“Keep an eye on that forecastle door, and if it opens, just shoot anyone who comes out.”
“Already ahead of you,” Molly said, brandishing her bow. “I got ready the moment I heard you tell those two boys what to do.”
“Get me another bow and drop it down here.”
Within a moment, a bow and quiver were lowered down to her and Hava sheathed her sword. She looked around and pointed to a pile of battening and two large hammers. “Get those,” she instructed two of the largest men nearby.
She moved until she had a clear shot at the door, knelt down, and took aim. Without a word, she just nodded at the two men, and each took one side of the door, then the man on the right took a hard swing.
The hammer was iron wrapped in heavy cloth so as not to damage the hatch cover when it was pounding in the battens to render it watertight. So rather than the expected crack of wood, the sound was more like the striking of some massive drum, a dull thud that echoed and reverberated.
The two men began beating in rhythm, and Hava could see they would have the door down quickly. After the fifth blow, the door began to splinter and buckle a little.
A tiny hint of light at the bottom of the door warned Hava that the batten had been yanked away. She barely shouted, “Stand away!” to the two men with hammers before the door was yanked back. Fortunately for the two men, the banging on the door had warped the wood slightly and it protested for a moment before shooting open.
Hava sent an arrow through the entrance to the crew quarters and was nocking a second as two men dived out the door at waist height, hitting the deck with a roll, ready to turn to deal with the men with hammers. One Azhante died from Hava’s arrow before the other could turn to see where his closest opponent might be. But the other assassin immediately did what Hava knew you should do when facing a bowman, which was charge at them to get close and render the bow useless, and as she had feared, half the men with her were transfixed by the suddenness of the attack or trying to distance themselves from the black-clad killers.
Another Azhante fighter rushed out, followed by others. Hava tossed aside her bow, drawing her sword as she rolled to her left, just avoiding the charge of the first man.
He turned and found her lunging at him and barely avoided her attack. With each passing second, Hava grew more grateful for all the training she had endured in school, for this Azhante was as challenging an opponent as any she had ever faced.
He took a wicked swing with a sword that might have removed her head from her shoulders if she had stepped forward, but she had guessed right and moved a step back. Suddenly she saw the killer’s head jerk forward and his eyes roll up as he collapsed, revealing Catharian standing behind him holding a bloodied sword with which he’d slashed the back of the man’s neck. “Street brawl,” he said, puffing a little.
Hava scarcely had time to acknowledge him, for she could see that the only advantage her force held was numbers, so she just pointed at the next assassin and charged.
The next Azhante sensed her threat from his blind side and turned, allowing the cowering laborer he had faced to thrust his sword blindly at the assassin, nicking his side. The Azhante’s reflex as he swung back gave Hava the advantage she needed. She cut him down before he could refocus on her.
Seeing three Azhante dead seemed to inspire those who had been rooted by indecision and they rallied, swarming over the remaining three assassins.
Suddenly it was over.
Hava looked around and saw two of her men facedown on the floor in pools of their own blood and another half dozen holding their hands over gushing wounds. The victory had come at a price, albeit a lesser one than she had feared.
She hurried to the crew quarters, stepping over the body of the man she had first shot, and saw with some relief that there was no hatchway to the cabin above. Catharian followed. From behind her he said, “That doesn’t mean there aren’t more of them up there.”
“I know.” She passed him and climbed quickly up a rope to the deck. Yelling back down, she shouted for them to get the new corpses up and over the side.
She hurried over to Molly. “I’m too damn tired to be cautious,” she murmured, reaching for the door handle to the forecabin. She glanced at Molly, who already had her bow drawn. Pushing slightly at the door, she stepped away and, after a moment of silence, saw Molly lower her bow.
Sticking her head inside, she saw a tidy cabin with two bunks and a chest of drawers. Otherwise it appeared empty.
A wave of relief washed over her as she realized the battle was over. She took a moment to catch her breath, fighting off a sudden urge to cry.
Catharian and Molly reached her and she took another deep breath. “Here’s what we do—” she began.
“I need to go back to Elsobas,” interrupted Catharian.
“Why?” asked Hava.
