"What do you think, Maquesta Kar-Thon?"

Lendle spoke deliberately, slightly formally, as gnomes are wont to do when talking to members of other races-even, as was the case in this instance, to someone he had known since she was a rambunctious child.

"What do you think?" he persisted, his black eyes wide and gleaming.

Maq knew by the jittery way Lendle was fingering the shiny cylinders and slender iron rods at the peddler's stall, coupled with-for him-his agonizingly slow speech, that whatever the objects were, the gnome wanted them with an almost desperate intensity.

Maq craned her neck to see if she could catch a glimpse of her father's ship from the rough row of stalls that passed for a marketplace in the bustling minotaur port of Lacynos.

"I don't think anything about those things-what-ever they are. You know that, Lendle. If it doesn't have to do with masts and sails, I'm lost. Now come on. We've spent enough time here. We must get back to the ship. There's still much to be done to prepare for the race tomorrow." A hint of exasperation was creeping into Maquesta's voice.

But Lendle seemed not to have heard her. The gnome stood, almost transfixed, his stubby, deft fingers poking, probing, prodding, feeling every bit of the objects.

Maq sighed and decided to take another approach. "By all means, Lendle. These seem to be just what you need. I'm sure you can't do without them. In fact, I think you should buy them… if you think you can find the coppers to pay for them," she added under her breath. "After all these weeks without a decent job for the Perechon, I don't know how you have any coins left. I certainly don't."

"Yes. Yes, Maquesta Kar-Thon. I believe you are correct. These are just what I need." With that, Lendle reached into the sack he carried on his shoulder and pulled out a flat, rectangular leather box containing a number of small drawers and compartments. He pushed several colorful buttons on its top. Beaming, he explained to Maq that this invention of his had a drawer that would be opening any moment now-containing the exact amount of coppers the peddler quoted him. Instead, however, the box's bottom fell out, and the gnome's small cache of coins spilled onto the muddy roadway.

"Ohdearohdearohdear!" Lendle gushed, returning to his normal gnomish talking pace.

Maq stooped to help Lendle retrieve the coppers and watched as the suspicious stall owner, a stout human woman, examined each coin before handing over several rods and cylinders. Maq imagined the merchant didn't have much experience dealing with customers other than minotaurs. Members of foreign races were a rarity on the island of Mithas-unless they were slaves, in which case they weren't in a position to buy anything, or they were confined to lowly occupations, like peddlers. By the time she handed over the objects, Lendle had reassembled his mechanical wallet and stowed it away in his sack. In all the years Maq had known the gnome, he had never designed a device that performed as intended.

She steered him toward the dock where they had left the longboat they used to get from the Perechon to shore. The gnome was fairly skipping with excitement, moving so quickly through the crowd that Maq lengthened her stride a bit to keep up.

They made an interesting pair: the tall, lithe woman with ebony skin and curling hair the shade of midnight, and the diminutive, stocky, gnome with nut-brown skin and a mane the color of snow. As they made their way through the unpaved streets lined with massive, if unimaginative, stone buildings, few of the hulking minotaurs they passed gave them a second glance. In Maq's experience these bestial creatures had no interest in or use for other races-except as slave labor or sacrificial warriors in their gladiatorial entertainments.

Maq suppressed a shudder. She had no use for minotaurs either, and she was not especially fond of their city. Her attention, however, was caught by one of the city's natives striding toward her from the direction of the harbor. His curving horns shone as if they had been polished, and a gold hoop was affixed to the tip of one. The reddish color of the fur that covered his body was accentuated by the flowing red cape he wore thrown back over his massive shoulders. Straps of a leather harness crisscrossed his chest, holding a variety of knives and small axes with finely carved handles. The leather skirt that fit snugly around his slender haunches was studded with green and blue gems that winked in the sun. A sturdy chain trailed from his hand and ended in a thick collar around the neck of a creature Maq had never seen before. About the size of a dog, it looked like a giant rat, only with no fur or tail. It had six legs, and an upper jaw full of wide, deadly looking teeth protruded over its lower lip.

The thing scurried along behind the minotaur, who occasionally jerked the chain to speed its progress. Now and then the creature hissed menacingly when someone they were passing drew too close. This prompted an even harsher jerk on the chain by the minotaur. Maq could see that the iron collar had created a raw, oozing wound in the thing's almost colorless hide. Its close-set brown eyes stared with obvious malice at its master.

Maq's strides had slowed as she took in the pair. Lendle, oblivious to anything but his purchase, which he fingered even as they walked, was forging ahead of her. Maquesta reached out and grabbed him by the collar, gave him a quick shake to get his attention, and motioned with her head at the minotaur and his "pet." Lendle, looking for an instant as if he had been awakened from a dream, turned his attention where Maq indicated.

His eyes narrowed with momentary interest. "Osquip. Nasty creatures. Haven't ever seen one outside an underground ruin. In fact, can't say as I've ever seen one at all. Just pictures of 'em. Heard about them, though. They're supposed to be carnivorous, voracious eaters. I think. Hmmm. No, I could be thinking about otyughs. Now they are truly terrible things to behold. I never saw one of them either. But I had an uncle who came face-to-face with one when he was exploring an underground cavern. Much nastier than an osquip." The gnome's words started pouring out faster.

Just then, the osquip let out an angry hiss. Maq didn't know what had prompted it, but the creature leapt, snarling, at its master's throat. The heavy chain and collar limited its mobility, though. With surprising agility and speed, the minotaur stepped away from the attacking animal, pulled a short sword from his harness, and with a powerful lunge sliced off the creature's head. Blood spurted from its neck as the osquip gave a few feeble kicks with its legs and fell heavily to the ground.

"Take care of that," the minotaur ordered as he wiped his bloodied weapon on the osquip's hide. Satisfied the blade was clean, he sheathed it. Two mangy-looking human slaves who had been trailing behind their master moved up to the osquip's still-twitching body. One grabbed the creature's rear legs and started dragging, leaving a trail of blood behind. The other picked up the head and cradled it in his arms. They continued to follow their master down the muddy roadway that crossed the edge of Horned Bay. Maq stood watching and saw the slaves toss the body parts into the harbor-where the animal's remains joined the variety of other garbage that helped give Lacynos its distinctive aroma.

"Um. Well, that was pleasant. Minotaurs. In any event," Lendle continued babbling, "my uncle narrowly avoided the otyugh's tentacles-or arms I suppose, depending on your perspective. Though one of the tentacles had eyeballs on it. A half-dozen eyes, he said. So I suppose you couldn't call that one an arm. Well, I guess you could, since its eyes weren't on its head. So my uncle said, and he should know. Anyway, the beast had three or four legs and moved fast. But my uncle was able to outmaneuver the thing, and he found his way out of the cavern without having to kill the creature." Lendle smiled, finished with his tale.

Maquesta resumed her walk to the longboat. "Why have a pet if you're just going to treat it poorly and then kill it?" she muttered, shaking her head. "These minotaurs are the ones that are nasty and should be at the end of leashes. I'm glad we'll be leaving their company after we win the harbor race. I don't want to have to come back here for a while."

They walked along in silence, the incident having thrown Maq into a reflective mood. But when a salty breeze off the open sea managed to penetrate the dank atmosphere, hitting Maq in the face, her spirits improved. Stepping onto the wharf, with the twin masts of her father's ship, the Perechon, now in full view, she crossed the line into exuberance. Her gait picked up along with her disposition. She'd be at the Perechon shortly. She'd be home.

"Hurry up, Lendle. I'm sure Father is anxious for our return."

"I'm hurrying," the gnome replied, still inspecting his purchases.

Melas Kar-Thon's Perechon, with her patched sails and peeling paint, was not the prettiest ship on the Blood Sea-though her sleek lines and graceful bow kept her in the running-but the ship unquestionably was one of the fastest on Ansalon's waters. The Perechon was a two-masted pentare. Similar to a schooner, it was a warship that boasted sails for swift movement and oar ports that would help it maneuver in battle. It had a keel length of nearly one hundred twenty feet and had a ballista mounting on the bow. The weapon itself, a large crossbow that fired harpoons, bolts, spears, and any manner of other objects with a force harder than a man could muster, was being stored in the hold. Weapons were not allowed in the upcoming race. Despite its design, the Perechon had seen little fighting, being used most often as a cargo ship, and occasionally as a passenger vessel for individuals wishing to get somewhere quietly and quickly. Lately, the captain had been sailing the ship from port to port looking for work.

The Perechon's railing was of fine mahogany, the posts carved to look like ornate columns, miniature versions of what might be found supporting temple roofs. The bowsprit, the spar extending from the bow of the ship, was made of hardened walnut. The main deck was stained oak that was forever being polished and swabbed, and the poop deck at the rear of the ship was made of white oak imported from an elven glade. Maquesta was nearly as proud of the ship as her father was.

Maq slipped the rope holding the Perechon's longboat from the piling where it had been tied while they took care of their errands and pushed off, rowing strongly toward the ship. As they neared the Perechon, they glimpsed several crewmen polishing the rails. Others were hard at work repainting the trim. Maq suspected her father wanted the ship to look her best during the race. She grinned broadly-there would be time for her and Lendle to pitch in, too. She wanted everything to be perfect for her father, as this race was very important to him.

Melas's father had been a sailor and his father before him and his father before him. The Kar-Thons' blood was more seawater than anything else, the family liked to say. Melas knew his profession well. The modest dowry Maq's mother, Mi-al, had brought to their secret marriage-plus a lucky win at the gaming tables and proceeds from the sale of the Kar-Thon family's sloop-had given Melas the funds he needed to build his own ship. He knew what he wanted and what he needed to create: the most seaworthy and fleetest ship anyone had ever seen. He named it the Perechon, after a small seabird his wife loved to watch.

Mi-al was an elf, and Melas was confident a life at sea would keep her safe from those who hunted her kind. He hid her in voluminous hooded robes when she moved among the Perechon's crew, and she ventured into ports with him only at night, when the shadows disguised her features. Only Lendle knew their secret-and shared Melas's sorrow. Mi-al had vanished fourteen years ago, shortly after Maquesta's fourth birthday, leaving Melas devastated and ending the possibility of a son to carry on the Kar-Thon sailing tradition. Still, Melas was determined to teach everything he knew about the science, art, and love of sailing to his only child. And so he had-after he had the child's ears trimmed. Maquesta, in all respects, looked wholly human, though she was well aware of her elven heritage. Melas wanted her to be safe, and Maq had no problem with the ruse. She wanted to stay alive, and she wanted to keep her father happy.

With her sails unfurled to speed her course, the Perechon greeted the early morning waves with eager grace, responding to every breath of wind under the firm guidance of Melas, who had taken the helm.

Maquesta, checking a line on the mizzenmast, marveled at the weather. They had been racing since dawn, and the sky had never held more than a few white puffs of clouds. The sea breezes had blown steadily and reasonably strongly. Without storms or lack of wind to worry about, Melas and his crew had been able to concentrate on their main challenge-the course. Maq grinned. It would be her turn at the wheel soon, and she couldn't wait to prove herself. She'd steered the ship hundreds of times, of course, but not in a race-at least not in one as important and potentially fruitful as this one.

The course would take them north and east, out of deep Horned Bay then around the island, past the Cracklin Coast with its strong currents and unfriendly bullsharks, and past the Blade, where the sea floor fell away to an immeasurable trench, creating unpredictable turbulence. The trench served, it was rumored, as a home for a colony of ghagglers-or sligs, as most sailors called them-large, distant cousins to goblins who breathed water as easily as air.

The Perechon had been increasing her lead when the lookout noticed one of the racing ships closest behind had fallen foul to something over a coral ridge. The Waverunner, a schooner from the Somber Coast, stood dead in the water.

"The crew's working with the sails, Cap'n!" the lookout called, a spyglass pressed against his right eye. "Looks as if they hit a bit of bad luck and the rigging's tangled. I don't see anything in the water that would've stopped them. No rocks or reefs, and not much turbulence today-no more than what we passed through. There's another ship farther back though. She looks under full sail, having no problems. But it doesn't look as though they can catch us!"

The Perechon would have to sail through where the treacherous Eye of the Bull narrowed between Mithas and Kothas, then around the rocky southwestern tip of the island, called by many sailors "Slim Chance." Then the course would take them back to Horned Bay-all before nightfall of the second day if they wanted to win the race-and they did.

The rules were wind power only, no oars, and every ship entering had to be at least a hundred feet from bow to stern, regardless of keel length. The Perechon had begun the course as one among a dozen. It didn't take long for their ranks to start thinning, though other ships were catching up during the late evening of the first day. But Vartan adjusted the rigging, and the Perechon pulled even farther ahead of her competitors.

Shortly after dawn Maquesta saw a merchant carrack, the Saburnia, and a slightly seedy privateer, the Vasa, driven off course into the northern Courrain Ocean by strong and unpredictable currents near the Cracklin Coast. Whether they would get back into the race, and what would happen to the other vessels that had dropped out of sight, Maq didn't know. The Perechon held her lead and began putting greater and greater distances between herself and the rest of the ships. She made good progress until midmorning, when the winds between a section of high banks that the Perechon was passing through dropped to almost nothing.

It was in that lull that two other ships, still benefiting from stronger winds, were able to draw near. Now, with the morning sun shining brightly and the wind about the Perechon picking up, Maq could see that there were no other contenders beyond the Perechon and those two-the Torado of Saifhum, captained by Limrod, who was well known to the crew of the Perechon as a worthy, though still inadequate, opponent; and a handsome ship that was a stranger to all of them, the Katos. A minotaur vessel, she had slipped into the Lacynos harbor in the last minutes before the race began, apparently already registered.

Maq watched her now with growing respect. She was just off the Perechon's starboard stern, pursuing them with determination but, Maq was pleased to note, seemingly unable to close the final gap. Minotaur vessels were not particularly known for their speed. It would be a rare one indeed that could match the Perechon. The Torado sailed almost abreast of the Katos, but to the port side of the Perechon.

