“Dargu, I’ve received healing magic for many winters.” The queen smiled at Dar’s puzzlement. “Black Washavoki put it in my food each night.”
“Thwa. That was poison.”
“Black Washavoki poisoned me long ago. Since then, he has given me magic so I might live. That magic clouded my thoughts, but it kept me alive.” Muth Mauk read Dar’s stunned expression. “Hai, Dargu, I’ll die soon. Today, I think.”
Dar felt overwhelmed by guilt and despair. “Then I will have caused your death!” She knelt before the queen as tears welled in her eyes. “My chest bursts! I didn’t know. Please forgive me!”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I chose to die.”
Dar’s shock, sadness, and confusion were reduced to a single word—“Why?”
“I’m not important,” said the queen. “Before I was Muth Mauk, I was Zeta-yat. When I received Fathma from queen before me, I became Muth Mauk. Fathma is important, not I. It is spirit of urkzimmuthi. I endured living only so Fathma wouldn’t be lost, so I could pass it to you.”
“Why should I receive it?”
“Because Muth la chose you. Remember your vision of me? When I asked where you were, I was asking for mother to receive Fathma.”
“Thwa! Thwa! It can’t be me.”
“Dargu-yat, it must be you. I’m dying, and you’re only urkzimmuthi mother here. This is Muth la’s will, your purpose in life.” With shaking hands, Muth Mauk gently wiped the tears from Dar’s face. “Sit close to me. Let beauty of Muth la’s creation calm your chest.”
“Muth Mauk, I’m not ready.”
“No one is ready for life. We are simply born and start living. When you’re Muth Mauk, just follow your chest.”
“That was Velasa-pah’s guidance.”
Muth Mauk smiled. “Muth la’s also, I think.” Then the queen turned her face toward the sun.
Thirty-nine
When the sun was setting, Muth Mauk requested the orcs to assemble. Sevren and the women were invited to watch, although they couldn’t understand what was being said. The orcs sat encircling the queen, who stood gripping Dar to steady herself. Muth Mauk began by recounting how a child possessing Fathma had been born into the Yat clan. She told how that Fathma had been passed on from great mother to great mother, naming each. She ended with her own name.
“Fathma is Muth la’s gift to urkzimmuthi,” said Muth Mauk. “Mother who receives this spirit is closest to Muth la. Her words are wisdom and must be obeyed.”
“Hai, Muth Mauk,” said the orcs in unison.
“Soon Muth la will embrace me,” said the queen. “She has sent another mother to receive her gift. That mother is Dargu-yat.”
Dar expected some expression of surprise or protest, but she detected none in the solemn faces surrounding her. Dar knew what to do next. She cast off her cloak and stood bare-chested before Muth Mauk. Then the queen placed her hands above Dar’s breasts. “Let Fathma pass to Dargu-yat.”
The queen’s hands felt warm against Dar’s skin, and when Muth Mauk spoke, that warmth increased. Dar had thought the touching was purely ceremonial, but the sensation it caused was more than tactile. The warmth became transforming energy that spread throughout her body. Dar heard soft voices murmuring like leaves stirred by a gentle breeze. She glanced about, but the assembled orcs were still and silent. The murmuring grew louder, and Dar realized that memories, not sounds, echoed inside her head. Then the memories faded, and the night was quiet again. Dar felt different and knew she was different. The world remained the same, but she saw it through eyes that were both new and ancient. The gift she had received was greater than wisdom or power. It was love. Dar gazed at the orcs around her and knew they were her children. She cherished them as their mother—their great mother.
The former queen removed her crown and placed it on Dar’s head. “My time is over,” she said, and sank to the ground.
All the orcs rose immediately and bowed low to Dar. “Tava, Muth Mauk!” they said. Then, without further ado, they departed for their shelters. Only Sevren and the women remained, standing apart and confused until Kovok-mah spoke to them in low tones. Then they departed, also. Dar didn’t notice. Her sole concern was the former queen.
“Auntie, I’ll take you to healer. You’ll be well again.”
“Someone who’s dead cannot be healed.”
“Please don’t say that. You’re alive.”
