[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny

by Morgan Howell

  “That sounds better than a cloak spread on the snow,” said Girta. A smile crept onto her face. “I haven’t camped outdoors since I was a girl.”

  Sevren and his monarch slept huddled close together. In the cold night, warmth was more important than decorum. Nir-yat woke them at first light. After a hurried meal, the march resumed at dawn. Its quick pace was set by Dar’s sense of urgency. She and Zna-yat led the way, and the rest followed. Girta rode, handling Skymere skillfully despite her injury.

  Their route continued to follow the river, which flowed between two mountains. The way was steep and rugged. The snow-covered slopes flanking either side were also steep, causing the orcs to speak quietly for fear of starting a “kokuum.” Sevren assumed that “kokuum” was the Orcish word for “avalanche,” for he saw evidence of several. Three times, they clambered over swatches of splintered and flattened trees. Once, a huge pile of snow partly dammed the river, forcing them to scale a mountain slope in a precarious detour.

  Throughout the day, Dar walked silently and steady. She seemed absorbed by her thoughts. Sevren suspected that they were troubled, judging from her expression. He couldn’t help worrying about the future she had glimpsed. Not a happy one, I warrant. Yet Dar’s hurried pace seemed proof that she had some hope. No one rushes to certain death. Then Sevren recalled that Dar had expected to die once before and refused to flee. That caused him to worry anew.

  Dar had no idea what she would encounter at their journey’s end. The Yat clan hall might be in flames and the valley below it swarming with troops. Yet there still might be a chance to do something. Dar knew circumstances would determine what that something could be. Her current ignorance was maddening, and it goaded her to go faster. Unlike the orcs, she wore no armor nor carried any burden. Yet she knew that they could easily outpace her, even encumbered. That’s why I must push myself. I’m slowing everyone down.

  Dar led the march until late in the night, when fatigue forced her to halt. As before, Nir-yat took over. After she served the food, she joined Dar. “We traveled far, Muth Mauk. You must be weary.”

  “The farther I walk, the easier I rest,” replied Dar.

  “Will we see our hall soon?”

  “Not tomorrow, but next day. According to those deetpahis I studied, we’ll soon leave this valley and start traveling east. Then way will be easier.”

  “It’s hard not knowing what we’ll find,” said Nir-yat. “You have poor sense of smell, so I’ll tell you—I’m afraid.”

  “You already smell my fear,” said Dar. “Are sons fearful also?”

  “Every one.”

  “They should be hopeful, too. Muth la doesn’t send visions without reason.”

  Dar finished her porridge in silence, brooding upon the future. When she finished eating, she rose wearily. Kovok-mah rose also and headed for his shelter. He was already sitting cross-legged on his fur sleeping mat when Dar joined him. The shelter’s interior was cramped, but that also made it cozy. Kovok-mah’s body heat had already reduced its chill. Dar climbed onto his lap, which he had cushioned with an extra cloak, to remove her boots. Afterward, she didn’t sit with her back against his chest. Instead, she knelt facing him. Then she grasped his hand and brushed it against the front of her kef.

  The breast touching gesture was the decorous one that mothers used to initiate love-giving. But Kovok-mah was forbidden to love Dar, so she understood the gravity of what she wanted. For a moment, he remained absolutely still. Dar sensed his inner struggle. Then—as she had hoped—he defied his muthuri’s injunction. “Dargu,” he whispered with such love and longing that it raised goose bumps on her flesh.

  They found one another’s lips in the dark. Kovok-mah first kissed Dar in the way she had taught him. Then he began kissing her neck in the orcish fashion, his active tongue teasing and tasting. Dar removed her kefs and washavoki shirt. As Kovok-mah’s lips sought her breasts, even she could smell the fragrance of atur.

  For a while, pent-up passion obliterated the future. There seemed only one chance for bliss, and Dar seized it, desperate and hungry. She took off her remaining clothes, pulling her cloak over her naked body. Kovok-mah’s hands and lips moved under the garment in the tender, reverent way she remembered. He grasped her hips and slowly lifted them, so that as Dar rose up, his lips traveled downward. When she stood on his thighs, Kovok-mah’s tongue reached her center. Dar felt a jolt of pleasure that heightened, then slowly spread throughout her body. The cloak slipped off, but Dar was oblivious of the cold. Only the ecstasy of the moment mattered. When Kovok-mah brought her to release, it took all her self-control not to cry out.

