Queen of Storms

by Raymond E. Feist

  Denbe was below, almost certainly asleep, since he would take over the helm at sundown, utilizing the stars to set their course as he guided the ship through the night. Hatu assumed Sabella was below as well, as he had had no glimpse of her in the last hour.

  Sabella was a mystery to Hatu, and he suspected she was part of the reason he had been able to maintain his composure. She had a palliative effect on him, which he surmised might be some sort of magic, if magic were real.

  His discussions with Catharian on this topic had left him confused, which might be more a function of his inability to fully grasp the concept or of Catharian dissembling. Hatu felt there was a great deal of information not being disclosed by the false monk, but whatever the reason, Hatu just could not fully grasp the idea that he was some sort of key to the future of this world.

  This world, he considered. Apparently, it was far bigger than he had imagined, even after traveling from Coaltachin to Marquensas. For a youth he had seen a lot, but the raiders attacking Beran’s Hill had spoken languages he’d never encountered. Yes, this world was far bigger than he had ever imagined.

  He took a moment to look around, taking in the horizon at every quarter. Not a hint of land in sight. He was resigned to being at sea, out of sight of land, with no idea where he was. It was the most compelling reason for keeping his anger under control. Once he made landfall, he’d reconsider his options. He hadn’t ruled out killing Catharian and Denbe—though with the older fighter, he’d have to rely on wits and stealth, since he doubted he could best him in combat, but Hatu had been well trained in the art of assassination.

  Sabella was clearly a party to his abduction, but as a willing partner, a useful tool, or under some duress? He had no idea. Moreover, being around her gave him a pleasant sensation. It was a little like being around Hava in the quiet moments when they didn’t need to speak, or after making love just before drifting off to sleep. He found being around the young woman both reassuring and disturbing at the same time. He was drawn to her calming presence, but he was growing distrustful of his own feelings.

  She was a pleasant enough looking girl, her brown hair a little lighter in shade than Hava’s, but there was no other resemblance to his wife. Sabella was thin in comparison with Hava, yet Hatu found himself painfully aware of her body: the hint of the curves under her ankle-length dress when she moved, the arch of her neck, her quirky half smile. He found few women attractive compared with Hava, and even those he found pleasing to the eye didn’t arouse him, yet there was this strange pull when he looked at Sabella.

  Unlike Donte, who found nearly all women irresistible—to the point where they had joked that he had to be kept away from anything female—Hatu had never been truly smitten with any girl; but he now understood it was because he had always had Hava close. He could barely remember a time she wasn’t in his life.

  Yet there was something about this delicate young woman, an itch he couldn’t seem to scratch. He was beginning to feel aroused by her, and that was a sensation he didn’t particularly like or trust; if there was some magic at play, tying him to Sabella would make sense, as a way to keep him in line. It was another reason he was determined that as soon as this ship reached its destination, he had to get away from these people, whatever the nonsense they claimed about his family and his existence being vital to some great plan.

  His best guess was that because the baron had named him as the son of some dead king, they might use him to gain some political advantage. Just thinking about this made the rage boil again and he had to quell it: all that concerned him was getting back to Marquenet and Hava, and if he had to kill everyone in his way, he would.

  When Catharian called for a course correction, he glanced again at the three boys, wondering if his help would be required, but they seemed confident in their sail handling, so he settled down again, his thoughts returning to Hava. At least she had been spared the fate of Beran’s Hill. He felt concern for the safety of Declan, Gwen, and the others, but at least he knew Hava was safe.

  It took the better part of an hour for Hava to get the prisoners under any kind of control. She was weary of reminding them to keep their voices down, until she had to start threatening a few of the men. Discord was hardly the way to organize a takeover of this ship, but a couple of the younger men seemed averse to taking instruction from her. Putting two of the more fractious young men on their backs in quick order stopped any more objections, or at least they were no longer being verbalized.

