[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny (12 page)

Murdant Kol was still weak when Gorm decided to take him back to Taiben. Gorm made all the arrangements. He acquired food, healing herbs, and bandages for the journey and paid the innkeeper’s inflated price for Thunder. When everything was ready, the two men departed the inn, accompanied by the Wise Woman, who traveled on foot. They left late in the afternoon, an unusual departure time in Kol’s judgment, and moved at a pace slowed to match the woman’s.

Kol thought the Wise Woman would travel with them to the capital, but toward dusk she turned from the road and bowed to Gorm. “Sire, ye’ve been most generous, and I’m grateful for the escort home. Follow my instructions, and the wound should heal cleanly.”

The Wise Woman bowed again, then headed down a dirt path that led into the woods. Kol watched her go, then spoke to Gorm in a low voice. “She knows that Othar lives.”

Gorm grinned. “I planned for that.” He waited until the woman was out of view, then slipped off his mount. Before heading down the path, he spoke to Kol. “Only her daughter lives with her. This shan’t take long.”

Kol waited, realizing the late departure had probably ensured that the Wise Woman’s daughter was home. Soon, a column of smoke began to rise from the woods. It thickened rapidly, and experience told the murdant that a hut was on fire. A short while later, Gorm emerged from the trees. “No tongues will wag back there,” he said.

The two men journeyed until it was too dark to travel, then camped in a sheltered spot. Gorm built a large fire and by its light changed Kol’s dressings. Afterward, they supped on wine, bread, and cheese. “I expect you’re more used to these accommodations than those you’ll find in court,” said Gorm.

“Is that where we’re headed? Court?”

“Not yet. You’ll stay awhile where Othar lodges. It’s the House of Balten, a merchant’s dwelling.”

“Why would he live with a tradesman?”

“Balten has his uses, and a hidden hand moves freely. When you see Othar, you’ll find him much changed.”

“How?”

“A force was unleashed on him. He’s maimed and disfigured, but his power has increased manyfold. He can seize minds now.”

“Is he still a man?” asked Kol.

“He’s become more than that.”

“Why would such a one need soldiers?”

“Slaughter feeds his power. He thirsts for the blood that only war can bring.”

“Before, you said he wanted vengeance. Now it seems he craves something else. Will victory satisfy him?”

“If it’s accomplished by extermination.”

As a soldier, Kol thought killing was the means to an end, not an end itself. He reflected that excessive slaughter squandered resources and was the mark of a poor commander.

Gorm gazed at Kol sharply, as if he had read Kol’s thoughts. “I know of your reputation with a whip. It’s said you once flogged a woman half a day. Wasn’t that overmuch?”

“An example heightens discipline.”

“Then the flogging wasn’t excessive. Othar’s aims aren’t either. It’s not your place to question his goals, only to fulfill them.”

“I never said I wouldn’t,” replied Kol. “You found the right man.”

“Even if Dar wasn’t the orcs’ queen, a war against them makes sense. They’re ripe for conquest. They lost their experienced fighters in this summer’s campaign, their halls are unfortified, and their slaughter will disturb no one.”

“I see your point. Why spill human blood when piss eye blood will do?”

“Why indeed.”

Kol took another swig from the wine skin, then wrapped himself against the cold. He relaxed, feeling that he could handle whatever loomed ahead. Accustomed to ruthlessness, Kol thought Othar’s objective was extreme, but not extraordinary.
The Queen’s Man sacrificed six regiments and lost no sleep over it.

The following morning, the two men resumed their ride to Taiben. Gorm set a leisurely pace and related everything that had happened in the capital. Much of it was news to Kol. After the orcs revolted, he had been isolated from events. By the time he had stopped fleeing, he was already succumbing to infection. Afterward, Kol had heard only muddled rumors. Thus, Gorm’s news often surprised him. He didn’t know the Queen’s Man was dead, or that orcs formed Queen Girta’s personal guard. Kol was certain that some of the news had been obtained by supernatural means, for Gorm knew that Dar had recovered from her poisoned wound, though no messages had come from the orcs.

The travelers spent the night at an inn, where they kept their conversation superficial. Gorm waited until they were on the road again to brief Kol on the situation at court. “The royal steward’s our man, and he knows all the ins and outs. Be aware that Girta doesn’t trust him. It won’t do to seem his friend. Have you heard of General Voltar?”

