King of Ashes [Book One]

by Raymond E. Feist

  The captain paused, considering his options, then said, ‘We run, or we fight.’

  ‘Then we fight on our terms, not theirs,’ said Reza.

  The captain nodded, then took back his spyglass from Reza and studied the two ships. After a while he said, ‘Yes, they’re trying to keep us on our present course.’ The captain addressed his first mate. ‘How many archers?’

  ‘We have eight,’ said the mate.

  ‘I can shoot,’ said Hava. ‘And I can handle the rigging.’

  ‘So can I,’ Hatu added. Then he nodded at Hava and said, ‘And she’s a better archer than I am.’

  The captain told his mate, ‘Get ready for a close pass. I want this ship turned fast and hard, so we stay to the windward side of the easternmost ship; rake her with arrows and tell our best archer to take out her helmsman and keep everyone away from the tiller.’ He turned to Reza. ‘If we cut her wind a bit and wreak confusion among her crew for long enough, the ship will turn towards her fellow, perhaps buying us enough time to escape while they move to avoid a collision. And if we can’t, at least we’ll face one ship at a time instead of two.’

  Reza nodded agreement. ‘We want to be gone before that third ship catches up.’

  Hava and Hatu headed to the locker below the forecastle, each retrieving a finely made how and hip quiver of arrows. They were given leather belts with stout rope attached. Hatu gestured for Hava to start climbing the mainmast ratlines and followed her to the first yard. ‘Here,’ he instructed her when it became apparent that her knowledge of ships was still limited, despite her becoming ‘Hava the Pirate’.

  ‘Stay close to the mast,’ he shouted, while sailors surged along foot ropes to obey any order from the captain to furl sails. She nodded that she understood as he took up position on the other side of the mast.

  The captain shouted and sailors began to furl, while those below on the sheets changed the angle of the yards just enough for the two ships bearing down on them to think they were gaining. Hatu heard the captain tell Reza, ‘Now comes the tricky part.’ He shouted, ‘Ready to come about!

  ‘On my command, hard to starboard.’ He waited, then shouted, ‘Come about!’

  The ship heeled over as Hatu and Hava hung on tightly to the mast while the yard below their feet moved in response to sailors hauling sheets. Hatu touched Hava lightly on the shoulder and motioned that she should watch him. He stepped down on the foot rope and quickly tied the line attached to his belt onto the yard. He shouted, ‘It’s better if you don’t fall off!’

  ‘I don’t plan to,’ she replied, and made a face while she duplicated his actions, securing her belt rope to the yard. ‘You don’t fall off, either!’

  He laughed, but it was as much nervous laughter as bravado. There was just enough room between them to aim his bow and move his shooting field from left to right. Hatu checked to make sure Hava had enough clearance and saw she needed more room. Once she was seated, feet firmly on the ropes, one hand gripping the yard, he adjusted his position, moving slightly further down the yard, so as not to interfere with her field of fire.

  Hatu could see the crew of the easternmost ship scramble to respond to their captain’s commands. Their move was completely unexpected and the pursuing ship had to give way or risk a full collision.

  As soon as they came in range, he nodded to Hava and picked a target in the rigging, a sailor frantically trying to reef a sail. The arrow missed but passed close enough to startle the man; he lost his grip and fell from the yard into the sea. The sail he had been trying to gather flapped in the wind between the other two men on the yard.

  Hava let fly her arrow and it struck true, taking the outermost sailor from the yard. Hatu saw other archers were equally effective and that the order to kill the helmsman had been met with success as the following ship was now wallowing. Hatu realised the pursuing ship’s captain had expected a longer chase and had positioned no archers in the rigging or armed men on deck.

  They would pass the first ship in less than a minute and then be on their way, beating a long tack, but one that would quickly take them back into home waters. If the two ships followed, others from Coaltachin would likely come to the Odalis’s aid as soon as they saw its banner and other ships in pursuit.

  Suddenly they were past, and there were no more targets. Hatu turned to see Hava smiling, pleased with her performance. He nodded once, then indicated the rope still tied to the yard. ‘Carefully!’ he shouted over the wind. ‘It wouldn’t do for you to take a tumble now.’

