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.
Eight
The flames had seemed so real that Dar’s brow was flushed and sweaty. Deen-yat thought she had a fever. She escorted Dar back to the royal hanmuthi and directed her to rest. Dar didn’t argue, but she insisted on being alone. She was deeply shaken and needed time to compose herself. Her meeting with Meera-yat, which had begun with such promise, had only compounded her insecurity. Dar feared that she had committed some error already and her vision was a glimpse of its consequences.
For a long while, Dar could think of nothing but the burning hall. She relived its destruction repeatedly until its horror gradually dulled. Only then did she ponder the vision’s meaning. She assumed that it was somehow linked to her conversation with Meera-yat, who had been calm until Dar mentioned the Pah clan. Dar wondered if that was why she saw the vision of Velasa-pah and the hall’s destruction immediately after Meera-yat’s outburst. It seemed logical. Yet that assumption left Dar only more confused. She needed to discover what had alarmed Meera-yat. Direct questioning would yield no answers, though she didn’t understand why.
Dar recalled the tale of Cymbe, the girl who ran off to live with a bear. Cymbe’s naïveté had doomed her. I’m equally doomed unless I discover what’s going on. As Dar considered her situation, it seemed hopeless. She needed a mother to guide her, but she didn’t trust her muthuri or Muth-yat. Dar recalled the late queen’s advice: “When you’re Muth Mauk, just follow your chest.” But an unsettled chest was an uncertain guide.
Queen Girta eyed Lokung with distaste. She distrusted the royal steward, but then she distrusted all of her late husband’s courtiers. The fact that she needed Lokung made her like him even less. They were in her private chambers, away from the orc guards that made the steward nervous. Nevertheless, he kept glancing at the door, knowing they were stationed just outside it.
Lokung handed Girta a parchment. “A minor matter, Your Majesty. The Merchants’ Guild needs a new master. If you approve, it’ll be Balten.”
“What happened to the old master?”
“Maltus took his own life yesterday afternoon. He stopped a guard on the city walls, handed him a note, then jumped to his death. The note was a confession. He’d been stealing from the guild treasury.”
Girta recalled Maltus from court functions. “He had a reputation for honesty.”
“Reputations can be deceptive, Your Highness.”
“Who’s this Balten?”
“You’ve seen him in court. He’s guild treasurer.”
“Since the treasury was looted, he seems a poor choice for master.”
“The guilty party has confessed. Besides…” Lokung flashed a smile that Girta found patronizing. “…why concern yourself with the affairs of peddlers?”
“Affix my seal,” said Girta. “They can have whoever they wish for master.”
After marking the parchment with Girta’s seal, Lokung brought up another subject. Girta had noted that he never spoke first about what concerned him most, so she was not fooled by his casual tone. “One of your guardsmen visited the orcs last night.”
“So?”
“It was that traitor, Sevren.”
“I pardoned Sevren, and with good cause. He helped to bring about peace.”
“Every wolf is peaceful after it’s supped. The orcs rebelled, and now they’re sated. But for how long?”
“All they wanted was peace.”
“They chose a strange manner to show it. Your husband’s dead.”
“Killed by his own mage.”
“So they say. Yet no one saw him do it.”
“Dar was witness.”
“Who could have done the deed and murdered Othar as well.”
“Then poisoned herself for good measure?” said Girta. “Your imagination’s overripe.”
“Still, Your Majesty, I’d closely watch the orcs and those that consort with them. Sevren’s been seen with one who’s notorious for orcish dealings.”
“A glass merchant,” replied Girta. “From whom would he purchase his wares if not from orcs? They first discovered the secret of its making and still do the finest work.”
“How do you know this?” asked Lokung.
“Not through spies. Sevren told me.”
“You’ve spoken to him?”
“Of course. He serves in my royal guard. He’s the one who told me that women must serve orcs food. He also found a woman experienced with them. Since she entered my service, meals have gone smoother.”
