Queen of Storms

by Raymond E. Feist

Molly gave the slightest shake of her head and a hint of moisture gave a sheen to her eyes. “He went down fighting” was all she said in a whisper.

  Hava let out a long sigh. “So many . . .”

  “Friends,” added Molly.

  Hava recognized that as painful as this was to her, Molly had lived in Beran’s Hill her entire life and knew most of the murdered townsfolk. Hava had run out of words, so she squeezed Molly’s arm.

  Molly studied Hava’s face. “Hatu?”

  “Alive the last anyone saw him,” said Hava softly. “Or at least, I think so.”

  Then Molly looked over to where Declan lay.

  Hava said, “Bogartis says he’ll live, but from what I saw he’s going to be recovering for a while.” Molly’s gaze returned to Hava, and Hava felt a stab of fear as she asked, “Gwen?”

  Molly shook her head, barely able to speak. “No.”

  Gwen had been the first woman to welcome her and Hatu to Beran’s Hill, and as Gwen had helped rebuild the inn she had grown fond of the young woman. The pain that visited her revealed to Hava that she cared more deeply than she had ever expected to for the people who lived here. Feeling the dread rising again, she asked, “Millie? Jusan?”

  In a hoarse whisper, Molly said, “They were all trapped in the house behind the smithy. I saw . . . three . . . burned bodies in the rubble.” Suddenly she broke down and the two women held each other tight. At last Molly whispered, “Declan can’t know . . . what happened before they died.”

  Hava didn’t need to be told what ravaging armies were capable of. “I know.” Hava sat down and Molly knelt beside her. “What do you plan on doing?” she asked the young hunter.

  “I don’t know,” Molly answered, sounding emptied out. “Go to Esterly, maybe. Lots of villages nearby and they can always use game. I also know I’m not going to starve as long as I have a few arrows.” She regarded Hava in silence for a moment, then asked, “What about you?”

  Hava let out a long, audible sigh. “Two things: find my husband; then find whoever was behind this and kill him.”

  8

  Recovery and Resolve

  Hatu swam in a sea of numb sensations and distant sounds. He fought to stretch for a thought and hold on to it, but it slipped through his grasp like a feather dancing on gusts of air. He could barely comprehend the bounds of his existence in this moment, let alone find any purpose in it, yet passing glimpses of images and barely audible sounds beckoned. Finally he relented and slipped back into darkness.

  Denbe entered the hut as rain lightly fell and he removed his helm, lowering himself into a cross-legged position to sit opposite Catharian. “It’s over,” he said softly.

  Sabella sat in the corner, Hatu’s head in her lap. She stared at him in a way that told Denbe she was using her arts to prevent his consciousness from awaking. With a slight twitch of his head toward the young girl and boy, Denbe asked, “Is all well?”

  Catharian barely suppressed a bitter laugh, keeping it to a muted chuckle. “That depends on what you mean by ‘well.’ We’re alive and hidden, so to that, yes, all is well.” He looked at his old companion and asked, “The town?”

  “Obliterated,” the soldier replied. “Those bastards killed everyone they could find. A few lucky ones got away or died swiftly. What they did to the others . . .”

  Catharian said, “I’ve seen brutality before. No need to elaborate.”

  “This was like nothing I’ve seen before. Even when Sandura led the assault on Ithrace . . .” Denbe took a deep breath. “They raped and dismembered . . . they tortured without purpose, for the sport of it.”

  “A terror raid?”

  “They left in a hurry, carrying off all they could. This was no military offensive designed simply to secure a base. They destroyed everything they could, then returned the way they came.” He looked pointedly at Catharian. “They also made a point of carrying off their dead. As I attempted to lend aid, I made sure I examined as many bodies as I could. Not one attacker lay among the slain.”

  “Odd,” said Catharian, sparing a second to glance over at Sabella and Hatu. “Usually they bury their dead where they fall or leave the bodies behind if retreating in haste.”

  Denbe looked deeply troubled. “They didn’t want Baron Dumarch to know who they were.”