"Reef the topsails and everybody-mind your posts!" As much as he hated the idea of slowing down and risking the Perechon's lead, Melas knew it would be foolish to come round the southeastern edge of Mithas and attempt to pass through the Eye of the Bull at full sail. He felt confident that any time lost could be won back sailing up the west coast of the island.

The surface of the sea roiled as they approached, not in regular waves but an uneven to-and-fro that intensified at the point the ships needed to turn west, which was where the underwater ridge extending from the island dropped off into the Blade's trench.

"Keep your eye on the Torado," Melas told Maquesta, who had joined him for a moment on the bridge. "She'll make her move now, or I don't know Limrod."

He was right. Her sails bulging with the wind, the Torado began gaining on the Perechon. She also started to cut in closer to the coast of Mithas, whereas Melas was taking the Perechon around the outside edge of the turbulence, closer to Kothas. The Torado's course would save the ship distance as well as take her away from the worst turbulence. But, Maq realized, the shallower coastal waters could prove dangerous for a ship as large as the Torado, especially because the rocky submarine ridge rose up at points very near the surface of the sea.

"Maquesta! Stop daydreaming and come give us a hand!"

The summons came from Averon, who with a few other sailors was struggling to tie down the mizzen topsail, a task made increasingly difficult by the freshening wind. The gusts, which often gathered force at this stretch of sea, contributed to the turbulence, as Melas had known it would. Embarrassed at her momentary inactivity, Maq glanced quickly at her father, but Melas's attention was now consumed with the handling of his ship. He hadn't noticed.

Maquesta scrambled up the rigging. By the time she reached the section where Averon and the others were working on the topsail, they had succeeded in securing it to the yard. She swore at herself under her breath, but checked the rigging while she was up there. It made her look busy, at least.

"Don't be so downhearted, girl," Averon said with a wink as he began lowering himself down one side of the rigging. "If you're looking for work, there's plenty to go around. Come with me."

At least Averon didn't hold a grudge. Maq had started down the other side when they were both stopped midway by an ear-splitting crash and keening wrench, like that of a giant limb being split from a tree. For an instant, Maq thought the awful sound had come from the Perechon. Then, with the advantage of her elevated perch, she saw its origin.

The Torado, pressing forward through the shallow coastal waters, had run aground, snagged by the submerged ridge. The great ship had pitched to its leeward side, and Maq could see a jagged hole just above the waterline and almost directly under the bowsprit.

"Ha! That will teach Limrod," Melas called out from the helm. "He and his crew will be twiddling their thumbs on the shore or hiking overland to Lacynos when we sail into the harbor to claim our prize! We might even sail back to pick them up-after the race is over." Sailors on the deck of the Perechon hooted and whistled in appreciation of their captain's prediction.

With the Torado stuck a couple hundred yards off the Perechon's starboard bow, Melas began gaining even more on his only remaining rival, the minotaur ship. As the Torado started listing, her crew began lowering a longboat over the side. The boat would have to make two trips to transport the more than twenty crewmembers to shore. Maq could imagine the sailors' mood. She almost felt sorry for them, but she quickly shook off the emotion, knowing a soft heart proved to be of little benefit on the open sea.

Having reached the bottom of the rigging, she was about to turn her attention elsewhere, to see where Averon had ventured to, when a strange turbulence in the water around the Torado caught her eye.

"Averon, what do you make of that?" she said, spying him over by the railing.

The first mate pulled a small, collapsing spyglass from his pocket and placed it to his eye. After a minute, he gave a low whistle. "Well, Limrod got more than he bargained for with his shortcut, that's for certain. Have a look." Averon handed the spyglass to Maq and called up to Melas to take his own out and point it at the Torado.

Maquesta could not, at first, divine what Averon meant. She could see Limrod still at the helm, gesturing at his crew. Then, scanning the ship, she noticed unusual seaweed formations clinging to the sides of the Torado. "Where did that seaweed…" Maquesta started to ask, then stopped, her attention riveted by what was happening on the Torado. "That seaweed's moving," she whispered.

Limrod was gesturing wildly now, his every movement communicating terror. His first mate, a handsome half-ogre, had a harpoon in hand and was spearing a piece of the seaweed that had oozed up over the railing. All the rest of the crew who were visible stood stock-still. The longboat dangled halfway between the deck and the water, swaying slightly.

The clumps of seaweed kept moving. Maq's stomach tightened; her knees felt weak. Even at this distance, she knew what the crew faced. Training the glass on a clump, she confirmed her suspicion. The seaweed was actually long, green hair attached to perhaps the most feared inhabitants of these waters: sea hags. Maq shivered, the appearance of the creatures filling her with fear. One of them turned to glance at the Perechon, and Maq saw its sickly yellow skin. Patches of green scales dotted the bony protrusions on its fingers, and its impossibly long fingernails looked like dirty claws. The thing's eyes were red pinpoints, the color of a sunset before a storm. For an instant it seemed as if the withered creature were staring back at Maq, but she realized the Perechon was too far away. The hags' ghastly appearance had the power to frighten intended victims into momentary weakness, allowing the creatures to move closer and cast a deadly paralyzing glance that rendered the victims helpless. Then they moved in for the kill. Sailors claimed the sea hags lived only to kill, and ate only a fraction of what they rended.

More hags crawled onto the deck from the far side of the Torado. There must be two dozen of them! Maq focused on one of the hags as it approached a sailor who had managed to fling one leg over the deck rail before being frozen in his tracks. Scrawny arms with hands that ended in nails like talons reached out from the curtain of seaweedlike hair and gripped the unwary man. Maq watched in disbelief as those seemingly decrepit arms snapped the sailor's neck with apparent ease, then ripped off the poor man's arm as though it were a leg of chicken and began chewing on it. The creature pushed the rest of the body into the water and began looking about the deck for another victim. The sea hags enacted similar attacks on every one of the Torado's sailors. Only the captain and his first mate seemed to be putting up any kind of a fight.

"Can't we do something?" Maq heard herself say. "We've got to do something." But her words went unanswered.

She watched Limrod use his curved blade to gut one of the hags. A green-black mixture poured out of the creature's stomach and onto the deck. Still, the hag did not die. It glared at the captain and raised its filthy talons, raking them across his face. Maq was too far away to hear what was transpiring, but she saw Limrod's mouth open, and she imagined that he was screaming in pain. The captain was determined, however, and he brought his sword around once again, this time sending the blade deep between the hag's neck and shoulder. The hag thrashed about wildly and fell to the deck. Limrod, not stopping, stepped over the body and began battling another one. The Torado's captain was strong, but he wasn't a young man, and even from this distance Maquesta could tell his sword swings were slowing with fatigue.

Maq chewed on her bottom lip and mentally urged him to move faster, to swing higher, to back up against the poop cabin for defense. She gasped in relief as the second creature he fought fell to the deck. But there were three more to take its place. The trio moved in slowly, perhaps relishing the moment, or perhaps being apprehensive of the big man who seemed immune to their paralyzing gaze. They started to circle him, and he danced around furtively. Choosing a target, he swung his sword and cleaved off the smallest hag's leg. The creature fell, writhing, and its two companions moved in, seemingly oblivious to their fellow's predicament.

One grabbed the captain's sword arm, digging its claws in, biting down hard with what Maq imagined were foul, sharp teeth, and making Limrod release his weapon. The other came at the captain from behind, raking its talons down his back. Maq looked away for an instant when she saw Limrod's skin and shirt shred like paper. When she glanced back, the captain was on his stomach, and the two hags were fighting over him. He wasn't dead, Maquesta could tell, for he was struggling to rise.

In that instant another sailor moved into her view, the Torado's first mate. The tall half-ogre kicked one of the hags off his captain, then drove a belaying pin between the shoulder blades of the other. He helped Limrod off the deck, then the two stood back-to-back, keeping an ever-increasing number of hags at bay. For a time, Maquesta believed they might actually be able to drive the hideous creatures away, but the hags were too numerous for the pair to handle. After three more hags were killed by the two, she watched with horror as the captain fell to his knees, at last succumbing to his horrid wounds. She scanned with the spyglass to see other parts of the Torado. A lump formed in her throat-the ship's deck was awash in blood. A red stream trickled lazily over the port side.

"If those creatures weren't reason enough to leave these waters, that blood is," Averon warned. "As soon as it hits the water, every bullshark and barracuda within miles will be headed here. Melas, can't we put on some speed?" Averon called out to the captain.

"Wait!" Maq grabbed Averon's arm. "Shouldn't we try to help? Can't we do something?" This time she got someone to listen to her, but little good it did.

"Do what, girl?" Averon impatiently shook off her hand. "Once we got within thirty feet of the Torado, those hags could use their powers to paralyze us-and all we'd be doin' is presentin' 'em with their dessert, served up nice as you please. No thank you, Maq."

Averon signaled for a few nearby crewmembers to help him unfurl the sails they had just fastened. As scared as they were, and as eager to leave the area, the crew hesitated, waiting to hear the order from Melas.

As Maq continued to stare at the gruesome sight of the Torado, the race suddenly seemed very unimportant to her. "But we can't ignore that crew. I see a few sailors still alive."

"All we can do now is help ourselves by getting away as quickly as we can, before the sea hags start looking for another target and before the bullsharks arrive. When a pack of those sharks gets together with their appetites whetted, they can batter a hole in a ship even the size of ours. Let's get going!"

This last Averon addressed as much to Melas as to Maq. Averon kept his gaze fixed on his friend and captain. Maquesta pulled her attention away from the Torado to look pleadingly at her father. Melas had not budged from the helm. He still held the wheel firmly. But she saw that his face had lost color beneath its burnished surface.

"Father…"

"No, Averon is right. There's nothing we can do," he said grimly. "Not unless we want to die with them. And I certainly don't. Besides, by the time we got there, Maq, there'd be no survivors to rescue." Casting a final glance at the Torado, he tightened his grip on the wheel. "Vartan! You and Hvel raise the mainmast topsail. Let's see just how fast we can thread this needle. We'll have to be quick, the Katos is moving up fast. We need to beat them through it!"

Melas was swinging the Perechon to the west, to position her to enter the Eye of the Bull, when Vartan, at the top of the mainmast, called to him. Maquesta saw the Katos gaining on the Perechon, not bothering to stop for the Torado either, nor even to slow to see what was transpiring.

"Captain-to the starboard, off our stern. What do you make of it?" Vartan's voice held an edge of fear. When Melas, Maq, Averon, and everyone else on deck looked where he had directed, they saw a cresting wave that appeared to be pursuing the Perechon. Beneath its white foam, the wave shimmered aqua in the morning light. It moved at an incredible speed, gaining on the Perechon instant by instant.

"What say you, Captain, should we man the oars?" asked Hvel, who had been helping Vartan with the topsail. The crew paused in what they were doing, waiting for Melas's answer, and knowing that using the oars would violate the rules of the race. The crew of the Katos would see the oars extended and would win by default. The captain kept his attention fixed on the wave, using his spyglass to take a closer look.

"Vartan, take the helm! Averon, Maquesta-lower a rope ladder over the starboard side and stand by." Melas barked the commands almost angrily, then rushed down the steps from the aft deck as soon as Vartan reached the helm. Maq caught Averon's eye and she raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question. He shrugged his shoulders in reply. Averon obviously didn't know what was going on any more than she did. Maq watched the approaching wave apprehensively. A sea hag? It certainly wasn't a bullshark; the fish didn't move that fast.

"Look, the Katos is even with us!" one of the sailors called. "We can't afford to be stopping. We've got to move!"

Melas ignored the cry, and with impressive agility, he swung over the side of the deck and began climbing down the ladder.

"Father, what on Krynn are you doing? Be careful!" Realizing she still had Averon's spyglass, Maq pulled the instrument out and was about to use it when a high-pitched neighing checked her hand.

"Hippocampi!" Averon called. "A sea steed!"

Relieved but still curious, Maq leaned over the side, her mood now one of eager anticipation. All sailors knew the stories, or knew someone who knew someone else who had been aided by the benevolent marine steeds called hippocampi, but Maq had never seen one. She strained forward, staring at the wave, certain it was being generated by hippocampi bringing something to the ship.

Within a couple of minutes, Maquesta could make out three horselike creatures speeding toward the Perechon. Their equine heads, topped by manes of long, iridescent fins, rose gracefully out of the foam, appearing at first to be carried along by the wave. As they drew closer, Maq realized that it was the hippocampi themselves churning the water with their powerful front limbs. They were creating the crest.

The wave subsided as the hippocampi slowed their pace in their final approach to Melas, who now was at the bottom of the rope ladder, one arm linked through the rough hemp, the other swinging free. Maquesta could make out their features better with the water calm about them. One creature, closest to the ship, was aqua. Another was ivory, while the third was pale green, nearly the color of the sea. Their forelegs and torsos were horselike, covered in short hair. But their front hooves were webbed fins. Past the hippocampi's rib cages were long, thick fishtails. It was as if the gods had combined the best features of a horse and a fish to make the creatures. The tails, with their triangular-shaped dorsal fins, waved slowly back and forth in the water and kept the hippocampi's heads above the chop.

Two of the creatures hung back while the largest rose up through the water on its beating tail, trying to reach Melas. Its aqua-colored coat caught the sunlight and reflected back, so that the exposed pelt shimmered wildly. Three gills cut deeply into the skin on both sides where the creature's head joined its muscular neck, enabling it to breathe water as well as air. Up close, Maq could see that the mane was actually a flexible membrane that looked like a fin and that grew down the center of the hippocampus's neck.

The creature paused in front of Melas, fixing its intelligent eyes on the Perechon's captain as it dipped its head down in greeting. Melas returned the gesture. Lifting its head to utter a gentle whinny, the hippocampus swung around to the side, presenting its flank to Melas. A tangle of wet clothes clung to the steed's back. Melas bent down and, with a powerful arm, scooped it up. Only then did Maquesta realize that inside the clothes was a person! Melas and the hippocampus bowed at each other again, then the hippocampus rejoined its companions and sped off. Melas shifted the person's weight to his shoulders and slowly climbed the ladder, a feat that would have been impossible for a smaller, weaker man.

