[Queen of Orcs 02] - Clan Daughter (35 page)

Othar’s triumph instantly became horror, and he rushed to the fireplace. He thrust his hands into the fire to pull out the bag. As he did so, its bottom gave way and the bones tumbled into the flames. The mage screamed, and the scream rose in pitch until it became an unearthly screech, horrible to hear. Othar jerked around as his skin bubbled and blackened. The flesh of his fingers dripped away, exposing charred bones that dropped—joint by joint—to the floor. All the while, the mage screamed and writhed. Dar couldn’t imagine how he still lived, but he did. His skin continued to char and shrivel until his wide eyes seemed to gape from a burned corpse. His voice dwindled to a whisper of a shriek, which, for all it faintness, lost none of its power to appall.

Dar looked down. She was standing in a pool of blood, and it was steaming. She realized that if she stepped outside the pool, she would share the mage’s fate. All she could do was to stay put until the magic lost its potency. It did when the last bone crumbled into ash.

Then the mage ceased writhing and the blood cooled. Dar stepped from her crimson refuge and pulled up her gown to examine her wound. It was a mere scratch that barely broke the skin. “So strange,” she said to the still room, “that such a little thing should kill me.”

Forty-two

Having foreseen her demise, Dar expected it to happen quickly. Yet the pain from the poisoned wound didn’t spread rapidly, and Dar continued to live. It gave her hope that she might still accomplish something. It also made her bold. Dar rang the bell to signal that the talks were over. As she waited for the door to be unlocked, Dar prepared herself for the chance that the king’s death would cause fighting to break out.

The two locks clicked, and both the high tolum of the guard and Zna-yat peered past the open door. The high tolum spoke first. “What treachery is this?” He moved to draw his sword, but Zna-yat seized his arm before he could.

“Treachery indeed!” said Dar. “Yet the traitor is already dead, killed by his own sorcery.”

“Lies!” said the high tolum, who was still restrained by Zna-yat. Dar could see that the orcs and men behind the two were growing restive.

“Before you call for revenge, look around,” said Dar. “Does this look like my handiwork?”

The crumpled figure of the mage was so blasted that it barely looked human. The king’s death looked equally unnatural. The pool of blood had evaporated and the gash in his neck was so scorched and blackened that it seemed he had been struck by lightning. Dar spoke to Zna-yat in Orcish, and he released the guardsman’s arm, permitting him to walk freely about the room. The high tolum inspected the two bodies and shook his head. “This was foul magic indeed.” He spit on the mage’s charred body. “Blood Crow was a fitting name for him.”

“Does Kregant’s queen now rule?” asked Dar.

“Aye, Girta will be regent until her son’s of age. May Karm protect him.”

“The mage wanted war, but peace is all I desire,” said Dar. “Perhaps Queen Girta will be of like mind.”

“Perhaps.”

“I would fain parley with her,” said Dar. As she spoke the pain in her chest grew stronger. “There is urgency in this matter.”

“I will speak to her and bring you her reply.”

After the guardsman left, Zna-yat cast Dar a concerned look.
He smells my pain.
Dar couldn’t bring herself to tell him of her wound or to lie about it, so she remained silent and waited for the queen’s reply. She was surprised when the guardsman didn’t return with a message, but with the queen. Girta went straight to her fallen husband. If she felt any grief, she didn’t show it. Rather, she looked at his corpse dispassionately, as if it were some curiosity. Her reaction to the mage’s body was undisguised satisfaction. Then she turned to Dar. “Tell me what happened.”

Dar recounted everything except that the mage had wounded her. When she was done, Girta seemed satisfied. “I’d like to finish what the mage interrupted,” said Dar, “and bring peace to our realms. May we speak in private as queen to queen?”

“Tomorrow, perhaps. So much has happened.”

Dar grasped Girta’s hand firmly. “The chance for peace is slipping away faster than you know. We
must
speak now and away from other ears!”

Dar’s intensity made Girta acquiesce. She had the others leave the room and shut the door. Then she turned to Dar. “Well?”

“I omitted something from my account,” said Dar. “The mage has stabbed me with a poisoned blade.” She handed Girta the mage’s weapon, which she had retrieved and hidden in her gown.

“Why tell me this?”

“Because I’ll die soon. If I do before peace is made, I dread what will follow. Wars are easy to start, but hard to end. The orcs are already inside the palace, if they’re provoked…Well, I’ve seen firsthand what they can do. Pray you’re spared the sight.”

Girta looked shaken. “So you asked for this private talk to threaten me?”

“No. I’m here to offer you strength to do what’s right, something the mage would have never done. I think he killed the king and poisoned me so he could rule through you. You know the man. Do you agree?”

“Aye. Already, he was more the king than my husband.”

“I was an ordinary woman once. I know men. They think our sex is weak. Other men will attempt to do by force what the mage would have done by magic. You’ll be queen in name only, and your son will always be in peril.”

Girta looked on the verge of weeping, causing Dar to soften her voice. “There’s a way to avoid that fate. Orcs honor mothers. They’ll protect you. With them by your side, who’d dare oppose you?”

“Why would they do such a thing?”

“Because I would command them, and because it’s their nature. Soon I’ll walk the Dark Path. I wish peace to be my legacy.”

Still, Girta hesitated, and there was fear in her eyes. “Orcs? Live surrounded by orcs?”

“When I was freshly branded, I thought the orcs would eat me. Yet the only kindness I received came from them. Learn to see them as I do, and you won’t be afraid.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible.”

“Among the orcs is the one who first befriended me. His name is Kovok-mah. He speaks your tongue and will show you the gentleness of his kind. Meet with him.” Dar moaned. “But hurry! My pains are growing stronger.”