  Spent and contented, Dar sank into Kovok-mah’s lap. He covered her with the cloak and embraced her. She stayed like that until a draught found her warm skin. Then Dar dressed, and like the cold, the future began to seep into her thoughts. Her bliss faded. It had been a joyous moment, but it was over.

  On the fourth morning of the flight from Taiben, Nir-yat roused everyone at first light. As usual, she studied her sister when she emerged from Kovok-mah’s shelter. On that morning, Nir-yat made two discoveries. Dar smelled of atur—the fragrance was thick and heady—and her features were tranquil but melancholy. Nir-yat’s chest burst to see that look, for it reminded her of when Dar expected to drink Muth la’s Draught. Then, with the wisdom that sisters often have, Nir-yat said nothing. But when she served Dar warmed-up porridge, she embraced her.

  The sky was clear when the march began. Dar instructed Zna-yat to set a brisk pace, then walked with Nir-yat at the end of the column. Sevren trailed behind Zna-yat, for he had come to enjoy his companionship, though Zna-yat rarely spoke. They marched wordlessly most of the morning. Toward noon, the trail became easier. They were higher into the mountains and the valley they traveled widened and inclined more gently. Snow had fallen less heavily there, and the road was more evident.

  With the walking less taxing, Zna-yat struck up a conversation. “Sev-ron. What do you do when not killing for great washavoki?”

  “I killing only.”

  “That is not proper living. I grow crops.”

  “I wish grow crops, but I have no dirt.”

  Zna-yat smiled. “I think you mean ‘land.’ Do your mothers lack wisdom? They should let you grow crops on their land. It is better than killing.”

  “Washavoki mothers seldom own land.”

  “Then who does?”

  “Whoever…” Sevren tried to think of the Orcish words for “pay” or “buy” but he didn’t know if they even existed. “Whoever gives gift for it.”

  “Gift to who?”

  “To son who owns land,” replied Sevren. “I have no gift, so I have no land. I kill and get little gifts. Someday have enough for land.”

  “Washavokis are strange and foolish.”

  “Hai, Zna-yat, I think also.”

  Zna-yat walked quietly awhile, seemingly puzzled by what Sevren had told him. At last, he asked, “Sev-ron, what gift is as good as land?”

  Rather than explain, Sevren pulled out his purse and emptied the twelve gold coins it contained into his palm. It was his life savings. “These,” he said.

  Zna-yat grinned incredulously. “Bits of yellow iron? That worth land? Why?”

  Sevren gazed at the coins and was infected by Zna-yat’s sense of absurdity. He replied by saying the only thing that came to mind. “Yellow iron is pretty.”

  “Hai,” replied Zna-yat, shifting the straps of his pack, “but heavy.”

  Sevren put the coins away. “I think urkzimmuthi have more wisdom. Land better than yellow iron. Food from land gives life.”

  “Mothers also give life. That’s why they own land.”

  Sevren imagined what Kol would do with the land about the Yat clan hall. Give it to a follower, he surmised. Some thug who’ll have peasants till the earth and take most of what they grow. He envisioned drunken feasts in the hall’s Great Chamber feting Kol as its owner’s patron and lord. The idea was infuriating. He noted that
Zna-yat was looking at him. He smells my anger. “I thinking no washavoki should have urkzimmuthi land. They too evil to possess it.”

  “Hai, Sev-ron. We must prevent that.”

  Forty-two

  By late afternoon, the marchers headed eastward, having passed through the southernmost range of the Urkheit Mountains. They were in urkzimmuthi territory, separated from the washavoki realm by tall heights that were crested by a formidable ridge. Mountains extended in all directions, forming a landscape familiar to the orcs. Toward evening, the road merged with one Dar recognized. She had traveled it to reach Kovok-mah’s muthuri’s hall.

  Dar left Nir-yat’s side to catch up with her brother. “You must have traveled this road often,” she said.

  “Hai, many times,” replied Zna-yat.

  “If we didn’t stop, when would we reach our hall?”