"Call Lendle," Melas grunted as Maq and Averon helped him and his burden onto the deck. Maq's mouth fell open in surprise as her father laid the man on the deck. It was the Torado's first mate, the handsome half-ogre she had watched battling the sea hags. His clothes were in tatters, and his bronze skin was crisscrossed by cuts from the hags' nails. In the center of his chest was a deep bite mark, where one of the hags had gouged him with its teeth. The half-ogre's hair was long and blond, braided from the nape of his neck to the middle of his back. But it was crusted with blood, and the leather thong that held it was frayed. A thin mustache was plastered by the sea water across his angular face, and a broad gash that still bled cut down through his right cheek and stopped at his jawbone. Maq mused that it would probably scar.

"His name's Fritzen Dorgaard," Melas announced. "He's sailed with Limrod for the past three years." Maq saw her father look about the deck, then point to a couple of muscular sailors. "Take Fritz down below to the crew's quarters and see what Lendle can do for him. I'm surprised the half-ogre would leave the ship. Of course, maybe he didn't. Maybe the steeds pulled him away. In any event, he must be the only survivor."

Melas and Maq looked down at Fritzen. His breathing was shallow, but his eyes were wide open and glassy. "Poor man," Melas said sadly. "He's probably seeing only what is playing out in his mind. If he makes it, I'll take him on. I've heard he's a good man, an acrobat who gave up the circus life for the sea."

The captain padded away from the half-ogre and strode toward the center of the Perechon. "As for the rest of us, let's get this ship moving! We've got a race to win, and time is a'wasting." After casting a last, concerned glance at the Torado's first mate, Melas bounded up the steps to the aft deck, taking the helm from Vartan and shouting orders to the crew. Lendle, summoned from the galley, dragged Fritzen forward with the help of the other two sailors. Maq shook off the shock and amazement she was feeling and focused once again on winning the race.

"Com'n."

The invitation was slurred. Maquesta had expected her father to sample the ale on board-liberally sample it. What surprised her was that he had retreated to his cabin alone after the Perechon had slipped, unheralded, into the Lacynos harbor-just in time to see a bedecked minotaur barge bearing away a group from the Katos, presumably to accept their prize for winning the race. He drank in solitude, accompanied only by a couple of large pitchers of the heady brew. She took one look at him and whirled around and left. She'd come back later when he was sober or sleeping it off.

With a book and an oil lamp in hand, Maq retreated to the upper aft deck. Her perch near the helm was predictably deserted now that the Perechon was moored in Horned Bay. However, though secluded on the opposite end of the ship from the galley and the sailors' quarters, Maq was able to hear much of the wake they held to mourn the Perechon's loss and drown their sorrows.

Several hours later, most of the noise had subsided. A few of the sailors had stumbled up on deck and passed out, including Vartan, whom Maq could see sprawled on the main deck. Those remaining in the galley had settled down to some even more serious drinking. But Melas had still not emerged from his cabin, nor had Averon joined him, both of which Maq found odd. Normally the pair would be in the thick of it with the rest of the men. Maq rarely drank and never in the midst of the crew. She didn't want to risk losing control and opening herself up to ridicule.

Maq preferred reading as an escape, anyway. Her mother, a teacher from her elven village, had read to Maq often in both the tongue common to humans and in the lilting Elvish language-and Maq always associated the activity with her mother. She derived considerable comfort from it, even when her reading matter was an old sea map or mariner's journal. However, that night, brooding over the Perechon's loss, Maq read very little before deciding to check on her father again.

When she pushed open the door to her father's cabin, Maq hesitated. The cabin was dark, lit only by the light of Krynn's moons, which entered through portholes on two sides of the cabin. Melas was slumped over his desk, its top strewn with pieces of paper, two empty pitchers by his feet.

Approaching him, Maq hoped her face didn't betray the sudden anguish she felt. Her father was crying. She hadn't seen his tears since that first year after her mother had disappeared. He had cried so much then, Melas once said, he had used up all his tears. But he was crying now.

"Father, what's wrong?" Maq knelt by Melas's feet, looking up at him. "It was only a race. There'll be other races to win. Other prizes to claim. The crew will wait for their pay. They've done it before. They won't leave you."

Melas turned his face away from her. "Ah, no, Maquesta. It was more than a race. It was the Perechon herself."

Melas's entire frame convulsed with a wrenching sob, then quieted. He swiped a burly forearm across his face, wiping away the last of the tears. He turned back to look directly at his daughter, seeming to have sobered up. "Now I've said it."

She looked at him and brushed her hand gently across the top of his head.

"Said what? What do you mean?" Maq regarded her father with a puzzled expression. "There's nothing wrong with the Perechon. She's as sound as ever. Nothing could have raced through that squall. All she needs is a new topsail." A twinge of guilt flashed over her at the recollection of her role at the helm, thinking perhaps she could have done something as the Katos passed them by a second time. Maq shook it off.

"Why, I was just reading in the Manual for the Maritime-Minded about a tremendous squall that…"

"No, Maquesta. The Perechon is still the best ship on the Blood Sea, and you did as well as anyone could have at the helm."

Even in his current state, Melas had known how she must be feeling, Maq thought with a rush of affection.

"It's just that the Perechon won't be our ship anymore," Melas continued, his voice sinking to a whisper. Once again, he averted his eyes from his daughter's.

Maq's stomach somersaulted. "What?"

"Averon and I were so sure; we were certain we would win the race, so we bet everything we had-we bet more than we had. You know how few coins we had between us. And it had been too long since the last time I paid the crew" Melas's words jostled up against one another, so quickly was he speaking.

"The minotaur betting master in Lacynos wouldn't take a signed pledge from us. In the event we lost, he wanted more than our names on a piece of paper. But we knew we wouldn't lose. Couldn't lose. And then, Maquesta, with the prize money plus our winnings…" A hint of the excitement that prospect created for him entered Melas's voice even now.

"With our winnings we wouldn't have had to worry about money for a long time," Melas finished. "Only the betting master wouldn't accept just our pledge. So we signed over the Perechon."

"I think it was not Averon's to sign over," Maq whispered, her voice strangled by emotion.

"Maquesta, you can't blame this on Averon. I did it. I wanted to do it. I just knew…" Here Melas shook his head, overwhelmed. "Averon feels terrible, just terrible."

"Where is he?" Maq roused herself from a grim line of reflection, heading toward the inevitable conclusion that she was to lose the only home she'd ever known. "Why isn't he here with you?"

"I sent him away. I didn't want to be with anyone. I needed-I need to sort some things out by myself," Melas said haltingly. His chin dropped down to his chest.

Maq circled her arms around Melas-though indeed they could not completely gird his immense bulk-and laid her head against his chest. Melas placed a hand on his daughter's wiry curls. Thus linked, father and daughter found some brief comfort.

She stayed with him until she was able to convince him to rest. "We'll think of something in the morning. Don't worry. Somehow things will work out… they always do." Then Maquesta gently closed the door to Melas's cabin, turned, and came face to face with Averon. The first mate reached past her to open the door.

"Don't go in. I finally got him to get into his bunk. I think he's asleep." Maq fixed her eyes on Averon, who was doing his best to avoid her gaze, shifting his weight from foot to foot and shuffling backward as they spoke. Watching him, the gravity of what had happened crashed down on Maq.

"Averon, how could you have used the Perechon to guarantee those bets? How could you possibly have talked my father into it? He's your best friend. And now he's lost everything."

"Ah, girl, it seemed like the perfect plan," Averon responded lamely, continuing to edge away from her.

Anger left over from the undervest incident and frustration from the Perechon's loss boiled up inside Maquesta. "This is how you repay Melas for being your friend, for always giving you a home and work to come back to after you've been gadding about for weeks-by roping him into one of your ill-considered schemes? And now soon none of us will have this ship to call home. We'll be stranded in this minotaur city!" She continued to sputter and advance on him.

Averon stopped his slow retreat, drew himself up, and thrust out his chin. Something she had said had touched a nerve. "I have done a great deal through the years for Melas and this ship, not that anyone has ever given me any credit. I won't stay here and be lectured!" Averon turned on his heels and stalked off.

Still seething, Maquesta stomped over to her cabin, located next to Melas's. Once inside, she paced back and forth, trying to calm down-without great success. Then she pulled out a book, lit a lantern, and sat down at her reading table. It was only a few minutes later that the tinkling of a bell suspended from the ceiling interrupted her. Maq glanced up at the bell, sighed, then stood. The small brass bell, which had continued to ring, dislodged itself from the spring that held it and fell, striking Maquesta in the head. Maq stooped, picked up the bell, and threw it, with all her strength, into the corner. "Lendle!" She spit out the gnome's name, following it with a string of muttered curses, as only a young woman raised around seaports could. She headed for the door, taking her foul mood with her.

"Luckily for Fritzen Dorgaard, his wound was apparently not from a sea hag. He was dazed, but he managed to tell me that his arm caught on a piece of the reef when he was knocked overboard. I've made a poultice, and it's already started to heal." Lendle showed Fritzen's forearm to Maquesta, then went back to mashing a concoction of foul-smelling herbs with a mortar and pestle.

Maquesta looked at the wounded half-ogre and decided they had a lot in common-aside from having mixed parentage. Fritzen's ship had been dashed against rocks. Her hopes for the future had been dashed just as harshly, and soon her father's ship would belong to someone else. They were both pretty much homeless.

While still immobile and flat on his back, the halfogre's eyes were closed, but the lids twitched slightly, and he did seem to be resting more comfortably. A little of his color had returned, which the gnome was quick to point out. Thankfully for anyone who ever became ill on the Perechon, Lendle's medicinal creations always worked better than his mechanical inventions.

"Did he say anything else after you gave him the chatterwort?" Maq asked the question idly, preoccupied with her scheme for bringing Melas, Averon, and the minotaur lord, Attat, together. Perhaps if she plotted well, the Perechon might not be lost to them after all.

"He is ashamed." Lendle stopped his mashing to regard Fritzen. "Ashamed and wounded where a poultice can't help him. He tried to tell his captain not to steer too close to the rocks, but his argument wasn't convincing. Not only did he lose the Torado to the sea hags, he wasn't able to save his captain. And in the end, he grabbed on to one of the hippocampi. He's cursing himself for abandoning the ship and the crew to save himself. I don't know if he will ever recover from that."

Yes, thought Maquesta, perhaps there are some wounds too deep to ever heal.

"Melas, Averon, I, and a few of the others will be going back into Lacynos later today. Is there anything else you need to take care of Fritzen?"

Lendle looked up at her sharply. "What business do you have in Lacynos? Your father does not seem of a mood to find the Perechon work so he can pay our wages. And more drinking of ale would not, I think, be to anyone's advantage."

"Don't worry, Lendle. We have a few things to straighten out, matters that might even lead to a payday in the near future."

Maq gave Lendle a tight-lipped smile that failed to reassure the gnome, then left the armory to arrange the shore visit with Melas. She strode quickly to his cabin, determined to make everything work out all right.

"Father?"

Maquesta pushed open the door to her father's quarters. Sunk in a black mood of despair, Melas had not left his cabin since the previous evening. She found him now seated once again at his desk, with Averon pulled up alongside him on a stool. Whatever the two had been discussing, they stopped when she entered the room.

Maq had not anticipated that the first mate would be with Melas. Unprepared, she feared the hurt and anger she felt showed plainly in her face as soon as she saw him. But Averon, sitting in profile to the door, did not look at her. He stared off, behind Melas's head, gazing through a porthole at the sea. She inwardly continued to fume at her father's best friend-a man she once considered a close friend, too.

"Father, I've found out who holds your markers. It's not the betting master. It's a minotaur lord named Attat Es-Divaq. Do you know him?" Perhaps, Maq thought, unknown to her, there was some bad blood between Melas and Attat.

Melas shook his head silently.

"I think you, Averon, and I should go to see him before he comes to collect his debt. We should offer to work off our obligations. It would mean being in the employ of a minotaur, but at least we would be able to keep the Perechon. And maybe there would be some extra steel involved to pay the crew."

It was only logical that Averon, as Melas's closest friend and first mate, should come along, and by making the suggestion in front of both of them Maq didn't see how he could avoid it. She felt certain that if she endeavored to bring Melas, Averon, and herself together in front of the minotaur lord who held her father's markers, she could provoke Averon into revealing his duplicity. But she expected Averon would try to avoid such a situation.

"Yes," Melas paused, reaching out to the idea tentatively. "Averon was just suggesting the same thing."

Why would Averon have made that suggestion? Could she somehow be wrong? That development troubled Maq. Yet she could glean nothing from Averon's current attitude. His attention remained fixed on the porthole. He wouldn't even look at her.

Melas, however, ever an optimist and a man who preferred doing anything to nothing, had begun to warm to the idea of visiting Attat.

"Yes, let's seize the bull by the horns, so to speak. We can make a good case for ourselves." Melas spoke to himself as much as to Maq and Averon.

"The Perechon is a prize-none better-but she's a much richer prize with the best crew on the Blood Sea. Yes!" Melas rapped the flat of his hand down on the desk, startling both Averon and Maquesta from their separate musings. The sparkle had returned to his eyes, and he was quickly shaking off the effects of all the drink he had consumed the previous night.

"We'll go after lunch," Melas continued. "Get a few of the men together to come along. The wisest course is not to be too outnumbered when we venture into a minotaur stronghold."

"I think you're right, Father."

He rose from the table, and in three strides had his arms around her in a friendly bear hug. "We'll make this work, Maq." He released her and slapped Averon playfully on the back, then he turned and went to the door. He opened it with a flourish and extended his hand, indicating Maq should leave first.