  She nodded, unfastened herself, and climbed safely to the mast, then shimmied down to the top of the ratlines and began her descent. Hatu was only a few moments behind her reaching the deck.

  The captain had moved to the poop deck, and Hatu and Hava climbed the short ladder to join him and Reza. They were looking back at the two ships and said, ‘They’re in a fine tangle.’ He put away his spyglass and said, ‘Now we get to see who the better sailors are, me or those three captains. It’ll be midday at best, later perhaps, before we reach friendlier waters. Let’s hope we can stay on this course. The winds are not kind on this tack. We’re slowed, but so are they. Once we clear the last island, we can turn and put more distance between us.’

  Reza nodded to both Hava and Hatu and said, ‘Follow me.’

  He led them down into the poop cabin, which was now empty, and said, ‘I did not plan on this.’ He fell silent, then looked at Hatu. ‘Twice now, the ship you sail upon has come under attack by these …’ He let his thoughts fall away.

  Hatu had questions, the number increasing by the moment, but the expression on Reza’s face kept him silent. He glanced at Hava but her face was unreadable.

  ‘Much of this mission must remain hidden,’ began Reza again, his gaze shifting from Hatu to Hava and back. ‘This much you should know in case ill fortune visits us again and you find yourself alone. Hava, you will assist Hatu in reaching Port Colos before the first day of the Month of the Turning Moon. That gives you two and a half months to reach the barony of Marquensas on the other side of the world.

  ‘Seek out Master Bodai. He will be either in Port Colos or somewhere nearby. Find our people there and they’ll know how to contact him. Bodai will have received word on what to do next. Find him as soon as you can.’

  Looking at Hatu, he said, ‘He will take you to meet a man named Balven in the city of Marquenet. He is in the baron’s service and will take you to see him. You will do whatever they tell you to do until further word reaches you. Do you understand?’

  Hatu nodded, and Reza said, ‘You will serve at the baron’s pleasure. If he swears you to his service, you must feign allegiance. Again, do you understand?’ Hatu nodded. ‘Go back up on deck. The rest of this is for Hava alone.’

  After Hatu had departed, Reza said to Hava, ‘Master Rengara has a crew in Marquenet. Should you fail to find Bodai, whatever the cause, then locate someone in Rengara’s crew and tell them who you are. Say, “I carry a message from our grandfather for your leader.” Once you are alone with whoever runs Rengara’s crew, simply say, “Grandfather sent me.” If you are questioned after that, repeat the phrase twice. Say it less than three times and you will be killed where you stand as a spy. Understand?’

  She nodded and then asked, ‘What then?’

  ‘If you can stay with Hatushaly, do so. If you can’t, stay out of sight and find where the man Balven takes Hatushaly. Ask Rengara’s crew for whatever help you need. Keep an eye on Hatu and follow him as closely as you can without being discovered. Find out what the baron wants from the boy, and if you can, keep in touch with Hatu somehow.’

  Reza considered what he was saying, then nodded once. ‘Yes, make him want to stay close to you; he likes you already, I know.’

  Her training stood Hava in good stead as she listened without betraying any reaction. She knew Reza understated Hatu’s feelings for her, and her feelings for him.

  Again the master was silent for a moment, then said, ‘Gather what
ever information from Hatu you think might be of interest, whatever the baron is doing, anything of potential importance. If you think something vital, find Rengara’s crew boss and pass the message through him.’

  Reza then stared hard at her as if appraising her; she had demonstrated toughness and talent but she was still very inexperienced and normally would not have been given any unsupervised missions for a few more years. He studied her closely as he spoke. ‘Eventually you will receive new orders: either you or a member of Rengara’s crew will have to kill Hatushaly.’

  Her eyes widened slightly at his words and she felt shock run through her body, but Hava’s training still masked her feelings. She knew Reza would notice something, so she turned her head slightly, as if absorbing her instructions, and after a second she nodded once, showing she understood.

