Queen of Storms

by Raymond E. Feist

  Balven chuckled. “I’ll order food, but first I have a few questions.” He motioned for Donte to sit down again.

  Donte returned to the chair and waved a hand at his surroundings. “I’m surprised to be here,” he said, then quickly added, “my lord.”

  “I’m nobody’s lord,” said Balven. “Balven will do.” He glanced around the cozy little room. “This was the baron’s father’s reading room.” He pointed at a bare wall. “There was a little bookcase there in which the late baron kept books to read in private. He was a man who adored reading.” His tone was almost wistful.

  “Reading,” said Donte in neutral tones.

  “I have a proper dungeon below with filthy damp straw and rats to share with, should you prefer.”

  Donte smiled. “No, m—Balven. This is a lovely room. I don’t read much myself, but I’m willing to give it a go.”

  Balven laughed, then said, “You’re a cheeky one, aren’t you?”

  “I’m Donte,” said the younger man.

  “Donte,” Balven echoed. “You said you were looking for a girl named Hava, so I assume you know a lad named Hatushaly?”

  “Yes, sir. The three of us . . . we’re like brothers and sister.”

  “Really? They are husband and wife.”

  Donte laughed. “I heard that when I was at Beran’s Hill.”

  “It’s funny?”

  “No . . . yes, I suppose so. He’s been in love with her since we were children. He was the only one of us too stupid to realize it. I never knew she felt the same.” Donte fixed Balven with a sharper expression. “But this isn’t about their marriage, is it?”

  “What can you tell me about Hatushaly?”

  Donte cocked his head. “He’s . . . my friend, and sometimes he keeps me out of trouble, or sometimes I get him and Hava into trouble. I . . .” He tried to frame his story with truth, as he had no doubt this man could easily smell out a lie. “I was an orphan, in my grandfather’s care, and he sent me to study where I met Hatu and Hava. They’re, as I said, like my brother and sister. But Hatu was always the odd one, from some distant place, though he acted like one of us.”

  “Us?”

  Donte paused, then said, “He’s not really like anyone from my home—”

  “Coaltachin, the Kingdom of Night,” interrupted Balven.

  The certainty with which the baron’s adviser spoke again reminded Donte that he was a man not to be played, not to mislead. Shaded truth was his best choice in this circumstance, he realized. This would not be a choice of his by nature, but by years of training. He nodded.

  “He was always odd, even as a boy. Had a temper like no one I know, and I have known some short-tempered people since I was a baby, especially my grandfather. But he was also fearless. When the bigger boys picked on him, he’d fight back no matter how badly he got beaten. We became friends, and he was always there with me. After a while no one would trouble either one of us, because no matter how outnumbered we might be in a fight, we could hurt people badly even if we ended up losing.”

  Balven nodded. “What else?”

  Donte shrugged. “He was lighter skinned than most, and he had that ridiculous red hair he had to dye constantly.”

  “Why?” Balven leaned forward as if the answer was important.

  “It’s a strange color and made him too easy to recognize—” Donte stopped abruptly.

  Balven’s gaze narrowed. “I understand.”

  Donte wasn’t certain what Balven understood about the role of agents of Coaltachin as criminals and spies, but he assumed he knew something, because even knowing of the existence of the Kingdom of Night in the first place made him rare among outlanders; but knowing about Hava and Hatu being from Coaltachin meant that this man knew more about things than Donte, and while Donte could be thoughtless, he was by no means stupid.

  He took a breath, then continued. “Hatu’s red hair is very unusual in our homeland, so since he was a little boy, he’s had to dye it to make himself look more like other boys.”

  “Let me make this easier,” said Balven. He almost smiled. “You’re acting as agents, or infiltrators, or criminals, so being easy to recognize is not a good thing. But we are spending too much time discussing what we already know. Let me focus my question. Do you know why Hatu is important?”

