Royal Destiny

Morgan Howell

Contents

Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-one Chapter Twenty-two Chapter Twenty-three Chapter Twenty-four Chapter Twenty-five Chapter Twenty-six Chapter Twenty-seven Chapter Twenty-eight Chapter Twenty-nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-one Chapter Thirty-two Chapter Thirty-three Chapter Thirty-four Chapter Thirty-five Chapter Thirty-six Chapter Thirty-seven Chapter Thirty-eight Chapter Thirty-nine Chapter Forty Chapter Forty-one Chapter Forty-two Chapter Forty-three Chapter Forty-four Chapter Forty-five Chapter Forty-six Chapter Forty-seven Chapter Forty-eight Chapter Forty-nine Chapter Fifty

This book is dedicated to Jeanne d’Arc, Yanan, and Carol Hubbell

—From the Deetpahi of Tarma-goth

One

Othar’s sense of smell returned first. He breathed in the stench of corpses. Then sight came to his open eyes, and he saw a black, starless sky. His flesh felt on fire. With pain came awareness. With awareness came rage. She did this to me! Othar recalled her name. Dar!

When his fury hardened to stony hate, the sorcerer considered what had happened. How could a branded woman become queen of the orcs? Othar pondered that question. She had a clan tattoo. She said she’d b^ reborn. He was unaware such things were possible. Othar wondered what had happened to the old orc queen. He knew she had died, for Dar had used her body in a ruse to get the orcs inside the city. Did Dar kill her?He suspected not.

But I killed Dar! Othar smiled despite his pain. I stabbed her with a poisoned blade. And she... Othar recalled Dar throwing his precious, magic bones into the fire, destroying them and unleashing their power. It had burned him. Othar wished with all his being that Dar had shared his torment. Yet she had stood in the king’s spilled blood, and it had protected her. Dar had watched while Othar suffered. He recalled seeing his flesh bubble and blacken as his finger bones fell joint by joint to the floor. Her death was too easy.

With painful effort, the former royal mage raised his head. He was in a pit surrounded by the decaying bodies of paupers and criminals. The smell was nearly unbearable. Lacking hands and feet, Othar wondered how he’d ever climb out. Then he heard voices.

“They dumped a new one this evenin’.”

“And ye say guardsmen did it?”

“Aye. Could be someone wearin’ more than rags.”

Othar saw a hand extend a lantern over the pit. It illuminated the coarse faces of two men. The instant the mage glimpsed their eyes, he knew their thoughts. These weren’t expressed in words, but he understood them nevertheless. The one with the lantern will tell the other to take my clothes. Othar was amazed, for he had never possessed this power before.

The mage sensed that his pain and rage had masked another sensation. It tingled in the way he imagined a lightning bolt would after it struck. But it was more than a feeling. It seemed like another self; one that was potent, restless, and ravenous.

A ladder was lowered into the pit. “Go down and get his robe,” said the man holding the lantern. “’Tis good as new.”

His companion hesitated. “That’s Blood Crow. I won’t touch him.”

“Then my foot will touch yer arse! Climb down or fall down, take yer pick.”

“I don’t like the looks of him, Tug. He’s all burnt, ’cept those eyes! By Karm, they give me shakes!”

“He’s dead, Nuggle. Beyond harmin’ anyone. Get to it! Quick done is quick over.”

Nuggle slowly descended the ladder, and Othar sensed his reluctance as if it were his own. As he probed Nuggle’s mind, Othar realized that he could ensnare it and bend it to his needs. “Help me,” said Othar in a hoarse whisper.

Nuggle halted, and the sorcerer felt his shock and terror. Othar gazed up at Tug. “Come here.”

Tug obeyed, and Othar spoke to both men. “Take me from here.”

The men wanted to resist, and Othar sensed their fear and revulsion. These emotions were extinguished as he wrested the men’s wills, pulling both to the edge of madness. Unable to do anything but obey, they meekly lifted the mage from the damp earth, dragged him up the ladder, and laid him on the ground. Othar’s skin cracked from being handled, and his agony was excruciating. When it subsided, he spoke to Nuggle. “Steal a handcart. Bring it here.” Nuggle hurried off

Othar turned to Tug. “When he returns, take me to your home. I’m master now.”

Tug nodded.

“Tell me news of the palace,” said Othar.

“I only know what the criers say,” replied Tug, his voice flat and lifeless. “The king’s dead. Word is ye killed him and died yerself Queen Girta rules in her son’s name.”

“And the one called the orc queen? The girl. What of her?”

“She went home to her piss eyes. Rode off last night with a guardsman.”

“She lives?”

“Aye, that’s what the criers say.”

When Othar heard those words, his fury flared hot again and his thoughts focused on Dar’s destruction. He envisioned torments of excruciating cruelty and longed to inflict them. His universe became rage, and nothing else existed except the object of his hatred. When his passion was finally spent, Othar spied Tug sprawled on the ground. His nails and fingers were bloody. Chunks of his face and throat were strewn about. It appeared that he had acted out the mage’s fantasies by murdering himself using only his hands.

Nuggle had difficulty stealing a cart, and it was nearly morning when he returned to the pit. Othar’s grip on him was so complete that he was oblivious of Tug’s corpse. He lifted the mage into the cart, then waited for further commands. “Take me to Tug’s,” said Othar.

Nuggle headed to where Taiben’s poorest and most disreputable citizens lived, a squalid collection of makeshift buildings outside the city walls. As the cart’s wheels bumped over rutted, frozen mud, Othar reflected on his downfall. Two mornings ago, he had been the feared and respected royal mage—the real power behind the throne. Now I’m baggage in a stolen cart. Yet, despite his blasted body and ruined fortunes, Othar had gained as well as lost. By some means he didn’t understand, he had acquired the ability to read others’ minds and rule them. They’ll become my instruments.

Othar wondered what the full extent of his newfound powers was. Glancing about the dismal slum, he thought it the ideal place to find out. No one here will be missed. Nuggle halted the cart before a dilapidated shanty, interrupting Othar’s thoughts. “We’re here, Master.”

Before Othar could reply, a slatternly woman burst out the door. “Nuggle, ye dog’s waste, where’s Tug?” She glanced at the load in the cart. “Why ye bringm’ that shit here?” In the dim light, Othar’s scorched face blended with his black robes and the woman jumped back when she noticed his eyes staring at her. “Karm’s holy ass! What’s that ?”

“Your master,” replied Othar in a low, raw voice. And with those words, it was true. “Tend me, Moli.”

The woman seemed unperturbed that the grotesque stranger knew her name. She simply helped Nuggle get the mage off the cart and into the shanty, where a meager fire produced more smoke than heat. They eased Othar onto a filthy mattress. Moli brought over a loaf of hard bread and was about to give it to him when she saw that his hands were missing. Her dull eyes showed no surprise or any other emotion. Moli merely rose and grabbed a pot of cold, thin soup. Then she broke a piece from the loaf, which she softened in the soup before pushing it into Othar’s mouth.

When Moli’s fingers touched Othar lips, a sudden craving seized him. Like his power over minds, it was new. “Cut yourself,” he whispered. “Bleed into the soup.”

Moli pulled a knife from a pocket in her ragged shift and drew it across her wrist. Othar watched hungrily as a red stream colored the soup pink. Soaked in the bloody liquid, the next bite of bread was more to his liking. He would have enjoyed watching Moli bleed to death, but he needed her. “Bind your wound,” he said, knowing that she lacked the will even to save her life.

Moli obeyed, then continued her ministrations. While she fed him, Othar leisurely probed her mind. A part was filled with terror and disgust, but that part was as helpless as someone bricked into a wall. Moli’s memories were intact, but her thoughts were reduced to those Othar had given her. He realized that Moli would serve him until her mind snapped from the strain. The mage already sensed tears in her sanity, and he was curious what would happen when it tore asunder. I’ll find out soon enough, he thought. She can’t last long.

