“The Queen’s Man was a general!”
“And the late king’s adviser on orcish matters. That service I can still fulfill.”
“Such a rise will raise eyebrows, too.”
Kol grinned. “Isn’t that your intent?”
Girta thought on the idea and grew to like it. What u^ have been my other generals? She could think of none. “I’ll do it, sir. I’ll announce it at tonight’s banquet.”
Kol bowed most humbly, without a hint of triumph in his face.
Twenty-three
While Queen Girta was announcing Kol’s elevation to Queen’s Man, Dar prepared to host her twelfth feast. She was still upset from her meeting with Muth-mah, and the arrival of another matriarch only increased her anxiety. Muth-tok had arrived at dusk, and Dar had used the feast as a pretext to postpone seeing her. The prospect of that meeting dampened Dar’s spirits as she waited for her guests.
The family she entertained that night was headed by Thorma-yat, the seamstress. One of her two daughters had been recently blessed to a son named Duth-zut. When Dar served him, he bowed especially low. “Muth Mauk, you don’t remember me, but I remember you. I fought washavokis at Taiben’s gate.”
“Then you saved my life,” said Dar.
“Thwa, I think you saved mine. I had three brothers. Each was sent to kill for washavokis and never returned. When I left for Taiben, I expected to die also.”
Duth-zut’s muthvashi grasped Dar’s hand. “Shashav, Muth Mauk, for your wisdom. When I have my first daughter, I’ll name her Dargu.”
“You honor me,” said Dar. Then knowing “dargu” meant “weasel,” she asked, “But will your daughter be pleased with that name?”
“When she knows your story, she’ll be very pleased.”
Dar’s spirits lifted, and they remained that way for the remainder of the evening. Her heartache over Kovok-mah’s departure and her worries about tomorrow’s meeting with Muth-tok were assuaged by the sight of Duth-zut and his muthvashi. I’m walking Muth la’s path, she told herself. All I can do is stay true to it and leave my fate to her.
Kovok-mah spent the evening in the orcs’ quarters. Dinner was served by woe mans, several of whom had foreheads that were marked like Dar’s. They weren’t ragged like the woe mans in the regiment, but the food they served was the same—porridge and boiled roots. He overheard one son complain that the queen had said true mothers would serve proper food. Kovok-mah didn’t know if the complaint referred to Muth Mauk or the washavoki queen. As Kovok-mah recalled, the promise had been made jointly. He resolved to bring up the matter during his audience.
Night came without a summons to speak with Queen Girta. Kovok-mah was disappointed, for he had hoped to enlighten her on her orc guards’ needs. The news of Dar’s survival had lifted their spirits, and Kovok-mah wanted concrete improvements to follow. He was preparing to sleep when a washavoki approached Muth la’s Embrace. He halted at its edge, and called out, “Nak Kovok-mah su?” Is Kovok-mah here?
“Hai, Ma nav su,” replied Kovok-mah. Y^ I am here. He rose and regarded the washavoki. “Sevren?”
“Hai,” said Sevren, who continued to speak in Orcish. “Can we speak?”
Kovok-mah replied in the same tongue. “Come inside Muth la’s Embrace. We will talk.”
Sevren bowed and entered the sacred circle. Kovok-mah sat down next to Zna-yat, who whispered to him, “That washavoki has come here before. Do you know him?”
“Hai. He is Sevren,” said Kovok-mah. “He helped save Muth Mauk’s life.”
Sevren approached and bowed again. “Tava, Kovok-mah. Tava, Zna-yat.”
“Sit,” said Kovok-mah, continuing to speak Orcish for Zna-yat’s benefit. “What do you wish to speak about?”
Sevren sat down. “Dargu-yat live?”
“Hai,” said Kovok-mah. He was both surprised and puzzled when water flowed from Sevren’s eyes. “Are you sad?”
Sevren smiled and replied in a voice that sounded strangely thick to the orc’s ears. “Thwa. Very happy.”
Kovok-mah gave an account of Dar’s recovery, switching to the washavoki tongue whenever Sevren didn’t understand. Then Sevren told him about conditions in court using his broken Orcish. “Queen Girta knows not wisdom. Washavoki sons give her bad words. She listen.”
“I saw Bah Simi with her today,” said Kovok-mah.
“Washavoki name is Kol. He is tolum now. He speaks bad words.” “I think this also,” said Kovok-mah.
“Dargu-yat must hear this.”
“Her name is Muth Mauk now,” injected Zna-yat. “You serve Quengirta. Why are you here?”
“Muth Mauk is wise. Muth Mauk wants peace,” replied Sevren.
Kovok-mah’s nose informed him of another reason, probably the foremost one. He still loves her. Kovok-mah glanced at Zna-yat, certain that his cousin had detected the same scent. He saw a look of distaste on his face.
“Sevren,” said Kovok-mah. “I wish to speak to washavoki great mother. This place is not good for us. She said we would have proper hall, place where urkzimmuthi mothers could live. If I tell her this, will she listen?”
“If you say, I think she speak good words, do nothing,” replied Sevren. “I am sorry.”
“Sev-ron speaks wisdom,” said Zna-yat.
Kovok-mah feared that Zna-yat was right.
Kol’s quarters within the palace were deemed suitable for a tolum. His room was small, with roughly plastered walls and only a tiny, unglazed window. Its sole furnishings were a simple bed and a chest. When Kol returned from the banquet, he expected to sleep there only one more night before obtaining grander accommodations. Upon opening the door, he spied a figure seated on the bed. “Good evening, General.”
“Gorm! Why are you here?”
“To congratulate you, of course. It wouldn’t do for me to approach you at the banquet. They think I’m only a manservant.”
Kol said nothing as he waited to hear the true reason for Gorm’s visit.
“You’ve risen high, Queen’s Man. I hope your quick ascension hasn’t left you dizzy.”
“Dizzy?”
“Forgetful might be a better word. You’re here for a reason, and my master sees little progress.”
“He needs to be patient,” said Kol.
“Patience doesn’t fit his nature. He wants war. If you can’t get him blood, you’ll provide it yourself.”
“You present me with a puzzle,” replied Kol. “Why does a man with his powers need a war? You could carry him about the city and slaughter a battle’s worth in an afternoon.”
“You don’t understand,” said Gorm.
“But I do understand. Othar could destroy every soul in Taiben, but where would that leave him? Alone. You’ve told me he’s no longer a man, and I suspect his appetites are both inhuman and bottomless. Am I right?”
“Of course I’m right! Your master wants war because it’s like a conflagration. Spark it right, and a war can burn on and on. Why slay all Taiben, when you can destroy whole kingdoms? That’s why Othar won’t hurt me. I’ll set the blaze that feeds his cravings though I’ve only a timid woman and a boy for tinder.”
“Bravely said, General Kol. But my master wants acts, not words.”
“You can’t slay a doe until she’s in range. A wise hunter waits until success is sure. A fool blunders into action and scares the game. You’ve seen the court. Who can do this but me? Voltar and the other generals are fat and lazy. Their wars were fought by orcs, not against them. And what noble will sully his velvet gloves with blood?”
“I understand you,” said Gorm. “Everything you say is true, but you must understand this: It’s not Othar I truly serve, but that which possesses Othar. My master’s needs gnaw at him. Reason won’t curb his hunger or his wrath. Press for war as though a thousand demons were at your back, for something very much their like is at your heels.”