[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny

by Morgan Howell

  Nir-yat sighed and bowed. “Then at least you should ask for Togu-mah also.”

  Later that morning, sons left the Yat clan hall bearing messages to the clan matriarchs. None went to the Lost Clan, so Muth-goth’s hall was the most distant destination. Three sons left on that long journey, which took nearly a moon in the summertime. In winter, the way was too perilous for a solitary traveler. The other clans were less difficult to reach, and only one messenger was sent to each.

  Muth-yat watched the messengers depart from the window of her hanmuthi, then turned to Zor-yat. “Nir-yat visited me earlier today with Muth Mauk’s request for mintaris.”

  “Muth Mauk!” said Zor-yat in a bitter tone. “She’ll always be Dargu to me!”

  Muth-yat smiled at her sister’s petulance. “Still, we must call her Muth Mauk. You should know that your son was on her list.”

  “That’s no surprise. She’s bitten Zna-yat’s neck already.”

  “She also named Nagtha-yat.”

  “Strange choice.”

  “Wise choice,” said Muth-yat. “Another was less wise.”

  “Who?”

  Muth-yat grinned. “Kovok-mah.”

  Zor-yat’s face lit up. “Kovok-mah! Are you sure?”

  “Nir-yat told me only because Muth Mauk had not forbidden it.”

  “Why would she forbid it? Everyone will know soon enough.” Zor-yat’s grin broadened. “Kath-mah will be furious!”

  “Perhaps Muth Mauk thinks Kovok-mah’s muthuri will change her mind.”

  “Then she doesn’t know Kath-mah! This is good news, Sister.”

  “It’s as I hoped,” said Muth-yat. “Muth Mauk’s foolishness will quickly end her reign. Our hall will be saved.”

  “So Kovok-mah will dwell within royal hanmuthi. Every moment, Dargu will be tempted.”

  “Once before, she risked her life to be with him,” added Muth-yat.

  “Then, she had to journey to Taiben,” said Zor-yat. She smiled. “This time, she’ll need only to cross her hanmuthi.”

  “That won’t happen if Nir-yat’s there. Zor, you must forgive Nir-yat and make her welcome in your hanmuthi.”

  Zor-yat frowned. “She chose Dargu over me!”

  “That doesn’t matter. Make peace with Nir-yat. And for our hall’s sake, you must make peace with Muth Mauk, too. If she feels secure, she’ll be less cautious.”

  Sevren made his way along Taiben’s darkening streets. They were nearly deserted, for the plague of thieves continued unabated. He kept a watchful eye, knowing that the robbers would attack even a guardsman. Word had it that they were unskilled assailants, but fearless and dogged. He arrived at the sand ice merchant’s house without incident and knocked on its door. A peephole slid open. A moment later, the door was unlocked, and a gray-haired man bade him enter.

  The modest house was both a home and shop, and the merchant’s wares were everywhere. The sand ice vessels, all of orcish make, sparkled in the firelight. They seemed to Sevren like icicles made by magic. It was a sight that never failed to enchant him. “Tava, Sevren,” said the man. Hello, Sevren. “Sutak fu ala keem suth?” Have you come for more learning?

  “Hai, Thamus, tep pahav pi daku urksaam.” Yes, Thamus, and to speak of other things.

  “Atham?” What?

  “Ma kramav…” I fear…Sevren halted. “Let’s speak in our tongue tonight.”

  “You’ll never learn Orcish that way.”

  “I know, but there’s a matter that worries me, something too important to speak about unskillfully.”

  “I’m only a sand ice merchant, weighty matters aren’t my province.”

  “But you know the urkzimmuthi,” said Sevren. “You not only speak their tongue, you’re welcome in their halls.”

  “Aye, they extend me that honor, but that doesn’t make me wise.”

  “I think you know more about them than anyone in Taiben.”

  Thamus laughed. “That’s saying little.”

  “It’s about Queen Girta’s urkzimmuthi guard. Would they revolt against her?”

  “Didn’t their queen pledge their loyalty?”

  “Aye, but she was deathly ill.”

  “That makes no difference. The sons will remain true to her word.”

  “But what if they’re pushed to revolt?”

  “Treachery goes against their nature. All double-dealing does. When I’m in their halls, I’ve no need for locked chests. Only here…”

  “I do na doubt their honesty,” said Sevren. “I’m worried about their tolerance. They’re na treated well. They’re called Palace Piss Eyes and Girta’s Goblins.”

