[Queen of Orcs 02] - Clan Daughter

by Morgan Howell

  Dar snapped the cord that tied the dagger to her waist and glanced around for a place to hide her weapon. “Shield me while I bury it,” she said. Dar half expected Neena to decline the risk, but Neena covered her while she used her blade to dig a shallow hole.

  After Dar buried her dagger, Neena exhaled with relief. “That was close,” she said. “A flogging’s bad enough. But worse, Kol would learn you’re here. He hates you, Dar! And this time, you have no orc to save you.”

  Dar declined to tell Neena about Zna-yat and the others. That will be my secret. “How can I avoid him?”

  “He doesn’t come here often,” said Neena. “Life in camp is different from on the march. Discipline is strict, and soldiers don’t bother us as long as we look busy.” Dar and Neena joined the procession of women headed for a huge stack of firewood. Throughout the morning, they moved logs from one side of the camp to the other. Whenever they could talk, they did.

  Neena had wintered in Taiben the previous year, and she told Dar what to expect. The soldiers oversaw the women during the day, but didn’t mingle otherwise. “The Queen’s Man hates round bellies,” said Neena, “so he locks us in at night. Tupping can get you flogged.” Neena thought Dar could avoid Kol’s notice, but only for a while. “Your brand’s old, for one thing, and old hands are put in charge of scabheads. That means dealing with the murdants.”

  The more Dar learned, the more certain seemed her doom. She considered hiding among the orcs, but that would be a temporary solution. For the first time since anyone could remember, orc troops were being used in winter. Sooner or later they would take to the field, and Dar would have nowhere to hide.

  “I know a safe place for you,” said Neena as they hauled another load of logs.

  “Where?”

  “Taiben.”

  Dar snorted. “Sure. I’ll leave right away.”

  “You have a contact—that guardsman who got you work in the king’s kitchen tent.”

  “He might be dead.”

  “And he might not.”

  “It doesn’t matter either way. He’ll never know I’m here.”

  “I know someone who could pass a message.”

  “Neena, why are you doing this?”

  “I hate Kol as much as he hates you. I’d love to spite him.”

  “And helping me will do that?”

  Neena grinned. “Yes! I’ll hide from him what he wants most.”

  Thirty

  Dar wondered if a miracle had occurred. Neena’s help was as unexpected as her change of heart. Has she really changed? It seemed possible. She could have turned me in and I’d have never known. That seemed better proof of Neena’s trustworthiness than her admission that she had poisoned Teeg. Also, it was easy to believe that spite motivated Neena. It fit her character.

  Nevertheless, Dar was cautious—especially with Neena’s messenger. He was a soldier who appeared alongside Dar as she carried firewood. “Heared ye have a message,” he said in a low voice. “Keep walkin’ and say it.”

  Dar glanced at him. His greasy face had a shifty look, but he was her only hope. “It’s for a guardsman. Can you get it to him?”

  The soldier’s face wrinkled with contempt. “A pretty boy? Aye, I know where they drink.”

  “He’s a murdant. Blond and big. When last I saw him, he had a short beard. His name is Cron.”

  “And what am I ta say?”

  “Ask him to tell his countryman that Twea’s mother is here and needs to go to Taiben.”

  “That’s a riddle, not a message. Who’s this countryman?”

  “Cron will know. You need not.”

  “Have it yer way,” said the soldier. He turned and strolled away.

  When escaping camp seemed a possibility, Dar’s fear of being recognized heightened. Only action lessened her anxiety. Though it might be days before her message achieved results—if it ever did—Dar made what preparations she could. When it was time to serve the orcs, Dar served Zna-yat’s barracks. Once the food was delivered, she convinced the scabheads that she didn’t need their help. After they left, Dar said in Orcish, “Food is Muth la’s gift. Tonight, you’ll serve yourselves. I must speak with my brother concerning our queen.” Then she and Zna-yat had a private talk.

  “Why didn’t you return?” asked Zna-yat.

  “Have you spoken to Kovok-mah?”

  “Hai. He said you ran away.”

  “Did he tell you why?”

  “Hai, Dargu. My chest is heavy.”

  “Mine, also. But I’ve found way to see our queen. I must stay with washavokis awhile.”

  “Is that safe?”

  “Nothing’s safe. Yet I think it’s my path.”

  Zna-yat bowed. “How can I help?”

  “Wait for my message. It may come from washavoki.”

  “From woe man?”

  “Probably hairy-faced one.”

  “I’ll wait and do whatever you say.”

  Dar began to rise, then halted. “Zna, it may be that I’ll never see you again. If that’s so, remember this…” Dar stroked Zna-yat’s face as her eyes welled with tears. “…I was glad and proud to be your sister.”

