[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny (43 page)

“Back to washavoki soldiers.”

Forty-six

The wind clawed at the sustolum’s cloak as his horse plodded through the snow. The young officer was cold, hungry, and disappointed. The latter exacerbated the first two miseries. He gazed despondently at the burning hall atop the mountain. Its flames cast an eerie light, tinting the night red.
My share of the plunder’s up there. My rations, too. All naught but ashes!

It didn’t help that the general was such an iron butt.
General Voltar never made his staff officers check encampments. That’s a murdant’s job
, thought the sustolum—not that he dared tell that to General Kol. As the most junior officer, it was his lot to make the rounds before dawn, when the night was coldest. He had just rounded the northern end of the mountain when he saw a figure emerge from the woods. In the dim light, he could just make out a dark, walking form. It looked too small to be an orc. The sustolum drew rein and watched.

The figure continued to advance across the meadow, its form conspicuous against the snow. It seemed to be staggering. Then it collapsed near some snow mounds and called out for the first time. “Please help me!”

The sustolum was astonished.
A girl’s voice!
He’d heard tales of girls who disguised themselves as soldiers.
Some man’s whore.
The officer grinned.
This one got more than she bargained for.

The girl had risen to her feet, but remained in place, swaying slightly. “Please, sir! Help me.”

The officer turned his horse toward the lone figure. He was more than a little intrigued.
If she’s pretty, I might keep her for myself.
The girl stopped swaying and waited motionless. As the sustolum came nearer, he could see her a little better. She seemed well dressed against the cold, with a hooded cloak and a white scarf wrapped around her chin. When he was a few paces away, he noticed something odd about her forehead, but he didn’t recognize the crown-shaped scar until he rode up next to her and she gazed upward. “Why, you’re a branded girl!”

The girl shouted “Dup!” and the snow mounds shot upward, revealing orcs that had been hiding beneath snow-covered cloth. The sustolum grabbed at his sword hilt, but a massive hand seized his wrist. The next instant, he was sailing through the air. He hit the ground hard and orcs swarmed over him. A hand wrapped around his lower face, covering his mouth. A second orc disarmed him as another held him down while a fourth bound his wrists. Then the girl bent over him and held a dagger beneath his throat. “Make one sound,” she said in a low voice that was anything but girlish, “and I’ll let the orcs kill you. They won’t do it gently. Nod if you understand.”

The sustolum nodded as best he could with a hand clamping his mouth and a dagger pressing his chin.

“Don’t say a word. Don’t moan. Don’t even breathe hard. Am I clear?”

The young officer nodded again. The woman spoke some strange words and the orcs released him. Then she walked over to his horse, speaking to it in calming tones before taking the reins. “Follow me,” she said, and began walking toward the woods. Surrounded by orcs, the sustolum obeyed.

When they reached the trees, the woman spoke to the orcs again. They cut pine boughs, and when they resumed marching, they used them to brush snow over their tracks. A short while later, the woman halted and asked, “What’s your horse’s name.”

“Foeslayer.”

His captor smiled mockingly. “Foeslayer?”

“Aye.”

The woman stroked the horse’s nose. “Foeslayer, you’re a good boy, and I’m very tired. Will you let me ride you? Ah, good boy. Good boy.”

Although the woman had a way with the horse, she mounted it clumsily. Afterward, she spoke to an orc, and he took the reins. As the woman slumped in the saddle, the march resumed. The sustolum knew they were headed north, but nothing else. He wondered if the woman could possibly be the orc queen; she certainly had a commanding air. He had never encountered such a forceful woman. In fact, the sustolum could think of only one man who was as equally forceful.
General Kol himself.

Dar had Zna-yat guide the way as she tried to doze in the saddle. It wasn’t easy or comfortable to nap that way. She drifted off several times only to feel hands saving her from falling. Mostly, she hovered on the dreary border between dreams and awareness. When the sky lightened, she gave up trying to sleep and gazed blearily at her captive. He didn’t seem a seasoned soldier, more a lad whose parents could afford to purchase a commission. He stared back at her, not daring to speak. “I know your horse’s name,” Dar said. “I might as well know yours.”