  “Before dawn, but not much before.”

  “Then we shall stop to eat this night, but not to sleep. I wish to reach our hall as soon as possible.”

  Zna-yat bowed his head. “Hai, Muth Mauk. If you grow tired, I’ll carry you.”

  “You’re kind, but that will be unnecessary.”

  “Please, Sister, don’t overtax yourself.”

  “I wear no armor and carry no burden. I’ll be fine.”

  “Muth Mauk, I think you carry greatest burden of all.”

  Dar smiled sadly, but didn’t reply. As she headed back to Nir-yat’s side, Sevren spoke to her in the human tongue. “Your Majesty, a word.”

  “What is it?”

  “Why na send scouts ahead? Your orcs can move quickly, especially if they shed their armor. There’s na point in marching blind.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Dar. She called Auk-goth and Treen-pah over to her, judging them the fastest runners. “Leave your armor for others to carry,” she said. “I want you to go ahead and discover what washavokis are doing. Don’t fight them or let them see you. Auk-goth, go to pass. Do you know way from here to New Road?”

  “Hai. We came this way with matriarchs.”

  “Good,” said Dar. “Treen-pah, I want you to go to Yat clan hall.”

  “Hai, Muth Mauk. I know way.”

  “Come back and warn me if you spot danger. Otherwise, go to Yat clan hall. I’ll arrive there before morning, and you can tell me what you’ve seen.”

  Both mintaris bowed. Soon, they were off. Dar watched them lope down the snowy road with long steady strides. Before long, they were only specks in the distance. She turned to Sevren. “This journey will be less fearful knowing we won’t be surprised along the way.”

  “You should have another son walk sixty paces in advance of our column. Soldiers could take positions after your scouts have passed through. Having someone walk ahead could prevent an ambush.”

  “That sounds wise.” Dar sighed. “I know so little about tactics.”

  “You can learn them easily enough,” said Sevren. “I only regret that you must.”

  Dar and the orcs continued marching until well after dark. Then Dar called a halt to cook a quick meal before continuing onward. The stars were brilliant in the night sky, and when a crescent moon rose over the snowy mountains, it evoked a memory of a former queen. For a moment, Dar was Muth Mauk from many generations past. She was returning from having witnessed the birth of a granddaughter. The sky and the mountains looked as they had on that night, and after Dar relived the long-dead queen’s joy and awe, she felt a part of something larger than herself. She was but one in a line of queens stretching through time. It’s the line that matters, she thought. As long as it continues, I continue.

  Sometime after midnight, a cloud bank moved in, blotting out the stars and moon. The night darkened, and the white mountains turned murky gray. Dar saw the orcs only as shadows. Barely seen snowflakes began to strike her face in ever-increasing numbers. The storm made walking mindless drudgery. One step followed another while darkness and snowfall obscured the surrounding landscape. There was no sense of progress, for nothing seemed to change. Existence shrank to taking the next step.

  The march dragged on. Dar no longer thought of its end. When Zna-yat said something about a valley, it didn’t register on her fatigue-numbed mind. Then they started climbing a steep road that switched back and forth between terraced fields. It dawned on Dar that they were climbing the road to the Yat clan hall. She gazed upward. Crowning the heights, the hall was shrouded in snow. Its dark windows made it seem abandoned. “We made it,” said Dar, as if she couldn’t believe it.

  Climbing the steep road to the hall’s entrance was the final test of Dar’s endurance. Despite her exhaustion, apprehension brought her to wakefulness. Neither scout had contacted her. That’s either a good sign or some disaster’s happened. The unlit hall suddenly seemed menacing. Perhaps it’s filled with waiting soldiers. Regardless of that thought, Dar continued treading toward its door.

  She finally reached it. The door opened, and Treen-pah stood inside. He bowed. “Muth Mauk, you’ve arrived at last.”

  “Hai. What news?”

  “There’s none to tell. I saw no signs of washavokis.”

  “What did Auk-goth see?”

  “He hasn’t returned.”

  Sevren, who had followed the conversation, bowed low to Dar and spoke to her in the human tongue. “It might be prudent to send out more scouts on the New Road, in case Auk-goth had a mishap.”

