[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny

by Morgan Howell

  “She wants more proof.”

  “And how in Karm’s name will you get that? Supposing you’re right; the moment you get near that man, he’ll take your spirit.”

  “That beggar knew something was going on. I bet others do, too. This town ignores its poor, but I suspect they’ve been hard hit. Those thieves aren’t courtiers. Think of that unfortunate girl.”

  “It sounds like stirring up trouble to me,” said Valamar.

  “It’s been stirred already. Best look to the pot afore it boils over.”

  Thirty-five

  As soon as the city’s gates opened, Sevren headed for the squalid dwellings outside Taiben’s walls. He didn’t expect to be welcomed, and he wasn’t. His sword and official standing marked him as an outsider and an enemy. Though his inquiries received hostile evasions, Sevren noted a disquiet that wasn’t provoked by his presence. He glimpsed fear in people’s eyes, and many of the shanties appeared recently abandoned.

  After numerous fruitless encounters, Sevren knocked on yet another door. It was unbarred and swung open with the blow from his fist. Sevren peeked inside, expecting to find an empty room. Instead, he spied a worn-looking woman, bundled in rags, shivering in the dark interior. “Mother, are you all right?” he asked.

  “Nothin’ the Dark Path won’t fix.”

  “You want for a fire. ’Tis a cold morn. Can I help start one?”

  “I want fer a son, but mine’s been took. Can ye get me ’nother?”

  “Nay, but…”

  “Then fire won’t help. It’s all Tug’s fault. Nuggle’s, too.”

  Sevren decided to play the fool. “Did they take your son?”

  “Robbed the dead, they did. Stirred up somethin’ best let be.”

  “What did they stir up?”

  The old woman glanced about fearfully. “Don’t know. If ye see it, ye’re took.”

  “See what?”

  “Nuggle brought it here. Took my Thom, it did.”

  “He brought it from the corpse pit?”

  “Aye.”

  “Is it still here?”

  “Nay. ’Tis gone. They say to town.”

  “Is Nuggle here?”

  “Dead. So’s my Thom. Ye don’t last long, once ye’re took.”

  “Thank you, Mother. I’ll be back.”

  “Why? There’s no point.”

  Sevren went to pull some wood from an abandoned shack so he could make a fire for the woman. He realized the futility of his effort, but he did it anyway. When he had a small blaze going, with some extra wood to feed it, he thanked the woman again before departing. She said nothing, and seemed no happier than when he had found her.

  Sevren headed back to town, reviewing what he had learned. The sorcerer had come from the corpse pit, so it had to be Othar. He had stayed awhile in the shantytown, seizing spirits, before moving to Taiben. Sevren realized that most would dismiss the old woman’s talk as madness. I still lack proof. He wondered if any was obtainable. The nature of Othar’s power seemed to eliminate eyewitnesses. Sevren briefly imagined his fate if he had encountered the mage inside one of the shacks. The thought made him shiver.

  Sevren wondered where Othar had gone. The palace was a possibility, but its gates were always guarded. That would prevent Othar from coming and going without notice. It seemed more likely that the mage was staying outside the royal walls. It occurred to Sevren that the sorcerer wouldn’t seize the spirit of whoever sheltered him, for that would quickly kill his host. That meant Othar was someone’s guest. Sevren speculated on why anyone would shelter the mage. Fear was a likely reason, but Sevren suspected Othar provided inducements as well. With loot from his thieves and the power to eliminate a man’s enemies, he had plenty of those.

  Sevren reasoned that Othar was most likely staying with someone rich and powerful. But who? Sevren thought of a man who might provide a clue and headed for the municipal barracks. The chief of the municipal guard was a genial man who knew all the wealthy men who funded the force. He was also a gossip and fond of a morning ale. Sevren sought him out and found him in the guards’ common room.

  “Well met, Furtag,” said Sevren. “Just the man I want to see. I have woman trouble. Mayhap you can help me.”

  Furtag chuckled. “There’s no cure for that kind o’ trouble short o’ gelding.”

  “I hope you know a gentler physic. Let me stand you for a mug as we talk it over.”

