Maquesta Kar-Thon

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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.

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