Queen of Storms

by Raymond E. Feist

  “Take out the archers!” he shouted instinctively, put his heels to his mount’s flank, and charged. He swung his sword down at a nearby swordsman, slicing into his shoulder, and had his horse knock over a second as he reached the closest archer. He reined in just enough to guarantee a solid blow and heard the bowman’s skull crack with that strike.

  Almost oblivious to the dangers around him, Declan found himself once more in that strange calm that he’d experienced in battle before, that detached awareness of everything around him, so that when a blow was directed at him, he could counter it reflexively. He worked his way through attackers with relative ease, his horse’s reins in his teeth, using leg pressure to guide the well-trained horse while he sought out and killed every archer he could find.

  He lost all sense of time and was completely focused on fighting, the rage he had held within after the murder of his wife and friends not flaming up but seeming to provide a steady flow of strength. He cut down attackers one after another, and none of them came close to landing a blow. The long rondel dagger he held in his left hand felt slightly cumbersome: he’d already decided that, when time permitted, he could improve on the design should he find a forge and metals.

  When the baron’s company turned and joined in, the battle was quickly won. The attackers who remained vanished into the trees like ghosts, followed swiftly by half the baron’s company.

  While Bogartis rode over to speak with the baron and his officers, Declan leapt down and cleaned his blade on a dead man’s shirt.

  Sixto rode to where he stood and asked, “What were they?”

  Declan shook his head. “I’ve never seen their like before. Savages of some kind.”

  “I’ve traveled widely and I’ve never come across them,” Sixto said, staring at the body of a fallen invader.

  Declan came to stand over the dead warrior. Up close he looked like most men, save for his very short torso, broad shoulders, and long arms. His skin, where it showed under the paint, was darker than Declan’s, but no darker than a lot of the men who fought today, and not as dark as some. Looking around at the battle site, Declan noticed that every fallen invader had dark hair. At last he offered, “Some tribe from across the sea?”

  “Fair guess,” said Sixto.

  Declan remounted and moved to wait next to Sixto. The rest of Bogartis’s company gravitated to them so that by the time their captain returned, they were already grouped together.

  “We have a new commission,” Bogartis declared.

  He took a deep breath, and instantly Declan knew the men were not going to like what they heard.

  “We’re now contracted to serve for a year.” In and of itself that wasn’t necessarily bad news, except that every man in the company knew Marquensas was under assault and it meant they were now an adjunct company to the baron’s army, and probably going to be subject to the orders of his officers and sergeants, something no mercenary cared for. Before anyone could voice an objection, Bogartis added, “At double our normal pay.”

  That caused the men to stay silent, and Declan glanced about to see a few of them even smiling. Depending on the fighting, that could be a nice year. Often weeks, even months, could pass without a company being paid.

  Bogartis said, “Two things, now. First, I’m naming Declan my second-in-command.” Immediately several of the men who’d been with Bogartis for years asked why or grumbled. Bogartis held up his hand. “You’ve seen him fight! And he’s the man who killed the man who killed Misener.” At that they all fell silent again. Declan looked at Bogartis, his expression conveying that he hadn’t asked for this. Bogartis gave him a slight nod, then said, “The second thing is we leave here tonight.”

  The men began to mutter again, and Bogartis added, “The baron’s leaving whatever provisions his men have here for us, and we’ll forage as we go.”

  “Go where?” shouted one of the men.

  “Everywhere,” answered their captain. “We’re to break up into groups of four, and I’ll give you specific destinations in the morning. We’ll be moving east through whatever’s left of Ilcomen and Ithrace to the border of Sandura. Some of you are going to find boats and cross the Narrows to Zindaros, Metros, even as far as the Border Tribes.”

  “To do what?” asked another man.

  “You’ll be recruiting. If the southern kingdoms have been raided as well, there will be a lot of soldiers without masters and free companies for hire. You will promise them whatever they ask to get them here.” He paused, then said, “Baron Dumarch is opening wide the treasury of Marquenet, and he has only one purpose now. He intends to find out who is responsible for the death of his family and he will visit destruction on them.

