King of Ashes [Book One]

by Raymond E. Feist

  She had managed to fend off the advances of several of the boys and girls, but as things began to wind down that night, Nessa had tried to slip under Hava’s blanket. Hava had feigned sleep and kept her blanket wrapped tightly around her.

  Nessa had reeked of wine, sweat, and sex, the combination of which repulsed Hava. Finally she threw an elbow that caught Nessa in the side of the neck with just enough force to make it clear her attentions were not welcome. After that, Nessa had seemed uninterested in Hava to the point of ignoring her, which was fine with Hava.

  The lesson came to an end, and the students, mostly girls, rose to leave, but before Hava could reach the door Mistress Mulray waved her over.

  When the two of them were alone, Mulray said, ‘We should talk.’ She motioned for Hava to follow and led her down a long hall with half a dozen doors on each side. Hava knew that behind each door was a room in which students and instructors practised many of the things that had been introduced in the lectures.

  Reaching Mulray’s quarters, Hava stood silently at the door until the instructor waved her in and indicated for her to sit on a cushion on the opposite side of a small table. In the corner were a sleeping mat, pillows, another small table, and a wardrobe snug against the wall, the instructor’s personal space.

  Hava sat and regarded the older woman. Mulray stared at Hava for a long, silent minute, then spoke. ‘You’re not very good at any of this, are you?’

  Hava sighed. ‘I guess not, mistress.’

  ‘Some women have no skill at being a noconochi, but most can become a common woman, even a coarse one with guile if needed, but you …? I’m at a loss. Why were you sent here?’

  Hava was caught off guard by the question and paused before answering. ‘I do not know, mistress. Master Facaria told me to come here, so I did.’

  Mulray nodded slowly. ‘Who are your people, your family?’

  ‘Farmers,’ said Hava without hesitation. ‘My father and my two older brothers—’

  ‘You are not the eldest?’

  ‘I am the eldest girl,’ responded Hava.

  ‘So Facaria picked you but not your brothers?’

  Hava’s slight shrug indicated she hadn’t considered that remarkable. ‘He came to our farm one day and watched us.’

  ‘Watched you?’ Now Mistress Mulray looked interested. ‘Say on.’

  ‘I don’t think my father expected his visit. I was little, so I had no idea he was someone important. He talked to me and gave me a sweet. He chatted with my brothers.’

  ‘What did he talk about?’

  ‘I don’t remember, mistress. I was little.’

  Mulray nodded. ‘Why did he pick you, I wonder.’

  Hava tilted her head as if considering the question. Then she said, ‘I was the fastest girl in our village. Best fighter, too. And maybe because my father needed my brothers on the farm?’

  Mulray narrowed her eyes. ‘Best fighter?’

  Hava said, ‘I used to get into fights. I wouldn’t let the older children bully me. I got beaten a lot but always fought back, and finally they left me alone.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Mulray, as if that explained everything. She smiled. ‘I think we both know your time here is over. You may have learned a thing or two that will prove useful if you can learn to flatter people who don’t deserve it, but for the most part you’re ill-suited for our particular training.’

  Hava felt a rush of conflicting feelings: relief she might not have to continue having sex with strangers and pretending she liked it, but also a touch of panic.

  Mulray considered her. ‘What troubles you?’

  ‘It’s just …’ Hava paused. ‘I don’t understand why I have failed. Am I not pretty enough?’

  Mulray seemed surprised by the question, then laughed. ‘No, it’s not that. If you remained here, when we began teaching grooming …’ She looked Hava in the eye. ‘Nessa will spend years, perhaps most of her life, being the plaything of some powerful man or woman, perhaps several. She feels compelled to curry favour and approval, as she is by birth that sort of woman. It can lead to great personal gain for some, but it is also a trap for others.