As she did, she heard her father speak to Averon. "Well, come on, isn't this what you have been asking me to do?" She did not hear the first mate reply, but Averon was close behind her.

While the crew seemed gratified to have their captain out among them once more, even Melas's presence could do little to enliven lunch that day. A number of sailors remained too disabled by the aftereffects of drink to drag themselves to the table. Those who did dined on a thin bean gruel, which was all that Lendle, preoccupied with Fritzen's care and with very meager supplies at hand, could whip up. A mood of uncertainty in the wake of the Perechon's loss lingered over the entire crew.

Melas ate quickly, then rose from the table, giving orders with most of his old energy and authority.

"Averon, come with me. Maquesta, start lowering the longboat. We'll leave shortly."

Maq had put herself in charge of selecting the shore party, not wanting to chance Averon's doing it. Immediately after leaving Melas's cabin earlier, she had talked to Hvel again, and four others-Canin, Magpie, Micah and Gorz-telling each to be armed and prepared for trouble. Such advice was a given for any visit into Lacynos, so her words didn't surprise the sailors. Maq was glad Averon had gone off with Melas. She intended to repeat the advice again as soon as they gathered at the longboat. She wanted everyone to be on guard.

Standing herself, Maq signaled the others to rise. With irritation, she saw Vartan stand with Hvel. The two were best friends. When Maq approached Hvel, he had suggested Vartan come along. Maq had sternly vetoed the idea. The helmsman was an unproven commodity as far as she was concerned-just a pretty face. She shot Hvel a withering glance. He shrugged his shoulders, as if helpless. Maq decided not to make an issue out of it; she'd talk to Hvel about it later, after they'd returned to the ship. So now there would be an even half dozen coming along with her, Averon, and Melas.

The trip from the Perechon to the wharf passed quietly. The crewmembers still knew nothing of Melas's wagers and the risk of losing the Perechon. Maq had decided to keep that information from them until after the confrontation at Attat's unspooled. As far as they knew, they were accompanying Melas to an audience with a minotaur lord at which, most assumed, the captain would be soliciting an assignment for the Perechon. Averon's attitude still bothered Maq. She found it difficult to gauge. As the longboat drew closer to the wharf, both Melas and Averon exhibited growing agitation.

Once the longboat was secured at the wharf, Averon led the group off the pier, plunging ahead into the Lacynos streets.

"Shouldn't we get directions to Attat's?" Maq called from behind.

"Don't worry, I know the way," Averon called back, "just one of the many points on which I can be of service to you, Maquesta." Averon followed that remark with a joking aside to Melas which Maq could not hear. His bold assertion of the status conferred by close friendship offended Maq and steeled her determination to reveal him.

Attat's palace, it turned out, lay a good distance from the waterfront, a distance made greater by the fact that there was no direct way to get there through Lacynos's haphazard streets. The great majority of minotaur dwellings resembled the buildings Maq had been in earlier in the day-ramshackle, with ladders instead of stairs, never more than two stories high. A few of the very wealthiest nobles, however, had more elaborate homes. Maq had heard of the palace of Chot Es-Kalin, the self-proclaimed ruler of Lacynos, a veritable city within the city. Nonetheless, she was not prepared for Attat's palace.

Though still within the city walls, it sat surrounded by its own immense stone wall, which Maq judged to be at least twenty feet in height. Two massive minotaur guards clad in leather greaves and bronze chest pieces stood at the front gate, blocking their entrance. Each was armed with a bardiche, a long polearm with a curved, axelike blade on the end. It gleamed wickedly in the sun. Melas tried telling the guards what they wanted, but the minotaurs apparently did not speak the common human tongue. Vartan, it turned out, spoke some of the minotaur's language and was able to make their intentions clear. He smiled mischievously at Maq when it was obvious the minotaurs could comprehend what he was saying. The guards summoned a wretched-looking human slave, who went off and returned shortly with the message that Melas and the others could enter.

Melas led the way across a dusty courtyard, empty except for more armed guards, similarly dressed and equally as heavily armored as those at the gate. Maquesta wondered if there were likely other guards they could not see. Cautious, the group made its way to a pair of towering wooden doors inlaid with hammered silver, minotaurs' preferred precious metal. Maq was surprised at the doors' workmanship, which could have stood alongside the finest anywhere in Krynn. As she studied the panels, they swung open silently on well-oiled hinges-even before Melas could knock. The group entered a small anteway that gave onto a second entrance flanked by elaborately carved wooden columns. Two more guards, wearing breastplates made of steel, stood aside to allow them to pass into the palace's great hall.

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 melody 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."

For an instant, Melas stood erect with fury, staring at Attat. A pulse throbbed visibly at his temple. Then his shoulders slumped; his gaze dropped. The intricacy of Attat's plotting and arranging overwhelmed him. Was it possible the lord had this planned from the very beginning, intending to find a pawn for his creature hunt?

"Yes, I'll do it," he said, his voice pitched just above a whisper. "When do you expect us to leave? It will take a day or two to lay in supplies, and-"

"No!" The objection came from Averon, who had stood silently next to Attat throughout the meeting. Averon directed his exclamation not at Melas, but at Attat.

"We had an agreement! I paid you! I am to be the captain of the Perechon on the mission to catch the morkoth!" Averon shouted, thrusting himself forward to the edge of the dais.

Melas looked in astonishment at his friend. "Paid him? Why? With what money? What do you mean, you would be the Perechon's captain?"

"I wanted to help," Averon said, turning, wild eyes toward Melas. "Don't you see, I wanted to help you instead of you always helping me. I wanted to show I could captain the Perechon and help you get her back!" Averon pleaded, sounding more desperate each second. Melas stared at him in disbelief.

"Your friend here," Attat interjected sarcastically, "is the proud new owner of a tidy purse as a result of a bet he placed on the race, a large wager that the Katos would win."

The enormity of Averon's betrayal shattered Maq, even though she knew it was coming. He must have known the Perechon couldn't win, perhaps had even plotted with Attat to arrange the loss. Maq closed her eyes for an instant. She opened them in time to see Averon, uttering a strangled cry of protest, leap onto the dais, pull a dagger from his waistband, and lunge at Attat. In that same instant, Melas pulled his sword from its scabbard and leapt up after him.

Maq wasn't sure whether her father intended to hurt or help Averon. She simply couldn't tell. But it didn't matter. With a graceful series of movements, Attat rolled aside to avoid Averon's dagger, stood up from the chair, pulled a clabbard sword from his harness, turned and, holding the hilt of the sword with both hands, sliced off Averon's head.

Everything that followed took on a slow-motion, dreamlike quality for Maq. Averon's headless body crumpled at Attat's feet, spurting blood, while his head rolled off the dais and landed with a sickening thud on the paving stones, the eyes open. His eyes blinked once, a muscle reflex, then became glassy and fixed.

On the dais, one of the minotaur guards next to Tailonna aimed his barbed shatang throwing spear at Melas, who stood with his sword drawn facing Attat. Just as the guard made a move to throw the shatang, the sea elf jostled against him, knocking the spear off its intended target at the center of Melas's chest. The shatang hit Melas in the shoulder with such force that it knocked him backward and pinned him to the dais.

"No!" Maquesta screamed, jumping forward to reach her father.

Guards moved in from both sides of the hall to contain Maquesta and the others. Instinctively, she swung her right leg out in a roundhouse kick that struck one of the guards in the groin, causing him to drop his shatang and double over in pain. She drove her elbow up into another guard's stomach, just below his rib cage.

The blow was well placed and caused the huge beast to pause, but only for an instant. He was upon Maq before she could draw her short sword. He struck her across the face, knocking her to the ground, where she lay, face against the cold stones, the guard's hoof in the small of her back, holding her down.

Vartan had managed to draw his weapon and wielded it expertly against one of the guards who looked clumsy with his. After a final parry, he stuck the guard through, but wasted too many seconds appreciating his own handiwork. With a roar, another guard leapt at Vartan from behind, bringing a studded tessto down on his shoulder, causing Vartan to drop his sword and fall to his knees, groaning in pain. Attat must have instructed his guards not to kill any of the sailors if there was trouble because Vartan's attacker, instead of finishing him off, kicked him, then sat on the human to immobilize him.

Micah was not so lucky, however. In the first moments of the melee, he had jumped on a guard's back, stabbing at the minotaur with a dagger. The creature smashed his antagonist against one of the stone columns, trying to dislodge Micah. The guard's aim was, perhaps intentionally, a little off. Micah's head flew back hard, becoming impaled on one of the daggerlike points of the metal torch holders. He hung there, the point protruding from his forehead.

Greatly outnumbered, Canin, Magpie, Gorz, and Hvel were swiftly and efficiently overpowered. A cacophony of roars, grunts, and howls filled the hall as the chained monsters vocalized either their bloodlust or fear. The guards looked for further instructions, but Attat only paced back and forth across the dais, occasionally kicking Melas savagely.

"Take them to the dungeon," he snarled, finally turning to address his lackeys. "Take them all below!"

Maquesta drifted in and out of consciousness. The race played over and over in her mind, and she felt her body being tossed about as if she were constantly cresting one wave after another. Numerous times she stared at the crew of the Torado going down to the fangs and talons of the sea hags, and she watched Lendle tend to the only survivor, Fritzen Dorgaard. She also saw her father's grinning face, and she recalled many of the pleasurable moments they had shared on the deck of the Perechon. Then she saw his heartbroken expression when the Katos pulled ahead for the last time. She saw her mother's face, too; the details of that pale elven visage were distinct and beautiful and put Maquesta at ease. It had been fourteen years since the elf's disappearance, and with each passing month it became more difficult for Maquesta to remember just what her mother looked like. But it wasn't hard to remember in her dreams. She tossed and turned and her mind whirled, churning like the water around the Eye of the Bull.

Eventually the visions vanished, and she slowly pulled herself back to ugly reality. Sweating, her heart pounding, she finally opened her eyes. She must have been hit harder than she remembered. She recalled being dragged down narrow stone steps, slimy with mold and fungus. The steps ended in an evil-smelling pit of darkness. There must have been doors, because she heard a number of them creak open on rusty hinges, followed by the sound of bodies being thrown or pushed inside and the doors loudly slamming shut. Then it was her turn to be tossed inside, and a door closed behind her.

Maquesta rubbed her eyes and propped herself up on her elbows. She remembered the cell as being very small. Looking about the dim interior, she decided her memory was serving her well. Standing, with her curls brushing against the low ceiling, she grabbed her throbbing head with both hands. Maq tenderly felt about until she discovered a bump just above her left ear. They had been none too gentle in subduing her. She paced back and forth, only three good steps between the walls. Her stomach rumbled, and her throat and mouth were dry. Feeling her ribs and gauging her hunger, she guessed she had been in here several days. Frustrated, she selected a wall that felt less slimy than the others and leaned against it. Sliding down to the floor with her back against the cool stone, Maq could almost stretch her legs out and touch the opposite wall with her feet. She had to sit with her back angled away from the damp stones in order to avoid slipping into the open refuse trench that ran around the entire perimeter of the room. She sat slumped uncomfortably like that for she knew not how long. Hours, she suspected, as her head had started to hurt less and her stomach rumbled more.

The sound of groans eventually roused her from her state of despair. When Maq opened her eyes, she was feeling a little better, though she was weak from hunger. Her eyes, more perceptive than a human's, adjusted well to the lack of light. She easily could make out the cell's wooden door with its grated window. What illumination existed came through that opening. At the very top of the walls on either side of the cell, a long, shallow gap, also covered with an iron grate, presumably led to neighboring cells. Groans filtered in to her through one of these.

Listening closely, Maq thought she recognized the tones.

"Father?"

The moaning stopped.

"Father?" She leapt to her feet and made it to the door in two steps.

"Maquesta?" The voice that spoke her name quavered with ill health and fatigue. Nonetheless, Maq felt tremendous joy and relief. She had feared her father was dead.

"Thank the gods you're alive, Father! How is your shoulder? Did they tend to it at all?"

"No. They did nothing other than handle me roughly. I fear it is infected. I have no way to clean it. But don't worry, dear. Your mother has come to nurse me. She will take good care of me."

"Mother?" An icy hand gripped Maquesta's heart. Melas must be delirious, which meant his wound was indeed infected. She had to think of a way to get him out of here! Maq slumped back against the wall and cried.

"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, 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."

The next day's survey of the damage revealed the Perechon to be battered, but not ruinously so. Several of the sails were rent, and Vartan and Hvel were sitting on the deck, busy patching them with sheets and thin blankets. Vartan caught Maquesta's eye as she paced about, inspecting the damage in the bright sunlight.

"The sails won't hold, Captain," he told her. "Oh, they'll work for a day or two. Then I think Hvel and I will be back at this again. It's not that we can't mend the sails well. It's that these sails have been mended so many times that there will be more thread from our needles in them than cloth."

Hvel coughed to get her attention. "Maquesta, some of us have been talking, comparing how many coins we have between us. It isn't much. But…" He returned to sewing as he finished. "We've collected two dozen steel pieces. That, plus what you have left over from that evil Attat might get us at least one new sail."

She smiled and sat on the deck with them. "I appreciate that, Hvel, Vartan. We need new sails, that's for certain. I'll take you up on your offer, and the first time this ship makes some money, I'll pay everyone double who contributed for the sails."

She rose and resumed her inspection.

The imps had succeeded in battering a hole in the bottom of the longboat. Lendle assured Maq he could repair it, but she was skeptical when she saw him lay out a piece of parchment, grab his chalk, and start diagramming the repair-and a few enhancements.

The top of the mizzenmast, where the imps had been tugging to and fro, showed a hairline crack. Maq was seeing to this repair herself, reinforcing the wood and wrapping cord about it as added insurance. She scowled. If she had her way-and enough coins-she'd buy new masts and new sails.