Othar decided to have Moli lure her replacement to the shack at dawn, for he had already discovered that he required eye contact to seize a mind. The mage was still puzzling on how he acquired the power, and he speculated that it either came from the bones or the entity behind them. The latter seemed most likely. Othar had felt its presence whenever he had used the bones to foretell events. It was malicious and bloodthirsty; his ravaged body was proof of that. Then, why would it bestow this gift on me? An answer came quickly. So I can revenge myself on Dar!

Two

Dar awoke, both surprised and puzzled. “Merlav?” I live?

A mother knelt before her. She bowed her head and replied in Orcish. “Muth la has preserved your life.”

Why? thought Dar. She had returned to pass on Fathma, the Divine Mother’s gift that bestowed sovereignty over the orcs. In her near-death state, she had been able to see it fluttering within the shell of her body, a thing of spirit like a second soul. That vision had departed. Dar could no longer see her spirit or any other’s. The world was solid again. It was also unfamiliar. “Where am I?” she asked in Orcish.

“Your hanmuthi, Muth Mauk.”

Dar realized that she was still queen. Muth Mauk— Great Mother —was not only her title; it had become her name. Dar tried to raise her head and look about, but found she couldn’t. She recalled the mother’s face, but not her name. After Dar had been reborn, every Yat clan member had formally introduced him or herself, and the parade of visitors had lasted days. “I know you,” said Dar, “but I forget your name.”

“I’m Deen-yat, clan healer.”

“I thought I was dying.”

“You were,” said the healer.

Dar thought she should be relieved and joyful. Instead, she felt daunted. I returned to pass on the crown, not rule! In her still-fragile state, that task seemed overwhelming. I don’t know what to do!

Deen-yat smelled Dar’s anxiety, but mistook its reason. “You’ll live, Muth Mauk.”

“Then I have your skill to thank.”

“Your recovery is not my deed. That herb’s magic is deadly.”

“I was only scratched by blade.”

“Such scratches have slain sons, and quickly, too. Your life is Muth la’s gift.”

Dar knew Deen-yat’s words were meant to comfort, but they didn’t. Muth la has her own purposes. While Dar thought she understood why she had become queen, she couldn’t understand why she remained so.

“How long have I been here?”

“Sun has risen thrice since your return.”

“I wish to see my muthuri and my sisters.”

“And you will when you’re better.” Deen-yat smiled. “Even queens must obey healers.”

The healer stayed by Dar’s side and tended her throughout the day. Toward evening, Dar found the strength to sit up and gaze about. She was in one of the numerous sleeping chambers of the largest hanmuthi she had ever seen. Even the sleeping chambers had adjoining rooms of their own. Many families could live here, she thought. She peered through a carved stone archway into the spacious central room. As with all hanmuthis, it was circular and featured a hearth in its center. The room was empty, as were all the other chambers.

Dar’s chamber was especially magnificent. There was a huge window glazed with panes of sand ice. The floor was a mosaic of a flowery meadow. The meadow extended to the stone walls, which were carved with a low relief that depicted a landscape. The foreground was filled with delicately rendered wildflowers. In the distance was an orcish city. “It that Tarathank?” asked Dar.

“Hai, Muth Mauk.”

“I’ve visited its ruin,” said Dar, recalling her night with Kovok-mah. Deen-yat’s expression underwent a subtle change, and Dar realized that the healer had smelled atur—the scent of love. Good manners precluded Deen-yat from mentioning it, but orcs seldom hid their feelings.

“Washavoki brought me here on horse,” said Dar, “but there was son who helped him. He gave me healing magic on way.” Dar glanced down at the star-shaped incision beneath her breast. It was surrounded by dark, discolored flesh. “Did he come here also?”

“Do you mean your muthuri’s brother’s son?”

“Hai. Kovok-mah.”

“He came here, but he has returned home.”

Dar’s heart sank. In her weakened state, she feared that she might start weeping. “I wish I could have seen him. He helped save my life.”

“His muthuri forbade him to be with you,” replied Deen-yat. “Once he learned you would live, he couldn’t linger.”

Dar’s despair deepened. £b the word is out. Even Deen-yat knows. “What of washavoki who brought me?”

“It has returned to its own kind.”

Sb Sevren’s gone, too, thought Dar. At least I have my family. “I’d like to see my muthuri soon. And my sisters, especially Nir-yat.” Dar surveyed the empty rooms about her, already missing the lively atmosphere of Zor-yat’s hanmuthi. “It’s too quiet here.”

“Perhaps tomorrow,” said Deen-yat. She felt Dar’s brow and sniffed her wound. “Hai, you should be well enough to see them.” She gave Dar a sympathetic look. “It would do you good. It’s lonely being great mother.”

It was long after nightfall when Kovok-mah arrived at the hall where his parents lived. As he shook the snow from his cloak, his aunt greeted him. “Sister’s son! I’m surprised to see you. Kath! Your son has returned from Taiben.”

Kath-mah emerged from a sleeping chamber, still rubbing the drowsiness from her eyes. “Kovok? Why are you here? You were sent to kill for washavoki king.”

“King is dead, Muthuri. Another rules washavokis now.”

“Doesn’t our queen wish you to kill for it also?”

“We have new queen.”

“This is news indeed! How is that possible? Our queen lived apart.”

“She found someone to receive Fathma. Before she died, queen passed it to that mother.”

“But mothers no longer visit Taiben.”

“This one did.”

Kath-mah regarded her son irritably. “Who is she? Why don’t you tell me?”

“She was Dargu-yat. But since Fathma changes spirit, she’s Dargu-yat no more.”

Kath-mah stared at her son, momentarily dumbfounded. Then her expression hardened. “And because I forbade you to be with Dargu-yat, perhaps you think I’ll change my mind.”

Kovok-mah bowed humbly to his muthuri. “That’s my hope.”

“When Dargu was reborn, magic transformed her spirit but not her body. She was still as ugly as any washavoki. Now that she’s great mother, has that changed?”

“Thwa.”

“Then her body won’t bear me granddaughters.”

“Although I wish for daughters, I think other things are more important.” “That’s because you’re young. Daughters give you standing. Look at my sister and me. Who greeted you to her hanmuthi?”

“But Dargu is great mother!”

“And her hanmuthi—however grand—will always lack children.”

“Then you won’t change your mind?”

“Thwa.”

“When I saw Dargu-yat in Taiben, she said you would bless us.”

“Where would she get that strange notion?”

“Perhaps from her muthuri Didn’t you two speak together?”

“We did. And Zor-yat knew my mind in this matter. She sympathized and even warned me of Dargu-yat’s power.”

“What power?”

“Your attraction to her is unnatural. That’s magic’s doing.”

“Dargu knows no magic, though Muth la sends her visions. My feelings come from Muth la.”

“Don’t speak foolishly. Sons don’t understand such matters.”

Kovok-mah summoned his courage, and for the first time in his life, he refused to submit passively. “My chest is strong in this.”

“I know,” said Kath-mah. “Air is heavy with your atur. Whether it is due to magic or Muth la, I remain firm and withhold my blessing. Do nothing rash. Our laws are strict, and even great mothers must bend to them. Heed my wisdom, or your feelings will destroy our queen.”

Three

Dar entered darkness with Muth-pah. As before, the Pah clan matriarch led the way through a narrow cave, which was dimly lit by the embers from a string of fires. As Muth-pah passed each glowing pile, she poured water on it. Steam from the extinguished embers filled the dark space, making it hot and damp. Unlike the last time Dar had entered darkness, they didn’t arrive at a chamber. Instead, the piles of embers seemed to extend without end—a dotted line of faint orange lights in a black void.

Dar and Muth-pah continued to advance while the dark closed in behind them. Muth-pah’s vessel never emptied and the steam grew ever thicker until the way was hard to see. The heat became oppressive. Dar spoke to Muth-pah. “When will this end?”

“How should I know, Muth Mauk? This is your journey.” Muth-pah doused yet another fire, and

when it went out, all light disappeared. Dar cried out, but there was no reply. She was utterly alone.

