Thirty-three
When Dar departed for Taiben, the morning sky was deep gray and snow was falling. Despite the weather, Dar chose to press ahead. She had eight sons with her, and while they were encumbered by arms and armor, she felt that they could easily overcome any storm. Dar was eager to finish the distasteful business that lay ahead. Also, she longed to see Kovok-mah.
When the party left the Yat clan’s winding valley, they took the New Road, which began to ascend almost immediately. At first, the slope was gentle, but it quickly grew steeper as it followed a wooded ridgeline. As the road climbed higher, the woods became sparser and its trees grew stunted. The snowfall increased until it hid the surrounding mountains and caused the slopes on either side of the road to fade into formless white.
Progress slowed as the snow on the road deepened, though walking remained easy for Dar, who followed the trail created by the sons in front. When she called a halt for a quick midday meal, Zna-yat told her they were halfway to the pass. By the time they reached it, daylight was beginning to fade. The snowfall had reduced to an occasional flake, so Dar had a good view of the pass and the ridge it penetrated.
Through most of their range, the southernmost Urkheit Mountains were formidable obstacles, and the ridge ahead was no exception. It formed a long barrier of steep rock that marked the highest terrain before the plains beyond. Dar gazed at it from a tactical perspective. The pass was a deep cut that resembled an alleyway into a wall of nearly vertical rock. If it were sealed, there seemed no way to reach the other side.
Dar called Lama-tok to her. “Your clan carved that?” she said, her voice awed.
“Hai,” replied Lama-tok. “We tell many tales about its making.” He pointed to the piles of huge stone blocks that flanked the cut. “You can still see rock that we removed.”
“And you scaled those cliffs to do it?”
“Hai.” Lama-tok pointed to holds cut into the rock. “We used those to climb them.”
“So washavokis could climb cliffs also?”
“Thwa. There are no holds on their side.”
“How quickly could this pass be shut?”
“Not overnight, but I think it would take only one or two days. It’s always easier to break than to build.”
When the travelers reached the pass, they stopped for the night and camped within its narrow walls. There, they roasted pashi, then slept huddled together for warmth. Morning brought fairer weather. Journeying downhill, they arrived at Taiben in the afternoon.
Dar stopped briefly at the garrison to visit the orc guards before proceeding to the palace. Both the late king’s father and grandfather had hosted orcish royalty there. Nagtha-yat had been to Taiben several times when his muthuri was great mother, and he had told Dar about those visits. Additionally, Dar possessed memories of sojourns made by former queens. Thus, knowing what to expect, she was surprised by her reception.
Lokung, the queen’s steward, stood waiting in the snow beside the palace’s shut gates. When Dar and her party approached, he bowed deeply. “Greetings, Your Majesty. Your friend and ally, Queen Girta, has sent me to extend her welcome and inform you that she will feast you tomorrow night.”
“That’s most gracious of her,” said Dar.
“Our Majesty also wishes that she had suitable accommodations for Your Majesty and Your Majesty’s attendants. Unfortunately, her palace lacks rooms suitable for your kind. She has, however, seen to the construction of barracks fit for her orc guards and hopes these will please you.”
Dar knew perfectly well that the palace had proper orcish accommodations; they had been built two generations ago. Nevertheless, she chose to appear oblivious of Girta’s deceit. “A monarch is always comfortable among her subjects. Those accommodations will suit us well.” With that, Dar returned to the
When Dar reached the garrison, the orcs welcomed her again, and she began to feel glad that she was staying with them rather than at the palace. She suspected that her greeting from the steward was only a foretaste of the slights she’d experience in the royal court. Already, she feared her visit was futile.
Zna-yat took her aside after she had settled in. “I smelled your anger when that washavoki spoke. What did it say?”
“Words without meaning. Washavokis call them ‘lies.’”
“These ‘lies’ are cloaks, I think,” said Zna-yat. “They’re meant to hide meaning.”
“You’re right,” said Dar. “Yet few urkzimmuthi understand this. Washavoki great mother had rooms for us in palace, yet her washavoki said she did not.”
“So it spoke ‘lie.’ Yet you saw beneath that cloak.”
“Hai. Washavoki great mother doesn’t welcome us, yet wishes us to think she does.”
“Hence, your anger.”
“I believe she fears us because Bah Simi counsels her with ‘lies.’ Perhaps I can make her understand that.”
“I think that will be difficult,” said Zna-yat. “Every time I guarded her, I smelled fear. Even before Bah Simi came.”
“Still, I must try. Not all washavokis are cruel.”
Zna-yat said nothing, but he thought, Most are.
When women brought food to the barracks, Dar served it. The single course consisted of porridge, and Dar perceived another insult in the meager meal. She suspected that the orcs did not feel slighted, so she said nothing. As Dar ladled out the porridge, she recalled her terror on the first night she served orcs. It felt like lifetimes ago. Now I’m their muthuri. Dar spoke with motherly affection to every son she served, thanking him for his loyalty and sacrifice. She spoke at greater length to those she knew personally. When she saw Garga-tok she asked, “Where’s your cape with washavoki ears?”
“I still have it,” he replied, “but I wear it not. Zna-yat says it frightens washavokis.”
Dar grinned. “My brother is wise.”
When she saw Magtha-jan, she said, “Muth-jan sends her love.” Then she showed him the golden pendant that Muth-jan had helped to make.
When she saw Kovok-mah, she said, “I haven’t seen you until now.” Dar refrained from asking where he’d been, for she suspected he’d been avoiding her and knew he could only speak truth. “After eating,” she said, “we must speak again.”
Kovok-mah bowed his head. “Hai, Muth Mauk.”
When Dar had served everyone, she sat down to her meal. The porridge was bland, but the company was good, and she ate contentedly. Afterward, Dar approached Kovok-mah. “Come walk with me. I wish to know more of your meeting with washavoki great mother.”
Kovok-mah bowed and rose. Dar grabbed her cloak and headed for the door. Kovok-mah followed. Snowflakes drifted down on a dark garrison that appeared deserted. Dar and Kovok-mah walked between the rows of empty barracks as Dar made inquiries about Kovok-mah’s impressions of Queen Girta, Bah Simi, and the Queen’s Men. Kovok-mah’s observations were precise, but they gave Dar few insights into the intrigues within the palace. Kovok-mah was as naive about conspiracies as any child.
When Dar had learned everything she could, she grasped Kovok-mah’s hand and pulled him toward an empty barracks. He quietly followed her into the dark building. “Sit,” she said. Kovok-mah sat cross-legged on the dirt floor and Dar knelt in his lap so they were face-to-face. She reached out and softly brushed her fingertips over his cheek. “You’ve been much in my thoughts,” she whispered.
“You dwell in my chest,” replied Kovok-mah, his voice quiet with longing.
“And you in mine.” Dar threw her arms around him as her lips sought his. There was only a moment’s hesitation before he returned her kiss.
Dar’s head swam with pent-up passion. The fervent way Kovok-mah returned her embrace and kisses heightened her feeling. I taught him how to kiss, Dar thought, and he taught me how to love. Dar’s ecstasy lasted only briefly. Then Kovok-mah gently pushed her away. He spoke in a pained, husky whisper. “Dargu, we mustn’t.”