Kovok-mah looked to the washavoki queen, puzzled that she would let a son speak for her. Yet she didn’t seem upset by his presumption. “It’s only for a little while,” she said.
Kovok-mah pondered his options. While he thought that Dargu would be displeased with the arrangement, he felt he lacked the authority to refuse it. “When must we move to these halls?”
“This afternoon,” said the queen.
Twenty-five
As latath for the Yat clan, Jvar-yat tattooed the chins of its members with the clan mark. She also prepared the black coloring used to create that mark, and her skills didn’t end there. She distilled fermented pashi, steeping washuthahi seeds and honey in the burning water to make falfhissi. She prepared ink for the lorekeeper and talmauki for the great mother. She also mixed dyes and made healing extracts. She did all this in a special chamber, which was where Muth-yat found her.
Jvar-yat set aside the mineral that she was pulverizing into powder and rose when Muth-yat entered. “Greetings, Matriarch.”
Muth-yat bowed, for the chamber was the latath’s domain. “You must make something for Council of Matriarchs.”
“What is it?”
“Muth la’s Draught.”
Jvar-yat’s expression reflected her shock, but she replied calmly. “When do you require it?”
“In five days.”
“Five days! This draught is brewed from yew seeds. It’s winter, and most have fallen.”
“Have you none stored?”
“I’ve never made Muth la’s Draught. Neither did latath before me. Yew seeds have no use except to make this brew.”
“Yet we need it and need it soon,” said Muth-yat. “Go into forest and find what you require. I’ll also need small stones. Seven green. Seven black.”
Jvar bowed. “Hai, Matriarch. I’ll leave this morning.”
“Good,” said Muth-yat as she departed.
The latath regarded the flat stone on her worktable. Its surface was covered with a grayish green powder from the mineral she had been pulverizing. Using a feather, she carefully brushed the powder onto another flat stone with a finer surface. Jvar-yat added a little mutton fat to the powder and used a flat-faced pestle to grind the two into a green paste.
Jvar-yat regarded the result of her effort. The tiny batch of talmauki would only last eight days. She recalled needling the clan mark on Dargu-yat’s chin just that summer and sighed. It had been a joyous occasion. Giving tattoos is always happy work. How unlike making poison. As she carefully scraped the talmauki into a stone vessel, Jvar-yat sighed again. Eight days’ worth will be more than enough.
Sevren rode out of Taiben, wearing clothes he had borrowed from Thamus. A scarf shielded his lower face from the winter winds and the eyes of the black-garbed men who manned the gates. Sevren kept Skymere at a trot until they reached the orc road. Then he spurred him to a gallop, assuming that Zna-yat was already traveling toward the pass. The empty road was mostly clear of snow and the former royal guardsman had little difficulty catching up with the walking orc. When Sevren spied him, he called out, “Geenat! Geenat!” Wait! Wait!
Zna-yat halted. When Sevren pulled up beside him, Zna-yat said, “Ga da-sutat.” You came.
As usual, Zna-yat used the genderless pronoun that referred to animals, rather than the masculine one. The habit had always bothered Sevren, and he decided it was time to speak up. “Kam pahak ‘ga’?” Why say “it”? “Ma nav thwa ‘ga.’” I am not “it.”
Zna-yat regarded Sevren. “Ga nat washavoki.” You are washavoki.
Sevren replied in Orcish, the only language Zna-yat spoke. “Your queen is also washavoki.”
“Muth Mauk is not! She only appears washavoki to those who know not her spirit.”
“And you know it?”
“Hai. Muth Mauk is possessed by Muth la. Even when she was Dargu, she followed Muth la’s path.”
“I know her spirit also.”
“I think not,” said Zna-yat. “Tell me, Sev-ron, is she pretty?”
“Hai.”
“That is why she fills your chest. You desire her washavoki body.”
“Does not Kovok-mah?”
“He finds her ugly. As do I.”
“Yet he wants her,” said Sevren. “Why?”
“I cannot speak for him. I am drawn by her goodness.”
“You love her, too?”
