[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny

by Morgan Howell

  “Your Majesty, I told her of your welcome and then stated that the banquet was for her alone.”

  “And?”

  “She replied that she was unaware tonight’s occasion was an intimate dinner between two monarchs.”

  “Did you tell her that it’s indeed a feast?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” said Lokung. “She said, in that case, she would extend courtesy in kind and bid you journey to her hall to dine alone among her followers. After that, she stated that she expected royal treatment for both her and her retinue. Then she added that if she did not receive it, she would withdraw her guards and leave.”

  “How did you reply?”

  “In truth, Your Majesty, I was dumbfounded by her insolence. Then she said that if none could speak the Orcish tongue, I should address your orc guards myself and say these words ‘Futh Muth Mauk pahak sutuk. Kutuk ma,’ and then lead them to her.”

  Girta turned to General Kol. “Do you understand that Orcish?”

  “Not entirely,” said Kol. “‘Muth Mauk’ means Great Mother and ‘sutuk’ means ‘come.’ I think ‘Kutuk ma’ is ‘Follow me.’”

  Girta addressed her steward. “Then say those words to my orc guards, so I’ll be rid of them.”

  “No!” said Kol a little too loudly, adding “Your Majesty” only as an afterthought. Apparently chagrined by his outburst, he bowed humbly to the queen. “Pardon my ferventness, but I fear that would play into Dar’s hands. Wouldn’t it be better to feast her and discover her mind?”

  Girta sighed. “Even if that means receiving all her brutes?”

  “The Queen’s Men will keep a watchful eye. You’ll be safe, I promise.”

  When the palace gates opened, Dar was uncertain who would appear—hostile soldiers, two dismissed orc guards, or Girta’s mealymouthed steward. Though she would have preferred to avoid the banquet, she was relieved to see the steward rather than soldiers. The game’s still on, she thought.

  Lokung bowed low. “My humblest apologies, Your Majesty. Poor fool that I am, I misspoke my queen’s words. Of course she wished to honor all your party. I will lead you and them to the banquet hall.”

  Dar suppressed a smile at the steward’s blatant lie. “I’m pleased she caught your error. Lead the way.”

  While working in the palace kitchen, Dar had brought food to the banquet hall, but she had reached it by the hidden servant passageway. She had never entered the large and opulent hall via its grand doorway. As she stepped through the carved and gilded portal, Lokung called out in a booming voice, “Muth Mauk, Queen of the Orcs, and Friend and Ally to Our Gracious Majesty!”

  The room was filled with people, and all of them turned their eyes toward Dar. Dar returned their gaze and quickly spotted Girta standing in the most prominent spot. Next to her was a man dressed in black and gold. Dar recognized him. Murdant Kol! Then she corrected herself. General Kol, the Queen’s Man.

  Dar knew Kol would be at the banquet, but that didn’t lessen her reaction. She felt a jolt of fear and rage. Her face flushed red as anger got the upper hand. All the orcs smelled it and glanced at her. Dar took a deep breath to compose herself. Only when she looked outwardly calm did she meet Kol’s eyes. They were as inscrutable as ever. Dar headed toward Girta, walking gracefully and forcing herself to smile.

  Girta smiled back even less sincerely than Dar. “Muth Mauk,” she said. “You look miraculously well, considering you were dying when I saw you last.”

  “Such is the power of the World’s Mother,” replied Dar. “It seems she had more plans for me.”

  “I’m delighted by your recovery,” said Girta. “As is General Kol. I believe you two have met.”

  “We have,” replied Dar. “General, has your shoulder healed?”

  Kol’s face darkened, but his expression and voice remained calm. “It has. So kind of you to ask.”

  “Your Majesty,” said Dar. “Let me introduce my sister, Nir-yat.” She turned and said, “Sutat, Muthana, tep tavat washavoki nathmauki.” Come, Sister, and greet washavoki queen.

  Nir-yat advanced and bowed. “Grut-tinz, Grat Muther.”

  “Greetings,” replied Girta. She gave Dar a puzzled look. “How did you acquire an orcish sister?”

