[Queen of Orcs 02] - Clan Daughter (28 page)

Queen Girta knocked on her husband’s door, knowing the king was drunk. He could become violent, but drink also loosened his tongue. Girta risked his wrath only because she was desperate. “Enter,” said the king. His eyes narrowed when he saw his wife. “Wha’ya want?”

Girta assumed her most timid manner. “Milord, ’tis rumored that Othar had another child taken to the tower.”

“So?”

“Lady Rowena’s son is missing,” said Girta. She watched her husband’s face grow pale, and horror came over her.
He knows what happened!
Girta summoned her nerve and spoke again. “Do you think Othar…Could he have…”

“How should I know?” snapped Kregant.

“But, milord, he’s
your
mage.”

“Mine?” The king laughed bitterly. “You’re queen. Ask him yourself.”

“I can’t. He terrifies me.”

Kregant refilled his wine goblet, then emptied it like a thirsty man. He gazed at his wife with eyes that had difficulty focusing. “Used to think he was my servant. Clever with herbs. Nothing more. Then…” His face contorted with despair. “Those cursed bones!”

“They changed him,” said Girta in a quiet voice. “Not just his face. There’s a chill about him—a wind from the Dark Path.”

“Think I haven’t noticed? I wear furs to dinner. The man’s ice cold, if he’s still a man.”

“Get rid of him!”

Kregant shivered. “Can’t.”

“Because he poisoned your father for you?” That was only a guess on Girta’s part, and she wanted to hear how her husband would reply.

Kregant was too drunk to perceive the snare. “Too late for blackmail. I’m king now.”

“Then why can’t you be rid of him?”

“Too dangerous. He could join my enemies.”

“Not if he’s dead.”

King Kregant refilled his goblet. “Bones would warn him. B’sides, I need him. There’s danger. My foe’s returned.”

“What foe?”

Kregant gazed at his wife stupidly. “Foe? Not sure yet. Othar’s searching. But he needs blood. So much blood.” The king’s head slumped on his chest as he passed out.

Girta regarded her unconscious husband with disgust. She had never loved him, but royal marriages had nothing to do with love. The match had benefited Girta’s father and given her a crown. When she married, Girta had believed a crown was more than a weight upon the head. She had since learned differently. Girta’s son was the sole unblemished part of her life. She loved him fiercely, and any foe of the king also threatened the prince. Thus, while Girta was certain that a man she loathed and feared had killed her best friend’s son, she hoped the boy’s death had not been in vain. If the mage’s sorcery had exposed an enemy, the prince would be safer. That hope shed some light on the king’s dilemma; even demons have their uses.

Thirty-three

Dar was asleep at the edge of Bea’s mattress when Davot shook her awake. He was grinning. “Every bite!” he said. “She ate every bite of what ye cooked!”

Dar blinked sleepily. It wasn’t yet dawn. “That’s good.”

“Didn’t touch the venison pie, the poached fruit, nothing from the king’s banquet. But she liked yer food. Praised it. I should be jealous.”

“It was nothing special.”

“Maybe so, but it’s official now—ye’ll cook for the orc and serve her, too.”

“Serve the queen? I’d have to bathe first.”

“Aye, I know all about that. We have a room for washing. Fresh robes, too. She’s been here awhile, ye know.”

Dar saw an opportunity and seized it. “I’ll like to have more orcish spices. It’d help me cook.”

Davot looked dubious. “And how would I get those?”

“There’s an orc in camp who would fetch them if I spoke to him.”

“Orcs can’t come to the city without the king’s leave.”

“We could meet outside the gate. I’d need an escort, though.”

Davot smiled knowingly. “Sevren, perhaps?”

“He’d do.”

“I’ll arrange it. Meanwhile, think of what ye’ll make for dinner.”

Davot hurried off. Dar rose, put on her new shoes, and breakfasted on leftover bread. While she ate, she pondered where events were taking her. She had the unsettling feeling that her arrival in Taiben had been fore-ordained.
Why else would Velasa-pah warn me about the mage?
Dar was still uncertain why he warned her about the bones.
I’ve heard stories of magic tokens. How can such things be an enemy?
Dar knew nothing of deep magic. The idea that it might be used against her was terrifying.

