[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny (26 page)

“It’s unnecessary,” replied Dar.

“Black stone means Muth Mauk is tested,” said Muth-tok. “Green means she is not.”

The stones were cast, and Dar counted them. Two were black and seven were green. Muth-yat stepped forward. “Does this council accept stone’s decision?”

“Hai,” said all the matriarchs.

“Then we matriarchs affirm that Dargu-yat was fit to receive Fathma and become our queen,” said Muth-yat. She bowed to Dar. “I give my obedience, as Muth la wills it.”

Each matriarch bowed and made the same declaration in turn. Afterward, Dar spoke the traditional words. “Muth la has given me this crown. You have made its burden light. Shashav.” In her great relief, she nearly forgot to invite the matriarchs to the feast that custom required. After she had done that, she dismissed the council and all departed except for Muth-goth, who waved Deen-yat and the stretcher-bearers away. Then she motioned for Dar to come closer. Dar crouched beside the frail old matriarch.

“Pardon me, Muth Mauk,” said Muth-goth in a faint whisper. “I won’t come…to your feast.”

“Get well, instead,” said Dar.

“Breathing’s hard work. I shall stop soon. This summer…we spoke of visions.”

“I remember. You said they’d make sense when choices must be made.”

“Hai. And…you chose well…my vision…” Muth-goth broke into a coughing spell that left her gasping. “There was more…to it. Enemy…” Another coughing spell left her wheezing and it took even longer before she had the breath to whisper again. “Bones.”

Dar felt a chill as she recalled Velasa-pah’s warning. “What about them?”

“Not gone. Changed.” Muth-goth lay down, apparently satisfied that she had delivered her message.

Dar grasped Muth-goth’s hand. Its wrinkled skin felt thin. “Shashav, Mother, for your sacrifice. Shashav for wisdom you gave me this summer.”

Muth-goth smiled, then Deen-yat was by her side. “Muth-goth has accomplished what she desired. Now she should rest.”

“Hai,” whispered Muth-goth. “Rest with…Muth la. Vata…Dargu.”

Deen-yat motioned for the stretcher-bearers to take the matriarch to her quarters. Before they bore Muth-goth away, Dar gazed into her eyes. They were fixed on a distant place, and they seemed to see it clearly.

In the light of day, the beggar’s tale seemed less convincing, and Sevren felt foolish for having fled the men the previous night. He suspected a joke had been played on him and resolved to refute the beggar’s tale. That seemed easy enough to do, for the man had said a guard had been taken. Sevren sought out a murdant and asked if any on night watch had gone missing. The murdant had a ready answer. “Well, there’s Huckle, the dog’s turd. He lit off six nights ago.”

“Deserted?”

“Rather burgle than guard, it seems.”

“He became a thief?”

“Aye,” said the murdant. “And a poor one.” He laughed. “A servant skewered him two nights past. Caught him in his master’s storeroom.” The murdant eyed Sevren. “Why ye ask? Thinkin’ of followin’ his footsteps?”

“Nay. Just someone spoke of him last night.”

Sevren left the murdant, feeling puzzled and uneasy.
Could that beggar be right? Is someone turning folk into thieves?
It seemed absurd. What Sevren knew about the black arts came from tales, most of which he suspected were false.
If someone could force others to do his will, what need would there be for thievery?
Sevren had no answer.
And who in Taiben could do such a thing? The mage is dead. Dar slew him by destroying his magic bones.

Throughout the remainder of the day, Sevren put the beggar’s tale from his thoughts, but as time for the night watch neared, it reared up again. He told it to Valamar, who agreed it was daft. Then Valamar had second thoughts. “I’ve heard the other guards talking,” he said. “All say there’s something odd afoot. Why not walk our watches together tonight?”

“I’d be grateful for another pair of eyes and ears,” said Sevren. “And I think another sword might come in handy.”

“Not against magic,” said Valamar.