  Donte shook his head. “Not really. He was treated as if he was special—that we knew from the beginning. Some of his training was . . . lighter?” He shrugged. “As if they wanted to ensure he wasn’t seriously injured.”

  “They?”

  “Our teachers.” Donte was not about to volunteer the relationship between masters, preceptors, and students.

  “He was treated more gently?”

  Donte laughed. “I wouldn’t call it gentle. He had his share of bruises, cuts, and once a broken arm.” His thoughts raced quickly, not wanting to talk about the missions they had been sent on as boys, where Hatu always had the least risky assignment. He took a long breath, then said, “It’s just they kept a closer watch on him. That’s all.”

  Balven turned and walked slowly around the small room. After a moment, he said, “I am assuming that you really have little idea of his importance?”

  Again Donte decided that a shaded truth was his best choice. “I don’t know why he was considered special as a student, or why you might think him important, sir.” He paused, his expression thoughtful. “He and I were on a journey, and we . . .” He considered how much of the truth he was prepared to share about the Sisters of the Deep and quickly temporized. “We ran into trouble and got separated. I was injured, and when I recovered, I spent some time . . . reclaiming my wits. I had no memory for a while, and when I regained it . . .” He closed his eyes, squeezing them tight as if recalling something painful, then opened them again. “Some things are still a bit muddied. I don’t remember much since we were together on a ship bound for this city.” He frowned. “Or perhaps it was another city?” He sighed. “It may come back to me one of these days.” He pointed to his temple. “Got a serious bash to my head, they told me, and it scrambled things for a while.” He reflected on the original question. “Except for what I told you about the teachers, I say again I don’t know why anyone would consider Hatu special.”

  Balven nodded thoughtfully. “As I suspected. Now again, why are you so far from home and why are you seeking this girl Hava?”

  Suddenly Donte again felt a slight pressure inside, as if two parts of him were caught in a struggle. One side was familiar, but the other was cold, angry, and frightened and felt as if it was coming from a long way away. He tried to consider his words, but they seemed to flow out of their own accord. “I was looking for Hava . . .” His eyes became unfocused and he stared into the space beyond Balven. “. . . because I knew she’d be with him, or know where he was.”

  Just as he was on the verge of recounting his voyage with Hatu and the Sisters of the Deep ensnaring his ship and the crew, he felt something snap inside him.

  He shook his head as if clearing it, feeling somewhat astonished. Then he said, “I need to find Hatushaly.”

  “Need? Why?”

  Donte’s tone was almost cheerful as he replied, “I’m not certain, but I think I’m supposed to kill him.”

  15

  Appraisals, Guesswork, and Repurposing

  Hava awoke in an hour, hardly rested, but feeling as if she would be able to endure whatever came next. She took a deep breath, realizing that soon she’d have to find a way to clean herself up. She couldn’t recall a single moment in her life when she’d been this filthy and smelled this rank. Cho’s stale urine on her trousers coupled with the stench of her own fear-generated sweat, topped off by whatever other muck she’d lain in below, made her feel the need to strip off every garment and wash herself raw, even if it was with cold seawater.

  She opened the cabin door and found the young man who had elected to stand guard blocking the entrance. Hearing it open behind him, he turned and stepped aside. “Capt
ain,” he said.

  “Hava,” she corrected. “How long?”

  “An hour, bit more, I reckon.”

  “Everything calm?”

  “Pretty much, though some of the boys are looking to take out their ire on the crew. That fellow George seems to be keeping everyone from each other’s throats.”

  “What’s your name?” she asked, appraising him. He appeared to be barely more than a youth from his smooth cheeks and unlined forehead, but he was tall and powerfully built, with dark close-curled hair, dark eyes, and skin the color of tanned leather.

  “I’m Sabien.”

  “You have a trade?”

  “I was a mason’s apprentice, almost a journeyman. I’ve cut stone since I was a boy.”