Sevren arrived while Dar was making muthtufa. By then it was midmorning. “Davot said you had an errand.”

“Can you go to the orc garrison?”

“A guardsman can go anywhere on the king’s business.”

“This is the king’s business. I need you to get a message to an orc.”

Sevren looked uneasy. “What should I say?”

“The orc’s name is Zna-yat, and he’s in barracks seventeen. He doesn’t speak our tongue, so you’ll have to memorize what to say.”

Sevren looked even more uneasy. “I don’t fancy saying things I do na understand. What if I insult him?”

“Zna-yat is expecting my message. He’ll do nothing to displease me.”

Sevren grinned. “And snapping my neck would displease you?”

Dar ignored the jest. “Say ‘Dargu-yat vak pah ala Zna-yat.’ That means ‘Dar has a message for Zna-yat.”

Sevren repeated the phrase until Dar was satisfied. Then she said, “When an orc speaks to you, ask him if he’s Zna-yat. Say ‘Na tha Zna-yat?’ ‘Hai’ means ‘yes.’ ‘Thwa’ means ‘no.’”

“What if he says no?’”

“Then repeat my first message until Zna-yat shows up. Then say ‘Sutat. Tha pahat ta Dargu-yat.’ That means ‘Come. You speak with Dargu-yat.’ It would be a good idea to bow before you say it. Take him to wherever you think we should meet, then say, ‘Geemat.’ That means ‘wait.’ Then get me.”

“I take it bowing again wouldn’t hurt.”

“Politeness never does.”

Sevren gave a mock bow and asked Dar to repeat all the phrases he must learn. After he memorized everything, he departed and didn’t return until the afternoon. By then, the muthtufa was simmering. Dar left it in the care of a kitchen maid, and Sevren led her to the meeting place. It was beyond the gate but still in view of the guards. The approach to the city had been cleared of any cover for an enemy, leaving only a tiny guardhouse between the city and the camp. Thus, Dar felt conspicuous as she met Zna-yat. He bowed, then grinned. “Dargu, already you have taught courtesy to washavokis,” he said in Orcish.

Dar answered in the same tongue. “Only this one.”

“What do you wish of me?”

“I’ll need spices from clan hall. More importantly, tell matriarch that I’ll see our queen tonight and every night thereafter. When you return, I may have more messages.” Dar handed Zna-yat a metal token that Sevren had given her. “Washavoki king gives these to urkzimmuthi who carry his messages. When you return, you’ll need it to contact me.”

Zna-yat bowed low. “Great is your wisdom, Mother. Tell me what spices you desire and what I must do when I return with them.”

After Dar had concluded her business, Sevren escorted her back to the kitchen. “I’ve seen hardened soldiers tremble before orcs,” he said. “I’ll confess, I was a tad shaky myself. But you…I could hear the respect when that orc spoke, though I did na understand a word.”

“He honors me because I bit his neck.”

“You what?”

“It’s a long story.”

Sevren regarded Dar with awe. “I think it’s
you
I should be bowing to, na the orc.”

Dar felt nervous and excited as dinner approached. She didn’t know what to expect, but she was certain the night would be eventful. Davot brought the woman who would show the way to the queen’s chamber. He also inspected the muthtufa Dar had prepared. Davot didn’t taste the stew, but poured the contents of a vial into it and stirred thoroughly. “That’s healing magic,” he said, “so don’t ye taste that dish again.”

“Who prepared that magic?”

“The mage.”

“Does the queen know it’s in her food?”

“I’m a cook. Magic’s not my concern. Yers neither.”

Davot hurried off to supervise the banquet’s preparation, leaving Dar with Fertha, the queen’s former serving woman. Fertha was more than happy to relinquish her duties. “It’s a long climb ta the chamber,” she said. “Ye have ta light yer own torches on the way and wash and change afore ye serve. There’s a place outside her door fer that.”

“What can you tell me about the queen?”

