[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny (16 page)

As a murdant, Kol had learned how to deal with those who considered themselves his superiors. He handled the nobles in the court as he had the officers in his regiment. Tolum Kol humored their presumptions, while exuding an air of polite competence. Both the royal steward and General Voltar nurtured his reputation as useful but unambitious, and Kol took care to make men easy in his company. He avoided close contact with the queen but ensured she saw him. All the while, he studied her and the prince.

Kol bided his time before he made his move. Formality always slackened as the court gathered for a banquet, and that was when Kol chose to act. He waited until courtiers pressed around the queen, then approached the prince. The boy was fidgeting as usual, ignored by the adults. Kol knelt down so he was at the child’s eye level. “That’s a big brute you got there,” he said, nodding at the orc guard. “Does it make a good pet?”

“It’s not a pet.”

“Oh, they’re just like dogs, only not as smart. Watch this.” Kol curled back his lips in an orcish smile and bowed to the guard. “Pahat tha pah pi urkwashavoki?”
Speak you speech of washavokis?

“Thwa,” said the orc.

“Ma lo-tamav tha fleem washavoki,” said Kol.
I will teach you washavoki courtesy.
He bowed again, then standing tiptoe, whispered in the guard’s ear.

The guard bowed to the prince. “Ah eem Booger Nose.”

“Tha pahat grut,” said Kol.
You speak good.
He turned to the prince, who was beginning to smile. “Bow to it and say, ‘Shashav, Booger Nose.’”

Young Kregant III did so with a giggle.

The sound of the prince’s laughter caught Queen Girta’s attention. She ignored the wheedling count before her, and turned her gaze toward her child. He and the man kneeling before him seemed to be enjoying a private joke. She had seen the man in court, and though she couldn’t remember his name, she recalled his blue eyes. He seemed deferential but friendly to the prince, and her son appeared animated in his presence.

Queen Girta motioned to the royal steward, who hurried to her side. “Who is that man talking to the prince?”

Lokung curled his lips with disdain. “Tolum Kol. An officer of lowly birth. Shall I shoo him away?”

“No,” said Girta, disliking the steward’s haughtiness more than usual. “Seat him at the head table tonight. Next to the prince.”

Lokung rolled his eyes. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Girta watched her steward perform his errand and noted her son’s delighted expression. Tolum Kol looked in her direction and graciously bowed before returning his attention to the prince.

The banquet began when Queen Girta and the prince were seated. Servants rushed food and drink to them before serving the other guests. Seats at the head table were coveted, with those closest to the queen deemed the most desirable because they provided access to her. Usually, whoever sat next to the prince ignored the boy and spoke with Girta. Tolum Kol acted differently. He entertained Girta’s son with tales of army life that were so amusing that the queen found herself straining to hear them also.

The banquet ended when Girta rose to depart. Usually, her son was asleep by then, but Tolum Kol’s attention had kept him wide awake. Kol had risen with the other guests, and the queen turned to speak to him. “Sir, the prince appears to enjoy your company.”

Kol bowed. “He’s a fine lad, Your Majesty.”

“The rest of the company has failed to notice that. He’s usually ignored.”

“Perhaps they overlook him. A boy’s easy to miss when the nose is held high.”

Girta smiled. “Sir, I think you’ve hit the mark. Yet you didn’t overlook him.”

“I’m but a rooster in a pen of peacocks, more fit for a boy’s company than the high and mighty.”

“Yet a rooster has more uses than a peacock. Do you ride, sir?”

“I do, Your Majesty.”

“Then, if the weather’s fair tomorrow, come to the royal stables at noon. I take my air on horseback.”

Tolum Kol bowed. “You honor me.”

Kovok-mah needed no device or special clothing to mark him as a mintari. His presence in the royal hanmuthi did that. Throughout Dar’s feast he felt conspicuous. He ate silently and attempted not to stare overmuch at Dar. That was difficult, for her transformation awed him.
She’s truly our Muth Mauk
, he thought as she served her guests and spoke affably with them. He recalled the fierce, filthy washavoki he had forced to bathe and marveled at the change.
This is Muth la’s work.