Word came shortly after the council meeting that Muth-goth had died. Thus at sunset, Dar, the matriarchs, members of the Goth clan, and other mourners gathered in a courtyard in an older part of the hall. There, the deceased matriarch lay upon a pile of oiled wood. When the sun left the sky, the funeral pyre was lit. As its flames consumed Muth-goth’s naked body, Dar reminded herself that the matriarch no longer needed it. Then she led the mourners in the opening refrain of the funeral lament:

“Your scent lingers,

And we think of you,

Though you have wandered

From sight and touch

Into Our Mother’s arms.”

Everyone in the courtyard added at least one verse between refrains. Each recalled and celebrated Muth-goth’s life. Some verses were reflective. Others expressed gratitude. Many related stories. Dar sang of how Muth-goth had instructed her in the purposes of visions and told her it was better to be wise than pretty.

Dar felt somewhat uncomfortable hosting a feast immediately after a funeral, but custom required one after a queen’s affirmation. Dar was surprised by its lavishness, for having worked in the kitchen, she knew many of the meal’s dishes involved lengthy preparation. The stuffed fowls required slow roasting overnight, and several of the stews needed to simmer from early morning. It was apparent that Gar-yat had been more confident of Dar’s triumph than Dar herself.

What surprised Dar even more was the feast’s harmonious atmosphere. Matriarchs who earlier had advocated the fatal test treated her cordially. If they had been human, Dar would have assumed they were merely insincere, but orcs didn’t engage in social falsehoods. The stones reflected a divided vote, but their “decision” had been accepted unanimously. Dar was queen, and all the matriarchs seemed reconciled to that without lingering animosity. Even Muth-yat appeared relieved that the conflict was over.

As muthuri of all the urkzimmuthi, Dar served every dish. At first, there was little conversation, for the food was so delicious. Talk began in earnest only after appetites were dulled. Muth-tok questioned Dar about her travels, and all the matriarchs were spellbound by Dar’s description of Tarathank. The city loomed large in orcish tales, though no orc had seen it for generations. The memories bestowed by Fathma increased Dar’s knowledge of the places she had visited. Thus she called the courtyard where Kovok-mah first gave her love by its ancient name—“Singing Water”—though she was silent on what transpired there. The stonework that had so impressed Duth-tok and Lama-tok was in the ruins of the queen’s palace. It was from one of the palace towers—only rubble when Dar had visited it—that the last Pah queen first spied the washavoki invaders. After describing Tarathank, Dar related the events in Taiben that led to the downfall of the king and his mage. That tale also fascinated the matriarchs.

As the evening wore on, Dar’s confidence grew along with her assurance of her power. After the falfhissi urn made a few rounds, she was gripped by fierce exultation. She had passed another of Muth la’s trials and become queen for certain.
Now I must use the might that’s been given me
, Dar thought. She already knew where she would employ it first.
Taiben.

Thirty

As Sevren and Valamar patrolled Taiben’s shadowy streets, they sometimes heard furtive footsteps but were unable to trace their source. It was well past midnight before they happened upon a crime. They were walking where the merchants lived when they heard a crash that sounded like dropped metal goods. The pair headed toward where the noise had originated. It was a narrow alleyway between two houses. When their torches illuminated the confined space, it revealed a girl dangling from the ledge of an open window. She dropped to the ground and retrieved a large sack lying close by.

“Halt!” shouted Valamar, drawing his sword.

The girl drew a kitchen knife from a pocket in her shift and charged the guardsman while still gripping the bag. It was an uneven contest. With one swing of his sword, Valamar struck the blade from his assailant’s hand. It made no difference to her. She still lunged at Valamar, who struck the girl with his sword hilt instead of slaying her. The blow bloodied the girl’s lip and knocked her down, but she was on her feet in an instant.

Sevren entered the fray by tackling the girl, who still clutched the bag, though it encumbered her. Her free hand clawed at Sevren’s eyes, and he avoided injury only by seizing her wrist and holding fast. Then he gripped the wrist of the hand that clutched the bag. The girl continued to struggle, and as Sevren pinned her to the ground, he was amazed by her age and single-mindedness. His captive appeared only thirteen. She was slightly built, no match for him at all. Regardless, she showed no signs of surrender, despite the hopelessness of her situation.

