[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny (11 page)

After Yev-yat locked away the foreboding text, she spent the rest of the afternoon recounting how former queens had ruled. Dar listened attentively, hoping the past would offer lessons for the future. All the while, she felt as she had when she nearly drowned in the Turgen River—seized by currents beyond her control. In tales from her childhood, becoming queen was always a happy ending. That afternoon, it seemed just the opposite.

Murdant Kol suspected that Othar’s “offer” would be fatal to refuse, but more than fear prompted him to accept it. Gorm promised an opportunity beyond Kol’s wildest hopes—a chance to rise above his station. As high murdant, he had reported directly to the Queen’s Man and his duties for General Tarkum occasionally had taken him to the court. There, the courtiers had treated him as little more than a servant. Though it had stung his pride, Kol always held his tongue, for an offended nobleman could ruin him. But with funds and patronage, his humble background wouldn’t hold him back. Othar could provide both. With those advantages, “ambitious men rise high.”

Pondering the task before him, Kol had no illusions it would be easy.
It wasn’t easy to become high murdant, either
, he thought, recalling his rise. He knew that the brutality he had employed in the regiment wouldn’t work in the court. Charm and cunning would be more useful. He had learned to read people while working in his father’s inn, and the skill still served him.
After all, a court’s only a glorified common room. I’ll find a way to thrive.
Kol was confident because the monarch was a woman. He fancied himself good with women. Only one had ever eluded his wiles.
Dar!

When Kol thought of his adversary, he reflected on the ironic turn of events. He became her enemy because she challenged his authority. With the orc regiments disbanded, his nemesis would become the means for him to regain power and rise to even greater heights. With Dar a queen, it would take a war to bring her down. Othar had promised to help him start one. If things worked out right, Kol would be a general soon. He smiled at the prospect of leading an army against the piss eyes. Commanding such might would be far sweeter than any vengeance he could inflict on Dar.
Let Othar have her!
Kol almost pitied Dar when he imagined what the mage would do. Compared with the sorcerer’s revenge, a death by flogging would seem merciful.

Thirteen

Muth-pah woke with a start. It was the middle of the night, and the fire in the hearth had died to embers. The smoke hole was partly covered to keep out blowing snow, so the hanmuthi was nearly black. A few snowflakes drifted down from the opening in the ceiling. Otherwise, the room was absolutely still. Despite the darkness, the matriarch immediately spied someone sitting on her stool. It had to be a stranger, and an oddly formed one at that. Muth-pah rose to confront the intruder, her cold joints aching from the effort.

Before Muth-pah could speak, the stranger greeted her. “Tava, Muth-pah. Ma nav Velasa-pah.”
Greetings, Muth-pah. I am Velasa-pah.

When the matriarch had entered darkness with Dargu, she had encountered the wizard’s spirit. Then, his appearance had been youthful, his Pah clan tattoo prominent on his smooth chin. The chin of the figure before her was covered with a growth of long white hairs, something Muth-pah had never seen before. His clothes also looked strange, but with the understanding that sometimes comes with visions, the matriarch knew he was the legendary wizard.

Muth-pah bowed and waited. Velasa-pah continued to speak in Orcish. “New queen sits on throne,” he said. “Queen from west.”

“So soon?”

“Hai. She is in peril. You must go to her.”

“Snow covers path,” replied Muth-pah. “I’m old, and my bones hurt in winter.”

Velasa-pah seemed not to have heard her. “Leave at dawn. Bring son for new queen’s mintari.” The wizard fixed his gaze on Muth-pah. Even in the murky dark, she saw his eyes were the color of the sky. They also seemed as deep, and the matriarch was drawn into them. A sense of urgency kindled in her chest even before Velasa-pah spoke again. “Think of moth in spider’s web. All urkzimmuthi are that moth. Spider approaches. We must break free or perish. Do not wait single day. Before path is clear of snow, our fate will be decided.”

Muth-pah started to reply, but the wizard grew as pale as smoke and as insubstantial. A gust of wind came through the smoke hole and blew his form into nothingness, leaving the matriarch staring at the empty dark.

Dar spent most of the night pondering if she should tell Nir about what she had learned. As sister to the queen, Nir-yat was permitted to know. Muth-yat and Zor-yat did. So did Meera-yat. Dar worried that Nir-yat might react as they had and see her as a threat to the clan. She dreaded what would happen if Nir-yat turned against her. The possibility kept her from sleeping.

As dawn approached, Dar decided that loyalty based on ignorance was worthless. Even if she kept silent, Nir-yat could learn the secret lore from someone else. Muth-yat and Zor-yat might tell her.
Muthuri has already made hints. It’s best for Nir to learn the secrets from me.

Having resolved to confide in Nir-yat did not make it any easier, and Dar kept postponing it throughout the morning. Instead, she and Nir-yat began planning the feasts that Dar must host. “You’ll want to be properly attired,” said Nir-yat after reviewing the list of families again. “You should wait until your talmauki kefs are ready.”

“When will that be?” asked Dar.

“I asked Thorma-yat yesterday. Cloth will be ready tomorrow. Kefs should be done following day.”

“Then I could have first feast that day. Are you permitted to attend?”

“Hai. But only you can serve. That’s tradition. And first feast must be most lavish.”

