Queen of Storms

by Raymond E. Feist

  Declan nodded and said nothing.

  “A day later I ran into people fleeing the other way, from the fighting on the other side of the Covenant, and . . .” He let out a long sigh and got to his feet. “I think I’ll have a mug of that ale.”

  Declan sat back and said, “Make it two.”

  Ratigan returned a moment later with two full mugs, shaking his head in disbelief. “This had better be the greatest ale ever brewed, given what they’re charging.”

  Declan grunted. “Prices are going to be dear for a while.”

  Ratigan took a long swallow of ale, making a face that communicated his lack of enthusiasm over its quality. “I’ve had better.”

  Declan took a drink and said, “But we’ve both had worse.”

  “There is that,” said Ratigan, putting the mug down. “Where was I? Yes, I started dumping freight and picking up wounded men. By the third night at the side of the road, Edvalt and others from the Covenant caught up with us. We chatted and I found him a seat in another wagon, as mine was full of wounded. Edvalt won’t complain, but his age was catching up with him and he was limping.

  “From what he said, there had been raids along the coast to the border of Ithrace. We went on until we saw smoke on the horizon that told us Ilcomen was in flames. East of that? No one knows. So we turned around and headed west again, but it’s clear to me as daybreak that we’re all being herded toward Marquensas.”

  That caught Declan’s attention. “What makes you say that?”

  “From what we were hearing, people behind us were being harried. Not major assaults, but sniping by bowmen, riders coming up from behind ridges, a few people killed, but little loot being taken.

  “As soon as the fight that killed the baron’s family was over, the attacks stopped and—at least from what I was told—the attackers fled south. I guess they had a ship waiting for them at the coast. Until I ran into you, all I had seen were refugees.”

  Declan considered Ratigan’s words and nodded. “I think I need to ask my captain about this.”

  “Captain? So, what happened to you?” asked Ratigan.

  Declan relayed his loss during the destruction of Beran’s Hill, and when he finished, Ratigan said, “I’m so sorry. I really liked Gwen, and Jusan and his girl Millie, too.” His expression grew dark. “Now that I’m here, everything is beginning to sink in.” When he looked at Declan the smith-turned-mercenary saw there was a sheen in his eyes. “It’s not just losing my business . . .” Ratigan took a deep breath. “I’ve had nothing before, and I can start over. At least my wagon yard and the house are still here.

  “I should go there soon. That’s where Roz and the others working for us will go if they’re still alive . . .” His chuckle was bitter. “I agreed to meet here because I was afraid after I put up the horses, I’d find everything in my home gone.” He sighed. “I was right. Anything worth having was looted. Some people.” Standing up, he put a hand on Declan’s shoulder. “I’m truly sorry for your losses, my friend.”

  “Thanks,” said Declan, also getting to his feet. He drank the last of his ale, though Ratigan had left his unfinished. “I’ll send word, but I think the baron will have tasks for all of us.”

  “I hope so. I had a little pouch of gems and coins stashed away where the looters didn’t find it, but most of what I owned was with Roz in Ilcomen. I don’t know if she grabbed anything . . .” The words trailed off.

  Declan reached out and squeezed his friend’s arm. “I’ve known her longer than you. If anyone is tough enough to get through this, it’s Roz.”

  Ratigan nodded, though he didn’t look convinced.

  They left the inn and Declan began to walk back toward the keep, while Ratigan took the other direction toward his freight yard, both men lost in thought.

  Hava saw the sky beginning to lighten in the east and knew sunrise was less than an hour away, as her crew rowed quietly around the coast toward the ridge that sheltered the lagoon where the Queen of Storms was anchored. George had shown them how to muffle the rowlocks with rags, since noise traveled well across water, especially on a night like this one, with the weather calm and clear.

