[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny (5 page)

Dar bowed, though Meera-yat couldn’t see the gesture. “Shashav.”

“I deserve no thanks, for you honor me, Muth Mauk. I’ll do my utmost. There is much I can teach you, but I can’t find your path. That you must do yourself.”

Dar had feared as much. Yet, she had one consolation, and she spoke it out loud. “At least I have Fathma. No one can take that.”

“Council of Matriarchs can.”

“How?”

“Haven’t you heard of Muth la’s Draught?”

“Thwa. What’s that?”

“Test of worthiness. It’s potion made from seeds of Muth la’s sacred tree. Council can require queen to drink it if they think she’s unfit.”

“What does that prove?” asked Dar.

“If queen should rule, Muth la will preserve her life.”

“Draught is poison?”

“Only if queen is unfit.”

“And when she dies, Fathma goes to another?”

“Hai. It’s Muth la’s will.”

This revelation stunned Dar, and her position suddenly seemed precarious. The “test” likened to an execution. “Has any queen ever passed this test?”

“Matriarchs are wise. When they think great mother is unfit, they’ve never been wrong.”

Six

By the time Dar returned to the royal hanmuthi, her anxiety had grown. It had occurred to her that the clan matriarchs might oppose her, but she had no idea their opposition could prove fatal. It made her wonder if she had misjudged the intentions behind Zor-yat’s advice to pass on the crown. Yet, while Dar felt threatened, she fought any impulse to surrender. She did so partly from stubbornness, but mostly owing to Fathma. It had continued to transform her in ways too subtle for her to precisely describe, so despite her ignorance, she felt ever more a queen.

Moreover, Dar hoped the matriarchs would appreciate the good she had accomplished already. No more sons would die in washavoki wars. Dar recalled the slaughter at the Vale of Pines, and the rage she had felt returned.
That must never happen again!
Her treaty with Queen Girta ensured it wouldn’t. Dar assumed the orc regiments would disband, leaving only a small guard to protect the washavoki queen.

As soon as Dar thought about her treaty, she began to wonder how it was being implemented. Even as it was announced, she had been succumbing to the mage’s poison. Her instructions to Zna-yat were simple: “Stay here and see my will is done.”
Will he know what to do? He speaks only Orcish. Who will deal with Girta?
Dar had expected Kovok-mah to do that, but he had left Taiben to give her healing magic. Then he had returned home.

The more Dar considered the situation, the more precarious her accomplishment seemed. While she was recovering from her injury, it seemed that no one had followed events in Taiben. Dar had no idea what was happening there. All she knew was that the treaty was her responsibility.
This is what it means to rule.
Dar had a feeling that affairs in Taiben could easily slip into chaos.
If they do, it’ll be my fault.

Zna-yat stood in his rusty armor as one of the guards flanking the throne. He had been standing all afternoon, and he was bored. Washavokis came and went, babbling incomprehensibly to their great mother. Mingled with their reek, Zna-yat detected the scent of fear. He thought it was good that they were afraid; fear would make them less likely to attack the one he protected. As best as he could tell from overhearing the babble, she was either called “Quengirta” or “Yermajessy.” Perhaps she had two names. Washavokis were strange like that.

Although Zna-yat disliked standing guard, as one who wore a leader’s cape he had to provide an example. Dargu wanted Quengirta and her child protected, so his duty was clear. He would keep them safe, and obey Quengirta also. The last task was difficult because she didn’t know the speech of mothers. Zna-yat had asked Garga-tok to teach her a few basic commands such as “kill” and “help.”
I wish Kovok-mah was here
, Zna-yat thought.
He speaks with washavokis skillfully.

Zna-yat suspected Garga-tok’s fluency was less than desired because Quengirta had yet to comply with most of his requests. The urkzimmuthi guards still lacked proper quarters within the palace. Their room was large enough, but it wasn’t round. The washavokis had been displeased when sons had hacked the boundary of Muth la’s Embrace into the wooden floor with their swords. Zna-yat had instructed Garga-tok to explain the importance of the sacred circle, but the washavokis had shaped their mouths in the sign of anger. They were even more displeased when sons built a hearth in the circle’s center.