Dar had been reborn urkzimmuthi and Fathma had made her queen, yet Kovok-mah was aware that she lacked his senses. She seemed blithely unaware of how her scent betrayed her feelings. Everyone in the room was conscious of them, and while they wouldn’t speak of them to her, they would among themselves.
How can Dargu not know this?
Kovok-mah thought that she might but had chosen to defy convention.
Her will was always strong.
He worried where such defiance could lead.

Toward the end of the feast, the falfhissi urn made its rounds. By Kovok-mah’s third draught, he was unable to take his eyes from Dar. The scent of his longing filled the air, but he no longer cared. He was caught up in reliving that night in Tarathank when Dar chose to acknowledge his feelings. He recalled standing in the pool, his skin wet and cool, when she first touched him. Kovok-mah could almost feel the warmth of her hands.
If she were to touch me again, could I deny her?
He felt weak, and doubted he could.

A hand touched Muth-goth’s shoulder, rousing her from sleep. She opened her eyes. A mother bowed. “Matriarch, travelers have arrived.”

Muth-goth blinked and fought to leave the world of dreams. Few traveled in winter and fewer still in the frigid night. Muth-goth could think of no traveler so important that she should be awakened. “Build up hearth fire. Then help me to my stool.” Muth-goth thought of greeting the travelers in her sleeping cloak, but decided against it. When the mother returned from feeding the fire, Muth-goth asked her to fetch her kefs and day cloak. Old age made dressing an ordeal, and the elderly matriarch needed help with it and walking to her stool.

When the travelers were ushered in, they appeared to Muth-goth as frosted blurs. She rose with difficulty to greet them. “I am Muth-goth.”

The foremost blur bowed. “I am Muth-pah.”

“Muth-pah! I haven’t seen you for dozen winters.” Muth-goth smiled wryly. “I can scarcely see you now. Come closer.”

Muth-pah moved closer, and Muth-goth squinted at her face. “You’ve grown old, too. Why would you travel in midst of winter?”

“Queen from west sits on throne.”

Muth-goth stared at her visitor, momentarily dumbfounded. When she spoke, her voice was filled with awe. “Are you certain? No messengers have come this way. How did you learn this news?”

“Velasa-pah himself was messenger.”

“You’ve had vision?”

“Hai, and I’ve been journeying ever since. These are urgent times when hope and fear meet. Tomorrow we must leave for royal hall.”

Muth-goth slowly lowered herself to her stool. “My body is failing me. I can barely journey across my hanmuthi.”

“Then sons must carry you. Queen is in great peril. I have learned this in my vision.”

“How can we do anything about that?”

“I don’t know,” replied Muth-pah. “Yet we must try.”

Muth-goth sighed as if already wearied to the bone. “I think I will be traveling only eastward. This hall I will never see again.”

“That is likely for both of us, old friend. I have foreseen our journey. We will reach royal hall. Beyond that, all is darkness.”

Dar lay on her bed, her thoughts chaotic. Kovok-mah’s tale of the mother who was thwada replayed through her mind. Imagining that mother’s loneliness, Dar wondered about the nature of her transgression. She knew that only blessed couples were permitted intercourse, but unblessed sons and mothers were free to give love. The intimacies she had experienced with Kovok-mah were commonplace in orcish courtship. Mothers talked about them freely.
Both Nir and Thir have been given love.
Yet Kovok-mah’s tale hinted that such acts could be forbidden also.
Where is the line drawn? Who draws it?

Frost coated the panes on her window, rendering the moonlight soft and murky. Dar could barely see Kovok-mah sitting in his chamber across the room and had no idea if he was awake. Nir-yat slept close by, sitting upright like Kovok-mah. Dar was glad that she was there. If it were otherwise, Dar envisioned herself crossing the room.
He’s so close. It would take but a moment.
Dar recalled Meera-yat’s advice about choosing her mintari and how the deed couldn’t be undone.
Kovok-mah would be here every night.
Dar wondered if, over time, it would become easier to remain in her bed.
Or harder.