  It had taken some hours for her crew to carry the three small boats across the island. They had had to stop twice for a short break; when they reached the breakers on the far side, they had rested for an hour. Now the men and women of the raiding crew were both tired and anxious, but ready to fight. Hava was impressed by the determination spending time in the hold of a slave ship had engendered.

  For a few minutes she had been torn over where exactly she should place herself. She was probably the best archer in the crew apart from Molly, but she judged that Molly was better able to lead the five other archers she had sent up to the ridge above the lagoon. They would be in place before Hava attacked the ship.

  Hava had been clear with Molly as to her plans. She was anxious, but she also trusted Molly to change the plan if the situation warranted it. She had finally decided to lead the boarding party: she was the only one who could understand enough of the Azhante language that she could comprehend orders they might shout out, and she had more training than anyone else in close combat.

  Hava motioned for the other boats to hold back and wait while she took her boat to the shore first.

  When she’d scouted out the lagoon from above the day before, she’d noticed a small breach in the rocks, just wide enough for her crew to carry the boats through. She used hand signals to ensure they remembered that making any sound would mean their deaths.

  Her little crew picked up the boat and carried it silently through the gap. Hava kept her eyes on the Queen of Storms and trusted those behind would follow her example, Sabien in the second boat, and Jack, her second mate, in charge of the third. She looked for movement on the ship and saw none, but that didn’t mean there was no watch posted. A motionless man in black in the dark could seem invisible when only a few feet away—something she had learned early in her childhood.

  Dawn was coming. If all was going to plan, George would have the Black Wake under sail and should be coming around the point of the headland just as the sun was about to appear over the horizon, which would give the archers on the ridge above enough light to see the deck of the Queen of Storms. With its sails furled, the deck was more exposed, and Molly and the others had a single instruction: If you see anyone wearing black, shoot him. No one in Hava’s crew wore black.

  The other two boats were ready and Hava beckoned them through the gap, then made a motion with her palm down, communicating “Wait.”

  The minutes dragged by. The crews of the three boats crouched silent and motionless as the sky continued to grow lighter with each passing moment. They all knew their orders: everything depended on surprise.

  Now came the riskiest part of the attack.

  Hava signaled, and her boat was the first to move out. As quietly as possible, she had her crew row up beneath the port side of the Queen of Storms, had the men on the side closest to the ship raise their oars and let the boat drift against it. Makeshift fenders of cloth filled with sand were quickly inserted to keep the sound of wood striking wood to a minimum.

  Hava looked behind and saw Sabien’s boat nestle in and Jack’s boat behind him. She needed to give no order for silence, for everyone with her was holding their breath. She listened.

  This was the most maddening part of her plan, for she could see nothing above on the deck. The sky overhead was getting lighter, but all she could see was the rigging and black spars against the greying sky. Two men held ropes equipped with grapples. Hava slipped a short bow over her shoulder that wouldn’t trip her up, then a quiver with a tie to hold the arrows in place. She had a short blade on one hip, a dagger on the other, and another blade in each boot top. She tried to stay alert without being overly tense. Childhood training once more came to the fore, ensuring that when she had to move she wouldn’t uncoil like an overtightened spring. She forced her breathing to slow.

  More min
utes slowly passed, and then Hava heard a shout from above. She held up her hand, indicating that her raiders needed to wait. In her mind she imagined what was happening: whoever was on watch above them had seen Borzon’s Black Wake turning hard into the lagoon as its sails were reefed. She hoped the bigger ship would lose enough speed so that if it actually struck the Queen of Storms minimal damage would be done to both ships. George’s only job was to distract and block the Queen of Storms, keeping it at anchor. Under way, the smaller vessel might be the most dangerous ship on the water, but stuck in an anchorage, it was just a floating trap.

  A few other voices could be heard above now. She imagined men hurrying around up on deck, taking up their defensive positions.

