[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny

by Morgan Howell

  Heavy clouds had made for a dark day, and when the sun behind them sank close to the horizon, the light grew even dimmer. Dar was glad when Zna-yat arrived; his eyes could pierce the gloom much better than hers. She noted that he had donned his armor. “Sons are finishing up,” he said. “It’s sad work. When they’re done, they’ll come here to watch and wait.” Zna-yat gazed into the storm. “You could go where it’s warmer.”

  “Thwa, I’ll watch also.” Dar noted that Zna-yat carried his two deetpahis. To make conversation she asked, “What lore do you carry?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t had time to read.”

  “I carry proof that I could bear Kath-mah’s granddaughters.”

  Zna-yat regarded Dar with a look that seemed both surprised and pleased. “Does Kovok-mah know this?”

  “Thwa. We’ve had no time to speak.”

  “Such news will give him hope.”

  “Do you think his muthuri will bless us now?”

  “I don’t know her mind, but that deetpahi should improve your chances.” Zna-yat returned his gaze to the valley. “It seems strange to talk of blessings and children as we watch for death’s approach.”

  “Children are our only means to overcome death,” said Dar. “It’s fitting time to talk of them.”

  The valley grew darker and the wind deposited ever more snow upon the floor. As sons finished preparing for the hall’s destruction, they joined Dar and Zna-yat in the Welcoming Chamber. It was dusk when Zna-yat suddenly pointed at a distant hilltop. “Muth Mauk, do you see that?”

  Dar stared into the storm but saw nothing. Then she thought she detected a glow atop a nearer summit. “Is that signal fire?”

  Before Zna-yat could answer, another fire blazed in the storm, then another. Finally, a fire glowed on the nearest hilltop. “Muth Mauk, should we light piles now?”

  “Thwa. Let’s wait and see what washavokis will do. Delay will help fleeing mothers.”

  For a long time, nothing happened. The signal fires burned out without any sign of the invaders. As the light failed, Dar could see less and less. When her view was reduced to little more than vague silhouettes, Zna-yat spoke. “Washavokis approach.”

  Dar peered into the gloom. It seemed that a black shadow was flowing between the hills. She couldn’t distinguish individual soldiers, but their masses darkened the snow. They moved slowly and steadily toward the hall.

  “Shall we light fires?” asked Zna-yat.

  “Not yet. Perhaps they’ll stop and camp for night.” Dar waited for the dark wave to halt. It continued to advance. Sevren said they wouldn’t attack at night. She hoped Kol wouldn’t prove him wrong. Eventually, the army reached the mountain’s base. The valley was filled with soldiers. There seemed to be many more than two thousand. Instead of halting or moving up the winding road to the hall’s entrance, the mass split and began to encircle the base of the mountain.

  “Muth Mauk,” said Zna-yat. “Now?”

  “Thwa. We wait.”

  “For what?”

  Dar answered the question for everyone’s benefit. “I think washavokis will surround our mountain, then wait for dawn. They are tired and cold, and they see poorly at night. Soon they will sleep. When they do, we’ll light fires.” Dar sent sons to observe from other windows and report back. When they did, she was relieved to learn that she had guessed right; the soldiers were settling in around the base of the mountain. Already, campfires were being lit on the lower terraces. After a while, the mountain was ringed with fires. It gratified Dar to think of the mothers safely fleeing. But we won’t escape unnoticed, she thought. We’ll have to fight our way out.

  Dar retreated with the orcs into a hanmuthi in the innermost part of the hall. There, they made a small fire to roast some pashi. Dar, who hadn’t eaten all day, was ravenous. The smell of the cooking roots made her stomach grumble. When the pashi was ready, she said that the food was Muth la’s gift and served it. The meal was eaten in silence, for everyone seemed deep in thought. Dar relived a memory of the queen who had been Nir-yat’s grandmother, and for a while, her mind’s eye filled the room with happy feasters. Dar knew that some of the children who laughed on that long-ago night were now elderly mothers, trudging in the storm as she ate.