  ‘Good,’ said Reza. ‘Now, stay here while I speak to the captain about a new course.’

  He departed and Hava, her mind in a whirl, just sat on her bed mat as she had absolutely no idea what she should do next.

  • CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE •

  A Quiet Journey Interrupted

  Catharian finished one of his tales and even Ratigan was forced to laugh. On the trip south the friar had proven his worth in entertainment, with both storytelling and wry observations on life. His travels had exposed him to a wealth of anecdotes and insights on the human condition, and he was not shy about sharing them.

  Declan quickly decided that he liked the friar, disagreements over faith notwithstanding. While not as insistent on the adherence to belief in the One as were other members of the ‘Church of God’, as it was becoming known, Catharian was still firm in his belief. Declan was, on the other hand, if not disinterested, then disinclined to give religion much thought. Like his old master, he saw tossing a coin in a prayer dish as more of a duty than an impulse driven by strong belief in the possible intercession of any god on his behalf. As Edvalt had once said, ‘If any god helps me, I’ll welcome it, but I’d also be surprised.’

  For some reason Declan found the concept behind the One God even more abstract and distant than Edvalt’s faint sense of faith. This god, it was claimed, was in charge of everything. The old gods had once maintained order. Each had a domain and responsibility, for the sea, the weather, luck, anything you could imagine, but this One … Declan wondered how, if he was in charge of everything, he’d get anything done.

  Ratigan was an outright atheist, almost contemptuous of religion when the topic arose. With someone like Catharian, Declan felt Ratigan would most likely be safe from any sort of reprisals, but should others hear him, like those soldiers with the white shields in Copper Hills, it would be another story. Word from the east spoke of more heretic burnings as Sandura expanded its influence. If trouble was coming from the east, as many now surmised, a far less tolerant attitude towards non-believers would almost certainly come with it.

  Declan decided that when the right moment came, he’d have a word with Ratigan. The young teamster didn’t seem to understand that the day was fast approaching when words could get you burned at the stake here in the west. At times he was one of the most annoying people Declan had ever encountered, but somewhere along the way Ratigan had become a good friend, reliable and trustworthy, despite his constant complaining and general sour attitude on life. Declan didn’t wish to see him dead for not watching what he said.

  The journey going south seemed to take longer than it had coming north, or so it felt to Declan. He wagered that was as much due to his anticipation of seeing Gwen as it was about any real delay. One monstrous thunderstorm had forced them to tarry in a village for a day, then slog through deep mud until the returning sun dried the road. Otherwise the journey had been quiet and moved along at a good pace.

  Declan reflected on his decision. He realised that he had been torn three ways: first, by a need to be financially stable before he took on the responsibility of a family, and that issue would be resolved once he finished the order given to him by the master-at-arms of Copper Hill. Second, by a desire to find someone who excited him as much as Roz. He’d finally decided that wasn’t possible; Roz was who she was because of the life she’d lived, her travel and experience, and her adventurous abandon with men. Declan decided he’d been gulling himself by thinking he was somehow unique in Roz’s life. Lastly, by the fact that he had simply been unsure, and now he realised that he cared deeply for Gwen, and that she wouldn’t wait forever. He finally had decided that different wasn’t better or worse; it was just different. Gwen was different from Roz and that was just fine.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Catharian.

  He pointed to the east, where a dust cloud was rising.

  ‘Riders,’ answered Ratigan. ‘If they’re bandits, the fact we’re empty might keep them from killing us, unless they’re peeved.’ Without taking his eyes from the approaching dust, he asked Declan, ‘Your gold well hidden?’

  ‘In that box you’ve got bolted underneath the seat, hidden between the boards. I put mine in there with yours.’

  ‘How did you know there was a hidey box there?’ asked Ratigan, glancing at the young smith.

  ‘Just how many wagons like this do you think I’ve repaired in my day?’

  Ratigan gave a slight shrug in response.

  The riders appeared, and after a few minutes resolved into a company of about a dozen men, moving quickly at an efficient canter.