  Furtag readily agreed and went with Sevren to a nearby tavern. There, Sevren told him that he was seeing a wench with a son she wished to become a servant. “She wants him a master with rising fortunes,” said Sevren. He flashed a bawdy smile. “She says she’ll please me if I please her.”

  “Well, Balten’s star is surely rising. He became master o’ the Merchants’ Guild after Maltus jumped from the wall.” Then Furtag lowered his voice. “But tell the lad to keep away.”

  “Why?”

  “Balten goes through help too quick.”

  “They leave because he’s harsh?”

  Furtag spoke in a whisper. “They die.” Then he added, “Ye didn’t hear that from me.” Sevren shot him a puzzled look, and Furtag responded with a shrug. “Things happen, but they happen often.” Then he spoke in a normal voice. “Tumbar’s a good master, and I heard he’s looking for some help. He dwells on the Street o’ Woodshapers.”

  Sevren grinned. “Thank you, Furtag. I’m sure my wench will be well pleased.”

  Furtag returned his grin. “Then I hope she pleases well.”

  Zna-yat pleaded to accompany Dar to the palace gates. Initially, she resisted the idea, thinking it would make a better impression if she came without an escort. But after she relented, Dar was glad she did. The idea of the mage lurking somewhere terrified her, and she was certain Zna-yat smelled her fear as they walked the winding streets. Dar kept a sharp eye out for Sevren, but he didn’t show.

  The palace gates were shut and guarded when Dar arrived. After Zna-yat left, she spoke to one of the Queen’s Men. “I have a private audience with Queen Girta. Take me to her.”

  “I’ve had no word of this,” replied the man.

  “That’s because it’s a privy meeting. Your queen will confirm this.”

  The man looked dubious, but escorted Dar through the gates and into the palace. There, he spoke to Lokung, who seemed equally surprised. The steward led Dar to a closed doorway and bade her wait while he entered it alone. He returned shortly. “Our Majesty will see you.”

  Dar entered a room that featured a large window overlooking the courtyard. She bowed. “Queen Girta, thank you for seeing me. I’m glad for this meeting. We have much in common.”

  “We do?”

  “Mothers prize peace, while men often favor war.”

  “First you became an orc. Are you now a mother also?”

  “The urkzimmuthi consider all women mothers,” said Dar.

  “A quaint idea.”

  “Quaint or not, it’s true. And because mothers bring forth life, they’re loath to take it.”

  “That’s very high-sounding, but why are you here?”

  “I fear for your safety.”

  “I feel safe enough,” said Girta.

  “Feeling safe can be safety’s opposite. An unwary victim is easily slain.”

  “I know what you’re going to say. You’re here to warn me of General Kol. He told me you would.”

  “I know he’s your friend, but if you value peace, why take advice from a general? War’s his profession. And why let him mold your son into the late king’s image?”

  Girta’s face reddened. “Leave the prince out of this!”

  “I don’t wish to upset you, but when I saw your son, I was struck by his sword and military attire. It also seemed the General was overclose with him.”

  “The boy’s lost his father.”

  “A bloodthirsty father who taunted me by saying ‘Women lack the stomach for war.’ Does General Kol think differently?”

  “He does.
The General wants only to protect me and my son.”

  “Once, he promised me protection.”

  “And you betrayed him for an orc.”

  Sensing the futility of her argument, Dar chose another tack. “Before Kol arrived, did you have other confidants? Men and women whose judgment you trusted?”

  “I did.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “It’s been a hard winter,” replied Queen Girta. “There have been many tragedies.”

  “All random—or so it seems.”

  Girta regarded Dar suspiciously. “What are you trying to say?”

  “Don’t all those deaths have one thing in common? Weren’t all who died special friends to you?”

  “No,” replied Girta. “General Zam and I weren’t close, and Lord Targ was no friend.”

  “Did they oppose Kol?”

  “Surely you can’t believe that…”

  “I believe there’s a hidden hand at work. I don’t have…” The door opened, halting Dar in midsentence.

  Girta smiled. “General Kol, you should listen to this.”

  Dar’s face flushed. “You said we’d talk privately.”

