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!"
Chapter 5
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.