  ‘Young women such as yourself, well, let us say we can make you beautiful or not, as it suits us. We have girls and boys working in taverns, brothels, we have camp followers, many of them easily move from one place to another. If we need you to be the daughter of an innkeeper in a distant city like Abala or Sandura, that is who you will be for a long time, or …’ She let the thought go unfinished. ‘Nessa may find herself spending years with a man she despises, and wealth and position will do nothing to lessen that loathing.’ She regarded Hava gravely. ‘Before you came to us, did boys try to have sex with you? Or girls?’

  Hava seemed untroubled by the question. ‘I understood the rules. No sex.’

  ‘Few girls your age arrive here having obeyed that rule entirely. Fewer boys.’

  Hava said, ‘My father told me to always follow the rules.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Generally. I have these … had these friends, and sometimes … I got punished for being with them.’ She laughed slightly. ‘The truth is I never would have done some of those things alone, but being with them …’ She shrugged.

  ‘You miss them,’ said Mulray. It wasn’t a question.

  ‘I … do,’ admitted Hava. ‘We’re taught not to expect to be with our fellow students after school, but … it’s hard.’

  The shift in Mulray’s posture communicated to Hava that the discussion was over. ‘I am still uncertain why Facaria chose you for this training, but I’m sure he had his reasons.’ She rose from her seat and Hava followed suit. ‘You can ask him, if you like, when you see him. I’m sending you back to his little village on Morasel. You have no place here.’

  Not knowing what else to say, Hava bowed and asked, ‘Should I continue to the next class?’

  ‘No. Take the rest of the day for yourself. I’ll arrange for you to leave tomorrow. There’s a trader who brings food up from the town and he’ll be here later. He unloads, spends the night in the kitchen, and leaves first thing in the morning. You’ll go with him to an inn by the docks and we’ll arrange passage to Corbara and on to Morasel.’

  Hava bowed in respect, then left Mistress Mulray’s apartment and moved slowly down the hall, uncertain of what to do with the rest of the day. Sounds from behind closed doors and naked bodies visible through open ones made it clear that afternoon instruction had begun. She found nothing arousing in the sight of naked young men and women engaged in their various acts, and for a moment wondered if there was something wrong with her.

  A sudden rush of uncertainty caused her to feel angry, and being angry made her think of Hatushaly. She stopped for a moment, glanced through a partially opened door, and saw one of the sex instructors on her knees pleasuring one of the students, a muscular young man she knew only vaguely. The juxtaposition of that image with thoughts of Hatu was unsettling. The thought of having sex with Hatu lingered for a moment, and she pushed it aside. She had no better friend … and since coming to Facaria’s school she had been forbidden such musing. Hava resumed walking, wondering if she should just return to the girls’ quarters and take a nap.

  But she wasn’t remotely tired; indeed, she felt charged up, annoyed. Hatu was a strange boy and always had been. A good friend, yes, but hardly handsome with his oddly coloured hair and freckled face. Still, she liked his smile, which he didn’t show enough.

  And why didn’t she feel that way about Donte? He was by any measure a better-looking boy, with his broad shoulders and ready grin, and the wild thatch of unruly dark hair he managed somehow to make look rakish. She forced herself to calm. Maybe it was as simple as missing her friends, and it was impossible to be in this school with the Powdered Women and not think of sex.

  But thinking of Donte made her realise she was hungry. She immediately decided the kitchen was her destination.

  There she found the cooks and helpers lugging pro
duce in from outside. They ignored her until the head cook saw her grabbing an apple and yelled, ‘No food! You miss a meal, and you go hungry. That’s the rule.’

  Hava grinned, suddenly feeling as if she were once again with Donte and Hatu, stealing food from Facaria’s kitchen when no one was looking. She darted past the cook, out of the door, and dodged through a crowd of people unloading boxes from a large oxen-pulled wagon.

  She jogged across the training ground, to the base of a grassy hillock, the shouts of the angry cook fading behind her, and found herself suddenly happy. As she bit into the juicy red fruit, she wondered at the feeling of a burden being lifted from her.