Lokung smiled. “I’m glad he knows what quiets orcs. Let’s hope they stay appeased.”
“‘Appeased’? Why use that word?”
“So you believe the orcs want peace?”
“You speak as though you’ve heard otherwise.”
“I don’t credit rumors. Still, the orcs have revolted once already and now they dwell in the palace.”
“They’ve sworn to guard me.”
Lokung noted uncertainty in the queen’s voice and seized his opportunity. “Aye, Your Highness, they’re fearsome guards. Well you know my fear of them. In truth, I don’t trust what I can’t understand. Their yellow eyes liken to a beast’s. Who can tell their thoughts…the nature of their lusts…what provokes them? When they stare at you, silent and grim, don’t you feel uneasy?”
“They serve me,” replied Girta. “As do you.”
Lokung noted the fear in the queen’s eyes. He gave a deep bow and departed, feeling the conversation had gone well. Balten had recruited him to drive a wedge between the queen and the orcs. Girta’s apprehensions were making the job easy. All Lokung needed to do was fan them. The payment he had been offered was ample compared with the effort. If Lokung obtained more assignments, his gambling debts would cease to plague him. Betraying the queen’s interests didn’t bother him, but he worried that future tasks might be less easy. Furthermore, Balten’s new associate unnerved him. Still, there was no turning back. The stranger was not one to cross. That was already evident. Balten had made dark hints about the man’s powers. When he spoke of them, there had been fear in his eyes.
The royal steward’s rooms lay within the palace, but Lokung did not return to them. Instead, he left the castle’s safety to visit Balten’s house. Taiben’s narrow streets were dangerous after dusk, but Lokung went alone. He hurried, hoping to be done with his errand before sunset.
A frightened servant admitted Lokung into the merchant’s house. When Balten arrived in the entrance hall, Lokung handed him the parchment. “The queen bestowed her seal. You’re guild master now.”
Balten smiled, but Lokung thought he looked almost as anxious as his servant. The merchant glanced nervously at a closed door. “He wants to speak with you.”
A chill settled in Lokung’s stomach. “Do you know why?”
Balten shook his head. “Don’t keep him waiting.”
Lokung gathered his courage and approached the door. Before he could knock, he heard a hoarse voice. “Enter.”
Lokung obeyed. The room was cold, though there was a fire in its ornate fireplace. Candles provided light, for heavy curtains covered the windows. Despite exquisite tapestries on the walls and opulent furnishings, the chamber had an eerie atmosphere. Even the candlelight seemed pale and watery.
Balten’s nameless associate sat in a huge chair of carved walnut. He was richly dressed in somber hues, but Lokung’s eyes were drawn to his head. It was enclosed, both front and back, by a silver mask. A craftsman had formed its features so they appeared both noble and tranquil. The eyelids drooped in a languid manner and the parted lips were formed in a gentle half smile. There were small holes in the silver head at the ears and nostrils. The openings fo
r the eyes and mouth were larger and hinted that a monstrosity lay beneath the metal. The eyes, in particular, countered the expression of the mask. They terrified Lokung.
He bowed. “I spoke with the queen, sire.”
“And?”
The eyes behind the mask fixed on Lokung, who suspected they possessed supernatural perception. Thus, prudence made him honest. He gave his account, ending it by asking, “Are you pleased?”
“You still live,” replied the man behind the mask.
“Sire, it’s said our royal mage could read minds. Do you possess that power?”
“Speak of this mage. He interests me. Where is he now?”
“He’s dead, sire.”
“Do you mourn him?”
Staring at the bland, silver face, Lokung felt the chill of menace. “I…I feared him, sire.”
“A wise answer. And true.” The last comment seemed to confirm Lokung’s suspicions. “I want the orcs estranged. Continue your efforts with the queen and spread mistrust throughout the court. Take your time. Be subtle. Do you have any thoughts on this matter?”
“Girta wants a man’s guidance,” replied Lokung. “The right one could easily sway her will.”
“You’re thinking of yourself, perhaps?”
