Nir-yat rose from a clump of bodies, and ran to embrace Dar. “Sister! You’ve returned! My chest bursts with happiness!”
Dar returned Nir-yat’s hug. “Our home’s destroyed, so it will comfort no washavoki.”
“And is pass sealed?”
“There’s no way to tell,” said Dar. “How was journey?”
“It was hard. Meera-yat has joined Muth la.”
Due to Fathma, Dar possessed the memories of Meera-yat’s sister. Thus she remembered Meera-yat not only as ancient, blind, and nearly deaf, but also as a vibrant and beloved sibling. This made the news of her death especially heartrending. “I have sad news also,” said Dar. “Two perished leaving hall.”
“So it begins,” replied Nir-yat. “This likens to when our foremothers fled into Blath Urkmuthi.”
“Hai. I fear in days to come last night’s losses will seem light.”
Nir-yat nodded, then cast Dedrik a baleful look. “What’s it doing here?”
“We need information about our foe. He’ll provide it.”
Dar addressed her prisoner in the human tongue. “Dedrik, when did you last eat?”
“Night before last, Your Majesty.”
The answer pleased Dar, for she figured if the officers were hungry, their men would be more so. She said to Nir-yat in Orcish, “Have someone give this washavoki root to eat. Make sure it’s small.”
“I will, Sister. Join us and rest. You look exhausted.”
At those words, the nearest clump of mothers parted, opening a space in its warm interior. Dar saw that the snow had been cleared away and evergreen boughs covered the frozen ground, Dar walked to the space and sat down. The others pressed around her. Among them, snug and secure, she quickly drifted off to sleep.
It was late afternoon when Dar awoke. The mothers around her were afraid and their tense bodies wordlessly communicated that emotion. No one spoke, causing Dar to think some threat was near. She strained her ears and after a while heard distant shouts. They were men’s voices. Dar couldn’t make out any words, but the tone of the mingled cries was unmistakable. She had heard that blend of rage, agony, and terror before. The sound of metal striking metal punctuated it. A battle was in progress.
With that fearful realization, Dar had a second one: There was nothing she could do. She had no idea how the fight was going and no way to find out without drawing danger to the mothers. She could only hope the sons would prevail. If they didn’t, the best chance for the mothers and their children lay in stillness and silence. We’re fawns among wolves. We must hope we’re overlooked. Dar rose and all eyes went to her. She made the signs for “be quiet” and “don’t move,” then sat down again.
Waiting was torture. The noise remained distant and diminished into silence, but that was no indication as to which side had won. Soldiers might be searching for us right now, thought Dar. If they find us, it’ll be bare hands against swords and axes. After a long spell of silence, Dar felt the mothers tense and turn to look in one direction. Knowing that they heard something she couldn’t, Dar followed their gaze into the snowy woods. At first she saw nothing. Then a man came into view. He was running and clutching a bloody sword. Dar’s heart sank, but before she could shout for the orcs to flee, the man cried out, “Math tut guth!” We killed them! Then Dar realized it was Sevren.
Behind Sevren came Kovok-mah and several other sons. Unlike Sevren, there was no exuberance in their step, and Dar sensed they didn’t share his feeling of triumph. She left the huddled mothers and walked toward Kovok-mah. She would have run, but felt it would be undignified. When Kovok-mah saw her, he picked up his pace. When they met, Dar asked, “What happened?”
“Many washavokis came up road.”
“Two shieldrons,” added Sevren, in the human tongue. “All foot, with three mounted officers.”
“We did as Sevren told us,” said Kovok-mah. “We were still and quiet, looking like snow. Washavokis walked without understanding. When Sevren shouted, we jumped up, our swords and axes ready. Washavokis were only steps away. Many died quickly, but others fought.”
“Did any washavokis escape?” asked Dar.
“All died,” replied Kovok-mah.
“I had them go for the mounted officers first,” said Sevren. “Kol won’t know what happened.”
“How many sons were hurt?” asked Dar.
“Seven were slain, and thirteen more were wounded,” replied Kovok-mah. “I think four of them will soon join Muth la.”
