“I sense timidity in washavoki queen,” said Dar, “but not...” She paused; she wanted to say “treachery,” but there was no Orcish word for it. “.not cruelty. I think I’ll be safe.”
It was a cold night, and Dar quickly focused on reaching the warmth of the barracks. She didn’t notice the man standing outside the city walls. He remained motionless beneath his cloak, but he was watching her intently. He did nothing until Dar and the orcs entered the garrison; then he hurried after them.
The orcs in the barracks were eager to hear how the evening had gone. Dar removed her boots, gold pendant, and shirt, then sat cross-legged near the hearth to recount the banquet. Her audience had a poor appreciation of innuendo, so she skipped over her sparring with Kol. She was relating how General Voltar had passed out during dinner when a knock on the door interrupted her. When an orc went to answer it, Dar noted that he took his ax.
Sevren stood outside. He had the look of one who couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, and Dar remembered that the last time they had spoken she said she’d been given poison. Sevren bowed deeply. “Tava, Muth Mauk. Ther lat.” Greetings, Great Mother. You live.
“Fasak Muth la vashak tha, Sevren.” May Muth la bless you, Sevren. “Hai, mer lav.” Yes, I live.
Sevren continued to speak in Orcish. “May I come? I wish speaking.”
“Please enter,” said Dar.
Sevren bowed and stepped through the doorway, all the while resolutely keeping his gaze from Dar’s breasts. “I thought urkzimmuthi kill you. I was very sad.”
“I live because they are wise and good. You should not be surprised.”
“You always surprise me.”
“This washavoki is Sevren,” said Dar to all present. “He saved my life and aided our former queen. He’s our friend.” Then she introduced her mintaris to Sevren before asking, “Why have you come?”
“I see thing you should know,” replied Sevren.
“What?”
“Othar lives.”
The orcs called the mage the Black Washavoki, not Othar, but they understood the news was grave by the scent of fear it evoked from Dar. She stared at Sevren, stunned. “Are you certain?”
“I wish politeness,” replied Sevren. “But I speak more good Washavoki.”
Dar switched to the human tongue. “How can he be alive? You saw what happened to him. He was charred to a crisp.”
“Someone in Taiben is practicing sorcery of the deepest kind. Folks’ spirits are enslaved, so they’re governed by another’s will. They become heedless of their welfare or even their lives. I caught a lass so afflicted.”
“But why do you think Othar’s the sorcerer? Have you seen him?”
“Only a shadow. Yet the sorcerer seemed crippled and Othar lost both his hands and feet. Moreover, his body is missing from the pit.”
“Does Girta know this?”
“Nay. From all I hear, she believes he’s dead.”
“So she’s unaffected.”
“I’m na so sure,” said Sevren. “There’ve been strange happenings at court. I have a friend among the
Queen’s Men, and he says there’s been a rash of deaths. Suicides, accidents, and murders—all seemingly unrelated. Yet they’ve cleared a path for one man.”
“Kol?” asked Dar.
“Aye. ’Tis him.”
Dar shook her head as if trying to break free from a nightmare. “But Othar can’t be alive,” she said. “When I threw those magic bones into the fire, he.”
“Changed,” said Sevren.
Dar’s hairs rose as she recalled Muth-goth’s vision. She said the bones were not gone, only changed. And Velasa-pah warned of the bones in Muth lsis Dome. “So what do you think happened?”
“I know little of magic,” said Sevren, “but I recall Othar’s sorcery turned on him once before. His face was blasted, yet he lived. Perhaps it was likewise when you burnt the bones.”
“Those bones had power,” said Dar. “I could feel it. Burning them might have only released it. But if their power went to Othar, why is he hiding? If he can take spirits, why hasn’t he taken Girta’s?”
“That girl I caught looked and acted strange,” replied Sevren, “and the magic quickly killed her. A dead queen would be of little use.”
“But you think he’s the power behind Kol? That’s a fearful thought. To what purpose?”
“I do na know,” said Sevren. “And to tell the truth, until I learned you were alive, I did na care. I only questioned my friend this morning.”
Dar remembered that only Kovok-mah and Nagtha-yat could follow her conversation with Sevren, so she spoke to the orcs in their language. “Sevren thinks Black Washavoki didn’t die and is still working against us.”
“Then you shouldn’t go alone into Taiben,” said Zna-yat.
“Brother,” said Dar in a gentle voice, “since when do sons tell mothers what to do? Especially great mothers?”
“I’m sorry, Muth Mauk, but I had to speak my chest. What good are wisdom and bravery against magic? I’m frightened for you.”
“I’m frightened also,” said Dar. “Yet what use is great mother who can’t face our enemies? Washavoki queen must be warned, for her danger will quickly become ours.”
“I understood all Sevren said,” said Kovok-mah, “yet I’m not certain Black Washavoki lives.”
Dar turned to Sevren and spoke in the human tongue. “He has a point. You have no proof that Othar’s alive. I doubt Girta will believe me.”
“I’ll find that proof. I offered you my service once before, and I offer it again. Let me be your agent inside Taiben.”
“Sorcerers are dangerous quarry,” said Dar. “Your offer’s gallant.” “And sincere.” Sevren smiled. “Even if it’s from a washavoki.”
“And I accept it.”
“I think Zna-yat’s right about visiting the palace,” said Sevren. “It’s too perilous, especially if Kol’s Othar’s man.”
“I’m still going. It seems worth the risk to talk privately with Girta.”
“And what if Othar’s waiting for you?”
Dar had to admit it was a possibility. Othar has good reason to seek revenge. Nevertheless, Dar suspected that the mage—if he was indeed alive—would be involved in more grandiose schemes than mere vengeance. If that’s true, he won’t reveal himself by attacking me. At least, not yet. “I think I’m safe awhile. It’s your job to warn me if I’m not.”
“How will I do that?”
“I’m supposed to meet Girta at noon. Find me on the road to the palace if I shouldn’t.”
“You’re not giving me a lot of time.”
“I’m giving you all I have.”
Sevren made his way to the sally port in the city’s wall and knocked on its stout ironclad door. “Open up, Valamar, it’s me.”
There was the sound of a bolt sliding, and then the door swung open, revealing a short, dark tunnel. Sevren stepped inside it, and his friend closed and bolted the door. “Well,” said Valamar, “did you see her?”
“Aye.”
“And did she believe your daft story?”
“She wants more proof.”
“And how in Karm’s name will you get that? Supposing you’re right; the moment you get near that man, he’ll take your spirit.”
“That beggar knew something was going on. I bet others do, too. This town ignores its poor, but I suspect they’ve been hard hit. Those thieves aren’t courtiers. Think of that unfortunate girl.”
“It sounds like stirring up trouble to me,” said Valamar.
“It’s been stirred already. Best look to the pot afore it boils over.”
Thirty-five
As soon as the city’s gates opened, Sevren headed for the squalid dwellings outside Taiben’s walls. He didn’t expect to be welcomed, and he wasn’t. His sword and official standing marked him as an outsider and an enemy. Though his inquiries received hostile evasions, Sevren noted a disquiet that wasn’t provoked by his presence. He glimpsed fear in people’s eyes, and many of the shanties appeared recently abandoned.