“My spirit departed with Fathma, and spirit is life. There can be only one living Muth Mauk.”
“Will someone tell…” Dar paused and glanced around. “Where is everyone?”
“They left because it’s unnatural to speak to those who are dead.”
“You’re not dead. And I won’t leave you.”
“Thwa, Muth Mauk, it is I who will leave you.”
The former queen proved her point by dying before midnight. Dar roused some orcs and told them to prepare a funeral pyre. Afterward, she retreated to her shelter, already feeling the loneliness of sovereignty. All the lives around her depended on her judgments. It was a burden she didn’t want but couldn’t evade. Dar possessed Fathma and understood her obligations. Still, she didn’t want to order her children into battle, knowing that many would perish, even in a victory. Moreover, fighting felt wrong. Then how will they get home? Fighting seemed the only answer.
At last, Dar decided to speak to Sevren. He’s fought for the king. He can advise me. She found him wrapped in his cloak, asleep by the embers of a cooking fire. Dar shook him awake. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. “What do you want, Your Majesty?” he asked without a trace of irony.
“So you know I’m queen.”
“Aye, that green-eyed fellow told us. Congratulations.”
“I didn’t want this. It was a complete surprise.” Dar sighed heavily. “I need to know how to fight the king.”
“That’s a tricky problem. Numbers and terrain will favor the king’s men. Orcs are best in a straight-on fight where their strength gives them an edge.”
“So what should I do?”
“Bull your way through the pass and take your losses.”
“And why is that best?”
“Your soldiers are orcs. You must employ their strengths.”
“And what are the king’s strengths?” asked Dar.
“They’ll fight cleverly. They use the terrain to dart in and out, avoiding a single battle. If you can na crush them, they’ll hit you again and again.”
“So I should try for a big battle?”
“Aye.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” said Dar. “You’re only a guardsman, and you understand strategy. Why would the king’s generals be different? If we do what’s expected, we’re doomed.”
“You can na change the nature of an orc.”
Dar stared into the starry sky, lost in thought. A long time passed before she spoke. “You’re right, Sevren. You can’t change the nature of an orc.” Then Dar smiled for the first time since she was crowned. “But the nature of their queen has changed.”
Dar slept, and by some special grace, awoke refreshed. When she left her shelter, she knew her most difficult task would probably be the first one. Dar summoned the orcs to address them. “I’ve pondered why Muth la made me queen. Now I know. It’s because I understand minds of washavokis. They’re different from ours.”
The orcs gestured their agreement.
Dar continued. “When we speak, our words have meaning and reflect what we know. Yet washavokis often say words without meaning, words they call ‘lies.’ They know urkzimmuthi do not speak lies.”
Dar prepared herself for the hard part. “Today, you must do something that makes little sense, something that goes against your natures. Today, we’ll forgo ancient customs. We won’t place our dead mother on pyre. We’ll carry her body to washavokis and say she lives.”
An agitated murmur arose from the orcs. Dar heard shock, puzzlement, and even anger in their voices. Soon I’ll find out if I’m truly queen.
As she waited for the orcs to quiet, she felt strangely calm. Life had become simple. She would explain her plan as best she could and then discover its fate and hers. She could do no more.
King Kregant was pacing in his throne room when the guardsman entered. “What news?” asked the king.
“The orcs have left the hill, sire.”
“Are they headed for the pass?”
“No, for the city.”
Kregant whirled and glared at the Queen’s Man. “General Tarkum, you said they’d flee. Now they’re about to attack!”
“Your Majesty, the piss eyes lack the means for an assault.”
“Then why are they headed here? Some kind of trick?”
Tarkum remained calm. “They’re incapable of tricks.”
The mage spoke. “Their queen has sickened without my potion. They realize they need my magic.”
“That must be it,” said Tarkum. “I know their superstitions. If the queen dies without a piss eye bitch nearby, the royal line is broken.”
“That’s why we kept her isolated,” added the mage. “To keep her in our power.”
“Well, we don’t have her now,” said the king, “so I’ve lost my piss eye troops!”