  Dar lay upon the straw-covered floor of the women’s barracks. Though she was tired from a day of hauling and stacking wood, she was too jumpy to fall asleep easily. Being with the women made her vulnerable, but if Sevren was to help her, she must remain where he could find her. Despite that rationale, she felt reckless. Maybe Sevren’s dead or living elsewhere. If not, he probably has a woman. Dar was surprised that hadn’t occurred to her before. Anyway, why would he want to help me? Because I kissed him once? Dar felt naive. I did my best to discourage him. A disturbing question arose. If he does help me, what will he expect in return? The answer was all too easy to imagine. Sevren’s no Murdant Kol, Dar told herself. He wouldn’t force me. Yet doubt remained. How can I be certain? Dar realized she was certain of nothing. As in the game of knockem, she had cast the bones. Only time would show how they would fall.

  The following day was filled with drudgery and anxiety, but uneventful. Dar kept aloof and tried to be inconspicuous, though she feared her tattoo drew attention. She didn’t serve the orcs that night. Instead she cleaned huge cooking pots, glad they hid her face as she scrubbed their insides.

  Dar’s third morning in the women’s barracks began like the previous ones. Someone pounded on the door. Marta rose and called out names for kitchen and fire duty and told the remaining women to move the wood-pile again. When the door opened, a murdant was waiting outside. Behind him were three guardsmen wearing blue and scarlet, one mounted on a horse.

  “Listen up!” said the murdant. “Here’s a treat fer lucky bitches. These guardsmen got a stable ta be mucked. Indoors work with nice warm horseshit. Step lively if yer chosen.”

  The guardsman on horseback was Murdant Cron, and he began pointing at different women, seemingly at random. He would utter, “That one,” and the murdant from the camp would have her come forward. After a dozen selections, Dar began to fear that she wouldn’t be chosen. Perhaps he doesn’t see me! Then Murdant Cron pointed at her. “That one.” As Dar hurried to join the women standing behind the horse, Neena whispered, “Good luck!”

  Murdant Cron chose five more women to clean the stables, then handed a bag to the murdant from the camp. It looked like it contained bottles. “For your help,” he said.

  The murdant peeked inside the bag and grinned. “Always happy ta oblige tha guard. They’re yers fer tha day.”

  Murdant Cron addressed the assembled women. “Follow me.” Then he led the procession to the gate. He gave the soldiers guarding it another bag. While they opened the gate, he spoke to the women. “Stick close together, and do na try anything foolish. Outside these walls there’s a bounty on your heads.” Then he rode through the open gate. The branded women followed, while the two guardsmen walked on either side like herd dogs minding a flock.

  Zna-yat watched Dar leave. He had been sitting inside an
empty barracks to watch the women’s building ever since Dar had spoken to him. Zna-yat wore full battle armor and his broadsword lay unsheathed upon his lap. He looked menacing, and anyone who spied him kept their distance. For the first time in his life, Zna-yat wished he understood the washavoki tongue, for it would have helped him understand what he had just witnessed.

  Dargu didn’t look fearful, Zna-yat thought. Perhaps she planned this. He recalled the blue and scarlet washavokis. Dargu and Tahwee spent time among them. Zna-yat thought they might be somehow different from other washavokis. My cousin will know. Zna-yat rose to find him.

  Kovok-mah stood alone in the practice field, hewing a tree stump with his sword. Each blow resounded throughout the garrison. He was about to strike again when he heard someone say, “You must be very angry at that stump.”

  Kovok-mah pivoted. “Father’s sister’s son, what brings you here?”

  “Washavokis have taken Dargu-yat away.”

  Kovok-mah hit the tree stump with such force that it split in two. “This is my fault! She came because of me! She thought we were to be blessed.”

  Zna-yat regarded his cousin curiously. “Why would she think that?”

  “I don’t know.” Kovok-mah slumped as though his armor had suddenly grown heavier. “I called her foolish.”

  “Dargu-yat is never that. I think she wanted washavokis to take her. They wore blue and red.”

  “Those soldiers guard washavoki king. Why would Dargu wish to go with them?”

  “She wants to see our queen. You’re not sole reason why Dargu came to Taiben. My muthuri played her part.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Kovok-mah. “Dargu’s words still pain my ears. She called me…” His expression grew even more miserable. “I’ll seek battle. Kill many.”

  “Because you desire to be killed yourself? Remember when we spoke in Tarathank? You knew this day was coming.”

  Kovok-mah hung his head. “Dargu said same thing.”