“Dedrik, Your Majesty.”

Dar grinned. “So you figured out who I am.”

“Aye. What do you want of me?”

“Tell me what I need to know, and you’ll see more sunrises. Otherwise…” Dar was pleased when Dedrik paled.
He’ll talk
, she thought.

“What do you want to know?”

“We’ll speak later. For now, be silent.”

It was still morning when Zna-yat suddenly halted. “I smell urkzimmuthi.”

Dar gazed about. The snow-covered road looked untraveled and the woods surrounding it seemed empty of anything but trees. Then a snow mound rose to reveal Sevren and Kovok-mah. “Stay in place,” said Kovok-mah, obviously speaking to other orcs, who remained hidden. Then he spoke to Dar. “We’re waiting for any washavokis that follow mothers. This is Sevren’s teaching.”

“He taught you well,” said Dar. “I didn’t know you were there. Where are mothers?”

“They’re resting not far from here. I’ll have son show you way. I must stay here and talk for Sevren.” Kovok-mah called a name, and a son appeared from beneath pine boughs mounded with snow. He bowed deeply. “Muth Mauk, your return gladdens us.”

“And I’m glad to return,” said Dar, “but most anxious to see mothers.”

“I’ll take you to them,” said the son. The route he took impressed Dar by its indirectness.
Someone’s instructed him in subterfuge
, she thought, wondering if it was Sevren, Zor-yat, or a combination of the two. At last, they entered a hollow and found great masses of mothers and children huddled together like hibernating animals. No fire burned, so they had only one another to provide warmth. Most seemed asleep.

Nir-yat rose from a clump of bodies, and ran to embrace Dar. “Sister! You’ve returned! My chest bursts with happiness!”

Dar returned Nir-yat’s hug. “Our home’s destroyed, so it will comfort no washavoki.”

“And is pass sealed?”

“There’s no way to tell,” said Dar. “How was journey?”

“It was hard. Meera-yat has joined Muth la.”

Due to Fathma, Dar possessed the memories of Meera-yat’s sister. Thus she remembered Meera-yat not only as ancient, blind, and nearly deaf, but also as a vibrant and beloved sibling. This made the news of her death especially heartrending. “I have sad news also,” said Dar. “Two perished leaving hall.”

“So it begins,” replied Nir-yat. “This likens to when our foremothers fled into Blath Urkmuthi.”

“Hai. I fear in days to come last night’s losses will seem light.”

Nir-yat nodded, then cast Dedrik a baleful look. “What’s
it
doing here?”

“We need information about our foe. He’ll provide it.”

Dar addressed her prisoner in the human tongue. “Dedrik, when did you last eat?”

“Night before last, Your Majesty.”

The answer pleased Dar, for she figured if the officers were hungry, their men would be more so. She said to Nir-yat in Orcish, “Have someone give this washavoki root to eat. Make sure it’s small.”

“I will, Sister. Join us and rest. You look exhausted.”

At those words, the nearest clump of mothers parted, opening a space in its warm interior. Dar saw that the snow had been cleared away and evergreen boughs covered the frozen ground, Dar walked to the space and sat down. The others pressed around her. Among them, snug and secure, she quickly drifted off to sleep.

It was late afternoon when Dar awoke. The mothers around her were afraid and their tense bodies wordlessly communicated that emotion. No one spoke, causing Dar to think some threat was near. She strained her ears and after a while heard distant shouts. They were men’s voices. Dar couldn’t make out any words, but the tone of the mingled cries was unmistakable. She had heard that blend of rage, agony, and terror before. The sound of metal striking metal punctuated it. A battle was in progress.

With that fearful realization, Dar had a second one: There was nothing she could do. She had no idea how the fight was going and no way to find out without drawing danger to the mothers. She could only hope the sons would prevail. If they didn’t, the best chance for the mothers and their children lay in stillness and silence.
We’re fawns among wolves. We must hope we’re overlooked.
Dar rose and all eyes went to her. She made the signs for “be quiet” and “don’t move,” then sat down again.