  Suddenly she heard the thunk of an arrow striking and the sound of a man hitting the deck. Molly was adhering perfectly to the strict orders Hava had given her. As soon as Borzon’s Black Wake appeared, alerting those on the Queen, anyone wearing black was a target. The arrows started raining down, and she heard a man scream and more arrows hitting the wooden deck, bouncing off harder surfaces struck at an angle, and she waited for another moment.

  She knew the Azhante would be briefly disoriented by the sight of the ship appearing at their bow and a sudden assault by archers from above and aft. She also knew that as more Azhante came up from below, things could quickly get out of hand.

  “Now!” she shouted, and her crew threw the ropes with grappling hooks up over the side of the Queen of Storms. Hava leapt and grabbed a rope, yanking hard to make sure it was secure, then shimmied up it as fast as a spider.

  Reaching the top of the rope, she vaulted over onto the deck, landing lightly on her feet. As she crouched she unshouldered her bow, pulled the restraining cord off the arrows, and had one nocked in seconds.

  She studied the deck. Three bodies lay with arrows in them, while another half dozen arrows protruded from various parts of the ship. Two black-clad Azhante had taken cover, one crouching behind a mast, the other lying behind the main hatchway covering. Neither saw her: their attention was trained upon those on the ridge above who were shooting down at them.

  She knelt and quickly loosed two shafts, the first taking down the crouching man and the second, the one behind the hatch. She stood up slowly, glancing in all directions.

  An Azhante fighter came up from below, half dressed, holding a sword, and Hava had an arrow in his chest before he could take in what was going on. Two more tried to rush out only to be shot, one through the neck, and the other in the shoulder, and he was taken down by Hava’s crew. A shout came from below that Hava barely understood, but she took it to mean a warning to those still down in the lower deck that there were enemies on the main deck.

  Hava motioned for her crew to station themselves on either side of the entrance to the companionway and said, “Kill anything that tries to come out.”

  She used her bow to indicate a rear companionway that needed to be guarded and stationed men at both hatches: the smaller one before the mainmast and the main hatch aft of it. Both were closed but not battened, so it might be possible for those below to quickly push one open and try to swarm out. She positioned men at the fore companionway, but even her limited experience suggested that provided easy access to the rope and chain locker, perhaps to the fore portion of the hold, so she expected any rush topside would be from the rear companionway.

  Within a minute all was eerily silent. Hava hurried up the short ladder to the foredeck, where she could get a better view.

  Borzon’s Black Wake sat mere yards away, slowly rocking with the gentle waves in the lagoon, and she saw George at the helm. She waved once, then pointed past him. George was to take the massive ship out of this lagoon under reduced sail, to anchor just off the point.

  George waved back, indicating that he understood.

  Hava turned to survey the deck, counting eight dead Azhante. A quick scan of the yards showed none of the enemy in the rigging, which meant that the rest of the crew was still below; no doubt they were planning a way to get up on deck and kill everyone.

  Catharian and the second contingent of Hava’s forces started climbing up onto the Azhante vessel, dripping wet but looking determined. Hava quickly sent them to support those already waiting for the Azhante to come up from the four exit points.

  Catharian came to Hava’s side. “No fighting?”

  “No,” she said quietly. “They lost eight trying to get up here and were smart enough to pull back.”

  “Smart,” said the agent of the Flame Guard. “They took the same advantage as you. You pick them off if they come up; they pick us off if we try to come down the ladders.”

  “How long do they think they can hold out down there?” she wondered aloud.

  Catharian laughed, a short bark. “They’ve got enough food and water below for a four-month voyage with a full crew. There are perhaps as many as another hundred Azhante and a few thousand allied fighters due to start showing up when the fleet arrives . . .” He glanced at the brightening sky behind the ridge to the southeast. “Today, perhaps?” He nodded once to Hava. “No later than tomorrow.”

  Hava said nothing but pushed past him and went to the stern. She waved her bow above her head, the signal for Molly and the other archers to descend the hill as best they could and get to the boat.

  Returning to Catharian, she said, “Then I guess we need to end this as quickly as possible and be gone before that army arrives.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “I don’t know, but give me a minute.”