  Apart from the dagger in her hand and the one Lydia held on Cho, the only other weapon was a crowbar one of the men had found under a tarp next to the cages where the men had been housed. It would make a more than adequate cudgel, and the man who now held it had once served in the Port Colos militia and seemed eager to repay the injury done to his homeland.

  Cho now sat silently by the companionway, where he would be expected to sit for his watch, with Lydia just out of sight from the ladder, ready to gut the slaver if need be. He had fallen silent when he realized that cooperation was his only hope of leaving this vessel alive; he would certainly be held responsible by his captain and the black-clad sicari for the prisoners getting loose, so like it or not, his lot now lay with Hava and the slaves.

  The bottom of the ladder, as the steps to the deck above were called, was set back behind a doorway, separated by a bulkhead. From rusted and empty hinges, Hava deduced a lockable door had once hung there, but she pushed aside any speculation as to why it was no longer there. The lack of a door gave her the advantage of seeing boots and legs appear at the bottom of the stairs before being seen herself for a moment, and she was going to take advantage of that.

  The wielder of the crowbar, a large man named Jack, waited on the opposite side of the doorway from Cho and Lydia. Hava stood squarely in the line of sight of anyone reaching the bottom of the steps. The plan was simple. The second anyone appeared, Jack was to swing low and bring the target to the ground. Other men crouching just behind Jack and Lydia were told to make sure whoever came through never regained his feet; they were to stamp and kick the man to unconsciousness, even death, but he must not be allowed to regain his feet. Hava’s task was to deal with any second person who might follow.

  Hava felt the tension building in her shoulders as she stood ready. They were approaching the time when Cho would be relieved, and while she was comfortable waiting in ambush, she knew no one else was. There was a slowly rising tide of voices: Hava could sense if this ambush didn’t happen soon, disaster was in the offing.

  She was about to warn people to be quiet, but then heard a boot on the companionway, the wooden steps giving a slight creak.

  She nodded at Jack, and he readied his weapon.

  A man came down, stepped through the doorway, and Jack swung low. The man howled in pain and Hava heard the crack of bone as his leg shattered. There was movement behind him, and with a jolt of alarm she realized she had almost missed the second man because he was completely clad in black. It was the sicari.

  He came down the stairway and then through the doorway in a crouch, his arm raised to take any blow, and his short sword out of its scabbard. Hava saw him glance at Jack, and as he turned his attention in that direction, she jumped forward. The injured man lay screaming on the floor, and as Jack delivered another blow that silenced him, he almost struck Hava as she attacked the sicari.

  Whatever training this man possessed, Hava assumed it to be equal to that of the black agents of the Quelli Nascosti. She knew almost instantly that this was a correct assumption. She lunged and tried to cut beneath the man’s guard, but her blade encountered only air as he had moved out of the way as smoothly as a snake. She sensed more than saw his counterattack and tried to step away, but she tripped over the body of the man lying across the doorway and fell backward. The sicari’s blade sliced through the air inches above her. Had she not stumbled he would have cut her in two. But that moment of blind luck was followed almost instantly by the certainty that she was about to die
.

  The black-clad man lunged after her. As he drew back his blade to thrust at her she saw a large boot strike the sicari in the side. He toppled over and fell next to Cho as Hava rolled away.

  As the sicari got to his feet, Hava sprang up, grabbed an overhead beam that gave her just enough leverage to pull up both legs, and kicked the sicari high on the shoulder, knocking him down. She dropped and saw Lydia kick the assassin hard in the head. As Hava stepped closer, Lydia kicked the man again and again, as fast as she could, in a frenzy that amazed Hava.

  Half a dozen men and women came to surround the two men, kicking and stamping them without mercy until Hava said, “Enough!” She had to repeat herself before the attack ceased and she saw that both men were dead.

  Picking up the sicari’s sword, Hava realized it was a finely made weapon. Keeping the sword, she handed the dagger she’d used to a man nearby, then handed the sword to the man named Jack. He passed along his makeshift club to another large man and nodded in approval.

