“Let us make a treaty. The orcs will form a guard to protect you and your son. In return, you swear to use them only for defense, never for conquest or pillage. Also, their accommodations in your court must conform to orcish customs, so that mothers may visit to give them food and guidance. Finally, promise to honor and reward the branded women for their service and release them from further duties.”
“Those are easy terms,” said Girta. “Why so generous?”
“Those terms will secure peace, and peace is priceless.”
Girta kissed Dar’s clammy forehead. “Then let us announce this treaty together.”
Dar addressed the orcs first and described the agreement in their own tongue. She didn’t mention her fatal wound. Instead, she attempted to appear perfectly well, although the effort strained her. Girta spoke next. By then, courtiers had mingled with the guardsmen and many of them scoffed at their fledgling ruler’s plans. As soon as Girta finished speaking, the orcs thundered their allegiance to the “Washavoki Great Mother,” demonstrating that the new queen had formidable allies. Those men who responded to power instantly changed their attitude, and those who valued peace saw cause for hope.
Next, the treaty was committed to parchment, and heralds were dispatched to announce the news. By the time those formalities were accomplished, Dar was feeling dizzy and the pain in her chest had intensified. Exhausted, she ceased to struggle against the poison. Dar slumped into a chair. Her eyes closed, and she thought she was in the cave with Muth-pah. She envisioned a hole growing in her chest from which her essence streamed into the void. As in the cave, she perceived there was something else within her—something precious. Fathma! Dar’s eyes shot open. If I die here, Fathma will be lost again!
Dar struggled to her feet, found Queen Girta, and pulled her aside. “I can’t die here!” she whispered. “I must return home.”
“I’ll have you escorted in honor.”
“There’s no time for honor. A fast horse is what I need. That, and a fast rider.” Dar gasped from a stab of pain. “Sevren. The guardsman who helped me. Get him. Please hurry.”
Dar experienced the succeeding events as if drifting in and out of a dream. Moments of clarity were followed by stretches of vagueness. She found herself lying on a bed. People were talking in low voices. She saw Girta and Sevren. Then they faded. Next, she realized Zna-yat was bent over her. “Muth Mauk, atham dava-dovak?” Great Mother, what has happened?
Dar replied in Orcish. “Black Washavoki made evil magic. Tell no one yet. I must go home and see matriarch.”
“I will take you.”
“Thwa. Horse is faster.” Dar groaned. “Stay here and see my will is done.”
Zna-yat bowed deeply. “I will.”
Dar tried to curl her lips into a smile, but her face was too tight with pain. Her vision blurred, so she couldn’t see the grief on Zna-yat’s face. People gathered round. Hands lifted Dar and carried her to the stables. There, someone wrapped her in a thick cloak. She was hoisted up to a waiting horseman. Dar felt his arm grasp her waist. “Sevren?” she whispered.
“Aye, ’tis me.”
“Must…ride…fast.”
“I know,” said Sevren, his voice tender and anguished. “If the road’s clear, you’ll be home by morning.”
Dar wanted to say something else, but the world was slipping away. She scarcely noticed when Skymere began galloping.
In a room made bright by candles, young Kregant III stared at the huge orc seated on the floor. Queen Girta stroked the prince’s hair, attempting to calm him. She noted that he was sucking his thumb for the first time in years. “Darling,” said Girta, fighting the tremor in her voice, “this is Kovok-mah. He’s our friend.”
The prince remained silent.
“I must seem very big to one so little,” said Kovok-mah.
Queen Girta felt as frightened as her son. Already, she was having misgivings about the treaty. Are these orcs any better than the mage? she wondered. Nevertheless, Girta put on a brave front for her son’s sake. “You seem big to me, also. I’ve never seen your kind close up.” She recalled hearing somewhere that orcs could smell fear and thought it prudent to speak honestly. “I’m a bit frightened.”
“Dargu was also frightened when we first met,” said Kovok-mah. “Then she became angry.”
“Dargu?’
“She is Great Mother, now. Back then, she was only Dargu. Word means ‘weasel’ in your tongue.” Kovok-mah curled back his lips.
Girta had no idea what that disturbing expression meant. “I can see how one would call her weasel,” she said, thinking the name was an ill omen. “I wish I could speak to her now.”