  Laughing dryly, Catharian said, “Take all the time you need.”

  Declan helped lift a wall stone to the two men on the step above, then turned to take another being passed along by a line of workers. At the other end of the line stood a massive dray that had been pulled by a team of ten mules, bringing stones down the hill across farmland from an abandoned quarry a day’s ride away.

  The baron had quickly brought order to the city and surrounding countryside by a simple edict: everyone works. No matter what skills or lack thereof people had, they would find something for every able-bodied person to do. Even the elderly gleaned in the fields, the woods, and through the abandoned villages, and children were sent to run errands or set to watching the infants as their parents worked.

  Food was being made available, as stores in the castle were distributed and hunters were sent out to find game. Sheep, goats, and donkeys were rounded up and organized into flocks on abandoned farms and fields near the city. Small herds of cattle were now guarded in meadows and pastures nearby, and fishermen were again working out of the coastal villages.

  During the first couple of days after their return, the baron had waited for an attack that never came. His lookouts along the coast had reported ships sailing from the north, passing by vessels still anchored offshore. When there was no further visible activity, scouts were dispatched and discovered that the ships at anchor had been abandoned, put there apparently to keep the baron and his troops buttoned up inside the city. Daylon Dumarch had them towed to the largest harbor in Marquensas, ordered dredging to begin as soon as feasible, and declared that he would begin building a fleet. The abandoned ships would be refitted and returned to full service as fast as possible.

  Declan placed another big stone in his new wall with the help of Tarr, another of Bogartis’s company, and had just turned to receive the next one when Sixto appeared and shouted an order for them to fall out. As they did so, two other workers stepped in to take their place.

  Sixto said to Declan and Tarr, “The captain wants us all.”

  Declan grabbed the shirt he had left on a post, because the work was hot, and donned it while following the other two men. The area around the castle was a vortex of activity, for the baron had commanded everything be done without regard to the time or costs involved. He was paying a good wage to people he could simply have commanded to work for nothing but food, but instead he was providing enough that people might rebuild their
lives once the current crisis had passed.

  If it ever is going to pass, thought Declan as they reached the keep.

  Edvalt Tasman stood next to Bogartis, and Declan saw the rest of his company gathering. When all were present, Bogartis said, “For those who don’t know this man, his name is Edvalt, and he is, by reputation, the finest weapons smith of our time. The baron has ordered him to forge swords for the new army he is gathering.” He turned and looked at the old smith.

  Edvalt said, “There is a means of making steel few know, but I know it, and I taught Declan. We are going to break a time-honored practice of keeping the means of fashioning jewel steel secret, because we need the finest weapons that can be fashioned by the hand of a man, so that when we find the home of those murderous dogs who’ve raped and butchered people we love, and pillaged and destroyed our homes, we will have superior arms and armor.” He glanced at Declan, who simply nodded once in agreement.

  Bogartis said, “The refitting of one of the abandoned ships will be completed in a few days. Once it’s ready, we will sail it to . . .” He looked at Edvalt.

  “South Tembria. Past the range of the Border Tribes, to Abala, on the edge of the Burning Lands.”

  “Why there, Captain?” asked one of the mercenaries.

  “Because that’s where we’ve been told to go,” said Bogartis. “I’ll tell you what you need to know when you need to know it. Now get back to your tasks. I’ll send word when the ship is ready and a crew is aboard.”

  Declan lingered, and Edvalt said, “You have no problem, then, with betraying the secret?”

  Declan’s laugh was bitter. “None of these lads knows the first thing about a forge, Edvalt. Our secret’s safe with them.”

  “We will be training other smiths.”

  “I don’t really care.” Declan gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “I don’t care about gaining wealth by making jewel-steel blades for nobles who don’t know how to use them anyway. I just want to find those who killed our loved ones and see them dead. If better weapons will do it, I have no problem.”