When Girta saw that Dar’s lips had grown as pale as her face, she was gripped by a sense of urgency. “My heart tells me that you speak true. I’ll see this Kovok-mah later tonight. For now, tell me what we must do.”

“Let us make a treaty. The orcs will form a guard to protect you and your son. In return, you swear to use them only for defense, never for conquest or pillage. Also, their accommodations in your court must conform to orcish customs, so that mothers may visit to give them food and guidance. Finally, promise to honor and reward the branded women for their service and release them from further duties.”

“Those are easy terms,” said Girta. “Why so generous?”

“Those terms will secure peace, and peace is priceless.”

Girta kissed Dar’s clammy forehead. “Then let us announce this treaty together.”

Dar addressed the orcs first and described the agreement in their own tongue. She didn’t mention her fatal wound. Instead, she attempted to appear perfectly well, although the effort strained her. Girta spoke next. By then, courtiers had mingled with the guardsmen and many of them scoffed at their fledgling ruler’s plans. As soon as Girta finished speaking, the orcs thundered their allegiance to the “Washavoki Great Mother,” demonstrating that the new queen had formidable allies. Those men who responded to power instantly changed their attitude, and those who valued peace saw cause for hope.

Next, the treaty was committed to parchment, and heralds were dispatched to announce the news. By the time those formalities were accomplished, Dar was feeling dizzy and the pain in her chest had intensified. Exhausted, she ceased to struggle against the poison. Dar slumped into a chair. Her eyes closed, and she thought she was in the cave with Muth-pah. She envisioned a hole growing in her chest from which her essence streamed into the void. As in the cave, she perceived there was something else within her—something precious.
Fathma!
Dar’s eyes shot open.
If I die here, Fathma will be lost again!

Dar struggled to her feet, found Queen Girta, and pulled her aside. “I can’t die here!” she whispered. “I must return home.”

“I’ll have you escorted in honor.”

“There’s no time for honor. A fast horse is what I need. That, and a fast rider.” Dar gasped from a stab of pain. “Sevren. The guardsman who helped me. Get him. Please hurry.”

Dar experienced the succeeding events as if drifting in and out of a dream. Moments of clarity were followed by stretches of vagueness. She found herself lying on a bed. People were talking in low voices. She saw Girta and Sevren. Then they faded. Next, she realized Zna-yat was bent over her. “Muth Mauk, atham dava-dovak?”
Great Mother, what has happened?

Dar replied in Orcish. “Black Washavoki made evil magic. Tell no one yet. I must go home and see matriarch.”

“I will take you.”

“Thwa. Horse is faster.” Dar groaned. “Stay here and see my will is done.”

Zna-yat bowed deeply. “I will.”

Dar tried to curl her lips into a smile, but her face was too tight with pain. Her vision blurred, so she couldn’t see the grief on Zna-yat’s face. People gathered round. Hands lifted Dar and carried her to the stables. There, someone wrapped her in a thick cloak. She was hoisted up to a waiting horseman. Dar felt his arm grasp her waist. “Sevren?” she whispered.

“Aye, ’tis me.”

“Must…ride…fast.”

“I know,” said Sevren, his voice tender and anguished. “If the road’s clear, you’ll be home by morning.”

Dar wanted to say something else, but the world was slipping away. She scarcely noticed when Skymere began galloping.

In a room made bright by candles, young Kregant III stared at the huge orc seated on the floor. Queen Girta stroked the prince’s hair, attempting to calm him. She noted that he was sucking his thumb for the first time in years. “Darling,” said Girta, fighting the tremor in her voice, “this is Kovok-mah. He’s our friend.”

The prince remained silent.

“I must seem very big to one so little,” said Kovok-mah.

Queen Girta felt as frightened as her son. Already, she was having misgivings about the treaty.
Are these orcs any better than the mage?
she wondered. Nevertheless, Girta put on a brave front for her son’s sake. “You seem big to me, also. I’ve never seen your kind close up.” She recalled hearing somewhere that orcs could smell fear and thought it prudent to speak honestly. “I’m a bit frightened.”

“Dargu was also frightened when we first met,” said Kovok-mah. “Then she became angry.”

“Dargu?’

“She is Great Mother, now. Back then, she was only Dargu. Word means ‘weasel’ in your tongue.” Kovok-mah curled back his lips.

Girta had no idea what that disturbing expression meant. “I can see how one would call her weasel,” she said, thinking the name was an ill omen. “I wish I could speak to her now.”

“I think she will visit often.”

“How can she? I doubt she’ll even make it home before…” Girta’s voice trailed off.

“Before what?” asked Kovok-mah.

“Before the poison kills her.”

“Poison! What poison?”

When Girta saw the orc was agitated, and her fear increased. “I thought you knew that the mage stabbed her with a poisoned blade.”

“Can I see this blade?” asked Kovok-mah.

Girta sent a servant to fetch it. Then she turned to Kovok-mah. “Didn’t she tell you?”

Kovok-mah shook his head. “Dargu always hid her pain.”

When Girta perceived the anguish in Kovok-mah’s eyes, she had a startling insight. “You have feelings for her!”

“Hai, she fills my chest, even though…” The servant returned bearing the mage’s weapon. Its poisoned spike was still extended. Kovok-mah sniffed it. “I know this herb. Its magic is strong and evil,” he said. “Now I understand Dargu’s haste. Did you see her wound?”

“No,” said Girta.

“I have little hope, but little is better than none.” Kovok-mah bowed low. “Forgive me, Great Washavoki Mother, but I must find Dargu.”

“Will she live?”

“Long enough, perhaps.”

“Long enough for what?”

Kovok-mah rose, his thoughts already elsewhere. “Perhaps. Perhaps. But only if I hurry.”

Forty-three