[Queen of Orcs 02] - Clan Daughter (34 page)

“So, he’ll just sit tight?”

“Aye, and let the common folk fend for themselves until the army retakes the city.”

“That won’t do,” said Dar, fearing that the battle she had hoped to avoid would be merely postponed. “Won’t he parley?”

“Nay. The mage holds sway o’er the king, and he favors bloodshed.”

Dar recalled how Velasa-pah had warned her about the mage.
He’s more my enemy than the king.
She still didn’t understand how the bones were a greater enemy, but thinking about them gave her an idea. “The mage’s tower doesn’t lie within the keep!”

“Aye, ’tis in the new palace. So what?”

“Then maybe I can force the mage to parley.”

“Na one can force him to do anything, na even the king. How will you manage such a feat?”

“Come with me and find out.”

Dar, in the company of Zna-yat, Kovok-mah, and another orc headed for the palace. Sevren followed, curious what Dar would do. Dar entered the kitchen and peered about. Everyone had fled. Abandoned food cluttered the tables, meat charred on unturned spits, and pots boiled over. Dar headed for the servant passageway.

After a long climb, the five stood inside the dark corridor that led to the mage’s tower. “Will you tell me why we’re here?” asked Sevren.

“The mage may have left something behind, something precious to him.”

“If it’s precious, why would he leave it?”

“Maybe he didn’t,” conceded Dar. “But I’m hoping he thought it would be safe. After all, who would want to pass that door?”

Na I
, thought Sevren. Yet he followed Dar into the tower. As he climbed its spiral stairs, he felt that his reticence had been well founded, for he had never encountered a more evil place. The cold and darkness had a foul, unnatural quality that made Sevren’s skin crawl. Even the orcs looked frightened. The stairs ended at a second door, its rusted surface covered with strange runes. Dar pushed it open and stepped into the room beyond.

A single candle burned in the chamber, casting no more light than a crescent moon on a foggy night. Dar used it to light more candles, but the room grew only marginally brighter. An evil presence was so strong that Sevren expected the mage to step out of the shadows.

While the orcs stood guard, Dar passed into another chamber. Sevren gathered his courage and trailed after her. He found Dar standing before a black stone pedestal with a black cloth bag upon it. Sevren drew closer. “Are those the bones?” he whispered.

“I think so,” said Dar. She lifted the sack. It was abnormally heavy, but its contents felt like bones.

“Open it,” whispered Sevren.

Dar reached for the drawstrings, then drew back her hand. “No. That’s what they want.”

“Who?”

“The bones. I think those stitches on the bag are spells to contain evil.”

“Why do you think that?”

“A feeling. Also something the mage said about what happened to his face.” Dar seized the bag. “Let’s get out of here.”

The orcs had stayed in the outer room, but they were as anxious to leave as Sevren. By the time the five emerged into the kitchen, Dar’s fingers stung from the cold emanating from the bag and her arms ached from the effort of carrying its unnatural weight. Also, nightmarish images flickered through her mind, visions of slaughter so real that they made her tremble. She felt that the contents of the bag were resisting her and she wasn’t holding inanimate objects, but something possessing a malign will.

Regardless, Dar held on to the bones, for she needed them to carry out her plan. It was a simple one, based on her assumption that the mage was the true power behind the throne. Dar would return the sorcerer’s magic bones only if the king made peace. Facing Kregant and his mage would be dangerous, but Dar felt peace was worth the risk, especially since the negotiations wouldn’t endanger the orcs. The peril would be hers alone. If her plan worked, bloodshed would be avoided and the orcs would be left alone. Yet Dar was already worried. She distrusted both the king and the mage. Insuring that they kept their word would be tricky. Moreover, the bones are not mere valuables to be traded.
They’re my enemy too.
Having sensed their evil nature, Dar knew they would work to betray her.

