[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny (36 page)

“Washavokis are no match for this weather,” said Ven-goth. “Come. Let’s get out of it awhile.”

Lama-tok didn’t move. “Do you smell smoke?”

Ven-goth sniffed the turbulent air. “Thwa.”

“I thought I did, but now I don’t. I guess it’s safe.”

The two orcs slogged through the deep snow toward the pass. They were only a few paces from its entrance when an arch of arrows streamed from its dark interior. Both orcs were hit. Lama-tok was pierced through his thigh and dropped to the ground. Ven-goth stood a little longer, then he fell also.

Without rising, Lama-tok groped behind his leg until he felt the arrowhead protruding from it. He snapped it off, then grabbed the feathered shaft that jutted from the front of his thigh and pulled it out. Blood warmed both sides of his leg. Arrows still flew overhead, but the deep snow hid him, and the washavokis seemed to be shooting blindly. They remained hidden within the dark pass, apparently afraid to venture into sight. Lama-tok slithered on his belly toward Ven-goth. “Are you badly wounded?”

“I’m not sure. I think so.”

Ven-goth had rolled on his back. Three arrows protruded from his torso. “Lie still,” said Lama-tok. “I’ll pull you to safety.” He grabbed Ven-goth’s ankles, and crawling on his elbows and knees, dragged him backward. It was difficult and slow work. Excruciating pains shot through Lama-tok’s thigh every time he moved it. Nevertheless, he made progress. It became easier when he reached the road’s sloping side. After a while, he was able to slide downward with little effort, pulling Ven-goth behind him.

When he decided it was safe, Lama-tok stood to examine his companion. Ven-goth was breathing with gurgling gasps. A bloody froth issued from his lips.

“Lama?” said Ven-goth. “I can’t see you.”

“I’m here, Ven.”

“Ask Muth Mauk…let Fre-pah know…last thoughts of her.”

“When I get through pass, I will.”

“Too many…washavokis!”

“There were many arrows. Perhaps not so many washavokis. I’ll wait awhile, then approach unseen. They can’t surprise me twice.”

“But…if you fail…”

“Speak of Fre-pah. Is she pretty?”

“Hai. And wise.”

“She was wise to love you, Ven.”

“Thwa. I was wise…to love her.”

Ven-goth breathed a while longer, but he lacked the breath to speak again. After he died, Lama-tok honored him. He carried his body away from the pass until he found a tree clinging to the steep hillside. He marked Muth la’s Embrace beneath it. Then Lama-tok removed his friend’s clothing so he might leave the world as he had entered it. Lastly, he placed Ven-goth within the sacred circle.

After this was done, Lama-tok limped slowly toward the pass, taking care to keep out of view. He was in no hurry.
Let washavokis think I’m dead
, he thought. He smiled, recalling it was Dar who had taught him how to think like a wolf. Tonight he would apply her lessons. He hoped his body was up to it. His blood-soaked leggings had frozen, and his thigh was stiffening also. Hugging the ridge, Lama-tok made his way to the passageway that his clan had cut into its face. It was well past midnight when he finally reached it. He paused to rest and gather his courage. Then he drew his sword and charged into the dark opening.

Forty

General Kol awoke and bolted upright, his dagger drawn and ready. A shadowed figure stood in his bedchamber, just beyond striking distance. “Good reflexes, General.”

“Gorm! How’d you get in here?”

“Don’t blame your guards. Few intruders possess my skills.”

Kol uneasily speculated on what those skills might be, and Gorm answered as if he had read the general’s thoughts. “They’re unharmed. I’ll revive them when I leave.”

“So you sneaked in to congratulate me?” asked Kol in a sarcastic tone.

“Congratulate you? Why would I do that?”

“I got Othar his war. He should be satisfied.”

“You presume too much,” replied Gorm in a cold voice. “My master is far from satisfied. Declarations don’t spill blood. Swords do. When they reap a harvest, you may rest easier, not until then.”

“That will happen soon enough.”

“When?”

“As soon as all my troops gather. They’re dispersed, and travel’s slow.”

“Delay! Always delay!”

“Does Othar want me to deliver a slap or an ax stroke? I can harass the orcs or I can massacre them. Slaughter requires overwhelming numbers, and I must marshal them. Can you fly troops here by magic or must they march through deep snow?”