  “He is going to build the largest damned army Garn has ever seen.”

  Molly Bowman held on to the rail, finding her sea legs. “How are you feeling?” Hava asked.

  “When I was young, I walked behind a mule who didn’t take kindly to it and woke up the next day with my da looking over me.” Molly shook her head slowly. “My head didn’t hurt half as bad then. That’s how I felt when I first came to.”

  “You landed hard. Didn’t know if you were ever going to wake up,” said Hava. “I got bashed, but it must have been a glancing blow because I came to soon after. You’ve been out for many days. They must have cracked your skull. Could have killed you.”

  “I’ll take it as luck then,” Molly said with a rueful smile. “Mostly all I have now is a dull ache, as if from too much ale.” She rolled her neck and then her shoulders and said, “Something to eat might help.”

  “We’ve got provisions down below. There’s a galley of sorts in the crew space and plenty of dried fruit, jerked meat, and salt pork. Should be some fresh food, though not much left.” Hava smiled, relieved to see Molly returning to her old self. “Some ale’s left, and some wine in skins.”

  “Water will do.”

  “Buckets of it. We managed to take it on board before we fled from Cleverly.”

  As Molly turned to find her way to the galley below, Hava added, “And if you head down to the second deck and go forward, there’s quite a nice collection of weapons, including what look to me to be some well-made bows.”

  Molly paused for a moment, then said, “I’ll check those bows first, then eat.” She picked up her pace and hurried to the companionway below.

  Hava laughed, and some of the nearby crew turned to look. Molly was going to be just fine.

  Hava strolled to the aft rail and scanned the horizon for any hint as to whether they were being followed. As time wore on, her concerns were lessening.

  After a while, Molly returned to the quarterdeck, chewing on a large slab of salt pork. “Is there something wrong with thinking this tastes good?” she said around a mouthful.

  “No,” said Hava with a chuckle. “It means you’re hungry.”

  “I am,” said the archer. “My trousers feel a bit loose, so I guess I lost some weight while I lay around.”

  “It happens,” said Hava.

  “Last I remembered was you getting surrounded as someone threw a net over me, then . . . here.” She took another bite of salt pork. With a half-full mouth, she asked, “So, you stole a ship?”

  Hava grinned. “Pretty easy, actually.”

  “Crew and all?”

  “Sort of.” Hava spent a few minutes filling in her friend and finished by saying, “If we’re going to find Hatu and the others from Beran’s Hill, it looks as if this next port, Elsobas, is our best bet.”

  Molly looked dubious. “You really think there’s a good chance of that?”

  “Didn’t say good chance, just best.” Hava shrugged. “That’s what I heard at our last port, that all slaves from the coast would be run through this Elsobas. So that’s where we’re heading.”

  “You’re the captain.” Molly grinned.

  “You’re free to get off at any time.”

  Molly actually laughed, spitting out some chewed pork. She put her hand over her mou
th and said, “Thanks, but I think I’ll stay aboard for a bit.” Looking at Hava over her upheld hand, she pleaded, “Don’t make me laugh like that. I’ll choke.”

  “Let me know when you feel up to some duty.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “We’re going to need more than two archers if we get into a fight.” Hava remembered being in the rigging with Hatu before and how effective that sort of advantage could be. “Talk to the people we freed and see if any of them have any skill with a bow.”

  “That’s a good supply of weapons below,” said Molly. “And some of the bows are finely made. More arrows than we’ll ever need. I’ll start asking around now. It’ll do me good to move around and stretch myself a bit. All that sleeping wears a body out.”

  Hava laughed at the incongruity of that statement, but she understood what it was like to recover from an injury. “Good,” she responded, and Molly set off from the quarterdeck to start talking to the hundred or so former prisoners.

  She turned and saw that George was holding firm to their course and felt a glimmer of hope return. Turning back, she saw that Molly had started a conversation with a small group of men on the deck. “Six,” she said to herself. “We need six really good archers.”

