[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny (45 page)

As the women were about to retreat into the woods, they heard a low, distant rumble. Dar glanced at the mountain ridge to the south, which was just visible above the hilltops. The setting sun illuminated a spreading dust cloud, making it glow orange. Dar grinned. “An avalanche! A big one!”

“Why are you happy?”

“Because it means the Tok clan sealed the pass. Kol can’t retreat. He doesn’t know the way.”

“Are you sure?”

“No one’s traveled the Old Road for fifty winters. The lorekeeper said so.”

The way Girta sighed, Dar assumed the queen was thinking of her son.
Good!
she thought.
She needs to.

The storm had spent itself, and the night was clear when Dar and Girta headed for the camp. A waxing moon lit the valley’s floor, and Dar’s impulse was to creep toward the soldiers. Knowing that would give the wrong impression, she did not. “We have to look like we belong here,” she whispered to Girta. The queen straightened.

Dar’s heart raced as they neared the camp’s perimeter, for she was aware their women’s voices would give them away if they were challenged. She and Girta had waited until long after sunset, hoping the added time would ensure the soldiers would be asleep. The camp looked still, but Dar saw some movement as they approached. She quickened her step and reached the first tents.

“Hey! Why are ye about?”

Dar saw a grizzled soldier stride toward them with the self-important air of a murdant. Girta froze, and Dar had to tug her hand to get her moving.

“Well?” said the murdant, his voice louder.

Dar made an exaggerated shrug and kept walking.

“By Karm’s ass, ye’ll answer or be flogged!” The murdant bounded after them and grasped Girta’s shoulder. She let out a frightened yelp. “A wench?” He grabbed her helmet and tugged. When it came off, golden hair cascaded out.

“Leave her be!” said Dar.

“Karm’s milky teats! A pair o’ whores!”

Dar slapped the murdant’s hand from Girta’s shoulder. “Hands off, pig! We’re Kol’s women.”

“Yer lyin’.”

“Then tup us both and find out. Just be warned, the general doesn’t like to share.”

The murdant glared at Dar, but he didn’t touch Girta again.

“Since you’ve stuck your nose in the general’s business,” said Dar, “you can escort us to his tent.”

The murdant stepped back. “Mistress, don’t be cross. I was only doin’ my duty.”

“Escort us, and we won’t say a thing,” said Dar. “Rosi, put on your helmet.”

Girta just stood there, wide-eyed. Dar struck her helmet. “The
helmet
, Rosi!”

Girta quickly put it on.

“Come, Murdant,” said Dar. “The general’s bed is growing cold.”

The murdant walked Girta and Dar to where the blue-and-scarlet tents stood. As Dar suspected, he was relieved when she said they could walk the last few paces alone. As the murdant hastily retreated, Dar saw that one tent bore the royal standard. They headed for it.

A small fire burned in the open area between the royal tents. The space was empty until Girta and Dar stepped into it. Then four guards emerged from the shadows. “Halt!” one shouted.

So close to her goal, Girta found her courage. She threw off her helmet. “I’m Girta, your queen. Don’t keep me from my son.”

The men stood dumbfounded as Girta strode into the king’s tent and woke him. Moments later, mother and son emerged. The boy king, wrapped in his sleeping fur, gazed at Girta in rapturous astonishment. The guards had surrounded Dar with drawn blades, and she waited for what would happen next. Girta spoke. “Lower your swords,” she commanded, and the guards did. “The king has been deceived into waging a ruinous war. General Kol is guilty of treason. Seize him!”

As Muth Mauk, Dar had come to expect obedience, and she was surprised when the guards stood their ground. The occupants of the other tents began to emerge. General Kol appeared, wearing his chain mail. “What sorcery is this?” he demanded.

“No sorcery,” replied Girta. “Justice. Guards, seize the general.”

The men looked to Kol, as if seeking his permission.

“Do it!” shouted Kregant III.

“Your Majesty,” said a high tolum who had just stepped from a tent. “We’re at war, and he’s our commander.”

Kol bowed to the boy. “That corpse looked like your mother. If you seek a deceiver, look to the orcs’ queen. This is orcish treachery, not mine.”