  “The urkzimmuthi know magic that transforms one’s spirit. It’s called ‘theemuth,’ which means ‘rebirth.’ A mother underwent this magic with me, making me her child. Her children became my siblings. I also have a brother here.”

  “So you changed yourself through sorcery?” asked Girta.

  “Rebirth is unlike the magic once practiced here.”

  “Yet, as I recall, Othar was slain by magic,” said Girta.

  “That was his magic, not mine.”

  “So you don’t practice sorcery yourself,” said Girta. “You only benefit from it.”

  Dar chose not to respond, and instead introduced her mintaris. Each greeted the queen by reciting the phrase he had memorized, except for Kovok-mah and Nagtha-yat, who were fluent in the human tongue. Their greetings were more eloquent. Nagtha-yat told Girta that he had visited the palace during the reign of Kregant I and praised the old monarch’s love for peace. Kovok-mah expressed a hope that friendship would follow understanding.

  Girta didn’t reciprocate by introducing members of her court. Dar feigned to be oblivious of the slight. An awkward silence followed until Dar decided to bait Kol. “So, Queen’s Man, how does a murdant become a general in only three moons? That must be a tale worth hearing.”

  “The Queen’s Man was a tolum when he first came to court,” said Girta.

  “A rise equally astonishing,” answered Dar. “When I last knew him, he was but a murdant and meek as a mouse before Tolum Karg.”

  Kol glared at Dar, but said nothing.

  “Oh don’t be bashful, Murdant,” said Dar. “You’ve cleaned up well. If only Loral and Neena could see you now! They’d feel honored that you had tupped them.”

  Kol’s face reddened but he remained silent.

  “You’ll gain nothing by bringing up your past,” said Girta. “General Kol has told me your history.”

  Dar laughed. “I’m sure he has, and I blush to imagine the nature of his lies. He once lied to me as well, saying his only wish was to protect me. Has he told you that, too?”

  “I see a crown hasn’t changed your slattern’s nature,” said Kol, his voice cold, yet clearly angry.

  Dar grinned. “Why, Murdant, court life has made you soft. You used to hide your feelings better. I believed your claim that you spared your daughter. But perhaps drowning her didn’t upset you.”

  “Don’t malign my friend,” said Girta.

  “Friend?” replied Dar. “Your Majesty, beware of such friends. An adder charms the bird before it strikes.”

  Thirty-four

  The rest of the evening was as dreadful as Dar had expected. Queen Girta interrupted Dar and Kol’s sparring by taking her place at the head table. Dar was seated to the left of the queen, who ignored her throughout the meal to dote on her son. He sat to Girta’s right. General Kol’s place was next to the prince, obviously a position of honor. A military man, who introduced himself as General Voltar, sat to Dar’s left. He seemed principally interested in getting drunk as quickly as possible, a feat he readily accomplished.

  It had been a long time since Dar had dined among a crowd of humans, and she found their odor nauseating. Girta, resplendent in a gown of scarlet and gold, had a musky scent with fishy overtones. General Voltar reeked like spoiled meat. Nevertheless, Dar forced herself to eat. She drank sparingly of the wine, knowing that she’d better keep her wits about her. Being deprived of meaningful conversation, Dar used her powers of observation to learn what she could.

  The first person who drew her attention was the prince. He was still a child—Dar guessed he was perhaps eight—but he seemed to be trying to act a man. Like General Kol, he was dressed in black and gold, though his attire had more gold in it. The similarity of the prince’s and the gen
eral’s apparel bothered Dar, for she thought it was intentional. Kol’s closeness with the future monarch disturbed her more. Watching Kol and the boy chat easily together, it was evident they were on very good terms. In comparison, Girta seemed slighted by her son.

  The queen impressed Dar as insecure. I think I frighten her, she thought. I fear to think what Kol’s been telling her. Queen Girta’s mood seemed reflected in her court. Dar had only glimpsed one royal banquet when she served in the palace, but she recalled it as different from the present feast. For one thing, it was better-attended and the diners were livelier. One aspect hadn’t changed: Though the mage was gone, a black-garbed figure still sat at the head table. It seemed to Dar that Kol’s personality influenced the court as much as Othar’s had. He has power. I can see it in the way others look at him.