Finished, she climbed up the mainmast and started scrutinizing it. She felt the wood and tested its strength. Her face clouded with concern. It was strong, but it was about as old as she was, and the ship had been through a lot lately. No cracks, but it was heavily weathered, and it would need to be reinforced. Looking down from her vantage point, she saw her crew working hard. No one was idle, and none of them seemed to be complaining. Even Tailonna was helping, though it was apparent the sea elf was not doing anything too strenuous.

A section of the deck railing had broken away and would have to be replaced with ropes temporarily. Fritzen saw to this, as his acrobatic talents let him dangle over the side of the ship and nimbly attach the ropes to the existing railing-while also inspecting the wood about the portholes, which some of the imps had chipped away.

Lendle's pot and pan holder in the galley was in tatters, a development that pleased Maq. The gnome indicated he would fix it, but first he had to finish his plans for the longboat and take care of replacing a connecting rod that had been destroyed by the explosion in his oar engine.

Koraf discovered that the most pressing need for repairs and replacements came not in the area of equipment, but supplies. The imps had methodically punctured all but one of the barrels of fresh water that the Perechon carried, and that crucial supply had drained away during the night. As much as she hated to take the time, Maq knew they would have to stop in the port city of Sea Reach on Saifhum to replace the water and purchase some more food with the dozen steel coins left from Attat. Perhaps they could buy a smaller sail with what the men collected. Koraf wanted the damaged crates, barrels, and bins to be junked. No use carrying around garbage, he said. However, he was quick to remove the iron rings about the barrels, thinking they might come in useful for something.

An hour later Maquesta found herself curiously eyeing the longboat, which was meticulously patched in the center. A lever-and-pulley mechanism had been installed near the front bench, and it connected to a rod that ran down the side of the boat. Following the rod, Maq saw that beneath the longboat was a bright green finlike projection on a swivel. She tested the lever, and miraculously it turned the fin this way and that. According to the diagram Lendle had left on the seat, the apparatus would make the boat easier to steer and would require less rowing. He saw her looking at his handiwork, grinned broadly, scratched his nose, and said he had other things to attend to.

With that, the gnome bounded away to his putterings, pleased that she had not criticized his invention. In the cargo hold and other indoor areas, he often had the company of Ilyatha, who had taken an interest in the mechanical workings of the ship, as well as a liking to Lendle. For the gnome's part, he confessed to Maquesta that in the shadow warrior, he had found the perfect companion-outside of another gnome that is. He, Lendle, could speak as fast as he wanted with Ilyatha. The shadowperson, with his telepathic abilities, always understood.

Maquesta, with her right hand firmly on the king's spoke, glanced to the horizon. The attack of the imps and the damage they had inflicted on the sails slowed the Perechon's progress. And it hurt the crew's morale. Still, it was obvious they were a determined bunch, and she could think of no other people she would rather associate with. Shortly after midday the sea's rusty red waters began heaving into great swells, indicating their nearness to the Maelstrom's Outer Reach. The Blood Sea took its name from this color, the result of red sands stirred up when the city of Istar collapsed and kept in constant suspension by the resulting Maelstrom at the center of the sea. The Perechon began a sickening up-and-down motion caused by first climbing then slipping into the trough of the huge swells.

Maq leaned hard into the wheel, steering the Perechon always to the north, trying to keep to the far edge of the Outer Reach. She was so preoccupied she didn't hear Fritzen pad up behind her.

"You've a good crew," he said, startling her. "They've done about everything they can with the limited supplies. I've some contacts in Sea Reach. Maybe I can borrow enough coins to get you a new sail for the mainmast."

She turned toward him, a smile growing on her face. "That would be wonderful, Fritzen."

"Fritz," he corrected her.

"All right, Fritz," she replied. "The men have collected two dozen steel. Perhaps with that-and with what your friends will loan you-we can purchase a few new sails. Better sails should improve our speed. And I wouldn't be worrying so much over them."

"Of course," he added, a touch of mischief to his deep voice, "if I get them to loan me the coins, I'll need some guarantee that I have a job here. My friends will insist that I pay them back. And I can't make any promises unless I know I've steady work."

"You'll have a job here as long as you want it," she replied, trying to sound businesslike, though she was giddy that he was asking to stay on long-term. "I should be the one to pay them back, though. Any money you earn is yours to keep." She paused and bit her bottom lip. "I should warn you, Fritz, sometimes a good bit of time goes by between paydays on the Perechon. We haven't had a lot of luck landing decent assignments."

"My friends will understand," he said softly. "Besides, after we get your father back, this ship's luck will change. Fortune could blow your way."

"Fritzen!" Koraf bellowed at him from the bow. The minotaur was motioning toward the bowsprit.

The half-ogre sighed. He was enjoying Maquesta's company, and he would have liked to stay with her a bit longer. "I told him I'd strengthen the bowsprit," Fritz said. "Your first mate is an able seaman, but I don't think he fancies tasks that might land him in the water."

"Minotaurs can swim," Maq replied laughing. "Very well in fact. But they are not the fastest of swimmers. Besides, you're the agile one. He's picking the right man for the job. That's the mark of a good first mate."

The half-ogre flashed her a wide grin, saluted, and dashed toward the bow.

For nearly two hours Maq fought the constant pull southward, toward the inner rings of the Maelstrom. An icy rain began to fall, and the sky erupted with thunder and lightening. Maq was about to call for help when she saw Koraf mounting the steps leading to the upper aft deck. He nodded to her by way of greeting, ever slightly formal. When he motioned that he would take over the helm, she gladly gave it up. As she had in Attat's dungeon, Maquesta felt she could trust this particular minotaur. Maq remained near the helm to ascertain that Koraf could indeed handle the wheel in this weather. She felt gratified at the level of skill he displayed.

After a few bad hours, the Perechon broke away from the pull of the Outer Reach, heading more directly northward, toward the port of Sea Reach. Just after they made the break, Maq spied a black sail on the horizon far behind them. Now and then during the course of that afternoon, she caught sight of it again. The sail could belong to only one ship, the Butcher, captained by the vile Mandracore the Reaver. Mandracore was the one true enemy Melas, and by extension Maquesta, had among those who sailed the Blood Sea regularly. He nursed an old grievance, something about how he and Melas had divided treasure they had scavenged from a sinking merchant vessel many years earlier.

The Butcher's initial appearance troubled her. The fact that it seemed to be following the Perechon deepened that feeling. However, even though the Perechon was not sailing in top form, the Butcher never drew any closer that day. They sailed into the Sea Reach harbor as the sun set, and Maq put that particular worry aside.

"For as long as I can remember, I have been fashioning boats from leaves, small pieces of wood and now, of course, solid lumber," Koraf told Maquesta. His resonant voice was soft, perhaps so no one else would overhear him.

"Because of that, when I was still very young, my family secured an apprenticeship for me with Efroth, the best shipbuilder in Nethosak. I do not come from a noble or well-connected family, so it was a very good apprenticeship, one of which I was very proud. Efroth had a thriving business, and four of us started with him at the same time-me, Diro, Thuu, and Phao. We studied and worked under him for many years, learning not only shipbuilding and design, but sailing as well. He taught us about the currents, weather patterns, how to spot an approaching storm by looking at the clouds and feeling the air upon our skin.

"I am not a braggart, and I have never considered myself arrogant, but I was his best student. The others recognized it and turned to me for help at times, all of them except for Diro. He was jealous, and he did nothing to hide his feelings. He began to try to shame me in front of Efroth by doing things that made my work look inferior, when my work clearly was not. Still, I knew I was good, and so did Efroth, so Diro's attempts to shame me did nothing except shame him.

"For a dozen years I learned and worked, worked and learned. That is not such a long time, Maquesta. You spent more than that many years at your father's side learning. It was a happy time in my life, and perhaps I was the happiest I have ever been when I was working with him. I owed him a great deal.

"Finally, it came time for us apprentices to set off on our own, and for Efroth to take in a new group. The next group would be his last, he claimed, for he was getting old and wanted time to himself. We each had to pass a final test in order to be certified as qualified shipbuilders. The test was to design and construct a sailing vessel, then sail it alone through a special course Efroth had set up off the coast. He would accompany each of us so he could observe and grade us.

"I put a lot of time into my small sailing ship, for I intended to sell it after the course and give the money to my family-my thanks to them for setting up the apprenticeship. Then I had plans to travel from port to port, building ships for cities and the nobility, grand designs the like of which the Blood Seas had never seen.

"I should have suspected, but I did not for I was foolishly naive then, that Diro would attempt to thwart me in this final competition. The night before the test, he entered the shipyard where our vessels were stored and weakened my ship's hull.

"The next morning, we gathered at the shipyard dock next to our vessels. One by one, Efroth sailed out with us, taking each of us through the course, judging the performance of the ship, how it was rigged, and measuring the skill of its captain. My turn was last. I'd like to think he took me last to ensure that none of the others felt inadequate.

"Diro had done well. He had honestly tried hard on his own merits, and I was pleased for him. But when my turn came I knew that I would do better.

"Everything began favorably. The winds were gusty, but I trimmed my sails correctly, and my ship was crafted to take the best advantage of the wind. Then, when we were about a mile offshore, I noticed water entering the ship. Before my eyes, the leak turned into a geyser and then, with a terrible noise, my ship split in two. I grabbed a piece of the wreckage and survived. Efroth was not so lucky. He was already old when we started with him as apprentices. And when the ship split, the mast fell and struck him on the head. He sank to the bottom and drowned before I could reach him.

"No one blamed me directly for his death. They just shook their heads at my unwarranted confidence in my skills. Even my parents seemed ashamed. I was in shock. I didn't know how I could have been so wrong about my abilities.

"That night I wandered around the waterfront, not knowing what I was doing. At one point, I entered an inn to ask for a drink of water. As I waited, I saw that a little ways down the bar stood Diro, Thuu, and Phao. I could tell by his loud talk that Diro, who had his back to me, was very drunk. Joining them was the last thing I wanted to do, but I couldn't help overhearing what Diro was talking about. He was bragging about his cleverness and was showing the others a small pry bar he had used to weaken my ship's hull.

"Phao and Thuu, seeing me, tried to silence him, but could not. I succeeded in silencing him forever. Gripped by a white-hot fury, I walked over and strangled him. I made no attempt to escape. I was immediately arrested and sentenced to fight in the circus until I died."

Maquesta looked up into his tear-filled eyes. "But surely what Diro had done to you, and the fact that he caused Efroth's death, should have changed your sentence?" Maq asked.

"Our law absolutely forbids one minotaur killing another outside the circus-which are our organized combat games. Diro was already dead. He could not be sentenced."

"Then what were you doing at Attat's?" Maq probed.

"Sometimes, fighters in the circus are assigned 'keepers/ minotaurs responsible for maintaining us between bouts. In return, they receive a portion of every wager placed on our events. Attat is my keeper. I have been with the circus four years. I am undefeated, and as such, he draws good coin from my appearances."

"If Attat is your keeper, then why don't you just leave after helping us capture the morkoth? I'll tell Attat you escaped during the night, Kof. I'll drop you off in another port. You don't have to go back to him," Maq urged. "He's despicable."

Koraf sadly shook his head. "Two minotaurs are dead because of my actions-or my failure to take action. It is the law. And I honor the law. Also, allowing me to leave would be reason enough for Attat to throw you back into his dungeon. He is not someone to be trifled with."

Thinking of what Attat had done to her father, Maq could only agree. She nodded and gripped the king's spoke tighter.

The shore party set off, in good spirits, early the next day. Sea Reach was a far different place than their last port of call, Lacynos. Stone buildings with wide verandas, tile roofs, and bright, colorful awnings faced the waterfront, presenting a well kept and cheery face to visitors. Terraced farms climbed the rugged landscape on either side of the harbor.

However, Maq knew that-fortunately-the welcoming facade did not extend to all. The Butcher would not have dared sail into this harbor, nor would it have been comfortable for Bas-Ohn Koraf to accompany Maquesta and the others to town. Pirates and minotaurs were routinely driven off by galleys that patrolled the harbor and by armed guards who walked the waterfront.

Still, for the Perechon captain and crewmembers, Sea Reach was a very pleasant sight-or would have been if they hadn't been bailing out the water gushing in through the leak in the longboat. Maq scowled. Lendle's mending attempt did little but slow the amount of water bubbling in, and the lever on the side broke off the first time she tried to use it.

"ItisallrightitisreallyandtrulyallrightMaquestaKarThon," the little gnome babbled rapidly. "Ihaveaplantofixitpermanentlyevenbetterthanbefore." He winked at her and looked at the leak. "I'll get right to work as soon as we finish all our errands!" he added, finally slowing down so she could understand him.

Maquesta simply grimaced.

After they had pulled the longboat up on a sandy section of beach and tried futilely to shake the water out of their boots, Fritzen asked for a change of plans. He drew her to the side and talked softly, watching Lendle to make sure he was occupied with inspecting the longboat.

"Maq, can you meet me at the shipyard after you finish at the market? I think we need to take the longboat over there for a quick patch-up before Lendle completes his permanent repairs-or we may not make it back to the Perechon. Hopefully I'll have some new sails with me, too."

Lendle, obviously overhearing, scowled at Fritzen, but then joined in Maq's laughing assent.

They all agreed to meet back at the wharf after lunch, understanding that they might have to postpone their return if the longboat still needed work.

Maquesta grabbed a barmaid by the sleeve as she pushed by with an empty tray.

"Where do they take people arrested for not paying gambling debts?" Maq asked.

"Depends," the barmaid said, looking past Maq to the kitchen, as if anxious to pick up her order. "Best place to start is the chief constable's office, on the square." She tossed her hair over her left shoulder as she pulled away, vaguely giving Maq an idea of which direction to travel.

"I know where that is; let's go," Maq said to Fritzen, leading the way out of the inn and through the neatly kept streets of Sea Reach.

Because the island's steep hills crowded down almost to the water's edge, Sea Reach had evolved as an elongated city, strung out along the bay without much of a city center. Toward the western end of the bay, though, where terraced farms had been cut into the hills, stood a small square with a large sundial in the middle. Stone buildings that housed the agencies conducting all the official business of Sea Reach-city clerk, deeds registrar, constabulary hall, mayor's office-ringed the square's well-tended greenery.

