Queen of Storms

by Raymond E. Feist

  Hatu nodded his thanks. “Another journey to Marquenet then.” He bade Gwen and Declan goodbye, then looked at Hava. Her gaze was distant: she was deep in thought. He wondered for a moment if she was already compiling a list of things he needed to bring up from the nearby city or whether she was speculating on who might be coming to kill them.

  The musicians struck up a merry tune that was unfamiliar to Hatu and Hava, but obviously a favorite of the crowd, who shouted their approval as many couples began to dance. Onlookers formed a circle to watch, many clapping along in time, as the midsummer festival officially commenced at noon. Hatu had taken his quick journey to Marquenet, bringing up all the goods and ale he could fit into one of Ratigan’s largest wagons, and he and several of the local townsmen had brought a generous amount of ale and wine to the festival site, a clearing near the center of the town. Despite the unusual midday heat, everyone seemed ready to celebrate.

  Hava cast a sidelong glance at Hatu, who stood across the “wedding circle,” as a cleared area near the tables was called. It wasn’t a circle as much as an irregular patch of flat land with a few stones placed around the edge. For some odd reason, the men and women who were going through the ceremony were supposed to wait apart from each other until called into the circle for the wedding.

  Hava wore a dark green dress that brushed the tops of her feet. It suited her skin tone, and the high bodice, sleeves, and hem were edged with an intricate pattern of yellow stitching. On her head was a garland of flowers, tiny white blooms seeming to peek out of green leafy cups alternating with larger pink blossoms with red centers. Hatu had no idea what those flowers were called, but he thought they looked perfect. He thought she looked perfect.

  Hatu glanced away from Hava, struggling with an old feeling, one not felt for a while, a hot seed of frustration that could evolve into a full-blown rage if not stemmed. The sudden appearance of this hint of fury surprised him, as he had not had to deal with it for months, not since taking the ship through the Narrows with Hava. He had thought himself “cured,” and the return of the feeling troubled him. He tried to employ those mental exercises he had developed to put the rising anger to one side.

  Playing the part of husband and wife, even with the contrived story that they had never been through a ceremony until now, had seemed at first a convenient ruse that enabled him to stay with her and serve Bodai’s mission—whatever that might be—but actually going through a ceremony made it feel like something entirely different. He knew he loved Hava down to his bones and also hoped she felt the same way, but . . .

  Declan asked, “Hatu, are you all right?”

  Hatu forced a smile. “Sorry, just . . .” He glanced around, pushing down the rising turmoil within. “It’s a big day, isn’t it?”

  The men stood together in their best clothes, which for some meant recently washed, but they all appeared ready for the ceremony. A man named Donald nodded. “My Mary says so, so it must be,” he said, before taking a long pull on his mug of ale. He smacked his lips, foam in his mustache and beard, then added, “Don’t see much reason myself, but she’s very taken with these rituals and prayers from the Church.”

  Other men nodded, and Hatu gave a small shrug that could be taken as agreement. He knew he had a vastly different view of the Church of the One from that of these men. They simply saw the Church as a rising faith, with tenets that appealed to some of them, like eternal rest after life with no threat of the various specters of hell and torment offered by other faiths: the cold isolation of life without life, the flames of perdition, or the nothingness of a nameless void. Hatu knew the Church of the One had an agenda in league with sicari-like men called Azhante.

  That name, whispered in the dark to him by Master Bodai, with the warning he was never to repeat it aloud to anyone but himself or Master Zusara, terrified Hatu. Because it was the only time in his short life he’d seen the otherwise imperturbable Bodai genuinely troubled, perhaps even fearful. Hatu felt that if the Church was in league with men who could do that, then the Church was to be feared.

  Hatu shook off the distracting thoughts and returned to mastering his rising anger. He looked at Hava, who returned his gaze and barely shook her head, but he knew what she was silently saying to him: “Stop it! You’re doing it again!” Remembering the scolding tone of her admonishments about not getting himself into pointless rages over things long past made him smile and his face relaxed. She blinked, then her face also transformed, revealing an expression of simple happiness that he had rarely seen in her.

