[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny (35 page)

“Are you sure? This could end up like the Vale of Pines.”

“The new king’s army will be Othar’s army in truth. I will na serve such an evil cause.”

“Then I’d be glad for your aid,” said Dar. “Girta needs boots and warm clothes. And I must know what’s going on in Taiben.”

“I’ll do my best. If you’re na headed for the pass, how can I find your trail?”

“The Old Road goes west along the base of the foothills, then follows a river into the mountains. On horseback, you should catch up easily.”

“Then I’ll see you as soon as I can,” said Sevren, “with clothes and news. Leave quickly. Karm’s grace on you, Dar.”

“Fasak Muth la vashak tha, Sevren.”
May Muth la bless you, Sevren.

Sevren left. Lama-tok and Ven-goth were already gone. The orcs were strapping reed shelters and packs onto their backs when Zna-yat approached Dar. He held her golden pendant. “Muth Mauk, should I pack this heavy thing?”

Dar eyed the necklace with distaste, for she felt it symbolized the pointlessness of her mission. She was about to tell him to leave it behind when she thought of the plundering soldiers. “Hai,” she said. “Washavokis treasure yellow iron. It would please them greatly to have it.”

Zna-yat grinned. “Then it’ll please me greatly to carry it away.”

As Zna-yat stowed the necklace in his pack, news arrived that the serving women had been slain. To Dar, it was a foretaste of Kol’s savagery and another tragedy to add to a growing list. Her instincts warned her that something foul and malign had been loosed. At the moment, she could only flee it, but Dar understood flight wouldn’t bring safety.
I must confront this evil. That’s why Muth la preserved my life.

General Kol entered the prince’s apartments. The boy sat on his bed, still dressed in his nightclothes. Tears streaked his face, as the prince shuddered from the effort of suppressing sobs. As Kol gazed at the grief-stricken boy, he briefly saw himself as a lad. Then he hardened his heart and put on a mask of compassion. When the prince looked up, he saw a face possessing the perfect mixture of grief and sympathy.

“Your Majesty,” said Kol. “Such a terrible day.” He walked over to the bedside and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “What strength I have is yours.”

“Why?” asked the prince in a quavering voice. “Why did they kill my mother?”

“Because it’s their nature to kill. She was good, and they don’t understand goodness. To them, it’s weakness.”

The prince began to shake.

“It’s not unmanly to cry,” said Kol, his voice gentle and sad. He watched the boy sob, all the while rubbing his shoulder. When he thought the prince had cried long enough, he spoke. “There’s something you can do for your mother.”

The prince ceased sobbing and straightened. “What?”

“It will be hard, but she deserves this,” said Kol. “A sword’s steel is soft until it’s tempered. So you must face this trial to become a man. And have no doubt; this day will make you one.”

“What must I do?” asked young Kregant, sounding timid.

“Visit your mother’s chamber and view the orcs’ handiwork. It won’t be easy, but I’ll be there. You owe this to her memory.”

“Why?”

“So you will know your enemy. That knowledge will sustain you when doubt arises. It will allow you to do what’s necessary.”

The prince looked dubious, but Kol knew that he would come.
He wants so much to be a man.
Kol snapped his fingers, and servants appeared. “Dress His Majesty.”

Though servants attired the prince in black and gold, it was General Kol who strapped on his sword. Then he led the boy through the palace to Girta’s apartments. Queen’s Men barred the hallway, but admitted the prince and his general. Even before they reached the queen’s doorway, a bloody tableau was visible. The two men Kol had murdered lay in the corridor, their wounds gruesomely enhanced. They appeared to have been slain in a ferocious struggle. Nor were they alone. A severed arm lay on the floor. Nearby was a hacked and headless torso.

Kol pretended to be oblivious of the boy’s trembling as he marched him toward the bloody scene. He wanted the prince to receive its full effect. The two skirted the corpses and entered the apartment. Inside lay Nagtha-yat and Magtha-jan. The poison arrows that had taken their lives had been pulled out and replaced by wounds that spoke of a more gallant assault. The men who had manned the other observation post lay near them. Slaughtered for silence and dramatic effect, they added to the carnage.

The prince scarcely noticed them. His eyes were drawn to the two women who lay nearby. One was his mother’s lady’s maid, her head nearly severed. She still clung to a woman who wore the queen’s nightgown and favorite dressing robe as if attempting to shield her. The prince saw his mother’s golden hair. It was soaked with blood. The face below the tresses was smashed beyond recognition. He felt that he should run and embrace the body, but he retched instead.

