Queen of Storms

by Raymond E. Feist

  As Hava and Hatu saw to their customers, Declan and Gwen entered and came over to the bar. “We decided to stay out for a little while.”

  Hatu raised his eyebrows and asked, “Jusan and Millie?”

  Gwen’s expression was one of exasperation. “I’m at my wits’ end. Millie said she didn’t want to get married, and now that the ceremony’s over, she’s in tears because they didn’t get married.”

  Hatu tried hard not to laugh. “Is it me, or is Millie a bit confused over what she wants?”

  Declan made a sound halfway between exasperation and resignation. “If this keeps affecting his work, I will have words with the lad.”

  Hava said, “Either way, ask Millie if she is ready to come back to work.”

  “Ask her yourself,” said Hatu. “She just walked in.”

  The slender girl marched through the door and stopped in front of them. “I would like to go back to work,” she said with as determined an expression as either had ever seen.

  Hatu looked at Hava, who nodded. “Glad to have you back,” she said. Glancing around the room, she added, “Get some more sausage and cheese from the cold cellar, please, and we’ll keep this lot happy.” To Hatu she said, “Better see what else we need.” She hurried off to make the rounds of the tables.

  “Well, that was unexpected,” Hatu said to Declan. “Let me know what Jusan says when you find him.”

  Declan pushed up from the table and stood. “I will.” Looking at his brand-new wife, he said, “I think we need to go home.”

  Gwen nodded, and the two of them started toward the door.

  A scream from the kitchen froze everyone for a moment and the clamor in the inn fell away instantly. Both Hatu and Hava were at the kitchen door in seconds, Declan a step behind.

  Entering, they saw Millie and one of the mercenaries from Bogartis’s company holding up the man named Tucker, his face a mass of swollen lumps and cuts, his body drenched in blood. They lowered him to the floor, and Declan pushed past Hatu to kneel before the wounded man. Hava said, “Millie, there’s a basket beneath the bar, next to—”

  “I know where it is,” she said, shaking visibly but somehow able to ignore her terror. She moved past a clutch of onlookers gathered at the door, saying, “Make way!” and pushed on through.

  The mercenary asked, “Is my captain here?”

  “No,” said Hatu. “He’s probably at one of the other inns nearby.”

  “I’m going to find him.” The young fighter hurried out the kitchen door.

  Catharian used the opening to dart past the others. “Can I help?”

  Declan looked at him. “Can you?”

  “I’ve treated more than my share of injuries,” Catharian replied, kneeling down by Tucker.

  As Declan made to move away, Tucker reached out and gripped his arm, pulling him down so that their faces were inches apart. Mustering what strength he could, the wounded soldier said, “Send word to the baron. They’re coming.”

  “Who?” asked Declan.

  “You know,” said Tucker. “A hundred, maybe more. He—” His eyes rolled up and he lost consciousness.

  Catharian looked at Declan and shook his head. Millie appeared with a large basket full of bandages, silk thread to stitch wounds, and some creams to prevent festering, but Catharian said, “He’s not going to need them.”

  Declan paused for a moment, weighing his choices. Then he stood up, pushed his way through the door into the common room, Hatu and Millie a step behind him, and found a circle of faces staring at him. “Jason Green,” he said to one. “Where’s Peri?”

  “Home, I guess,” said the man.

  “Peri Green’s the fastest rider in town. Get word to the garrison at Esterly as quickly as you can. We’re under attack.”

  The half-drunk man said, “We are?”

  “We will be soon,” said Declan, shoving him toward the door.

  Hatu said, “Half the militia is drunk by now, and the other half is half drunk.”

  “That’s why they’re hitting us today. They knew it was the midsummer festival.”

  “Who?” said Hatu, as everyone began muttering.

  “I can only guess. But the baron is sure to know.”

  “Those men?”

  Declan nodded. “The two strangers who were asking all those questions before they went to Port Colos? I’m certain they had something to do with this.”

  “Who’s going to Marquenet?”