  “So, not Sandura?”

  “Or the Church, I think,” said Denbe with a quick affirmative nod. “We suspected another player, and now we have ample proof.”

  “But who?”

  “When we fled I heard shouts, orders, in languages I didn’t recognize.”

  “And you’re one of the few men I know who’s traveled as much as I have,” said Catharian. He motioned to a small kettle of soup simmering next to a dying fire.

  “Thanks, but I stole a bit of food from the garrison boys from Esterly when they weren’t paying attention. I took off my tabard and wandered over with some mercenaries. Companies have been showing up from the south.”

  “Too little, too late, apparently.” Catharian sat back against the wall of the hut they had been using as their staging point for forays into Beran’s Hill since arriving in the area. “Damn,” he said softly. “We can’t stay here forever.” He waved dismissively at the small pot. “I just boiled up what we had left and tomorrow we go hungry.”

  “Tricky getting our lad out of here,” said Denbe, nodding toward Hatu.

  “Steal a cart and be a family fleeing? With our wounded brother?”

  “You two, perhaps,” said Denbe, touching his dark cheek. “I don’t look the part.”

  “Retainer?”

  “Not a lot of people with personal guards left hereabouts,” said the old fighter. “At least those who might be would be known well enough . . .” He shook his head, obviously frustrated. “No, we’re going to have to rely on our wits and sneak out of Marquensas.”

  “How?”

  Denbe was silent for a moment, then said, “We’ve got to get out through one of the smugglers’ routes.”

  For a moment Catharian gaped, his eyes wide. “Are you mad?” he asked at last.

  “There’s little chance we can go south unnoticed, given Baron Dumarch is marching an army this way. Whoever raided here will have to know he’ll be coming after them, right up to the gates of Port Colos.”

  “You still haven’t told me how we’re going to get to a boat and sail to the Sanctuary.”

  Denbe said, “We wait one more day.” He indicated Hatu. “We can only keep him drugged for so long before we do some serious damage to his mind. Even with Sabella’s help protecting him from the drug’s effects, there are limits. And we’re going to run out of that drug soon.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  Denbe leaned forward. “We cut a bit north of the road to Port Colos, staying out of sight, and if we’re lucky, we slip along after the raiders but ahead of Dumarch, and once we get close to the city, we cut north a bit more. There are some villages where the fishermen also do a bit of smuggling on their own; the governor makes so much profit from the smuggling through his city that he ignores them. We take a boat and hug the coast at night, heave to behind an island or just over the horizon during the day.”

  “Slow going,” said Catharian.

  “True, but in less than a week we’re south of all the fuss and bother.”

  “Fuss and bother?” Catharian barked out a laugh. “That’s like calling a hurricane ‘a spot of wet weather,’ my friend.” He was silent for a moment, then said, “But I can’t think of a better plan. If we ride east we’ve got to get through the Wild Lands, and at the end of that we’re on the wrong side of the continent. Besides, I’ve been to Sandura and don’t like it much.”

  Denbe nodded. “Me, too.” Looking at Sabella, he asked, “How are you?”

  She smiled. “Well enough, but I need sleep.”

  Denbe looked to Catharian. “Which means he will need to be drugged again before morning.”

  “We don’t have much left,” said the
false monk, reaching into his belt pouch and pulling out a small flask. He held it up, showing Denbe that it was about one-third full. “Three more doses.”

  “Five,” said Denbe, “if we just keep him stupid while we travel, rather than unconscious.”

  Catharian shrugged as if to say that might be difficult. “He’s going to be a handful when he’s fully recovered. I hope I can find something else to use before we cross the ocean. When he recovers I’d like him to be in the Sanctuary. Dealing with him there may prove difficult enough.”

  Denbe allowed himself an audible sigh. “If it was a perfect world, we could snap our fingers, open some sort of magic door, step through, and find ourselves in the Sanctuary.”

  “If only magic worked like that,” agreed Catharian. “Get some rest and we’ll move out at sunset.”