Dar sat up drenched in sweat and unsure if she was awake or dreaming. Since she had been stabbed, most of her existence seemed dreamlike. Dar recalled her arrival at the hall and wondered if she had truly viewed the spirits of everyone around her and judged their worth. If I did, then there’s one here who should be queen. Yet that mother had vanished before Dar could bestow Fathma. Dar didn’t know who she was, for spirits looked unlike bodies. Dar had recognized no one.

Dar gazed about the dark hanmuthi. For a moment, she thought she saw sleepers in the other chambers, sitting upright beneath sleeping cloaks. She rubbed her eyes, and the rooms were empty again. The only sleeper was Deen-yat, who sat in Dar’s chamber. Dar rose from her mattress to stand and let the sweat dry from her torso. She resolved to bathe first thing in the morning, for she didn’t want to greet her family “snoofa va washavoki”—reeking likewashavoki. Dar suspected that the acceptance she had experienced upon her rebirth would be tested soon. She was no longer simply Zor-yat’s daughter, and she’d be judged by a higher standard. Experience had taught her that mothers lacked the subservience of sons. Though she was queen, the obedience she had received in Taiben might not come so quickly in the Yat clan hall.

Dar walked over to the window on shaky legs. She scraped frost from a pane and peered through it. The mountains gleamed white in the moonlight. The pastures are snow-covered, she thought. Kovok-mah’s goats will be stabled for the winter, and he’ll stay with his muthuri. Dar reminded herself that it no longer made any difference where Kovok-mah stayed. He was unobtainable.

“Muth Mauk, why are you up?” asked Deen-yat.

“Dream woke me.”

“Your flesh is bumpy. Are you chilled?”

“I’m fine,” said Dar. “Air feels good.”

Nevertheless, Deen-yat rose to stand close to her. “You’re still weak. Evil magic lingers yet.”

The healer guided Dar back to the mattress. When Dar lay down, Deen-yat covered her with a sleeping cloak. “Try to sleep, Muth Mauk.”

Deen-yat’s mention of Othar’s magic evoked memories of the mage. Dar’s last sight of him had been seared into her memory—a pair of eyes staring from a charred face. He died, Dar reminded herself And the bones, my greater enemy, were destroyed. She had witnessed both events. I’ve nothing to worry about. Yet after her dream, a shadow of doubt arose.

It was late afternoon and Dar was seated in her hanmuthi, having bathed, blackened her teeth, and dressed in a new neva and new kefs. Following custom, she wore the pair of capelike kefs so her breasts were exposed, although that meant revealing her wound. Zor-yat’s eyes fixed on it as soon as she entered the room. “Muth Mauk, my chest breaks to view your injury.”

“Please call me ‘daughter,’ Muthuri. That name makes me most glad.”

“Yet you’re Muth Mauk now,” said Zor-yat. “How can I forget? Where’s your crown? You should be wearing it.”

“There’s no need for crown. My family visits.”

“All urkzimmuthi are your family now. When my sister became great mother, everything changed. Dargu-yat is dead.”

“Dead?”

“Dargu-yat’s spirit is no more. Fathma changes everything.”

Dar was about to say that she felt no different when she realized that wasn’t true. Although she felt no wiser or mightier, she was imbued with a love for every orc. She also experienced vague, transient memories that she assumed belonged to former queens. “Hai, I’ve changed. But are you still my muthuri?”

Zor-yat smiled. “Of course, Muth Mauk.”

“Then, I’m happy.” Dar rose from her stool and embraced her muthuri though it made her wound ache.

Zor-yat smelled Dar’s pain as she hugged her. “You must tell me all that happened in Taiben. We received tales from that washavoki that brought you here and my sister’s son as well, but only you know everything. Why did my sister die?”

“Black Washavoki poisoned her long ago, then gave her healing magic to keep her alive. That magic clouded her mind so she spoke Black Washavoki’s words.”

“I thought magic was used on her,” said Zor-yat. “So did Muth-yat. I’m glad Black One died.”

“In order to clear her mind, your sister stopped taking healing magic, knowing it would cause her death. She’d been waiting for me.”

“For you?”

“Hai. For mother to receive Fathma.”

“So you could pass it to another?”

Dar recalled hovering on the edge of death and finding no one worthy to receive the divine gift. Was Muthuri there? It seemed likely, so Dar worded her reply carefully. “When I thought I was dying, I tried to bestow Fathma, but.. .but I lacked strength.”

“Then we’re lucky you lived.” Zor-yat appeared to reflect for a moment. “Now that you have strength, you can do what you intended.”

“Do you think another should be queen?”

“Crown is burden, even for those who are prepared to receive it. Look at my sister’s fate.”

Dar sighed. “Hai, but this burden is Muth la’s gift. I shouldn’t refuse it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure of nothing.” Dar thought how the Goddess Karm had temples with holy ones to guide the people. “Muthuri, is there someone among urkzimmuthi who understands Muth la best? Someone who offers guidance?”

“Hai, my daughter. She’s called Muth Mauk.”

Dar and her muthuri talked long. Dar recounted the events in Taiben as thoroughly as she could, knowing that Muth-yat and many others would quickly hear them. Dar saved one item for last, and as she spoke, she watched Zor-yat carefully. “When I met Kovok-mah in Taiben, I told him his muthuri would bless us. I said this because you told me so. He called me foolish.”

“And so you were, Daughter. I never said Kath-mah would bless you. I said I hoped she would.”

Dar’s recollection was distinctly different. I never would have gone to Taiben if I’d known the truth. As she gazed at her muthuri, she had the unsettling suspicion that she had been tricked.

“Love clouds judgment,” said Zor-yat. “Your chest overruled your mind, and you heard what you wished to hear.”

Dar wanted to believe her muthuri, but she didn’t. Nevertheless, she felt it would be unwise to say so. “You speak wisdom,” she said, inclining her head as a dutiful daughter. Zor-yat looked pleased and left soon afterward.

The visit had exhausted Dar, and she retired to the mattress in her sleeping chamber. Deen-yat was waiting there, so Dar feigned sleep. She felt both disappointed and disturbed. She had hoped that her reunion with her muthuri would be like her rebirth, when Zor-yat had cradled her and proclaimed to all that Dar was her child. That loving moment had not been repeated. Instead, Dar was certain that her muthuri had lied to her.

In light of that realization, Dar saw herself as Zor-yat and Muth-yat’s pawn. Both had understood her visions. They knew Othar was Dar’s enemy and didn’t warn her. Dar concluded that Zor-yat had been right—feelings had clouded her judgment. Her desire to be a part of Zor-yat’s family had blinded her. Dar wondered why Zor-yat had become her muthuri. She suspected it involved the crown.

If that’s the case, who’ll teach me how to rule? Dar assumed Zor-yat’s advice would be self-serving at best. And Muth-yat’s her sister. Does she want the crown, too? It seemed likely. Dar knew that both mothers commanded obedience, and whatever she said—regardless to whom—would likely reach their ears. She could trust Zna-yat; his loyalty was absolute. But Zna-yat was a son, and sons knew little about wielding authority. Besides, he was in Taiben. Dar recalled her dream about entering darkness. It suddenly felt like a portent. I’m lost, all right. And completely alone.

“Don’t visit your sister today,” said Zor-yat to Nir-yat. “She’s too ill to receive more visitors.”

“Hai, Muthuri,” said Nir-yat. “Your news saddens me.”

“I understand. You two are close. I think she’ll be better tomorrow.”

“I hope so.”

“I should warn you—that magic has gravely harmed her. You’ll know that when you see her wound. Dargu isn’t well. Neither is she prepared to rule.”

“But I’ve heard...”

“Don’t question my wisdom!”

Nir-yat bowed her head. “Hai, Muthuri.”

“Tomorrow when you speak with your sister, encourage her to pass on Fathma. She intended to do so earlier, but her strength failed her. Now that’s she’s recovering, she should fulfill her intention. Dargu is newly reborn—a child really. Can you see her facing Council of Matriarchs?”

“She’d find it difficult,” said Nir-yat.

“More than difficult. Catastrophic. Dargu received Fathma because she was only mother in Taiben. It was chance, not Muth la’s will. If she remains great mother, it’ll cause trouble. Another should rule.”

