By the time Zna-yat brought a water skin, Girta was bundled up. Kovok-mah rinsed his mouth thoroughly before speaking again. “I had forgotten how vile that magic tastes.” “How’s washavoki queen?” asked Dar.
“I’d be more pleased if her wound was less swollen. When she wakes, I’ll brew some magic water.”
“But she’ll live?” asked Dar.
“I think so. She’ll be in pain awhile.”
Dar turned to Nir-yat. “We should resume our journey as soon as possible.”
When the leftover porridge thawed, the party had a quick meal accompanied by hot herb water. Afterward, they resumed their march. It was still snowing but not as heavily as the previous day. The wind, however, was just as harsh. The road was invisible beneath drifts, and Dar let Zna-yat pick out the route as she scanned ahead for some sign of the river that would take them into the mountains.
The sun was hidden by clouds, so Dar could only assume that it was afternoon when Girta finally awoke and shrieked. Dar rushed to her side, as did Kovok-mah. “Girta! Are you all right?”
Girta struggled for a moment on her stretcher, then the wild look left her face and she relaxed. “I remember now,” she said in a weak voice. “You saved me.”
“We’re fleeing Kol,” said Dar. “He’s far behind us.” At least I hope so, she thought.
“My son!”
“He’s king by now and safe awhile.”
“I must see him.”
“And you will in good time,” said Dar. “Then you’ll undo Kol’s evil deeds.”
“You said something about Othar. That he lives.”
“He does, but he’s too crippled to pursue us. Forget your worries and rest.”
“That’s easier said than done.”
Despite agreeing, Dar said, “You must. Build your strength before you face your foes.”
The march halted to allow Kovok-mah to brew some healing magic. Zna-yat roasted three pashi roots on the same fire, half of their entire store. He gave the food to Dar so she might serve it.
“Saf nak ur Muthz la,” said Dar. In response to Girta’s puzzled look, she said, “It’s our custom to thank the World’s Mother for our food. I just said food is her gift.” Dar handed the queen the roasted roots. “Muth la urak ther saf la. That’s the serving phrase. It means ‘World’s Mother gives you this food.’ The appropriate response is ‘Shashav, Muth la.’ It means ‘Thank you, Muth la.’”
“Muth la?”
“That’s the World’s Mother’s name. She guides mothers and loves all her children, even washavokis.”
Girta regarded the roasted pashi. “Shashav, Muth la.” She bit into the warm root. “I’ve never had these before.”
“They came from your storerooms. I used to cook them in the royal kitchen.”
Girta gave Dar a puzzled look. “You serve me food, yet you possess more power than I ever had.” “That power comes from Muth la, and we believe she gives a measure to every mother.”
“My courtiers disdained my womanhood, counting it as weakness.”
“We believe just the opposite.”
“So my orc guards were loyal to me.”
“Absolutely.”
“I feared them.” Girta looked ashamed. “Yet one died for me.”
“Two died,” said Dar. “The wounded orc did not survive. I wish we could have had this conversation much earlier. Things would have turned out better.”
“You tried, but I wouldn’t listen. You said orcs honored mothers when we made our treaty, but General Kol claimed you lied.”
“It’s too bad you listened. But then, he’s a skilled and practiced liar.”
“He lied to you, also?”
“He called me his woman, and said he only wanted to protect me.”
“What did he really want?”
“To tup me.” Dar smiled wryly. “He was a murdant then and less ambitious.”
“Do you mean he cared for you?”
“I was only sport to him. All he cared about was power.”
“He hasn’t changed, but I’ve just learned that,” said Girta. “Now that I’ve made him a general, I suspect his ambitions include the crown.”
“Most like.”
“Then we have an enemy in common.”
“Two, counting Othar.”
Girta shivered at the sound of the mage’s name and hoped Dar was wrong.
The chaos in Taiben both hindered and helped Sevren’s mission. In the panic preceding hostilities, prices rose and goods became scarcer. The clothes and boots that he procured had been costly, but not new. Sevren spent more of his savings than he wished, making the dream of a farm even more distant. The military was almost as unsettled as the merchants. Rumors were abundant, but reliable information was rare. No soldier knew when they’d march, though every one had an opinion.
Sevren used the general confusion to move about freely. Armed and mounted, he assumed a purposeful appearance that discouraged interference. Whenever an officer or murdant questioned him, he said his unit had just arrived. Eventually, he found a few men he knew and trusted. From them, he learned
some useful things. When he felt sufficiently informed, he casually rode off into the blizzard.
Sevren didn’t follow the foothills in case someone tracked him as a deserter. Instead, he took a southwest route until he reached the river. It was a small and shallow waterway, and winter had reduced its flow. When Sevren urged Skymere into it, the water seldom reached the horse’s knees. He rode upstream a distance in order to leave no trail. Then he crossed to the other side and rode a greater distance before crossing back. Satisfied that he had thrown off any possible pursuers, he followed the river into the mountains, looking for Dar and the orcs.
Sevren found a faint trace of footprints along the riverbank as the sun neared the horizon. Noting approvingly that Dar had taken care to obscure the tracks, he urged his steed onward. It was near dusk when he spotted a single line of marchers. Aware that his weapons and leather armor gave him the appearance of a common soldier, he called out, “Muth Mauk! Ma nav Sevren!” The marchers slowed and Sevren caught up with them.
Yev-yat had told Dar that the urkzimmuthi never used the Old Road in winter, even when it was the only route to Taiben. Dar had spent the afternoon learning why. The way was more a path than a road. In good weather, it was probably narrow and difficult. Covered with snow, it was hidden and treacherous. What appeared to be solid ground sometimes proved to be snow-covered ice. Zna-yat had fallen through five times. Caution slowed their progress, and Dar feared the journey would take more than five days. Yet, despite her sense of urgency, Sevren’s appearance gave her a welcome chance to slacken the pace for a spell. He dismounted when he reached the line of marchers and let Skymere trail behind the column. Ever since the horse had borne Dar to the Yat clan hall, he had lost his fear of orcs. Then Sevren hurried his pace until he reached Dar.
“Tava, Sevren.”
“Tava, Muth Mauk. Ma fwilakther sav.” Greetings, Great Mother. I pleased you see.
“What news have you from Taiben?” asked Dar in Orcish.
Sevren attempted to respond in the same tongue. “Girtaz son new great washavoki. Kol no go yet. Many washavokis came.”
Dar switched to the human tongue. “When do you think they’ll march?”
“When I left, more units were still arriving,” said Sevren, relieved to express himself more easily. “I think Kol won’t make a move until all his troops assemble. Nobody is certain when that will be. A day or two, at least.”
“What about the pass? Any word of it?”
“I didn’t hear a thing.”
“Even if Lama-tok and Ven-goth got through, the Tok clan wouldn’t have sealed it yet,” said Dar, more to herself than Sevren. “Have you learned anything else?”
“Aye, something useful. All the soldiers will carry their own rations. Each was issued two days’ worth. I saw no supply wagons, which means Kol plans to feed his men with plunder.”