Queen of Storms

by Raymond E. Feist

  Hava said, “My mother . . . I lost her before I was seven years old. I really don’t remember too much about her . . .”

  Molly turned slightly so she could glance at Hava, then returned her attention to where they were going. “See that dip ahead?”

  “Yes.”

  “Follow me,” she instructed, seemingly unburdened by the heavy deer she was carrying across her shoulders. When they reached the dip, Molly said, “This little rill here has been cut by runoff when it rains. Check and you’ll see which end is lower. If you get lost up here, look for a stream and follow it downhill. There’s a river on the other side of a road the baron’s family cut through here years ago, and if you follow any of them it will lead you to that road. Turn west and in less than an hour you’re back at Beran’s Hill.”

  “If there’s a road nearby, why aren’t we taking it?”

  Molly chuckled. “Roads mean people. People mean that animals only cross at night when people aren’t around.” She lifted her chin to her left and added, “That’s a game trail. See how it’s packed earth and rocks?”

  Hava nodded.

  “You follow those to find game or water.” Molly grinned. “You’re very good with a bow. We’ll hunt again soon and I’ll teach you some woodlore.”

  “I’d like that,” Hava replied.

  Molly took a step, then froze. Hava became motionless a second later, her training instinctively taking over so that she was ready for whatever came next. She put down the bag of entrails, silently drew an arrow from her hip quiver and nocked it to her bowstring.

  Molly unloaded the deer carcass onto a small, flat rock outcropping, letting her shoulder pack drop next to it; then she pulled an arrow from her quiver and nodded approval at Hava already being ready for trouble.

  Hava remained motionless and silent, waiting for Molly’s instruction. Molly lifted her chin to show the direction she wished to move. Hava fell in behind her, glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone was following, an old city habit.

  Molly moved with purpose, and Hava could tell from her posture and economy of motion that she was ready for a fight, though her quiet caution also told Hava that Molly wasn’t looking for one.

  Then Hava heard what had alerted Molly. Riders approaching: the sound of them growing noticeably louder. Molly headed down a slope, then knelt low.

  Hava knelt beside her and saw there was a break in the trees a dozen yards or so ahead, and beyond that, the road. Within moments the riders came into view, moving at an easy canter, a gait designed to cover long distances quickly without ruining the horses. As they passed, the man in front raised his arm and reined in a bit, and the horses slowed to a trot.

  As they rode out of view, Molly stood up and said, “Come on.”

  “We’re going to follow them?” asked Hava. “What about the deer?”

  Molly shouldered her bow. “Scavengers are already on it. There are more deer to hunt.” She pointed up the road. “This is more interesting.”

  “A company of mercenaries on their way to Port Colos is interesting?”

  “Did you see how they reined in on command?” Molly asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Not mercenaries. Soldiers dressed like mercenaries. They rode in formation and reined in on a hand signal. Well-trained cavalry.”

  Hava chided herself; she should have noticed that. “The baron’s?”

  “If they turn south, they’re the baron’s.”

  “If they don’t, they’re someone else’s.”

  “Interesting?”

  Hava nodded, her expression conceding Molly’s point. “Very.”

  Molly started to move up the road at a fast walk, and as Hava caught up they both broke into a jogging run.

  They managed to stay close enough to the riders to keep them in earshot, as the soldiers disguised as mercenaries were traveling at a modest trot and the women were alternately running and jogging. Finally, when the sound of hoofbeats stopped, Molly glanced at Hava and gestured that they should move into the trees and keep following out of sight.

  After skirting the road for a few minutes, Hava glimpsed the riders through the trees. The two young women retreated upslope a little more, staying low behind brush and fallen tree trunks. When the baron had had the road cleared most of the timber not harvested—mainly mounds of branches and an occasional diseased bole—had simply been dragged uphill on either side, providing several convenient places for an ambush, or to spy.

  Molly crouched, put her cheek next to Hava’s, and asked, “What do you think?”

  Hava observed how the riders organized themselves: two feeding horses out of nose bags while four others stood in a circle in discussion. One walked a short distance back down the road, apparently to see if they were being followed. Hava said, “They’re meeting someone.”

  “How do you know?”

  “If they were just pausing to rest the horses they’d walk them slowly and then feed them once they reached town. They don’t know how long they have to wait for whoever is meeting them, and don’t want the horses hungry and restless if they have to linger. If it was anything else, they’d be riding into town or finding a place to let them graze.”

  Molly raised a questioning eyebrow.

  Hava grinned. “My father, a horse trader?”

  Molly returned the smile. “Now?”

  “We wait,” said Hava, and Molly nodded.

  Hava had endured enough stints of observation as part of her training that she ignored the urge to drift off into random thoughts: the many unanswered questions about the choices that would come, if not soon, eventually. About her loyalty to the Council on Coaltachin and her years spent with Hatu—and their lost friend Donte—coming into conflict. She wrestled with that occasionally, electing to push it aside most times, content that when the time came for her to choose between a lifetime of friendship and love and a sense of duty instilled since childhood, she would make that choice.

