“And my face. Does it remind you of someone?”
Dar stared at the lorekeeper. “Yes it does. You resemble Eva-yat. Is she your muthuri?”
“Thwa. Eva-yat was my grandmother. She died three winters ago.” Yev-yat smiled at Dar’s confusion. “It’s due to Fathma, Muth Mauk. Your spirit is mingled with those of your predecessors. Their memories linger. Long ago, this floor had no pattern.”
“When I received Fathma, I felt love for all urkzimmuthi, nothing more.” Dar reflected a moment. “Thwa. I also recall soft voices, like leaves in wind.”
“Those were memories. They affect each great mother differently. No one knows why. Some scarcely notice them. For others, they become like visions. I suspect that, for you, they’ll be particularly strong.”
“Muth la help me! How will I know present from past?”
“Once you learn to handle them, you’ll find these memories useful. Learning to write will help. Pick up writing stick.” When Dar did so, Yev-yat smiled. “You already remember how to hold it properly. This is also exercise in memory. With some practice, your fingers will recall how to make soundmarks.”
The lorekeeper’s prediction proved accurate. With only a little practice, Dar could make all the Orcish letters, albeit sloppily. Still, she was amazed that she could do it at all. Dar also quickly identified the sound each mark represented. She wrote out four marks on the white clay and read them aloud. “Dee-Ar-G-oo. Dargu.” Dar grinned. “That’s my name.”
“That was your name. It’s now Muth Mauk.”
“Of course,” said Dar. “Fathma has merged me with all great mothers.”
“Some deetpahis say there has been only one Muth Mauk, though her body changes.”
“What of Pah clan mothers who became queen. Do I possess their spirits also?”
“Only you can answer that.”
As an experiment, Dar turned her thoughts to Tarathank. At first, she recalled only the ruin she had visited, envisioning its fire-blackened stones overgrown with vines. Then the image in her mind began to waver like a distant vista on a hot day. She recalled standing on a tower. It rose from a city of white stone softened by numerous gardens. Tarathank was not only intact, it was alive and vibrant. Dar’s memory of it was so immediate that she scarcely knew she was standing in the lorechamber. Instead, she was surrounded by the sights, sounds, and smells of a place she loved—her home in a former life.
Still in the reverie of memory, Dar gazed beyond the city to the green plain that surrounded it. The land was divided into lush fields that extended to the mountains. Then something out of place caught her eye. It seemed a spreading stain or a black cloud that hugged the ground. The queen whose memory this was had not yet comprehended what she was viewing, but Dar did. Invading washavokis! She could make out sunlight flashing off bare steel blades. The image wrenched her back to the present.
Dar looked about her. The room she was in seemed dark and close. Yev-yat was staring at her with consternation. Dar’s face was wet, and she realized that she had been weeping.
Fourteen
Murdant Kol was still weak when Gorm decided to take him back to Taiben. Gorm made all the arrangements. He acquired food, healing herbs, and bandages for the journey and paid the innkeeper’s inflated price for Thunder. When everything was ready, the two men departed the inn, accompanied by the Wise Woman, who traveled on foot. They left late in the afternoon, an unusual departure time in Kol’s judgment, and moved at a pace slowed to match the woman’s.
Kol thought the Wise Woman would travel with them to the capital, but toward dusk she turned from the road and bowed to Gorm. “Sire, ye’ve been most generous, and I’m grateful for the escort home. Follow my instructions, and the wound should heal cleanly.”
The Wise Woman bowed again, then headed down a dirt path that led into the woods. Kol watched her go, then spoke to Gorm in a low voice. “She knows that Othar lives.”
Gorm grinned. “I planned for that.” He waited until the woman was out of view, then slipped off his mount. Before heading down the path, he spoke to Kol. “Only her daughter lives with her. This shan’t take long.”
Kol waited, realizing the late departure had probably ensured that the Wise Woman’s daughter was home. Soon, a column of smoke began to rise from the woods. It thickened rapidly, and experience told the murdant that a hut was on fire. A short while later, Gorm emerged from the trees. “No tongues will wag back there,” he said.
The two men journeyed until it was too dark to travel, then camped in a sheltered spot. Gorm built a large fire and by its light changed Kol’s dressings. Afterward, they supped on wine, bread, and cheese. “I expect you’re more used to these accommodations than those you’ll find in court,” said Gorm.
“Is that where we’re headed? Court?”
“Not yet. You’ll stay awhile where Othar lodges. It’s the House of Balten, a merchant’s dwelling.”
“Why would he live with a tradesman?”
“Balten has his uses, and a hidden hand moves freely. When you see Othar, you’ll find him much changed.”
“How?”
“A force was unleashed on him. He’s maimed and disfigured, but his power has increased manyfold. He can seize minds now.”
“Is he still a man?” asked Kol.
“He’s become more than that.”
“Why would such a one need soldiers?”
“Slaughter feeds his power. He thirsts for the blood that only war can bring.”
“Before, you said he wanted vengeance. Now it seems he craves something else. Will victory satisfy him?”
“If it’s accomplished by extermination.”
As a soldier, Kol thought killing was the means to an end, not an end itself. He reflected that excessive slaughter squandered resources and was the mark of a poor commander.
Gorm gazed at Kol sharply, as if he had read Kol’s thoughts. “I know of your reputation with a whip. It’s said you once flogged a woman half a day. Wasn’t that overmuch?”
“An example heightens discipline.”
“Then the flogging wasn’t excessive. Othar’s aims aren’t either. It’s not your place to question his goals, only to fulfill them.”
“I never said I wouldn’t,” replied Kol. “You found the right man.”
“Even if Dar wasn’t the orcs’ queen, a war against them makes sense. They’re ripe for conquest. They lost their experienced fighters in this summer’s campaign, their halls are unfortified, and their slaughter will disturb no one.”
“I see your point. Why spill human blood when piss eye blood will do?”
“Why indeed.”
Kol took another swig from the wine skin, then wrapped himself against the cold. He relaxed, feeling that he could handle whatever loomed ahead. Accustomed to ruthlessness, Kol thought Othar’s objective was extreme, but not extraordinary. The Queen’s Man sacrificed six regiments and lost no sleep over it.
The following morning, the two men resumed their ride to Taiben. Gorm set a leisurely pace and related everything that had happened in the capital. Much of it was news to Kol. After the orcs revolted, he had been isolated from events. By the time he had stopped fleeing, he was already succumbing to infection. Afterward, Kol had heard only muddled rumors. Thus, Gorm’s news often surprised him. He didn’t know the Queen’s Man was dead, or that orcs formed Queen Girta’s personal guard. Kol was certain that some of the news had been obtained by supernatural means, for Gorm knew that Dar had recovered from her poisoned wound, though no messages had come from the orcs.
The travelers spent the night at an inn, where they kept their conversation superficial. Gorm waited until they were on the road again to brief Kol on the situation at court. “The royal steward’s our man, and he knows all the ins and outs. Be aware that Girta doesn’t trust him. It won’t do to seem his friend. Have you heard of General Voltar?”