  Dar spent the remainder of her meal reviewing her plan to torch the hall. A fire pile at the center of the building would be lit first, in hopes that the blaze would be well established before the enemy noticed any flames. Once the first fire took hold, sons would fan out toward the hall’s outer walls, torching rooms as they went. After all the fires were lit, everyone would rendezvous on a terrace near the northeast side of the hall. White cloth, torn into cloak-sized pieces, had been placed there. Everyone would don their camouflage and descend the mountain by a route different from the one the mothers had taken. At some point, they would have to break through the enemy’s line.

  It was past midnight when Dar lit the first fire. She touched a torch to an oil-soaked cloth and it blossomed into blue and orange flames. These quickly ignited the shattered furniture, sleeping mats, clothes, foodstuffs, deetpahis, and other items piled above it. As Dar watched, wind blowing through shattered windows whipped the flames into a swirling column of orange. The column reached the ceiling’s wooden beams. Soon they were ablaze. Dar stood transfixed as the fire spread, reliving her vision of the burning hall.

  Then someone gently touched her shoulder. “Muth Mauk,” said Zna-yat. “We should leave.”

  Dar realized that she and Zna-yat were the room’s sole occupants. The others had left to set more fires. Dar and Zna-yat strode through hallways that were already beginning to fill with smoke. They reached the exit and stepped into the frigid night. As Dar made her way to the terrace, flames appeared above the hall. The falling snow took on a red tint and bright, rising sparks mingled with it. Dar smelled smoke and cooking food. She smiled slightly, imagining the scent’s effect on hungry soldiers.

  When Dar arrived at the terrace, several sons were already there, draped in white cloth. She wrapped herself in a piece, then waited with them. As her party slowly assembled, Dar worried that the flames would awaken the soldiers. She hoped they would be confused and slow to react. By the time everyone had returned, billowing flames rose above much of the hall. All its windows were alight, giving it a falsely festive look. Dar felt conspicuous in the firelight.

  “Zna-yat, be my eyes and lead way. Stay in shadow whenever possible, and choose difficult path. There’ll be fewer washavokis there.”

  Zna-yat strode off, and Dar followed close behind. The northeast side of the mountain was the steepest part and little farmed. The terraced fields were few and far between and the narrow, snow-covered paths that connected them were hard to follow. When shadowed from the fire’s light, Dar could see very little. More than once, she lost her footing on the slippery incline and would have slid down the mountainside if Zna-yat had not grabbed her.

  When, at last, the way grew less steep, Zna-yat halted abruptly. He whispered to Dar. “I hear washavokis ahead.”

  Dar strained her ears, but heard nothing. “Are there many?”

  “It’s hard to say. Two are walking. Others sleep.”

  “Take several sons. Keep close to ground and hide under white cloth so you look like snow. Choose sons who understand reason for this. Kill walking soldiers silently if you can. Then slay sleepers.”

  “Hai, Muth Mauk.”

  Zna-yat chose Auk-goth and another son. The three started down the slope, then seemed to vanish. Dar waited nervously. For a long while there was only silence. Then a loud voice, shrill with terror, broke the stillness. “Orcs! Orcs! Or…”

  Dar heard heavy, running footsteps. “Come, Muth Mauk! Washavokis are dead, but more are coming.”

  Zna-yat appeared, sword unsheathed. “Follow me,” he said.

  Dar ran to him, and he headed down the slope, mindful that Dar was following. He reached a small terrace where Dar spied the crumpled forms of men. One was headless. H
is blood made the snow look black. Yet the alarm had gone out, and even Dar could hear the response. The noise came from the next terrace down the slope. It was broader, and Dar could make out dark shapes moving about it.

  “Attack!” Dar said. “Strike quickly!”

  As the orcs dashed down the slope, Dar knew she must follow them as best she could. A swift attack in the dark offered their best chance. Speed was crucial, and if Dar lagged behind she could easily be stranded among foes. She paused only to search a dead soldier for a dagger. Finding one, she rushed after the orcs.

  Slipping and stumbling in the dark, Dar reached the terrace where a struggle was already in progress. The orcs were outnumbered, but their surprised opponents fought clumsily. They screamed and cursed as they died, and the cries brought more men to replace them. Dar heard footsteps and turned to see a soldier advancing toward her, sword drawn. His teeth grinned white in his shadowed face. “Ah ha! A runt!”