  Again he wondered at how much he loved Hava.

  Declan glanced from Hatu to where Hava stood near Gwen and said, “Easy. It’s going to be a long day.”

  “I think I just realized that,” Hatu said ruefully. He watched Declan’s gaze return to Gwen, who wore her best dress like the other women, in a light shade of blue she seemed to favor and that suited her fair skin and dark brown hair. He could tell from Declan’s expression that he was still besotted by her. “Looks as if you just realized it, too,” he said to Declan with a laugh.

  A man named Joseph Rowe, who was showing signs he might not make it through the day, wobbled toward them. “Never understood this marriage business. My ma and da weren’t wed, and for the life of me I can’t understand why Jenny is so . . .” He lifted his mug and gulped ale, then shook his head a little.

  “Easy there,” said another man. “You need to be standing upright when the vows are spoken.”

  The other men laughed as someone managed to pull the almost empty flagon from his hand.

  “Well,” said Rowe, “got to keep ’em happy, right?”

  Hatu tried not to laugh and failed. Declan joined in as another man said, “Here comes the priest.”

  Hatu glanced over and Declan said, “Monk, not priest.”

  “Does it matter?” asked a man named Hamed.

  “Seems to,” answered Declan. “Catharian always corrects people when they call him a priest. Seems that the Church has rules about such things.”

  “Well, as long as my Meli is satisfied we’re properly married,” added a man named Moji Trasti, “he can call himself a barnyard goose for all I care.” He nodded toward Sabella, who was following close behind Catharian. “What do they call his girl?”

  More chuckles, and Declan said, “He calls her ‘Sister.’”

  “That’s his sister?” slurred another man. “I thought she was his daughter.”

  “Lover?” said another. More laughter followed.

  Declan looked caught between amusement and annoyance. “Sister is her title. He’s ‘Brother Catharian’ and she’s ‘Sister Sabella.’”

  “Oh?” said Moji, clearly uncertain what had just been explained to him.

  Catharian reached the center of the circle. He motioned for those about to be wed to come to him.

  Hatu, Declan, and the others moved toward the false monk, while the women came from the other side. With a few hand gestures, he motioned for them to pair up in a circle around him. Then he raised his hand and motioned the onlookers to come closer so they could hear him.

  After a moment, as people settled in and stopped talking, he said, “Today is the festival of midsummer, the brightest day of the year.” He looked from face to face for a moment, then continued. “I’ve traveled a great deal, from lands halfway around Garn, and one thing we see in all people, no matter what other beliefs they may have, is their need for others: friends, family, a partner in life.”

  Catharian paused as if weighing his words, and then he looked at those gathered before him. “You’ve come here to wed, to bind your lives together, and before you do, we must ask why. Why have you chosen to spend the rest of your days with this one person, to hold that person’s needs equal to your own? Why pledge yourself? Many don’t. I have been to nations where marriage is arranged by parents and those who wed have no choice. I have visited nations where marriage is merely living together without anyone’s consent. So why here, today, do we do this? />
  “Because we are seeing each pair of you make a vow before the world—or that part of it gathered here today,” he added with a slightly wry tone, and the crowd laughed lightly in approval. “It is our way of saying to witnesses, ‘This is what I feel, what I must share with the world, how dear I hold this other person in my life. That my life is not full without this partner.’”

  Hatu glanced at Hava and saw that apart from a slight smile her face was otherwise expressionless. He noticed by contrast that Gwen was fighting back tears and Declan had what could only be called a silly grin on his face.

  Catharian said, “I serve the Harbinger, who announced the coming of the One, and in the Church there is no canon or ritual specific to marriage. Some members of the clergy are wed, others are not, and the only rules and rituals that apply are those in the places where those who wed choose to be married. The one truth held true is this: I put my partner before all others and will vow fidelity and commit to a lifetime together. Nothing more, for that is everything.” He paused, looking around at them all, then declared, “Therefore, it is my place to announce to the gathered witnesses that those gathered here today are now wed!”