“If ships have arrived, I need to talk to people who know what happened after I left.”
Molly was shaking her head in amusement as Hava said, “You’re an idiot. Look around. You’ve got more than a hundred people who can tell you what happened. I can tell you Port Colos was razed, Beran’s Hill burned to the ground, and every fishing village from the south tip of the west coast to the port was raided.” She paused. “Oh, yes, and Copper Hills was overrun.”
Catharian’s eyes widened and he seemed lost for words.
“We’ve been a little busy, and you never said you needed information. There are also rumors of fleets sailing south, among other things. Just ask the people around you!” She shook her head and repeated, “You’re an idiot. As I was saying, we will transfer all provisions from the Black Wake to this ship, since we’ll be ferrying more than a hundred people in a ship designed for perhaps fifty. Then we’ll hide the Black Wake where you suggested.” She took another deep breath, trying to stem the emotions that threatened to well up.
Just as she was about to speak again, Molly tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned to see the boy Surya and his friends scampering over the stern. Surya ran to Hava, screaming, “Ships. Many ships are arriving!” He stared at her with blind panic. “Take us with you, lady! The men in black will find out we helped you and we’ll be killed.”
Hava was silent for a brief moment. Then she said, “Fine.” Turning to Catharian, she said, “We’re going to take this ship and find my husband. Starting right now!”
Epilogue
Reunion and Dark Harbingers
1
Hava looked anxiously toward the approaching island. The journey of weeks had frayed her patience and her nerves. She understood the risks now, having seen how hard it had been for Catharian to navigate through the shoals and reefs. He had been correct: the Black Wake would surely have had its hull gutted had anyone tried to make their way through with a boat that deep-drafted.
She had also come to appreciate how wicked the Queen of Storms was. On those occasions on which she could take the helm to give Catharian and George a rest, she had found it to be the most nimble ship she had ever been on. She had spent some time inspecting the fitting for a ballista on the foredeck and the device itself. This was not a defensive weapon. This ship was a predator. With some practice the crew was able to take in the jibs, dismantle the bowsprit, and install the ballista in less than half an hour.
She and Catharian had shared what they knew about the raids as well as information from George and the others, and between them they had put together a picture of utter annihilation. Catharian had said destruction on such a scale appeared to be a prelude to invasion, but the raiders had withdrawn and were somehow involved in the very strange trade that began and ended at the Border Ports, which Catharian seemed to understand only slightly better than George or Hava.
Hava was also working to wrap her mind around the discovery that Master Bodai was an agent for the Flame Guard. She just couldn’t grasp how anyone could infiltrate Coaltachin and reach the level of crew boss, let alone a master, and a member of the Council at that.
All of this swirled in her mind as the ship neared the dock, and her emotions caused by months of separation and fear threatened to boil over. As they drew into the harbor she saw two other ships anchored at a distance.
Catharian came to her side. “It looks to me as if Hatu made it . . .” His words trailed away when he saw Hatushaly standing on the dock next to Bodai.
Hava didn’t wait for the ship to be tied up but jumped onto the railing and leapt down to the dock. She was risking considerable injury if she misjudged the distance, but she landed safely, and with two steps had her arms around Hatu, squeezing him so hard she threatened to break his ribs. Hatu held her tightly without saying a word, and then, after a long moment, he laughed.
In strangled tones he said, “I’ve missed you, too, but I can hardly breathe.”
She let him go, cupped his face between her hands, and kissed him hard. Then she stepped back and slapped him hard across the face.
His eyes watering from the blow, he said, “What was that for?”
“For what you put me through!” She felt tears welling up, but she didn’t care. “You should not have let that man”—she pointed at Catharian—“take you. You should have fought and stayed for me!”
Hatu’s cheek throbbed from the blow, but he grinned widely. “It wasn’t as if he took me captive all on his own. I’ll tell you about it all later.”
Bodai said, “We all have a great deal to discuss.” He looked at his former student. “Many, many things, but not right now.” He smiled in an almost fatherly way Hava had never seen before. Now she could begin to believe that he was not truly from Coaltachin.