"Foolish ass-brained spawn of a misbegotten muckdweller. It'd serve him right to rot in a cell here for a few weeks," Maq sputtered angrily as she stomped up the steep flight of steps leading to the constabulary hall's narrow entrance. "I can't dawdle too long in this town. We've got to be after the morkoth. I've a good mind to leave the muddle-headed ignoramus here and pick him up on the way back. Do him some good."

"Who taught you how to string insults together like that, a kender?" Fritzen asked wryly. "If you feel that way about the gnome, let's just leave him to his fate."

Maq shot her companion a withering glance. "How could you say such a thing? I'd sooner cut off my right hand. He's my friend. And I need him. But I'm furious that he got himself into this mess and that we have to take time to get him out of it. He knows the urgency of our mission."

At the top of the steps, Maq paused a minute to gather her breath, and her wits. Reflecting Saifhum's penchant for order, the constabulary hall dominated the other official buildings. Its massive, square-cut granite blocks reached up four stories, ending in a flat roof that was hidden by a parapet that, Maq was certain, itself hid a contingent of watchmen. If Lendle was being held here, they'd be hard pressed to extract him.

"Wait out here for me," Maq told Fritzen.

"But, Maq-" He began to protest, but she cut him off.

"I know what these islanders are like, and they'll think they know me because I look like them. On the other hand, you would just put them on their guard. And if they're suspicious, they might have someone start following us while we're in Sea Reach, which is a complication we don't need. I'll have better luck getting information alone," Maq explained. "I'll meet you on the square. If I'm not out by suppertime, then you can try to find out what happened."

"Yes, Captain," Fritz replied, making a mocking bow. "You ask, and I humbly obey."

Maq poked out her lips and put her hands on her hips. She opened her mouth to offer a retort, but thought better of it. Instead, she turned on her heels and went inside.

The Maquesta who entered the constabulary hall showed a far different mien than she had displayed on the steps. Suppliant rather than authoritative, Maq approached a tall counter that blocked access to the rest of the building. Behind it sat an officer busily scratching the nib of a feather pen across a long piece of expensive-looking parchment.

"Please sir, would you help me?" Maq asked plaintively.

"State your business," the guard said with an automatic brusqueness, still writing. When he looked up a moment later and saw an attractive young woman in obvious need of help, his manner visibly softened.

Maq smiled sweetly at him.

"My family and I live on the far side of the island, and I came into Sea Reach with one of our servants to visit the market. Only it seems he got himself in some sort of trouble at the Sea Reach Inn. Father will be so cross. Can you tell me how to find him and how to make amends for his offense?" Maq spoke softly, her hands held demurely in front of her. She still had the bags of provisions she and Lendle had purchased earlier, lending credibility to her story.

"Servant, eh?" asked the constable, looking her up and down.

For an instant Maq thought she had told the wrong sort of tale, that the constable wouldn't believe someone dressed as she was could come from a family with servants. But no, there were plenty of simple, hardworking folk on Saifhum, many of whom were wealthy enough to employ several servants.

"What's the servant's name? And is it a man or a woman?"

"Lendle, Lendle Chafka. He's a gnome."

"Gnome! Oh, that fellow. Couldn't miss him. He kicked Officer Rappa when they brought him in, hard, in the shins, yelling about how he had to go win back his stake," the constable said, tapping his pen on the desk. "We don't get many gnomes in Sea Reach-wouldn't ha' thought any lived on the island." A clear note of suspicion had crept into his voice.

"The far side of the island," Maq reminded him quickly, as she batted her long eyelashes. "He hasn't worked for us for long, and if this is how he's going to behave, he won't for much longer," she said, affecting indignation. "Is he here, then?"

"Nope. Can't work off a debt if you're in jail, that's Salomdhi's thinking. We would have locked the gnome up for awhile, but Salomdhi wanted him to come back to his place right away to start working," the officer said approvingly. "When there's money at stake, you'll not see Salomdhi taking a loss, that's for sure."

"Salomdhi?" Maq inquired.

"That's the fellow your servant lost money to in the card game. He's a merchant, the biggest in Sea Reach. Started out with one fruit stand and now he owns half the shops in the marketplace."

"Can you tell me where Mr. Salomdhi lives?" Maq asked. "Perhaps I can talk to him and arrange for my father to send him a payment. Lendle is our servant, after all. If he's going to work for nothing, he can do it for us."

"Sure. Take the street behind the hall and follow it until it ends. Salomdhi lives in a big white house with a red tile roof, the biggest house on the street. You can't miss it," the constable offered obligingly.

Maq had already thanked him and turned to leave when he called out to her.

"Young lady! Good luck in striking a bargain with him-Salomdhi's a tough customer." The officer chuckled, amused at the idea of the uneven match-up between Maquesta and the merchant.

Maq smiled to herself. He hasn't met a tough customer yet, she thought, but he will.

"A watcher charm-that is very old magic," Tailonna said thoughtfully.

Once the Perechon was sailing out of Sea Reach harbor-with new, crisp, white sails on the newly strengthened masts-Maquesta had asked the sea elf and Ilyatha to come to her cabin. She told them about what had transpired on the island, about Lendle's temporary servitude, the cache of treasure and weapons, Mandracore's appearance, and the charm.

"I am surprised that a simple merchant or even a pirate would know about such things as watcher charms, much less be able to put his hands on one," Tailonna continued.

"Well, Mandracore kept talking about the friends whose interests he was furthering. I wish I knew who they were," said Maq. She looked up from her thoughts to see that Lendle had slipped into the cabin. "How's Fritzen?" Maq asked the gnome.

Lendle had, once again, set up the armory as a temporary infirmary, with Fritzen as its sole patient. "He's stubborn, Maquesta Kar-Thon, and he keeps mumbling that being with you is very dangerous business. I am worried about him. He lost a great deal of blood, and he was still not fully recovered from the sea hag attack," Lendle replied, rubbing his chin in concern. "I am not certain what is necessary to treat him. I came to ask Tailonna and Ilyatha to consult with me on his care."

If the situation hadn't been so serious, Maquesta would have smiled at Lendle's phrasing. The gnome didn't like to admit to any gaps in his knowledge. And he wasn't one to ask for help.

"Tailonna, would you please take a look at Fritzen?" Maq asked reluctantly.

The Dimernesti nodded silently, and Maq suppressed a flash of irritation. Tailonna had already been of great help, and no doubt would be again before the voyage ended. But Maq found the sea elf maiden's remoteness annoying.

"We'll keep you posted on his condition," the gnome said. "Oh, one more thing, Maquesta Kar-Thon. Fritzen Dorgaard acquired pocketfuls of gold coins from the treasure cave. He had me divide them among the crew. Morale is much improved."

Maquesta grinned, pleased at Fritz's generosity. "Ilyatha, I'd like to have a word with you before you join them," she said unnecessarily. The shadow warrior had not made any move toward the door, having telepathically sensed Maq's desire before she stated it.

"Have you had any communication with Belwar since he left us the other day?" Maq asked once the other two had gone to the armory.

"No, I have not. Why do you ask?"

"See if you can contact him. If I know anything about Mandracore, he will try to follow us, and in Sea Reach he gave me cause to think he knew what our mission was," Maq said worriedly. "I know you, too, are anxious to return to Lacynos. Any interference from the Reaver could delay our return past the time… past the deadline Attat has set." Maquesta found she could not speak aloud words that referred to her father's possible death.

"How could the pirate know anything about what Attat has done?" Ilyatha asked, surprised.

"I don't know, but I intend to find out," Maq answered. "Mandracore referred to friends in Lacynos. The minotaur Koraf worked in the Horned Bay shipyards. I want to ask him what he has heard about the Reaver. I want your advice on how much I should tell him. Do you think I can trust Koraf? I made him my first mate because by doing so the crew would be forced to accept his presence. But could he be a spy Attat planted on the Perechon?" Maquesta realized she was asking the shadow warrior for his counsel as she once would have asked her father.

Ilyatha considered the question. "I sense a great anger in the minotaur, matched by an almost equal measure of gentleness," he replied finally. "His nature does not seem a duplicitous one. You have shown good judgment in your actions so far, Maquesta. Trust your own assessment. I believe you have his loyalty."

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

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 dropped 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.

Fritzen was feeling much better-too good to remain cooped up in the airnory-turned-infirmary with a mending gnome who babbled incessantly about various inventions, including how to construct a better mechanical wallet. Having heard enough, and wanting some fresh air and more pleasing company, Fritzen waited until Lendle was sitting up in his cot, busy diagramming improvements to his oar machine, then sneaked up top. He still favored his shoulder, but the view quickly took his mind off the dull ache. The sun was setting on the Blood Sea, and like an overturned bottle of paint the color spilled out over the choppy water, transforming it into an iridescent orange. Pink-tinged seabirds flitted above the waves, looking for something to eat. Finding a small fish, one released a haunting cry and climbed toward the cloud-filled sky with its wriggling prize.

Bas-Ohn Koraf stood near the prow, a spyglass pressed to his bull-like head and trained on the shoreline. Maquesta was at the wheel. She steered the Perechon toward the coast while she hummed a haunting tune.

Fritzen clung to the shadows for several minutes, watching her and trying to guess where she might take the ship. Adjacent to the point possibly, he mused. That was the place he'd select because it was close to open water, allowing them to get under way more quickly in the morning. The half-ogre's lips tugged upward slightly. He was finding himself increasingly comfortable in Maq's presence and was amused that he would seek her out. She seemed content behind the wheel, and the crew didn't hesitate to follower her orders. He certainly had no qualms about following this slip of a woman. But what would Maquesta Kar-Thon do, he wondered, if the mission was successful and her father was returned whole to the Perechon? Step down, of course, Fritzen decided. She'd return the ship to her father's care. But having a taste of being a captain, would she search for a ship of her own? If so, Fritzen suspected he would go with her.

Oblivious to the watcher, Maq ended the melody and deeply inhaled the salt air. She chewed on her bottom lip and cursed herself for not heading toward shore earlier. She did not want to be caught on the open water at night-the bout with the Blood Sea imps had been bad enough. As if mirroring her prayers, a gust of wind caught the sails, billowing them and speeding her course. The Perechon was near Endscape, she judged by a group of towering rock formations, a place her father used to tell her grand stories about. Her father. Maq shook her head and fought back a tear. Was he holding on? Was he thinking about her, too? She ran her slim fingers through her curly hair and looked at the point, considering anchoring the Perechon off it. No, she decided after a moment. Too close to open water. Instead she selected the cove, and the ship responded to her gentle turn of the wheel.

Fritzen quietly padded up behind her, intending to surprise her.

"Feeling better?" she asked, not bothering to turn around.

"How?"

"That healing poultice on your shoulder. It stinks. It smells like dead fish. In fact, it probably has dead fish in it."

Fritzen grinned sheepishly. "I see you're headed to the cove. Excellent choice. It's where I would've gone. Safer from the wind, harder to spot from the open sea."

She finally turned and caught his gaze. For an instant their eyes locked, and he edged closer, then she broke the moment and glanced at his shoulder.

"I'm fine, Maq. Really," Fritz responded to her unvoiced concern. "Tailonna makes wonderful magical healing potions. Lendle is feeling better, too. He was hard at work on a diagram when I left him, then he intended to visit the galley and instruct Hvel and Vartan in the art of seasoning soup. And speaking of food, dinner should be ready soon. Join me?"

"After we drop anchor," she said, returning her attention to the shore. "Then I want to check the sails and the rigging and lash everything down. Look at the clouds overhead. It's the stormy season on this part of the sea, and if those clouds are any indication, we could be facing a gale tonight. If so, the cove should keep some of the wind at bay."

Fritzen stayed with her until the Perechon pulled as close to shore as was safe given the draw of the ship, and he waited until Maq was certain the sails were lowered and in good condition. She fretted over this and that for another hour, then she, Kof, and Fritzen sat cross-legged on the deck and ate bowls of warm and filling oyster soup. As the clouds moved on, taking the hint of a storm with them, and the stars came out, the trio took turns pointing at the various constellations and telling old stories about sea monsters and about the gods coming to Krynn and meddling in the affairs of sailors. For the first time since leaving Attat's palace, the three began to relax and enjoy each other's company. But the mood was shattered as Maquesta yawned and rose from the deck.

"Time for us to get some rest," she announced. "Most of the crew turned in more than an hour ago. I told them we were going to get an early start." She wiped at a spot of soup that had spilled on her tunic. "Kof, stay up top for awhile. I don't like these waters-even near the safety of the land. Fritz, send up Berem and a lookout to keep him company. I'll relieve you later. We sail at dawn."

Fritz rose to go below, and Maq whirled and headed toward the steps. "Thanks for a pleasant evening, gentlemen," she added.

"Maq…" Kof's hushed voice halted her halfway to her cabin.

She turned and watched as the minotaur stiffened. His nose twitched, and a ridge of short, bristly hair stood up on the back of his neck. "There's something out there."

Maquesta started toward the capstan, where her sword rested. But she stopped short as she spied a clawed, webbed hand reach over the railing.

A scratching sound behind her sent her whirling around. Several more pairs of claws were on the other side of the ship-all attached to horrid bodies.

"Kuo-toa!" Kof yelled. "Dozens of them. Devils of the deep!"

