[Queen of Orcs 02] - Clan Daughter (36 page)

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.

Fathma burned brightly within the fading shell of Dar’s body.
It’s time to pass it on.
Dar knew exactly where it must go—to the glowing spirit before her.
If I only had the strength.
Then a hand lifted her head, and strength poured down her throat. Eventually, Dar felt able to bestow Fathma. She marshaled all her strength and rose up to grasp the bright spirit.

The spirit wasn’t there! The faceless forms before Dar were not worthy to receive Muth la’s gift. Dar cried out. “Naug…”
Where…
Before she could say more, the forms darkened and expanded, becoming a void that encompassed everything. Dar’s strength dissipated. As she sank down, all she could perceive was Fathma glowing in the dark.

Forty-four

Muth-yat and Zor-yat sat in the Great Chamber. The sun’s last rays streamed through the windows, illuminating the throne with golden hues. Zor-yat gazed at the royal seat and sighed. “I was certain either you or I would sit there.”

“Instead, your daughter will,” said Muth-yat.