Queen of Storms

by Raymond E. Feist

  “I feel the same.” Edvalt put his hand on Declan’s shoulder. “We’ve both lost everything, except each other, and for a time, that will have to be enough.”

  Declan’s expression was unreadable. He just nodded, turned, and started back toward the wall he had been rebuilding. As he walked down the slope from the castle he could see other fortifications being constructed at an equally furious rate farther off in the city, in places where no defensive positions had existed in an age. He knew that Baron Dumarch had sent companies to Beran’s Hill to begin construction of a fortification there and another to Port Colos, which he was claiming and would be rebuilt as a port for his navy and no longer a haven for traders and smugglers.

  Declan had no way of judging, but he suspected that should the baron finish all the tasks he had ordered, Marquensas would arise not as another barony, but as a new kingdom as powerful as any in the history of North Tembria.

  Hava and her crew waited on the main deck, but after half an hour there had still been no attempt by those below to break out onto the deck. Finally she looked at Catharian and Sabien and said, “We’ve got to tempt them out. If we try to breach that hatch or go down either of the companionways, we will be slaughtered.”

  “So what are you thinking?” asked Catharian.

  “Have you ever had to smoke out an animal?” She looked at both men.

  “Once,” replied Sabien. “When I was a boy, we found a badger holed up in an underground den between blocks of stone we needed to use.” He thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t think it was my da—I was pretty young—but another man who did the smoking out.”

  Catharian was nodding, looking interested. “Say on.”

  “Badgers can be vicious, and I remember my da saying it was best to steer clear of them, but we had to get that animal out of there. So they lit a fire, found some rags, soaked them in . . . oil, maybe? Then we used some boards and built this . . . sort of tunnel, so the badger only had one way he could run. Got the rags smoldering so that they gave off this awful stench, picked them up with a long pole, and stuck the pole into where the badger was. We all stayed out of the way and that animal came racing out through the wooden tunnel and ran straight up the hill, back into the woods.”

  Hava nodded. “I saw a skunk under a house sent off that way.” She looked around. “So we need to smoke them out.”

  “And how do we do that?” Catharian asked with a wry smile. “By burning the ship?”

  Hava grinned. “No. I like this ship. I’m going to keep it.” To Sabien she said, “Take one of those boats over to the Black Wake.”

  The other ship was now anchored just off the strip of land that divided the lagoon from the sea to the northwest of where they sat. “Get down below and find what you can—clothing for rags, poles, oil or anything that will make enough smoke to get those Azhante to come up or to pass out from it, I don’t care which.”

  “Suffocating them down below would be my preference,” said Catharian.

  “I have no doubt,” replied Hava.

  Sabien hurried off, and Hava looked around to make sure every man was paying attention to his task. She noticed a young man near the wheel on the quarterdeck was watching her and the others rather than looking aft and waved to him to turn around. As he did so, an Azhante fighter vaulted over the stern rail, kicking him with both feet as he came down. The young crewman slid past the wheel and was momentarily stunned.

  Hava had an arrow nocked in her bow and was already drawing when the Azhante fighter was struck from behind and propelled forward, falling on top of the young man he had disabled. Protruding from his back was a hunter’s shaft, and Hava said in relieved tones, “Molly!”

  She indicated that everyone should stay where they were, but Catharian and two other men hurried to the stern, where they found the youngster wriggling out from underneath the Azhante’s corpse.

  Hava and Catharian looked over the stern railing and saw a large hinged window being quickly shuttered as several arrows now protruded out of the ship’s stern.

  “It seems our friends are more impatient than we had anticipated,” said Catharian.

  Hava looked out to the beach and saw Molly and the other archers standing at the shoreline. “That was a shot of damn near a quarter of a mile.” She shook her head in admiration. “You have to love Molly Bowman.”

  “Well,” said Catharian, “if they’re eager to come up and fight, she’ll keep them inside, and there aren’t any other windows big enough for them to climb through.” He looked around. “I’m thinking the next best choice for them would be that main hatchway.”

  He and Hava climbed down the short ladder to the main deck. “It’s big enough that if they can move it quickly, they can swarm up out of it.”

  “I wish we knew how many were still down there.”

  “As do I.” He quickly counted and said, “I make it nine dead, so that cuts it down at least.”

  “What’s your guess?”

  “The smallest crew on this ship would be around thirty, ten on a watch, or more in bad weather.” He calculated silently and said, “But as a raider, it’s probably got fifty or so.”

  “So we may still face a good forty very dangerous men.”

  Catharian nodded.

  Hava counted quickly and realized she had almost ninety able-bodied men and women on the deck, though more than half were inexperienced fighters. In low tones to Catharian alone she said, “We have the numbers, but a lot of these people will die if we have a stand-up fight.”

  The false monk nodded and whispered back, “Let us hope your lad returns with something that can gain us an advantage.”

  Hava could only nod.