“Eleven dead,” said Dar. The news was a weight in her chest. She would know each of the slain.
“But they wiped out two shieldrons,” said Sevren. “Seven-five men!”
“Out of Kol’s thousands,” said Dar. “And will we always be so lucky? What if he sends a regiment next time?” She turned to Kovok-mah. “I wish to bless wounded and thank them for their sacrifice. Afterward, I must decide what to do.”
Dar went directly to the ambush site. The scene was as wrenching as she expected. The four most gravely wounded lay against a tree surrounded by crimson snow. Their wounds were ghastly, but they suffered silently. One died while Dar was blessing him. As Dar spoke to the wounded, sons butchered the three slain horses and dragged the dead washavokis away. Dar tried to think of them solely as enemies, but death had rendered them harmless. Many were only lads.
When Dar returned to where the mothers hid, she assembled an unusual council. It was composed of two matriarchs, Muth-yat and Muth-pah; three mothers, Nir-yat, Zor-yat, and Yev-yat; two sons, Kovok-mah and Zna-yat; and three washavokis, Sevren, Queen Girta, and Dedrik. The sustolum was there by compulsion. Dar expected him to be an unwilling source of information, but Queen Girta’s arrival both astounded and confused the officer. “Your Majesty!” he blurted out. “You’re alive!”
“Now you understand the depth of your general’s treachery,” said Dar.
“If it weren’t for the orc queen, I’d be truly dead,” said Girta. “Is it true my son rides with the army?”
“Aye.”
“How fares he?”
“Not happily,” said Dedrik. “It’s hard campaigning in winter, and Kol’s a harsh commander.”
“But my son’s the king!”
“That counts for little here. He’s a boy and under the general’s thumb.”
Dar had let the exchange take place because she thought it would be fruitful, but she interrupted it to ask about what troubled her most. “Dedrik, what do you know about Othar?”
“The old king’s mage? You killed him.”
“Unfortunately not. I’m certain he’s riding in that black litter. Is he advising General Kol?”
“That’s who’s dogging us? No wonder the men are spooked!”
“Answer my question!” said Dar.
“That cursed band stays apart, but one visits the general. Gorm. I’ve heard them talking.”
Dar looked at Girta and Sevren. “Have you heard of him?”
Sevren shook his head.
“I thought he was someone’s servant,” said Girta. “A nobody.”
“The general doesn’t treat him like a nobody,” said Dedrik. “Gorm’s the only one who shakes him. He came visiting after the hall caught fire. I heard him through the tent. No yelling, mind you, but there was menace in his voice.”
“Did you hear what he said?” asked Dar.
“Something about a master. That master was displeased.”
“How did the general reply?”
“Well, he sounded meek, which is uncommon for him. Said he’d find them. I take it he meant the orcs.”
Dar focused on her principal concern. “Did Gorm tell him where to find us?”
“Nay. Just that the general better do it. He said time was running out.”
“Time for what?”
“I don’t know, but Gorm sounded both angry and scared.”
Dar paused in her interrogation to give the gist of it to the orcs. While she did, Zor-yat asked Dedrik a question of her own. “Wou
ld you say Gorm’s master wanted our hall?”
“Nay.”
“Then what did he want?”
“Your deaths.”
“There’s only one thing you can do, Your Majesty,” said Sevren. “Send runners to all the clans. Gather an army of orcs and lure Kol into an ambush. Those two shieldrons were doing reconnaissance. When they don’t return, he’ll head north. Let the mothers lead him into a trap. We’ll slaughter his men like we did today. Sorcery can na stop a sword.”
“My son’s with them!” cried out Girta.
“It’s his army,” said Dar. “He declared this war.”
“He’s only a boy, and Kol deceived him, just as he did me,” said Girta, her voice urgent and pleading. “Spare him! You must spare him!”
“Chaos reigns in battle,” said Dar. “I can’t promise anything.”
“Aye,” said Sevren. “When the blood runs hot, Mercy’s a stranger.”
“He doesn’t deserve to die,” said Girta.
“Neither do we,” said Dar, her face lit up by a sudden inspiration. “We can’t stop this fight, but your son can. He thinks we’ve slain you. Show him otherwise, and he’ll end this war.”