  Hatu felt the ship alter course abruptly and left his small cabin. He’d been given some privacy, which he appreciated, but the boredom had driven him to working in the rigging occasionally. He had just finished a watch and lain down to rest and was on the verge of sleep when the sudden wallow of the ship as it heeled over snapped him alert.

  He reached the deck and climbed the ladder to the quarterdeck and saw what had caused the abrupt change in direction. In the distance a ship had appeared, and it was bearing down on them quickly. Hatu turned to Bodai. “Who are they?”

  “Someone we do not wish to deal with,” came the reply as the former master of Coaltachin centered the wheel and the ship came onto a new heading. “We’re in a deep patch of water, so we have a ways before we return to the shoals and reefs,” he said. “That’s why they picked this spot, so they could cut us off rather than chase us.”

  Hatu said, “Those Azhante we ran into in Sandura?”

  Bodai nodded.

  “They knew we were coming?”

  “They suspected it,” said Bodai. “They have enough resources that they can leave ships out here for a long time, resupplying them as needed.” The old man shook his head. “And there are still so many things you do not understand. Like Sabella, they have people who can sense your presence.” Bodai pointed his finger accusingly. “Mainly when you lose your temper, and you’ve done that a lot lately.”

  Hatu felt his anger rising again. “With good reason!”

  As the ship drew closer, Bodai said, “We can only stand a chase for an hour, then we’re back in dangerous waters.”

  “Turn and fight?” suggested Hatu.

  Bodai nodded. He gauged the wind and then shouted, “Arm yourselves!”

  Down on the main deck, Denbe raised one arm in acknowledgment of the order. Hatu had been avoiding the large fighter since they left Elsobas, still harboring resentment over being taken by him and Catharian. Still, if there was going to be a fight, Hatu was now grateful the powerful soldier was aboard.

  Everyone in the rigging at once dropped to the deck while others ran below and returned minutes later to hand out weapons. Soon, archers were ascending the rigging, and Hatu said, “I’ve fought from the yards before. I should get a bow.”

  Bodai shook his head. “You’re the last man on this ship who will fight. If you die, everything we’ve done for years is wasted. Every man and woman of the Flame Guard who has died will have been lost for nothing.”

  Hatu felt his temper rising and fought back the coming rage. He took a deep breath and then said, “I need to do something!”

  Bodai said, “Steer for a moment,” and stepped away from the wheel.

  Hatu stepped into the space Bodai had just vacated. “What heading?”

  “As she goes,” said Bodai as he hurried down to the main deck.

  He returned a few moments later with a sword and buckler shield. Denbe followed, and it was clear to Hatu that the old fighter had been given the responsibility of guarding him.

  “At least let me defend myself!” shouted Hatu as the other ship drew slowly closer.

  Bodai glanced at Denbe, who nodded.

  Stepping in to take the wheel again, Bodai said, “Go get yourself a sword, just in case. You know where the weapons locker is.”

  Hatu hurried below and found the locker almost empty. A decent-looking short sword and a few bows were left. He selected a bow and a hip quiver loaded with arrows, slung the bow over his shoulder, then grabbed the sword and returned topside.

  Denbe motioned for Hatu to stand behind him. Hatu unshouldered his bow and said, “Don’t get in my shooting line.”

  “Shoot over my shoulder, if you must,” said Denbe. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

  The ship took a tack to starboard and brought the pursuing ship clearly into view. Hatu’s eyes widened and he shouted, “We have to take that ship!”

  “What?” cried Bodai.

  “Remember when I told you and the other masters about what happened, when Donte and I were taken? About the three ships that chased us? That’s one of them, I’m sure of it.”

  Bodai said, “They’re Azhante, and they must have been tracking you as we were.” He glanced at Hatu. “Just be grateful we found you first.”

  Denbe looked back at Hatu. “They will sacrifice every man on that ship to kill you.” He moved to where a small buckler shield had been hung from a belaying pin, so that it was close to hand.

