Queen of Storms

by Raymond E. Feist

  Ratigan said, “I ran into Roz in a town called Amberly, halfway between Ilagan and Marquenet; you take a little road a few hours up into the hills and down to a nice little valley. I was delivering some freight but mostly picking up a big load of fabric from the wool fair.” Looking at Declan, he said, “Remember, I told you about it when we left Ilagan on our way here?”

  Declan nodded.

  “After dropping off my cargo, I ran into Roz at the west freight yard in town, and we had a drink and talked. One of my wagons had broken a spoke, and . . .” He looked to Roz and said, “You finish.”

  She grinned. “I was going back to Ilagan empty, and Ratigan didn’t want to wait for his second wagon to be fixed, so I agreed to haul a load of cloth to Marquenet for a fee, see what I might pick up there heading back to Ilagan, and . . . with Jack gone and things turning nasty in the east, I wanted to find more business to the west and north, and Ratigan had more business than he could handle.”

  “I needed more wagons,” added Ratigan, “but couldn’t afford to invest in new ones, so I was losing business.”

  “So we decided to team up. I have no reason to stay in one place, as you know,” she said to Declan.

  “So now you’re partners,” said Declan, shaking his head in wonder.

  “Yes,” said Ratigan with a grin. “I now have new wagons and Roz has new markets.”

  Hatu asked, “What do you mean ‘things turning nasty in the east’?”

  Roz said, “Sandura has claimed Passage Town, so the last free city in the east is gone.”

  Declan’s brow furrowed. “Passage Town? I thought that was in the Covenant, sort of. Not in Sandura, not in Ithrace, so people could come and trade freely. Was I wrong?”

  “It was,” said Roz, “but not anymore. Sandura hoisted its banner over it a few months ago, according to what traders from the east tell us.”

  Ratigan said, “Sandura has been fighting two barons on its northern border, and rumors abound it’s going to claim that land when the fighting’s done.”

  Declan said, “So what’s next—Ilcomen?”

  “Maybe,” said Roz. “No one knows, but everyone is arming as if it’s coming west.”

  “A fair number of free cities and small baronies are stuck between the two kingdoms, and the nomads of the Sea of Grass aren’t going to take kindly to an army marching across what they claim as their people’s lands.”

  “So everyone is buying weapons,” said Declan. “I keep getting orders from Copper Hills and the baron here. I’m thinking about taking on another smith.”

  Gwen said, “Really?” Her tone implied more than curiosity.

  Hatu looked at Hava, who gave a slight nod. Both understood that Declan might be in a bit of trouble. Hava tried hard not to smile and almost succeeded.

  Declan also understood at once. “Just thinking about an apprentice,” he said quickly.

  Gwen seemed to accept that at face value.

  “Anyway,” Ratigan said, “we’re going to organize ourselves and set up a larger yard here and get Randal some help.”

  “I’ve got good people in Ilagan, so we’ll both operate out of Marquenet.”

  “So we’ll be seeing more of you,” said Gwen, her tone flat.

  Roz smiled. “I think a little. Most of my contacts are to the east of Ilcomen, so mostly I’ll try to keep business out that way going as long as I can.”

  “Well,” said Declan, standing and nodding in Gwen’s direction, “I’m glad to see you again and pleased you met Gwen and our hosts. If you need a wagon fixed or a horse shod, you know where to come.”

  “Good to see you again, Declan.” Roz gave him a light buss on the cheek, then surprised Gwen a little by doing the same to her. In a mock whisper, she said, “Don’t tell him I said so, but you found yourself a solid lad there.”

  As he turned to leave, Declan asked, “One thing, have you word of Edvalt?”

  Roz shook her head. “Those slavers returned and fired the town. A few fisherfolk came back and rebuilt their huts, but what you knew of Oncon is gone, Declan. Where Edvalt and Mila landed, I don’t know. Perhaps with their daughter in . . . whatever that place was she moved to.”

  “It didn’t have a proper name, but they call it Riverside Village, as it’s on the banks of the Tohon River.”