  Hava found another pair of daggers on the dead sailor and asked Cho, “How well armed is the crew?”

  He said, “There’s no weapons locker, just some things in the captain’s cabin. He has a sword, as does the mate. The rest of us . . .” He shrugged.

  “How big is the crew?”

  “Thirty or so. Had a couple of lads hurt in the raiding, and they’re down in the forecastle.”

  Looking around the hold, Hava could see faces staring intently at her.

  “Here’s how we do it,” she said. “I go first, Jack right after me, and we run as fast as we can up that staircase. I’ll go right, Jack goes left, and each of you just go in the opposite direction of the person you follow. That should keep you from tripping over each other. Grab whatever you can use as a weapon—a bucket, belaying pin, heavy block on a rope, anything. Hit the first sailor you see and try to disable him, kill if you must. Act fast enough and they’ll be unconscious. If they drop a blade, pick it up. You may get cut, but we can sew wounds up, so just keep moving. If you don’t, it’s fairly certain you’ll be dead by sundown.”

  She looked at their eager faces, then nodded once. “We go!”

  Hava took the steps up the companionway and quickly reached the next deck. She had to loop around to the next companionway to the top deck, and as soon as she cleared the deckhouse, she turned to the right and saw a sailor tying down a line. He looked up and his eyes widened in surprise, but before he could react, Hava drove her dagger into his stomach.

  She turned at the railing toward the stern, where she knew the captain would be, either still sleeping or just awake, getting ready to depart on the morning tide. The sky to the east was lightening with the rosy promise of dawn, and the entire deck was half lit, as the sky was now a thing of grey clouds with hints of light crimson and gold.

  The crew was slow to react: an uprising from belowdecks was apparently the last thing they had expected. By the time those below started to appear on deck, armed prisoners were waiting for them.

  Hava had just reached the door she assumed led to the captain’s quarters when it opened and the captain stood with mouth agape and eyes widening as she drove her blade into his ample gut. His eyes rolled up into his head and blood gushed from his mouth.

  Pulling out the blade, she looked into the dimly lit cabin and saw no one else. She turned as the sound of fighting diminished, and then there was silence.

  Walking around a hatch cover, she saw the deck littered with bodies. A few were prisoners, but the majority were crew. She looked upward and saw no one in the rigging, then noticed movement along one of the yardarms.

  “You!” she shouted, pointing. “Come down and you’ll live.”

  The sailor in the rigging was obviously unconvinced. Hava saw him shimmy outward along the spar, then stand and dive into the ocean. Lacking a bow, she could only watch as the sailor surfaced and started swimming to shore. It was not a short swim, but if he was experienced and fit he would get there eventually.

  Hava took a deep breath, trying to take in all that had just happened. She was alive and most of the prisoners had survived and they were all free, or at least as long as they could avoid being recaptured.

  Loudly she shouted, “Dump the dead over the side!” Taking another deep breath, she added, “I want the surviving crew members over here.” She pointed with her dagger to a spot close by.

  A dozen men were forced to stand before her, many sporting cuts and bruises, one nursing a broken arm. “Any of you the mate?”

  One man said, “I am.”

  “Name?”

  “George,” he answered defiantly.

  “Watch.” She said to Jack, “Go fetch that slug Cho from below.”

  In a short while, Jack and Lydia appeared with Cho, and Hava pointed to the rail. “Go stand there.”

  Cho did as instructed. His face was drained of all color and he was trembling. Hava saw the girl Meggie huddled next to an older couple, and when Hava beckoned her over, the girl slowly rose and approached.

  “Is this the man who hurt you?” she asked.

  Meggie said nothing but shook her head slowly. Cho’s face relaxed slightly. “I never touched her,” he said hoarsely.

  “Good,” said Hava. “That earns you a quick end.”