  There was a moment’s silence, then the crowd cheered loudly.

  Hatu looked around, confused. Hava cupped his face between her hands, pulled his head toward her, and kissed him, long and deep. As he caught his breath, she said, “There, now we’re married.”

  He grinned, unable to help it. “Now what?”

  “Drinking, dancing, I expect,” said Hava, snaking her arm through his as she turned to stand next to him. Pulling him close for a second, she added, “Then open the inn and stay busy all night is a good guess.”

  Music began as those who played struck up a lively tune. It was repetitive, without any obviously recognizable melody, but all those playing seemed to know it and managed to produce something enjoyable. Hatu saw a few newcomers with small drums, tambourines, and other instruments coming to join in, and in moments a dancing throng was moving rhythmically to the increasing volume of music.

  Hava tugged at Hatu’s arm. “Let’s dance!”

  His eyes widened. “I don’t know how!” Of the many abilities he had been taught as a student in Coaltachin, dancing had been noticeably absent.

  She laughed and kept tugging on his arm. “You put your right arm up and your left hand on your hip and you jump around.”

  He watched the dancers as she moved him slowly forward and realized she wasn’t entirely wrong. There seemed to be steps, a combination of two steps forward and one back and then a turn, but mostly it seemed there was a lot of jumping in time to the music.

  He gave up trying to resist and let her take him to the edge of the dancers. He noticed that she had quickly picked up the steps to go along with the hand-in-the-air position, then noticed also that some of the men apparently had no sense of rhythm or any idea of the steps. Giving himself over to the inevitability of the day’s festivities, Hatu assumed the position and leapt into the air.

  He quickly got into the pattern of the steps and found a relationship between the rhythm of the music and the moves he made. Hava kept up with him, and seeing her smile filled him with what could only be called joy.

  The afternoon became a blur. Musicians arrived and departed, as men who were playing danced and dancers played, and women sang songs both new and lovely to Hatu’s ear, and there was a pattern to how it all unfolded, and he didn’t care that he didn’t recognize the pattern, and didn’t become frustrated by not grasping how it all evolved, but just gave himself up to the moment, enjoying the wonder of it all.

  Finally he felt in need of a rest and enfolded Hava in his arms and kissed her. “This is wonderful,” he said with a grin.

  She returned the grin. “We should get married more often.”

  Laughing, he nodded. “Or at least make sure we attend more weddings!”

  After another blur of dancing, drinking, and conversations quickly forgotten, Hava grabbed his arm. “You’re having too much fun. We need to get back to the inn and get ready for a crowd.”

  Hatu’s joy faded a little as he realized she was right. He took a deep breath and looked around, savoring the moment, as he understood he’d never feel its like again. As someone had once said, “You only get a first time once.”

  One of the town’s boys ran up to Declan, his frantic appearance catching Hatu’s eye. He motioned with his chin to Hava, who turned to see the boy gesturing to the east. Hatu looked at Declan, who spoke loud enough for those nearby to hear: “Riders!”

  Hatu looked where the boy indicated, and while his view of the eastern road was blocked, he could make out enough dust to see they were only minutes from the festivities. He hurried to Declan, Hava a half step behind him.

  As Hatu got nearer, he heard the boy say, “—not fast, but at a canter. They ride easy but there are a lot of them.”

  “How many?”

  “I didn’t count,” said the boy. “Twenty, I think.”

  Declan noticed heads turning to see what was occurring and the music began to fall away. He waved his hand in the air, indicating the festivities should continue, then said to Hatu and the others nearby, “Quickly, but quietly, go home and fetch weapons. They may be peaceful, but a company that large is a threat. By ones and twos, no fuss. Keep the celebration going.”

  Hatu nodded and turned to Hava. “Do you know where Molly is?”

  “With her dad. Festival makes him even sadder, so—”

  “He’s drunk again,” finished Hatu. He had met Molly’s father only once since coming to Beran’s Hill and had the strong impression he’d met a man determined to drink himself to death. “Go get her and two bows. You’re the two best archers we have.”