“I think she will visit often.”
“How can she? I doubt she’ll even make it home before…” Girta’s voice trailed off.
“Before what?” asked Kovok-mah.
“Before the poison kills her.”
“Poison! What poison?”
When Girta saw the orc was agitated, and her fear increased. “I thought you knew that the mage stabbed her with a poisoned blade.”
“Can I see this blade?” asked Kovok-mah.
Girta sent a servant to fetch it. Then she turned to Kovok-mah. “Didn’t she tell you?”
Kovok-mah shook his head. “Dargu always hid her pain.”
When Girta perceived the anguish in Kovok-mah’s eyes, she had a startling insight. “You have feelings for her!”
“Hai, she fills my chest, even though…” The servant returned bearing the mage’s weapon. Its poisoned spike was still extended. Kovok-mah sniffed it. “I know this herb. Its magic is strong and evil,” he said. “Now I understand Dargu’s haste. Did you see her wound?”
“No,” said Girta.
“I have little hope, but little is better than none.” Kovok-mah bowed low. “Forgive me, Great Washavoki Mother, but I must find Dargu.”
“Will she live?”
“Long enough, perhaps.”
“Long enough for what?”
Kovok-mah rose, his thoughts already elsewhere. “Perhaps. Perhaps. But only if I hurry.”
Forty-three
Sevren pushed Skymere as fast as he dared. Although he believed only speed could save Dar, he knew a lame horse would doom her. Trained to bear wounded from battle, Sevren rode holding Dar in front of him, her cheek resting against his chest. Only her body was close; her mind was distant as she mumbled. Usually, she spoke in Orcish. She kept repeating “Fathma,” but Sevren didn’t understand why.
Sometimes Sevren spoke to Dar. He said “Hold on” and “We’ll be there soon.” But he didn’t speak his heart. How can I tell a queen I love her? She’s risen above me. Dar had become like the farm in the hills of Averen—a lovely dream, and even less obtainable. Sevren feared the dream would soon die. It made him more reckless in urging his mount.
Sevren had never traveled the road between Taiben and the Yat clan hall, but it was easy to follow even at night and dusted with snow. He made good time at first, considering his burden. Soon he was in the hills. They were lovely in the moonlight, glistening silver against the starry sky. Their beauty was lost on Dar, who stared without seeming to see. She appeared neither awake nor asleep. Sevren grew more worried.
As Skymere climbed higher into the hills, the snow grew deeper on the road. Sevren was forced to proceed more slowly. Soon the snowdrifts rose above Skymere’s knees, and Sevren was forced to dismount. Dar was unable to sit in the saddle, so he laid her across it like a sack of grain. Then he took the reins and broke a path for his horse to follow. It was slow going, and Sevren hoped the drifts would soon diminish. Instead, they grew higher. Time was working against him, and the cold was also. Sevren began to fear that Dar would perish on the road and tears flowed down his frigid face. Despite cold and fatigue, he pushed on, stopping only to check that Dar still lived.
As the night grew old, Sevren began to despair. He had spent far more time struggling in the snowdrifts than reaching them. Despite all
his efforts, the pass was distant. He raged against the elements and reproached himself for letting them defeat him.
When a hint of dawn lightened the sky, Sevren spied a dark shape on the road. It seemed to be a man on foot. He was running. Sevren watched him come closer. Soon he realized the runner was an orc. Sevren grew nervous, wondering if he had committed some offense by taking Dar away. If he had, Dar was in no condition to explain his actions. Sevren waited. At the rate the orc was moving, he would catch him soon.
When the orc arrived, all he said was “Follow me.” He took the lead, easily pushing his way through the drifts. Sevren meekly trailed behind. The orc walked down the road a distance, then veered toward a sheltered spot. He cleared a space in the snow, lifted Dar from the horse, and placed her on his lap as he sat down. Sevren watched, feeling excluded, as the orc sniffed Dar’s breath, then pulled up her gown to examine her chest. A dark spot the size of Sevren’s fist was revealed. In the dim light, it resembled a hole beneath Dar’s breast. The orc looked up. “Break branches from tree,” he said, pointing to a bare pine. “She needs fire.”