  “Even if they understood those insults, it wouldn’t sway them. Their loyalty is to their queen, not ours. Yet I take it things aren’t going well.”

  “I think Queen Girta fears her guard. I know she neglects them. They were to be housed properly, so their own women could join them. Yet no steps have been taken.”

  “That’s shortsighted. Has no one told our queen that?”

  “I’ve tried, but she complains of the expense. Courtiers sway her from her true interests. I fear the cause is lost without Dar to speak to her, queen-to-queen.”

  “Any news of Dar?”

  “None,” said Sevren, his eyes mournful. “I fear the worst.”

  “She’s the reason why you wanted to learn Orcish.”

  “Aye, but she wasn’t a queen then. I still thought I had a chance with her.”

  “Even after your hopes were dashed, you’ve persisted with your lessons. Why?”

  “With orcs living in the palace, it seems prudent to understand them.” Sevren smiled. “And Thamus, I like your company. Court’s a nest of vipers. It’s good to talk with an honest man.”

  “Shashav, Sevren. Gu fwilak ma pahi ta tha.” Thank you, Sevren. It pleases me to speak with you.

  It was dark when Sevren left Thamus’ house, and he carried his sword unsheathed while returning to the palace. Once, he heard furtive footsteps, but they faded into the distance. The unsafe streets seemed to him another sign that things were awry. There was something abroad that made Sevren uneasy, although he couldn’t say what it was. He had hoped that the death of Kregant and his mage, coupled with the new treaty, would usher in better times. Instead, men grumbled and rumors abounded. It seemed likely that Dar’s sacrifice had been for naught.

  Thamus’ assurance that the orcs would be steadfast should have encouraged Sevren, but he still worried. Queen Girta’s orc guards were her best deterrent against usurpers; yet she shrank from them. A woman beleaguered by rats should na shun cats. But Girta did, and Sevren feared her enemies would thrive.

  Things have gone sour, Sevren thought. I should be moving on. He couldn’t imagine where. His purse remained short of the price for a farm, but he didn’t wish to soldier in Luvein again. In truth, he still clung to the hope that Dar lived. His dream of taking her to Averen seemed utterly lost—sand ice dropped on a stone floor. Yet the memory of it bound him to Taiben until he knew Dar’s fate.

  Sixteen

  Despite her words to the contrary, Dar worried that Nir-yat was right, and it was foolish to call for Kovok-mah. Dar knew that, even as queen, she couldn’t gainsay his muthuri. Dar could make Kovok-mah serve her, but only Kath-mah could bless their union. Dar wasn’t even sure if he could touch her without his muthuri’s permission. She thought he probably could, but further intimacies would be a major transgression. So why torment myself? Dar’s reason was simple. She was tormented already.

  Dar believed that she was urkzimmuthi because of Kovok-mah. Even when they first met, he knew she was different. He had taught her Orcish, healed her wounds, and protected her from the washavoki soldiers. When she incited the orcs to desert, he followed her leadership. He said she made him feel secure. And then, in Tarathank’s ruins, he had given her love. It was his love that made Dar feel truly urkzimmuthi—more than her crown or even her rebirth—because it had preceded both. No washavoki has ever received such lo
ve as I have.

  But Kovok-mah’s love was denied her because his muthuri wanted granddaughters. Dar knew they would bring Kath-mah more status than a son’s marriage to a queen. Though Dar felt a muthuri should care more about her son’s happiness, Kath-mah didn’t, and there was little Dar could do about it. That brought Dar back to her dilemma: She could keep Kovok-mah by her side, but he must stay aloof. Dar didn’t know which would be worse—having him close or not having him at all. Her chest wanted him close. Her head told her that was foolhardy.

  The evening of her third feast, Dar was often distracted by thoughts of Kovok-mah. She had already calculated how long it would take her message to reach Muth-mah and how soon Kovok-mah might arrive. The hanmuthi Dar was hosting that night was headed by a muthuri who was scarcely older than she. Yet the muthuri already had three daughters, none of whom was old enough to serve. Her hanmuthi also included two elderly aunts and their families. Clearly discontented, they reminded Dar of Kath-mah.