Upon hearing those words, Nir-yat grew alarmed. “But afterward...”

“Dargu need not know about that. It would frighten her into making poor choice. I forbid you to tell her. Do you understand?”

Nir-yat bowed yet again. “I understand, Muthuri.”

Four

Dar received no further visitors for the remainder of the day. After she ate the evening meal, she called Deen-yat to her. “I feel much better. You needn’t spend night with me.”

Deen-yat bowed. “Shashav, Muth Mauk. It would please me to sleep in my own hanmuthi. But you must promise to do nothing foolish.”

Dar smiled. “I’ll try not to.”

“Then I’ll depart. There are always sons outside your hanmuthi. You need only clap and they’ll attend to any need.” Deen-yat bowed again.

“Go with my gratitude.”

“I’ll see you in morning. Sleep well, Muth Mauk.”

After Deen-yat left, Dar rose and paced slowly about her grand but empty hanmuthi. It was far larger than Zor-yat’s, which housed three generations. Dar gazed at the vacant sleeping chambers, feeling lonely. Again, she briefly saw sons and mothers in them. Are these memories bestowed by Fathma? Ghosts? An effect of my poisoning? All Dar knew for certain was that the images were growing more real and occurring more frequently. She thought of the generations that had lived within the space where she stood and felt like an interloper. She wondered if her muthuri was right and another should dwell in the hanmuthi. Yet Dar couldn’t imagine who.

When Nir-yat arrived the following morning and saw Dar’s wound, she lost all decorum. She ran to Dar and embraced her, all the while making a keening sound deep in her throat. Dar’s eyes teared when she realized her sister was crying. “I’m all right, Nir,” she said, stroking Nir-yat’s thick hair. “I’m healing.

My wound looks worse than it feels.”

Nir-yat calmed. When she drew back to examine Dar, her mood changed. She grinned to see the gold band upon Dar’s head. “Baby sister’s Muth Mauk!”

“Baby? I’ve twenty-five winters. That makes me older than you.”

“Thwa. Those winters don’t count. You were reborn this summer, so this is your first winter. You belong on Muthuri’s teat.”

“Next time I’m hungry, I’ll tell her you said so.”

The remark made Nir-yat hiss. Dar hissed also, as naturally as if she had laughed that way all her life. “It pleases me to see you, Nir. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. Thir does also.” Nir-yat smiled. “She especially misses our room. Muthuri moved us from window chamber as soon as you left for Taiben.”

Because she didn’t expect me to return, thought Dar, who kept that assumption to herself. “Where is Thir? I thought she’d be coming with you.”

“She’s at Tok clan hall.” Nir-yat grinned. “She has velazul there.”

“Is it serious?” asked Dar, glad that her sister finally had a lover.

“She walked there in this weather. What do you think?”

“But he would be her first velazul!”

Dar’s sister smiled. “I remember saying same thing to you about Kovok-mah.” One glance at Dar’s face made Nir-yat regret her words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you still cared for him.”

“I shouldn’t,” said Dar. “Kath-mah won’t bless us.”

“Yet head doesn’t rule chest. I’m sad for you.”

“Did Muthuri tell you of our speech together?” said Dar, eager to speak of something else. “Do you know what happened in Taiben?”

“Hai. But speak of our brother. Why does he remain there?”

“Zna-yat’s there to enforce my will. Sons will guard new washavoki queen, but they won’t kill for her.”

“Does that mean they’ll no longer die in battles?”

“Hai.”

“That’s joyful news! You accomplished much!”

“You seemed surprised,” said Dar. “Didn’t Muthuri tell you?”

“Thwa. She thinks you’re unfit to rule.”

“Perhaps she’s right. I know little about being great mother. Another may be more suited.” “I must tell you story,” said Nir-yat. “Story about Grandmother.”

Nir-yat’s abrupt change of subject puzzled Dar, as did her note of urgency. “What is this story?”

“Grandmother was great mother before Zeta-yat. I was close to her. She visited old washavoki king often, and would have taught me washavoki speech had not Muthuri objected.” Nir-yat gave Dar a meaningful look. “Muthuri dislikes washavokis.” Then she resumed her story. “Five winters ago, Grandmother grew ill. Water filled her lungs, and Deen-yat said she would soon join Muth la. It’s said that great mothers see with Muth la’s eyes as death approaches, so they can know who should become next queen. Grandmother chose Zeta-yat, same great mother who chose you.”

“She chose me because she had no other option,” said Dar. “I was only urkzimmuthi mother there.”

Nir-yat ignored Dar’s comment. “What you should know is that Grandmother didn’t join Muth la after bestowing Fathma. She lingered in this world.”

“Did she recover?” asked Dar.

“How could she?” said Nir-yat. “She was dead.”

“I’m confused.”

“When mother receives Fathma, it and her spirit become one. When great mother passes Fathma to another, her spirit departs.”

“So what happened?” asked Dar.

“Grandmother became ghost, and she was treated like one. No one talked to her. Everyone behaved as if she wasn’t there.”

“And if I pass on Fathma...”

“I’m not speaking about you,” said Nir-yat quickly. “I’m forbidden to say what would happen.”

“Forbidden by Muthuri?”

Nir-yat acted as though she hadn’t heard Dar’s question. “I’m speaking about Grandmother. My grandmother who watched me with lonely eyes while I.” Nir-yat looked on the verge of crying again. She paused to compose herself “I was silent because it’s unnatural to speak to those who are dead.”

“Those were Muth Mauk’s very words after she made me queen!” said Dar.

“Well, she should know,” replied Nir-yat. “I hope she didn’t linger like Grandmother.”

“She didn’t.”

“Now, in obedience to Muthuri, I’ll encourage you to give Fathma to another.”

Dar grasped her sister’s hand. “Say to Muthuri that I heard you speak about giving Fathma to another. Tell her this: I will consider what you said.” Dar hoped those words would permit Nir-yat to answer truthfully when Zor-yat grilled her about their conversation. Daughters were required to obey their muthuris, and Nir-yat seemed distressed by her disobedience. It made Dar love her all the more.

After Nir-yat’s cautionary tale, Dar immediately changed the conversation to Thir-yat’s new velazul. Nir-yat gave all the details of the romance, then filled Dar in on other gossip. The Yat clan hall was the size of a small town, so there was much to tell. Nir-yat was soon regaling Dar with a story about a mother with two velazuls. Neither knew about the other until both visited her on the same day. After Nir-yat described the calamitous meal that ensued, she concluded by saying, “So she learned having one velazul is better than having none.”

Dar and Nir-yat talked into the afternoon before Dar returned to the subject of her sovereignty. “Nir, can you teach me how great mothers rule?”

Nir-yat instantly grew somber. “That’s not my place.”

“Who can I turn to? Muthuri? Muth-yat?”

“Muthuri will make me repeat every question you ask, so why not ask her yourself?”

Because, unlike you, she’ll try to deceive me, thought Dar.

“Besides,” Nir-yat added, “I was still young when Grandmother died. Soon after Zeta-yat became Muth Mauk, she went to Taiben and never returned.”

Dar pondered her predicament, then replied. “Hai. I should ask Muthuri.” She switched subjects and talked with her sister of other things before asking, “What was Grandmother’s name before she became Muth Mauk?”

“We shared name.”

“She was called Nir-yat?”

“Hai.”

“Was her sister Dargu-yat?” asked Dar, trying to sound playful.

“Thwa,” hissed Nir-yat. “Who would name their daughter Dargu?” Wteaeel. “Her name is Meera.”

“So she still lives?”

“Hai, but she’s so old that her daughter heads hanmuthi.”

Having learned what she needed, Dar let the conversation wander where it would. But shortly after Nir-yat left, Dar summoned one of the sons who stood outside her hanmuthi. He entered and bowed. “Hai, Muth Mauk.”

“Do you know where mother named Meera-yat lives?”

“Hai. In her daughter’s hanmuthi. It’s in oldest part of hall, near court of black stone pool.”

“Take me there, then speak of this to no one.”