“You will sniff no atur about me. Mine is not that kind of love.” Zna-yat paused and reflected. “Dargu has been touched by divinity. That is why she repaid my wickedness with sacrifice. Her deeds inspire reverence, and I have given her my life.”
Sevren was unable to follow everything that Zna-yat said, but the orc’s face bespoke his devotion. “I see more in Dargu than her pretty,” said Sevren. “I have not words to say it. Big spirit, maybe.”
“Sev-ron, she is above you.”
“I know. Still, I want to see her. Can you understand?”
Zna-yat gazed at Sevren as if he were some unexpected curiosity. “Hai,” he said finally.
Zna-yat walked silently awhile, lost in reflection, before he spoke again. “Sev-ron, I once hated Dargu. I called Kovok-mah foolish for naming her ‘she’ and not ‘it.’ I will not call you ‘it’ again.”
“Shashav, Zna-yat.”
Queen Girta stood by a large window that overlooked the palace courtyard to watch the orcs depart for their new quarters. Wrapped in rusty iron, they marched in an orderly rectangle of massive bodies. To Girta, it seemed as if a patch of earth had upped and was walking away. She felt relieved by their departure, but vaguely disquieted also. Girta tried to dismiss her ambivalence as foolish, yet it remained.
The Queen’s Man moved to her side. “That room they occupied will need a thorough scrubbing,” he said. “It’s black from soot. And the floor’s beyond saving, hacked with that circle and scored by foot claws.”
“Are the women who serve the orcs moving out also?”
“Yes,” said Kol. “It’ll be more convenient for them to live in the garrison.”
“I want them housed comfortably. Dar may have lied about most things, but not how the regiments treated women.”
“They’ll fare nicely. I’ve seen to it.”
“The orcs won’t…” Girta blushed. “…you know…take liberties with them, now that they’re out of sight?”
“I’ve thought of that,” said Kol. “The women will bolt their door at night and I’ve stationed Queen’s Men in the old garrison, too. The orcs will cause no mischief.”
“I’m pleased you’ve been so thorough,” said the queen. She was just about to leave the window when she saw a formation of black-garbed men enter the courtyard. There were two dozen of them, marching two abreast in a column. It wasn’t the men who caught her eye, but the small figure dressed in black and gold marching beside them. He seemed to be directing their movements. “Is that my son?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. The prince is drilling your guard.”
“When did he start doing that?”
“He’ll be king someday. He should grow accustomed to commanding men.”
Girta watched the pale winter sunlight glint off the abundant gold on the prince’s uniform. “I don’t want him playing soldier.”
“The Queen’s Men aren’t troops. They’re your protectors. It’s natural for your son to want you safe. After all, his father was murdered.”
“Don’t explain the prince to me. I’m his mother.”
Kol’s face reddened, but his expression remained calm and humble. He bowed. “I’m sorry if I indulged the lad. He was so keen to learn. It won’t happen again.”
Girta glanced out the window. The column changed direction, bending like an angular snake. She faintly heard her son shout, and the column changed direction again. “No, no, he needn’t stop,” she said. “If it gives him pleasure, what’s the harm?”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
General Kol’s always compliant, thought Girta, so why don�
�t I feel in control? She watched as the last of the orcs passed through the gates. She had wished them to dwell outside the palace, and henceforth they would. She thought she should feel safer, but she didn’t.
The snow upon the road grew deeper as Zna-yat and Sevren ascended toward the pass. Their goal was visible but distant, a narrow cut in a nearly vertical ridge. “Urkzimmuthi made that?” asked Sevren in an attempt to engage Zna-yat in conversation.
“Hai.”
“Why?”
“Because they were foolish.”
Sevren rode in silence a while before he asked. “How were they foolish?”
“They thought washavokis had changed.”
“In what way?”
“They believed washavokis had grown tired of killing. Great Washavoki wanted sand ice, yellow iron, wood, and even pashi. It would trade copper, iron, and milkstone for them.”
“Heavy goods,” said Sevren. “So you built road?”
“Hai. Some washavokis helped.”
“Then what happened? This road is used little.”
“Great Washavoki died and its son became Great Washavoki. That son was good. When it died, its son was bad.”