  Instead she turned her attention to the soldiers waiting at the verge of the road below, attempting to see as much as she could without being seen. Molly had been correct; these men were a poor excuse for a mercenary company. She’d seen a number of those in her travels, and they were at best a scruffy lot, given to all manner of choices in armor, weapons, saddles, and mounts. The men below had chosen to wear some unlike garments, but they were all too clean, not in need of mending, obviously little worn. More revealing, they all wore the same boots, and the horses had identical tack. She was convinced if she got closer the swords and any bows would be alike. This was a company of soldiers, should anyone take a few moments to study them, and not just any soldiers, for garrison soldiers had variations in armor, weapons, and boots. These were castellans: personal soldiers of a noble, the best of his army, whichever army that might be.

  “Why are there so many of them?” Molly whispered.

  Hava shrugged. “Maybe we’ll find out.”

  The two young women waited in silence, as the men stood idly and rotated every so often to ensure the horses didn’t wander off the road now that the feeding was over. Hava knew that sooner or later the horses would need water and she softly asked Molly, “How far to water?”

  Molly pointed to the road and then beyond it. “That way. Not far.”

  Hava murmured, “They’ll have to water the horses soon.”

  Molly nodded.

  As Hava had predicted, two of the soldiers led half the horses off toward the small river that ran to the north of the road and, after a short while, returned and led off the other mounts.

  Minutes passed slowly. As the sun lowered in the sky, the last of the freshly watered horses returned.

  Hava leaned over and whispered, “See those two men, standing a little way off?”

  Molly turned her attention to the indicated pair. One stood tall, a soldier by his bearing, but the other was a short man, apparently slender under his heavy cloak. Hava whispered, “The shorter one is not a soldier, but the tall one—their lea
der—seems respectful of him.”

  “How do you know?”

  Hava again returned to the fabricated history she had concocted. “My father taught me early to study people; horse traders need to know whom they are bargaining with, even if they’re strangers. You look at who jumps to follow instructions, or their faces when they’re told something.” As if to punctuate her observation, the tall man nodded and said something to the other soldiers, who immediately started inspecting the horses and making ready to ride soon.

  “Someone is coming,” said Molly.

  As soon as she spoke, Hava heard hoofbeats and a rider came into view, followed by the soldier who had been stationed down the road. The rider jumped down from his mount and nodded a greeting to the two men Hava had observed. The tall man moved away, leaving the short fellow and the newcomer alone to speak.

  Hava said suddenly, “I’ve seen him before.”

  “Keep your voice down!”

  Hava silently chided herself for letting a moment of surprise break her discipline.

  Molly asked, “Who?”

  “The man who just arrived was at the inn two days ago seeking a room. Hatu said the repairs were not quite finished and sent him off.”

  Since the Inn of the Three Stars was still under repair, travelers were often referred to other quarters, to smaller inns and several farmers’ barns. Their inn should be in a good enough state to allow travelers a place to stay by tomorrow, Hatu had told her.

  “Do you know him?” whispered Molly.

  “Just a traveler. I didn’t pay attention after he asked about a room.”

  Molly said, “They’re getting ready.”

  “Yes, but for what?”

  “To leave, look.” She pointed where the riders were inspecting their horses, tightening girths, checking bridles, ensuring saddle packs were secure, before restarting their journey.

  Hava said, “We should go,” and began to creep upslope.

  Molly moved in beside her, and after they’d crested a ridge and were heading toward Beran’s Hill down a gentle slope, Molly said, “What do you suppose all that was?”

  “Nothing good,” said Hava.

  “Should we tell Declan?”

  “Tell him what? That a man escorted by soldiers disguised as mercenaries met a man who came into town a couple of days ago and has been . . .” Hava shrugged. “What? Sneaking around town?”

  Almost as one, they both said, “We should tell Declan.”

  Hava said, “You tell him when we get back. He knows you better and I need to . . .” She almost said “warn Hatu” but caught herself. “. . . let Hatu know to be careful with those two should they come by the inn.”

  They continued on until Hava realized she knew where they were, just as sound from the town drifted to them on the afternoon wind. As they neared, Hava made out the sounds of a hammer and smiled.

  Hatushaly paused to wipe perspiration off his forehead and then resumed hammering another hardwood shingle into the supporting board. Summer was approaching and the days were getting hotter, especially when spent up on the roof of the inn. He and two workers he had hired were finishing all the repairs started by Declan Smith after raiders had tried to burn down the Inn of the Three Stars.

  He’d purchased it from Gwen, the previous owner’s daughter, the week before. He and Hava had discussed it at length before they made the offer. Hava had grown to like Gwen, who was to wed Declan, the smith. He had become Hatu’s first “friend” in this town.

  Hatu leaned back and caught his breath. The work was not exhausting, but it had been a week of very long days, up before dawn, engaging in tasks that challenged what he knew of several crafts; like most students from Coaltachin, he had spent time being exposed to many skills, for the most part to provide believable stories while acting as an agent for Coaltachin, but he was a master of none of them. This restoration had taught Hatu just how much he didn’t know about carpentry, masonry, and other building trades.