  “Well, they may be there. Not much business for a good smith that far from the road. Next time I’m down that way I’ll ask around.”

  They said their good nights, and after Declan and Gwen departed, Roz smiled and said, “He picked a good one.”

  Hava said, “I like Gwen.”

  “She knows I used to have my way with Declan,” Roz admitted with a smile. “It’s an intuition some women have.”

  Hava shrugged. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

  “Some don’t,” admitted Roz.

  Hatu looked at Ratigan, who grinned broadly. “So, he’s in trouble?”

  “For something he did before they met?” said Roz. “Not likely, unless she’s meaner than I think. But she’ll let him know those days are past.”

  “I don’t think she needs to,” suggested Hatu. “I haven’t known Declan for long, but he doesn’t seem the type.”

  “He’s not,” agreed Roz. “I’ve known him since he was barely able to grow a hair on his chin, and he’ll never break a vow. He’s a good and gentle man in his way, but he’s got more steel in him than any sword he’s made. If he makes a promise, he’ll keep it or die trying.”

  Hava said to Roz, “Do you need a room?”

  “No,” she answered. “I’m bedding down over at Ratigan’s little house.”

  “I’ve got an extra room,” said Ratigan quickly.

  Roz chuckled. Walking to the door, she said, “The poor lad fears I have evil desires on him.”

  Ratigan laughed and said, “There was a day I wouldn’t have objected, but there’s a girl down in Marquenet I’ve got my eye on, and I’d not want her to think ill of me.”

  “A girl?” said Hatu. He didn’t know the wiry teamster well, but had spent enough time with him to think this a highly improbable turn of events. “Tell us more.”

  Ratigan smiled, waved his hand, and said, “Some other time. Good night.” The two wagoners departed.

  Alone with Hava, Hatu said, “Well, as I now have a day before I must travel, and we have guests who may wish to eat upon arising, we’d better clean up.”

  “Yes,” agreed Hava. “This is harder work than I imagined.”

  They entered the kitchen and Hatu looked around. “Less to do than I thought.”

  “Gwen showed me how to do some bits here and there along the way, rinsing mugs and letting them dry.” Hava pointed to a ridged wooden rack next to a tub of slightly dingy washing-up water.

  “Oh, that’s what that is for,” observed Hatu. “Very clever.”

  They set about cleaning, and less than an hour later Hatu said, “Fair enough.”

  “The windows,” said Hava.

  Hatu smiled and nodded. “I would have forgotten. I’ll be back.”

  He moved quietly up the stairs, not wishing to disturb his two guests, and went to the far end of the landing and closed the window. As he passed one of the closed doors he heard faint voices. This was a little odd, since each man had his own room, but he assumed they had something to discuss.

  He caught a word and froze, listening carefully to what little he could hear through the door, then silently hurried away, thanking his years of training, which enabled him to tread quietly enough to avoid alerting the two men to his presence. He reached the near end of the landing, closed the window, and hurried down the stairs to where Hava waited.

  One look at his face and she said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Now I’m certain I know that man who arrived earlier today. There is no doubt I must send word to the . . . to our grandfather.”

  Hava nodded. Old habits of secrecy were unlikely to be put aside just because there was no one in this entire town wh
o would understand what he meant. Both also knew that his need to report was born out of habit, as he no longer had any obligation to the Kingdom of Night, and that he was doing this partially so Hava wouldn’t have to explain why he was traveling to Marquenet without her.

  They retired to their room next to the kitchen and Hava quickly fell asleep: she had done more physical work than Hatu, carrying platters in and out of the kitchen all night.

  Hatu lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Who were these men and why did hearing that one word fill him with an undefined sense of dread? Weaving in and out of this question, that word echoed in his mind: Azhante.

  3

  More Mysteries and a Short Journey

  Hava was boiling eggs, slicing what was left of a ham, and simmering a pot of grain porridge. Somewhere between buying the inn and this morning, Hava and Gwen had discussed what to serve at each meal, and the consensus was to cook the meal and if the travelers didn’t care for it, they could seek a meal somewhere else.