Five

When Coric heard pounding on his master’s door, he approached it nervously. The sun was setting, and there had been a rash of robberies in Taiben. A rich merchant’s house was a prime target. Coric slid open the peephole and saw a disreputable-looking man standing in the street. His coarse face had a vacant look. Coric noticed that his cheeks twitched uncontrollably and his chin was covered with drool. Beside the man was a handcart, its load covered by a beautiful tapestry. Coric assumed it was stolen, but he knew his master never questioned a bargain.

“I’ve somethin’ fer yer master,” said the man in a dead voice. “Open the door.”

Coric smiled at the simpleminded ruse. “I think not.”

“Then take a good look, and tell yer master what I bring.”

Coric watched as the man lifted a corner of the tapestry to reveal a blackened face with staring eyes. “Obey me,” said the face. Thought and will drained from Coric’s mind. When he said, “Yes, Master,” he spoke with the same lifeless tone of the man with the handcart.

Balten was annoyed by Coric’s sudden appearance, and he let his servant know it. “You knock, you dog’s spawn, afore you enter.”

Coric seemed unfazed by his master’s ire. “Come to the entrance hall,” he said in a flat tone Balten had never heard before. “There’s someone you must meet.”

“Must? Must indeed! I meet whom I please. Leave me and throw that arrogant intruder from my house.”

Instead of complying, Coric grabbed Balten’s arm and began pulling him toward the door. Balten struck his face repeatedly, but Coric didn’t flinch as he dragged his master away. By the time the two reached the stairs, Balten had ceased struggling. When he arrived at the entrance hall, a bizarre sight confronted him. A dirty, unkempt man stood by an empty handcart. His face was animated by a constant twitch; otherwise it was blank. Two of Balten’s house servants flanked him. Both their faces were equally vacant. A chair had been dragged into the hall and upon it sat the most grotesque member of the ensemble—a man with the aspect of a charred corpse. His lap was covered by an exquisite tapestry.

Despite his terror, Balten summoned up his outrage and addressed the blackened man. “How dare you trespass here? What have you done to my servants?”

“They’re my servants now,” replied the intruder. His voice, though low and hoarse, was commanding. He pointed with a handless sleeve at one of Balten’s servants. “Slit your throat.”

Without hesitation or hint of emotion, the man drew a small knife from his tunic and slashed his neck. Then he stood motionless until his life drained from him and he collapsed. Balten stared aghast.

“He would have slit your throat just as calmly,” said the man in the chair. “Or I could enslave you like him and give the same command.”

“Who.. .Who are you? What do you want?”

The charred man bared his teeth in a horrific grin. “You know me. I was the royal mage.” “Othar? They say you’re dead.”

“Not dead. Transformed. My body’s suffered, but I’ve been compensated. I can seize minds with a glance and command total obedience.”

Balten tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. “Are you going to rob me of my mind?”

“My slaves are useful,” said Othar, “but they quickly end up like Nuggle here.” He pointed to the drooling, twitching man. “He’s lasted longest, but he’s nearly spent. I want you intact.”

Balten attempted a smile. “I’m gratified.”

Othar smiled back. The effect was hideous. “You should be.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I can discern your thoughts, so I’ll answer your true questions,” replied the mage. “I want neither your wealth nor your life. Yes, you’ll benefit. In fact, I’m going to make you wealthier. Much wealthier. And I’ll settle that matter with Maltus. I need only a glance into his eyes.”

“How did you learn about Maltus?”

“You have no secrets from me. I know you’re tupping Coric’s wife. Don’t fret; Coric’s past caring. You worry that your youngest is not of your seed. Bring forth your wife, and I’ll find out the truth. This spring, you poisoned that Luvein cloth merchant for his goods. Need I go on?”

Balten silently stared at Othar.

“Good,” said Othar. “I require a man to act as my agent. Someone familiar with the court, but inconspicuous. I’ll stay in the shadows while you serve as my face and hands. In return, you’ll prosper.”

Before Balten could utter a word, Othar responded to what he was thinking. “Because wealth will make you more useful. You need only do as I say. Riches don’t interest me, though I command many thieves. What surplus they bring, such as this tapestry, you may keep. Are you agreed to serve me?”

Balten started to reply, then realized his thoughts were laid bare. “Sire, you already know my answer.”

Othar flashed another grotesque grin. “You learn quickly. That’s good. Invite Maltus to this house tomorrow. Any pretext will do. To demonstrate my beneficence, I’ll resolve your difficulties with him.”

Balten thought it prudent to bow. “Thank you, sire. Will you tell me why you wish my aid? Since wealth disinterests you, what do you desire? Power?”

Without any gesture from the mage, Nuggle and the servant beside him turned to seize each other’s throat. Othar watched the two men strangle each other until both expired. Then he chuckled hoarsely. “Power? I’ve power aplenty. I want the opportunity to use it against those I hate. You’ll help with that. Revenge, bloody and merciless, is my desire.”

The oldest part of the Yat clan hall was such a warren of hanmuthis, small rooms, and connecting passageways, Dar was glad that she had a guide. He halted before an antique doorway and bowed. “This is place, Muth Mauk.”

Dar entered alone and was met by an elderly mother who looked surprised. After an awkward silence, the mother finally took the initiative and bowed. “Greetings. I’m Metha-yat, Muth Mauk.”

Unsure how a queen should respond, Dar simply declined her head. “I wish to speak with Meera-yat. Is she here?”

“Hai. I’ll show you to her chamber. You must speak loudly if she’s to hear you.”

Metha-yat’s hanmuthi was so old-fashioned that it lacked windows and a chimney. The only daylight entered through the smoke hole above the hearth, and it was fading fast. Small oil lamps provided meager illumination, and in their dim light, Dar couldn’t tell which of the adjoining sleeping chambers were occupied. Metha-yat took a lamp and walked over to one. Its light revealed an ancient mother sitting in the dark.

“Muthuri,” shouted Metha-yat. “You have visitor.”

“What?”

“Visitor. You have visitor.”

Dar spoke quietly to Metha-yat. “My speech with your muthuri is for her ears only.”

After Metha-yat bowed and left the hanmuthi, Dar stepped into the small sleeping chamber. Meera-yat had not turned to look at her, and Dar suddenly understood why. Meera-yat’s yellow eyes were filmed over. She was blind.

“What’s that strange smell?” asked Meera-yat.

Dar thought she had met every clan member after her rebirth, but she had no recollection of Meera-yat’s distinctive face. I hope she’s heard of m^. She addressed the ancient mother in a loud voice. “I’m Zor-yat’s new daughter. One who was reborn.”

“No one tells me anything,” muttered Meera-yat. She held out her hand. “Let me feel your face.”

Dar guided the shaking fingers to her chin, so Meera-yat might touch her clan tattoo first. Meera-yat traced the raised lines of the Yat clan markings. “Your chin feels too round,” she said. Her fingers brushed over Dar’s lips, then halted when they reached her nose. Meera-yat’s surprise and puzzlement were communicated by her touch. Her fingers traveled upward like startled spiders. “What’s this? What’s this?” Meera-yat’s exploration ended at Dar’s brow. “You’re washavoki!”

“Thwa,” shouted Dar. “I’ve been reborn. I’m urkzimmuthi.”

“Reborn? Why didn’t you say so?” said Meera-yat. “What’s your name?”

“I was named Dargu. Now...”

Meera-yat grinned. “Who gives her daughter animal’s name?”

“Zor-yat,” said Dar loudly.

Meera-yat grinned again. “Hai, Zor-yat would do that.”

“Dargu was my old name. Now I’m.”

Before Dar finished speaking, Meera-yat touched her crown. “What’s this?” “You know,” yelled Dar. “Your sister wore it.”

“Muth Mauk? You’re Muth Mauk? How did this happen?”

“Same way it happened for Nir-yat.” Dar gently grasped Meera-yat’s hands and placed them on her chest, duplicating the act that had made her queen. “Fathma.”

Meera-yat’s hands lingered, and it seemed to Dar that a look of wonder settled on her wrinkled face. “My eyes no longer see,” she said quietly, “so Muth la has enhanced other senses. I can feel my sister’s spirit within you. It’s mingled with many others.” Meera-yat bowed as low as her old back would permit. “Forgive me, Muth Mauk, for calling you washavoki.”

