[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny (4 page)

“Those were Muth Mauk’s very words after she made me queen!” said Dar.

“Well, she should know,” replied Nir-yat. “I hope she didn’t linger like Grandmother.”

“She didn’t.”

“Now, in obedience to Muthuri, I’ll encourage you to give Fathma to another.”

Dar grasped her sister’s hand. “Say to Muthuri that I heard you speak about giving Fathma to another. Tell her this: I will consider what you said.” Dar hoped those words would permit Nir-yat to answer truthfully when Zor-yat grilled her about their conversation. Daughters were required to obey their muthuris, and Nir-yat seemed distressed by her disobedience. It made Dar love her all the more.

After Nir-yat’s cautionary tale, Dar immediately changed the conversation to Thir-yat’s new velazul. Nir-yat gave all the details of the romance, then filled Dar in on other gossip. The Yat clan hall was the size of a small town, so there was much to tell. Nir-yat was soon regaling Dar with a story about a mother with two velazuls. Neither knew about the other until both visited her on the same day. After Nir-yat described the calamitous meal that ensued, she concluded by saying, “So she learned having one velazul is better than having none.”

Dar and Nir-yat talked into the afternoon before Dar returned to the subject of her sovereignty. “Nir, can you teach me how great mothers rule?”

Nir-yat instantly grew somber. “That’s not my place.”

“Who can I turn to? Muthuri? Muth-yat?”

“Muthuri will make me repeat every question you ask, so why not ask her yourself?”

Because, unlike you, she’ll try to deceive me
, thought Dar.

“Besides,” Nir-yat added, “I was still young when Grandmother died. Soon after Zeta-yat became Muth Mauk, she went to Taiben and never returned.”

Dar pondered her predicament, then replied. “Hai. I should ask Muthuri.” She switched subjects and talked with her sister of other things before asking, “What was Grandmother’s name before she became Muth Mauk?”

“We shared name.”

“She was called Nir-yat?”

“Hai.”

“Was her sister Dargu-yat?” asked Dar, trying to sound playful.

“Thwa,” hissed Nir-yat. “Who would name their daughter Dargu?”
Weasel.
“Her name is Meera.”

“So she still lives?”

“Hai, but she’s so old that her daughter heads hanmuthi.”

Having learned what she needed, Dar let the conversation wander where it would. But shortly after Nir-yat left, Dar summoned one of the sons who stood outside her hanmuthi. He entered and bowed. “Hai, Muth Mauk.”

“Do you know where mother named Meera-yat lives?”

“Hai. In her daughter’s hanmuthi. It’s in oldest part of hall, near court of black stone pool.”

“Take me there, then speak of this to no one.”

Five

When Coric heard pounding on his master’s door, he approached it nervously. The sun was setting, and there had been a rash of robberies in Taiben. A rich merchant’s house was a prime target. Coric slid open the peephole and saw a disreputable-looking man standing in the street. His coarse face had a vacant look. Coric noticed that his cheeks twitched uncontrollably and his chin was covered with drool. Beside the man was a handcart, its load covered by a beautiful tapestry. Coric assumed it was stolen, but he knew his master never questioned a bargain.

“I’ve somethin’ fer yer master,” said the man in a dead voice. “Open the door.”

Coric smiled at the simpleminded ruse. “I think not.”

“Then take a good look, and tell yer master what I bring.”

Coric watched as the man lifted a corner of the tapestry to reveal a blackened face with staring eyes. “Obey me,” said the face. Thought and will drained from Coric’s mind. When he said, “Yes, Master,” he spoke with the same lifeless tone of the man with the handcart.

Balten was annoyed by Coric’s sudden appearance, and he let his servant know it. “You knock, you dog’s spawn, afore you enter.”

Coric seemed unfazed by his master’s ire. “Come to the entrance hall,” he said in a flat tone Balten had never heard before. “There’s someone you must meet.”

“Must? Must indeed! I meet whom I please. Leave me and throw that arrogant intruder from my house.”