  “This is just coincidence,” replied Girta. “I kept this meeting to myself, not knowing its purpose. Yet now that I do, I’m glad for this happenstance. The General is entitled to defend himself.” She turned to Kol. “Dar claims you inspire accidents and suicides.”

  Kol grinned. “She does? I must be quite a fellow—soldier by day and mage by night.”

  “Well,” Girta said to Dar. “Continue.”

  “There’s no point,” replied Dar. “You won’t believe me, so I won’t risk my life.”

  Kol’s grin broadened. “Risk your life? Does Your Majesty believe I’ll run you through? My skin’s thicker than you think. It’s true we’re not fond, but I won’t harm you.”

  Dar sighed dramatically. “I’m leaving, though I do so reluctantly. Girta, one day you’ll see this meeting as a lost chance. I fear it’ll be a bitter insight.”

  “I doubt it,” said Girta.

  After Dar departed, Kol gave Girta a puzzled look. “What was that about?”

  “You were wrong about Dar,” said Girta.

  “How so?”

  “She’s not as clever as you think. She told me that you want war so badly that you’ve killed everyone who stood in its way.”

  Kol put on an amused expression. “And how, pray tell, did I do that?”

  “Oh, she left that part out. She also said you’re turning the prince into his father.”

  “I wouldn’t besmirch the dead, but my feelings about your husband mirror yours.”

  “Oh well, I’m pleased Dar’s gone,” said Girta. “Now that we know her ploy, can we get rid of those dreadful orcs?”

  “My guess is Dar will recall them herself, now that you’ve outsmarted her.” Kol gazed out the window to watch Dar cross the courtyard. “I almost feel sorry for her. A lifetime among orcs!”

  Girta shuddered. “What a dreary prospect!”

  “I should have a Queen’s Man see her safely to the garrison,” said Kol. “Her crown is gold, and we wouldn’t want her to meet with some mischance.”

  “You’re a good man, General. Too bad Dar doesn’t see that.”

  Thirty-six

  Dar strode down Taiben’s streets in a black mood. That woman’s a simpleton! she thought. Kol has her completely fooled. Dar resolved to revoke the treaty, withdraw the orc guards, and seal the pass. If washavokis come raiding, we’ll make them pay! Better for sons to defend their halls, than some ingrate! Dar was considering pulling out that very afternoon, when she heard someone running. She turned and spied a Queen’s Man dashing after her. Before Dar could run, her pursuer halted and bowed. “Your Majesty,” he said between gasping breaths, “I’ve a message for you.”

  “What it is?”

  “’Tis a privy matter.”

  Dar suspected a trap. “Yet I’ll hear it in this public place. Whisper it.”

  The black-garbed man bowed again and approached to whisper in Dar’s ear. “My queen bids me tell you that she spoke as she did only from fear of spies. She knows you’re a true friend. General Kol oppresses her, and she’s desperate.”

  “I’m relieved she knows her danger,” whispered Dar. “How can I help?”

  “She’d like to discuss that in a secure place.”

  “Where?”

  “She has one remaining trusted friend, the master of the Merchants’ Guild. His name is Balten. You can meet safely in his house.”

  “When?”

  “At morrow noon.”

  “Tell her I’ll be there,” whispered Dar. “And say she shouldn’t abandon hope. Kol is clever, but I’ve bested him before.”

  “May Karm bless Your Majesty. This news will bring joy.” Then the messenger turned and hurried away. Dar headed for the garrison, her hope rekindled.

  After his man reported Dar’s reply, Kol turned to Gorm. “Soon, your master will have the war he desires and revenge as well. When Dar arrives at Balten’s house, he need only seize her mind and force her to slay the queen at tomorrow’s banquet.”

  Gorm nodded approvingly. “Afterward, we want Dar captured, not slain.”

  “Naturally. Why spoil the fun?”

  “When she’s done the murder, I’ll withdraw Othar’s spell.”

  “You can do that?” asked Kol.

  “I can’t enslave minds,” replied Gorm, “but I can free them. Dar will awake and find herself standing bloody-handed over Girta’s corpse. She’ll have no idea how she got there.”

  “That should make things interesting.”

  “Interesting indeed,” replied Gorm. “She’ll be fully aware when she’s executed.”

