Dar saw affirmation in the sons’ expressions. All seemed proud to be there, and their attitude was gratifying. It reminded her of how readily the orcs in the regiments had obeyed her when she led them against the king. Dar realized that sons were used to being led and not prone to question a mother’s authority. No wonder queens u^ mintaris to rule. Dar was inclined to accept all the candidates on the spot, but decided it would be prudent to wait. Instead, she turned them over to Nir-yat, who arranged for their lodging.
Throughout the remainder of the day, she met with each candidate individually in order to get to know him better. Every son provided a detailed genealogy and spoke of his profession, which was often associated with his clan. The Jan clan was known as the Iron Clan and both its sons were metalworkers. One was skilled at foundry work, and the other fashioned armor. The Tok clan was the Stone Clan. Dar already knew that Lama-tok was a mason. Kak-tok, who was his third cousin, was a stone carver. As Dar expected, one of the Hak clan sons made sand ice, but the other grew crops.
Dar spoke with Nagtha-yat the longest, because he had been raised in a queen’s hanmuthi. “It was bustling place,” recalled Nagtha-yat. “Not only did my family live there, but also thirteen mintaris and their families. Sons live with their spouse’s clan, except if they’re mintaris.”
“Does that cause problem for mothers?”
“Some mothers won’t wed son whose neck is bitten,” said Nagtha-yat. “That’s why only unblessed sons or widowers are sent as candidates. Yet many mothers are pleased to live in queen’s hanmuthi, for not all have prospect of heading hanmuthi of their own.”
“My hanmuthi is nearly empty,” said Dar. “Only my sister and one mintari share it with me.”
“You have mintari already?”
“Hai. He is Kovok-mah.”
“I remember him. You slept in his shelter.”
“Hai. And we journeyed together after great battle,” said Dar. Nagtha-yat’s expression altered, and Dar suspected her scent was revealing her feelings. She quickly changed the subject. “I’ve spoken to your aunt, Meera-yat. She advised me briefly, then refused to speak further.” When Nagtha-yat didn’t ask why, Dar volunteered the reason. “She believes that I’m queen from west.”
Nagtha-yat appeared undisturbed by the news. “Because you journeyed here from west?”
“Hai.”
“What difference does that make?”
“There are tales about western queen. Have you heard them?”
“Thwa.”
“I want you as one of my mintaris. Your experience would be valuable to me. But I must first warn you that Meera-yat fears my reign will bring destruction to this hall. To her, I’m ill-omened.”
Nagtha-yat regarded Dar thoughtfully. “You warn me so I might decline to bend my neck?”
“I don’t want you to regret your decision.”
“Though Muth la seldom speaks to sons, I know this: She often sends difficult choices. I’m speaking
about you, not myself. Do you love this hall?”
“I do. I was reborn here. Within its walls I’ve found love and acceptance. Former queens have given me fond memories of this place.”
“Hai,” said Nagtha-yat softly. “My muthuri’s memories are among them. Your eyes are strangely colored, but I see them there.” He paused. “Perhaps Muth la will send you some terrible choice. If she does, I think you’ll choose wisely. Believing that, I can serve you without reservations. If you wish, I’ll bend my neck for you.”
Tolum Kol had prepared in advance, so his gift was ready for the prince’s first lesson. Kol gave it to the boy when they were alone. It was a sword, as well made and as deadly as the one he wore, but sized for the boy’s stature. The prince seized the weapon and drew it from its scabbard, brandishing it gleefully. Kol smiled as the boy engaged in an imaginary sword fight, wildly slashing the air.
“That’s no toy,” said Kol. “It will slay as quickly as any blade.” His voice took on a conspiratorial tone. “And if you slash it around, you’ll alarm your mother.”
The prince made a face. “Will she take it away?”
“I hope not. You’ll be a man sooner than she thinks, and a man needs a sword. A dagger, too.” Kol produced an adult-sized weapon, which the prince examined with the same enthusiasm he had the sword.
Afterward, Kol commenced his lessons. He combined practical tips for self-defense with stories of adventures with arms. His goal was less to teach the boy than to win him over. From his own observations and the intelligence from other conspirators, he had surmised that the prince pined for a father. By all accounts, Kregant II had been a distant parent who had left a void in his son’s life even before his death. Kol aimed to fill that void, and he proceeded with the prince as if he were seducing a woman.
Kol’s life fitted him well for the task. His father had been a brutal man who meted out curses and blows, but not affection. As a young boy, Kol longed for his father’s love as a starving man dreams of banquets. Disappointment made him cynical. Kol’s father owned an inn, and there Kol was taught to deal callously with people. By the time he ran away, he was a skilled manipulator. It was a talent that proved useful in the army, especially when augmented by ruthlessness. Those recollections of his boyhood guided Kol’s dealings with the prince. He attempted to personify the caring father he never had. Kol was not only patient and kind; he cut a heroic figure who exuded adventure. He became the ideal companion for a boy, and he could do what Girta couldn’t—introduce the prince to the world of men. There, he aimed to teach him the manly art of war.
While Tolum Kol showed the prince feints and attacks, he often disparaged women’s timidity. By such means he hoped to separate the boy from his mother and initiate him into the fraternity of warriors. Kol knew that he had to do this slyly, for he didn’t want to alienate the queen. At the moment, he wasn’t sure whether the mother or the son would be more useful to his cause. Kol had decided to take a different tack with each. He would play on Girta’s fears while encouraging the prince’s bravado, and see which tactic proved more promising. Kol was aware that he couldn’t pursue this double strategy too long. Sooner or later, he would have to choose mother or son and eliminate the other.
Kol ended the day’s lesson by showing the prince how an upward thrust could slip between the plates of an orc’s armored tunic. He had procured one for the purpose. “Just like sliding under fish scales,” Kol said, demonstrating with his dagger. “Now you try it.”
Kregant Ш attacked the tunic as if it were an orc, thrusting savagely. “Die, piss eye! Die! Die!”
Kol laughed. “Well struck! Well struck! That piss eye’s dead for sure. Mind the blood now. Don’t track it on your mother’s floor.”
The prince jumped up and down in the imaginary puddles. “Splash! Splash! Splash! Orc blood everywhere!”
Kol laughed more heartily. “By Karm, you’re a lad after my own spirit.”
Dar hosted her tenth feast with practiced graciousness, although the nightly dinners were beginning to wear on her. Twenty-three more to go, she thought, feeling fatigued by the prospect. The fare she served that night was ample and delicious, but less elaborate than earlier dinners. Tahweriti was no longer the main dish. It had been replaced by gatuub, a stew of mutton and dried fruit. As always, the meal ended with falfhissi.
The family Dar served that night was headed by an elderly muthuri, who had three blessed daughters. These also had daughters who had begun families of their own, so Dar’s hanmuthi held four generations. Only Kovok-mah augmented that crowd, for Dar had not chosen additional mintaris yet and Nir-yat was spending the night with Thir-yat. When Dar’s guests departed, Kovok-mah quickly retreated to his sleeping chamber.