  That explained the size and muscles, thought Hava. He also had a skill. She considered that before she cut anyone loose, she might do well to see what other trades and professions had ended up on this ship. She didn’t have any clear idea of what was coming, and knowing what resources were available might be useful.

  She found the newly anointed sailing master, George, at the helm, watching the sails. “Captain—” He caught himself. “Hava.”

  “No riots while I napped?”

  “We’ve had some moments, but I’ve managed to keep my boys in line, and that big fellow, Jack, he’s done a good job keeping the rest reined in.”

  “Good,” said Hava. “I think I’ll find a place for him. See if he can learn. He probably knows nothing about sailing, but then neither did I until someone taught me.”

  George smiled. “Smart. He can keep an eye on the prisoners—or, should I say, former prisoners—and on me as well.”

  Hava nodded. George was not a stupid man.

  “Now that I’ve had a bit of rest, a few questions.”

  George’s expression was guarded but not combative. Hava had learned young how to read possible enemies, and she realized this man wasn’t a committed foe . . . yet.

  “How long before we reach our destination?”

  “About three weeks, if the winds hold—maybe two if the weather is favorable, more than that if not.”

  “Do we have enough provisions?”

  “If we fed the slaves as we planned, expecting a tenth of them to die along the way, yes. If we feed everyone equally, no.”

  “What do we do about that?”

  “We could return to Port Colos, but there’s nothing left there.” He thought for a moment then said, “There are a half dozen small islands we usually bypass, but we could stop and do some trading. Fish is easily acquired as well as some breadfruit, coconut, a turnip common to the islands—the taste is nothing to celebrate, but it’s nourishing—and perhaps some pigs and goats. I know how to salt the meat to make it last.”

  “We’ll stop. I want an accounting of what we have aboard that we can trade.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Hava was about to correct him, then realized it was probably futile; if she was in command of this ship, she was the captain.

  “And I never asked. What is this ship called?”

  “Borzon’s Black Wake. Borzon’s some sea god,” said George. “I’ve never heard of him or his wake. Supposedly it was some sort of terror of the ocean, a wake of horror or . . . ? And that is as much about it as I know. These old ships pass through a lot of hands,” he added. “I reckon this was a trading vessel, but how it came to be a slaver is anyone’s guess.”

  “How did you become a slaver?” she asked pointedly.

  “I was raised on an island not too far from where we’re heading. My father was a pirate and . . . I got into the family trade, you could say. I wasn’t particularly happy with that life: no matter how good a raid, or how big a ship was captured, there was never a lot of money being passed around.” He shrugged. “Most of us would hit a port with our loot, and within a few weeks we’d have spent it all, on women, on gambling . . .” Again, he shrugged. “I had no idea where it went. I left a crew in a town called Salvatia, another island port, near starving when this ship turned up looking for a crew, so I signed on rather than go back, not my best choice.

  “The man you killed was a pig: no one will mourn his loss. Half his crew had deserted. I had some experience, so he hired me on as mate. By the time we got to Port Colos, I was ready to jump ship. I would have, too, if the raiders had left anything standing.” He furrowed his brow. “The captain seemed as surprised as anyone at the size of the fleet that gathered. Most were already at anchor, and the fighting started the day after we arrived.” He shook his head slowly. “If I’d known what was coming, I might have just stayed where I was and starved.”

  Hava didn’t know how much of the story to believe, but decided to take the man at face value rather than suspect him of some evil intent; he didn’t seem the type, and as he had observed, there were more people willing to protect her than him, assuming any one of the remaining crew was of a mind to protect anyone but himself.

  Hava was silent for a long while, pondering her situation, and George seemed content to keep his eyes on the sails and heading. Finally she said, “This captain, what was his name?”

  George smiled. “He was also named George, funnily enough, from Bouboulis. His father was a very famous pirate, and George was the biggest cockroach I’ve ever seen, but that family reputation stood him in good stead, despite there being little else to recommend him.”