  Dar nodded her agreement. She recalled that Tauma-yat had two unblessed sons who farmed in summer and hunted in winter. She asked that they be brought to her hanmuthi. Then she turned to Nir-yat. “Find room for Sevren and Queen Girta in my hanmuthi. They’ll need something to lie upon. Sevren also will need place for his horse.”

  “I’ll do this and also find places for sons who accompanied us. If I have bath sent to washavokis’ room, would they use it?”

  “Thwa. Among washavokis, sons and mothers bathe separately. Also Girta doesn’t understand wisdom of cleanliness. I’ll teach her tomorrow.”

  As Nir-yat made those arrangements, Dar headed for her hanmuthi. Her exhaustion returned, but she waited for Tauma-yat’s sons to arrive. When they did, she explained that she wanted them to seek for washavokis on the New Road. “Approach them as if they were hares,” she said. “They must not see you. If you find them, remember I want knowledge, not fighting. I wish to know their numbers, whether they are still or marching. If marching, how fast. Note their location and activities. Discover if more are arriving through pass. When you learn these things, return quickly. This hall is in peril, and I need this knowledge to decide what course to take.”

  After the sons departed, Dar took off her boots. Without undressing further, she collapsed into her bed. Within moments, she was asleep.

  Elsewhere in the night, His Royal Majesty and Monarch of the Eastern Realm, King Kregant III, shivered beneath his sleeping furs as he sucked his thumb. Winds buffeted his dark tent, making its walls flap loudly. But it wasn’t the noise that prevented sleep. The boy feared his cloth shelter might be blown off the ridge it straddled, sending him plummeting to his death. He had voiced this concern earlier, but General Kol had belittled it, making him feel stupid.

  The king missed his mother terribly. He had already grown disenchanted with war, although his ride out of Taiben had been glorious. Mounted on a black mare and resplendent in his new armor, he had felt very much the warrior hero. Crowds had cheered him. Shouts of encouragement and praise had swelled his heart. But the long ride to the pass had eroded that feeling.

  A bitter wind had blown throughout the day. The meager winter sunshine hadn’t lessened the cold’s misery, and wearing metal armor increased it. The heavy chain mail sucked warmth from his body, despite the woolen garments he wore beneath it. The helmet was worse. His breath froze on it until his head felt surrounded by ice. The snow made progress painfully slow. When the road began to climb, snow also made the way treacherous. A sustolum in the king’s party had been crushed beneath his horse when it sli
pped and tumbled down a slope. An entire shieldron slid down the mountainside, triggering the avalanche that engulfed it.

  As bad as these conditions were, others oppressed the boy king more. The soldiers grumbled and regarded him with resentment. Men who had cheered him in the courtyard began to call him “the brat” and “young snot-nose” within his hearing. The general ignored their disrespect, for he had changed also. That was perhaps the greatest blow. Once out of Taiben and among soldiers, General Kol was no longer the king’s solicitous friend. Instead, he acted as if he were the real ruler. He was still polite, but there was mockery in his formality. The king’s wishes were disregarded by both the general and his soldiers. Soon, he had come to feel that he was little more than baggage.

  Heaped on those affronts and humiliations was another oppression, one that afflicted more than the king. There was uneasiness among the soldiers, an undercurrent impossible to ignore. The king became aware of it through the hushed talk and nervous glances of the men. The glances were always rearward. The soldiers appeared less afraid of what lay ahead than what trailed behind.

  Once, when the winding road doubled back as it neared the pass, Kregant III caught a glimpse of what followed the army. A group of men walked at a distance from the rearmost unit. They bore an enclosed litter. It was black, and the men were garbed in the same shade. They moved with a quality that evoked instinctive fear. The boy felt he was viewing walking corpses bearing an equally unnatural burden. The litter and its attendants terrified him, and he wasn’t alone in his reaction. The soldiers appeared frightened, too. Even General Kol seemed uneasy. It was the one thing the king and his general still had in common.

  Soft winter daylight illuminated the room when Dar opened her eyes. Outside, snow was still falling. Nir-yat sat close by, her face anxious. Dar moaned, still thick with sleep. “I need bath.”

  “I’ll come with you, Sister. There’s much to discuss. All our hall knows what you said to Tauma-yat’s sons.”