Forty-one

The keep was a formidable structure. The huge stone tower thrust from the ground like a cross between a tree trunk and a small mountain. Its single entrance was midway up its side and reachable only by a slender stone bridge. The keep was built to meet military needs, not human comfort. Its windows were slits for archers, and its thick walls were cold and dank, even in the summer. It had its own well and storerooms filled with food. Within its walls, the king, his court, and his guard could live for many months.

Sevren thought of all those things as he stepped onto the narrow bridge, flanked by two orcs bearing signs of truce. The gate was closed, but Sevren knew someone was listening. He also knew that behind each slit in the wall stood an archer with his bowstring drawn. Very likely, most of the arrows were aimed at him.

“I have a message for the king and his mage!” shouted Sevren.

“Let’s hear it, traitor.”

“Know that the orcs have a new queen. She wishes to speak with your king and his dark counselor.”

Sevren waited a long time for a reply. “The king has no desire to speak.”

“Would he rather watch this city burn around him? Does he wish to be sovereign over corpses and ashes?”

Again Sevren had a lengthy wait for a response. “Tell your queen that whatever harms she visits on our kingdom, will be returned tenfold. The orcish halls will flow with blood.”

Sevren thought he heard the mage’s counsel in the reply. “Then know that when the destruction begins,
this
will perish first.” One of the orcs held up the bag of magic bones. “If the king’s sorcerer ever returns to his tower, he’ll find the black pedestal empty.”

The response came quicker than before. “They will talk.”

An iron basket containing a man whom Sevren recognized as the royal steward was lowered over the keep’s parapet. He climbed from the basket displaying empty palms. “I’m here to arrange the time, place, and conditions of the parley. To whom am I to speak? To a traitor or piss eye brutes?”

“Speak to me,” said Sevren. “My companions are provoked by insolence.”

The lengthy time required to arrange the parley was a measure of the distrust between the two sides. The steward made many trips in the iron basket and Sevren spoke with Dar often before an agreement was reached. At Dar’s insistence, the talks were to take place that day. The king and his mage would meet with her in a small room off the palace’s great hall. All three would be unarmed, but accompanied by armed followers who would wait in the hall. Both sides would inspect the parley room in advance and each would have a key to one of two locks on the room’s door. The negotiants would ring a bell when they finished their discussions and wished to leave the room.

When Dar negotiated the terms of the meeting, she relied on her own judgment. The orcs were too straightforward to give useful advice, while Sevren was so suspicious that his conditions would have jeopardized the talks. Zna-yat voiced concerns also. Dar admitted that she was taking a risk, but since the alternative was war, she overruled all objections.

Once the arrangements had been finalized, Dar prepared for the meeting. She bathed and scrubbed the charcoal from her face. Since the former queen was still dressed in Dar’s kefs and neva, Sevren found Dar a noble-woman’s gown to wear beneath her urkzimmuthi cloak. Dar completed her outfit with the shoes Sevren had given her and the gold band that was her crown. Then she waited for the parley to begin.

Though Dar had been queen for less than a day, she possessed clarity of purpose. She had none of royalty’s affectations and was ignorant of courtly manners; she simply was Muth Mauk. Inspired by Fathma, she expressed her new power as naturally as a river or the wind.

At last, Zna-yat appeared to escort her to the negotiations. When Dar reached the hall, the red light of sunset shown through its windows, painting the guardsmen and orcs with bloody hues. Dar hoped it wasn’t an omen. The parley room lay at the far end of the hall. When Dar reached it, Zna-yat handed her the bag containing the bones and opened the door. The room beyond was small, and all its furnishing had been removed. The walls bore no tapestries and the limestone floor lacked carpets. The only light came from a large window and the fire in an ornate fireplace. No candlesticks or other objects that could serve as weapons were present.

King Kregant II and Othar, the royal mage, entered the room shortly after Dar. The door closed behind them, and its two locks clicked. Dar looked the two men over. The king was red-faced and moved with the exaggerated care of one wishing to appear sober. The mage’s eyes instantly fixed on the bag. He seemed desperate for its return and enraged that Dar had taken it.