“It’s an orc, so what’s there ta tell? I’d rather serve hounds, but I guess yer used ta them.”

Dar colored, but replied evenly. “I am. When should I serve her dinner?”

“Not afore the king dines. That wouldn’t be proper. When his banquet starts, I’ll show ye the way.”

A short while later, Dar climbed a narrow spiral stairway lugging a hamper containing the queen’s dinner. Fertha led the way. The queen’s chamber was on the sixth floor. Once Fertha reached it, she took Dar down a long passage to a small room. A torch on the wall illuminated a copper basin filled with water, some blue robes hanging on hooks, and two doorways. “The door ta the left goes ta the orc’s room. Ye’ve served orcs afore, so ye know ’bout the bathing and the robes. Ye can wait here while she eats, then bring the dishes down. Put out the torches as ye go.” After those instructions, Fertha hurried off.

The bathwater was scented with flowers rather than herbs. It was cold, but Dar scrubbed herself thoroughly. When she was done, she donned one of the blue serving robes, took a deep breath, and entered the orc queen’s room.

The door opened noiselessly and Dar had left her shoes in the outer chamber. Thus she caught the queen unawares. She was gazing out a window at the Urkheit Mountains. Although it was dusk, no lamp or torch illuminated the chamber. Even so, Dar could see it was richly decorated, though as sparsely furnished as any hanmuthi. A stool, a sleeping mat, and a pair of chests were the sole furniture. A circle painted on the floor marked Muth la’s Embrace. The queen sat in its center on the stool, facing away from Dar. She wore a long robe similar to those noble women wore in court. A thin gold band encircled her head.

Dar set the hamper on the floor, then bowed very low. “Tava, Muth Mauk.”
Greetings, Great Mother.

The queen continued to gaze out the window, but answered in a dull voice. “Ga pahak Pahmuthi.”
It speaks Orcish.

“Mer nav urkzimmuthi.”
I am orcish.

Upon hearing Dar’s reply, the queen turned around, causing Dar to gasp with astonishment. “Muth Mauk,” she said in Orcish, “I’ve seen you before.”

The queen replied in the same tongue. “My mind is filled with mist. I don’t recall.”

“I had vision of you. It was Nuf Bahi, and I was beginning journey. You asked where I was.”

The queen rose unsteadily. She reminded Dar of Zor-yat and Muth-yat, but she looked gaunt and confused. She shuffled over to Dar and touched her chin. “You don’t look urkzimmuthi, but that mark…”

“I was reborn. I’m Dargu-yat. Zor-yat is my muthuri.”

Dar expected the queen to react to her sister’s name, but she only looked troubled. “Mist,” said the queen in a distracted voice. “Everything is mist.”

“Zor-yat is your sister.”

“Sister? I have sister?”

“You have two. They’re worried about you. Don’t you remember them?”

“I smell muthtufa,” said the queen. “I remember that.” She moved toward the hamper.

Dar snatched it up, then bowed very low. “Don’t eat it, Mother. Have boiled roots instead.”

The queen’s expression turned petulant. “Why?”

“I think it’s poisoned. That may be why your head is filled with mist.”

“Poisoned?” The queen seemed straining to recall something. After a long silence, she asked, “Are you really urkzimmuthi?”

“Hai, Mother. Magic has made me so.”

The queen’s eyes narrowed. “Whose magic?”

“Your sisters’ magic. Zor-yat and Muth-yat.”

“Why are you here?”

With sudden and startling clarity, Dar knew the answer. “Muth la has sent me to save you.”

Thirty-four

The kitchen was dark when Dar returned from Muth Mauk’s chamber. She poured the untouched muthtufa into slop pails, wondering if it would poison the royal swine. After cleaning up, she crawled onto Bea’s mattress, but sleep didn’t come. Instead, Dar pondered what to do. Her conversation with the lonely queen had been disheartening. Mostly, Muth Mauk had rambled incoherently. She seemed thoroughly addled, though there were glimmers of awareness. At those times, she appeared to struggle against the potion that ensnared her mind. Those brief moments seemed all the more poignant after derangement returned.