He turned and led Hava and Hatu into the Sanctuary, and they followed with their arms around each other’s waists.
2
Toachipe watched for the light of dawn, his eyes scanning the eastern horizon as the lightening sky hinted at the coming first rays of the sun, as it was his duty as Hour Marker of Akena to wake the city, the capital of Nytanny. On most days this was simply a call to service, to the opening of shops, to the departure for work, or to the other prosaic duties of the populace.
Today was different, for it was the celebration of a great victory, to the glory of the Golden Pride and the realm. The great celebration was to begin at noon, and it was his duty to awaken the rulers of the Pride.
A runner appeared at his door, and he held up a hand, which silenced the messenger before he could speak, as Toachipe continued to stare toward the east. He had held this position of honor for twelve years, and this duty was one of the few that no one, not even a ruler, could interrupt.
At the precise moment at which the sun sent its first rays of light over the peak of Itabu Mountain to light the golden spire atop the Palace of the Rulers, another day in the annals of Nytanny would begin. Scribes who had woken when Toachipe rose would now be in position to record every significant fact and detail of the day, from the most mundane to the momentous.
Without any conscious thought, as if a time device existed within him, Toachipe looked above him from his position on this open deck and waited. No matter the weather, from scorching heat to freezing cold, not one morning in twelve years had the Hour Marker missed his duty. Now he saw the first glint of light off the golden spire, and immediately he struck a small gong.
As the sound echoed through the halls, servants instantly began to move with purpose, for all rulers had to be awakened and brought to their duties. Toachipe motioned for the runner to deliver his message.
Toachipe read the report, but his eyes could hardly make any sense of what he read. He read it for a second time and gave a deep sigh at this news. He would have to choose a messenger to take this missive to the Lord of the Golden Pride, and the man selected stood a reasonable chance of being killed outright for being the bearer of bad tidings.
Somehow someone had captured Borzon’s Black Wake, which carried as its cargo the personal tribute to the leader of the most powerful Pride in the nation. This was bad enough; but even worse was that someone, perhaps the same group, had taken the Queen of Storms from the Azhante.
Despite it being a day of celebration, this was not going to be a good day, Toachipe reckoned. And even deeper inside he felt the terrible suspicion that there were not going to be many good days coming in the future.
About the Author
RAYMOND E. FEIST is the author or co-author of more than thirty books, including the internationally bestselling Riftwar Cycle novels, set in his signature world of Midkemia, as well as a standalone novel, Faerie Tale. The Firemane Saga is his first all-new epic fantasy series. He lives in San Diego, California.
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Also by Raymond E. Feist
The Firemane Saga
King of Ashes
The Chaoswar Saga
Magician’s End
A Crown Imperiled
A Kingdom Besieged
The Demonwar Saga
Rides a Dread Legion
At the Gates of Darkness
The Darkwar Saga
Flight of the Nighthawks
Into a Dark Realm
Wrath of a Mad God
Conclave of Shadows
Talon of the Silver Hawk
King of Foxes
Exile’s Return
Legends of the Riftwar
Honored Enemy (with William R. Forstchen)
Murder in LaMut (with Joel Rosenberg)
Jimmy the Hand (with S. M. Stirling)
The Riftwar Legacy
Krondor: The Betrayal
Krondor: The Assassins
Krondor: Tear of the Gods
The Serpentwar Saga
Shadow of a Dark Queen
Rise of a Merchant Prince
Rage of a Demon King
Shards of a Broken Crown
The Empire Trilogy (with Janny Wurts)
Daughter of the Empire
Servant of the Empire
Mistress of the Empire
Krondor’s Songs
Prince of the Blood
The King’s Buccaneer
The Riftwar Saga
Magician
Silverthorn
A Darkness at Sethanon
Other Titles
Midkemia: The Chronicles of Pug (with Stephen Abrams)
Faerie Tale
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
queen of storms. Copyright © 2020 by Raymond E. Feist. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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first edition
Cover design by Richard L. Aquan
Cover illustration © Larry Rostant
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
Digital Edition JULY 2020 ISBN: 978-0-06-231587-8
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-231581-6
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