[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny (44 page)

“The general doesn’t treat him like a nobody,” said Dedrik. “Gorm’s the only one who shakes him. He came visiting after the hall caught fire. I heard him through the tent. No yelling, mind you, but there was menace in his voice.”

“Did you hear what he said?” asked Dar.

“Something about a master. That master was displeased.”

“How did the general reply?”

“Well, he sounded meek, which is uncommon for him. Said he’d find them. I take it he meant the orcs.”

Dar focused on her principal concern. “Did Gorm tell him where to find us?”

“Nay. Just that the general better do it. He said time was running out.”

“Time for what?”

“I don’t know, but Gorm sounded both angry and scared.”

Dar paused in her interrogation to give the gist of it to the orcs. While she did, Zor-yat asked Dedrik a question of her own. “Would you say Gorm’s master wanted our hall?”

“Nay.”

“Then what did he want?”

“Your deaths.”

“There’s only one thing you can do, Your Majesty,” said Sevren. “Send runners to all the clans. Gather an army of orcs and lure Kol into an ambush. Those two shieldrons were doing reconnaissance. When they don’t return, he’ll head north. Let the mothers lead him into a trap. We’ll slaughter his men like we did today. Sorcery can na stop a sword.”

“My son’s with them!” cried out Girta.

“It’s
his
army,” said Dar. “
He
declared this war.”

“He’s only a boy, and Kol deceived him, just as he did me,” said Girta, her voice urgent and pleading. “Spare him! You must spare him!”

“Chaos reigns in battle,” said Dar. “I can’t promise anything.”

“Aye,” said Sevren. “When the blood runs hot, Mercy’s a stranger.”

“He doesn’t deserve to die,” said Girta.

“Neither do we,” said Dar, her face lit up by a sudden inspiration. “We can’t stop this fight, but your son can. He thinks we’ve slain you. Show him otherwise, and he’ll end this war.”

“Kol will na let him see her,” said Sevren. “He’ll slay her first.”

“He nearly killed me once before,” said Girta, touching her wounded shoulder. “I…I can’t…”

Dar saw the fear in Girta’s face and despaired.
As much as she loves her son, she’s terrified of Kol.
Dar tried to push her point. “Then there’s no hope for your son,” she said. “He’ll die with the others.”

As if on cue, Zor-yat reached out and gently patted Girta’s hand. “We’ll honor your son,” she said, “if we can find his corpse.”

The remark caused Girta to burst out weeping. Dar let her sob before offering her final inducement. “I’ll go with you. We’ll disguise ourselves as soldiers and find your son. Kol can’t harm you before the king.” She turned to Dedrik. “If the soldiers knew what you know, would they rather face orcs for Kol or obey their king and return home?”

“They’re hungry, and there’s no chance for plunder. They’ll gladly obey the king.”

“Have you the courage to save your son?” asked Dar.

“If you’ll go with me, I’ll find it.”

“Then I will,” said Dar. “I have no love for war.”

“You can na go!” cried Sevren. “Girta’s their queen, yet she fears for her life. You’re their enemy!”

“It’s worth the risk,” said Dar. “If we succeed, this war will end tonight.”

“Muth Mauk, you risk more than your life,” said Zor-yat in Orcish. “If you perish, Fathma will be lost.”

“Fathma lost again?” said Muth-pah, who had been unable to follow Dar’s conversation. “What is this talk?”

When Dar explained her plan, the matriarch was shaken. “If you perish, disaster will follow. It would be as it was when Tarathank fell. We’ll have no queen, and washavokis will hunt us. Your plan risks too much, Muth Mauk.”

“I admit you’ve acted wisely so far,” said Muth-yat. “If we had remained in hall, we’d all be dead. Yet I agree with Muth-pah. Trying times lie ahead. Without our queen, we’re doomed.”

“Sister, listen to these mothers’ wisdom,” said Nir-yat. “You have big chest, but blades can pierce it. We can’t lose you.”

Girta heard the orcs speak without understanding a word, but she readily perceived their opposition. “Dar, you promised to help me. I can’t do this alone.”

Dar felt the full weight of her sovereignty.
A wrong decision will be disastrous. But what’s the wrong decision? Risk everything for peace? Engage in bloody war?
She knew she had to decide and decide quickly, but she couldn’t see her path. “I must think upon this,” she said after a while. “Sister, will you walk with me?”