There was also the incident of the hairy-faced washavokis who tried to serve food. A son nearly killed the first one that stepped inside Muth la’s Embrace. Zna-yat had prevented him from doing so, but trouble had ensued. When Garga-tok told Quengirta that sons must be served by mothers, she had replied that Dargu had sent them all away. That made little sense, for Dargu knew the proper way of doing things. Zna-yat could only conclude that the washavokis had misunderstood her. After much talk, woe mans were found to serve food. However, they smelled of fear and didn’t know what words to say. Garga-tok had tried to teach them, but it had gone poorly.

Everything’s gone poorly since Dargu departed
, thought Zna-yat. His chest was heavy, for he felt certain that Dargu was dead. That didn’t alter his obligations. Dargu had bitten his neck, which made his life hers. To Zna-yat’s thinking, it would always be hers. As long as he lived, he must strive to carry out her wishes.

Zna-yat turned his attention to the washavoki babbling to Quengirta. Its ridiculous garments made it resemble a brightly colored bird. Even its sword had colored stones on its handle. Zna-yat wondered why washavokis made their weapons pretty and rudely wore them in their halls. He suspected it was because they liked killing. On impulse, Zna-yat bared his black teeth, exposing his fangs to the washavoki. Its neck jerked back, making it look even more like a bird. As the scent of its fear grew stronger, Zna-yat hissed softly.
I probably shouldn’t scare it
, he thought. Still, it was amusing.

Zna-yat was glad when his watch finally ended and he could wash the reek of so many washavokis from his skin. Yet even bathing was a problem. Washavokis seldom bathed and lacked communal baths. Instead, they used vessels that fit only their small bodies. The sole basin large enough for a proper bath was in a hall where horses lived. Usually, its water bore a skin of ice. When Zna-yat returned to the urkzimmuthi living quarters, he shed his armor and his garments and headed for the basin.

His route took him through the palace, and as always, the washavokis he encountered acted strangely. The woe mans, especially, did peculiar things. They squeaked and covered their eyes as if the sight of his body hurt them. Zna-yat knew they behaved the same way when other sons went to the basin. He had sent Garga-tok to discover why, but Garga-tok came back with a silly reason. Sons without garments were called “nekked,” and washavokis thought nekked was bad. That made little sense. Zna-yat wondered if the washavokis bathed with their garments on. If so, that explained why they did it so infrequently.

The icy water left Zna-yat refreshed. When he returned to Muth la’s Embrace, he dressed in his tunic and cape, then sat close to the hearth. It was constructed of large stones laid upon the wooden floor, and the fire it contained was small. Used neither for heating nor cooking, its flame was mostly to remind the orcs of their homes. Nevertheless, smoke made the air hazy and had stained the ceiling.

“This room should have smoke hole,” said a voice.

Zna-yat looked up and saw Magtha-jan. “Hai,” said Zna-yat. “And round walls to mark Muth la’s Embrace, and urkzimmuthi mothers to bestow Muth la’s gifts.”

“Muth Mauk said this would come to pass.”

“Hai,” replied Zna-yat. “But it’ll take time. I appreciate your patience. I know you long for home, and I’m pleased you agreed to stay.”

“It was hard choice,” said Magtha-jan, “but I believe in wisdom of Muth Mauk’s treaty.”

“I hope washavokis do also.”

“You think they don’t?”

“Their queen fears us,” said Zna-yat. “Her son does, too.”

“I’ve smelled this also. Why should they fear us? We protect them.”

“I’m not one to ask. I understand washavokis little. All I know is that most are strange and cruel.”

“I think Muth la made Dargu-yat queen because she understands them,” said Magtha-jan. “She’s urkzimmuthi, yet washavokis don’t fear her.”

“You speak wisdom,” said Zna-yat. Having received no announcement of Dargu’s death, he kept his fears of it to himself. He was worried what would happen when the news arrived. The orc guards might choose to leave unless the new queen decreed they should stay. Zna-yat had no idea if she would.