  Saying nothing more, the old warrior made himself as comfortable as possible on the dirt floor of the old charcoal burner’s hut and closed his eyes.

  Hava stirred slowly when Molly gently shook her shoulder, then came wide-awake. “What?”

  “You’ve slept for a while, so I thought you might want something to eat.”

  Sitting up and taking stock of her surroundings, Hava saw that more people had found their way to what had turned into a makeshift headquarters. She had fallen asleep under what was left of a building’s overhang and saw that outside, rain was gently falling. Whatever embers were still burning would quickly be extinguished, and the air was now steeped with a steamy smoke that still carried the reek of burned wood and bodies. Thankfully all that would soon be washed away. But as she came to full consciousness and took the bowl of broth Molly offered, she knew that once the rain stopped and the sun returned, the stench would as well.

  Hava took a sip from a large wooden spoon and was pleasantly surprised to discover someone had put the spices from her inn to good use. She observed the activity around her.

  The soldiers from both Esterly and Marquenet had established a base next to the field hospital, and as the sun touched the western horizon, a hundred or more soldiers, all covered in soot and filth, were making their way to a dozen campfires to the east, in what had been a rolling meadow.

  Hava stood and looked around. Finally, she said, “Any more?”

  Molly knew she meant any more survivors. “A few have wandered in. Mostly those who got to the woods first and just kept running uphill. There are places on the other side of the north creek that are trouble for a horse with a lazy rider.”

  Then Hava asked, “Declan?”

  “Still asleep, but he seems to be resting well enough.”

  “The rest?”

  Molly motioned with her chin, and Hava saw that the supplies she had turned over to the soldiers were indeed being put to good use. Everything seemed to be in as much order as circumstances allowed.

  Hava quickly finished the broth and said, “Anything more substantial?”

  Molly nodded and said, “Let’s go and find out. It’s your food, after all.” She tried to keep her tone light, but Hava heard the hidden pain and knew she was mourning her father.

  In the field kitchen she saw that the men were simply gathering up enough to sustain them but leaving plenty for others. She hadn’t been as attentive a student as some others in school, but she knew that meant they were a highly disciplined force. Often hungry men would grab more than they could finish and food got thrown out. This was a command of soldiers who had been trained to eat what they took, or else have an unpleasant conversation with the company sergeant.

  Hava left her bowl and spoon on a pile of dirty dishes, and then she and Molly helped themselves to plates and grabbed some dried beef, hard cheese, and a summer apple. Hava’s head was still “fuzzy,” as she thought of it, so she waved off a mug of ale.

  Molly took some ale, and the two returned to the small patch of ground they had occupied before, out of the rain. They ate in silence, for which Hava was thankful. She enjoyed Molly’s company and appreciated that of all the women Hava had met in Beran’s Hill, Molly was the most comfortable with silence. Thinking of the other women, Hava felt an unexpected pang over what had happened to Gwen and Millie. She dreaded the moment Declan revived enough to be told his wife of less than a day was dead.

  After finishing their food, Molly motioned for Hava to hand her the plate and without a word took her own and Hava’s back to where the soldiers on kitchen duty were washing them and putting them out for the next hungry visitor. Hava’s mind was still fatigued, and every time she considered what to do next her thoughts would slip away.

  Molly returned and knelt next to her. “So, have you decided what you’re going to do?”

  “Haven’t I already answered that?”

  Molly smiled for the first time since Hava’s arrival that afternoon. “I know you will go and look for Hatu. I mean how do you plan on finding him?”

  “I have no idea,” Hava admitted. “Someone said he’d been seen carried off across the withers of a horse belonging to . . . a soldier? Someone wearing a tabard bearing the same sigil as Catharian’s?”

  “You rest,” said Molly, standing up. “I’ll go poke around and see if I can get better information.”

  Hava was not up to arguing, as every one of her bones seemed to ache with fatigue. Before she could form another coherent thought, she was asleep again.