  Hatu had decided, for no other reason than needing to be behind the bar when the two men upstairs came down, to keep reorganizing the collection of whisky he had inherited from Leon. There was also something about this process that intrigued him, and he was now doing it for the third time since he had awoken and gotten dressed.

  He had almost choked and vomited the first time he’d drunk whisky. Declan had convinced him the proper way to drink it was to “toss it down.” He wasn’t sure if some of the liquid had gone down the “wrong pipe,” as Declan said, or whether it was just inhaling the strong fumes that had done the trick, but he’d ended up coughing and spitting before regaining his composure.

  He had been barely more than a child the first time he was introduced to ale and wine, and he remembered having a similar reaction, though not as severe. Each alcoholic beverage seemed to require a different approach. Ale and beer could be simply drunk down, and one of the things he had been taught was how to appear to drink copious amounts of “brew” without really drinking that much. Wine was trickier: the knack to staying sober was to dilute it with water, which was difficult with red wine, easier with white. Hatu had no idea how to drink whisky and stay sober; maybe with some water, but even then . . . Declan had told him it was an acquired taste, and Hatu now was doing his best to acquire it.

  Each had interesting properties. Some whiskies had a hint of this or that flavor that others lacked. All he knew at this point was that not only were there “good” and “not good” whiskies, but that within a certain limit of “good” there was an unexpected variety.

  So, trying to organize his thoughts on the matter, he managed to avoid total boredom while awaiting the appearance of the two lodgers upstairs. He had six different bottles of whisky, ranging from what he considered undrinkable to pretty good, and was considering his thoughts on cost when his two guests appeared.

  They moved directly to the bar and Hatu asked, “Something to eat, gentlemen?”

  “What do you have?” asked the man who had arrived first in town.

  “We have eggs—some are hard-boiled—and a few slices of ham. So today it’s eggs, ham, porridge, and oranges. In Marquensas we always have oranges.”

  “I could smell them on the air,” said the second man, who had been the one Hatu recognized from Sandura.

  “Lots of groves to the west, and when the breeze is right, you can smell them all the time,” said Hatu. He had heard that from the locals, and repeating it made him sound more like one of them. He didn’t know why, but he worried about the man whom he had seen before, sensing there was little chance it was mere coincidence that had brought him to this town so soon after Hatu himself had arrived.

  “Hard-boiled eggs,” said the first man. “We can stick them in our pockets and eat them as we go.”

  “Busy day?” asked Hatu.

  “Depends,” said the second man.

  Hatu nodded, saying nothing. Part of his training as a boy had been how to withstand questioning, as well as how to glean information; silence was a far more useful tool than most people realized.

  The first said, “We’re looking for someone, and . . .” He stopped, looked at Hatu, and said, “Maybe you’ve seen . . . ?”

  “Lots of people pass through town, and quite a few stop here for a drink or room,” said Hatu encouragingly.

  The second man said, “We’re looking for a family, but perhaps they’re not all together.”

  “Cousins, actually,” interjected the first man. “My family really. They fled some troubles in the east and I got word they might be here, or have recently passed through.”

  Hatu shrugged. Hava came out of the kitchen and put a bowl of freshly boiled eggs down on the bar. She had poured cold water over them after boiling, so they would be cool to the touch. “Help yourself,” said Hatu. “Free to guests.”

  “Thanks,” said the second man. Both took four eggs, putting two in each jacket pocket.

  The man who had arrived first said, “I’ve been asking around and so far no one has seen them.”

  “Big town,” said Hatu. “I run the busiest inn in Beran’s Hill—”

  “Saw that last night,” said the second man.

  “—and I doubt I see one person in a hundred who passes through. Who are you looking for?”

  The men exchanged glances, and in that instant Hatu knew he was about to be lied to. Master Bodai’s lessons on getting information were far subtler than Master Kugal’s harsh interrogation methods: the trick Hatu had been taught was to know which of the approaches to use at the appropriate time when questioning captives. Bodai had talked about questioning two prisoners and what to look for in comparing stories. Without being aware of it, the two men had just revealed they had concocted a story, and each was checking with the other without even being aware that was what they were doing.