  Hava ran off and Hatu looked at Declan. “Let’s welcome our visitors,” said the young smith.

  By the time Declan and Hatu reached the eastern edge of the crowd, the riders could be seen coming up the eastern road. As the boy had observed, they were coming at a leisurely canter, and as they came closer, their leader held up his hand in a casual signal and the company slowed to a trot.

  Hatu counted seventeen riders. A quick evaluation of their gear indicated this was indeed a company of mercenaries, not soldiers in disguise. They reined in before Declan, and their leader said, “We too late for the festivities?” The men closest to him laughed.

  Declan said, “It’s midsummer. Everyone’s welcome.”

  The leader dismounted and said, “I’m Bogartis.” He pulled his right gauntlet off and offered his bare hand to Declan.

  “Declan,” came the response, and they shook. Hatu followed, and Bogartis glanced at the gathered townsfolk. He was a sturdy man with long brown hair that hung past his shoulders. His face was sunburned and he sported a pale scar on his left cheek. Dark eyes regarded the two young men and he asked, “I didn’t see any posts nearby.”

  Declan glanced at Hatu and said, “No garrison here, just a militia.”

  “Pretty big town not to be garrisoned.” Bogartis broke into a wide grin. “Well, we’re not here for trouble, in any event, so it doesn’t matter to us. I was looking out for my boys; sometimes garrison lads tend to start trouble with sell-swords.” He grinned again. “Tell me, Declan,” he said, putting his hand on the young smith’s shoulder, “there wouldn’t be a nearby stable to put up weary horses before my men make free with your generous hospitality?”

  Declan pointed him down the road and indicated the three places where he could stable his animals. Hatu noticed that the men who made up the core of the local militia had all returned with their weapons in hand but not displayed in a threatening manner. He was also sure Bogartis had noticed.

  As the crowd returned to the festivities, Declan leaned over and said quietly to Hatu, “We need to keep a watch on these lads.”

  “Agreed,” said Hatu. “They may have no ill intent, but they did look to see how well we can defend ourselves.”

  Hava appeared with a bow slung
over her shoulder, with Molly Bowman a step behind. Next to her walked a heavy-set man, Tomas Bowman, his bow over his shoulder. Hatu and Declan nodded greetings.

  Tomas seemed sober—a rare condition, from what Hatu had heard—but his face revealed the damage drinking had caused since his wife’s death. Hollow cheeks and deep bags under the eyes gave him a shrunken appearance, even though he was large of frame. His skin was pale from days away from the sun, and his clothing was disheveled.

  “Couldn’t have Da miss the celebrating,” Molly said curtly.

  “Do me some good to get out, I suppose,” said Tomas, as he passed Declan and Hatu on his way to where the food and drink tables awaited.

  Declan watched and saw Gwen waiting at the tables and said, “Best get back to my gal, else I’m courting trouble.”

  “I’ll stay alert,” said Hatu, glancing at Hava, who nodded in agreement.

  “You two best tend to your inn soon,” said Declan, turning and walking backward for a few steps. “Those mercenaries will be seeking more food and drink after today’s tables are empty. And that’s likely to be soon!” Then he pivoted and picked up his pace to run toward Gwen. He swept her up in his arms and spun her about as she laughed, pleased to have him back with her and no trouble in sight.

  Hatu watched but his expression was somber.

  Hava gripped his arm. “Calm before the storm?”

  “My thoughts as well,” replied her new husband.

  She chuckled lightly and with a slight shake of her head observed, “Lovely day.”

  “So far,” said Hatu. “Come, let’s get home and make ready.”

  “Home,” she echoed, as if the sound of it was both strange and reassuring.

  As Gwen had predicted, many townspeople and visitors arrived at the Inn of the Three Stars after the food and drink were exhausted at the festival site. Enough of the townsfolk had gone home that the inn wasn’t packed, but it was a lively crowd, mostly Bogartis’s men, some cloth merchants up from Ilcomen, and a few young local lads who looked as if they would be feeling the full brunt of nasty hangovers the next day.