Nir-yat bowed, then followed Dar into the woods. The two walked silently until they were a long way from the other orcs. Nir-yat gazed at her sister and saw water running from her eyes. “I’m sorry I lack wisdom,” she said.

Dar wiped her eyes and gazed lovingly at Nir-yat. “You have it in abundance, and I’ve relied on it.”

“Yet I can’t advise you, for I don’t know how future will unfold.”

“Neither do I,” said Dar, “so let’s talk about past. Remember when I returned as queen?”

“How can I forget? You were nearly dead.”

“Were you with me then?”

“I was by your side, but you couldn’t see.”

“I could see, Sister. But I saw spirits, not faces. Muth la gives dying queens that skill, so they might bestow Fathma wisely.”

“But you lived,” said Nir-yat.

“Still, I was dying. Were you by my side entire time?”

“Until Deen-yat gave you magic draught. Then Muth-yat and Muthuri made me leave.”

Dar smiled for the first time. “Sister, I remember your spirit. When I had strength to bestow Fathma, none was worthy to receive it. Thus Muth la preserved my life. But earlier, my successor was by my side. She was you.”

“Thwa! Thwa! You’re mistaken.”

“I’m not. I’m certain of it,” said Dar. “Tonight, I’ll go with Girta. I’ll risk my life for peace, but I won’t risk our welfare. Fathma will be safe, for you’ll be queen.”

Nir-yat paled. “Queen! I can’t be queen.”

“That’s what I said. And I’ll reply as great mother before me did. You must. It’s Muth la’s will.”

Forty-seven

“I don’t know what future holds,” said Dar, “so I don’t know which path is best. This way, we can take both. I’ll take chance for peace. If I fail, you can guide urkzimmuthi in battle. You’ll possess my memories. They’ll aid you, as will Sevren and our muthuri.”

“But you’ll be dead either way,” said Nir-yat. “Queen who surrenders Fathma loses her spirit.”

“That may be so,” said Dar, “but my body will linger. I can take Girta to her son. Did not your grandmother linger after she passed on crown?”

“Hai, and I told you what happened to her. She became ghost.”

“Now I understand my last vision,” said Dar, her expression melancholy. “Lama-tok told me it isn’t always unwise to die.”

When Dar returned to the hollow, her expression was somber. Nir-yat’s was sad, but resigned. The two took Queen Girta aside and Dar had a lengthy conversation with her, which she translated for Nir-yat’s benefit. Afterward, the three spoke with Sevren. Then he departed on an errand.

The orcs watched all these things without comprehension, although they knew something was afoot. After Sevren left, Dar called them together. She and Nir-yat stood in the center of the throng, surrounded yet apart. Then Dar spoke in a loud, clear voice. “Fathma is Muth la’s gift to urkzimmuthi. Mother who receives this spirit is closest to Muth la. Her words are wisdom and must be obeyed. Long have mothers of our clan received this gift, each queen passing it to next.” Then Dar recounted all the queens’ names, ending with her own. “Muth la has both entered my chest and sent me visions. Thus I know what path to take. Perhaps this path will end in peace. Perhaps it will end with my death. All I know is that it’s perilous, too perilous to risk Muth la’s gift. Thus Muth la has sent another mother to receive Fathma. That mother is Nir-yat.”

With those words, Nir-yat cast off her cloak to stand bare-chested. Dar placed her hands above her sister’s breasts. Immediately, her fingers began to tingle. “Let Fathma pass to Nir-yat.”

Dar saw Nir-yat’s eyes widen, and she recalled her own experience of receiving Fathma. There had been a sensation of warmth, accompanied by transforming energy and murmuring voices. Bestowing Fathma felt quite different. Dar was left drained and empty. The world seemed suddenly silent, and Dar experienced a sense of profound loss. She removed her crown and placed it on her sister’s head. The mother who had been Nir-yat was no more. She had become Muth Mauk.

“My time is over,” said Dar. The crowd silently parted, and Dar walked through it. As she did, custom required everyone to gaze away. Many did so reluctantly, desiring one last glimpse of one they had come to love. Yet, eventually, all eyes turned elsewhere, and Dar began to feel invisible. As she departed, the orcs bowed to their new queen and shouted, “Tava, Muth Mauk!”