Waiting was torture. The noise remained distant and diminished into silence, but that was no indication as to which side had won.
Soldiers might be searching for us right now
, thought Dar.
If they find us, it’ll be bare hands against swords and axes.
After a long spell of silence, Dar felt the mothers tense and turn to look in one direction. Knowing that they heard something she couldn’t, Dar followed their gaze into the snowy woods. At first she saw nothing. Then a man came into view. He was running and clutching a bloody sword. Dar’s heart sank, but before she could shout for the orcs to flee, the man cried out, “Math tut guth!”
We killed them!
Then Dar realized it was Sevren.

Behind Sevren came Kovok-mah and several other sons. Unlike Sevren, there was no exuberance in their step, and Dar sensed they didn’t share his feeling of triumph. She left the huddled mothers and walked toward Kovok-mah. She would have run, but felt it would be undignified. When Kovok-mah saw her, he picked up his pace. When they met, Dar asked, “What happened?”

“Many washavokis came up road.”

“Two shieldrons,” added Sevren, in the human tongue. “All foot, with three mounted officers.”

“We did as Sevren told us,” said Kovok-mah. “We were still and quiet, looking like snow. Washavokis walked without understanding. When Sevren shouted, we jumped up, our swords and axes ready. Washavokis were only steps away. Many died quickly, but others fought.”

“Did any washavokis escape?” asked Dar.

“All died,” replied Kovok-mah.

“I had them go for the mounted officers first,” said Sevren. “Kol won’t know what happened.”

“How many sons were hurt?” asked Dar.

“Seven were slain, and thirteen more were wounded,” replied Kovok-mah. “I think four of them will soon join Muth la.”

“Eleven dead,” said Dar. The news was a weight in her chest. She would know each of the slain.

“But they wiped out two shieldrons,” said Sevren. “Seven-five men!”

“Out of Kol’s thousands,” said Dar. “And will we always be so lucky? What if he sends a regiment next time?” She turned to Kovok-mah. “I wish to bless wounded and thank them for their sacrifice. Afterward, I must decide what to do.”

Dar went directly to the ambush site. The scene was as wrenching as she expected. The four most gravely wounded lay against a tree surrounded by crimson snow. Their wounds were ghastly, but they suffered silently. One died while Dar was blessing him. As Dar spoke to the wounded, sons butchered the three slain horses and dragged the dead washavokis away. Dar tried to think of them solely as enemies, but death had rendered them harmless. Many were only lads.

When Dar returned to where the mothers hid, she assembled an unusual council. It was composed of two matriarchs, Muth-yat and Muth-pah; three mothers, Nir-yat, Zor-yat, and Yev-yat; two sons, Kovok-mah and Zna-yat; and three washavokis, Sevren, Queen Girta, and Dedrik. The sustolum was there by compulsion. Dar expected him to be an unwilling source of information, but Queen Girta’s arrival both astounded and confused the officer. “Your Majesty!” he blurted out. “You’re alive!”

“Now you understand the depth of your general’s treachery,” said Dar.

“If it weren’t for the orc queen, I’d be truly dead,” said Girta. “Is it true my son rides with the army?”

“Aye.”

“How fares he?”

“Not happily,” said Dedrik. “It’s hard campaigning in winter, and Kol’s a harsh commander.”

“But my son’s the king!”

“That counts for little here. He’s a boy and under the general’s thumb.”

Dar had let the exchange take place because she thought it would be fruitful, but she interrupted it to ask about what troubled her most. “Dedrik, what do you know about Othar?”

“The old king’s mage? You killed him.”

“Unfortunately not. I’m certain he’s riding in that black litter. Is he advising General Kol?”

“
That’s
who’s dogging us? No wonder the men are spooked!”

“Answer my question!” said Dar.

“That cursed band stays apart, but one visits the general. Gorm. I’ve heard them talking.”

Dar looked at Girta and Sevren. “Have you heard of him?”

Sevren shook his head.

“I thought he was someone’s servant,” said Girta. “A nobody.”