  With a quick slash, she cut his throat, and as he reached up to try to stop the blood, which flowed through his fingers, she put a hand on his chest and pushed hard so that he fell over the railing into the water.

  Some of the onlookers gasped audibly at the brutality of his death. Others appeared pleased at this one act of retribution.

  Hava turned and looked from face to face. “That man deserved worse. I want you to understand that I am willing to slit the throat of any man or woman who causes any trouble. Is that clear?”

  A few voices sounded their acknowledgment, and others nodded their understanding.

  “Listen,” she said. “Any man or woman who wishes to return to that”—she pointed to the ruins of Port Colos off in the distance—“is free to go.” With the sun only just up, the city stood delineated by stark contrasts: black ruins still shrouded in smoke and leaping flames where a few fires remained.

  Hava looked to George. “Do you have a gig or longboat?”

  “There’s a gig off the poopdeck.”

  Hava nodded, then said to the prisoners, “There’s a boat hanging at the rear. Any of you who wish to use it, do it now.

  “Those of you who wish to stay and know how to sail, George here will give you your duties.” She turned to face the mate and said, “You’re now sailing master. You keep the job as long as you don’t disappoint me. Are we clear?”

  The man had a round face and an unruly shock of blond-streaked hair. He nodded. “Yes . . . Captain.”

  Hava couldn’t help but smile. “Hava. My name is Hava. We’ll talk about who’s captain if we live long enough.”

  “For what?”

  “To get away before those other ships weigh anchor.” She raised her voice to address the crowd. “So that’s your choice: get off now or work to crew this ship. If you wish to stay but don’t know how to crew, we’ll teach you, otherwise stay out of the way. Those who stay and want to leave later, we’ll work something out.”

  She turned to George. “Are we all right?”

  He looked around the deck, taking in the dozens of former prisoners who had been ready to kill him on her command, and with a bitter laugh said, “I think so, Hava.”

  “Where were you bound?”

  “To the southwest, where we’d offload the slaves.”

  “Then that is where I want to go.”

  George’s brow furrowed.

  “I’m looking for someone, and if he was taken by slavers that’s where he will be. How many ships have already sailed?”

  “Two or three, perhaps, but this is the first slaver.”

  “Good, that narrows the search.” She took a deep breath and realized that as her stress was flowing out, so was h
er ability to keep her thoughts coherent. “Clear out the captain’s cabin, and if he’s not been dumped over the side yet, toss him over.” Softly she added, “I need some rest.”

  “Aye, Cap . . . Hava.”

  She looked to Jack. “Can you watch things here?”

  He nodded. “Absolutely.”

  To another fit-looking man, Hava said, “Can you watch my door?”

  “I owe you my life” was his answer, and he came to stand beside her.

  As she moved toward the aft of the ship, she paused before Meggie. “No one will hurt you again, I promise.”

  Reaching the captain’s cabin, Hava saw that his body had already been removed and someone had even roughly cleaned up the blood he had spilled. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her, realizing she didn’t even know the name of the young man who now stood guard over her safety.

  The cabin was a mess, with discarded bits of food and dirty clothing strewn over the floor. She’d endured worse, though, and fell forward into the welcoming bunk. As she began to quickly drift off, she thought, Well, you said you wanted to be a pirate.

  Donte surveyed the room he found himself in. He had been escorted by two guards who had shoved him inside, locking the door behind him. He had already explored the one high window in this small but nicely furnished room and judged it impossible to wriggle through. With two armed guards outside the door, escape was unlikely, so he sat in a chair beside a small table and waited.

  A little time later he heard the door latch start to move. Reflexively, he tensed, ready to fight, then realized that if the baron wanted him dead, he would have let Deakin garrote him.

  The door opened and the man named Balven entered. Donte knew that he was close to the baron, therefore a man of importance, so he stood and lowered his eyes.

  “Are you hungry?” asked the baron’s adviser.

  Taken aback, Donte hesitated before shrugging and saying, “Most of the time.”