“This is how orcs repay goodness,” said General Kol, his voice choked with outrage. “This is how they honor treaties.” He took the prince’s hand. “Come from this awful place, wiser about your foe. Your mother will be interred with solemn splendor. Those men who fell here will receive full honors. Songs and tales will recount their bravery. We’ll burn the orcs like garbage.”

Kol led the prince to another room with a wide window that overlooked the city. In the storm, Taiben seemed a phantom realm. Kol had a servant bring the boy a goblet of hot spiced wine, sweetened with honey. He watched the prince drink and waited for color to return to his face. When it did, Kol spoke. “The orcs are fleeing in that storm, thinking they’ll be safe in their warm halls. War’s hard in the winter. The weather’s harsh, and the roads are slippery. But it’ll be even harder on the orcs. When we drive them from their halls, they’ll have no refuge. They can’t eat snow, nor dwell in it.”

The prince’s eyes widened. “War?”

“Aye, Your Majesty. Were not the orcs’ deeds war? Would you have them go unpunished?”

“Never!”

“Your mother spoke of your ancestor, Theodric Goblin Slayer. She said he was your age when he guided men to a nest of orcs. They slew them all—bulls, sows, and whelps—and helped bring peace to a ravaged land. Theodric’s blood flows in your veins. I sense his courage in you.”

Kol suddenly knelt before the prince. “Soon you’ll be my king, and all the realm will kneel as I do now. When they do, think how Theodric would repay your mother’s death. All true men share your grief and anger. Say the word, and they’ll fight for you. Call for war! We’ll ride together and rid the realm of orcs.”

“And their queen, too?”

“Aye, Your Majesty. She’ll burn for her treachery.”

The first troops reached Taiben by early afternoon. Kol ordered them to march into the palace courtyard, where they stood in ranks to be addressed by the newly crowned Kregant III. The child king’s voice was swallowed by the storm, and the soldiers didn’t know they were going to war until officers told them and ordered them to cheer. Having been promised brandy, the men cheered loudly. Then they marched to the empty garrison outside the city.

Dar was right about Kol’s habit of planning in advance. He had begun gathering men and supplies for an invasion as soon as he was made a general. Since troops were not stationed within the capital, the buildup had been easy to hide from Queen Girta. Most of the units had assembled in far-flung garrisons. General Voltar had issued the orders, to disguise Kol’s involvement. The men in the snowy square had known something was afoot for weeks. They had not known when they were going to war, but few were surprised that they were.

At the coronation feast, General Kol presented King Kregant III with a suit of armor. Its black helmet was embellished with gold and the chain mail fit his small frame perfectly. By then, Kol was no longer the Queen’s Man, but Commander of His Majesty’s Army. The black-garbed guardsmen were renamed the King’s Men, but their duties remained the same. Within their ranks, the Iron Circle was gratified by Kol’s rise and the prospect of plunder and advancement. All agreed, as they toasted their new king, that their night’s labors had paid off handsomely.

While Kol feasted, Dar led the orcs through the storm. She was exhausted and miserable, but she grimly slogged through the calf-high snow, too anxious to stop. Zna-yat walked in front of her to make a path, and after it grew dark, Dar relied on her brother’s eyes to help find the way. Neither he nor any of the other orcs had ever traveled the Old Road. Zna-yat relied on Dar’s description of the route, a description she had obtained from the lorekeeper.

Snow hid most traces of the abandoned roadway, and visibility was poor. The foothills seemed more like vague presences than features of earth and stone. However, since the road would intersect a river and follow it into the mountains, Dar didn’t worry about losing the way. She was more concerned about being overtaken by soldiers. Accordingly, she had the orcs walk single file and drag pine boughs to obscure their tracks. With luck, snow and wind would obliterate them entirely.

Sevren had not caught up with them, so Dar had no idea what was going on elsewhere.
Where’s Kol?
she wondered.
Has the invasion started? Did Lama-tok and Ven-goth make it through the pass, or will we be fleeing to Kol’s waiting army?
Each question spawned more until Dar was overwhelmed by all the dire possibilities. She forced herself to focus on the immediate future. That seemed daunting enough. They would have to stop soon, and Dar weighed risking a fire. Being spotted was a danger, but so was freezing.