  Hatu took a turn at the helm, simply to break up the monotony. The crew on board this ship was perhaps the most efficient he had seen and was well able to deal with the losses resulting from the encounter with the Azhante. He could tell that to a man they mourned the loss of their fellow Flame Guards, especially Denbe. Hatu had thought of him only as an old warrior, but after speaking with a few of the crew he had begun to understand more about what Bodai had meant by Denbe having been a scholar. Several of this crew had studied under him. They also seemed, if not afraid of Hatu’s sudden powers, respectful enough to keep their distance. Their reluctance even to chat with him contributed to his boredom.

  The tedium he endured caused his thoughts to turn inward, to a darker place than he wished. He was worried about Hava, and he hoped that the others at Beran’s Hill had survived that attack. Having been spirited away at the height of the battle with no one to tell him the final outcome had caused him a low-level but constant worry. But since Hava had been with the baron’s garrison coming from the city, the entire barony would have had to be gutted for her to be at risk. He smiled as he thought of her waiting at the inn for him to turn up. He was determined that once he reached the Sanctuary, he’d insist to Bodai that word be sent to her, and perhaps even arrangements could be made for her to join him.

  He was now more than a little curious to see this Sanctuary, just as he was growing more curious about his upcoming training. He was still unsure as to how he felt about the explosion of power he had unleashed when pressed to fight for his and the others’ survival. He experienced equal measures of excitement at the thought of taking control of that power and fear at what such use of power might cost him: what he might gain was offset by what he might lose. He realized that one lesson he had learned from Bodai as far back as he could remember rang true: do not obsess over that which you cannot control. If it was his power, he would learn to control it.

  21

  Triumph and Escape

  Hava kept a careful view of any possible point of exit by the remaining Azhante. Sabien and his crew had been gone for the better part of an hour, and the Azhante below seemed content to play the waiting game. At one point, a few minutes after Sabien had left, the main hatchway had lifted slightly, raised by poles Hava suspected, just enough for someone to peer out,
to check out the disposition of her force. A quick arrow through the gap caused the hatch to drop loudly, and although no scream of pain ensued, Hava was pretty sure she had scared the Azhante trying to look out half to death.

  The mood was tense. Hava spent much of her time cautioning everyone to stay steady. Those with previous combat experience she knew understood her warning and were reassured by her calm command of the situation. She might still be a youngster compared to many, but she had been through more blood and pain than most of them combined. It was the ones who had never fought before whom she worried about. They might flail around, harming themselves or their comrades, or fall apart completely, dive over the side, or simply cower until an Azhante blade ended their lives.

  Movement on the other side of the ship told her that Sabien had returned and a rope ladder was lowered. Items were handed up, and soon the large mason was standing before her, beckoning to the other men who had traveled with him to bring over their cargo. “We found something,” he said.

  “What?” she asked as a bundle the size of three large hams, or a small side of beef, was set before her. The package was covered in a large sheet of heavily waxed canvas and tied with several lengths of cord. Despite this, she caught a whiff of what could only be called an outhouse odor.

  Other men unrolled a bundle of fine daggers and Sabien said, “Not everyone here is armed for close fighting.”

  She nodded her approval. “Good.” To another man she said, “Pass these out to anyone who doesn’t have a knife or dagger.” She surveyed the deck quickly to make sure everyone was attending to their duties. When she locked eyes with a few gawkers, they quickly got back to their task of keeping watch against an attack.

  “But here’s the best thing,” said Sabien. He called to a short, barrel-chested, balding man nearby. “Henri!”

  The man’s face showed deep lines, and his hair was so grey that Hava judged him old enough to be her father. But she saw something in his manner and bearing to count him likely to put up a good fight if it came to that.

  Henri knelt down and cut the ties around the large bundle. As soon as the wax-treated cloth fell away, such a stench rose from it that Hava took half a step back and felt her eyes begin to water. “Gods, what is that? It reeks.”

  Henri grinned. “I was trained as an apothecary, a chemist, and later became a perfumer. Believe it or not, this is ambergris, a very valuable product in making extravagantly expensive perfumes.”

  “Perfume?” said Hava. “It smells like shit.”

  Henri laughed. “Because it is—or vomit, depending on which end of the whale it comes out of.”

  “Whales?”

  “It originates in the stomach of whales, and it is exceedingly rare and valuable.”

  “Why, for the sake of reason?”

  “It is a perfumer’s secret,” he began, and one dark look from Hava had him instantly adding, “but I will tell you, Captain.

  “It is found on the shore, or sometimes in the shallows or in the gut of the sperm whale when it’s been harvested, and yes, it does stink to high heaven. But as it ages it becomes less pungent and eventually has a very faint aroma. The secret few know is that when you mix it with alcohol and, say, lilac, or any other sweet essence, it causes that scent to linger.” He smiled like a child explaining to an adult something he had just discovered. “The rarest and most valued perfumes sold to nobles and wealthy ladies contains a drop of that mixture in each bottle, so that the fragrance doesn’t fade. That way a bottle of perfume will last a very long time. I sold my scents to merchants all over Tembria and to the islands beyond.”

  For an instant, Hava wondered if his little vials and bottles might have ended up with the Powdered Women and Mistress Mulray. She might even have used some herself during that period of her training. She pushed the thought away and returned her attention to Henri.