“Kregant the Second.”
“I do not know its name, only that it liked to take, not trade. Then no wagons traveled road. Only sons to kill for Great Washavoki.”
“I wished to serve his father,” said Sevren. “When I come, father dead.”
“I think Kreegan-tesekun was like most of its kind. Washavokis like killing.”
Sevren saw little point in arguing. What has Zna-yat seen except our wars?
The two reached the pass by late afternoon. Beyond the ridge, the road headed downward, but the snow upon it was much deeper. Sevren was forced to dismount and lead Skymere along the trail that Zna-yat broke. The snow reached Sevren’s waist and the drifts were frequently taller than his head. Without the orc in front, he probably would have turned back.
Progress was slow, and the travelers were still far from the Yat clan hall when darkness fell. Sevren suspected that Zna-yat would have continued walking were it not for him. Yet it was the orc who suggested that they halt for the night. They found a sheltered spot on the wooded mountain and set up a camp. Zna-yat snapped off tree limbs for firewood while Sevren tended to his horse. Soon they had a fire going. When Sevren saw that Zna-yat planned to dine on cold leftover roots, he insisted that the orc share the bread and cheese he had brought. They melted snow for herb water, which Sevren augmented with brandy. Zna-yat took a tentative sip. “This is like falfhissi.” He smiled. “Feast food. It warms you.”
“We will need it this night,” said Sevren, pulling his cloak tighter. He gazed at the dark mountain. “I was here with Muth Mauk. I thought she was dying. I was very sad.”
Zna-yat took another gulp of brandy, then regarded Sevren, whose scent of atur had grown stronger.
“She looked at me like she saw my spirit,” continued Sevren. “Could she do that?”
“Perhaps. She is no ordinary mother.”
“Hai.” Sevren took another swig of brandy and stared into the flames awhile. “Zna-yat, you were wrong. I love not her body. I mean, not only. We never…” Sevren didn’t know the word. “Just…” He made a kissing sound. “And not many. I love her big good spirit.”
“I understand. You should see Muth Mauk. But it will be hard for you.”
“Hai. I think this also.”
The following morning, Sevren and Zna-yat rose at dawn and continued their journey. They reached the Yat clan hall early in the afternoon. Once there, Zna-yat left his companion in a chamber close to the hall’s entrance, for he thought Dar would want some warning of Sevren’s arrival. Then Zna-yat went to the royal hanmuthi, where he was greeted by Nir-yat. “Brother, it pleases me to see you!”
“Your sight fills my chest, Sister. It’ll be good to sit and talk, but first I must see Muth Mauk.”
“She’s with lorekeeper,” replied Nir-yat, her expression growing somber. “She wishes to write her tale before council meets.”
“I’ve news from Taiben, and Sev-ron came with me.”
“I’ll tell her you’re here,” said Nir-yat. Then she hurried from the room.
Dar returned with Nir-yat soon afterward. She smiled when she saw Zna-yat, but he thought she looked troubled. “May Muth la bless you, Zna-yat. I hear that you have news. And where’s Sevren?”
“He waits nearby. Perhaps you will wish to greet him in Great Chamber, so he might see what you’ve become.”
Dar smiled, appreciating Zna-yat’s shrewdness. “That’s good idea.” Then she impulsively hugged Zna-yat. “I’ve missed you, Brother.”
“I’ve missed you also.” When Dar released him, Zna-yat noticed that her eyes had filled with water.
“So what news?” asked Dar. “How’s treaty going?”
“Bah Simi is Queen’s Man.”
“What!” Zna-yat watched Dar’s face grow red as the scent of her anger turned the air pungent. “That stupid…” Dar began to speak in the washavoki tongue. Although Zna-yat didn’t understand the words, they were said in a hard, wrathful way. Then Dar switched back to Orcish. “How could Girta be so foolish? There should be no Queen’s Man. No washavoki can speak for me. Do sons obey him?”
“Thwa, only washavokis who wear black. Red-and-blue washavokis are no more. Queen’s Man has cast them out. Sev-ron can explain it.”
“Are urkzimmuthi treated with honor?”