  “I’m human!” shouted Dar. “A woman.”

  “What’s a bitch doing with piss eyes?” asked the soldier, lowering his blade.

  “They kept me for food.”

  “Then why aren’t ye bound? Perhaps ye…”

  Dar plunged her dagger deep into the man’s eye. For a horrible moment, he simply stood shuddering as if seized by a bone-rattling chill. Then he twisted slightly and collapsed, nearly wrenching the blade from Dar’s hand as he fell. Dar stared at his corpse, sickened by what she had done. Then she glimpsed another soldier bounding toward her, an ax raised high. Before she could react, an orc darted between them and severed the man in two at the waist. As the torso fell at Dar’s feet, its arms reached out. A hand briefly grasped her ankle, then relaxed.

  “Muth Mauk! Way is clear!” Dar recognized Zna-yat’s voice. She dashed in its direction. Beyond the terrace wall was another slope. The orcs were already scampering down it, but Zna-yat stood waiting for her. When Dar reached him, he grabbed her waist and bounded down the steep slope. Dar could barely breathe, much less talk during the quick, jarring trip down the remainder of the mountainside. Zna-yat set her down only when they reached level ground. By then, Dar’s ribs ached from pressing against Zna-yat’s armor. She didn’t complain, for she saw the dark shapes of running men against the snow.

  A broad, snow-filled meadow lay between them and a wood. “Let’s flee, not fight, if we can,” Dar shouted. Zna-yat made a move to grab her waist again, but she said, “I’d rather run.” The orcs took off and Dar raced behind them, following the trail they made. Glancing over her shoulder, she thought their pursuers were giving only a halfhearted chase. When she reached the tree line, she looked back again and saw they had stopped running altogether.

  Dar and the orcs headed north, their number reduced by two. Both were sons who had fought without armor. Two slain already! thought Dar. She suspected that the orcs had killed dozens, but in the grim arithmetic of war, that didn’t matter: Kol had thousands to attack fewer than three hundred defenders. Fleeing and hiding seemed the most prudent course, until a terrifying possibility came to Dar. Although the washavokis were in unfamiliar territory, Othar might employ magic to guide them. The Mah clan settlement lay within two days’ march. If Kol captured their larders, the orcs would be doomed.

  Dar brooded over their situation, but her ignorance about the enemy prevented forming a course of action. I don’t know if Othar’s directing the army. That information was vital, and it seemed foolhardy to base her strategy on speculation. After more consideration, Dar came to a conclusion. She halted the march and told all the sons without armor to join up with the fleeing mothers. After they departed, only Zna-yat and four other mintaris remained. “Muth Mauk,” Zna-yat said, “where will you lead us?”

  “Back to washavoki soldiers.”

  Forty-six

  The wind clawed at the sustolum’s cloak as his horse plodded through the snow. The young officer was cold, hungry, and disappointed. The latter exacerbated the first two miseries. He gazed despondently at the burning hall atop the mountain. Its flames cast an eerie light, tinting the night red. My share of the plunder’s up there. My rations, too. All naught but ashes!

  It didn’t help that the general was such an iron butt. General Voltar never made his staff officers check encampments. That’s a murdant’s job, thought the sustolum—not that he dared tell that to General Kol. As the most junior officer, it was his lot to make the rounds before dawn, when the night was coldest. He had just rounded the northern end of the mountain when he saw a figure emerge from the woods. In the dim light, he could just make out a dark, walking form. It looked too small to be an orc. The sustolum drew rein and watched.

  The figure continued to advance across the meadow, its form conspicuous against the snow. It seemed to be staggering. Then it collapsed near some snow mounds and called out for the first time. “Please help me!”

  The sustolum was astonished. A girl’s voice! He’d heard tales of girls who disguised themselves as soldiers. Some man’s whore. The officer grinned. This one got more than she bargained for.

  The girl had risen to her feet, but remained in place, swaying slightly. “Please, sir! Help me.”

  The officer turned his horse toward the lone figure. He was more than a little intrigued. If she’s pretty, I might keep her for myself. The girl stopped swaying and waited motionless. As the sustolum came nearer, he could see her a little better. She seemed well dressed against the cold, with a hooded cloak and a white scarf wrapped around her chin. When he was a few paces away, he noticed something odd about her forehead, but he didn’t recognize the crown-shaped scar until he rode up next to her and she gazed upward. “Why, you’re a branded girl!”