  The years of training, friendship with two boys – one decidedly odd and the other perhaps the most confident person she knew – and her ability to excel at almost anything she put her mind to combined to reassure her that although she wasn’t good at seduction, flattery, and pretending to enjoy sex with strangers, there was nothing wrong with her.

  Suddenly it hit her that she wouldn’t have any problem with having sex with Hatu or Donte – not that she currently wanted to, but she would almost certainly have done much better had they been her training partners. Given her recent experience, it seemed a bit odd to fancy having sex with people you liked. Yet, there it was.

  One assistant instructor, named Hector, had made her laugh, and she’d had the best sex with him since arriving; be made sex fun. The other instructors, far less so, and one, a fellow named Almos, had almost repulsed her. He was so devoid of feeling it had been like a cook preparing a meal, or a carpenter fashioning a crate thoughtlessly after years of practice.

  She began to understand why she wasn’t cut out for the life of a Powdered Woman, one who used her body as an assassin’s weapon. She would return to Master Facaria and speak plainly with him. She would be a gifted sicari, if he allowed that. If not …? She’d worry about that problem when it presented itself.

  Glancing at the sun, she judged she had the pleasure of lazing away at least three more hours before supper would be served. Taking stock of her surroundings, Hava realised she had never been beyond this small meadow beneath the grassy hill, except for morning and afternoon exercises every day.

  Keeping fit here was a decidedly different concept than at school on Morasel. She finished her apple and tossed the core into nearby weeds. Perhaps an apple tree might sprout there, she thought happily.

  She decided to hike up the hill to see what the island looked like. She had only a vague concept of where she was. On the passage here, students had been kept belowdecks. She had done far less travelling than Donte or Hatu and knew little of the sailor’s craft. The confinement had exasperated her further because she knew she was physically able to perform duties above deck. She was certain Hatu and Donte had exaggerated the rigours of working on a ship, but even if their complaints about hard work and long hours had been true, she knew she was up to it. There were a few things either of them could do better than her – Donte was stronger, and Hatu a bit faster – but she had bested both of them enough times to judge the three of them equals.

  Hava climbed the hill and discovered a lovely view of the west side of the island. Behind her more hills rose, blocking the landscape beyond, but from where she stood she could see for miles. Perhaps now that she was free of studies, she might return and watch the sunset.

  She sat on the grass and felt the sea breeze, which rose every afternoon at about this time, The resident staff had mentioned that in a few weeks the rainy season would arrive and the weather would alternate between thundershowers and sunshine. She wouldn’t be here to see that.

  Hava lost track of time as she let her thoughts wander, and after a while felt the onset of drowsiness.

  She stood up, shaking off the tired feeling; she wouldn’t permit herself to fall asleep and miss a meal. She walked over the crest of the hill, the boundary between the trimmed meadow grass and the tall grass and brush, treading carefully, as there were loose rocks among the tall grass that would trip up the unwary and she did not want to be limping back to the school with a twisted ankle.

  A short distance away something caught her eye. Hava was not a trained tracker by any means, but she’d spent enough time in the wilderness with those who were to recognise that someone had been up here recently. The tall grass had been disturbed, and a good many stalks had been bent or broken to make a small clearing behind a thin curtain of intact stalks; the ground had been cleared of rocks, so someone could sit comfortably. She looked back and saw it was a good position to watch the school of the Powdered Women.

  She knelt and observed the stalks and thought that whoever had made the clearing had been here recently, as there was still some moisture in the bent grasses, and if memory served, those would have dried out within a day or so of being damaged. The broken ones were dry, so she estimated someone had been here within the previous day.

  She couldn’t see what would be gained by spying from this vantage point, given the distance, except perhaps the coming and going of deliveries, like the one today, or the arrival of other visitors, or new students. Nothing within the building could be seen.

  She looked carefully at the verge of the meadow and halfway down the hill she saw something a bit strange. Hurrying down there, she discovered a second observation point, one that provided a different enough perspective that she was now certain someone was spying on the school.