  As they got closer, Declan could see they were clearly mer-cenaries, for they wore neither tabards nor badges, and their armour and weapons were plentiful and varied. By the time they reached the intersection of the two roads, Ratigan’s wagon was across it, and the riders passed, ignoring the wagon.

  ‘They’re not turning to Copper Hills,’ said Declan after a moment.

  ‘Heading west,’ said Ratigan.

  ‘Must be making for a port,’ suggested Catharian.

  ‘What’s that about?’ wondered Ratigan.

  Declan shook his head slightly, indicating he had no idea.

  Catharian said, ‘If they’re in a rush to go east, a ship would be faster, even from up here. Northern coast will be ice-covered in a few weeks, so it’s through the Narrows.’

  ‘Through the Narrows,’ echoed Declan, thinking of Oncon, and for the first time in weeks wondering what had happened to all the people he knew.

  ‘War must be heating up,’ suggested Catharian.

  Ratigan nodded. ‘Still east of here, but if local mercenaries are rushing off to fight for gold, it’s heading this way.’

  Declan considered the order he’d just accepted for the swords. ‘Must be,’ he echoed.

  GWEN SHOOK HER HEAD TO stop Declan from talking. He had arrived home early enough the previous afternoon to seek her out and ask her to marry him. She had said yes before he could finish and insisted that he find her father before the inn got busy.

  So, Declan having sputtered out an almost incoherent request for permission to marry Gwen, waited nervously for Leon’s answer. The innkeeper leaned back against the bar, arms crossed, a dubious expression on his face. He let out a long, dramatic sigh, then turned to his daughter. ‘You’re certain you can’t do better than this lout?’

  Gwen’s expression darkened and her tone was sharp. ‘Da, don’t be mean to him! You know he’s the only boy who’s courted me that you’ve liked.’

  Leon’s dark look was betrayed by a faint smile, and then a grin. ‘Then you have my blessing,’ he said, gripping Declan’s hand.

  Then he jerked the young smith forward and whispered in his ear, loudly enough for Gwen to hear, ‘Took you long enough. You were doomed the day you met.’

  Declan tried not to laugh as Gwen’s expression darkened further and she said, ‘Doomed, was it?’

  He avoided eye contact with his betrothed, caught halfway between being amused and realising Gwen could easily turn this celebratory moment into a family argument; she was a young woman of easy temper but strong mind, and her father had the habit of saying
just the thing to set her off.

  Instead he glanced at the old man who sat quietly in the corner, the only customer this early in the afternoon. His age was hard to determine; he could have been in his late forties or early sixties. His grey hair fell from a receding hairline, predicting eventual baldness and his face was heavily wrinkled, but whether they were lines of age or harsh weather was unclear. He wore an odd tunic and the short-legged pantaloons favoured in nations far to the east, and his skin was an unusual bronze colour that Declan had only seen on traders from the Far Islands.

  The old man appeared not to be listening, which would be impossible, Declan decided, but he was pleased by his courtesy. Most people would have been laughing aloud.

  ‘Ah, I think it’s time for a drink!’ said Leon brightly. He scurried behind the bar, reached under it, and pulled out a porcelain bottle of whisky. He poured two stiff drinks into two matching cups and handed one to Declan.

  Gwen stood watching, her expression halfway between delight over her father’s giving his blessing to her and Declan’s marriage, and annoyance that Leon seemed incapable of even the simplest act without a weak attempt at humour, often turning into embarrassment. She knew her father wouldn’t offer her a celebratory drink as it was ‘a man’s thing’, and besides, he knew she rarely drank, and would be needing a clear head for the day’s business while the men stood there drinking.

  Declan looked at her for a long moment, smiling, and she gave him a quick nod, saying he should go ahead, and he indulged himself in an almost audible sigh of relief that the asking and getting permission were over. He smiled quickly at her, turned to face Leon, and lifted his little glass of the amber fluid.

  The young smith still hadn’t developed a taste for whisky, preferring beer and ale, but each time Leon offered him a drink, it was this strong spirit. Declan was getting used to the taste and burning in his mouth, and he was even becoming able to judge the quality, but he wasn’t sure he was ever going to truly enjoy it.