  Despite drinking too much falfhissi, Dar slept fitfully after the feast. The next morning, she woke with a headache. After chewing a washuthahi seed to ease her hangover, she went to see the lorekeeper. Dar was still taking lessons in reading and writing, but that wasn’t the reason for her visit. Nevertheless, Dar practiced her writing awhile before asking what she wanted to know. “Can reborn mothers have children?”

  Yev-yat responded by stroking the lines of her clan tattoo. “Interesting question,” she said after a long pause. She continued stroking her chin awhile, then rose and began pulling deetpahis from the shelves. She returned with an armload and read through several before pointing to a passage. “Here’s tale of washavoki son who was reborn as Hunda-pah. He and mother named Dir-tab were blessed. There is no Tab clan now.”

  “Is it lost like Pah clan?” asked Dar.

  “Thwa, they’re all dead. Before washavokis came, there were thirteen clans. Now there are only eight, nine if you count Pah clan. But I digress. Here.” Yev-yat pointed to a passage. “Dir-tab bore son named Tak-tab.” Yev-yat read silently a while. “It says he looked strange.”

  “How?” asked Dar.

  “It doesn’t say.” Yev-yat read some more. “Later he was killed.”

  “By who?”

  “Some washavoki that was kin to Hunda-yat’s washavoki parents.”

  “But Dir-tab was born urkzimmuthi,” said Dar. “Does any deetpahi speak of reborn mothers who bore children?”

  The question prompted another bout of reading and more visits to the stacks of deetpahis. Dar waited patiently as the lorekeeper sought the answer. At last, Yev-yat spoke again. “No one has been reborn for long time, and much wisdom has been lost. I’ve found tales of three reborn mothers, but only one was blessed. She was Deen-jan and she lived near Tarathank. Perhaps she had child, but that child may have been her sister. Tale is unclear about this.” The lorekeeper gathered up the deetpahis. “Why did you ask that question?”

  Dar’s face reddened. “I hope to have daughters.”

  “What mother doesn’t?”

  Tolum Kol made his first appearance in court at one of its frequent banquets. Girta’s feasts were neither as lavish nor as well attended as her late husband’s, but the ambitious came. As they milled about, all noted the new officer on General Voltar’s staff. Word was out that he was an expert on orcs, and that information spurred a round of speculation. Some thought the tolum was there to curb the orcs. Others believed he was their advocate. Many wondered if he was being groomed as the new Queen’s Man.

  The consensus among the ladies was that Tolum Kol cut a dashing figure. He was deemed handsome in a rugged way and many commented on his piercing blue eyes. The men who regarded him a likely rival took comfort in his lack of noble birth. They found his confident demeanor unsettling, despite his courtesy.

  Prior to the formal seating, courtiers could approach Queen Girta with petitions and other business. Those that did found her distracted. She was worried about her son, who had been withdrawn since his father’s death and prone to night terrors. Orc guards stood silently behind the queen, casting a pall over the entire gathering. Young Kregant III seemed terrified by them. He fidgeted anxiously by his mother’s side while she listened to petitions with half an ear.

  General Voltar waited for a lull, then approached the queen. “Your Majesty,” he said with a bow. “May I introduce my new staff officer, Tolum Kol.”

  “Your Majesty,” said Kol, bowing deeply, all the while keeping his gaze on Girta.

  “He knows a thing or two about piss eyes,” said General Voltar.

  “That’s useful,” replied the queen in an absent manner.

  The general seemed about to say something more when Kol touched his sleeve. Voltar bowed instead, and the two men departed to be replaced by a count with some grievance. Queen Girta didn’t think of Tolum Kol again until the banquet was nearly over and her son slumbered fitfully on his miniature throne. Then all she could recall were his eyes and how assured they looked.

  While Girta thought of Tolum Kol’s eyes, Dar’s feast was also winding down. She had arrived late from visiting the lorekeeper and had been barely ready when her guests arrived. The family she hosted that night was even larger than Tauma-yat’s, and serving everyone was time-consuming. As on the previous night, Dar was distracted by thoughts of Kovok-mah, but she put on a good effort and thought the night had gone well.

  After the falfhissi urn had made its way around the room several times, a son who was feeling its effects called Dar “Muth Velavash” and spoke of how she had blessed him before a battle. Dar didn’t recognize him, but the orcs had been helmeted while waiting to attack. He bowed low to Dar, then commenced to sing the lament for the slain. Fortunately, a mother made him stop after the first thirteen verses. The feast ended shortly afterward.