“Very little. Woe mans serve us, but food is poor. Our chamber is barely suitable.”
“Do sons still guard washavoki great mother?”
“Hai. But I’m told black washavokis will guard her also.”
“What’s your impression of Taiben?” asked Dar.
“I think we aren’t welcome. Quengirta fears us.”
“It’s Bah Simi she should fear,” said Dar. “She doesn’t understand him.”
“But you do,” said Zna-yat. “Perhaps you can give her wisdom.”
“Thwa,” replied Dar. “In four days, I think urkzimmuthi will have different queen. It’ll be her task to deal with washavokis.”
Dar was enthroned when Sevren was brought to the Great Chamber. His escort departed immediately, leaving him alone with Dar. He stood gaping at her until she said “May Muth la bless you” in the human tongue.
Sevren suddenly remembered that he should bow. “Shashav, Muth Mauk.”
“Pahav tha Pahmuthi dup?” Do you speak Orcish now?
“Ke.” Little. “I do much better in our tongue.”
“Your tongue,” said Dar. “Merz pah nak Pahmuthi.” My tongue is Orcish.
“Of course. I meant your former tongue.”
Having grown accustomed to the orcish manner of dress, Dar was unprepared for its effect on Sevren. She was annoyed that he stared at her green-painted nipples, and her tone reflected it when she asked, “Why are you here?”
“There’s trouble in Taiben.”
“I know.”
“And Dar…I had to see you.”
“So now you have, breasts and all.”
Sevren’s face reddened. “I…I…”
“You used to be more eloquent.”
“My heart has overcome my wits. I thought you’d died.”
Dar recalled her last ride with Sevren. Near death, she had been able to peer at his spirit and understand its secrets. Her annoyance melted as she realized he was still burdened with love. “I’m too harsh,” she said in a softer voice. “You’ve come a long way for so poor a welcome.” Dar adjusted her kefs so that one covered her chest, then descended from the throne. “Zna-yat says that Kol is Queen’s Man now. What does Girta think she’s doing?”
“Whatever it is, I do na know. The royal guard has been disbanded, replaced by the Queen’s Men. I’m only a watchman now.”
“I had hoped that you’d returned to Averen and become a farmer.”
“That dream’s still beyond my means. And less sweet now that
you won’t…”
“Don’t speak of it,” said Dar quickly.
“Aye, there’s na point.”
“No, there isn’t.”
“Since Queen Girta does na require my service, I’d like to offer it to you,” said Sevren. “Your orcs keep to themselves and know little of what stirs in Taiben. I could prove useful.”
Dar sighed and walked over to the window. Sevren followed her, but she kept her gaze fixed on the snow-covered mountains. “Your offer’s untimely,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Why?”
“I won’t be queen much longer. A few days at most.”
“You’re abdicating?” asked Sevren, feeling hopeful but confused.
“Not exactly. The Council of Matriarchs will meet soon, and I’m certain they’ll make me drink Muth la’s Draught. It’s a test of fitness. The queen drinks poison, and if she lives, she’s meant to rule. But no queen has ever lived.”
“They plan to murder you?”
“I don’t think they see it that way. They believe that Muth la will save me if they’ve made a mistake. Of course, they don’t think they have.”
“If Muth la would save anyone, it’d be you.”
“She doesn’t work that way. Did she save Twea? Or the orcs in the ambush? Muth la doesn’t change the world for our sake; she expects us to change it for hers.”
“Then leave with me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why? You’re na docile. I can na see you just waiting to die.”
“I belong here.”
“The orcs do na seem to think so.”
“You’re wrong about that.”
“Well, if their matriarchs will na have you, there’s na point in staying.”
“Fathma holds me here. The urkzimmuthi are my children, and their queens’ memories have become mine.”
“That makes na sense.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“So you’re just going to sacrifice yourself for the sake of a few memories?”
“They’re my memories, too, and the next queen shall have them.”
“For Karm’s sake, Dar. Come away with me.”
“For Muth la’s sake, I won’t. Fathma was her gift, and I must pass it on. The last queen died so I might receive it. Can I do anything less?”
[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny Page 16