  Hava felt a sudden sense of urgency to alert one of the instructors, but before she did, she was determined to make a complete survey of the verge around the meadow, to see how many more observation points could be found. She started down the hill again, and was halfway between the second observation site and the edge of the school’s tree grove when a sound alerted her to the fact that she was not alone.

  Taking a quick step into the tall grasses, Hava crouched. If she had been observed coming down the hill, this would do her no good, but if she hadn’t perhaps she could continue to avoid detection and discover who was out here. No guards were ever placed around the schools in Coaltachin, as those islands that housed them were controlled completely by the nation and few foreigners were permitted to set foot on them. Those who lived here knew better than to trouble anyone at the school. The Powdered Women were under the full protection of the Council, and students from every master were trained here. So, if someone had secretly come ashore, they must have been foreign, but why had they come and for whom were they spying?

  ‘What are you doing, girl?’ said a friendly voice from behind Hava.

  She turned and saw a man standing in the grass. He was of middle height and average girth, nondescript in most ways, with short-cropped, light brown hair. He wore a simple tunic and trousers, and woven sandals. He seemed to be without weapons, but carried a large black satchel secured by a strap across his chest and over his left shoulder. ‘You hiding from someone?’ he asked, a grin on his face.

  Hava returned the smile and said, ‘My father. I came with him from the town and didn’t feel like unloading his wagon.’ She waved down to the rear of the kitchen, where the delivery was just about finished. ‘He’s got enough help from the kitchen folk,’ she said, exaggerating her island accent enough to sound like the farm girls from home.

  ‘Ha,’ the man said. ‘Avoiding work? I can understand that. I’ve done that a time or two myself.’

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked as innocently as she could, resisting the urge to flutter her lashes as she’d seen other girls do, knowing she could not be convincing. Instead she strove for a wide-eyed look.

  ‘I’m Mareed,’ he answered. ‘I live on the other side of the hill.’ He patted his satchel. ‘I’m an artist.’

  She feigned wonder. ‘Really? I’ve never met an artist. What does that mean?’

  ‘I draw.’ He opened the top of the satchel and drew out a large piece of paper. She reached for it but he pulled it back. ‘Sorry, but paper like this is rare and I want to keep it from damage.’

  She attempted t
o look crestfallen. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

  ‘That’s all right.’ He held out the paper so she could see a drawing of the hill and woods, with clouds over a distant sea.

  ‘Oh, that’s nice,’ she said.

  ‘When I’ve finished I’ll use colours on it and then hang it on the wall for visitors to see.’

  ‘How interesting,’ said Hava.

  He took off the satchel, working the strap over his neck while carefully holding the paper in one hand. He then opened it wide to replace the drawing. Hava looked into the satchel while Mareed carefully put the paper back into place. ‘Why here?’ she asked as innocently as possible. ‘Why not closer to the ocean? Doesn’t the school building block your view?’

  ‘School?’ he said. ‘I wondered what that was.

  ‘No,’ he continued, ‘I just draw—’ He suddenly lunged for her, a small blade in his left hand.

  Hava had expected the attack and expertly stepped inside his strike, using her right arm as a block. The worst that would happen was that she’d be cut on the arm or shoulder, but the blow wouldn’t be fatal. Years of combat training had taught her to ignore the impulse to leap back, exposing her torso and neck to a potentially killing slice.

  She threw all her weight into an upward blow using the heel of her left hand, smashing it up into the man’s nose. She knew that he would be stunned and blinded for a moment.

  Hava felt his blood flow over her hand as she reached down and gripped Mareed’s left wrist with her right hand, but felt him yank back, blind but anticipating her next move.

  She tried to follow, stepping behind his right leg with her own, letting him trip backwards as she struck his face again. A hot pain on her upper right arm told her she’d paid a price for that move but at that moment she was in a fighting state: heart pounding, senses extended, alert and not even thinking about what she was doing, just doing it from years of hand-to-hand training.