  When the guests had departed, Nir-yat spoke to Dar. “Thir’s returning tomorrow. Muthuri told me.”

  Dar didn’t know what pleased her more—that she would see her young sister again or that Zor-yat was speaking to Nir-yat. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  “You were busy,” replied Nir-yat. “And, Sister—Muthuri’s no longer mad at me. She called me wise because I foresaw you would be good queen.”

  “She said I was good queen?” said Dar.

  “Hai,” replied Nir-yat, beaming. “She said it’s become common wisdom.”

  Dar wished she shared her sister’s satisfaction, but she didn’t. Like most orcs, Nir-yat didn’t grasp deception, which made her incapable of cynicism. That wasn’t the case with Dar, who was convinced that Zor-yat played loose with the truth. Muthuri has worked against me up to now. Why this sudden change? Dar didn’t voice her doubts to her sister. She merely smiled, though inwardly she felt wary.

  The following day, Tolum Kol entered Thamus’ shop and was greeted by its owner. “Good morning, sir. May I help you?”

  “I’m looking for a gift. Something for a lady.”

  “A special item? Perhaps something that speaks of romance?”

  Kol smiled. “You guess rightly.”

  “Then you’ve come to the right place. I sell only orcish wares.”

  Kol acted surprised. “Orcish?”

  “They do the finest work,” said Thamus, holding up a delicate vase. “Note its clarity and the perfection of its form. This is true sand ice, not the cloudy and lumpy stuff we make.”

  “Is it expensive?”

  “I must journey to their halls, no easy trip. And the road’s not gentle to fragile wares.”

  Kol smiled amiably. “Which is to say they’re dear.”

  “I’ve some pieces that cost only a few silvers.” Thamus selected a tiny, stoppered vial from a shelf. “Rose sand ice. Perfect for perfume. Five silvers.”

  Same as the bounty for a branded woman’s head, thought Kol. He held the piece near a window to examine its color and nodded appreciatively. “You trade directly with the orcs?”

  “Aye.”

  “Do y
ou speak their language and know their ways?”

  “I do.”

  “Then this is a happy meeting. I’ve been posted to our queen’s court, where ignorance abounds about her new orc guards.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “It’s an ignorance that I regret I share. I fear provoking my orcish comrades through some misunderstanding. If I knew their speech and customs, I could avoid that. Perhaps you’d tutor me.” Kol produced a gold coin. “I’d pay you.”

  Thamus eyed the gold. “That’s a lot for a few lessons.”

  Kol smiled. “Not really. Peace is priceless.”

  Thamus accepted the coin, but insisted it also paid for the perfume vial. Afterward, he commenced with Kol’s lessons. The two spent the entire day together, and by its end, Kol was aware of how little he had known about orcs. Throughout his years in the regiment, he had regarded them as talking cattle—bulls, and just as dangerous. As a murdant, he had known how to avoid provoking them and that was all. Dealing with the piss eyes was an officer’s job. Kol had concentrated on mastering soldiers, horses, and women.

  Tolum Kol had expected to learn a few useful Orcish phrases and some facts to bolster his claim of expertise. In addition to these things, he acquired far more valuable information. For the first time, he saw how Dar had bested him. Piss eyes are ruled by their women, and Dar acted like a piss eye bitch. Kol conceded it was a clever ploy. Thamus had also related how Dar had become the orcs’ queen, for a guardsman in his acquaintance had witnessed the event. Kol remembered the guardsman’s name and decided to keep an eye on him. When Thamus praised the orcs’ honesty and their devotion to their ruler, Kol saw both as weaknesses. Honest men are easier to trick, he thought, and devotion makes them vulnerable. He reasoned the same was true with orcs.

  When Kol departed the shop at dusk, he didn’t look forward to his next lesson. He found that day’s session tedious enough, and his tutor’s admiration of orcs annoyed him. Thoughts of Thamus prompted Kol to remove the perfume vial from his jerkin and examine it in the dying light. It seemed too delicate to be made by brutes. Yet Kol had come to see that the brutes possessed similar fragility. He didn’t understand Fathma, but he grasped its most crucial point: If Dar was captured, her realm would be imperiled. If she died in captivity, it was likely to collapse. Kol threw the vial against a wall, shattering it. Then he returned to court.