  “Burning’s the penalty for treason,” said Kol. “Othar will appreciate that.”

  “Especially if it’s done slowly.”

  “I’ll see that it is.” Kol grinned malevolently. “Very slowly. Mayhap, we can burn some piss eyes first. I’d love to roast that green-eyed one and the piss eye bitch that Dar calls sister. It’d warm the soldiers’ blood for the invasion.”

  “And the prince? Any problems there?”

  “None. He already yearns for glory, and soon he’ll have his mother to avenge. Restraint’s not for the young; he’ll make a bloody king. And I’ll play his obedient general.”

  “Until you succeed him.”

  Kol smiled. “I have my ambitions.”

  “We’ll want the kingdom continually at war.”

  “You can rely on it.”

  Gorm returned Kol’s smile. “We always have.”

  When Dar arrived at the garrison, Sevren was already there. She could tell that he had news, but he patiently waited while she spoke with her mintaris. He listened in, following her Orcish as best he could. Afterward, he asked in the human tongue, “Who’s Bah Simi?”

  “That’s our name for Kol.”

  “And Girta knows he’s her enemy?”

  “Yes. That’s why she couldn’t speak freely. Tomorrow, we’ll meet in a safer place.”

  “Where?”

  “Outside the palace in the House of Balten.”

  “Nay!” said Sevren. “That’s where Othar’s hiding.”

  Dar grew pale. “Then the meeting’s a trap?”

  “Aye, for certain. From what I’ve learned, one glimpse from Othar will seal your doom,” said Sevren. “Your spirit will be his.”

  Dar shuddered. “What else have you learned?”

  “The sorcerer came from the corpse pit, so it has to be Othar. Grave robbers brought him out, most likely after he had taken their spirits. Later, Othar moved into town. I’m certain Balten’s sheltering him. I’ve made inquiries. Balten benefited from a suicide and has prospered ever since. Yet his servants drop like autumn flies.”

  “I wonder who laid this trap?” said Dar, thinking out loud. “Girta or Kol? Either one could have sent that message.”

  “You can
na go either way, so it makes na difference.”

  “It does make a difference. If Kol sent that message, he’s playing with Girta like he played with me. He’ll pounce when he’s ready.”

  “Seems to me, it’ll serve her right.”

  “No it won’t,” Dar said, envisioning Girta being driven into Kol’s clutches as Othar killed off her friends, one by one. The image persuaded her of the queen’s innocence. The trap is Kol’s doing. Girta’s his prey, just as I once was. Dar’s pique toward the queen turned to sympathy. “We must save her.”

  “How? Mayhap, she does na want saving.”

  “I can’t go to Girta, so she must come to me.”

  “She will na do that,” said Sevren.

  “Not willingly,” said Dar. “But if I’m right, she’ll thank me in the end.”

  “You do na mean to kidnap her!”

  “Why not?”

  “It’ll start a war if things go wrong.”

  “If Kol gets his way, then war’s inevitable. This is our only hope of stopping it.”

  “’Tis a daft idea.”

  “You asked to be my agent, not my counselor. Will you help or not?”

  Sevren sighed. “What do you need?”

  “Women’s clothes. Warm ones—a gown, boots, and a cloak. When we grab Girta tonight, we won’t have time to dress her.”

  “Both the town and palace gates will be shut and guarded. How will you get her out?”

  “By the same ways we used when the orc queen escaped.”

  “The Queen’s Men watch them now. You’ll be trapped in Taiben.”

  Dar thought for a moment. “We’ll get her out,” she said. “You just do your part.”

  Sevren gave an exaggerated bow. “Hai, Muth Mauk. I’ll return at dawn.” With that, he departed on his errand.

  Dar told her mintaris they must get the washavoki queen away from Bah Simi. Then she discussed how to achieve that goal. Two shifts of orcs guarded Girta. A daytime pair stood watch while the city gates were open and were relieved just before they closed. Dar decided that one of the night guards would take the queen from her bedchamber before the palace rose at dawn.

  Zna-yat raised the first problem. “We stand alone outside queen’s door, but somehow washavokis watch us. They’re close, for I hear and smell them.”