  None of Dar’s party had been seated at the head table. They sat together in isolation. It was another slight, but Dar suspected they were happier with the arrangement. She felt sorry for them as they stoically picked at their food, and she wished the “festivities” would soon be over. As the meal wound down, Dar waited until Kol was engaged with the prince, then gently grasped Girta’s hand. The queen started, but Dar held firm.

  “I fear this pomp-filled night has made a poor beginning to our relations,” said Dar. “Yet know I long for peace and think your safety is its best assurance. Can I meet with you tomorrow? I wish to speak to you, woman-to-woman, without the General present. I’ll open my heart so you might see my intentions.”

  Girta tried to pull her hand away. “Please!” said Dar. “I’ll come alone.”

  “All right,” said Girta, her voice betraying her reluctance. “Come at noon. Alone.”

  Dar bowed as she released Girta’s hand. “Thank you, Your Majesty. You’ll be glad you agreed.”

  The banquet ended soon after Dar spoke to Girta. There was a formal exchange of courtesies between the monarchs at the night’s conclusion, but no further conversation. All Dar’s hopes centered on the next day’s meeting. When she departed the palace, she was as uncertain about the future as when she arrived.

  Dar walked through Taiben’s empty streets until she reached the town’s gates. They were closed for the night, but the Queen’s Men opened them to let her and the orcs pass. Once she was outside the city walls, Dar breathed in the clean air and sighed. “I’m glad that’s over,” she said.

  “How were you received?” asked Zna-yat.

  “Fearfully,” replied Dar. “Queen’s fear is what I must overcome.”

  “How?” asked Zna-yat.

  “I’ll meet alone with her.”

  “Is that safe?” asked Kovok-mah.

  “You’ll be alone,” said Zna-yat, “but washavoki queen will not. Our last great mother was imprisoned in that palace.”

  “I sense timidity in washavoki queen,” said Dar, “but not…” She paused; she wanted to say “treachery,” but there was no Orcish word for it. “…not cruelty. I think I’ll be safe.”

  It was a cold night, and Dar quickly focused on reaching the warmth of the barracks. She didn’t notice the man standing outside the city walls. He remained motionless beneath his cloak, but he was watching her intently. He did nothing until Dar and the orcs entered the garrison; then he hurried after them.

  The orcs in the barracks were eager to hear how the evening had gone. Dar removed her boots, gold pendant, and shirt, then sat cross-legged near the hearth to recount the banquet. Her audience had a poor appreciation of innuendo, so she skipped over her sparring with Kol. She was relating how General Voltar had passed out during dinner when a knock on the door interrupted her. When an orc went to answer it, Dar noted that he took his ax.

  Sevren stood outside. He had the look of one who couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, and Dar remembered that the last time they had spoken she said she’d been given poison. Sevren bowed deeply. “Tava, Muth Mauk. Ther lat.” Greetings, Great Mother. You live.

  “Fasak Muth la vashak tha, Sevren.” May Muth la bless you, Sevren. “Hai, mer lav.” Yes, I live.

  Sevren continued to speak in Orcish. “May I come? I wish speaking.”

  “Please enter,” said Dar.

  Sevren bowed and stepped through the doorway, all the while resolutely keeping his gaze from Dar’s breasts. “I thought urkzimmuthi kill you. I was very sad.”

  “I live because they are wise and good. You should not be surprised.”

  “You always surprise me.”

  “This washavoki is Sevren,” said Dar to all present. “He saved my life and aided our former queen. He’s our friend.” Then she introduced her mintaris to Sevren before asking, “Why have you come?”

  “I see thing you should know,” replied Sevren.

  “What?”

  “Othar lives.”

  The orcs called the mage the Black Washavoki, not Othar, but they understood the news was grave by the scent of fear it evoked from Dar. She stared at Sevren, stunned. “Are you certain?”

  “I wish politeness,” replied Sevren. “But I speak more good Washavoki.”

  Dar switched to the human tongue. “How can he be alive? You saw what happened to him. He was charred to a crisp.”

  “Someone in Taiben is practicing sorcery of the deepest kind. Folks’ spirits are enslaved, so they’re governed by another’s will. They become heedless of their welfare or even their lives. I caught a lass so afflicted.”

