slightly. Though obviously still weak, he looked greatly improved. Father and daughter chatted about what was occurring on the Perechon, and for the first time in more than two weeks, Maquesta was happy.

  "Where's Attat? Have we been announced?" she finally asked, anxious to gather up her father and the others and leave.

  "He likes to keep callers, especially humans, waiting," Melas said. "But he's been very good to me these last couple days, Maquesta."

  "Yes, well, I'm sure he had his reasons. And don't forget, he had a lot to make up for."

  "The credit really should go to Ilyatha. He has cared for me day and night. And the poultices he made worked wonders on my shoulder. I think Lendle could learn a few things from him."

  Indeed, if the gnome's animated gestures and grimaces were any indication, he seemed to be engaged in just such a conversation with the shadowperson at that moment.

  A slave entered the hall, bearing a note to Maquesta. When she opened it, a bold, scrawling hand—Attat's she presumed—informed her that the minotaur lord had been delayed by his efforts to prepare something special for Melas. Maq should feel free to stay in the hall or visit the garden. Attat would be down shortly.

  Maq snorted with impatience. By the time she looked up from reading the note, however, Melas had dozed off.

  "He does that quite often. Your father needs sleep in order to mend."

  Maq again made no attempt to communicate with Ilyatha, unwilling to credit him even for helping her father. Maq motioned for Lendle to come over to stay with Melas. She intended to visit the garden to escape the sense that someone was eavesdropping on her emotions.

  "I would like to show you something, Maquesta Kar-Thon. Will you permit me?"

  The request caught Maq just as she was about to go through the glass doors into the garden. Ilyatha had followed the shrouded perimeter of the hall until he stood at its head, off to one side of the windows.

  Maq sighed and nodded. The shadowperson was going to be on the Perechon, and she was going to have to get used to being around him, but she didn't have to like it.

  "Do you see those stone formations in the garden?"

  Maq nodded before she remembered she didn't have to show the shadowperson her response.

  "Visit them when you go into the garden, then come back, and I will tell you what you saw."

  Tell me what I saw! Maq fumed at the creature's arrogance. She pushed through the doors in a huff, striding out into the welcoming, warm sunlight.

  Attat's garden was truly lovely, filled not only with flowers and shrubs but occasional pieces of fine sculpture. Still ril
ed up about Ilyatha, Maq held off doing what he had asked until she felt it was almost time to go back inside to await Attat.

  At first, she didn't notice anything in particular about the stone formations. Then she realized that a number of them were actually hollow caves, and several of those caves had bars covering their openings. She was drawn to the largest one of these by whimpering and squeaks that sounded like an animal in pain. Because of how the cave was situated, it would have been in shadow for most of the day. But at this time of the afternoon, with the sun beginning its descent in the sky, strong beams of light illuminated the cave's interior.

  Lying on its side on the floor of the cave, with its knees drawn up and its one arm and the attached membrane held out in a feeble attempt to block the sun's rays, was another creature like Ilyatha, only smaller, more delicate, and female. The creature seemed in terrible pain, and Maq found herself wanting to help it. The whimpering stopped as Maq reached the bars. The small shadowperson lifted her head and tilted it toward the front of the cave. Her eyes were open, but unseeing. She was blind, Maq realized with horror.

  "Father?" the shadowperson asked tentatively. Then, probing Maquesta's thoughts and understanding that it was not her father but some stranger, the shadowperson laid her head back down. The whimpering began again.

  Maquesta hurried back to the great hall. Ilyatha began communicating with her even before she entered.

  "That is my daughter, Sando. We live in an underground shadowperson community located on the other side of Mithas. Shadowpeople cannot stand sunlight. We venture to the surface world only at night when the hated rays of the sun are hidden. I am tormented by the memory of the night. Sando convinced me she should come with me on an expedition to collect a piece of sculpture. I never should have said yes. It was in Attat's garden, the piece we wanted. It was to be a gift for a friend of mine, and I had brought gems to leave in exchange. Payment. I did not intend to steal it. But Attat's guards captured us. He allows me free run in his compound because he keeps Sando locked in that cave. For two hours each afternoon, sunlight streams into the cave. For Sando it is torture without the need for implements of torture. For me, it is torture also. The sunlight blinds Sando every afternoon. She recovers each night, but I am worried that the ultimate effect of this daily torment will be to leave her sightless, or perhaps maimed.

  Attat has promised to remove Sando from the cave, and place her in an environment of constant darkness if I help you in your quest for the morkoth. I know that I affronted the balance of right and wrong by announcing your escape attempt to him the other day. I am sorry. But to have done otherwise would have been to risk my daughter's life."

  Maquesta did not have to attempt to hide her thoughts from Ilyatha at the end of his explanation. Her thoughts reached out to him in sympathy and compassion.

  "I wish you the best, Maquesta Kar-Thon." Attat's words rang hollow. But he continued to speak with false good cheer and feigned concern. Maq, Melas, Lendle, Ilyatha, Tailonna, and Bas-Ohn Koraf were gathered in front of the dais, facing the minotaur noble. Today he wore an embroidered tunic with black pearls sewn about the neck, armholes, and hem. His hands displayed more rings, and his throat was circled by a thick silver band set with purple stones. A cloak of rich satin hung from his shoulders. It was obvious to Maq that he was dressed regally to lord his position over her.

  Attat lifted his hand, and a minotaur shaman, wrapped in a red robe embroidered with feathers and beads, stepped from behind the dais. He held a small pouch in one hand, sprinkling some dust from it onto Tailonna's shackles. The chains snapped open on their own. For the first time since Maq had met the sea elf, she saw a faint smile cross her blue lips.