“The orcs will return their queen to my care,” said Othar, “and obey us as before.”
Kregant wanted to ask Othar why his precious bones hadn’t warned of the queen’s escape, but a glance at the mage froze his courage. Instead he asked, “Who helped the queen flee? She couldn’t have done it unaided.”
“A branded girl works in your kitchen,” said Othar. “I sense something wrong about her.”
Kregant turned to a guardsman. “Find out who she is and fetch her.”
The guardsman wavered for a moment, then spoke. “Sire, I know who she is. Her name is Dar. A murdant came looking for her just before the piss eye queen vanished.”
“Well, find this Dar if she’s still here,” said the king. “Torture her and bring me her confession.”
The guardsman left and the king resumed his pacing. Throughout the morning, reports arrived: No one could find Dar. A guardsman named Sevren had deserted. The orcs were definitely headed for the city.
The king took what actions he could. He decreed the deaths of Dar and Sevren. He sent messengers with orders requiring all the soldiers at the pass to march to Taiben. Having done those things, he waited for better news. By early afternoon he received some: The orcs had returned to their garrison and only a small delegation was headed for the city. The king sent his most sharp-eyed guardsman to observe and report.
The guardsman returned a short while later, out of breath from running. “There are seven unarmed piss eyes outside the gate. Six carry a litter bearing their queen. One holds up a tree branch.”
“That’s the piss eye sign for truce,” said General Tarkum.
The guardsman continued. “The piss eye with the branch has prisoners. A guardsman and a girl. The girl’s really carrying on—weeping and pleading with the piss eye.”
“What does it want?” asked the king.
“It wants to parley with you.”
“With me? Preposterous!” He turned to General Tarkum. “You’re the Queen’s Man. Go speak with the piss eye, but have soldiers hiding. If anything seems funny, kill the lot and seize the queen.”
Forty
General Tarkum watched the gate rise to reveal a small group of orcs standing on the road. He recognized the one waving the tree branch as Garga-tok by his ear-fringed cape. That reassured him, for he recalled the orc’s steadfastness during the summer campaign. That piss eye’s loyal.
Garga-tok’s scabbard was empty, as were those of the orcs who bore the litter. Tarkum regarded the queen upon it. Her Majesty doesn’t look well. She needs magic quick. Tarkum couldn’t read the orcs’ expressions, but judging from the queen’s condition, he assumed they were desperate. This will make things easy.
Besides the tree branch, Garga-tok held ropes that tethered the wrists of his captives. Tarkum turned his attention to them. He didn’t know the guardsman, who stood silent and defeated. The hysterical girl looked familiar, despite the fact her face was smeared with charcoal. Tarkum thought a moment, trying to place her. Suddenly, it came to him. The orc wench! The girl Kol spoke about. Tarkum grew puzzled. I thought she was dead.
Garga-tok spoke. “Queen’s Man, we have been foolish. These two…” He jerked the ropes of his captives. “These two stole Great Mother. Said take home for gift of yellow iron. Now Great Mother sick.”
“Hai, you have acted foolishly,” replied Tarkum.
“We take Great Mother to Black Washavoki for magic. We speak good words to Great Washavoki. I show friendship and kill these two.”
Tarkum formed his lips in the imitation of an orcish smile. “I know urkzimmuthi are friends, and I will tell this to king. Go back to camp. We will take Great Mother for healing and punish two evil washavokis.”
“Thwa,” said Garga-tok. “We must carry Great Mother. Honor says this.”
Tarkum didn’t like the idea, but he knew orcs were touchy about their queen. They’re unarmed, and I have troops hidden. He put on another smile. “Come. Honor your Great Mother. We will make her well.”
Garga-tok bowed. “Shashav, Queen’s Man.” Then he said something in Orcish, and the procession entered the city.
As the prisoners walked past Tarkum, his curiosity about the girl caused him to approach her. Her face was downcast, so he reached out and turned it toward him. As soon as he touched the girl, the orcs halted. That disturbed him, but something he thought he glimpsed on the girl’s smudged face disturbed him more. Tarkum used his free hand to wipe her chin clean. When he saw a clan tattoo, he grew alarmed. “Lower the gate!” he shouted. “Attack!”