  “But why do you think Othar’s the sorcerer? Have you seen him?”

  “Only a shadow. Yet the sorcerer seemed crippled and Othar lost both his hands and feet. Moreover, his body is missing from the pit.”

  “Does Girta know this?”

  “Nay. From all I hear, she believes he’s dead.”

  “So she’s unaffected.”

  “I’m na so sure,” said Sevren. “There’ve been strange happenings at court. I have a friend among the Queen’s Men, and he says there’s been a rash of deaths. Suicides, accidents, and murders—all seemingly unrelated. Yet they’ve cleared a path for one man.”

  “Kol?” asked Dar.

  “Aye. ’Tis him.”

  Dar shook her head as if trying to break free from a nightmare. “But Othar can’t be alive,” she said. “When I threw those magic bones into the fire, he…”

  “Changed,” said Sevren.

  Dar’s hairs rose as she recalled Muth-goth’s vision. She said the bones were not gone, only changed. And Velasa-pah warned of the bones in Muth la’s Dome. “So what do you think happened?”

  “I know little of magic,” said Sevren, “but I recall Othar’s sorcery turned on him once before. His face was blasted, yet he lived. Perhaps it was likewise when you burnt the bones.”

  “Those bones had power,” said Dar. “I could feel it. Burning them might have only released it. But if their power went to Othar, why is he hiding? If he can take spirits, why hasn’t he taken Girta’s?”

  “That girl I caught looked and acted strange,” replied Sevren, “and the magic quickly killed her. A dead queen would be of little use.”

  “But you think he’s the power behind Kol? That’s a fearful thought. To what purpose?”

  “I do na know,” said Sevren. “And to tell the truth, until I learned you were alive, I did na care. I only questioned my friend this morning.”

  Dar remembered that only Kovok-mah and Nagtha-yat could follow her conversation with Sevren, so she spoke to the orcs in their language. “Sevren thinks Black Washavoki didn’t die and is still working against us.”

  “Then you shouldn’t go alone into Taiben,” said Zna-yat.

  “Brother,” said Dar in a gentle voice, “since when do sons tell mothers what to do? Especially great mothers?”

  “I’m sorry, Muth Mauk, but I had to speak my chest. What good are wisdom and bravery against magic? I’m frightened for you.”

  “I’m frightened also,” said Dar. “Yet what use is great mother who can’t face our enemies? Washavoki queen must be warned, fo
r her danger will quickly become ours.”

  “I understood all Sevren said,” said Kovok-mah, “yet I’m not certain Black Washavoki lives.”

  Dar turned to Sevren and spoke in the human tongue. “He has a point. You have no proof that Othar’s alive. I doubt Girta will believe me.”

  “I’ll find that proof. I offered you my service once before, and I offer it again. Let me be your agent inside Taiben.”

  “Sorcerers are dangerous quarry,” said Dar. “Your offer’s gallant.”

  “And sincere.” Sevren smiled. “Even if it’s from a washavoki.”

  “And I accept it.”

  “I think Zna-yat’s right about visiting the palace,” said Sevren. “It’s too perilous, especially if Kol’s Othar’s man.”

  “I’m still going. It seems worth the risk to talk privately with Girta.”

  “And what if Othar’s waiting for you?”

  Dar had to admit it was a possibility. Othar has good reason to seek revenge. Nevertheless, Dar suspected that the mage—if he was indeed alive—would be involved in more grandiose schemes than mere vengeance. If that’s true, he won’t reveal himself by attacking me. At least, not yet. “I think I’m safe awhile. It’s your job to warn me if I’m not.”

  “How will I do that?”

  “I’m supposed to meet Girta at noon. Find me on the road to the palace if I shouldn’t.”

  “You’re not giving me a lot of time.”

  “I’m giving you all I have.”

  Sevren made his way to the sally port in the city’s wall and knocked on its stout ironclad door. “Open up, Valamar, it’s me.”

  There was the sound of a bolt sliding, and then the door swung open, revealing a short, dark tunnel. Sevren stepped inside it, and his friend closed and bolted the door. “Well,” said Valamar, “did you see her?”

  “Aye.”

  “And did she believe your daft story?”