Rather than shout her reply, Dar gently grasped the old orc’s hands.

“So you’re Zor-yat’s daughter.” Meera-yat made a face. “Is she pleased you wear crown?”

“I think not,” shouted Dar.

“I’m not surprised. Zor-yat was displeased when her sister, and not she, received Fathma. Now she’s been passed over twice. So, Muth Mauk, why did you seek me out?”

“I’m queen, but I know little,” yelled Dar. “I need guidance. What to do. How to behave.”

“Is your muthuri no help?”

“She thinks another should rule.”

“What?”

“Wants different queen,” shouted Dar.

“Herself, no doubt. Probably Muth-yat is of like mind.”

“Your sister was queen. You know as much as they do.”

Meera-yat smiled. “I was by her side for many winters.”

“Will you help me?”

“Hai, Muth Mauk.”

“I must warn you,” shouted Dar. “I think Muth-yat will be displeased.”

“What do I care? I’ve nothing to lose. My line is cut. My granddaughters sickened in Taiben. My grandsons died in battles. Only Metha remains, consumed by grief” Meera-yat thought a moment, then asked, “Do you know of Muth la’s Dome?”

“Hai,” shouted Dar, recalling the place where she had undergone rebirth.

“That would be good place to talk. It’s sacred space, and we’d be alone.”

Dar liked the choice of meeting site. It was proof that Meera-yat recognized Dar’s delicate position. “I’ll send son to guide you there.”

“I need not eyes to find way. When sun is highest, I’ll go there and wait for you.”

Dar bowed, though Meera-yat couldn’t see the gesture. “Shashav.”

“I deserve no thanks, for you honor me, Muth Mauk. I’ll do my utmost. There is much I can teach you, but I can’t find your path. That you must do yourself.”

Dar had feared as much. Yet, she had one consolation, and she spoke it out loud. “At least I have Fathma. No one can take that.”

“Council of Matriarchs can.”

“How?”

“Haven’t you heard of Muth la’s Draught?”

“Thwa. What’s that?”

“Test of worthiness. It’s potion made from seeds of Muth la’s sacred tree. Council can require queen to drink it if they think she’s unfit.”

“What does that prove?” asked Dar.

“If queen should rule, Muth la will preserve her life.”

“Draught is poison?”

“Only if queen is unfit.”

“And when she dies, Fathma goes to another?”

“Hai. It’s Muth la’s will.”

This revelation stunned Dar, and her position suddenly seemed precarious. The “test” likened to an execution. “Has any queen ever passed this test?”

“Matriarchs are wise. When they think great mother is unfit, they’ve never been wrong.”

Six

By the time Dar returned to the royal hanmuthi, her anxiety had grown. It had occurred to her that the clan matriarchs might oppose her, but she had no idea their opposition could prove fatal. It made her wonder if she had misjudged the intentions behind Zor-yat’s advice to pass on the crown. Yet, while Dar felt threatened, she fought any impulse to surrender. She did so partly from stubbornness, but mostly owing to Fathma. It had continued to transform her in ways too subtle for her to precisely describe, so despite her ignorance, she felt ever more a queen.

Moreover, Dar hoped the matriarchs would appreciate the good she had accomplished already. No more sons would die in washavoki wars. Dar recalled the slaughter at the Vale of Pines, and the rage she had felt returned. That must never happen again! Her treaty with Queen Girta ensured it wouldn’t. Dar

assumed the orc regiments would disband, leaving only a small guard to protect the washavoki queen.

As soon as Dar thought about her treaty, she began to wonder how it was being implemented. Even as it was announced, she had been succumbing to the mage’s poison. Her instructions to Zna-yat were simple: “Stay here and see my will is done.” Will he know what to do? He speaks only Orcish. Who will deal with Girta? Dar had expected Kovok-mah to do that, but he had left Taiben to give her healing magic. Then he had returned home.

The more Dar considered the situation, the more precarious her accomplishment seemed. While she was recovering from her injury, it seemed that no one had followed events in Taiben. Dar had no idea what was happening there. All she knew was that the treaty was her responsibility. This is what it means to rule. Dar had a feeling that affairs in Taiben could easily slip into chaos. If they do, it’ll be my fault.

Zna-yat stood in his rusty armor as one of the guards flanking the throne. He had been standing all afternoon, and he was bored. Washavokis came and went, babbling incomprehensibly to their great mother. Mingled with their reek, Zna-yat detected the scent of fear. He thought it was good that they were afraid; fear would make them less likely to attack the one he protected. As best as he could tell from overhearing the babble, she was either called “Quengirta” or “Yermajessy.” Perhaps she had two names. Washavokis were strange like that.

Although Zna-yat disliked standing guard, as one who wore a leader’s cape he had to provide an example. Dargu wanted Quengirta and her child protected, so his duty was clear. He would keep them safe, and obey Quengirta also. The last task was difficult because she didn’t know the speech of mothers. Zna-yat had asked Garga-tok to teach her a few basic commands such as “kill” and “help.” I wish Kovok-mah was here, Zna-yat thought. He speaks with washavokis skillfully.

Zna-yat suspected Garga-tok’s fluency was less than desired because Quengirta had yet to comply with most of his requests. The urkzimmuthi guards still lacked proper quarters within the palace. Their room was large enough, but it wasn’t round. The washavokis had been displeased when sons had hacked the boundary of Muth la’s Embrace into the wooden floor with their swords. Zna-yat had instructed Garga-tok to explain the importance of the sacred circle, but the washavokis had shaped their mouths in the sign of anger. They were even more displeased when sons built a hearth in the circle’s center.

There was also the incident of the hairy-faced washavokis who tried to serve food. A son nearly killed the first one that stepped inside Muth la’s Embrace. Zna-yat had prevented him from doing so, but trouble had ensued. When Garga-tok told Quengirta that sons must be served by mothers, she had replied that Dargu had sent them all away. That made little sense, for Dargu knew the proper way of doing things. Zna-yat could only conclude that the washavokis had misunderstood her. After much talk, woe mans were found to serve food. However, they smelled of fear and didn’t know what words to say. Garga-tok had tried to teach them, but it had gone poorly.

Everything’s gone poorly since Dargu departed, thought Zna-yat. His chest was heavy, for he felt certain that Dargu was dead. That didn’t alter his obligations. Dargu had bitten his neck, which made his life hers. To Zna-yat’s thinking, it would always be hers. As long as he lived, he must strive to carry out her wishes.

Zna-yat turned his attention to the washavoki babbling to Quengirta. Its ridiculous garments made it resemble a brightly colored bird. Even its sword had colored stones on its handle. Zna-yat wondered

why washavokis made their weapons pretty and rudely wore them in their halls. He suspected it was because they liked killing. On impulse, Zna-yat bared his black teeth, exposing his fangs to the washavoki. Its neck jerked back, making it look even more like a bird. As the scent of its fear grew stronger, Zna-yat hissed softly. I probably shouldn’t scare it, he thought. Still, it was amusing.

Zna-yat was glad when his watch finally ended and he could wash the reek of so many washavokis from his skin. Yet even bathing was a problem. Washavokis seldom bathed and lacked communal baths. Instead, they used vessels that fit only their small bodies. The sole basin large enough for a proper bath was in a hall where horses lived. Usually, its water bore a skin of ice. When Zna-yat returned to the urkzimmuthi living quarters, he shed his armor and his garments and headed for the basin.

His route took him through the palace, and as always, the washavokis he encountered acted strangely. The woe mans, especially, did peculiar things. They squeaked and covered their eyes as if the sight of his body hurt them. Zna-yat knew they behaved the same way when other sons went to the basin. He had sent Garga-tok to discover why, but Garga-tok came back with a silly reason. Sons without garments were called “nekked,” and washavokis thought nekked was bad. That made little sense. Zna-yat wondered if the washavokis bathed with their garments on. If so, that explained why they did it so infrequently.

