[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny

by Morgan Howell

  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?”

  “You claim Dar did,” replied Valamar.

  “Aye, and she thought it an improvement.”

  “Did you?”

  “’Tis unimportant now.”

  “So, what did the orcs say?”

  “I’m still learning their tongue and lack skill in it, but it seems they know na more than we do. I fear she’s dead. She seemed nearly so when I last saw her.”

  “Since you returned their queen, why wouldn’t the orcs let you stay? That seems common courtesy.”

  “A queen’s death is momentous. To them, I was only some washavoki.”

  “But to question you and turn you out? Your regard for them is overblown. They’re called brutes for a reason.”

  “This summer, who used their own troops as bait? Who pillaged Karm’s Temple? Mayhap orcs are brutes, but they’re honest ones.”

  “I wouldn’t trust an orc,” said Valamar. “Dar addled your wits, and that’s for certain. Still, I’m sorry she’s gone. You were right—she had spirit.”

  Sevren sighed. “Aye, she did.”

  The two men entered the tavern, where Valamar purchased the ale. Sevren, having refused to touch plunder from the temple, was not a copper richer after the summer campaign. He thanked his friend, then raised his flagon. “To Dar, and what she wrought.
To peaceful times.”

  Valamar touched his flagon to Sevren’s. “I’ll drink to your departed love, but peaceful times are lean times. No war means no plunder.”

  “Queen Girta has a treasury.”

  “Just a name for an empty chest. If there’s no campaign, we’ll be threadbare by summer’s end. Men are already leaving. How about you?”

  “I’ve na yet the price of a farm.”

  “Then why did you refuse your summer’s share?”

  “’Twas obtained by sacrilege. You can na buy land with cursed gold. The curse lingers in the purchase.”

  Valamar grinned. “Then you’re drinking cursed ale.”

  “Which I’ll piss away afore sunrise.”

  Valamar’s grin broadened. “That’s the first wise thing you’ve said all evening.”

  Seven

  Dar pushed through snow and brown weed stalks to reach Muth la’s Dome. It was not yet noon, but she wanted to ensure that Meera-yat could reach their meeting place easily. The small stone hemisphere stood in the center of an otherwise empty courtyard. No one had visited it recently, and the surrounding snow was deep and undisturbed. It formed a drift against the dome’s ancient wooden door, which Dar struggled to pull open. In her weakened state, the effort left her panting.

  The dome’s single, circular room was ten paces across and partly below ground level. Dar descended a short set of stairs to reach its stone floor. A small opening in the apex of the ceiling admitted some dim light and an occasional snowflake. Dar gazed about the place that had been the site of her great ordeal and great joy. The room looked undisturbed since her rebirth, although the hole in the floor’s center had been covered by a circular flagstone. Dar wondered if water still filled the hole. If it did, it was surely frozen. The floor about the flagstone bore a dusting of snow, and Dar’s breath condensed each time she exhaled.

  When Dar heard Meera-yat at the doorway, she rushed to help her down the stairs. “Greeting, Mother,” she shouted. “You chose cold place for us to talk. Will you be warm enough?”

  “My comfort is unimportant, Muth Mauk.”

  Dar led Meera-yat to where the floor was free of snow. Meera-yat sat down and Dar huddled next to her. “What has Zor-yat told you about being great mother?” asked Meera-yat.

  The dome’s curved walls enhanced Dar’s voice, so she didn’t have to shout her reply. “Only that I should pass on Fathma.”

  “Did she speak of what would happen afterward?”

  “Thwa, but Nir-yat did.”

  “Nir-yat has good chest. She’s well named,” said Meera-yat. “I assume you wish to keep your spirit.”

  “I’ve work that’s unfinished. I can’t die yet.”

  Meera-yat nodded. “Already, you think like queen. Muth la helped queen choose her successor wisely.”

  “I was only mother present. Queen had no other choice.”

  “Don’t you think that was Muth la’s doing?” asked Meera-yat.

  “Muthuri doesn’t.”

  “I won’t speak ill of your muthuri, but…humph! Well, I’ll tell you what you need to know. Great mother is muthuri to all urkzimmuthi. Remember this, and ruling comes naturally.”

  I’ve never had children, thought Dar. How can I act like a muthuri? She recalled how her human mother dutifully submitted to a man who crushed her spirit. That example provided no guidance. “Your advice sounds wise, but I’ve not lived among urkzimmuthi long,” replied Dar, “and I’ve spent more time with sons than mothers.”

  “Yet you must know Muth la rules world through mothers. Muthuris are like Muth la in their own hanmuthis. Be like them. Show love, require obedience, and…” Meera-yat smiled. “…expect problems. Children aren’t always tranquil, especially daughters. Some will be headstrong. You must be firm.”

  Dar imagined trying to be firm with Zor-yat and Muth-yat. “That won’t be easy.”

  “Everyone expects queen to show path. If you’re confident, they’ll follow.”

  “But how will I show them this path?” asked Dar. Her own dealings with the late queen had been personal and direct. When she had led the orcs against King Kregant, she was surrounded by her troops. Dar had no idea how to rule subjects that lived in distant halls. King Kregant had officials to carry out his commands, which made her wonder if she’d have similar functionaries. “Who will aid me when I rule?”