  Hava said, “I like to know the names of the men I kill.” Then she gave a small laugh. “It really doesn’t matter. Those Azhante were going to kill him as soon as you got the slaves to port anyway. I overheard them. They said he knew too much about them.”

  George nodded. “Good to know.” He paused, then added, “That means they were likely going to kill all of us. I’ll pass the word your taking over has saved us from that. I know it wasn’t your intent, but still, it may make a difference.”

  Hava said nothing. Trying to work out why people did what they did was never a major concern to her, though it seemed to drive Hatushaly as much as anything in life did.

  Realizing he had returned to her thoughts now that she was out of immediate danger, she felt that emptiness once again. She desperately wished she knew where he was. This was a big ocean: he could be anywhere.

  Hatu hauled in a sheet as the boat heeled over on a change of tack. The boys were knowledgeable enough that they didn’t need to be instructed anymore, and Hatu found himself pleasantly surprised at that. He had never been particularly fond of children; he found them loud, annoying, and often in the way. He realized as he considered the pleasure he took from their progress under his instruction that he could one day be a teacher, like Master Bodai. He had labored to learn under the preceptors, but somehow Master Bodai had been different. The preceptors wanted the students to learn specific things, to master their lessons and know what to do in given situations, but Master Bodai had taught students to think for themselves.

  Hatu smiled at that thought. He enjoyed knowing there was more than one way of approaching things.

  It had made an impression on Hatu, especially when thinking about escape routes, how to avoid being followed, and other potential mistakes—what Bodai had called “being trapped by old habits”—because he knew many of those he had studied with had become predictable in how they did certain things. Hatu applied that wisdom to studying one’s enemies and looked for patterns. He thought that was where Baron Dumarch had failed: he’d become predictable, and it had cost him dearly.

  As the boat settled onto its new course, Hatu saw Sabella come on deck. He still didn’t trust the feelings she aroused in him and was now convinced there was some sort of magic, for lack of a better word, involved. Perhaps a charm or potion? In any event, because he was now sure the effect she had on him was not natural, it made it easier to armor himself against it.

  She saw him looking at her and nodded a greeting. She tended to stay below in a little screened-off portion of what had been the captain’s quarters, while Denbe and Catharian o
ccupied another section. Hatu had taken to sleeping on the deck most of the time, going below only if rain came, and on this voyage that had happened only twice, and both showers had been brief.

  As he approached she said, “Catharian thinks we are safe from pursuit, because if any ship had sailed after us it would have overtaken us by now.”

  Hatu let out a small sigh. “He seemed concerned.”

  “You are still . . .” Sabella looked as if she was reconsidering her words. “I’m sure Catharian has told you,” she began again, “that you were to have been fully trained by your age and returned to your family. There are things that I know, but only a tiny bit of what is yours to learn.” She stopped as if uncertain she was making sense. “It’s like . . . trying to explain color to someone who is blind. Or music to one who cannot hear.” She sighed as if frustrated she couldn’t explain more. “When we arrive at our first destination someone will meet us who can begin to teach you what should have been taught years ago.”

  He sensed that frustration beneath her words as well as a touch of regret. “Why does this bother you?” he asked.

  She looked at him with troubled eyes. “I have touched your . . . how would you say, spirit? Your essential energy, for lack of better words.” She gazed out over the ocean. “We searched constantly for years, but when I finally found you, you were burning brightly, Hatu, like a luminous star.” She smiled. “I saw . . . blue, a blue fire in the heavens, in my mind, and I knew at once it was you.” She lowered her gaze. “Since then I have touched you enough to have grown . . .” She looked uncomfortable. “I have feelings I was never taught to understand.” She reached over and touched his hand lightly. “Part of what makes me feel this way is that I’ve come to care for you.”

  She saw the flicker of reaction on his face and quickly added, “And I completely understand how you feel about Hava. I’ve been . . . aware of you together occasionally.” She seemed embarrassed by the admission.

  Hatu frowned. “I’m . . . It’s all right. You were merely serving your cause.”