  “This,” he was saying, pointing at the stinking lump of gold-tinged spew, “is enough ambergris to last a master perfumer a lifetime and keep his children in comfort for their entire lives! When I used to buy it from traders, I would buy a lump half the size of my fist. I could save for years and not be able to own half that much.” His thumb and forefinger framed a small gap. “A drop is all you need to make a large vial.” He stood back with a look of amazement on his face. “That small bit I would buy cost a bag of gold. This is worth thousands of times more.” He looked at Hava with regret etched in his features. “And now we’re going to burn it?”

  Hava gave him a tight smile. “So it smells bad,” she said. “How does that help us?”

  Henri motioned for another man to bring over a large jug. “This is lamp oil. If we knead the oil into the ambergris, it will burn like fury, but without flames. It will smolder, and the fumes will sicken those who do not flee. If they are foolish enough to linger it will cause them to pass out. If they pass out and no one moves them, they will suffocate.”

  Hava smiled with satisfaction. “How long will it take to prepare this concoction?”

  “Only a few minutes, Captain.”

  “Do it!”

  She turned to Sabien. “How do things stand on the Black Wake?”

  “Everything is well in hand, Captain. George awaits your orders and the crew is ready to go where you wish.”

  She turned to Catharian. “Is there somewhere not too distant where we can leave that floating treasure trove and have a decent chance the Azhante don’t find it until we return to strip more booty from it?”

  Catharian paused, thinking. Slowly he smiled. “I know just the place. It’s a small island about fifty miles northwest of us, which puts it just outside the normal course of travel by ships going west and absolutely on the wrong side of the Border for ships heading to the Twins.” He narrowed his gaze. “Leaving it abandoned or with guards?”

  “Why?”

  “With guards you’ll need provisions, and there’s not much there—some breadfruit and coconuts, and of course fish if that’s what you wish to do all day, but nothing else for food, no wild pigs, no goats. Just monkeys, and the word is the flesh of those monkeys is tainted.”

  Hava calculated. “And if we abandon it there?”

  “If we dress the ship with enough netting and hang palm fronds and other plants in the weave, I’m almost certain no ship would pass close enough to notice.”

  “Almost?”

  Catharian chuckled. “What in life is certain?”

  She nodded.

  When Henri had finished creating the concoction, he looked around and said, “I need a large piece of metal, a shield perhaps?”

  “There’s one up on the quarterdeck,” said Hava. She motioned for a crewman to fetch it.

  “Interesting,” said Catharian.

  “What’s interesting?” asked Hava.

  “That’s the royal crest of Ithrace,” Catharian said, indicating a design on the shield of a small crown above the stylized red flame on a silver background. “That was carried by Hatushaly’s father when he was betrayed.”

  Hava shrugged. Hatu seemed to have had very little interest in his true family’s history, and if Hatu wasn’t interested in it, why should she be? “So?”

  “It’s interesting because it means that booty from the Betrayal made its way through the Narrows all the way here.”

  “Why would a royal shield of Ithrace be on an Azhante ship?”

  “I can speculate, but that’s all it would be. Still, it’s a very interesting question.”

  Henri flipped the shield over, revealing the plain metal side. He placed the large ball of oil and ambergris on it and said, “Once we light this, I’ll need that hatch cover lifted for just a moment.”

  Hava nodded. She knew the warriors below would be prepared against an attack from above, so she expected arrows to come speeding out of the hold once the cover was lifted. “Get six oars!” she said to Sabien, who hurried to a longboat and got men to move it so they could pull the oars out from under it.

  “We only have fo
ur,” he said.

  “That will have to do unless we have some pole arms around?” She saw none and said, “Four it will be.”

  The handle on the hatch cover consisted of rope threaded through holes, so that the deck crew could simply reach down and pick it up. The Azhante would assume that was how it was being moved if she tried to come down that way, so any man close to the edge of the hold invited an arrow. She pointed at the two closest corners and said, “There and there. Lever up the cover, and the moment the smokeball is through, drop it!”

  She was still for a moment, then motioned over two of her crewmen and said softly, even though it was unlikely that anyone below could hear her. “Move to the other side, and when I signal, grab the ropes and move it up a little bit as if you were beginning to lift it on that side.”

  They hurried to their indicated positions. Even if the Azhante looked in that direction for only a second, it just might mean the difference between getting the smokeball into the hole or not.

  Sabien had gotten hold of a brand, which he and another man now set ablaze with flint and steel, and when it was burning fully, he looked to Henri. Henri judged the position of the shield, then nodded at Hava.

  She pointed to the two crewmen on the other side of the hatch, who leaned over and started pushing on the hatch cover, as if trying to lift it. She counted to three silently, then signaled Sabien, who set the torch to the ball of oiled ambergris. It quickly caught alight, but rather than bursting into flames it showed embers on the surface and produced a prodigious cloud of smoke. Even on the open deck, the reek was causing eyes to water. She signaled the men on the oars and they leaned on the oar handles. The hatch cover lifted. When the aperture was just wide enough, Henri tilted the shield and the ball rolled through. Hava didn’t need to tell the men on the oars to drop the hatch: two Azhante arrows came shooting out, barely missing them, and they quickly fell away, the hatch falling back into place loudly.