Sevren did as he was told. When he returned, the orc was cradling Dar so she faced toward him. He was chewing something, and as Sevren watched, he took out a dagger and pulled up Dar’s gown to expose her wound again. Sevren grew alarmed. “What are you doing?”
The orc looked up, his blade poised over Dar’s discolored flesh. “I make magic,” he mumbled, his mouth full. He drew the blade three times over the dark spot, creating a star-shaped incision. As blood welled up, he bent over and spat into the new wound.
“Can you save her?”
“This is small magic,” said the orc, his mouth still stuffed. “It will give her time, nothing more.” The orc continued spitting until the bloody star was completely covered. Then he spat out a wad of chewed herbs, pulled down Dar’s gown, and wrapped her in the cloak. He handed Sevren a bag containing tinder, a flint, and an iron. “Will you make fire? She should be warm.”
“Hai,” said Sevren, using the little Orcish he knew. As he worked, he couldn’t help but notice the tenderness with which the orc held Dar. It made him uncomfortable. Sevren realized he was jealous. At last, he felt compelled to speak. “Are you the orc that sheltered her in the army camp?”
“Hai. I am Kovok-mah.”
“Do you love her?”
“I do not know that word.”
Sevren pointed to his heart. “Big feeling. Here.”
“Hai, Dargu-yat fills my chest.” Kovok-mah sniffed the air. “Like she fills yours.”
Sevren realized that the orc had smelled his atur. Then, knowing that his feelings were already exposed, he asked the question that bared them even further. “And what of Dargu-yat’s chest. Do you fill hers?”
“It matters not.”
“Because she’s going to die?”
“Even if she lived, we could never be blessed.”
“Does that mean ‘married’?”
“I think so.”
Sevren regarded Kovok-mah, who looked so alien to him, and marveled that such a creature could think of marrying Dar. Yet he felt certain that the orc had. Had Dar similar thoughts? Sevren realized he’d never know. That’s one thing we have in common—we both love a woman who’s about to die. Then sympathy made Kovok-mah seem less alien. “She’s Great Mother now,” said Sevren, “so, like yours, my feelings matter not.”
“I understand your sadness,” said Kovok-mah. He studied Sevren awhile. “I think you are not like most washavokis. Let us care for Dargu-yat together while she lives.”
Sevren moved to where Kovok-mah cradled Dar, and held her hands to warm them. Whether it was the warmth of the fire, the healing magic, the attention of the two who loved her most, or a combination of these things, the pain left Dar’s face. After the sun rose, she opened her eyes and smiled weakly. “Sevren,” she whispered. “Kovok.”
“Kovok-mah gave you healing magic,” said Sevren. “You’ll be home soon.”
“Hurry,” whispered Dar.
Sevren mounted Skymere, then grasped Dar when Kovok-mah lifted her up. Afterward, the orc strode to the snow-choked road, clearing a path for the horse and its two riders. In this manner, the three wound their way toward the pass. The sun shone in a clear sky, but the air was crisp and a wind made it bite. Dar slumped against Sevren and appeared oblivious of everything.
Dar didn’t see the mountains or feel the wind on her face. She existed in the twilight world of her visions, which she observed through closed eyes. It had become more real to her than waking life, a misty landscape where most features were indistinct. Yet some things were clear to her. Without moving her head, she glanced downward and saw Skymere’s heart pulsing in his chest. It was large and glowed with every beat. Dar understood that the horse would gladly run for Sevren until that great heart burst. It’s a form of love, she realized. Dar perceived Kovok-mah’s heart in the same way and viewed Sevren’s also. Although their feelings were more complex than the horse’s, she understood them. Is this how Muth la sees her world?
Dar’s view of her own body conjured up memories of her vision with Muth-pah. The hole in her chest was distinct, its edges glowing faintly red. Her skin appeared as a translucent shell. It seemed to be growing thinner as the hole grew larger. Inside her skin, Fathma fluttered like a bird within a jar. If my skin breaks, Fathma will fly away. Then it will be lost to the urkzimmuthi.
Through a force of will, Dar returned to the world of wind and mountains. She opened her eyes and saw the snowy road glow in the morning sunlight. She felt Sevren’s arm around her and saw his hand grasping the reins. “Hurry,” she whispered.