“Kol will na let him see her,” said Sevren. “He’ll slay her first.”
“He nearly killed me once before,” said Girta, touching her wounded shoulder. “I…I can’t…”
Dar saw the fear in Girta’s face and despaired. As much as she loves her son, she’s terrified of Kol. Dar tried to push her point. “Then there’s no hope for your son,” she said. “He’ll die with the others.”
As if on cue, Zor-yat reached out and gently patted Girta’s hand. “We’ll honor your son,” she said, “if we can find his corpse.”
The remark caused Girta to burst out weeping. Dar let her sob before offering her final inducement. “I’ll go with you. We’ll disguise ourselves as soldiers and find your son. Kol can’t harm you before the king.” She turned to Dedrik. “If the soldiers knew what you know, would they rather face orcs for Kol or obey their king and return home?”
“They’re hungry, and there’s no chance for plunder. They’ll gladly obey the king.”
“Have you the courage to save your son?” asked Dar.
“If you’ll go with me, I’ll find it.”
“Then I will,” said Dar. “I have no love for war.”
“You can na go!” cried Sevren. “Girta’s their queen, yet she fears for her life. You’re their enemy!”
“It’s worth the risk,” said Dar. “If we succeed, this war will end tonight.”
“Muth Mauk, you risk more than your life,” said Zor-yat in Orcish. “If you perish, Fathma will be lost.”
“Fathma lost again?” said Muth-pah, who had been unable to follow Dar’s conversation. “What is this talk?”
When Dar explained her plan, the matriarch was shaken. “If you perish, disaster will follow. It would be as it was when Tarathank fell. We’ll have no queen, and washavokis will hunt us. Your plan risks too much, Muth Mauk.”
“I admit you’ve acted wisely so far,” said Muth-yat. “If we had remained in hall, we’d all be dead. Yet I agree with Muth-pah. Trying times lie ahead. Without our queen, we’re doomed.”
“Sister, listen to these mothers’ wisdom,” said Nir-yat. “You have big chest, but blades can pierce it. We can’t lose you.”
Girta heard the orcs speak without understanding a word, but she readily perceived their opposition. “Dar, you promised to help me. I can’t do this alone.”
Dar felt the full weight of her sovereignty. A wrong decision will be disastrous. But what’s the wrong decision? Risk everything for peace? Engage in bloody war? She knew she had to decide and decide quickly, but she couldn’t see her path. “I must think upon this,” she said after a while. “Sister, will you walk with me?”
Nir-yat bowed, then followed Dar into the woods. The two walked silently until they were a long way from the other orcs. Nir-yat gazed at her sister and saw water running from her eyes. “I’m sorry I lack wisdom,” she said.
Dar wiped her eyes and gazed lovingly at Nir-yat. “You have it in abundance, and I’ve relied on it.”
“Yet I can’t advise you, for I don’t know how future will unfold.”
“Neither do I,” said Dar, “so let’s talk about past. Remember when I returned as queen?”
“How can I forget? You were nearly dead.”
“Were you with me then?”
“I was by your side, but you couldn’t see.”
“I could see, Sister. But I saw spirits, not faces. Muth la gives dying queens that skill, so they might bestow Fathma wisely.”
“But you lived,” said Nir-yat.
“Still, I was dying. Were you by my side entire time?”
“Until Deen-yat gave you magic draught. Then Muth-yat and Muthuri made me leave.”
Dar smiled for the first time. “Sister, I remember your spirit. When I had strength to bestow Fathma, none was worthy to receive it. Thus Muth la preserved my life. But earlier, my successor was by my side. She was you.”
“Thwa! Thwa! You’re mistaken.”
“I’m not. I’m certain of it,” said Dar. “Tonight, I’ll go with Girta. I’ll risk my life for peace, but I won’t risk our welfare. Fathma will be safe, for you’ll be queen.”
Nir-yat paled. “Queen! I can’t be queen.”
“That’s what I said. And I’ll reply as great mother before me did. You must. It’s Muth la’s will.”