“She’s a real spitfire,” said Valamar as he sheathed his sword. He held his torch closer to the struggling girl’s face. It proved the opposite of a spitfire’s, for it was bereft of passion. Sevren and Valamar saw neither anger nor desperation in the girl’s features. She displayed no emotion at all. Blank eyes stared from a face that might have been stone if it hadn’t been animated by a constant twitch. It was a disturbing sight.

“Karm protect us!” said Valamar. “What have we caught?”

“Take the bag from her,” said Sevren, “and look inside.”

Valamar managed to pry the bag from the girl’s fingers only by exercising all his strength. It contained silver dishes and goblets. “She’s a thief, no doubt about it.”

“Speak, lass!” shouted Sevren. “Where were you taking this?”

The girl remained silent as she continued her futile struggle. Valamar raised his fist to strike, but she didn’t react. “Do na hit her,” said Sevren. “Someone’s already done her more grievous harm.”

“What?”

“Look at those dead eyes. Someone’s worked a spell on her.”

“Was that beggar right?” asked Valamar. “Is her spirit stolen?”

“Either that or overpowered.”

“What should we do?”

“Bind the girl, and return these goods.”

“Then what?”

“If we take her to the guardhouse, they’ll flog her or worse,” said Sevren. He regarded the girl’s dirty, vacant face. “I suppose she’s beyond caring, but I propose another course. I’ve a friend who could hold her awhile. Mayhap she’ll recover.”

It took both of the men to bind the girl, who resisted silently. After they returned the stolen silver, they dragged their young captive to Thamus’ home. There, Sevren prevailed on his friend to hold the girl in a small storeroom and watch for signs of recovery. Afterward, he and Valamar resumed their rounds.

Valamar shivered, but not from the cold. “By Karm, this has been a most unnatural night!”

“Aye,” said Sevren. “That girl’s a victim of sorcery. I’m certain of it.”

“But who could work such a spell? The mage is dead.”

“Is he?” asked Sevren. “He looked dead enough, but now I wonder.”

“He’s dead. You’re daft if you think otherwise. I dumped what was left of him in the pit myself. If you think he lives, go there and take a peek.”

“Mayhap I will.”

Dar didn’t meet with the matriarchs again until the afternoon after the feast. Then she addressed her foremost concern. “When Fathma was first recovered by urkzimmuthi, queen made treaty with washavokis. Our sons killed for them, and they stopped raiding us. I think she acted wisely, for treaty brought peace to our halls. Yet sons bought that peace with their lives, and because washavokis are cruel, those sons were required to do cruel deeds. When washavokis see urkzimmuthi, they recall those deeds and think we’re evil. Moreover, they say we eat washavokis and relish killing.”

“How could they be so foolish?” asked Muth-mah.

“It’s their nature,” said Dar. “When I was washavoki, I believed those tales also. I know that’s surprising, but I did.”

“If washavokis think we’re evil, why did they want sons to fight for them?”

“To make their enemies fear them. Father of Great Washavoki did not like killing, neither did his grandfather. During their reigns, our sons seldom killed. But things changed after last great washavoki was crowned. Then many sons were called to kill for him. Black Washavoki used magic upon our queen to get them.”

“Hai,” said Muth-tok. “But those two are dead. Great Washavoki’s muthvashi rules now. You made treaty with her.”

“She seemed to see wisdom in peace,” said Dar. “Yet washavoki mothers are ruled by sons.”

“Even washavoki great mothers?” asked Muth-smat.

“Hai. Moreover, I know what son counsels her. He’s evil and likes killing.”

“How can she lack wisdom and still rule?” asked Muth-smat.

“Washavokis are not like us. They have not Fathma. Crown passes from father to son regardless of son’s worthiness. This muthuri rules only because her son is too young. When he gets older, she must give him crown.”

“What nonsense!” said Muth-smat.

“Washavokis are full of nonsense,” said Dar. “Our treaty with them is wise, for it brings peace. But I’m not certain they want peace. Thus I plan to go to Taiben.”