Lokung thought he heard mockery in the low voice. “Nay, sire. She doesn’t trust me. I think she trusts no man in court.”
“Who then?”
“Someone from outside the court who has knowledge of orcs. The orc regiments have been disbanded, and their human officers have lost their commissions. Perhaps one of their number might aid you. If you find someone suitable, I could promote his cause in court.”
The masked man nodded. “Your idea has merit, but only if we can find the right man. Let it about that I’m a rich merchant recruiting a commander for my personal guard. Tell all I’m generous.” With a hand wrought from silver, he pointed to a small bag on a table. “You’ve served me well. That’s for you.”
Lokung took the bag and heard coins clink. Pleased by their weight, he bowed low. “Thank you, sire.”
“Send me those officers you spoke of. When I find one that suits me, I’ll let you know. Advance my interests, and you’ll prosper. Now go.”
Lokung left the room feeling relieved. Balten was absent from the entrance hall, but a stranger stood there. He was a young-faced man whose deep tan set off his light gray eyes. Those eyes regarded Lokung with contempt before they turned away. Wait till you stand before Silver Face, thought Lokung. Then you’ll be scared, too.
The loud knock startled Othar. It also puzzled him, for he had not perceived another presence outside his door. He was even more surprised by who entered without his leave. “Gorm!”
Othar had not seen Gorm since he had come, unbidden, to peddle the magic bones. Despite his shabby, travel-worn clothes, Gorm had refused to haggle over their exorbitant price, and Othar had been hard put to convince the king to pay it. After receiving his gold, Gorm had disappeared as mysteriously as he arrived.
Trying to read Gorm’s thoughts, Othar gazed into his eyes. As on the last occasion they met, the pale gray orbs struck Othar as too old for the face around them. They were impenetrable. Othar redoubled his efforts and attempted to seize Gorm’s mind. The effort failed. Gorm’s lips formed a sardonic smile. “Those powers won’t avail you. If you want to know why I’m here, you must ask.”
For the first time since he had been carried from the pit, Othar felt a twinge of fear. “I paid you for the bones. We’ve no further business.”
“That’s untrue. You allowed the bones to be destroyed.”
“Aye, but they were mine, so that’s not your concern.”
“I received coins for them, that’s true. Yet if you paid me for the sun, would it be yours?”
“You’ve come a long way to speak riddles.”
“I’ve come to serve my master,” replied Gorm.
“Do you mean me?” asked Othar.
Gorm flashed another mocking smile. “I serve the power behind the bones. Surely you’ve sensed it.”
Othar recalled the malevolent presence that was always strongest when he consulted the bones. “Aye, I’ve sensed it. When the bones were burned, it nearly destroyed me.”
“It entered you. It’s the wellspring of your new powers. Now you embody my master.”
“What double-tongued nonsense! Am I your master or not?”
“I’ll serve not you, but what’s within you.”
“Then begone! What use is a servant who won’t obey?”
“Oh, I’ll be useful. You and my master are united by the same desire. You want revenge and my master requires blood. Purchased men shrink from vengeance’s gruesome deeds. I won’t. My devotion will spur me on, for my master thrives on slaughter.”
“Who is this master?” asked Othar.
“It yet has no name. In time, it will. Each death brings that day closer—an era of black temples, splashed red from sacrifices.”
“Do you speak of a god?”
“That word will do. Don’t you feel godlike in your power and wrath?”
“Very like,” replied Othar.
“In me, you’ve found an acolyte. Hold to your grim course, and no one will be more dedicated. Do you accept my service?”
“Since you’re immune to my powers, I seem to have little choice. Have you much experience?”
Gorm grinned. “Many decades’ worth.”
“Decades? You look too young for that.”
“I was once like you, a minor sorcerer. I had but one trick—my mind could roam the Dark Path to seek memories discarded by the dead. Memory lingers, even after the spirit journeys westward.”
“So it’s said,” replied Othar.