  “We need another fast rider, and two horses.”

  Hava appeared. “I’m fast,” she said. “I can change mounts at a gallop.”

  Declan’s eyebrows rose.

  “My father was a horse trader,” she reminded him.

  “The baron might not listen to you,” said Declan. “I should go. He knows me.”

  “You need to stay and organize the defense,” said Hava. “The baron knows me as well.”

  “He does?”

  “I’ll explain later,” said Hatu. Turning to his wife, he said, “Ride, and be careful.”

  “I need to borrow some horses.” Without another word she hurried from the inn.

  Declan pushed past a pair of men to where Gwen waited. “What’s happened?” she asked.

  “That fellow, Tucker, who helped a while back with the bandits.” With a tilt of his head he indicated the kitchen.

  Millie said, “He’s dead.”

  Declan gripped Gwen’s arm and said quietly, so as not to frighten her, “Go home, gather what you can easily carry, then flee south. Jusan should hitch the horse to the two-wheeled cart, and you and Millie should ride—you weigh less—and he should saddle my horse. Get on the road south as fast as you can.”

  His calm, even tone implied that this was not a subject for any debate and Gwen nodded. “You’re coming?”

  “I will find you as soon as I can,” he said. He kissed her and then said, “Go.”

  After she was out the door, Declan stood on a chair so he could see everyone in the room. “Go home!” he shouted. “Get weapons. Anyone who can’t fight should head south as soon as possible. Take with you as little as you can. Anyone who can’t flee should hide, away from the town. We’re going to be raided.”

  “What?” said a very drunk man in the back.

  “We’re about to be raided!” shouted Declan, fully appreciating why the attack was coming near sundown on midsummer’s day. Even when organized the local militia would be overwhelmed by trained soldiers, but when drunk they’d hardly offer any resistance.

  The room erupted into a babble of questions. Declan motioned for them to settle down, and when his palms-down gestures were ignored, he finally shouted, “Quiet!”

  The chatter diminished but didn’t entirely go away. Some of the men who’d fetched weapons when the mercenaries had arrived still had them at their belts. “Those of you who are armed, get outside and stay alert. Those of you who are unarmed, go home, get your weapons, and get back as soon as you can.”

  “Who are we fighting?” shouted one man.

  “Whoever shows up!” replied Hatu, short-tempered because of the dithering and because he knew Hava was riding into harm’s way, even though of any woman in Beran’s Hill she was the most capable of defending herself.

  “Where are they coming from?”

  Up to this moment Declan and Hatu had assumed that any attack would come from the east, but they realized that both the two mysterious men who had been asking questions around town and the two who followed them, Tucker and Billy, had traveled west.

  Declan said, “Almost certainly from the west, from Port Colos!”

  A voice from Declan’s left shouted, “You have the right of it, lad!”

  The mercenary leader, Bogartis, was standing in the doorway with his sword drawn. “The raiders are already here!”

  6

  Destruction, Abduction, and Rage

  Declan’s sword was in his hand instantly, and Hatu produced a dagger seemingly out of nowhere. Bogartis held up his left
hand, palm out, and let his sword point drop down. “Hold a minute, lads. They’re not behind me just yet.”

  “Say on,” Declan said.

  “I never stay in a town without a local garrison or sheriff without putting a lad on guard. That fellow over there”—he pointed to the kitchen—“came down the road barely hanging on to his horse’s mane, and the horse was in a lather. My lad saw him fall from the saddle, but before he staggered here he said there’s a small army heading this way.”

  “From the west?” asked Declan.

  “Yes,” said Bogartis. “The eastern road was quiet as a mouse in hiding as we rode all the way from the middle of the Wild Lands. Don’t need any sentries to the south, because your baron keeps things in order. So I rotated a few lads to watch to the west and north, in case. This bunch is coming from the west.”

  “From Port Colos?” asked Hatu.