  “Clan matriarchs and your mintaris.”

  The latter word was unfamiliar. Dar broke it down into “sons” and “bitten.” “I bit Zna-yat’s neck, and his life became mine,” she said. “Is it same with mintaris?”

  “Hai. When son becomes your mintari, his first duty is to you. You come before his clan’s matriarch or even his muthuri. Choosing your mintaris is major decision. It’s best they come from all clans. Gather sons to you, but don’t hurry to bite their necks. See if they’re suitable first. This deed can’t be undone.”

  “How do I gather them?”

  “Ask each clan matriarch to send you unblessed sons to serve you. Two per clan is customary. You can ask for more later.”

  “Who chooses these sons? Matriarch? Or can I name them?”

  “You can name them if you wish.”

  Dar immediately thought of Kovok-mah. “Can son’s muthuri forbid him to go?”

  “Thwa. Besides, it’s honor to be asked.”

  Dar was glad that Meera-yat couldn’t see her smile. Kath-mah can’t keep Kovok-mah from me! “Should I do this soon?”

  “Hai. It will let matriarchs know there is new queen. Then they will gather here for council meeting.”

  “What should I do at this meeting?”

  “Impart what wisdom Muth la has given you.”

  Dar thought that advice was vague to the point of being useless. She envisioned a room full of matriarchs, all much older than she and accustomed to wielding authority. They’ll think I’m an upstart! Dar grew anxious. She suspected Meera-yat smelled her fear, for the ancient mother grasped her hand and squeezed it. “Remember, you have Fathma.”

  “So did great mothers who drank Muth la’s Draught and died.”

  “It’s rare for Council of Matriarchs to question queen’s fitness, and rarer still for them to call for Draught. Didn’t you say you have unfinished work? I believe Muth la will permit you to complete it.”

  It occurred to Dar that her sole purpose might be to bring Fathma back to the orcs and someone with more experience should implement the treaty. If that’s the case, I’ll be deemed unfit. Dar wondered what would happen if she refused to drink Muth la’s Draught. She suspected it would be futile.

  “It’ll take a while for matriarchs to arrive,” said Meera-yat. “Muth-goth’s hall is far away.”

  “Muth-pah’s hall is even farther.”

  “Why do you speak of Muth-pah? Pah clan is lost.”

  “That’s not so. I’ve stayed with Pah clan and met Muth-pah. Together, we entered darkness to receive visions.”

  Meera-yat didn’t immediately reply, but her agitated expression made Dar uneasy. “You entered darkness? What happened afterward?”

  “Muth-pah said world had changed.”

  “Oh my! And you’re queen now! Oh my!”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Woe that I should live unto this time!”

  “Won’t you help me?” asked Dar, perplexed by Meera-yat’s abrupt change.

  “Help you? Never! How could I?”

  Meera-yat struggled to her feet and began a shuffling search for the stairs. Dar rose to help her. “Please, Mother, tell me what’s upset you.”

  “I must go. Help me to door, then let me be. I’ll find my way.”

  Dar could do little more than comply, for the elderly mother refused to speak further. After Meera-yat left, Dar remained inside the dome, feeling alarmed and mystified. Zor-yat and Muth-yat had also learned about her visit to the Pah clan, and they had seemed undisturbed by the news. Dar pondered why it had upset Meera-yat. It was possible that she knew somet
hing Muth-yat and Zor-yat didn’t. There seemed little hope of finding out what it was. It was also possible that circumstances had changed since Dar first told her story. One change was obvious. I’m queen now. Dar wondered for how long.

  Dar was about to leave the room when she spotted someone sitting in its shadows. The discovery startled her, for she was certain that the dome had been empty when she entered it. Using her most authoritative tone, she addressed the stranger, who appeared as little more than a shadowy shape. “Reveal yourself. What are you doing here?”

  The figure rose and advanced. The light revealed a frail old man with a long white beard. He was dressed in a tattered gray robe. Dar gazed at him, awestruck. “Velasa-pah?”

  The wizard’s deeply lined face was solemn. He bowed, then spoke in the human tongue. “Beware the bones.”

  “The bones were destroyed,” said Dar.

  Velasa-pah seemed about to reply when a stone block crashed onto the floor. Dar looked upward. The hole in the ceiling was no longer circular. Its edge had a gap like a missing tooth, and the sky beyond had an orange tinge. As Dar gazed at the ceiling, a second stone fell. Then the hole in the ceiling continued to enlarge as the stone blocks encircling it loosened and tumbled down. The entire dome threatened to collapse. Dar dashed out the door to avoid being crushed.

  She emerged into a courtyard surrounded by fire. The entire clan hall was ablaze. Huge sheets of flame rose high into the sky, turning it black with smoke. The rumble of falling stones, but no voices, accompanied the fire’s crackle and roar. The heat was searing. Already, the snow in the courtyard had melted and the weeds were smoldering. Dar heard a grinding noise behind her. She turned to see Muth la’s Dome tumble down. The entire hall seemed in danger of doing the same.

  “Muth Mauk!” called a voice. Dar turned toward the sound and saw Deen-yat emerging from the burning hall. She seemed calm. “You shouldn’t be outside in cold,” said the healer, her tone mildly scolding. “Come inside.”