Instead of complying, Coric grabbed Balten’s arm and began pulling him toward the door. Balten struck his face repeatedly, but Coric didn’t flinch as he dragged his master away. By the time the two reached the stairs, Balten had ceased struggling. When he arrived at the entrance hall, a bizarre sight confronted him. A dirty, unkempt man stood by an empty handcart. His face was animated by a constant twitch; otherwise it was blank. Two of Balten’s house servants flanked him. Both their faces were equally vacant. A chair had been dragged into the hall and upon it sat the most grotesque member of the ensemble—a man with the aspect of a charred corpse. His lap was covered by an exquisite tapestry.

Despite his terror, Balten summoned up his outrage and addressed the blackened man. “How dare you trespass here? What have you done to my servants?”

“They’re my servants now,” replied the intruder. His voice, though low and hoarse, was commanding. He pointed with a handless sleeve at one of Balten’s servants. “Slit your throat.”

Without hesitation or hint of emotion, the man drew a small knife from his tunic and slashed his neck. Then he stood motionless until his life drained from him and he collapsed. Balten stared aghast.

“He would have slit your throat just as calmly,” said the man in the chair. “Or I could enslave you like him and give the same command.”

“Who…Who are you? What do you want?”

The charred man bared his teeth in a horrific grin. “You know me. I was the royal mage.”

“Othar? They say you’re dead.”

“Not dead. Transformed. My body’s suffered, but I’ve been compensated. I can seize minds with a glance and command total obedience.”

Balten tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. “Are you going to rob me of my mind?”

“My slaves are useful,” said Othar, “but they quickly end up like Nuggle here.” He pointed to the drooling, twitching man. “He’s lasted longest, but he’s nearly spent. I want you intact.”

Balten attempted a smile. “I’m gratified.”

Othar smiled back. The effect was hideous. “You should be.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I can discern your thoughts, so I’ll answer your true questions,” replied the mage. “I want neither your wealth nor your life. Yes, you’ll benefit. In fact, I’m going to make you wealthier. Much wealthier. And I’ll settle that matter with Maltus. I need only a glance into his eyes.”

“How did you learn about Maltus?”

“You have no secrets from me. I know you’re tupping Coric’s wife. Don’t fret; Coric’s past caring. You worry that your youngest is not of your seed. Bring forth your wife, and I’ll find out the truth. This spring, you poisoned that Luvein cloth merchant for his goods. Need I go on?”

Balten silently stared at Othar.

“Good,” said Othar. “I require a man to act as my agent. Someone familiar with the court, but inconspicuous. I’ll stay in the shadows while you serve as my face and hands. In return, you’ll prosper.”

Before Balten could utter a word, Othar responded to what he was thinking. “Because wealth will make you more useful. You need only do as I say. Riches don’t interest me, though I command many thieves. What surplus they bring, such as this tapestry, you may keep. Are you agreed to serve me?”

Balten started to reply, then realized his thoughts were laid bare. “Sire, you already know my answer.”

Othar flashed another grotesque grin. “You learn quickly. That’s good. Invite Maltus to this house tomorrow. Any pretext will do. To demonstrate my beneficence, I’ll resolve your difficulties with him.”

Balten thought it prudent to bow. “Thank you, sire. Will you tell me why you wish my aid? Since wealth disinterests you, what do you desire? Power?”

Without any gesture from the mage, Nuggle and the servant beside him turned to seize each other’s throat. Othar watched the two men strangle each other until both expired. Then he chuckled hoarsely. “Power? I’ve power aplenty. I want the opportunity to use it against those I hate. You’ll help with that. Revenge, bloody and merciless, is my desire.”

The oldest part of the Yat clan hall was such a warren of hanmuthis, small rooms, and connecting passageways, Dar was glad that she had a guide. He halted before an antique doorway and bowed. “This is place, Muth Mauk.”

Dar entered alone and was met by an elderly mother who looked surprised. After an awkward silence, the mother finally took the initiative and bowed. “Greetings. I’m Metha-yat, Muth Mauk.”

Unsure how a queen should respond, Dar simply declined her head. “I wish to speak with Meera-yat. Is she here?”

“Hai. I’ll show you to her chamber. You must speak loudly if she’s to hear you.”