The arrival of woe mans bearing food interrupted Zna-yat and Magtha-jan’s conversation. Zna-yat was surprised to note that the woe man leading the procession had a branded forehead, which meant the woe man had served in the regiments. This was a change. Since sons had arrived at the washavoki great mother’s hall, only unmarked woe mans had served. The branded woe man spoke the proper words. “Saf nak ur Muthz la.”
Food is Muth la’s gift.
This was also a change.

The orcs responded in unison. “Shashav, Muth la.”
Thank you, Muth la.

Afterward, the woe mans served. Unlike in the regiment, they brought the food on platters. As a woe man placed Zna-yat’s meal before him, she attempted to say “Muth la urak tha saf la”—
Muth la gives you this food
—but her speech was barely intelligible. Nevertheless, Zna-yat was encouraged by the attempt at appropriate behavior.

The food was only a slight improvement over that served in the regiment. As in the army, it was mainly porridge, though there were some boiled roots. The meal also included meat, a rare item. Unfortunately, it was nearly spoiled, a fact Zna-yat’s keen nose detected despite the dish’s heavy spicing. He left the meat untouched.

The woe mans returned after the meal was over to retrieve the platters and depart for the night. Afterward, a lone washavoki dressed in blue and scarlet entered the hall. That was unusual. It halted outside Muth la’s Embrace and did an unexpected thing: It spoke in the tongue of mothers, albeit poorly. “Ma pahav Zna-yat.”
I say Zna-yat.

Zna-yat rose, and approached the washavoki. It seemed familiar, but most washavokis looked alike. It bowed politely and spoke again. “Ma nav Sevren.”
I am Sevren.

Zna-yat nodded and replied in Orcish. “I am Zna-yat.”

The washavoki bowed again, and continued speaking in the tongue of mothers. “I…take Dargu-yat…” It imitated a galloping horse with its fingers. “…take her to…” It seemed unsure what to say next.

“To hall?” said Zna-yat. “To healer?”

The washavoki made a puzzling gesture with its shoulders. “You hear? She live? She kill?”

It wants to know if Dargu lived or died
, thought Zna-yat. He replied as if he were speaking to an infant. “You there. You see.”

“I no see. Mother say go. Dargu-yat live? Dargu-yat kill?”

“I do not know,” replied Zna-yat. When the washavoki looked confused, he added, “Mothers no say. I no hear.”

“You no hear?”

“Hai.”

The washavoki bowed low. “Shashav, Zna-yat.”

Zna-yat watched the washavoki depart. It was a strange encounter, and he didn’t know what to make of it, other than the washavokis knew no more about Dargu’s fate than he did. Zna-yat thought Quengirta might have sent the washavoki, since it wore the colors of her guard, but he suspected it acted on its own. Zna-yat’s time with Dargu had taught him to recognize washavoki expressions.
It was sad
, he thought. His orcish sense of smell also detected another, more puzzling, emotion.
It was in love.

A group of guardsmen waited for Sevren at a safe distance from the orcs’ quarters. Valamar stood among them and grinned when he saw his friend returning. “Pay up, lads. He made it back in one piece.”

As Sevren approached, the men paid Valamar their bets.

“What of the orc wench, Sevren?” asked one of the losers.

“Mind your tongue,” he replied. “She’s a queen now, or at least, she was.”

“A queen of piss eyes,” said the man. “Hardly royalty.”

“More like their whore,” said another.

Sevren knocked him to the floor. He was about to deal another blow when Valamar restrained him. “Calm down, Sevren. Thrashing Wulfar won’t change anything. The whole army’s named her orc wench. And worse. You can’t fight them all.”

Wulfar rose, trying to look menacing.

“Come, Sevren,” said Valamar. “I’ll stand you an ale at the Bloody Boar.”

As the two headed for the tavern, Valamar spoke. “That woman’s made you foolhardy, and tonight’s a fine example. It’s wise to avoid orcs. A few days ago, one nearly killed a serving man. Broke both his arms.”

“He was sent by fools who should’ve known better. Orcs will na abide men serving food.”

“Why should
we
change? If they’re supposed to be guardsmen, let them act like guardsmen.”

“They’re na men, so they can na be guardsmen. Could you become an orc?”