  “Almost a certainty,” said Bogartis. “We were heading that way. Word was passed a few months ago someone was assembling an army there. Good pay was the rumor, and things are either crazy in the east or too quiet for a mercenary company, so we thought we’d see about this army building in Port Colos.”

  Declan and Hatu exchanged glances, and Hatu said, “We can speculate about what happened later.” Looking at Bogartis, he said, “Are you staying?”

  “I fight for money, lad, and we’ll be on our way in a bit, heading south to the baron’s shelter.”

  “We have money,” said Declan.

  “Oh. And what do you propose?”

  “I can pay you a gold weight per man if you stay and fight.”

  “Now that’s not a bad offer,” said Bogartis, rubbing his chin. “One fight should do it, give your folks time to flee . . .”

  “I’ll make it two,” said Hatu, “if you stay until we drive them off.”

  “You have a bargain,” said the mercenary captain. “Glad to help, as I wasn’t looking forward to a night ride anyway, and you folks have been lovely hosts.” He grinned. “Besides, my lads would be drunk and picking fights in a few hours anyway.”

  Declan asked, “Did your lookout see how many were coming?”

  “No, he was smart enough to run away when he heard them. A force that big on the march makes a lot of noise.”

  Declan looked at Hatushaly and then at Bogartis, his face revealing confusion. “That man, Tucker, said maybe a hundred. What do we do?” he asked.

  Hatushaly looked at the old fighter.

  “Well, here’s what will certainly happen. If it’s as big a force as that fellow thought, they’re not here for a fast raid. They’ll not go past to Esterly, north to Copper Hills, or south into the barony. They’re coming here.” His expression showed no uncertainty. “The buildings will be ransacked, a few even burned out of spite. They’ll grab everything they can of value and turn back to Port Colos, is my thinking.

  “By the time the baron’s men get here, they’ll be back under whatever protection the governor of Port Colos has sold them, or on ships sailing off to somewhere distant.” He glanced at both younger men. “You’ve already sent the children and those who can’t fight out of here, right?”

  Declan nodded.

  “Then know this: it’s better to survive and rebuild than to die trying to protect something you can’t save. Now there’s two ways to do that. What’s the best building to defend in town?”

  Without hesitation, Declan said, “My smithy. One large door we can jam, leaving only a small one they would have to come through one or two at a time.”

  “Fire?”

  “The wood is treated, because forges get hot,” Hatu said. He had helped Declan paint an entire wall with some foul concoction that would ensure the wood smoldered but didn’t burst into flame. He’d used the same mixture on the roof of the inn afterward.

  “If they’re just looking for loot, making it painful to root you out might make them just take what they can carry and leave. They’ll burn some buildings if you annoy them enough. And that would give those fleeing south more time to get clear.”

  “You said two ways.” Declan looked into Bogartis’s eyes. “What else?”

  “Well, this whole thing troubles me. You don’t need an army to raid this town, lad. Yes, you’ve got a militia, and from what little I’ve seen some of your lads might put up a good fight, which suggests they’d be better leaving you alone. But a hundred men or more isn’t just raiding. I think they mean to take this town and hold it.” He paused again, then said, “Someone is trying to send your baron a message, and a brutal one at that. It’s an invitation for him to ride out here to retake this town.”

  Hatu and Declan exchanged glances again, then Hatu said, “Whatever happens between our baron and any foe isn’t what concerns us right now. What does concern me right now is our best chance to survive.”

  “There’s an old saying,” replied Bogartis. “When elephants fight, mice do best by hiding.”

  Declan said, “No.” He weighed his words. Finally, he said, “If someone wants to insult our baron, they wouldn’t take this town and invite attacks from the south and east and maybe from the north if Baron Dumarch gets word to Copper Hills.” He shook his head. “They don’t mean to take this town. I think they mean to raze it. They’ll burn every building and kill as many as possible, then invite the baron to chase them to Port Colos. They know something we don’t, and I think they have something waiting there.”

  Bogartis considered this for a moment, then said, “Interesting.”

  Hatu said, “Can we . . . return insult for insult?”