“Must I serve falfhissi?” asked Dar, recalling how the liquor had made her drunk at her welcoming feast.

“Hai, but you need take only small sips,” replied Nir-yat, her lips curling into a smile.

“Are you thinking how I confessed my love for Kovok-mah that night, then forgot I told you?”

“Hai.”

“Yet you spoke of it to no one,” said Dar. “I was grateful for that.”

Nir-yat declined her head to acknowledge the compliment.

“Nir, I must tell you other secrets. Yev-yat spoke of frightening things yesterday. Things you should know. Things about me.”

“What?”

“Ancient lore says Velasa-pah was doomed to live until queen arrived from west. Another tale speaks of this queen. It says her appearance marks dangerous times. Yev-yat thinks I’m that queen.”

“What does she say will happen?”

“There is deetpahi that speaks of this hall’s destruction. I’ve had similar vision.”

Nir-yat grew pale. “One might say you drew this danger to us.”

“They might,” answered Dar in a quiet voice. For the first time ever, Dar detected a faint, sharp smell. She thought it might be the scent of her sister’s fear.

Nir-yat silently surveyed the beautiful and ancient room around her, then sighed. “Such words would only increase your burden. They’ll never come from my lips.”

In the afternoon, Dar went to the lorechamber for her first lesson in the arts of reading and writing. She went alone, for she thought she knew the way. Dar made several wrong turns before reaching her destination because the passageways seemed different somehow.
They can’t be different
, she told herself.
Stone hallways don’t change overnight. I’m just tired.

Yev-yat was waiting for her at a table that had several blank, clay-covered deetpahis. Beside them was another deetpahi with a set of symbols marked upon its white clay.

“May Muth la bless you, Yev-yat.”

“Shashav, Muth Mauk. Today, I’ll teach you all forty soundmarks.” She gestured to a sticklike object and a small vessel of black liquid. “With these you can practice making them.” She picked up a flat stone blade. “With this, you can scrape your mistakes away.”

Dar smiled. “I think I’ll be using it often.”

“I doubt so, Muth Mauk. You’ve made these marks before.”

“Never.”

“Besides writing, I’ll teach you another skill. Tell me, Muth Mauk, do you occasionally glimpse things that aren’t there?”

“Sometimes.”

“Are these episodes growing more vivid?”

“Hai.”

“Look around. Does this room seem different?”

Dar gazed about; then her expression grew puzzled. “I recall different floor. One without patterns in stone. How can that be?”

“And my face. Does it remind you of someone?”

Dar stared at the lorekeeper. “Yes it does. You resemble Eva-yat. Is she your muthuri?”

“Thwa. Eva-yat was my grandmother. She died three winters ago.” Yev-yat smiled at Dar’s confusion. “It’s due to Fathma, Muth Mauk. Your spirit is mingled with those of your predecessors. Their memories linger. Long ago, this floor had no pattern.”

“When I received Fathma, I felt love for all urkzimmuthi, nothing more.” Dar reflected a moment. “Thwa. I also recall soft voices, like leaves in wind.”

“Those were memories. They affect each great mother differently. No one knows why. Some scarcely notice them. For others, they become like visions. I suspect that, for you, they’ll be particularly strong.”

“Muth la help me! How will I know present from past?”

“Once you learn to handle them, you’ll find these memories useful. Learning to write will help. Pick up writing stick.” When Dar did so, Yev-yat smiled. “You already remember how to hold it properly. This is also exercise in memory. With some practice, your fingers will recall how to make soundmarks.”

The lorekeeper’s prediction proved accurate. With only a little practice, Dar could make all the Orcish letters, albeit sloppily. Still, she was amazed that she could do it at all. Dar also quickly identified the sound each mark represented. She wrote out four marks on the white clay and read them aloud. “Dee-Ar-G-oo. Dargu.” Dar grinned. “That’s my name.”

“That
was
your name. It’s now Muth Mauk.”

“Of course,” said Dar. “Fathma has merged me with all great mothers.”

“Some deetpahis say there has been only one Muth Mauk, though her body changes.”

“What of Pah clan mothers who became queen. Do I possess their spirits also?”

“Only you can answer that.”

As an experiment, Dar turned her thoughts to Tarathank. At first, she recalled only the ruin she had visited, envisioning its fire-blackened stones overgrown with vines. Then the image in her mind began to waver like a distant vista on a hot day. She recalled standing on a tower. It rose from a city of white stone softened by numerous gardens. Tarathank was not only intact, it was alive and vibrant. Dar’s memory of it was so immediate that she scarcely knew she was standing in the lorechamber. Instead, she was surrounded by the sights, sounds, and smells of a place she loved—her home in a former life.

Still in the reverie of memory, Dar gazed beyond the city to the green plain that surrounded it. The land was divided into lush fields that extended to the mountains. Then something out of place caught her eye. It seemed a spreading stain or a black cloud that hugged the ground. The queen whose memory this was had not yet comprehended what she was viewing, but Dar did.
Invading washavokis!
She could make out sunlight flashing off bare steel blades. The image wrenched her back to the present.

Dar looked about her. The room she was in seemed dark and close. Yev-yat was staring at her with consternation. Dar’s face was wet, and she realized that she had been weeping.

Fourteen