Beyond the pass, the road headed downward and the snow became less deep. After a while, Kovok-mah was no longer needed to break a trail. “You should ride ahead,” he said to Sevren. “When you get to hall, say this—‘Dargu-yat nak Muth Mauk. Fer thayak.’ It means ‘Dargu-yat is Great Mother. She is dying.’ They will do what is necessary.”
“But you gave her healing magic.”
“That was only small magic. I have little skill.” Kovok-mah reached into his cloak, pulled out an object, and showed it to Sevren. It resembled a handle from a small knife until Kovok-mah pressed a button on its side. Out sprang a wicked-looking spike. Kovok-mah pointed to its discolored end. “This is poison. Say ‘Gatav ma muth thusi.’ It means ‘Bring me healing mother.’ Show her this.” Kovok-mah pressed the button again, and the spike retracted. Then he handed the weapon to Sevren. “Go now. Ride quickly.”
Sevren spurred Skymere onward, and as the road became less treacherous, the horse ran ever faster without urging. It was as if Skymere understood the importance of getting Dar home. They sped down the road and entered a twisting valley. Sevren noted small huts in the empty meadows and guessed they were close to their destination. Since Dar was unconscious, he couldn’t ask. Without any command from Sevren, Skymere broke into a gallop. The road turned, and the Yat clan hall was visible for the first time.
When Sevren reached the hall’s gates, he spoke the words he had memorized to the two orcs who flanked the door. They reacted immediately, lifting Dar down and carrying her into the hall. Sevren followed behind them. There, he saw many orcs who were different from any he had seen before. Their proportions were similar to those of humans and their faces were similar also. Sevren knew they were females, for most wore no covering over their breasts. It was obvious that they, not the males, were in charge.
The guards took Dar into a circular room and laid her on a mat close to a hearth. Several orc females were there, and Dar’s arrival stirred them into action. Sevren saw grief but no hysteria. One of the orcs rushed over to Sevren. “I am Zor-yat. Queen was my sister. Dargu-yat is my daughter. Tell me what happened to her.”
Sevren was so relieved that the orc spoke in the human tongue that he didn’t question her assertion that Dar was her child. “The mage has poisoned Dar,” he said, producing the weapon. “It’s still on the blade.” He
made the spike appear. “Can you bring a healing mother?”
Of all the orcs in the room, Zor-yat displayed the least emotion. That surprised Sevren when he considered that Zor-yat had just learned she had lost a sister and was about to lose Dar. With the sangfroid of a hardened veteran, she took the weapon and said something in Orcish. Another female came over to take the poisoned weapon from the room. Zor-yat turned back to Sevren. “Tell me how Dargu-yat became Great Mother.”
Sevren briefly described Dar’s rescue of the queen and the ceremony that soon followed. When he finished, Zor-yat asked. “Did you see Great Mother touch Dargu-yat’s chest?”
“I did.”
Zor-yat appeared pleased. “That is good. Very good.”
Another orc female arrived in the room, and Zor-yat went over to talk to her. Not understanding what was being said, Sevren could only watch. A young female kneeled beside Dar. She gently stroked Dar’s face. Dar didn’t respond. Her eyes were open, but seemingly blind.
An orc female arrived with a flask of liquid. She made the other orcs stand apart before she undressed Dar and examined her chest. The ugly purple mark beneath Dar’s breast was larger than when Sevren last saw it, and the star-shaped cuts that Kovok-mah had made no longer reached its edges. The orc bent down and sniffed the mark. Then she lifted Dar’s head and slowly poured liquid from the flask into her mouth. When the flask was empty, she lowered Dar’s head to the mat.
Zor-yat and another orc crouched by Dar’s side. Everyone seemed to be waiting; yet the liquid appeared to have no effect. Dar lay motionless, staring blankly at the ceiling. Time passed without any change. Then Dar suddenly tried to rise.
Dar was aware that she had returned home, but she was unable to leave the world of mist. She heard voices, but they sounded distant. She felt the touch of hands. Though motionless, she was aware of everything, perceiving the world through an inner eye. She saw forms around her and knew they were urkzimmuthi. Their faces were unrecognizable, but their spirits were exposed. One glowed. It possessed qualities that were visible to Dar’s new sight: compassion, wisdom, and fortitude.
[Queen of Orcs 02] - Clan Daughter Page 26