  Hatu said, “I understand.” He felt a strange lurch in his stomach, as if he had taken an unexpected step down, and a moment later, his stomach felt hot, as if he had eaten extremely spicy food. He wondered why his stomach should be acting up at a moment of grave danger. He’d heard stories of men who had shit themselves in combat, but Hatu had been in fights before and never felt this way.

  “Get ready!” shouted Bodai, and he hauled hard on the wheel, while sailors quickly trimmed the sails. Suddenly they were heading straight for the oncoming ship.

  Hatu looked around to get a sense of where everything was. In the yards above, where he wanted to be, archers were taking aim. He knew they’d target archers aloft on the other ship, as well as any exposed men on the decks. The sails of both ships would offer ample cover, so the art would be shooting through the gaps in between.

  “We’ll sail past,” shouted Bodai, “then let them turn and chase us. If I can get us back into the channel I might get them to run aground.”

  “We’re going to be dodging arrows,” said Denbe to Hatu. “Stay behind me.”

  As the ships appeared to be headed on a collision course, Bodai steered slightly to starboard, bringing the Azhante ship squarely up to the port side. Hatu could hear arrows being loosed, but none struck near where he stood on the quarterdeck, and the sails prevented him from seeing if any of the men on his ship were hitting their targets. As the distance between the two ships closed, he felt the burning sensation in the pit of his stomach increasing in intensity. His mouth was starting to water and to fill with a bitter taste, and he felt as if he might vomit.

  As the Azhante ship started to pass, the rate of arrow-fire increased, and Hatu held his bow at the ready in case he saw a target. He heard a dull thunk, and then a man on the main deck shouted, “Grapples!”

  “Cut ’em!” cried Bodai, and was almost knocked off his feet as the ship lurched.

  “This is madness,” said Denbe. “Both ships will swing around and neither will have any control.”

  “Yes,” said Bodai, fighting to keep whatever position he could while his men hacked at the lines on the grappling hooks.

  Hatu saw figures in the yards above on the other ship and took aim, unleashing an arrow, but the flapping sails blocked his view so he didn’t see if he�
�d hit his mark. Molly or Hava wouldn’t miss! Anger surged through him as that thought crossed his mind.

  He heard fighting from the deck below but had trouble getting a good look, as he was trapped between the stern rail and Denbe. He loosed another shaft over Denbe’s shoulder at a black-clad figure in the yards directly opposite the quarterdeck and saw his arrow take the man down.

  The sound of fighting intensified, and Hatu could hear men getting closer to the quarterdeck. He saw Bodai give up on keeping any control of the ship. Bodai quickly lashed the wheel and swung his sword out of his baldric.

  Denbe turned, forcing Hatu to turn with him. Being shoved, even for his own well-being, caused every muscle in Hatu’s body to tense as if he were about to strike a blow. He felt his jaw clench and his eyes open wide, and pain built in his stomach: he knew he’d vomit in a few moments if this continued.

  Men in black swarmed up the ladder toward them, and Hatu saw Bodai expertly parry a blow and slash a deep wound across the first man to close with him so that the sicari fell with blood fountaining from his mouth and chest.

  Denbe stepped forward to block a sicari from attacking Hatu, who now had dropped his bow and held his sword and small shield ready. Both were hot to the touch, as if they’d been left in the sun too long. Hatu felt a moment of confusion: he had only just fetched them from below.

  Denbe dodged to his right to block an attack and suddenly another man appeared to his left, attempting to step around the warrior to attack Hatu.

  Without hesitation, Hatu stepped to his left and thrust over Denbe’s shoulder, forcing the attacker to retreat a step. The sicari shifted his footing and lashed out at Hatu, missing and inadvertently dragging his blade across Denbe’s shoulder as he stepped away.

  The old fighter groaned in pain and took a half step to his right, and Hatu slashed at the head of the sicari. His blow missed his opponent but forced him back another step.

  Denbe’s opponent now seized the moment to plunge his blade into the chest of the big fighter. He was repaid by Denbe returning the blow, and died with a sword point in his throat.