Raymond E. Feist - Queen of Storms

Hava smiled. ‘Hello. I’m Hava. My husband and I—’

The man laughed, his blue eyes sparkling in his sun-freckled face. ‘I know who you are. You and your man bought the Three Stars from Gwen.’ He smiled as he added, ‘Beran’s Hill isn’t such a big a town that we haven’t all seen you around the last few weeks. I’m Pavek. Now, what can I do for you?’

‘My husband and I came from a place warmer than here in the winter, but even then we didn’t get this much rain. So we need better clothing.’

Pavek chuckled again. ‘Wait a few months until the real rainy season starts. The smart buyers get their gear now, so they’re not scrambling at the last minute. It will be cold!’

Hava nodded, realizing the man had just confessed that business was slow. ‘My husband doesn’t have a decent cloak. He works inside most of the time but given that he’s travelling to Marquenet to stock up on some things we can’t secure here he’ll be out in the open on a wagon, getting drenched, if the rain comes suddenly.’

‘I have just the thing,’ said Pavek, holding up a large, dark grey cloak with an attached hood. ‘Feel that!’

Hava ran her hand over the material and nodded. There was a slightly oily feeling to the wool, so it would repel water for some time. ‘I know from experience that wet wool is the worst thing to be wearing in the cold.’

‘I thought you said you came from a warmer land?’

She kept her smile. ‘My father was a horse trader and we travelled a lot.’

‘Ah,’ said the merchant with a nod of the head.

Hava spent a few minutes looking at other items but had already decided to buy the cloak. It gave her a reasonable excuse to be in the market, and besides it was true that Hatu had nothing to wear outside in foul weather.

The climate in their home island was fairly constant year round, rarely getting cold enough to notice. Rains came regularly, but they were of short duration and warm. Occasionally a storm would come through, lasting a day or two, but they were not often extreme.

Here the weather from the coast came down from the Ice Floes and the Westlands, and it could be very cold. Mostly the climate was temperate, but when it wasn’t, fireplaces were ablaze and warm clothing and heavy boots were the order of the day, according to what Gwen had told her. Short-sleeved shirts, simple cotton trousers, and sandals, common in Coaltachin, were unheard of in Marquensas.

After settling on a price for the cloak, Hava asked Pavek, ‘The two men you were talking to who left as I arrived …’

‘Yes?’

‘They’re staying at our inn, but truth to tell … well, they keep to themselves and I’ve barely spoken two words to them.’

‘That’s odd,’ said Pavek. ‘All they did was chat. Didn’t buy a damned thing.’

‘Odd,’ agreed Hava.

‘They kept talking about travellers who might have passed through sometime recently. A man or a woman, boy and a girl, they couldn’t seem to make up their mind. They only mentioned one thing they agreed on: the man, woman, or child would have bright red hair, copper and gold in the sunlight.’

Hava feigned indifference as she picked up a woollen scarf, which was actually quite nicely made. ‘Quite a few people with red hair around here, aren’t there?’

‘Aren’t there?’ agreed Pavek. ‘I think they’re idiots looking for the legendary Firemane child.’

Hava made an instant decision to pretend ignorance. ‘I’m sorry, the what?’

‘You must come from a long way off. The legend of the Firemane … well, it’s an eastern kingdom, or was,’ began the merchant. He then launched into a quick retelling of the legend of the fall of Ithrace, and the rumour of the lost child. There was even something about a curse involved, he claimed.

Hava was relieved to hear a jumble of facts and fancy that bore little resemblance to what she and Hatu had learned from the baron.

Pavek finished by saying, ‘There’s word that the King of Sandura will pay a man’s weight in gold to learn of the child’s whereabouts. Though, come to think of it, that battle was so long ago, he or she is hardly a child any more, right?’

‘If you say so,’ said Hava. ‘I’ll take this scarf, too. How much?’

The haggling took the merchant’s mind off the story of the Firemane, and as she walked back to the inn, Hava wondered what the two men were playing at. There was something Hatu hadn’t shared with her yet, and she imagined it would make a bit more sense of the story. This wandering about openly searching for the legendary heir must be a bid to draw attention. But from whom? wondered Hava.

Obviously Hatu was doing his level best not to be discovered, and the reason for his hair always being coloured since childhood now made complete sense to both him and Hava. Now that they were clearly alerted, they would be doubly cautious in keeping Hatu’s identity secret.

Agents connected to the Church could never be this artless, so their behaviour must be by design. The men would surely know their outspoken questions would bring a reaction, so again the question: whose attention were they seeking?

Hava was so lost in thought that she almost walked past the inn, and suddenly she realized that the answer was simple: there was another player in this game. Someone beside those already known: two men and their masters in the Church, Hava’s masters in Coaltachin, and the baron and his brother. Before entering the inn she paused, holding her bundle of newly purchased clothing. The key question was: who was the new player?

THE WAGON ROLLED UP TO the gate Declan had used before when delivering weapons to the baron. Hatu said, ‘How long to finish your business, Declan?’ They had spent an uneventful night sleeping under the wagon, so they were arriving in the city just as it was coming alive with the morning’s clamour.

Declan said, ‘The wagon will be unloaded in an hour at most, but I don’t know how long the baron will keep me waiting to make my report.’

Hatu nodded. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can. I don’t have much to secure, just a few things Hava wants that can’t be bought in Beran’s Hill.’

Declan nodded. ‘Leon prided himself on … delicacies, he called them. Some cheeses, strange fruit – at least I thought it tasted strange – exotic nuts, and of course—’

‘His whisky,’ interjected Hatu with a smile. ‘I’ll have some porters lug what I buy here and if you’re not out, we’ll wait for you over there.’ He pointed to a space that stood empty almost opposite the gate.

Declan said, ‘If I finish first, I’ll park the wagon there.’

‘I’m off,’ said Hatu with a wave and started walking towards the old keep.

Declan waved after him, then drove his wagon to the gate. The soldiers on duty recognized him from previous deliveries and motioned him through and he moved his cargo around to the stabling yard where he had first come to visit.

It only took a few minutes to get the unloading started and he walked towards the central keep of the sprawling castle. As he had anticipated, the baron’s body servant, Balven, exited before Declan got there. ‘Declan!’

‘Sir,’ said Declan, still unsure exactly how to address the baron’s illegitimate brother.

‘Full order?’ asked Balven, stopping before the smith.

‘Yes, sir. Twenty-four new swords, and that shield you asked me to make.’

‘Ah,’ said Balven. ‘What did you think of it?’

‘It’s a bit heavy to lug around the battlefield, I think.’ The shield was one of the baron’s notions, for men to stand against a cavalry charge. Baron Dumarch had called it a ‘leaf shield’, though the resemblance to a leaf on any tree Declan had ever seen was vague. It stood to shoulder height, with long sides, a slightly curved top and a pointed end that could be planted firmly in the soil. Trained men in line formed a virtual wall and Declan imagined that men standing just behind with long spears or pikes would stop all but the most determined charge. But the shield was three or four times heavier than the smaller round or heater shields he had been taught to fashion.