The icy water left Zna-yat refreshed. When he returned to Muth la’s Embrace, he dressed in his tunic and cape, then sat close to the hearth. It was constructed of large stones laid upon the wooden floor, and the fire it contained was small. Used neither for heating nor cooking, its flame was mostly to remind the orcs of their homes. Nevertheless, smoke made the air hazy and had stained the ceiling.

“This room should have smoke hole,” said a voice.

Zna-yat looked up and saw Magtha-jan. “Hai,” said Zna-yat. “And round walls to mark Muth la’s Embrace, and urkzimmuthi mothers to bestow Muth la’s gifts.”

“Muth Mauk said this would come to pass.”

“Hai,” replied Zna-yat. “But it’ll take time. I appreciate your patience. I know you long for home, and I’m pleased you agreed to stay.”

“It was hard choice,” said Magtha-jan, “but I believe in wisdom of Muth Mauk’s treaty.”

“I hope washavokis do also.”

“You think they don’t?”

“Their queen fears us,” said Zna-yat. “Her son does, too.”

“I’ve smelled this also. Why should they fear us? We protect them.”

“I’m not one to ask. I understand washavokis little. All I know is that most are strange and cruel.”

“I think Muth la made Dargu-yat queen because she understands them,” said Magtha-jan. “She’s urkzimmuthi, yet washavokis don’t fear her.”

“You speak wisdom,” said Zna-yat. Having received no announcement of Dargu’s death, he kept his fears of it to himself. He was worried what would happen when the news arrived. The orc guards might choose to leave unless the new queen decreed they should stay. Zna-yat had no idea if she would.

The arrival of woe mans bearing food interrupted Zna-yat and Magtha-jan’s conversation. Zna-yat was surprised to note that the woe man leading the procession had a branded forehead, which meant the woe man had served in the regiments. This was a change. Since sons had arrived at the washavoki great mother’s hall, only unmarked woe mans had served. The branded woe man spoke the proper words. “Saf nak ur Muthz la.” Food is Muth la’s gift. This was also a change.

The orcs responded in unison. “Shashav, Muth la.” Thank you, Muth la

Afterward, the woe mans served. Unlike in the regiment, they brought the food on platters. As a woe man placed Zna-yat’s meal before him, she attempted to say “Muth la urak tha saf la”—Muth la gives you this food—but her speech was barely intelligible. Nevertheless, Zna-yat was encouraged by the attempt at appropriate behavior.

The food was only a slight improvement over that served in the regiment. As in the army, it was mainly porridge, though there were some boiled roots. The meal also included meat, a rare item. Unfortunately, it was nearly spoiled, a fact Zna-yat’s keen nose detected despite the dish’s heavy spicing. He left the meat untouched.

The woe mans returned after the meal was over to retrieve the platters and depart for the night. Afterward, a lone washavoki dressed in blue and scarlet entered the hall. That was unusual. It halted outside Muth la’s Embrace and did an unexpected thing: It spoke in the tongue of mothers, albeit poorly. “Ma pahav Zna-yat.” I say Zna-yat.

Zna-yat rose, and approached the washavoki. It seemed familiar, but most washavokis looked alike. It bowed politely and spoke again. “Ma nav Sevren.” I am Sevren.

Zna-yat nodded and replied in Orcish. “I am Zna-yat.”

The washavoki bowed again, and continued speaking in the tongue of mothers. “I...take Dargu-yat...” It imitated a galloping horse with its fingers. “.take her to.” It seemed unsure what to say next.

“To hall?” said Zna-yat. “To healer?”

The washavoki made a puzzling gesture with its shoulders. “You hear? She live? She kill?”

It wants to know if Dargu lived or died, thought Zna-yat. He replied as if he were speaking to an infant. “You there. You see.”

“I no see. Mother say go. Dargu-yat live? Dargu-yat kill?”

“I do not know,” replied Zna-yat. When the washavoki looked confused, he added, “Mothers no say. I no hear.”

“You no hear?”

“Hai.”

The washavoki bowed low. “Shashav, Zna-yat.”

Zna-yat watched the washavoki depart. It was a strange encounter, and he didn’t know what to make of it, other than the washavokis knew no more about Dargu’s fate than he did. Zna-yat thought Quengirta might have sent the washavoki, since it wore the colors of her guard, but he suspected it acted on its own. Zna-yat’s time with Dargu had taught him to recognize washavoki expressions. It was sad, he thought. His orcish sense of smell also detected another, more puzzling, emotion. It was in love.

A group of guardsmen waited for Sevren at a safe distance from the orcs’ quarters. Valamar stood among them and grinned when he saw his friend returning. “Pay up, lads. He made it back in one piece.”

As Sevren approached, the men paid Valamar their bets.

“What of the orc wench, Sevren?” asked one of the losers.

“Mind your tongue,” he replied. “She’s a queen now, or at least, she was.”

“A queen of piss eyes,” said the man. “Hardly royalty.”

“More like their whore,” said another.

Sevren knocked him to the floor. He was about to deal another blow when Valamar restrained him. “Calm down, Sevren. Thrashing Wulfar won’t change anything. The whole army’s named her orc wench. And worse. You can’t fight them all.”

Wulfar rose, trying to look menacing.

“Come, Sevren,” said Valamar. “I’ll stand you an ale at the Bloody Boar.”

As the two headed for the tavern, Valamar spoke. “That woman’s made you foolhardy, and tonight’s a fine example. It’s wise to avoid orcs. A few days ago, one nearly killed a serving man. Broke both his arms.”

“He was sent by fools who should’ve known better. Orcs will na abide men serving food.”

“Why should we change? If they’re supposed to be guardsmen, let them act like guardsmen.”

“They’re na men, so they can na be guardsmen. Could you become an orc?”

“You claim Dar did,” replied Valamar.

“Aye, and she thought it an improvement.”

“Did you?”

“’Tis unimportant now.”

“So, what did the orcs say?”

“I’m still learning their tongue and lack skill in it, but it seems they know na more than we do. I fear she’s dead. She seemed nearly so when I last saw her.”

“Since you returned their queen, why wouldn’t the orcs let you stay? That seems common courtesy.”

“A queen’s death is momentous. To them, I was only some washavoki.”

“But to question you and turn you out? Your regard for them is overblown. They’re called brutes for a reason.”

“This summer, who used their own troops as bait? Who pillaged Karm’s Temple? Mayhap orcs are brutes, but they’re honest ones.” “I wouldn’t trust an orc,” said Valamar. “Dar addled your wits, and that’s for certain. Still, I’m sorry she’s gone. You were right—she had spirit.”

Sevren sighed. “Aye, she did.”

The two men entered the tavern, where Valamar purchased the ale. Sevren, having refused to touch plunder from the temple, was not a copper richer after the summer campaign. He thanked his friend, then raised his flagon. “To Dar, and what she wrought. To peaceful times.”

Valamar touched his flagon to Sevren’s. “I’ll drink to your departed love, but peaceful times are lean times. No war means no plunder.”

“Queen Girta has a treasury.”

“Just a name for an empty chest. If there’s no campaign, we’ll be threadbare by summer’s end. Men are already leaving. How about you?”

“I’ve na yet the price of a farm.”

“Then why did you refuse your summer’s share?”

“’Twas obtained by sacrilege. You can na buy land with cursed gold. The curse lingers in the purchase.”

Valamar grinned. “Then you’re drinking cursed ale.”

“Which I’ll piss away afore sunrise.”

Valamar’s grin broadened. “That’s the first wise thing you’ve said all evening.”

Seven

Dar pushed through snow and brown weed stalks to reach Muth la’s Dome. It was not yet noon, but she wanted to ensure that Meera-yat could reach their meeting place easily. The small stone hemisphere stood in the center of an otherwise empty courtyard. No one had visited it recently, and the surrounding snow was deep and undisturbed. It formed a drift against the dome’s ancient wooden door, which Dar struggled to pull open. In her weakened state, the effort left her panting.