Tarkum heard the girl shout in Orcish, and the orcs dropped the litter. As the queen rolled onto the pavement, Tarkum realized she was dead. He also saw that her body covered a cache of weapons. Garga-tok pushed him away from the girl, bounded over to the litter, and grabbed an ax. By the time Tarkum drew his sword, Garga-tok was standing before him, his lips curled back in a black-toothed grin. Tarkum swung his blade and the orc countered the blow, sending the sword clattering on the cobblestones.
Garga-tok grinned again. “Nice ears,” he said.
Dar had hoped to reach the palace without opposition and was surprised when her plan unraveled so quickly. Nevertheless, she had prepared the orcs for such a contingency. One cut her bonds and shielded her from arrows with his armored body. Another orc freed Sevren. Meanwhile, Dar shouted orders in Orcish. “Open gate. Signal others. Kill washavoki soldiers.”
The last command was hardly necessary, for the orcs had already counterattacked with unrestrained ferocity. As Dar reached the shelter of the gatehouse, which was already littered with the bodies of its defenders, two orcs reached the parapets on the city’s walls. Soon it rained archers instead of arrows. The orcs raised the gate and Dar could see their comrades leaving the garrison and running for the city. The king had kept the royal guard at the palace and his best troops were still at the pass. Thus, by the time the orcs arrived from the garrison, the first fighting was over. When all the orcs were within the city, Dar had the gate lowered to lock out King Kregant’s army.
Dar gave orders, and the orcs, except for guards left at the gate, headed for the palace. They passed through the city without harming its terrified inhabitants. As Sevren marched with them, he couldn’t help contrasting the orcs’ behavior with how the king’s men treated captured cities. I chose the right side, he thought.
The palace gates were shut, but only a few archers defended them, and they soon fled. An oak beam was pulled from a building to serve as a battering ram. Before long, the gates lay shattered on the ground and the orcs poured into the palace courtyard. It was eerily quiet. Dar turned to Sevren for an explanation. “Where are the guardsmen?”
“They’ll have retreated to the keep. ’Tis an ancient stronghold, the oldest wing of the palace.
The king will take refuge there, for it can be shut off and easily defended.”
“So, he’ll just sit tight?”
“Aye, and let the common folk fend for themselves until the army retakes the city.”
“That won’t do,” said Dar, fearing that the battle she had hoped to avoid would be merely postponed. “Won’t he parley?”
“Nay. The mage holds sway o’er the king, and he favors bloodshed.”
Dar recalled how Velasa-pah had warned her about the mage. He’s more my enemy than the king. She still didn’t understand how the bones were a greater enemy, but thinking about them gave her an idea. “The mage’s tower doesn’t lie within the keep!”
“Aye, ’tis in the new palace. So what?”
“Then maybe I can force the mage to parley.”
“Na one can force him to do anything, na even the king. How will you manage such a feat?”
“Come with me and find out.”
Dar, in the company of Zna-yat, Kovok-mah, and another orc headed for the palace. Sevren followed, curious what Dar would do. Dar entered the kitchen and peered about. Everyone had fled. Abandoned food cluttered the tables, meat charred on unturned spits, and pots boiled over. Dar headed for the servant passageway.
After a long climb, the five stood inside the dark corridor that led to the mage’s tower. “Will you tell me why we’re here?” asked Sevren.
“The mage may have left something behind, something precious to him.”
“If it’s precious, why would he leave it?”
“Maybe he didn’t,” conceded Dar. “But I’m hoping he thought it would be safe. After all, who would want to pass that door?”
Na I, thought Sevren. Yet he followed Dar into the tower. As he climbed its spiral stairs, he felt that his reticence had been well founded, for he had never encountered a more evil place. The cold and darkness had a foul, unnatural quality that made Sevren’s skin crawl. Even the orcs looked frightened. The stairs ended at a second door, its rusted surface covered with strange runes. Dar pushed it open and stepped into the room beyond.
[Queen of Orcs 02] - Clan Daughter Page 24