“Lies!” said Girta. “Your men wounded me. Dar saved my life.”

Kol regarded the other officers. “Who do you wish to lead this war? A boy and his mother or me?”

“Consider how well he’s led you so far,” said Dar. “You’ve run out of rations, and there’s no plunder to replace them. That avalanche sealed the road home. We’ll let you surrender for Queen Girta’s sake.”

“Surrender?” said Kol. “We’ll take our chances fighting.”

“Do you have six thousand in the hills?” asked Girta. “The orcs do. I’ve seen them.”

“We learned our lesson at the Vale of Pines,” said Dar. “Apparently, you didn’t. You’re camping in a valley.”

The officers glanced uneasily at the hills on either side. “The moon will be setting soon,” said one. “Orcs favor darkness for attacks.”

“I came to save my son from certain and horrible death,” said Girta. “If you won’t surrender, at least let him depart. He’ll give Kol the crown.”

Dar laughed. “A lot of good it’ll do him.”

“We have the orcs’ queen,” said Kol.

“No you don’t,” said Girta. “Dar abdicated.”

“To the orcs, I’m only an honored memory.”

“I surrender!” shouted Kregant III.

“Hear the king,” said Girta. “Obey him!”

The high tolum stepped forward. “I’ll not go against my king. General, give me your sword.”

Kol grasped his sword hilt while his eyes scanned about like those of a cornered animal. The faces of the other officers offered no hope. Several seemed already weighing their chances for promotion. Kol changed his grip to a passive one and surrendered his weapon.

“Your dagger, too.”

Kol obeyed.

“The penalty for treason is death,” said Girta. “As king, you can show no mercy.”

“Kill him,” said the boy.

A helmeted guard stepped from the shadows, sword drawn. “I’ll take him to the cesspit and return with his head, Yer Majesty.”

“Do it,” said the boy.

Kol whimpered “No! No!” but the guard seized him roughly and marched him away. Dar watched the pair go, surprised by Kol’s sudden meekness and loss of nerve.

General Kol marched submissively in the grip of the guard until they passed beyond the edge of camp. There, a shallow pit had been hacked into the frozen ground. Its odorous contents steamed slightly in the frigid air. The cesspit was an ignoble place to die and a fitting grave for a traitor. As the two men approached it, the guard glanced back toward the dark camp. “Where to, sir?”

“Othar’s litter. This isn’t over yet.”

“Take my dagger, sir,” said Wulfar. “Ye shouldn’t go unarmed.”

Forty-eight

Othar’s encampment lay deeper in the valley, apart from the main camp. Everyone was aware of its presence, though everyone tried to ignore it. It consisted of a single, small tent and the litter. The litter’s bearers stood unsheltered beside their burden, which presently rested on the ground. The men resembled upright corpses, and seemed as oblivious of suffering. As Kol approached them, he gazed at their pale faces. Balten and Lokung stood among them. Both men’s features were constantly twitching, and their chins were coated with frozen drool. General Voltar had perished already. In his place was a strapping soldier who stared as blank-faced as the others.

Gorm emerged from the small tent at the sound of Kol and Wulfar’s approach. Kol carefully kept his eyes on him, avoiding the slightest glance toward the enclosed litter. His companion didn’t know that trick. When Kol heard a wooden shutter open and a low, rasping voice, he knew Wulfar was doomed.

“What brings you here?” asked Gorm.

“The army’s surrendered to the orcs,” said Kol.

“What!” replied Gorm. Kol couldn’t tell if he sounded more enraged or terrified.

“Dar brought Queen Girta before the king, and turned everyone against me. I was condemned to death. Othar just enslaved the man who saved me.” Kol knew that Gorm could free Wulfar’s spirit, but when Gorm didn’t offer, Kol didn’t ask. “Only sorcery can reverse things now.”

“And what know you of sorcery?” asked Gorm.

A voice came from the litter, startling Kol with the depth of its enmity. “Dar! I want that bitch! She owes me suffering.”

Kol saw his opportunity. “I can deliver her.”

“How?” asked the rasping voice.

“I know her. She’ll follow me. I’m certain of it.”