Nineteen

The noon sun sailed in a clear blue sky, though the air was crisp. Thunder’s breath smoked as he trotted toward the royal stables, which were apart from those used by the guards and courtiers. Six mounted guardsmen were stationed by its door. When it opened, Queen Girta emerged riding a dappled gray. Tolum Kol was pleased to note that no one else accompanied her. He spurred Thunder in her direction.

The queen, followed by her escort, met him in the middle of the courtyard. Kol reined in his mount and bowed from the saddle. “Your Majesty. A brisk day, but a fine one to be out.”

“I’m thinking the same,” said Girta. She headed her horse for the palace gates. “There’s little snow on the windward plain. We’ll ride there.”

Tolum Kol rode alongside Girta through Taiben’s cobbled streets. When they passed outside the city gates, the queen spurred her horse to a gallop. Kol kept Thunder apace, and the two rode over the dry, brown grass, which had only a dusting of snow. When Girta slowed her mare to a trot, Kol did the same with his stallion. “You ride well, sir,” said Girta. “I would have thought you a cavalry officer had my son not told me you served with orcs.”

“He repeated my tales?”

“Every one. They amused him greatly.”

“I’m glad they entertained him.”

Girta chuckled. “The one about the orc and the sow was especially merry.”

“If the prince can laugh at orcs, he’ll fear them less. That will benefit him. Orcs can smell fear.”

“The same is said of dogs, though I don’t credit it.”

“It’s no fable when it comes to orcs. They sniff out other feelings, too. Anger, pain, love. They’re alert to any weakness.”

Girta laughed. “Is love a weakness?”

“I’ve seen men undone by it. Orcs, too.”

“An orc undone by love?”

“Perhaps lust is a better word.”

Girta looked intrigued. “I hope that’s one tale you didn’t tell my son.”

“It’s not fit for young ears.”

Girta smiled. “Or mine?”

“You know it in part already. How do you think a woman could become the orcs’ queen?”

“Do you mean Dar?”

“The same.”

“She’s dead, so speak no ill of her.”

“She’s not dead. She’s far too clever.”

“I assure you she is,” said Girta. “She was nearly so when I last saw her.”

“I’ve heard that story. She was victim of a poisoned wound. But where’s that deadly blade?”

“An orc took it.”

Kol smiled. “That was convenient. Don’t be surprised if you hear from Dar again.”

“So you’re saying she was false?”

“I knew her from the regiment. She was ever guileful. How else could she manage to get orcs inside the palace? They remain there still.”

“They’re there for my protection. Orcs honor women.”

Kol looked surprised. “Who told you that?”

“Dar.”

“Then why did they keep them as slaves?”

“It was the army, not the orcs, that conscripted them.”

“Only because the orcs insisted, they refused to fight otherwise.”

“I have a different understanding,” said Girta.

“And it’s not my place to change your mind. I’m only a tolum. You have nobles to advise you. If Dar’s dead, my worries are groundless. I’ll speak no more of them.”

“Good, because I’m getting chilled.” Girta turned her horse toward Taiben’s gates. Kol and her guard followed her.

When the queen dismounted in the palace courtyard, she turned to Kol. “Join me for some hot spiced wine. A guardsman can care for your mount.”

“You’re very kind,” said Kol.

“Come, I’m frozen.”

Kol dismounted, handed Thunder’s reins to a guardsman, and followed the queen into the palace. She led him to a large but private room with a window that overlooked the city. A fire blazed in the fireplace, and a servant was standing by with a ewer of spiced wine. He poured two goblets at Girta’s command and heated the liquid with a hot poker from the fire. Girta warmed her hands on her goblet before sipping the steaming wine.

Tolum Kol took a warming drink and sighed contentedly. “This day was colder than it looked. Your Majesty has the hardiness of a seasoned trooper.”

“I grew up on the western plains.”

“I’ve campaigned in that region. They say its winters are harsh.”

“And they speak true, yet I rode year-round.”