It was late afternoon, and Ilyatha told Maquesta the flute had not yet regained enough magical energies. "Give it an hour or two more" he said. Maq knew they might not have that time to spare. Watching Mandracore's ship approach, Maq's blood started to boil. All thoughts of outrunning the Butcher left her. If Mandracore wanted a fight, she would give him a fight he would not likely forget.
"Everybody!" Maq had climbed up to stand near the helm. She addressed her crew.
"I think you all know the Butcher and her captain, Mandracore the Reaver." The sailors gathered below her muttered oaths by way of assent. "Well, it looks like he wants something from us. Are we going to give it to him?" Maquesta yelled.
"No!" several sailors shouted in unison, their fists toward the sky.
"If he wants his ship stuffed down his throat, then I think he'll get what he wants from us!" shouted Hvel from the back of the group. Everyone cheered.
"Prepare your weapons, then," Maq ordered. "If we can't outrun him, we'll give him a fight he won't forget."
Just for the pleasure of frustrating Mandracore, Maquesta tacked and otherwise maneuvered the Perechon to keep it out of the Reaver's reach for a while longer. Tired of being the mouse in that cat-and-mouse game, she knew to fight him-which was what she wanted-would risk the Perechon, her crew's lives, and her father. But Mandracore's ship kept gaining, and when the afternoon sun hung low in the sky Maquesta set a straight course and waited for the Butcher to pull alongside.
The first grappling hook thrown caught the Perechon amidships. Three other lines soon followed. As the Butcher and the Perechon floated side by side in a forced misalliance, Maq ordered Hvel and Rawl, who were standing by the main ballista, to start firing. Round missiles shot by the crossbowlike weapon began pummeling the Butcher's sailors as they attempted to swing ladders across the gap between the two ships and board.
Noticing that the minotaur Koraf stood at the end of one of the ladders, waiting to engage the first pirate from the Butcher who attempted to set foot on the Perechon, Maq called out to him.
"Kof! Kof!" When she got his attention, Maquesta made a shoving motion with her arms. The minotaur nodded. Despite the fact that three of the Butcher's crew had mounted the ladder and were attempting to cross over, the minotaur easily lifted his end, shoved it back toward the Butcher, then yanked it down so the ladder and its passengers tumbled into the sea. Maq mimed her approval.
Soon, however, in spite of other such tactics and the ballista, a dozen pirates from the Butcher had boarded the Perechon and were engaging Maq's crew in fierce combat. And more were coming. Ordering Vartan to remain at the helm, Maq jumped into the fray, drawing her short sword and shouting curses at Mandracore, who was nowhere to be seen. Swordplay had been an early game of hers. She'd played it often, wooden sticks standing in for weapons, with Lendle, Averon, and her father. Unlike many mariners, rather than a curved saber she preferred a straight-bladed sword. She wielded it now to disarm a pirate who had pinned Rawl against the steps leading to the upper aft deck. Rawl picked up his own sword and finished the job.
Maq scanned the deck, trying to spot Mandracore's bandanna, but she didn't see it anywhere. Just as she was turning to check on Vartan at the helm, she felt a stinging around her ankles and was whipped off her feet. Lying on her back, momentarily breathless, Maq looked up to see a hulking blue-skinned ogre from the Butcher, holding a whip. He yanked on it, tightening its coils around her ankles. Convinced she was held securely, the beast straddled her, limiting her ability to roll away from an attack, and drew his sword. Maq grasped the hilt of her own weapon and tensed, preparing to evade the ogre's blow and strike back.
But before she could act, two massive arms covered with brown fur circled the ogre's upper arms and chest, applying a stunning pressure that caused the monster to drop its sword and whip. Maq quickly rolled away and began pulling the whip off her legs. Holding the ogre from behind, Koraf lifted the creature up even higher and slammed him to the deck. The wind knocked out of him, the beast staggered forward, but was too slow. Koraf growled and drew his dagger, grabbed the ogre by the hair, and slit his throat.
"Maquesta! Maquesta!"
Maq jumped out to see where the urgent summons was coming from. Koraf, wiping the blade of his dagger on his thigh, pointed to the bow with his other hand. Looking in that direction, Maq soon located Hvel, jumping up and down near the armory door, waving his arms wildly.
"Kof, come with me!" she commanded. The two of them fought their way forward, killing three of the Butcher's sailors in the process.
When they reached Hvel at the door to the armory, Maq saw why she hadn't spotted the Reaver earlier. Lendle lay in a far corner of the room, unconscious, the color drained from his ruddy brown face. Blood ran from a nasty gash on his head and stained the gnome's white hair red. In front of him, Mandracore and three of his ogres stood around the head of Fritzen's cot, swords and daggers drawn. Fritzen smiled weakly at Maq as she and Koraf came to the door. The pirate captain held the belaying pin and the dagger Maq had given Lendle. He used the belaying pin now to viciously prod the half-ogre's injured shoulder. Fritzen clenched his teeth, refusing to cry out.
"I'm sorry, Maq," said Hvel, wringing his hands. "He said if I didn't call you, or if I tried to call anyone else, he'd slit Fritzen's throat."
"It's all right, Hvel," Maq said, patting the sailor's shoulder. "The Reaver likes to stack the odds so he never has to fight an honest battle."
A shadow of anger crossed the pirate's face, but he controlled it. "Tell your crew to stop fighting, Maquesta." Mandracore ordered.
"Why should I do that?" asked Maq innocently. "From the looks of things, we're winning."
"If you don't order them to throw down their weapons, I'll kill your sick friend here and slit the gnome's throat wide open. Then I'll come for you," the pirate snarled.
"I think you'll do that anyway," Maq said with a composure she didn't truly feel. Desperately, she cast about for a way out of this situation. With a glimmer of hope, Maq thought she saw Lendle, who lay on the floor behind Mandracore, open his eyes. Then she realized that even if the gnome regained consciousness, in his injured condition he could do little against Mandracore and the three others.
Because Mandracore knew Maquesta had spoken the truth, he made no response. The muscles in Maquesta's legs tightened, and she prepared to leap at Mandracore if any of them made a move to harm Fritz. Better to die fighting than sniveling for mercy at the hands of vile creatures such as these, she vowed. Only the thought that her death would inevitably result in her father's death caused Maq a pang of regret.
Lendle's eyes fluttered again and this time stayed open. Maq forced herself not to look directly at him, not wanting to give him away. Mandracore had just turned to one of his ogres when the noise of fighting on the deck outside the armory died away. The momentary silence ended with an explosive crack, like a clap of thunder-only there was no storm outside. Everyone in the armory stood frozen in their places.
"Captain Mandracore! Captain Mandracore!" First one, then a half dozen voices took up the call. The summons sounded faintly, yet persistently, in the armory. Cursing, Mandracore took another jab with the belaying pin at Fritzen's wound, then ordered one of the ogres to cover his back while he went to see what had happened.
"The rest of you," he barked to his ogre cronies, "stay here. You! Put your knife to the half-ogre's throat. You-watch the gnome! If any of 'em moves, kill the half-ogre first. He killed my first mate!"