“Yes, he’s infantry.”

“In exchange for certain favors, he’s going to make you his aide. You’ll be a tolum.”

“Tolums don’t lead wars,” said Kol.

“Then don’t remain one. Gain the queen’s favor.”

“You talk as if that will be easy. I’ve never even met her.”

“You live only because we think you’re useful,” said Gorm, giving his voice a menacing tone.

Kol laughed in his face. “And I’ll die if I prove otherwise? Save your threats for cravens. A soldier makes that bargain before every battle. Do you think that death by magic is worse than an arrow in the throat?”

“I’m glad you know the stakes.”

“I’ve always known them,” replied Kol. “So let’s speak plainly and save innuendo for the court. First, I must regain my health. I can’t be seen as weak. While I do that, gather intelligence. I want to launch my campaign knowing my adversaries.”

Gorm smiled, seeming to approve of Kol’s boldness. “I’m joining the court myself as a manservant to a count. As such, I’ll be nearly invisible.”

Kol grinned. “But not blind. Every woman has a weakness. I need to know Queen Girta’s.”

Dar’s new kefs arrived on schedule, but she didn’t host a feast that night. The onset of the memories from past queens had disoriented her. Their frequency increased until they flooded Dar’s consciousness. Some were little more than passing recollections—a name accompanied by a face, a long-ago event, or a glimpse of a place she had never visited. Others were more like hallucinations and had all their reality. Those left Dar reeling and confused. Although most were pleasant, a few were frightening or sad. Nir-yat stayed by Dar’s side throughout, pulling her back to the present whenever necessary. Over time, the episodes grew less intrusive, and Dar learned to manage them as easily as her own recollections.

Even while the memories buffeted her, Dar realized their value. They proved to be a special kind of knowledge. They weren’t instructions on how to do things or a chronology of events. The memories were random impressions that connected her to her subjects, and provided an understanding of their history that went beyond mere facts. She felt as though she had lived through those times, experiencing things that otherwise had passed beyond recall. Once, she saw her sister through the late Nir-yat’s eyes—a toddler scampering naked through a field of yellow brak flowers. When the recollection faded, Dar affectionately grasped Nir-yat’s hand. “Your grandmother loved you very much.”

Four days after Dar received her new kefs, she felt settled enough to have her first feast. Traditionally, it was the most lavish, although it would be served to the humblest family within the hall. Each successive night, Dar would entertain another hanmuthi until the clan matriarch’s family was feasted with a simple, everyday meal. After Dar reviewed the elaborate menu with Gar-yat, the head of the communal kitchen, she went over the guest list with Nir-yat. Already, Dar was able to read it, and she took care to memorize all the names. When that was accomplished, Nir-yat told her what she knew about each guest.

Dar learned that Tauma-yat’s family occupied the smallest hanmuthi within the hall. Located in the oldest section, it housed forty-three individuals, for Tauma-yat lived with her three sisters and an unblessed brother. Tauma-yat had four daughters, three of whom were already blessed and had children of their own. She also had two grown sons, both unblessed. Tauma-yat’s sisters were older, but they had only one daughter apiece. That was why the youngest sibling headed the hanmuthi. The complex rules of status had been incomprehensible to Dar until the memories began to arrive. Then, like reading and writing, they suddenly made sense to her.

As the feast approached, Dar bathed, colored her nails and nipples, blackened her teeth, and dressed in her new clothes. Her russet hair had grown long enough for Nir-yat to weave it into a single five-strand braid, which she tied with a talmauki ribbon. Dar placed the crown, a simple gold band, upon her head and nervously waited for her guests.

As soon as they arrived, Dar’s nervousness transformed into affection.
These are my children
, Dar thought as she blessed each one by name. When they were seated on cushions in the royal hanmuthi, Dar sat upon the royal stool and a procession of sons brought in the food. The room instantly filled with rich aromas. The featured dish was tahweriti, small fowls that had been stuffed with dried fruits and brak, then slowly roasted over aromatic wood. There were skewers of spiced goat and mutton, five different stews, dried fruits, hard milk, vegetables fried in spiced oil, roasted pashi, sweets, and ewers of herbed water, both hot and cold. One of the stews was muthtufa, the same dish Velasa-pah had prepared in his lonely hut. Its aroma made Dar recall her first encounter with him.

When all the food was laid about the hearth, Dar rose from her stool. “Food is Muth la’s gift,” she said.