  Bogartis’s face revealed a wry smile and he gave a bitter chuckle. “I like your stance, youngster, but there’s only one way to defeat a larger force.”

  “How?” asked Declan.

  “You’ve got to surround them, so those in the middle can’t fight, and you whittle them down from the edges, like a blade on a twig.”

  “And there are too many of them,” said Declan.

  “What if we box them in?” asked Hatu.

  “How do you mean?” said Bogartis. “Quickly, time is short.”

  “If we can tempt them past the edge of the town, get them to turn south and then again east on the old—” began Hatu.

  “They’ll be boxed in!” Declan almost shouted.

  “There’s three warehouses,” added Hatu, “with no doors, just high windows and—”

  “Archers on the roofs keeping them far enough away from setting fire to the building!” Declan said. “Molly!” he shouted, knowing she’d be nearby.

  Molly Bowman pushed her way through the onlookers, her father a step behind her.

  Declan said to Bogartis, “How many archers do you have?”

  “I’ve four lads who are serious with a bow and two who will do some damage in a crowd.”

  “Molly,” said Declan, “get down to Crawford’s and take his men with you and your da. Get up on the roofs, and make sure the doors from the street at Alice Hardy’s store are barricaded.”

  “Eight decent archers can do a lot of damage,” said Bogartis, nodding his approval. “Now, how do we get them into the snare?”

  Hatu didn’t look happy, but he said, “I’ll be bait. I’ll lead a half dozen of the fastest runners to the intersection to the north, where the western road to Port Colos meets Three Stars Road. We sting them, run like hell, and when we get to the dead end . . .”

  Catharian elbowed his way through the press around those planning the defense and said, “I’ll pull you up with a rope!” He looked from face to face and said, “My order forbids me from fighting, but I can’t abandon those I am charged to care for, so I can aid in your escape.”

  “Rig up enough ropes to pull up four at a time, and secure one at the trapdoor in the roof if we have to get out in a hurry. There’s a door that leads out to open pasture and woods. You’ll find plenty of ropes and spikes in the warehouse.”

  Catharian nodded and hurried off with a pair of men.

  Hatu singled out two you
ng men, barely old enough not to be considered boys, and said, “Start passing the word throughout town: everyone who’s not staying to fight heads south, fast. They only have minutes. Those who can’t travel far, head for the farms to the east. Those who can’t move, carry them!”

  Declan looked at the boys Hatu had picked, who were pale with worry but trying to look determined as they held weapons they barely knew how to use.

  “Once you’ve spread the word, go to the south edge of town, and when everyone has passed, follow them.”

  When one of the lads seemed on the verge of objecting, Declan said, “You’re their last defense. Keep them safe until you run into the baron’s soldiers. Then you can turn around and get back here with them as fast as you can.”

  The two lads glanced at each other, nodded, and hurried off to do as instructed.

  Declan looked around and saw Molly Bowman. “You’re not heading for the roofs?”

  She said, “You’ll need me if you’re going to get their attention. My da is still pretty sober: he’ll do some serious harm until I get there.” Hatu knew Molly well enough to not argue with her even if he was so inclined. She was the best archer in the town and probably as tough as anyone else. He suspected that only Hava could have held her own against her among the women of Beran’s Hill.

  Declan nodded and said, “Hatu, get to where you need to be.”

  Hatu studied the face of each of them in turn, those who remained to act as bait for the raiders. “Ready to run?”

  “As if a wounded bear were chasing us,” Molly replied.

  Declan and the other men in the inn put together a hastily concocted order of battle: who would charge, who would stand back, and who would stand in reserve to plug holes should they appear. At last the young smith looked to Bogartis. “Ready as we’ll ever be.”

  “When you come out, hit them hard,” said the older mercenary. “You want to keep them bunched up as long as you can so the ones in the middle of the group can’t fight, but if they push back hard enough and you break, then run like hell. Don’t just try for the south; head anywhere there’s open space in front of you.”