Dar spoke to Zna-yat. “We must find campsite, somewhere our fire cannot be seen.”

Zna-yat peered about the darkness. “I see no such place.”

“Then we must continue onward until you do.”

Zna-yat kept walking until Dar feared she would drop in her tracks. At last he said, “I see likely spot.”

“Then we’ll rest there,” said Dar, who could see little more than falling snow, its flakes gray in the darkness.

Zna-yat veered sharply to the right. Soon, Dar could see snow-laden trees on either side of a fold in a foothill. When the fold became a winding ravine, Zna-yat halted. “Muth Mauk, is this good place?”

“Hai, it’s perfect,” said Dar. She called out, “We’ll stay here tonight. Gather wood for fire. Set up shelters.”

The orcs found a spot of level ground to erect their shelters, which resembled conical haystacks. They were just large enough to accommodate a son sitting cross-legged. Though orcs slept sitting up, Girta could not, and Dar wondered how she would rest. She walked over to the stretcher to see how the queen was faring. She was still bundled up, and Kovok-mah was beside her. “How is washavoki queen?” Dar asked.

“I gave her large nayimgat leaf to chew,” replied Kovok-mah. “She’ll sleep until tomorrow. When sun rises, I’ll have better idea how she’s healing.”

“She can’t sleep outside in this cold.”

“Your sister spoke with me. She said queen will rest in your brother’s shelter.”

“Poor Zna,” said Dar. “Does he know how bad this washavoki smells?”

Kovok-mah made a wry face. “Everyone does.”

“Muth Mauk,” said Zna-yat. “We’ll soon be making porridge. How should we ration it?”

“For five more days of travel,” replied Dar. Just saying those words disheartened her.
Where will our foes be in five days? Inside my clan’s hall?
As she had all day, Dar tried to push that thought from her mind. She found it impossible. She recalled her vision of the burning hall with distressing vividness. It had haunted her most of the march. Pushed to her limits, Dar felt crushed by foreboding. Without another word, she wandered away from camp until she rounded a bend and was out of sight.

When she was alone, Dar surrendered to her grief. She didn’t permit herself to cry, but hot tears flowed down her frigid cheeks. Then she heard quiet footsteps and turned to see Nir-yat approach. Dar hastily wiped her eyes. Nir-yat said nothing; she simply embraced Dar. Wrapped in her sister’s arms, Dar began to sob.

The two stood together for a long while. Eventually, Dar cried herself out with a shuddering sigh. “Muthuri was right,” she said. “I should have passed Fathma to another.”

“Then no urkzimmuthi would suffer on this cold night,” replied Nir-yat. “We would be content, like fattened lambs before feast. We would have different great mother, but Black Washavoki wouldn’t be different, and we’d be doomed.”

“I think it’s my deeds that have doomed us.”

“So you’re responsible for all evil in this world?” said Nir-yat. “Should I blame you for this storm? Was it you who made washavokis cruel?”

“I haven’t made things better. I’ve made them worse.”

“I think not. At least now, we’re aware of our danger. And so is washavoki queen.”

“I’m afraid our foe is too great for me.”

“This has been terrible day for us all, but especially for you,” said Nir-yat. “I know you didn’t sleep last night. Now you’re exhausted, cold, and hungry. Will you do something for me?”

“What?”

“Share Kovok-mah’s shelter.”

“I can’t. You know why.”

“I know you need rest,” said Nir-yat. “How will you get it lying alone on ground?”

“But…”

“I’ve already told my cousin he must shelter you. Would you have him disobey me?”

“Nir, is it wise?”

“Hai. Very wise. I’ll challenge anyone who questions my judgment.” She gave Dar an understanding look. “Even if she were great mother. Come, Sister. There’s fire, and soon there’ll be food. Afterward, you must rest.”

The road leading to the pass dropped off steeply on either side. This exposed it to the wind, which blew so hard that the snow often flew horizontally. It obliterated Lama-tok’s and Ven-goth’s footprints almost as soon as they were made. The orcs’ windward sides were crusted with snow by the time they neared the narrow passage through the ridge. Though it promised shelter from the storm, the two orcs halted and peered at it cautiously. In the dark, it resembled a thick black line painted on the wall of icy rock. Even the orcs’ keen eyes couldn’t penetrate its dark interior. Snow was mounded against its entrance in a drift that the wind reshaped as they watched.