  The first man said, “My cousin is married and they have two children—adults now, about your age I should think—a boy and girl, a year apart.” He again glanced at his companion. “One thing about them both: they have red hair.”

  Hatu shrugged.

  Hava chimed in as if on cue. “This far north there are lots of people with red hair. Lots of the Kes’tun people from the far north come down here all the time; some have settled. Half of them have red hair. I have reddish hair,” she said, though it was more a dark chestnut.

  “You’d notice,” said the first man. “It’s unusual, bright, almost copper colored, and turns gold in the sun.”

  “Haven’t seen anyone like that,” said Hatu. “Sunburned copper we see occasionally, but we spend most of our time inside, so if they didn’t stop in here for a meal or drink, we’d likely have missed them.”

  Hava said, “You know, I might have . . . at least I think maybe . . .”

  Both men looked at her intensely. “Yes?” asked the first man.

  “Well, it was only this pair . . . a man, and he was bald, and dressed like an islander from the east. That’s where we come from. But he had a girl with him, and when the sun hit her hair . . . I only saw because she was adjusting this scarf she wore. I remember it was a very unusual color.”

  The men exchanged glances. “Where did you see her?” asked the second man.

  “Down at the stabling yard . . . no, wait, not the stabling yard, but the caravanserai. They were looking for a ride to Port Colos, looking for a ship, I think.” Hava nodded. “Yes, now that you mention the hair color, I remember. If you head down to the caravanserai, you might find out who gave them a ride.”

  The two men nodded and the first said, “Thanks,” and they were out the door.

  Hatu gave a wry chuckle. “You can be evil, anyone tell you?”

  Hava gave a slight shrug. “You and Donte, regularly.”

  Hatu felt a cold jolt in his stomach. “I do miss him.”

  “Me as well,” agreed Hava. “Back to matters at hand. Those two are not very subtle.”

  “I don’t know. They may be playing dumb thinking we or someo
ne else here may betray information.”

  “They were staring right at the man they seek.”

  “But either they don’t know that baby long ago was a boy, or they’re disguising . . .” He waved away further speculation. “Here’s what I probably shouldn’t be telling you, but that second man, I saw him in Sandura when I traveled there with Bodai. He works for the Church of the One.”

  Hava took a deep breath and said, “Should or shouldn’t tell me?” She punched him in the arm. “If you knew he was with the Church, then of course he’s attempting to gull us. And his looking for a girl your age may be part of the act.” She crossed her arms and bit her lower lip, a gesture Hatu had rarely seen, but he knew it meant she was concerned and concentrating. He knew to leave her alone.

  Finally Hava uncrossed her arms and said, “Yes, you need to travel to Marquenet tomorrow. If Declan is reporting to the baron and Ratigan unloading his wagon, you should have time to send a message”—she glanced around out of habit—“and pick up a few things to make it look as if all you did was shop.”

  “I’ll need a list.”

  “You shall have one,” she replied.

  “I’ll first go to the Sign of the Gulls and send that message.” He shrugged. “If I am late returning to Declan and Ratigan, I can easily claim I haggled a lot, got turned around, and got lost. It is my first visit; all we did was pass through the last time.”

  “What about those two?” She hiked her thumb over her shoulder, indicating the two men who had left shortly before.

  “We wait, and maybe in a couple of hours one of us needs to do a bit of shopping and see if they’ve made an impression on any of the local shopkeepers.”

  She gave a nod and said, “I’ll go and make a list.”

  She went back to the kitchen, where they had a small table for doing ledgers and letter writing, which apparently Leon had rarely used. Hava had replaced the dried-out ink jar and purchased a metal-nib pen to replace a completely worn-out quill.

  Hatu cleaned up a bit of imaginary dirt and returned to contemplating the mystery of these men and how they related to what he encountered in Sandura. One thing was clear to Hatu. It could be nothing good. And it was also clear to him that they were looking for him, the Firemane baby.