The dome’s single, circular room was ten paces across and partly below ground level. Dar descended a short set of stairs to reach its stone floor. A small opening in the apex of the ceiling admitted some dim light and an occasional snowflake. Dar gazed about the place that had been the site of her great ordeal and great joy. The room looked undisturbed since her rebirth, although the hole in the floor’s center had been covered by a circular flagstone. Dar wondered if water still filled the hole. If it did, it was surely frozen. The floor about the flagstone bore a dusting of snow, and Dar’s breath condensed each time she exhaled.

When Dar heard Meera-yat at the doorway, she rushed to help her down the stairs. “Greeting, Mother,” she shouted. “You chose cold place for us to talk. Will you be warm enough?” “My comfort is unimportant, Muth Mauk.”

Dar led Meera-yat to where the floor was free of snow. Meera-yat sat down and Dar huddled next to her. “What has Zor-yat told you about being great mother?” asked Meera-yat.

The dome’s curved walls enhanced Dar’s voice, so she didn’t have to shout her reply. “Only that I should pass on Fathma.”

“Did she speak of what would happen afterward?”

“Thwa, but Nir-yat did.”

“Nir-yat has good chest. She’s well named,” said Meera-yat. “I assume you wish to keep your spirit.”

“I’ve work that’s unfinished. I can’t die yet.”

Meera-yat nodded. “Already, you think like queen. Muth la helped queen choose her successor wisely.”

“I was only mother present. Queen had no other choice.”

“Don’t you think that was Muth la’s doing?” asked Meera-yat.

“Muthuri doesn’t.”

“I won’t speak ill of your muthuri, but...humph! Well, I’ll tell you what you need to know. Great mother is muthuri to all urkzimmuthi. Remember this, and ruling comes naturally.”

I’ve never had children, thought Dar. How can I act like a muthuri? She recalled how her human mother dutifully submitted to a man who crushed her spirit. That example provided no guidance. “Your advice sounds wise, but I’ve not lived among urkzimmuthi long,” replied Dar, “and I’ve spent more time with sons than mothers.”

“Yet you must know Muth la rules world through mothers. Muthuris are like Muth la in their own hanmuthis. Be like them. Show love, require obedience, and.” Meera-yat smiled. “.expect problems. Children aren’t always tranquil, especially daughters. Some will be headstrong. You must be firm.”

Dar imagined trying to be firm with Zor-yat and Muth-yat. “That won’t be easy.”

“Everyone expects queen to show path. If you’re confident, they’ll follow.”

“But how will I show them this path?” asked Dar. Her own dealings with the late queen had been personal and direct. When she had led the orcs against King Kregant, she was surrounded by her troops. Dar had no idea how to rule subjects that lived in distant halls. King Kregant had officials to carry out his commands, which made her wonder if she’d have similar functionaries. “Who will aid me when I rule?”

“Clan matriarchs and your mintaris.”

The latter word was unfamiliar. Dar broke it down into “sons” and “bitten.” “I bit Zna-yat’s neck, and his life became mine,” she said. “Is it same with mintaris?”

“Hai. When son becomes your mintari, his first duty is to you. You come before his clan’s matriarch or even his muthuri. Choosing your mintaris is major decision. It’s best they come from all clans. Gather sons to you, but don’t hurry to bite their necks. See if they’re suitable first. This deed can’t be undone.” “How do I gather them?”

“Ask each clan matriarch to send you unblessed sons to serve you. Two per clan is customary. You can ask for more later.”

“Who chooses these sons? Matriarch? Or can I name them?”

“You can name them if you wish.”

Dar immediately thought of Kovok-mah. “Can son’s muthuri forbid him to go?”

“Thwa. Besides, it’s honor to be asked.”

Dar was glad that Meera-yat couldn’t see her smile. Kath-mah can’t keep Kovok-mah from me! “Should I do this soon?”

“Hai. It will let matriarchs know there is new queen. Then they will gather here for council meeting.” “What should I do at this meeting?”

“Impart what wisdom Muth la has given you.”

Dar thought that advice was vague to the point of being useless. She envisioned a room full of matriarchs, all much older than she and accustomed to wielding authority. They ll think I’m an upstart! Dar grew anxious. She suspected Meera-yat smelled her fear, for the ancient mother grasped her hand and squeezed it. “Remember, you have Fathma.”

“So did great mothers who drank Muth la’s Draught and died.”

“It’s rare for Council of Matriarchs to question queen’s fitness, and rarer still for them to call for Draught. Didn’t you say you have unfinished work? I believe Muth la will permit you to complete it.”

It occurred to Dar that her sole purpose might be to bring Fathma back to the orcs and someone with more experience should implement the treaty. If that’s the case, I’ll be deemed unfit. Dar wondered what would happen if she refused to drink Muth la’s Draught. She suspected it would be futile.

“It’ll take a while for matriarchs to arrive,” said Meera-yat. “Muth-goth’s hall is far away.”

“Muth-pah’s hall is even farther.”

“Why do you speak of Muth-pah? Pah clan is lost.”

“That’s not so. I’ve stayed with Pah clan and met Muth-pah. Together, we entered darkness to receive visions.”

Meera-yat didn’t immediately reply, but her agitated expression made Dar uneasy. “You entered darkness? What happened afterward?”

“Muth-pah said world had changed.”

“Oh my! And you’re queen now! Oh my!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Woe that I should live unto this time!”

“Won’t you help me?” asked Dar, perplexed by Meera-yat’s abrupt change.

“Help you? Never! How could I?”

Meera-yat struggled to her feet and began a shuffling search for the stairs. Dar rose to help her. “Please, Mother, tell me what’s upset you.”

“I must go. Help me to door, then let me be. I’ll find my way.”

Dar could do little more than comply, for the elderly mother refused to speak further. After Meera-yat left, Dar remained inside the dome, feeling alarmed and mystified. Zor-yat and Muth-yat had also learned about her visit to the Pah clan, and they had seemed undisturbed by the news. Dar pondered why it had upset Meera-yat. It was possible that she knew something Muth-yat and Zor-yat didn’t. There seemed little hope of finding out what it was. It was also possible that circumstances had changed since Dar first told her story. One change was obvious. I’m queen now. Dar wondered for how long.

Dar was about to leave the room when she spotted someone sitting in its shadows. The discovery startled her, for she was certain that the dome had been empty when she entered it. Using her most authoritative tone, she addressed the stranger, who appeared as little more than a shadowy shape. “Reveal yourself. What are you doing here?”

The figure rose and advanced. The light revealed a frail old man with a long white beard. He was dressed in a tattered gray robe. Dar gazed at him, awestruck. “Velasa-pah?”

The wizard’s deeply lined face was solemn. He bowed, then spoke in the human tongue. “Beware the bones.”

“The bones were destroyed,” said Dar.

Velasa-pah seemed about to reply when a stone block crashed onto the floor. Dar looked upward. The hole in the ceiling was no longer circular. Its edge had a gap like a missing tooth, and the sky beyond had an orange tinge. As Dar gazed at the ceiling, a second stone fell. Then the hole in the ceiling continued to enlarge as the stone blocks encircling it loosened and tumbled down. The entire dome threatened to collapse. Dar dashed out the door to avoid being crushed.

She emerged into a courtyard surrounded by fire. The entire clan hall was ablaze. Huge sheets of flame rose high into the sky, turning it black with smoke. The rumble of falling stones, but no voices, accompanied the fire’s crackle and roar. The heat was searing. Already, the snow in the courtyard had melted and the weeds were smoldering. Dar heard a grinding noise behind her. She turned to see Muth la’s Dome tumble down. The entire hall seemed in danger of doing the same.

“Muth Mauk!” called a voice. Dar turned toward the sound and saw Deen-yat emerging from the burning hall. She seemed calm. “You shouldn’t be outside in cold,” said the healer, her tone mildly scolding. “Come inside.”

Dar was about to reply that the hall was on fire, when she realized it wasn’t. I’m having a vision, she thought, hoping it would end. The flames faded, and the smoke-blackened sky turned gray. Without looking, Dar knew Muth la’s Dome was still standing. At least, for now, she thought. Then, without a backward glance, she followed Deen-yat into the Yat clan hall.