"Fritz!" she barked. "Get below and sound the alarm. We're being boarded!" With that she dashed toward the capstan, flinging herself the last few yards and sliding on her stomach across the polished deck. She stopped herself as her fingers closed about the hilt of her sword, and she pulled herself to her knees and unsheathed the blade just in time to see a dark shape lumber toward her. The creature had a massive head like that of a sea bass, but its mouth was filled with jagged teeth that gleamed in the moonlight. It was covered with slime that glistened dully, and it stank of rotting seaweed. Maquesta swallowed hard and concentrated on not retching. The creature's torso was like a man's, though a little larger and covered with blue and green scales, and its arms and legs were nearly humanlike. But its feet were long flippers that trailed strands of kelp, and it had a fishtail that hung behind it and scraped across the deck. The kuo-toa wore crossed leather straps about its chest, with daggers evenly stuck into sheaths on them. Held by a thin cord to its back was a spear, which the thing reached for with its webbed claws as it slogged forward. Maq pulled her sword free of the scabbard and swung it in an upward arc that sliced the creature's belly open as it leaned toward her.

The creature screamed shrilly and looked down to see its entrails spill out. Maq jumped to her feet and swung again, this time higher. Her sword connected with the thing's chest, coaxing another horrid cry that trailed away. As Maquesta's victim pitched forward onto the deck, she leapt back and stared in mute horror as two more waddled forward to take its place. One had an ornate shield and was larger, more than seven feet tall. It wore an impressive necklace of coral and bones, signifying it was of some importance. The kuo-toa spouted a string of gargling gibberish, then thrust forward with its barbed spear. The smaller creature did likewise, jabbing at Maq's middle. She crouched to avoid being skewered and felt the creatures' slime drip onto her shoulders. Behind her, she heard Kof struggling with more of the creatures, his grunts mingling with their babbling gibberish and screams.

"Monsters!" she spat, as she released her sword and sprang to her feet. "You'll not take my ship!" She reached out and grabbed the smaller kuo-toa's spear and pulled hard. The surprised creature was momentarily thrown off balance and let go of its weapon to keep from falling. Avoiding another spear thrust from the larger creature, Maq twirled her borrowed weapon like a baton until the sharp metal head pointed toward her massive attacker. She took a step back, spread her feet for better balance, and waved the spear in front of her to keep the kuo-toa at bay and to give herself a moment to think.

The big kuo-toa's huge eyes rotated to take in the battle on the deck. Maq risked a glance over her shoulder and cringed as she saw Kof being borne to the timbers by a half-dozen of the kuo-toa. Thundering footsteps heralded the arrival of the Perechon's crew, with Fritzen in the lead, but Maquesta knew her men might be no match for the malicious sea creatures.

A growl drew her attention back to the big kuo-toa. It, too, had its spear extended to keep her at a distance. To her horror, she saw the smaller creature pull daggers from its leather harness. She nimbly stepped to the side, avoiding the first missile, but the second nicked her arm and she nearly dropped the spear. Fire coursed through her limb. "Take care!" she cried to the crew. "I think they're using poison!" Out of the corner of her eye she saw the smaller kuo-toa catch a javelin in its chest and go down.

The large kuo-toa threw back its head and made a cackling-gurgling noise that sounded somewhat like laughter. Then it darted in, faster than Maq would have believed possible, and stabbed her thigh. The spear sank in deep, and Maquesta yelped in surprise and pain. She felt the warm blood flow down her leg as her attacker pulled the spear free, sending another jolt of pain through her. But she gritted her teeth, remained standing, and thrust forward with her spear at the same time. The large kuo-toa brought up its boiled leather shield, and Maq's spear tip lodged in it. The creature made a rumbling sound deep in its throat and tossed its shield-and Maq's spear-to the deck. Its eyes focused forward, and it took a step toward her. Behind her Maq heard the cries of her crewmen-shouts of pain and victory merging.

"See to the minotaur; he's down!" she heard one sailor cry.

"I can't get to him," called another. "We're surrounded!"

"Look out! There's more coming over the aft deck!"

"Ohmyohmyohmyohmyohmyohmy!"

"Where's the sea elf? Wait, she's coming on deck. Do something, Tailonna!"

"Start a fire! See if that'll keep them back!" yelled the helmsman.

"They've got weighted nets! I'm trapped!"

"Maquesta?" It was Fritzen's voice. "No! Maq!"

She felt the creature's webbed hands fold about her waist and lift her as easily as a child would carry a doll. Its claws dug in hard, and she slammed her eyes shut as the big kuo-toa gripped her in a bearhug. She felt the air rush out of her lungs, needles of pain poking her everywhere, and her world started spinning. Then she felt herself thrown backward, and she landed roughly on the deck, her head smacking hard against the wood.

Dazed, she slowly opened her eyes to see the halfogre straddling her, pushing the big kuo-toa away. Fritzen danced forward, keeping the creature off balance, until the pair were clear of her. Then Fritzen leaped up and brought his leg straight out to strike the kuo-toa's chest, knocking it backward onto its rump. The half-ogre pressed the attack and jabbed his heel into the kuo-toa's face. But the sea creature quickly retaliated, grabbing Fritzen's ankle and yanking him down to the deck. As the pair grappled, Maquesta shook off her dizziness and sluggishly pulled herself up. The arm nicked by the dagger tingled all over.

She spotted Ilyatha hugging the shadows and creeping toward the forward mast. He motioned her to be silent, and she watched in fascination as he darted around behind a pair of kuo-toa occupying Lendle. He moved so silently not a board creaked, then he raised twin daggers and plunged them into the backs of the unsuspecting creatures. Lendle yipped his thanks and skidded to the side to avoid the falling bodies.

Beyond the gnome she saw a young sailor struggling with another creature. The man was stuck between the sea creature's shield and the railing, and he flailed about helplessly while the kuo-toa beat him. Maq grabbed the capstan for support. Her wounded leg and arm throbbed horribly, and she had to focus her thoughts to keep from blacking out. She looked about for a weapon, but there were none in easy reach. Dimly, she wondered where her sword was.

Still, she was determined to stay in the battle to its bloody conclusion, which she feared might come all too soon-signaling the end of the Perechon's crew and her father's life. Pushing herself forward, she staggered toward the center of the deck, where she knew javelins and harpoons waited. Behind her she heard slapping sounds: kuo-toan feet moving over the polished wood. At least one of the creatures was after her, she realized as she bit her bottom Hp and tried to move faster.

"Get down, Maquesta!" The voice belonged to Tailonna. Maq fell forward onto the deck. She lifted her head just in time to see a gossamer webnet fly through the air. Getting to her hands and knees, she whirled to spot a trio of kuo-toa caught like insects in a spiderweb. Tailonna slid to Maq's side and helped her up. Then the sea elf pulled a second of the tiny nets from her hair. Flinging it toward another group of kuo-toa, Tailonna gestured with her fingers and mouthed the words of a spell. The tiny net shimmered in the air and grew to the size of a fishing net. It landed on the sea elf's intended victims, trapping them. Another net Tailonna tossed toward the big creature struggling with Fritzen. Again a magical net found its mark, engulfing the massive kuo-toa. The half-ogre's legs were caught in the filmy tendrils, too, but he struggled to get himself free.

"Over there!" Maq pointed. Lendle, armed with a dagger and a wooden spoon, had become the center of attention again-this time with a quartet of kuo-toa circling him.

Tailonna nodded and released another web. This one struck the sea creatures about their heads and torsos, leaving Lendle space to dart free between their legs. "I told him to stay in the infirmary," the sea elf muttered. 'Doesn't he ever listen?"

"HelpKofheisintroubledosomethingplease!" Lendle was pointing.

Maq and Tailonna glanced beyond the forward mast and saw a kuo-toa pushing the prone minotaur toward the rail. Unconscious, he would quickly drown. Again arcane words came to the sea elf's lips, but this time they produced lavender darts of light that flew from her fingers. They struck the kuo-toa in the shoulder and spun it around in time for it to receive another set of magic darts in the chest. Amid cheers from the Perechon's sailors, the sea creature fell backward on top of Kof. The tide of battle had turned, thanks to the elf, and the sailors rushed forward to swarm the remaining kuo-toa.

"That must be their leader!" Fritzen called above the cacophony. He was pointing at the large kuo-toa in the net, the one that had wounded Maq. "I heard it snapping orders at the others, but I've got it." The half-ogre had retrieved Maq's sword and had the tip pointed through the webnet at the creature's throat.

Tailonna and Maquesta slowly moved toward the tall kuo-toa. "What will we do with it?" Maq posed. "We can't just let it go, but we're after a morkoth, not a sea-devil." She gritted her teeth and shook her injured arm; it was numb now, all but useless.

Fritzen rushed forward and grabbed Maquesta, hoisting her like a baby in his muscular arms and leaving Tailonna free to create more webnets. "I think you're the one in need of an awful-smelling healing poultice this time." His dark eyes showed concern, though his voice was light. "I'm taking you to the armory, where you'll be safe. Your crew can handle what's left of these things."

"Kof is going to be all right," Lendle called across the deck. He pushed the dead kuo-toa off the minotaur and grinned. Then he scowled when he saw Maq's bloody leg. "He's just stunned, in better shape than you are. I'll check on the others. Then I'll tend to you, Maquesta Kar-Thon."

"There're more kuo-toa in the water," Maquesta whispered to Fritzen. "I can see them. There must be at least two dozen. You're not taking me anywhere until I know for certain the Perechon is safe."

The half-ogre scanned the water and shook his head. "I don't see anything."

"Trust me. They're are out there."

Tailonna moved to the bow, where she had six more kuo-toa trapped in her nets. Several yards behind her, Vartan and Hvel had convinced a dozen of the creatures to drop their weapons and surrender. The battle was finally over.

Tailonna motioned for Fritzen and Maq to join her. "I can understand what these things are saying. Well, a little of what they're saying. Their language is crude."

"I can understand everything they say." Ilyatha stepped forward and sheathed his daggers. "Though I'm not sure you want it translated. They are a malicious and insulting lot."

"I do want to know," Maq stated, nudging Fritzen to let her down.

Fritzen frowned, but he gently set her on the deck, supporting her to keep the weight off her wounded leg. All about them the Perechon crew pushed the dead kuo-toa overboard and were in the process of tying up those that were injured or had surrendered. Four Perechon crewmembers had died in the struggle and were laid out on the deck. Maquesta cringed. The price for her father's life had risen again, and now the Perechon would be operating with a skeleton crew.

Ilyatha began spouting the same gibberish Maq had heard the big kuo-toa speak. The shadowperson was bent over a pair tied back-to-back. A handful of sailors stood nearby trying to pick words out of the garbled noises.

"Their king ordered the raid," Ilyatha said, turning to face Maq and drawing her attention away from the dead sailors. "It seems you have royalty aboard-and practically an entire colony of kuo-toa." He pointed to the big creature Maq and Fritzen had fought. The tall kuo-toa was tied to the forward mast, where three sailors stood guard. "It was leading the colony to an underwater shrine. They were planning a special worship service to honor the Sea Mother, their evil goddess. They spotted the Perechon as we approached the point and decided to capture the crew for slaves and food-saving some of us for sacrifices to the Sea Mother, of course."

Maquesta stepped away from Fritzen. Ignoring the half-ogre's protests, she limped toward the king. "I didn't want to fight your kind," she said, suspecting that the creature couldn't understand and she was talking to herself, but continuing anyway. "We were going to bypass your territory. You shouldn't have attacked us." Maq fingered the coral necklace about the creature's neck and tugged the bauble free.

"I figured you were important. I just didn't realize how important. We're going to use you, Your Majesty. You're going to tell us where to find the morkoth. In fact, I think some of your loyal subjects should lead us to the beast-if they want to see their king live past dawn."

Fritzen's stern face broke into a broad grin. "You're brilliant, Maq."

He and Ilyatha rushed to the king, and once again Ilyatha voiced the weird kuo-toa tongue that sounded like growls, hisses, and gurgling water. The king's reply was loud, harsh, and punctuated by spitting. The other captured kuo-toa began to hiss and babble, too, and they struggled futilely against their bonds.

"He's telling them to escape," Ilyatha said. "He says they should free themselves in the name of the Sea Mother."

Fritzen growled and kicked the king harshly in the side. "Maybe he doesn't realize we're serious," he taunted. Standing on one leg he raised the other higher than his head-until his foot was even with the king's scowling visage. Quick like a cat, he brought the leg down, and the other swung up to miss the kuo-toa's head by less than an inch. "Maybe we should convince him we're serious."

Tailonna padded forward and began mumbling, weaving a pattern in the air with her hands. "We don't need any more bloodshed, though I cannot convey how pleased I am at the number of dead kuo-toa. Killing this beast will gain you nothing other than my satisfaction. But I can make it more cooperative. I can make it quite reasonable, in fact." A small blue orb appeared in the palm of her right hand. She blew on it, and it floated forward, enlarged, then surrounded the king's head. For an instant, the kuo-toa's face shimmered with the same blue light, then the color disappeared, as if the magic never existed. "Now try."

Ilyatha stared into the kuo-toa king's eyes and babbled in the creature's strange language.

"I can pick up a few words," Tailonna told Maq. "Ilyatha's telling it that its life will be spared-as will those of its captive warriors. But…"

"But it has to provide a guide to the morkoth's lair. Which it has just agreed to do," Ilyatha finished. "The pair by the bow are its sons. They'll take us to the morkoth, though the king warns that the beast is dangerous. Now we will not have to search for its cave. Hours will be saved. This cursed attack on us has turned into a blessing."

"ButyoucannotgoMaquestaKarThon." Lendle was at her side, pointing at her bleeding leg. He stuck out his stubby index finger and started wagging it at her as if she were a misbehaving child.

"And you should not be out on deck. You should be in the infirmary," she retorted.

"Aswillyoube," the gnome answered.

Maq thought to argue with him. The Perechon was her ship and, as captain, she gave the orders. But wisdom prevailed, and she decided to back down. "I know, Lendle. I'm going to need some of your tender care and one of Tailonna's potions. But while you're seeing to me, I want Fritz, Kof, Ilyatha, and Tailonna to go after the morkoth. Tailonna's webnets and magic will be necessary to catch the beast."

Fritzen motioned to the minotaur, who was just regaining consciousness. "Right away, Maq?"

