Dar went directly to the ambush site. The scene was as wrenching as she expected. The four most gravely wounded lay against a tree surrounded by crimson snow. Their wounds were ghastly, but they suffered silently. One died while Dar was blessing him. As Dar spoke to the wounded, sons butchered the three slain horses and dragged the dead washavokis away. Dar tried to think of them solely as enemies, but death had rendered them harmless. Many were only lads.
When Dar returned to where the mothers hid, she assembled an unusual council. It was composed of two matriarchs, Muth-yat and Muth-pah; three mothers, Nir-yat, Zor-yat, and Yev-yat; two sons, Kovok-mah and Zna-yat; and three washavokis, Sevren, Queen Girta, and Dedrik. The sustolum was there by compulsion. Dar expected him to be an unwilling source of information, but Queen Girta’s arrival both astounded and confused the officer. “Your Majesty!” he blurted out. “You’re alive!”
“Now you understand the depth of your general’s treachery,” said Dar.
“If it weren’t for the orc queen, I’d be truly dead,” said Girta. “Is it true my son rides with the army?”
“Aye.”
“How fares he?”
“Not happily,” said Dedrik. “It’s hard campaigning in winter, and Kol’s a harsh commander.”
“But my son’s the king!”
“That counts for little here. He’s a boy and under the general’s thumb.”
Dar had let the exchange take place because she thought it would be fruitful, but she interrupted it to ask about what troubled her most. “Dedrik, what do you know about Othar?”
“The old king’s mage? You killed him.” “Unfortunately not. I’m certain he’s riding in that black litter. Is he advising General Kol?”
“That’s who’s dogging us? No wonder the men are spooked!”
“Answer my question!” said Dar.
“That cursed band stays apart, but one visits the general. Gorm. I’ve heard them talking.”
Dar looked at Girta and Sevren. “Have you heard of him?”
Sevren shook his head.
“I thought he was someone’s servant,” said Girta. “A nobody.”
“The general doesn’t treat him like a nobody,” said Dedrik. “Gorm’s the only one who shakes him. He came visiting after the hall caught fire. I heard him through the tent. No yelling, mind you, but there was menace in his voice.”
“Did you hear what he said?” asked Dar.
“Something about a master. That master was displeased.”
“How did the general reply?”
“Well, he sounded meek, which is uncommon for him. Said he’d find them. I take it he meant the orcs.”
Dar focused on her principal concern. “Did Gorm tell him where to find us?”
“Nay. Just that the general better do it. He said time was running out.”
“Time for what?”
“I don’t know, but Gorm sounded both angry and scared.”
Dar paused in her interrogation to give the gist of it to the orcs. While she did, Zor-yat asked Dedrik a question of her own. “Would you say Gorm’s master wanted our hall?”
“Nay.”
“Then what did he want?”
“Your deaths.”
“There’s only one thing you can do, Your Majesty,” said Sevren. “Send runners to all the clans. Gather an army of orcs and lure Kol into an ambush. Those two shieldrons were doing reconnaissance. When they don’t return, he’ll head north. Let the mothers lead him into a trap. We’ll slaughter his men like we did today. Sorcery can na stop a sword.”
“My son’s with them!” cried out Girta.
“It’s his army,” said Dar. “ He declared this war.”
“He’s only a boy, and Kol deceived him, just as he did me,” said Girta, her voice urgent and pleading. “Spare him! You must spare him!” “Chaos reigns in battle,” said Dar. “I can’t promise anything.”
“Aye,” said Sevren. “When the blood runs hot, Mercy’s a stranger.”
“He doesn’t deserve to die,” said Girta.
“Neither do we,” said Dar, her face lit up by a sudden inspiration. “We can’t stop this fight, but your son can. He thinks we’ve slain you. Show him otherwise, and he’ll end this war.”
“Kol will na let him see her,” said Sevren. “He’ll slay her first.”
“He nearly killed me once before,” said Girta, touching her wounded shoulder. “I. . .I can’t.”
Dar saw the fear in Girta’s face and despaired. As much as she loves her son, she’s terrified of Kol. Dar tried to push her point. “Then there’s no hope for your son,” she said. “He’ll die with the others.”
As if on cue, Zor-yat reached out and gently patted Girta’s hand. “We’ll honor your son,” she said, “if we can find his corpse.”
The remark caused Girta to burst out weeping. Dar let her sob before offering her final inducement. “I’ll go with you. We’ll disguise ourselves as soldiers and find your son. Kol can’t harm you before the king.” She turned to Dedrik. “If the soldiers knew what you know, would they rather face orcs for Kol or obey their king and return home?”
“They’re hungry, and there’s no chance for plunder. They’ll gladly obey the king.”
“Have you the courage to save your son?” asked Dar.
“If you’ll go with me, I’ll find it.”
“Then I will,” said Dar. “I have no love for war.”
“You can na go!” cried Sevren. “Girta’s their queen, yet she fears for her life. You’re their enemy!”
“It’s worth the risk,” said Dar. “If we succeed, this war will end tonight.”
“Muth Mauk, you risk more than your life,” said Zor-yat in Orcish. “If you perish, Fathma will be lost.”
“Fathma lost again?” said Muth-pah, who had been unable to follow Dar’s conversation. “What is this talk?”
When Dar explained her plan, the matriarch was shaken. “If you perish, disaster will follow. It would be as it was when Tarathank fell. We’ll have no queen, and washavokis will hunt us. Your plan risks too much, Muth Mauk.”
“I admit you’ve acted wisely so far,” said Muth-yat. “If we had remained in hall, we’d all be dead. Yet I agree with Muth-pah. Trying times lie ahead. Without our queen, we’re doomed.”
“Sister, listen to these mothers’ wisdom,” said Nir-yat. “You have big chest, but blades can pierce it. We can’t lose you.”
Girta heard the orcs speak without understanding a word, but she readily perceived their opposition. “Dar, you promised to help me. I can’t do this alone.”
Dar felt the full weight of her sovereignty. A wrong decision will be disastrous. But what’s the wrong decision? Risk everything for peace? Engage in bloody war? She knew she had to decide and decide quickly, but she couldn’t see her path. “I must think upon this,” she said after a while. “Sister, will you walk with me?”
Nir-yat bowed, then followed Dar into the woods. The two walked silently until they were a long way from the other orcs. Nir-yat gazed at her sister and saw water running from her eyes. “I’m sorry I lack wisdom,” she said.
Dar wiped her eyes and gazed lovingly at Nir-yat. “You have it in abundance, and I’ve relied on it.”
“Yet I can’t advise you, for I don’t know how future will unfold.”
“Neither do I,” said Dar, “so let’s talk about past. Remember when I returned as queen?”
“How can I forget? You were nearly dead.”
“Were you with me then?”
“I was by your side, but you couldn’t see.”
“I could see, Sister. But I saw spirits, not faces. Muth la gives dying queens that skill, so they might bestow Fathma wisely.”
“But you lived,” said Nir-yat.
“Still, I was dying. Were you by my side entire time?”
“Until Deen-yat gave you magic draught. Then Muth-yat and Muthuri made me leave.”
Dar smiled for the first time. “Sister, I remember your spirit. When I had strength to bestow Fathma, none was worthy to receive it. Thus Muth la preserved my life. But earlier, my successor was by my side. She was you.”