“And ’tis true. Horrific deaths render especially potent memories, and on the Sunless Way I encountered a being those memories nourish. It’s capable of rewarding living followers. As yet, it’s confined to the netherworld. But that will change when it grows more powerful.”
“And slaughter feeds it?”
“Aye. This summer’s warfare fortified it. Your new powers are proof of that.”
“How did you come to serve it?”
“I created the magic bones, which permit my master to sway events.”
“The same bones you sold me?” asked Othar, recalling their bloodthirsty counsels.
“Aye.”
Othar eyed the man before him, and envied his body. “Your master preserved your youth, yet I was blasted.”
“I am but its servant. You are its vessel.”
“You mean a new version of the bones,” said Othar.
“As you once turned to them for guidance, so I will turn to you,” replied Gorm. “Name your enemies, and I’ll help seal their doom. Forget restraint. Realize your most violent urges. Don’t let my young face fool you. I’ve honed my skills for ages.”
Nine
Dar spent an uneasy night. When she wasn’t lying awake worrying, she had disturbing dreams. Their details faded quickly, but not their air of menace. This combined with Dar’s vision of the hall’s destruction to give her a sense of approaching danger.
Within Dar’s mind warred two views of her circumstances. In one, she was queen by accident. That was what her muthuri believed, and if Zor-yat was right, Dar should abandon the crown. That course brought up new dilemmas. Dar had no idea who should succeed her, for she could no longer perceive worthiness. Then there was the question of what she would do afterward. If I remain here, I’ll be treated like a ghost. Living in Taiben held no appeal.
The contrasting view was that Dar was destined to be queen. That could be the reason Muth la had preserved her life. Yet Dar had difficulty believing a branded peasant woman was meant to be queen of the orcs. Her visions seemed evidence of such a destiny, but they provided little guidance. Will this hall burn if I remain queen or will my abdication doom it?
Dar wrestled with the problem most of the day. The struggle wore her out without providing an
answer. At last, she realized logic was useless. There was no way to determine which path was the correct one. Velasa-pah said I should follow my chest. He said it wouldn’t always be easy. Once Dar ignored reason and fear, she knew she must remain queen. She couldn’t forsake the orcs. She loved them too deeply, for Fathma had bound her to them. They were her family and her children. Dar resolved to reign as best she could and hope that would suffice.
With that resolution came a measure of calmness. Dar realized that she still needed guidance to succeed and considered to whom she might turn. Only one mother came to mind. In many ways, she was a poor choice. Yet this was the mother Dar wanted by her side. She might refuse to help. I’d hardly blame her if she did. That possibility made Dar anxious again, and she spent another uneasy night.
The following morning, Dar acted. When the daily work within the hall was well under way, she left her hanmuthi without an escort and made her way to the workshop where cloth was woven. The long room featured north-facing windows that filled it with natural light. The floor space was crammed with looms, each with a son or mother busy weaving. As Dar walked among them, no one noticed her at first. When she was spotted, work halted and the room grew quiet. All eyes fixed upon her, and once again, Dar was keenly aware that she didn’t know how to behave.
At last, Dar spotted Nir-yat, who sat motionless with a shuttle in her hand. She bowed when Dar approached her. “I wish to speak with you,” said Dar, in a low voice. “Will you come to my hanmuthi?”
Nir-yat bowed again. “Hai, Muth Mauk.”
The two walked silently until they reached the royal chambers and Dar spoke. “Nir, I need help.” She noted how her sister’s expression turned uneasy. “I assume Muthuri has forbidden you to aid me.” Knowing that Nir-yat was incapable of lying, she pushed the point. “It that so?”
“Hai.”
“Daughters should be dutiful to their muthuri, and your obedience is proper. Yet I fear it will doom me.” Dar saw distress in Nir-yat’s face. It seemed a promising sign. “Only one hope remains.” Dar gazed into her sister’s eyes to communicate her urgency. “Will you bend your neck so I might bite it?”
[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny Page 5