“You grow overproud, General.”

“I’m smart, not proud. Your bloody harvest requires blades. I’m gathering them as fast as I can.”

“So we won’t march until they all arrive,” said Gorm, clearly unhappy with the news.

“What do you mean by
we
?”

“My master and I will accompany you.”

“And how will I explain his presence to the king?”

“You needn’t alarm the boy. We’ll follow behind. Before you march, send nine men to Balten’s residence. They need only be strong and healthy. Otherwise, they can be dregs and malcontents.” Gorm smiled grimly. “Othar will render them obedient.”

“Why would Othar suffer campaigning in the winter?” asked Kol, not relishing the idea of the mage accompanying him, even at a distance.

“The nearer he is to slaughter, the more he benefits. My master has fasted far too long. He’s ravenous.”

As before, Kol thought he caught an edge of fear in Gorm’s voice. “You’ll get your men,” he said, “and Othar will get his carnage.”

“Don’t fail,” replied Gorm. “There’s a force abroad more powerful than one man’s sorcery. Provoke it, and even death won’t save you from its malice.”

“Dar provoked your master, not I. And I’ll soon deliver her to him.”

Dar awoke warm within Kovok-mah’s arms. She heard the wind blowing outside the reed shelter, but covered by her cloak, she was snug against Kovok-mah’s chest. Reluctantly, she reached out and parted the reeds just enough to glimpse the light of early dawn. She withdrew her arm back under the cloak. Dar sighed and began groping for her boots. Then the arm about her waist tightened ever so slightly. “Dargu,” whispered Kovok-mah.

“Hai?”

“Is it wrong that I wish you to stay?”

“Thwa,” Dar whispered back.
Not wise, but not wrong.
She sighed again. “I wish to stay also.”

“But you think it’ll cause trouble.”

Dar reflected that it could.
So what?
she thought.
What’s this transgression compared to the calamities ahead?
“My sister was wise to say you must shelter me and to send me to you. I’m at peace this morning.”

“I am, too. You give me strength, Dargu. You always have.”

Dar surrendered to her heart’s desire, and rested a while longer in Kovok-mah’s arms. She rose only when she heard others stirring about the camp. Emerging from the shelter, she found it half buried in snow. Nir-yat was up and directing activities. There was a fire burning, and a son tended a kettle on it. “Heat it slowly,” said Nir-yat. “I want that porridge thawed, not burned.” When she spied Dar, she spoke to another son. “Have Zna-yat take washavoki queen to Kovok-mah.” As the son went on his errand, Nir-yat smiled at Dar. “You looked rested.”

Dar’s principal recollections of the previous evening were of discouragement and exhaustion. She remembered crying, eating, and falling asleep in Kovok-mah’s shelter; the rest was hazy. Dar realized that her sister must have organized everything. From the appearance of the camp, she had done it well. Nir-yat bowed to Dar, then approached her. “Sentries have spotted no washavokis.”

“You posted sentries?”

“Hai, Muth Mauk. There were not enough shelters, so I had sons sleep in rotation.”

“But not Kovok-mah.”

“He was busy healing.”

“Healing?”

“Hai,” replied Nir-yat. “Not only flesh can be wounded. Spirits can be injured as well.” She scrutinized Dar. “You look better, but I think you’ll need further healing.”

Dar smiled. “Since when have you become healer?”

“Since you bit my neck, I’ve discovered many skills.”

Zna-yat walked by carrying an unconscious Girta, and Dar followed him to Kovok-mah’s shelter. Nir-yat came also and stayed as Kovok-mah examined the queen. The arrowhead had been a broad one, and the wound it made had required stitches. Kovok-mah looked at the sutured gash and sniffed it. Then he removed some dried herbs from his healer’s pouch, chewed them, and spit herb-laced saliva on the wound. Afterward, he spit out the herbs and made a face. “Water!”

By the time Zna-yat brought a water skin, Girta was bundled up. Kovok-mah rinsed his mouth thoroughly before speaking again. “I had forgotten how vile that magic tastes.”

“How’s washavoki queen?” asked Dar.

“I’d be more pleased if her wound was less swollen. When she wakes, I’ll brew some magic water.”

