Morgan Howell - Queen of Orcs 03 - Royal Destiny - Страница 5

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“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