While Dar sized up the king and mage, Kregant looked her over. His expression became amused and disdainful. “You bear my brand! Am I to parley with my own chattel?” He laughed. “A mare doesn’t bandy with her rider. That’s why we have bits.”

Dar fixed the king with a cool glance. “I was lowly once,” she said. “Yet such is the power of the World’s Mother that I’ve been transformed. I’m Muth Mauk now, reborn to rule a noble race. All their might is my power, and my words are their words. You’d be wise to listen.”

Kregant attempted another laugh, but it died in his throat. “I guess it matters not who speaks for the piss eyes. What favor have you come to beg?”

“I’m not here to beg,” replied Dar. “This is our due. We are to be left in peace. No more will we fight your wars. Those women who once served us must be rewarded and released from further duty.”

“The oaths that bind the orcs to me harken to my great-grandfather’s time,” answered the king. “I see no cause to set them aside.”

“We’ve long served this kingdom, but you’ve abused our service. We won’t die to enrich you.”

“So you’d rather die as rebels? My troops are massing outside the city. I’ve viewed them from the keep.”

“Do you also wish to view your city’s destruction and the slaughter of its folk?”

The king returned Dar’s gaze. “And you’d command all that death? The hewing of sweet babes? The murder of their weeping mothers?” Kregant waited for an answer, then smiled. “I thought not. Women lack the stomach for war.”

“Perhaps I can’t kill innocents,” replied Dar. Then she held out the black bag. “But
these
I can destroy. If there’s no peace, the bones will be lost forever.”

The mage, who had been observing silently, suddenly cried out. “Sire!” There was a note of panic in his voice.

“I’ll cast them into a fire,” said Dar, “and be glad to be rid of them.”

“I care not,” said the king.

“Sire,” said the mage. “Such an act would blind you to the future. Why grope about like ordinary men?”

“And pay this girl’s price?” asked Kregant. “It’s too dear.”

“Too dear!” exclaimed the mage. “For the power the bones bestow?”

Kregant smiled and seemed to enjoy his mage’s dismay. “I detest the wretched things. If she wants to burn them, she may.”

The mage began to tremble, but Dar was unsure if it was from fear or rage. Then the sorcerer flicked his right arm and something flashed into his palm. Before Dar could see what it was, the mage’s hand shot out and crossed the king’s throat. It left a bloody line in its wake. For an instant, Kregant gaped in astonishment. Then his hands went to his throat to discover what had been done. They came back covered with blood. The king stared at them in terror, made a gurgling sound, and fell face-down. A crimson pool spread over the white stone floor.

“What have you done?” cried the mage. “Oh false woman, you’ve killed Our Majesty!”

If Dar hadn’t been so horrified, she would have laughed at the mage’s accusation. Then she realized it was for the ears outside the door. Dar recalled the frightened queen with her young son and perceived the mage’s intention.
He’ll “counsel” them and rule in their name. Only one witness stands in his way.
Dar saw the mage touch the object in his hand and its blade retracted into its handle. He touched it again, and out sprang a thin, silvery spike. Dar noted that its tip was discolored greenish-brown.
It’s poisoned!

“So I’m to die, too,” said Dar.

“Aye, and much quicker than I’d like.”

The mage thrust the spike at Dar, and she jumped to avoid it. She used the bag as a shield, guessing that the sorcerer dared not pierce its fabric. From the cautious way he jabbed at her, she realized that her guess was right. Still, the mage pressed his assault, backing Dar toward the fallen king. Soon she was standing in Kregant’s blood.

The bag turned suddenly heavier, pulling Dar’s arms downward. Othar saw his opening and thrust at Dar’s chest. She twisted sideways, but felt the spike graze her skin. The mage was triumphant. “Ha! You’re slain!”

Dar knew it was true. She already felt a pain below her breast. It felt hot and cold at once. Dar recalled the vision she had in the darkness with Muth-pah, and finally understood its true meaning. That spot of pain would become a hole through which her life would drain away.
I’ve lost the battle
, she thought. Then Dar saw how she could make the mage lose also. With all her strength, she threw the bag at the fireplace. It landed in the flames.