  He surveyed the town of Beran’s Hill, taking the time to actually look at the sprawling, growing community. It still felt new to him, as the longest he had lived in any one place had been the school where he had first met Hava and their lost friend Donte, and he sensed his perspective on this place and the people who lived here was changing.

  He was playing the part of a new husband and innkeeper, a first as either. He had trained all his life to be a member of the Quelli Nascosti, the secret assassins of Coaltachin, but in fact all of that had been a front contrived to keep him hidden from his true family’s enemies.

  Hatu’s real name was Sefan Langene, or so Baron Daylon’s body servant, Balven, had told him. He was the son of a dead king. That made Hatu king in name as well, except there was no kingdom, save one of ashes and ruin on the far side of this continent. As a baby, Hatu had been given over to Master Facaria to be raised as “one of his own,” and the baron hadn’t realized that didn’t mean raised in the relative safety of a castle somewhere, surrounded by guards and retainers. One of the older masters, a onetime member of the Council of Masters of Coaltachin, Facaria had indeed raised Hatu as if he had been one of his own children. It had been a difficult, violent, and dangerous upbringing. Hatushaly had been reared to become a warrior, crew boss, even master assassin and spy for the Kingdom of Night, as Coaltachin was known. The irony of the dangers he’d faced growing up were not lost on him. Still, it all made sense in a convoluted way; Hatu considered himself as safe as he was ever likely to be, as there were few better students in combat than he.

  He almost laughed at his situation, for if he remained a simple innkeeper and kept his hair colored as a precaution, he was probably as safe as any man in the Barony of Marquensas. Short of being overcome by some mad desire to reclaim his lost heritage, he could spend the rest of his life in relative peace, assuming that his former masters didn’t order his “wife” to kill him. That did cause him to laugh aloud and wonder what more convoluted fate awaited him as he returned to work.

  He loved Hava more than he could say, for his schooling had taught little about matters of the heart. He had loved her his whole life but had recognized that only recently. She had always been there for him, a calming presence at the worst times in his childhood, an anchor to keep him from spinning off in rages, the one person who understood him, perhaps better than he understood himself. He also knew she loved him, but the question was: Did she love him enough to ignore orders from her masters to leave him or, worse, to kill him? Only time would tell.

  He finished a section of the roof and stood up to regard his work and found it apparently sufficient—at least until the next rain, at which time his mistakes would reveal themselves. Then he lifted his eyes and saw Hava and Molly emerging from the woods on the other side of a field. Neither seemed burdened with game, so he wondered if they’d simply not found any or had used hunting as an excuse for Hava not working.

  He doubted the latter, for avoiding work wasn’t in her nature, though he knew she disliked carpentry and the general cleanup the inn required. As game was reputedly plentiful this time of year in the forest nearby, he assumed something else had arisen and that made him curious. He stepped higher up the roof ridge and waved as Hava and Molly cut across the fallow field. Hava spied him and returned the wave.

  By the time he had climbed down the ladder, Hava had reached the back gate to the stabling yard. “Anyone inside?” she asked.

  “No,” answered Hatu. “Samuel is on his way to Declan’s to get another bucket of nails.” He wiped his forehead. “And we’re almost done.”

  She motioned him to follow her inside. “Where’s Roary?”

  “Something to do with helping his mother do something at her shop. He’ll be back in an hour.”

  Hava glanced around the almost-restored common room of the Inn of the Three Stars. The day before they’d moved casks of ale, barrels and bottles of wine, and whisky into storage. They had also stocked the kitchen, which was why the roof was not quite finished. Hatu
was determined that by tomorrow they would once again be open for business.

  “You know that fellow who came around day before yesterday—dark hair, tall, looking for a room? The one you sent over to Jacob’s barn?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  Hava recounted what she and Molly had observed, and when she finished Hatu said, “Sounds like something we may need to report to the masters.”

  “Almost certainly. Who will go?”

  Hatu said, “It will have to be me.”

  Hava’s frown indicated that she didn’t understand why that was the case, so Hatu continued. “Haven’t you noticed? None of the women here, except for Molly Bowman, travel alone.”

  “Odd, isn’t it?” asked Hava.

  “I gave up trying to understand why people do a lot of things since we started traveling with the masters,” said Hatu softly.

  Hava nodded. “What will you tell them?”

  By “them,” she meant the masters who would receive his report.

  “I think I’ll wait a day or two and see if that fellow and the man you said he met reveal anything.” He glanced around the almost finished common room and said, “I think we were fortunate to have chosen this business. I can’t imagine a better place in Beran’s Hill to have information come to us.”

  Hava nodded. “I’m not sure how we’ll do as an innkeeper and wife, but if those are the roles we need to play, so be it.”

  Hatu smiled, slipped his arm around her, and gave her a slight hug. “I’m enjoying the wife part.”

  She pushed him away with mock disdain. “None of that until you’ve bathed. You reek.”

  He laughed. “It was hot up on that roof.” With a sigh, he added, “But I’m not quite done yet, and those shingles will not attach themselves.”

  “Off you go then,” Hava said with a smile. “And do bathe before tonight.” She looked him up and down slowly. “You still need more practice in bed.”