“General,” whispered Balten, “it’s not.”
Gorm’s arrival cut him short. He accompanied Kol, who was dressed appropriately for his new rank. He wore a finely made black leather jerkin, dark blue trousers in the military style, and high black boots. The sword and dagger that hung from his belt were new and adorned with touches of gold. Voltar gazed at him with disdain. “I know you! You were a murdant!”
“You’d best forget that, General,” said Gorm. Then he smiled. “Tolum Kol’s success will preserve your good fortune. Life’s pleasant with a new, young wife, but it won’t do to become complacent.”
Voltar looked away.
“Come now, General,” said Gorm. “We’re all comrades here, and comrades help one another.”
“I swore I’d do it,” muttered Voltar, “and I will.”
“Then no half measures,” replied Gorm. “Those won’t satisfy my master.”
General Voltar forced a smile. “Tolum Kol, welcome to my staff Rest assured you’ll have my fullest backing.”
Kol bowed, his lips bearing a hint of a smile.
“Supper is ready,” announced Balten as though he dreaded it. Two servants opened the doors to the dining chamber.
Kol entered the room with the others. It was chilly despite a roaring fire in a large fireplace. At the head of the banquet table sat someone who wore a silver mask and had hands wrought from the same metal. Kol assumed it was Othar and bowed to him.
The mask declined slightly, but no voice issued from its half-smiling lips. The silence appeared to unnerve all of Kol’s companions except Gorm. He seemed perfectly at ease. Kol tried to emulate his example, although he couldn’t achieve Gorm’s air of amusement.
Servants entered the room bearing food and wine. All appeared subdued and frightened, except one—a young woman. Her pretty face was vacant, and her wrists were wrapped in bloody bandages. She remained by Othar’s side when the other servants departed.
A voice from behind the mask broke the room’s silence. “All here have benefited due to me.” The gleaming face turned to briefly gaze at everyone but Gorm. “Tonight you’ll learn the repayment I require. What secrets I reveal will remain behind these doors. Yet before I speak of them, let us enjoy our repast.”
Although the guests’ plates were heaped with delicacies, only a covered tureen sat before the mage. Kol wondered how Othar would eat, for his hands looked strictly ornamental and the mouth in the mask appeared too small to admit food. His question was answered when the blank-faced woman removed pins in the sides of the mask. A hinge was hidden in its top, and with the pins gone, the front and the back of the head split apart. The woman removed it to reveal the face beneath.
It was as hideous as that of any corpse Kol had encountered, and he would have been far more comfortable if it weren’t living. However, what surprised him more was Voltar and Lokung’s reaction. They were surprised. “Othar?” said the general. “By Karm, is that you?”
Lokung blanched as he stared wide-eyed. “You.. .you’re dead. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“I did, too,” said the general. “How is this possible?”
“My life was preserved so I might accomplish greatness. One day, they’ll speak of Othar Orc-bane, the man who rid the world of piss eyes.”
The woman lifted the cover from the tureen, exposing what looked like a dark red stew. Othar smiled, his teeth gleaming against his cinder-black flesh. “Eat.. .eat. We’ll talk later.” The woman lifted a spoon and began to feed him.
Kol forced himself to eat some of his meal, which was rapidly growing cold. Among the other guests, only Gorm possessed an appetite. The general pecked at his food, while Lokung and Balten merely stared at theirs. While Kol ate, he made a point of glancing at Othar, not wanting to appear too cowed to meet his gaze. The “stew” the mage devoured was chunks of meat in a red broth. The meat looked raw and the broth resembled blood. When Kol had this thought, Othar flashed him a knowing smile.
On closer examination, Kol concluded that no ordinary fire had burned the mage’s flesh. Although the mage’s nose and ears were gone and his skin resembled scorched crusts on a skillet, his flesh remained supple and capable of expression. He’s been transformed, not consumed, Kol thought. Othar nodded as if he understood what Kol was thinking. Can he read my thoughts? Othar nodded again.
Othar grinned his reply.
The meal was over as soon as Othar finished eating. Balten rang a bell and servants returned to clear the table and refill the wine goblets. Kol wondered what price they’d pay for seeing Othar unmasked. Then Othar spoke, interrupting Kol’s speculations. “Before dinner, I spoke of a war against the orcs. That enterprise is why you’re here. To gaze upon me is to know why I hate their queen. My condition is her doing. Only war can repay my grievance.” Othar gazed about the room. “You’re here to aid in accomplishing that. Tolum Kol has the hardest task. He must make a woman see sense.”
General Voltar forced a laugh at the remark.
Othar smiled before continuing. “You know of the treaty between our queen and the piss eyes. They’re to be her guardians, and in exchange, they’ll no longer fight our enemies. That pact alters everything. Without piss eye troops, war will be costly and its outcome unsure. Have no doubt—peace means disbanded regiments and an impoverished court. If the piss eyes won’t plunder for us, then we should plunder them. Only a treaty stops us. Tolum Kol’s job is to turn Girta against it.”
“How can he do that?” asked Voltar. “Girta lacks a spine.”
“I aim to give her one,” said Kol.
“You can’t change a ewe into a she-wolf,” said the general.
“Then I’ll try some other tactic,” replied Kol. “I’ll do anything as long as it results in war.”
“And your obligations are to help him by whatever means necessary,” said Othar. “Make sure you understand that. Otherwise, you’ll share this girl’s fate.” He spoke to the blank-faced woman by his side and she fell screaming to the floor. There, she continued to shriek while she writhed and clawed her face bloody. As her self-mutilation drew out, Lokung and Balten became sick and even Voltar grew pale. The woman died when she tore out her throat, making Kol think that an arrow in the neck would have been a gentler death.
Othar looked pleased. “Gorm will advise you on your roles. Fulfill them and we need not meet again. Balten, ring the bell.”
Balten obeyed and two vacant-faced men entered the room to lift Othar’s chair and carry him out. Afterward, one returned to drag the woman’s corpse away. After she was gone, Gorm smiled and glanced about the room. “My master likes a dramatic touch. As Tolum Kol says, an example heightens discipline.”
Fifteen
From her aborted conversation with Meera-yat, Dar knew a new queen had other duties besides throwing feasts. Most important among these was calling for unblessed sons to become mintaris. Not only would the sons she chose serve throughout her reign, the call for candidates would summon the clan matriarchs for a council. Dar worried it would be a difficult meeting. If Muth-yat challenged her fitness, she would do it then. Postponing a call for sons would postpone the council, but Dar saw no advantage in that. Instead, she decided to face the matriarchs and be done with it.
Dar brought up the subject of mintaris with Nir-yat during dawnmeal. She related what Meera-yat had told her, then asked, “Can you add anything to what she said?”
“Not much,” replied Nir-yat. “Except take your time in choosing. Meera-yat was wise to say don’t bite son’s neck unless you’re certain you want him. Great mothers often take years to decide. Bear in mind that your mintaris will become like your children, except they’ll live in your hanmuthi even after they’re blessed.”