“You’ve made promises before,” said Gorm, “and have kept none yet.”

“Because of Dar,” replied Kol. “Always because of Dar.”

“Get her,” said Othar.

Gorm reflected. “She’d be a prize indeed. Aye, her death might advance our cause.” He fixed his gaze on Kol. “Understand, it’s all or naught. Hold nothing back.”

“I won’t. Give me Wulfar. I’ll make it look like I killed him in a struggle. Then I’ll leave a trail to the burnt hall. Get there by another route. When Dar follows me, Othar can seize her.”

“Perhaps they’ll send soldiers instead.”

“They’ll surely do that, but Dar will be with them,” said Kol. “We’re old adversaries, and hate binds tighter than love.”

“Wulfar,” said Gorm. “Go with Kol.” Wulfar passively joined the man whom he had just saved and who would slay him. Gorm watched the two head for the cesspit. Then he struck his tent and ordered the litter-bearers to lift their burden. Before he led them away, he spoke through the litter’s open shutter. “Master, Dar’s blood would provide uncommon nourishment.”

“And what if Kol fails?” asked Othar.

“Then I’ll brew some magic of my own.”

The atmosphere about the blue-and-scarlet tents combined joy on Girta and her son’s part with a general sense of relief. The war had lost its allure with the hall’s destruction. Hunger, harsh weather, and Dar’s bluff about an ambush made the officers welcome surrender. In the prevailing mood, the deposed general seemed forgotten by everyone but Dar. It was she who finally asked, “Isn’t that man overlong in returning with Kol’s head?”

“Probably showing it to his comrades,” said an officer.

“Just who was that guard?” asked Dar.

“One of my men,” answered Kregant III.

“A
King’s
Man?” asked Dar.

“Of course,” replied the boy.

“But Kol handpicked all of them! Someone should check what’s happened.”

“Yes,” said Girta. She turned to an officer. “Send some soldiers to the cesspit.”

A while later, the soldiers reported back. “The guard is slain and his weapons are missing.”

“And the general?” asked Girta. “Where’s he?”

“Run off. We followed his tracks awhile. He seems headed for the burnt hall.”

“Well, it’s stopped snowing, Your Majesty,” said an officer, “so he’ll be easy to track in the morning. He won’t get far.”

“Good,” replied Girta. “Bring another cot to the royal tent. I’ll rest with my son.”

“And what about this wench,” said the man, gesturing at Dar.

“She can have your tent,” replied Girta. “She used to be a queen.”

Dar rose at first light, still dressed in the foot soldier’s woolen tunic. She donned his leggings, bound her feet in cloth, and slipped on his boots. Omitting the armored tunic, helmet, and sword, she strapped on the dagger, tied on the cloak, and went to investigate the scene at the cesspit. When she arrived there, she saw that the soldiers’ account had been incomplete. The guard’s body had been dragged away, but it was evident that someone had been slain and his assailant had fled toward the hall. What interested Dar were signs that Kol and his guard had visited another place together and returned.

She followed those tracks and found signs of another camp. Dar studied them awhile. Everything pointed to it being Othar’s camp. There were marks where a litter had rested on the snow. There were also footprints of a dozen men who seemed to have stood unnaturally still. They had left sometime in the night, traveling north along the shadowed side of the valley. Dar followed their trail around the mountain until it began to climb the slope. Then she ran back as fast as her clumsy boots allowed.

By the time Dar arrived at camp, jubilation over the surrender had infected the troops. More than once, she had to draw her dagger to discourage a boisterous soldier. But it was her demeanor more than the blade that made the men back down. Dar was intimidating. When she reached the royal tent, she found Girta and the king talking to a young officer.

“Dar,” said Girta. “This is Tolum Farnar. His shieldron’s going to capture General Kol.”

“Are you certain of his loyalty?” asked Dar.

“Absolutely,” said Girta. “He’s the king’s cousin.”

“Tolum, you should know that Kol’s not alone,” said Dar. “A mage has joined him.”

“Then we’ll kill him, too,” said the tolum.

“I’ll accompany you,” said Dar.

Farnar smiled somewhat disdainfully. “We’re seasoned soldiers. We don’t need a wench along.”