Metha-yat’s hanmuthi was so old-fashioned that it lacked windows and a chimney. The only daylight entered through the smoke hole above the hearth, and it was fading fast. Small oil lamps provided meager illumination, and in their dim light, Dar couldn’t tell which of the adjoining sleeping chambers were occupied. Metha-yat took a lamp and walked over to one. Its light revealed an ancient mother sitting in the dark.

“Muthuri,” shouted Metha-yat. “You have visitor.”

“What?”

“Visitor. You have visitor.”

Dar spoke quietly to Metha-yat. “My speech with your muthuri is for her ears only.”

After Metha-yat bowed and left the hanmuthi, Dar stepped into the small sleeping chamber. Meera-yat had not turned to look at her, and Dar suddenly understood why. Meera-yat’s yellow eyes were filmed over. She was blind.

“What’s that strange smell?” asked Meera-yat.

Dar thought she had met every clan member after her rebirth, but she had no recollection of Meera-yat’s distinctive face.
I hope she’s heard of me.
She addressed the ancient mother in a loud voice. “I’m Zor-yat’s new daughter. One who was reborn.”

“No one tells me anything,” muttered Meera-yat. She held out her hand. “Let me feel your face.”

Dar guided the shaking fingers to her chin, so Meera-yat might touch her clan tattoo first. Meera-yat traced the raised lines of the Yat clan markings. “Your chin feels too round,” she said. Her fingers brushed over Dar’s lips, then halted when they reached her nose. Meera-yat’s surprise and puzzlement were communicated by her touch. Her fingers traveled upward like startled spiders. “What’s this? What’s this?” Meera-yat’s exploration ended at Dar’s brow. “You’re washavoki!”

“Thwa,” shouted Dar. “I’ve been reborn. I’m urkzimmuthi.”

“Reborn? Why didn’t you say so?” said Meera-yat. “What’s your name?”

“I was named Dargu. Now…”

Meera-yat grinned. “Who gives her daughter animal’s name?”

“Zor-yat,” said Dar loudly.

Meera-yat grinned again. “Hai, Zor-yat would do that.”

“Dargu was my old name. Now I’m…”

Before Dar finished speaking, Meera-yat touched her crown. “What’s this?”

“You know,” yelled Dar. “Your sister wore it.”

“Muth Mauk? You’re Muth Mauk? How did this happen?”

“Same way it happened for Nir-yat.” Dar gently grasped Meera-yat’s hands and placed them on her chest, duplicating the act that had made her queen. “Fathma.”

Meera-yat’s hands lingered, and it seemed to Dar that a look of wonder settled on her wrinkled face. “My eyes no longer see,” she said quietly, “so Muth la has enhanced other senses. I can feel my sister’s spirit within you. It’s mingled with many others.” Meera-yat bowed as low as her old back would permit. “Forgive me, Muth Mauk, for calling you washavoki.”

Rather than shout her reply, Dar gently grasped the old orc’s hands.

“So you’re Zor-yat’s daughter.” Meera-yat made a face. “Is she pleased you wear crown?”

“I think not,” shouted Dar.

“I’m not surprised. Zor-yat was displeased when her sister, and not she, received Fathma. Now she’s been passed over twice. So, Muth Mauk, why did you seek me out?”

“I’m queen, but I know little,” yelled Dar. “I need guidance. What to do. How to behave.”

“Is your muthuri no help?”

“She thinks another should rule.”

“What?”

“Wants different queen,” shouted Dar.

“Herself, no doubt. Probably Muth-yat is of like mind.”

“Your sister was queen. You know as much as they do.”

Meera-yat smiled. “I was by her side for many winters.”

“Will you help me?”

“Hai, Muth Mauk.”

“I must warn you,” shouted Dar. “I think Muth-yat will be displeased.”

“What do I care? I’ve nothing to lose. My line is cut. My granddaughters sickened in Taiben. My grandsons died in battles. Only Metha remains, consumed by grief.” Meera-yat thought a moment, then asked, “Do you know of Muth la’s Dome?”

“Hai,” shouted Dar, recalling the place where she had undergone rebirth.

“That would be good place to talk. It’s sacred space, and we’d be alone.”

Dar liked the choice of meeting site. It was proof that Meera-yat recognized Dar’s delicate position. “I’ll send son to guide you there.”

“I need not eyes to find way. When sun is highest, I’ll go there and wait for you.”