“Shashav, Muth la,” said everyone in unison.

Then, like a muthuri, Dar personally served each diner the first dish. After Dar had given everyone a fowl, Tauma-yat and her sisters helped Dar serve the next round of dishes. Then, as in a family meal, their daughters joined the servers. When everyone’s platter was heaped with food and every cup was filled, the feasting began. For a while, the room was quiet as the diners savored the elegant meal. It was custom to fast before a feast, and everyone was hungry.

Conversation began later. It was easy talk that lacked the pomp and formality Dar had observed in King Kregant’s court. Instead, Dar felt she was at a family gathering, though her human family had never been so festive. It was the memories of the former queens—recollections that had become her own—that made Dar feel she was attending a joyful reunion, the latest in a series that spanned generations. At times, she glanced at Tauma-yat and recalled her guest’s muthuri. Other times, she remembered Tauma-yat’s grandmother. Dar was full of questions, wanting to know what everyone was doing and how they’d fared. Her interest was heartfelt, and the whole family sensed it.

Falfhissi arrived in a large silver urn. Custom called for Dar to take the first drink, and it was supposed to be a deep one. She grabbed the urn by both its handles and held it to her mouth a long while, though she took care to sip sparingly. She had experience with the spicy liquor, and didn’t wish to overindulge again. Nevertheless, she soon began to feel its effects. As the company grew boisterous, Dar joined in, regaling them with tales of her ineptitude in the kitchen. Dar’s comic imitation of Gar-yat tasting one of her efforts left everyone hissing with laughter.

When the feast was over, Dar blessed each guest as they departed, full and happy. Only Nir-yat remained. She seemed tipsy as she beamed at Dar. “I’m so pleased you’re my sister,” she said. “You were everyone’s muthuri tonight. You reminded me of Grandmother.”

The mention of that queen made Dar recall how she had died alone. Thinking of her fate brought Dar to the verge of tears.
Don’t spoil a lovely evening
, she told herself.
I’m weepy because I drank too much.
Yet Dar’s melancholy didn’t feel like a drunk’s maudlinness. Instead, it felt like a warning.

On the evening Dar threw her second feast, a dinner was held at Balten’s house in Taiben. The purpose was to introduce General Voltar to his new aide. The general and Lokung, the royal steward, arrived at dusk and were greeted by Balten. Immediately afterward, a servant brought goblets of hot, spiced wine.

Voltar took a deep draught. “So where’s this Kol fellow?” he asked.

“He’s coming with Gorm,” replied Balten.

“Gorm!” said the general, not bothering to hide his displeasure. “Will
he
be dining with us?”

“Yes. And his master.”

At that news, the color drained from Lokung’s face and even the general grew subdued. He took another gulp of wine, then muttered, “
That
should make for a festive evening.”

“General,” whispered Balten, “it’s not…”

Gorm’s arrival cut him short. He accompanied Kol, who was dressed appropriately for his new rank. He wore a finely made black leather jerkin, dark blue trousers in the military style, and high black boots. The sword and dagger that hung from his belt were new and adorned with touches of gold. Voltar gazed at him with disdain. “I know you! You were a murdant!”

“You’d best forget that, General,” said Gorm. Then he smiled. “Tolum Kol’s success will preserve your good fortune. Life’s pleasant with a new, young wife, but it won’t do to become complacent.”

Voltar looked away.

“Come now, General,” said Gorm. “We’re all comrades here, and comrades help one another.”

“I swore I’d do it,” muttered Voltar, “and I will.”

“Then no half measures,” replied Gorm. “Those won’t satisfy my master.”

General Voltar forced a smile. “Tolum Kol, welcome to my staff. Rest assured you’ll have my fullest backing.”

Kol bowed, his lips bearing a hint of a smile.

“Supper is ready,” announced Balten as though he dreaded it. Two servants opened the doors to the dining chamber.

Kol entered the room with the others. It was chilly despite a roaring fire in a large fireplace. At the head of the banquet table sat someone who wore a silver mask and had hands wrought from the same metal. Kol assumed it was Othar and bowed to him.

The mask declined slightly, but no voice issued from its half-smiling lips. The silence appeared to unnerve all of Kol’s companions except Gorm. He seemed perfectly at ease. Kol tried to emulate his example, although he couldn’t achieve Gorm’s air of amusement.