  The girl shouted “Dup!” and the snow mounds shot upward, revealing orcs that had been hiding beneath snow-covered cloth. The sustolum grabbed at his sword hilt, but a massive hand seized his wrist. The next instant, he was sailing through the air. He hit the ground hard and orcs swarmed over him. A hand wrapped around his lower face, covering his mouth. A second orc disarmed him as another held him down while a fourth bound his wrists. Then the girl bent over him and held a dagger beneath his throat. “Make one sound,” she said in a low voice that was anything but girlish, “and I’ll let the orcs kill you. They won’t do it gently. Nod if you understand.”

  The sustolum nodded as best he could with a hand clamping his mouth and a dagger pressing his chin.

  “Don’t say a word. Don’t moan. Don’t even breathe hard. Am I clear?”

  The young officer nodded again. The woman spoke some strange words and the orcs released him. Then she walked over to his horse, speaking to it in calming tones before taking the reins. “Follow me,” she said, and began walking toward the woods. Surrounded by orcs, the sustolum obeyed.

  When they reached the trees, the woman spoke to the orcs again. They cut pine boughs, and when they resumed marching, they used them to brush snow over their tracks. A short while later, the woman halted and asked, “What’s your horse’s name.”

  “Foeslayer.”

  His captor smiled mockingly. “Foeslayer?”

  “Aye.”

  The woman stroked the horse’s nose. “Foeslayer, you’re a good boy, and I’m very tired. Will you let me ride you? Ah, good boy. Good boy.”

  Although the woman had a way with the horse, she mounted it clumsily. Afterward, she spoke to an orc, and he took the reins. As the woman slumped in the saddle, the march resumed. The sustolum knew they were headed north, but nothing else. He wondered if the woman could possibly be the orc queen; she certainly had a commanding air. He had never encountered such a forceful woman. In fact, the sustolum could think of only one man who was as equally forceful. General Kol himself.

  Dar had Zna-yat guide the way as she tried to doze in the saddle. It wasn’t easy or comfortable to nap that way. She drifted off several times only to feel hands saving her from falling. Mostly, she hovered on the dreary border between dreams and awareness. When the sky lightened, she gave up
trying to sleep and gazed blearily at her captive. He didn’t seem a seasoned soldier, more a lad whose parents could afford to purchase a commission. He stared back at her, not daring to speak. “I know your horse’s name,” Dar said. “I might as well know yours.”

  “Dedrik, Your Majesty.”

  Dar grinned. “So you figured out who I am.”

  “Aye. What do you want of me?”

  “Tell me what I need to know, and you’ll see more sunrises. Otherwise…” Dar was pleased when Dedrik paled. He’ll talk, she thought.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “We’ll speak later. For now, be silent.”

  It was still morning when Zna-yat suddenly halted. “I smell urkzimmuthi.”

  Dar gazed about. The snow-covered road looked untraveled and the woods surrounding it seemed empty of anything but trees. Then a snow mound rose to reveal Sevren and Kovok-mah. “Stay in place,” said Kovok-mah, obviously speaking to other orcs, who remained hidden. Then he spoke to Dar. “We’re waiting for any washavokis that follow mothers. This is Sevren’s teaching.”

  “He taught you well,” said Dar. “I didn’t know you were there. Where are mothers?”

  “They’re resting not far from here. I’ll have son show you way. I must stay here and talk for Sevren.” Kovok-mah called a name, and a son appeared from beneath pine boughs mounded with snow. He bowed deeply. “Muth Mauk, your return gladdens us.”

  “And I’m glad to return,” said Dar, “but most anxious to see mothers.”

  “I’ll take you to them,” said the son. The route he took impressed Dar by its indirectness. Someone’s instructed him in subterfuge, she thought, wondering if it was Sevren, Zor-yat, or a combination of the two. At last, they entered a hollow and found great masses of mothers and children huddled together like hibernating animals. No fire burned, so they had only one another to provide warmth. Most seemed asleep.