Sevren and Girta stood apart. Dar walked over to them. Sevren looked solemn and sad. Girta appeared frightened. “I think I found soldier’s clothes that will fit,” said Sevren. “You should try them on here. The boots are big, but you can stuff rags in them.”

Dar wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure that stuff stinks of washavoki.”

“There’s na helping that,” replied Sevren. “You’ll ride Skymere, so hopefully you’ll na wear them long. The queen will take the prisoner’s horse.”

Sevren led the women through the woods to a stack of corpses. Nearby, he had assembled two sets of soldier’s clothes, armor, and equipment. Dar stripped down to the shirt she had worn in Taiben and her undergarment, then donned the soldier’s outfit. It was blood-splattered and smelled even worse than she feared. While every item was too large, none was overly so. There was a greasy, long-sleeved tunic made of wool, which fit under an armored tunic of stiff boiled leather. Metal plates were sewn on the shoulders and over the heart. The woolen leggings had thick slabs of leather on the front. They were far too long, but tucked into the heavy boots. These were so large that Dar had to wrap her feet in layers of cloth before she could walk in them. A leather helmet, reinforced with metal, hid her long hair and brand. A foul-smelling scarf covered her clan tattoo. A tattered cloak completed the outfit.

When Dar was dressed, she showed herself to Sevren. “You’ll pass for a soldier at night. All you need is a sword.”

“It’d be useless, but I’ll take a dagger.”

“I found you a good one,” said Sevren, handing Dar the dagger. “The sword is just for show. Every soldier must carry one.”

Dar strapped on the weapons and walked about a bit. She felt clumsy in the heavy armor. Girta looked equally awkward in her outfit. “Dar, this isn’t going to work. We look ridiculous.”

“Don’t even think of backing down,” said Dar, casting Girta a hard look. “Not after what I’ve sacrificed!”

Dar’s anger cowed Girta, and she seemed to sink into her oversized outfit.

“The guards will be looking for orcs, na women,” said Sevren quickly. “Many a lad’s marched off in his father’s gear. The fit will na betray you.”

“Think of your son,” said Dar in a conciliatory tone. “You’ll be seeing him soon.”

“Yes,” said Girta, “I must think of him.”

The two women had a bit to eat, then rode off without an escort. Dar had not told Girta that she felt success was too uncertain to risk other lives. If they obtained peace, Girta would send messengers bearing signs of truce. If they failed, knowledge of the orcs’ location would die with them. Nevertheless, Girta suspected Dar was pessimistic about their chances. It heightened her fear and kept her quiet.

Dar was quiet for another reason. She felt a part of her had died. She wondered how great a part.
Am I still Dargu-yat? Am I even urkzimmuthi?
Enveloped by a washavoki’s scent, she feared she had become one again. Dar realized that her teeth remained black and she must take care not to reveal them. She looked down at her nails. Talmauki was still painted on them. She used her thumbnail to scrape it off. The effort brought tears to her eyes. The more the color flaked away, the more diminished she felt.

Dar could keep grief at bay only by thinking about what lay ahead. She was fearful, but also angry. Both emotions were preferable to emptiness. The idea that Kol could be exposed and die a traitor’s death spurred her on. She thought of Twea and Loral and Frey. Each deserved justice.
And when Kol’s gone, Othar will lose his protector. A mage can’t stand against an army.
At least, Dar hoped so.

Dar and Girta reached the Yat clan’s mountain before dusk. A blackened ruin crowned it. Troops no longer camped around its base, and Dar assumed that the army had consolidated in the valley. They rode around the eastern side of the mountain, keeping within the cover of a wood, until they spotted smoke from the army’s encampment. Dar said they should dismount and view the encampment before darkness fell. Girta resisted the idea.

“We must scout the enemy’s camp,” said Dar, not bothering to hide her exasperation. “Otherwise, how in Karm’s name do you expect to find your son in the dark among thousands of soldiers?”

Girta gave in and sneaked through the woods with Dar until they reached its edge. Tents filled the valley before the mountain, and they were far more orderly than Dar expected.
Kol must be a stickler for discipline
, she thought, recalling that Dedrik had called him “harsh.” There was no separate royal compound, but Dar saw a cluster of blue-and-scarlet tents within the plain ones. “The king will be there,” she said. She looked for the black uniforms of the former Queen’s Men. Though she saw none, she suspected the men were there, dressed as common soldiers.