Forty-seven
“I don’t know what future holds,” said Dar, “so I don’t know which path is best. This way, we can take both. I’ll take chance for peace. If I fail, you can guide urkzimmuthi in battle. You’ll possess my memories. They’ll aid you, as will Sevren and our muthuri.”
“But you’ll be dead either way,” said Nir-yat. “Queen who surrenders Fathma loses her spirit.”
“That may be so,” said Dar, “but my body will linger. I can take Girta to her son. Did not your grandmother linger after she passed on crown?”
“Hai, and I told you what happened to her. She became ghost.”
“Now I understand my last vision,” said Dar, her expression melancholy. “Lama-tok told me it isn’t always unwise to die.”
When Dar returned to the hollow, her expression was somber. Nir-yat’s was sad, but resigned. The two took Queen Girta aside and Dar had a lengthy conversation with her, which she translated for Nir-yat’s benefit. Afterward, the three spoke with Sevren. Then he departed on an errand.
The orcs watched all these things without comprehension, although they knew something was afoot. After Sevren left, Dar called them together. She and Nir-yat stood in the center of the throng, surrounded yet apart. Then Dar spoke in a loud, clear voice. “Fathma is Muth la’s gift to urkzimmuthi. Mother who receives this spirit is closest to Muth la. Her words are wisdom and must be obeyed. Long have mothers of our clan received this gift, each queen passing it to next.” Then Dar recounted all the queens’ names, ending with her own. “Muth la has both entered my chest and sent me visions. Thus I know what path to take. Perhaps this path will end in peace. Perhaps it will end with my death. All I know is that it’s perilous, too perilous to risk Muth la’s gift. Thus Muth la has sent another mother to receive Fathma. That mother is Nir-yat.”
With those words, Nir-yat cast off her cloak to stand bare-chested. Dar placed her hands above her sister’s breasts. Immediately, her fingers began to tingle. “Let Fathma pass to Nir-yat.”
Dar saw Nir-yat’s eyes widen, and she recalled her own experience of receiving Fathma. There had been a sensation of warmth, accompanied by transforming energy and murmuring voices. Bestowing Fathma felt quite different. Dar was left drained and empty. The world seemed suddenly silent, and Dar experienced a sense of profound loss. She removed her crown and placed it on her sister’s head. The mother who had been Nir-yat was no more. She had become Muth Mauk.
“My time is over,” said Dar. The crowd s
ilently parted, and Dar walked through it. As she did, custom required everyone to gaze away. Many did so reluctantly, desiring one last glimpse of one they had come to love. Yet, eventually, all eyes turned elsewhere, and Dar began to feel invisible. As she departed, the orcs bowed to their new queen and shouted, “Tava, Muth Mauk!”
Sevren and Girta stood apart. Dar walked over to them. Sevren looked solemn and sad. Girta appeared frightened. “I think I found soldier’s clothes that will fit,” said Sevren. “You should try them on here. The boots are big, but you can stuff rags in them.”
Dar wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure that stuff stinks of washavoki.”
“There’s na helping that,” replied Sevren. “You’ll ride Skymere, so hopefully you’ll na wear them long. The queen will take the prisoner’s horse.”
Sevren led the women through the woods to a stack of corpses. Nearby, he had assembled two sets of soldier’s clothes, armor, and equipment. Dar stripped down to the shirt she had worn in Taiben and her undergarment, then donned the soldier’s outfit. It was blood-splattered and smelled even worse than she feared. While every item was too large, none was overly so. There was a greasy, long-sleeved tunic made of wool, which fit under an armored tunic of stiff boiled leather. Metal plates were sewn on the shoulders and over the heart. The woolen leggings had thick slabs of leather on the front. They were far too long, but tucked into the heavy boots. These were so large that Dar had to wrap her feet in layers of cloth before she could walk in them. A leather helmet, reinforced with metal, hid her long hair and brand. A foul-smelling scarf covered her clan tattoo. A tattered cloak completed the outfit.
When Dar was dressed, she showed herself to Sevren. “You’ll pass for a soldier at night. All you need is a sword.”
“It’d be useless, but I’ll take a dagger.”
[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny Page 32