  "Now everyone is free to leave with you, Maquesta, even Koraf. There are times when simpleminded brute strength has its applications. With the addition of Koraf you will be well equipped to bring back the morkoth.

  "I am, however, a worrier. I like having added insurance for a challenge such as this." The minotaur lord snapped his fingers, causing the bracelets on his wrists to jangle discordantly.

  With that, two guards stepped forward, grabbed Melas, and threw him onto his back. A third pried open his mouth, and two more guards rushed toward Maquesta to keep her from interfering. The shaman stepped near Melas, this time holding a vial filled with a viscous black liquid. He poured its contents down Melas's throat. Maquesta, horrified, brushed past the guards and slid to her father's side. He gagged and then lay still, panting. Maq helped him to his feet. All the tentative good health and color that had started returning to his countenance had vanished, replaced by a sickly gray.

  "What have you done!" Maq screamed at the shaman. She glared angrily at Attat. "We had a deal, and this was no part of it!"

  The minotaur lord approached her slowly, then looked down his bull-like nose at her.

  "Your father stays here. And just to make certain you're properly motivated, we've given him a dose of slow-acting poison—a potion of choke weed," Attat hissed maliciously. He held up another vial, this one containing a golden liquid. "You have thirty days to bring back the morkoth. Within those thirty days, this antidote will save him. Longer than that, well…" The minotaur shrugged his shoulders. "If it takes you longer than thirty days, Melas will not survive."

  In a somewhat more ramshackle compound not far from Attat's, a different sort of minotaur lord met with a pirate called Mandracore the Reaver.

  Chot Es-Kalin, dressed in worn brown robes with a voluminous hood to mask his identity, went to the locked desk in the dingy office and picked up a piece of curling parchment. After turning the letter this way and that, he threw it at the pirate, a brutish half-ogre who sat in a rickety wooden chair.

  "Why do they send me information this way? It's worthless!" Chot snarled. He waved his thick arm about for emphasis and spit in the direction of Attat's palace. Chot spoke minotaur, the only language in which he had any fluency He stamped his hooves and glared at the pirate.

  Mandracore scanned the paper quickly, then stood. "It says Attat is sending out another expedition for one of his prizes, off the coast of Saifhum." The pirate sneered. "He's just trying to add to his menagerie. Maybe he's after a bullshark or another sea elf. He's sending the Perechon, a ship he recently acquired after the race. It's of no concern to us."

  "The ship's crew?" the minotaur persisted.

  "Humans," Mandracore replied. "The same crew who used to man the ship, only now they're working for Attat."

  The minotaur pulled the parchment from the pirate's hands and crumpled it angrily. "It is of concern to us. He's after something dangerous, else he would have sent a minotaur crew. Follow them, and if you can, destroy them!" Chot ordered. "It will be the perfect way to strike at Attat—to keep him from gaining something he clearly wants quite badly!"

  Mandracore looked surprised. "We have other, more pressing business in those waters. I don't think our friends would be happy to see us stirring up trouble there… yet," Mandracore said silkily.

  "Never mind what makes them happy. I'm not their lackey, though you are mine! And crushing Attat in everything he attempts makes me happy," the minotaur snapped. "Anyway, a talented half-ogre such as yourself should be able to keep everyone satisfied: our friends, yourself… and me. Now go!"

  Chapter 7

  Sailing The Blood Sea

  Maquesta, still in shock that Attat would poison her father, said little on the way back to the Perechon. Lendle trotted at her side. Koraf dragged the cage Attat had given them to hold the morkoth, and Ilyatha and Tailonna trailed behind him. No one spoke, making the cortege seem like a funeral procession. At one point, Maq glanced behind her. If this mismatched group made up the core of her fighting team, she was in trouble, and her father's life was in a great deal of jeopardy.

  It was dusk by the time they had rowed out to the Perechon.

  "Where's Melas?" Fritzen asked as he helped the shore party climb aboard.

  "Get the crew together on the main deck," Maq
said curtly by way of reply.

  Maquesta motioned for the others to come with her, leading them to the upper aft deck where they waited for the sailors to gather below. Most of them stared at Bas-Ohn Koraf, giving the minotaur a mixture of looks: surprise, puzzlement, fear, and apprehension.

  "Melas won't be sailing with us," Maq announced when they were all together. "Lord Attat has poisoned him. My father slowly dies, and Attat will not save him unless we are successful in capturing the morkoth."

  Angry mutterings broke out among the sailors, many of whom started pointing at Koraf and whispering "spy," "beast," and "lowlife." Their looks of puzzlement and fear gave way to hatred. The hostility was thick on the deck, and Maq did her best to try to dispel it, though she noticed even Fritzen looked with suspicion at the minotaur. "We have thirty days. If we present the creature to Lord Attat within those thirty days, Melas will be spared. I intend for us to be gone only twenty."

  Then she proceeded to introduce the new crewmembers, ending with Bas-Ohn Koraf.

  "For the duration of this voyage, Koraf will be my first mate." Jeers, hisses, and shouts of "No!" threatened to drown out Maquesta's words, but she gritted her teeth, waved her hands to silence the men, and continued. "He is worthy of the position, and you will accord him respect. Do not judge him because of his race. I have more reason to loath minotaurs than you. I will assign Ilyatha and Tailonna duties once I have a better understanding of their skills. Bear in mind that we must all work together as smoothly as possible, and we must sail as well as we ever have. There is no room on this voyage for petty hostilities. Anyone who can't follow these instructions should get off before tomorrow morning at dawn. That's when we'll be pulling anchor."

  At first light, as the fishing fleet at the south end of the harbor was preparing to set out on their day's work, the Perechon glided past the galleys and merchant vessels, through the scummy brown water of Horned Bay harbor, out past the breakwater and into the open sea.