  Hava awoke and instantly realized she’d slept through the night. In the distance a rooster that had somehow survived the slaughter a day and a half ago commanded the sun to rise. She saw the lightening sky in the east and realized the false dawn was upon them and the sun would be clearing the horizon in another half hour or less. Molly was asleep next to her, and Hava took a brief personal inventory.

  She still ached, but it was now mild, the sort of feeling she had known the morning after a vigorous day of exercise back at school. The fatigue she had endured yesterday had been caused by a dose of stress and worry unlike anything she had experienced before. Just knowing that Hatu was probably alive and possibly nearby had rid her of that and replaced that bodily ache of despair with a spark of hope, even though he might still be in harm’s way.

  It was good to feel a sense of purpose again. She glanced at the sleeping Molly and wondered how the young woman was dealing with her father’s death. Never one to outwardly show emotion, Hava knew that Molly’s feelings were in there somewhere, and for the first time in many years, Hava found herself worrying about someone besides Hatu and Donte.

  She let Molly sleep a bit longer, then gently woke her. “What?” asked Molly groggily. Hava wondered if she had had more than one cup of ale after Hava had fallen asleep.

  “You asked what my plan was?”

  Molly came alert. “What?”

  “If I am going to find Hatu, what I need to know is: If you were trying to get away from the battle, but fearful of being out in the open, where would you lie low for a day or two?”

  It only took a moment for Molly to say, “I know a place.”

  “Where?”

  “I’ll show you.” Molly rose and began to gather her things.

  “You don’t have to show me. Just tell me where,” said Hava.

  Molly looked around and calmly said, “There’s nothing left for me here. I might as well look for Hatu with you.”

  Hava realized that the pain Molly felt over the loss of her father and home and everyone she knew in Beran’s Hill would probably stay bottled up inside the young archer. Hava had known others like that and knew that the day might come when Molly would pay dearly for her stoicism.

  “We need provisions,” said Molly. “We can forage if needed, but the less time we spend doing that, the faster we can travel.”

  With a wry smile, Hava said, “Well, it is my food.”

  “What’s left of it, if any,” said Molly.

  They moved to the field kitchen, where two boys were tending the banked fires, so they could cook for the soon-to-be-rising troops. The baron’s main force would arrive by midday fr
om Marquenet and would be followed by its own luggage train, with ample provisions if the baron was anticipating a full-scale battle somewhere between here and Port Colos. Without speaking to the boys, Hava and Molly grabbed the most easily transportable food—some apples and a half wheel of hard cheese that would be edible for another few days—and then Hava led Molly to the cold cellar, where she dug out the little coffer of gems and coins she had reburied there. She quickly pried the lid off with her belt knife and poured the contents onto a cloth, divided these in two, and gave Molly an equal share. Each woman tucked the valuables away in their belt pouches, then left swiftly through the field kitchen.

  If the boys were curious as to what the two oddly dressed women were up to, they said nothing: they were in a strange place, surrounded by lots of dead people and destruction. Given how long Marquensas had been at peace, for there had been no major conflicts since the Betrayal against Ithrace, this was the first exposure they had had to mayhem, and they needed no excuse to avoid additional confrontations.

  When they had gathered all they could manage, including some empty waterskins they could fill upriver, Hava said, “Horses.”

  Molly nodded. “Ideas?”

  “Many, but let’s go for the simple one. We steal them. The one I had yesterday will take a week or more to recover, so let’s go find where the remounts are picketed. Can you ride bareback?”

  “If I must—why?”

  “Stealing saddles may prove a bit more problematic.”

  An hour later the two young women rode across a meadow at the edge of which stood a row of pickets. Nearing one, they gave a friendly wave, and when the half-sleeping soldier started to say something, Hava said, “Hunting! Need more meat.”

  The soldier noted the bows across their backs, but he was still searching for a response by the time they were past him, and whatever he decided, it did not include hindering their progress.

  Hava waited until they were at the edge of the forest before asking, “Where do you think they may have gone to ground?”