"No. In the morning. The sea's so dark at night it will look as though you're swimming in ink. You won't even be able to see a hand in front of your face." She shook her head and pointed toward the water. "Besides, those other kuo-toa are out there. And I want His Majesty to order them away."

"I see them, too," Tailonna offered. 'Twenty or more I'd guess. I'll take care of it." With that, the sea elf started talking to the king.

"Kof!" Maq quipped as the minotaur walked to her side. "It's about time you got up and joined the fun. I want you to make sure all of our guests are secure in the cargo hold tonight. And throw his majesty in the brig. When that's done, have our dead wrapped in sailcloth. We'll bury them at sea tomorrow."

Then Maq was swept up in strong arms and found herself being carried toward the infirmary. Exhaustion claimed her as she was placed on a cot. The last words she heard before drifting off were Lendle and Tailonna's rapid instructions to Fritzen to start mixing herbs.

"You don't have to stay with us any longer," Maquesta told Tailonna. "We can ease into the Endscape port for you. It's not far, and there's a deep harbor that we can move all the way into. It won't set us back more than hour, two at the most."

The women stood near the bow of the ship, looking out at the early morning sky and the rough water. The sails were full of wind and crackled with each gust, and the ship crested one wave after the next, rising and falling and spraying water over Maq and Tailonna. Despite the strong breeze, they were not making good time. Dragging the morkoth's cage slowed their progress considerably.

The sea elf turned to Maquesta, a grin forming on her thin lips. "I know I could leave," she said softly. "With the morkoth captured, my obligation ends. But…" She paused and looked up at the cloudless sky. "I have to know how this all turns out, Maquesta. I've come this far, and I want to see this journey through. Besides, you can't afford to lose an hour or two."

"And after that?"

"This is a fine ship. I've learned you make an excellent captain, and you have an able crew. But if you keep traveling waters like these, you're going to need someone with a little magic." She winked at Maq. "Maybe I'll stay. For a while anyway."

"I think the crew would like that," Maq replied, still not sure if she would like the presence of the sea elf on board.

"I should catch some fish for the morkoth," Tailonna added. "My people said the beast eats only live animals, and I trust you want the morkoth returned healthy to Lord Attat. So with your permission…" The sea elf pointed over the railing.

Maquesta nodded, not accustomed to having Tailonna ask permission to do anything. Then Maq turned and walked toward the port side of the ship. Behind her, she heard a splash, signaling that the sea elf was overboard. Maquesta hoped Tailonna managed to catch plenty of fish. She and the crew could use some fresh food for dinner.

Maq passed by Kof, who was obviously enjoying his time at the wheel. She wondered what he was thinking. They were returning to Lacynos, where he would be the property of Lord Attat again. She would talk to him about this later, as she had been mulling over the idea of purchasing his services from Attat on a permanent basis. Waving to him, she sped her pace. The minotaur nodded a greeting in return.

Her leg had recovered, thanks to the sea elf's magical balm and Lendle's herbs, though it was still a little stiff. She vowed to walk as much as possible today to help it limber up-the gnome's orders. For a moment she thought about going belowdecks and looking for Fritzen. She enjoyed his company, and she would like to hear again the story about the morkoth's capture and the twisting tunnels of its lair. But then she changed her mind. The half-ogre was with several of the other crewmembers, resting-hopefully sleeping. They would take over when night fell. With the cage slowing them more than she had anticipated, the Perechon had to continue moving, no matter the threats of traveling on the Blood Sea at night. There would be no more stops, and Ilyatha would use the flute of wind dancing each evening as long as its magic held out.

She spied Lendle leaning over the railing near the morkoth cage and decided to chat with him for a few moments. She wanted to thank the gnome for his help in mending her leg. She hadn't thanked him earlier-she was concerned about her ship, worried about the morkoth. In short, she thought to herself, she was taking the gnome for granted. That was a situation that would end now, she decided.

"Youaremostcertainlytheugliestcreaturelhaveseen," Lendle chattered at the morkoth. The gnome was leaning as far over the railing as his short stature allowed, ogling the beast and rapidly and loudly speaking to it. It was apparent Lendle wanted his voice to be heard above the sound of the wind and waves. Though the creature remained submerged, its head was just below the water, and it was looking back with interest at the gnome. Lendle watched its beak open and close and its red-flecked eyes narrow. The gnome tried to imitate the morkoth, then gave up and waggled his fingers in a childlike manner.

"Youbenicetome," Lendle sputtered. "Ikeptyoualivewithmyherbs."

"Slow down, please." Maq reached his side and affectionately scratched the top of his head. "I can barely understand you, which means it's doubtful the morkoth has picked up on a word."

"Thinkso?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Hmm." Lendle rubbed the end of his ample nose and smiled. He made an effort to talk more slowly for Maq. "I wasn't really talking to him anyway. He's ugly, huh?"

"Yes."

"And he looks like a couple of creatures put together. Part octopus. Part barracuda. A little bit of squid thrown in. Maybe a sea snake or an eel, too. He'd make good bait for a really big fish. Too bad we have to get rid of him."

"Uh-huh."

"You know, Maquesta Kar-Thon, I could create a device resembling his tentacles, but straight. And I'd make them much wider and flatter, of course, like oars. Made out of steel or hard wood-that would be best. You wouldn't want them to wiggle the way his tentacles do. They'd need to be sturdy, and water-resistant, too. I'd spread them even, like the legs of a starfish, like spokes on a wheel, then I'd attach them to a barrel. See, just like the straight part of his body there. If I could affix it to a winch, something to make the tentacles turn, I bet I could hook the whole thing up to the back of the Perechon. I'd crank it up, wind it up like a child's toy, and it would help power us through the water. We'd go much faster."

Maquesta offered Lendle a weak smile. "It has potential," she laughed. "But how about you getting belowdecks and working on your oar engine? That device is already put together; it just needs to work properly. Because of the morkoth's cage we're not covering much distance. And we can't carry the creature any other way, because I suspect if we took him out of the water, he'd die."

"My oar engine!" The gnome beamed. "You most certainly could go faster, Maquesta Kar-Thon, if I got my engine to work!"

"Exactly."

"Til get right to it."

"Wonderful idea."

"And I'll fix dinner at the same time." The gnome pushed away from the railing and headed toward the stairs. Then he stopped, scratched his head, and turned back to Maquesta. "What do I fix for the morkoth? Do you think it would eat my brown-bean soup? How about cornmeal muffins? Dried kipper?"

"Don't worry about the morkoth, Lendle. Tailonna is out catching some fish for it. She claims morkoths eat only living things. And I'd be careful not to get to close to its cage. Those tentacles are long, and I'd hate to tell the crew the cook has been eaten."

The gnome whirled on his tiny feet and resumed his course.

"Oh, Lendle?"

He stopped again and looked over his shoulder.

"Thanks for fixing my leg. And my arm. And for seeing to the rest of the injured crew. Without you, we'd all be in the infirmary."

The gnome smiled and waved his hand, dismissing her words. "It was nothing," he jabbered. "Besides, Tailonna and Ilyatha helped." Then he dashed belowdecks.

Maquesta stared through the water at the morkoth. It placidly hung floating inside the cage, glancing up at her occasionally. She reached over the side to touch the top of the cage and saw the red flecks in the morkoth's eyes grow more intense and brighter, and its tentacles began to undulate faster. When she withdrew her hand, the beast again seemed docile. Maq doubted the thing was subdued. She suspected it was just biding its time, waiting for someone to lean too close. She decided to instruct her crew to give it a wide berth. She couldn't afford to lose any more sailors-or the morkoth.

Clanking, wheezing, and belching gouts of black smoke, the Perechon pulled into Lacynos's bay shortly after dawn the next day, beating Lord Attat's deadline. Sailors on the wharf looked up in amazement at the wounded ship that was sailing smoothly but loudly.

Maquesta directed Lendle to cut his oar engine, and the ship coasted into the fetid waters in time for the crew to see a minotaur crewman throw the entrails of some large animal over the side of a schooner. Maq turned up her nose in disgust and was thankful that within a few hours Melas and the Perechon would be out of Lacynos-forever as far as she was concerned. She doubted the minotaur lord would put up any argument to keep the Perechon when he spotted the ship's condition and lack of a mizzenmast. Fritzen asked about making repairs in the port, but Maq only scowled.

"As soon as we have my father and Ilyatha has his daughter, we're leaving. We can find another port a few days away. Maybe it won't have as good facilities, but I'm sure the hospitality will be better," Maquesta told him.

Bas-Ohn Koraf stood near the bow. Maquesta could tell the minotaur had sunk into a deep state of depression. Before sunset his freedom would be taken from him, though she was hopeful Attat would allow her to purchase him with some of the morkoth's gems. Then there would be the matter of her father getting used to a minotaur crewman. That might be difficult after everything Attat had done to him, but she had come to rely too much on Kof to simply dismiss the minotaur first mate.

Once the Perechon was safely anchored, Maq sent Vartan and Fritzen to shore in the longboat-with a message for Lord Attat. He was to come to the wharf, bringing Melas and Sando along with him. The message further detailed that Maq would meet him on the deck of the Perechon, at which time the morkoth would be turned over to his care, ending her obligation to the minotaur lord. An exchange of prisoners, she viewed it.

Maq had no idea how the minotaur lord intended to get the morkoth from the harbor to his palace, since she thought the creature would die when taken out of seawater, but that was not something Maq intended to worry about. She'd kept her part of the bargain, and she didn't care what Attat intended to do with the beast.

She waved as Fritzen and Vartan eased the longboat toward the docks, then began pacing, anxiously awaiting the return of her father. She had so much to tell him. Tell him! Of course! She raced belowdecks to where Ilyatha hid from the sun's bright rays.

"Ilyatha," Maquesta gushed, "have you been able to contact your daughter? Is Sando all right?"

The shadowperson's face showed a hint of a smile. "My daughter is alive, though she is still in that hateful stone prison in the garden. The sun's rays are creeping toward her even now. But I have reassured her that she will not have long to wait. We will be together and free."

"And then the Perechon will carry you as close to your home as possible," Maq offered.

Maquesta was happy for Ilyatha, but needed to be reassured herself. "Can you touch my father's mind? Can you tell him that he will be back on the deck of the Perechon soon?"

The shadowperson shook his head slowly. "I can contact Sando from this distance only because she, too, is a telepath. And throughout our journey I was able to contact the ki-rin because he has a strong and magical mind-one far more developed than my own. My ability to reach those who are not so gifted is limited."

"But you knew we were escaping from Lord Attat's," Maq began. "You were able to…"

"His dungeon was at the edge of my range, as far as my mind could reach within his palace. He stationed me thus so I could monitor what transpired below."

Maquesta's shoulders sagged, but Ilyatha made her realize that the Perechon had made it back before Attat's deadline, an accomplishment of which she and Melas should be proud. There would not be much longer to wait.

Maq and the shadowperson continued to chat, about where Ilyatha and Sando would go, where the Perechon would be heading for the next several months, and whether Maquesta would try to buy her own ship. They pondered where the ki-rin could be, as they had expected him to accompany them into the harbor. But Ilyatha said his mind could not touch Belwar's-the ki-rin must be visiting another plane. When Maq realized quite some time had passed, she went up on deck. From the position of the sun, it was well into the afternoon-certainly past the time when she'd expected Vartan and Fritz to be back. Where were they? Had something gone wrong? Was Lord Attat biding his time, making her wait on purpose? Making her fret and worry? The crew knew she was nervous; Maquesta had done nothing to hide her feelings. They, too, milled about on the deck, waiting and watching their captain.

Tailonna paced about as well, though she kept her thoughts to herself. Finally, she looked up at Maq and waved.

"I do this as a gift to you, Maquesta." Tailonna grimaced, twitched her nose, and strode toward the bowsprit. Balancing on the railing, she glanced down at the water. Giving it a disgusted look, she held her breath, dived over the side, and started swimming quickly toward the dock.

Maq rushed to the bow to watch her, noting the sea elf darted around floating barrels, patches of insectladen scum, and the bloated remains of animals. She dived beneath other bits of refuse littering the harbor; nowhere within fifty yards of the shore was the water clean. When Tailonna climbed out on the dock, Maq scowled. The elf's once-beautiful blue skin was a dirty brown, and clumps of filthy moss hung from her hair and clothes. She futilely tried to shake herself off, and stared irately at the sailors on the dock, who were laughing, slapping their legs, and pointing at her.

To Maquesta, it looked as if Tailonna offered them some kind of retort, as one of the sailors jumped up and started running at the elf. Tailonna simply stepped aside, letting him fly off the dock and into the putrid water. As his comrades doubled over in laughter, the sea elf slipped into the longboat and rowed it back to the Perechon.

Tailonna waited in the boat and motioned Maquesta to drop the ladder. "I'm going into Lacynos to get cleaned up and buy some new clothes. Of course, you'll have to pay for them." The sea elf grinned. "While I'm doing that, you can visit Lord Attat."

Wait for me, Maquesta, Ilyatha communicated. I will brave the sun to see my daughter.

No! Maq thought harshly. I'll not let Attat find a reason to sway you to his side, to reveal what I might be thinking or planning on doing. You will stay here. I'll bring Sando to you.

Maquesta clambered down the ladder, with Lendle close on her heels. Before the trio could push off, Koraf leaned over the side and started down the rope ladder, too. "I am coming," he said flatly. "I will not let you go to Lord Attat's alone. I know the palace, and I know my master. I do not relish returning there. But I have no choice."

Fingering the pouch at her side, Maquesta thought to herself that perhaps it would be better to have Kof along. She had plenty of gems with her that could hopefully buy his freedom. As the minotaur guided the boat back toward the dock, Maq thanked the sea elf and pressed one of the gems into her palm.

"That should cover some beautiful new clothes," Maquesta said. "And it should serve to get rid of the harbor stench."

"The bath definitely comes first," the sea elf said, wriggling her nose. "The harbor water is poisonous. Nothing prospers there but slime and insects and small, venomous serpents. The minotaurs should be slain for harming the water so."