“But she’ll live?” asked Dar.

“I think so. She’ll be in pain awhile.”

Dar turned to Nir-yat. “We should resume our journey as soon as possible.”

When the leftover porridge thawed, the party had a quick meal accompanied by hot herb water. Afterward, they resumed their march. It was still snowing but not as heavily as the previous day. The wind, however, was just as harsh. The road was invisible beneath drifts, and Dar let Zna-yat pick out the route as she scanned ahead for some sign of the river that would take them into the mountains.

The sun was hidden by clouds, so Dar could only assume that it was afternoon when Girta finally awoke and shrieked. Dar rushed to her side, as did Kovok-mah. “Girta! Are you all right?”

Girta struggled for a moment on her stretcher, then the wild look left her face and she relaxed. “I remember now,” she said in a weak voice. “You saved me.”

“We’re fleeing Kol,” said Dar. “He’s far behind us.”
At least I hope so
, she thought.

“My son!”

“He’s king by now and safe awhile.”

“I must see him.”

“And you will in good time,” said Dar. “Then you’ll undo Kol’s evil deeds.”

“You said something about Othar. That he lives.”

“He does, but he’s too crippled to pursue us. Forget your worries and rest.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

Despite agreeing, Dar said, “You must. Build your strength before you face your foes.”

The march halted to allow Kovok-mah to brew some healing magic. Zna-yat roasted three pashi roots on the same fire, half of their entire store. He gave the food to Dar so she might serve it.

“Saf nak ur Muthz la,” said Dar. In response to Girta’s puzzled look, she said, “It’s our custom to thank the World’s Mother for our food. I just said food is her gift.” Dar handed the queen the roasted roots. “Muth la urak ther saf la. That’s the serving phrase. It means ‘World’s Mother gives you this food.’ The appropriate response is ‘Shashav, Muth la.’ It means ‘Thank you, Muth la.’”

“Muth la?”

“That’s the World’s Mother’s name. She guides mothers and loves all her children, even washavokis.”

Girta regarded the roasted pashi. “Shashav, Muth la.” She bit into the warm root. “I’ve never had these before.”

“They came from your storerooms. I used to cook them in the royal kitchen.”

Girta gave Dar a puzzled look. “You serve me food, yet you possess more power than I ever had.”

“That power comes from Muth la, and we believe she gives a measure to every mother.”

“My courtiers disdained my womanhood, counting it as weakness.”

“We believe just the opposite.”

“So my orc guards were loyal to me.”

“Absolutely.”

“I feared them.” Girta looked ashamed. “Yet one died for me.”

“Two died,” said Dar. “The wounded orc did not survive. I wish we could have had this conversation much earlier. Things would have turned out better.”

“You tried, but I wouldn’t listen. You said orcs honored mothers when we made our treaty, but General Kol claimed you lied.”

“It’s too bad you listened. But then, he’s a skilled and practiced liar.”

“He lied to you, also?”

“He called me his woman, and said he only wanted to protect me.”

“What did he really want?”

“To tup me.” Dar smiled wryly. “He was a murdant then and less ambitious.”

“Do you mean he cared for you?”

“I was only sport to him. All he cared about was power.”

“He hasn’t changed, but I’ve just learned that,” said Girta. “Now that I’ve made him a general, I suspect his ambitions include the crown.”

“Most like.”

“Then we have an enemy in common.”

“Two, counting Othar.”

Girta shivered at the sound of the mage’s name and hoped Dar was wrong.

The chaos in Taiben both hindered and helped Sevren’s mission. In the panic preceding hostilities, prices rose and goods became scarcer. The clothes and boots that he procured had been costly, but not new. Sevren spent more of his savings than he wished, making the dream of a farm even more distant. The military was almost as unsettled as the merchants. Rumors were abundant, but reliable information was rare. No soldier knew when they’d march, though every one had an opinion.

Sevren used the general confusion to move about freely. Armed and mounted, he assumed a purposeful appearance that discouraged interference. Whenever an officer or murdant questioned him, he said his unit had just arrived. Eventually, he found a few men he knew and trusted. From them, he learned some useful things. When he felt sufficiently informed, he casually rode off into the blizzard.