  “In Tarathank, you said your feelings were Muth la’s doing. I believe you showed wisdom. Show it again. Muth la did not change your chest so you would seek death.”

  “Since when do you know Muth la’s will?”

  “I know Dargu-yat walks Muth la’s path. I think you and I were meant to follow.”

  “How?”

  “Remain here and find out.”

  Neena was hauling wood when she felt a hand grab her breast. She spun around to face the soldier who had carried Dar’s message. He smiled lewdly. “I saw yer bitch friend leave. I want my pay.”

  “Keep your hands off me!” hissed Neena. “We could be seen!”

  “I heared men at the gate got brandy. All I’m gettin’ is a tup.”

  “Where would I get brandy? That was the guardsman’s doing.”

  “I spent half the night findin’ that pretty boy. All they did was open the gate.”

  “And if we get caught, I’ll be flogged.”

  “Stiff-neck rules! Runnin’ errands ta get what I used ta have fer free!”

  Neena forced a seductive smile. “You’ll be glad you delivered that message.”

  “Then, hurry up and make me glad. There’s an empty barracks…”

  “First, you must do something else.”

  “Ye didn’t say nothin’ ’bout somethin’ else!”

  “I just want to know her message.”

  “Maybe I fergot it.”

  Neena moved closer and spoke in a low, sultry voice. “I’ll make you very, very glad you remembered.”

  “Tell yer countryman that Tweet’s ma wants ta go ta Taiben. That’s what she said.”

  “Who was the message to?”

  “Some murdant. Cron. Say, what’s this all about?”

  “That’s my business.”

  “Karm’s arse! That’s what she said, too! All ye bitches are sly. And I swear, Neena, ye’re the worst! Why would ye risk a floggin’ fer a friend?”

  “What friend?” asked Neena. Then she smiled. “Where’s that empty barracks?”

  Thirty-one

  The garrison lay within sight of Taiben’s gate, but not near it. Dar and the other women traveled over flat, open ground before ascending the steep road that entered the walled city. The massive gate was open, but guarded, and there was a line of travelers waiting to gain entrance. Murdant Cron led his charges directly to the gate, where the guards admitted them immediately.

  The only other city Dar had seen was Tarathank, and King Kregant’s capital differed from it in almost every way. Foremost, Taiben was alive. Its cobbled streets were filled with people, overwhelming Dar with their bustle, noise, and smell. The buildings were similarly chaotic. They seemed to have sprouted like mushrooms on a rotten log, the newer ones crowding the older. More than a few looked on the verge of tumbling down.

  Once inside the city’s walls, Murdant Cron picked up his pace, and the women hurried after him. They crowded close together, afraid of being snatched so their branded heads could be exchanged for coins. Dar spied a few men who seemed capable of the deed. After a short trip through packed and winding streets, Dar saw another wall with iron-studded gates. The gates were shut and flanked by guards. The procession halted before them.

  “Guardsman Murdant Cron here, with a detail of stable muckers.”

  The guards opened the gates, and Dar and the others passed through a short tunnel into a paved courtyard. It was flanked on three sides by an assortment of buildings—barracks, storehouses, workshops, and stables—crammed together like those in the city. The palace lay at the far side of the courtyard, high and capped with towers. Its lower portion was unadorned stone, pierced by narrow slits, but the higher levels sported balconies, terraces, and windows.

  The long building that housed the stables dominated one side of the courtyard and featured many large doors. One was open, and Murdant Cron led the women through it. The murdant hadn’t given any sign that he recognized Dar, nor did he while assigning the women their jobs. He marched them past the rows of stalls, splitting off groups of two or three. This process continued until only Dar was left. “Follow me,” said Cron as he entered a room piled with hay. Sevren was sitting on a bale. “I hope she’s worth the trouble,” said Cron.

  Sevren rose, his attention fixed on Dar. His eloquence had deserted him, leaving him speechless. Cron addressed Dar instead. “Well, lassie, why’d you come back?”

  “Orcs brought me.”

  “And why would they do that?” asked Cron. “Our Majesty provides them with women.”

  Dar was unsure how to respond, so she remained silent.

  “Back in base camp, they called you orc wench,” said Cron. He spoke to Sevren as though resuming an argument. “Maybe she’s a camp follower.”

  “Orcs don’t keep whores,” said Dar.

  “Then why’d you come?”

  “Out of loyalty.”

  “To whom? Our king? Your regiment? Sevren?” Cron put a sarcastic twist on the last choice.

  “My comrades,” said Dar, instantly wishing she had held her tongue.

  Cron smiled and gave Sevren a vindicated look. “I take it you mean the orcs. Then why do you wish to leave them?”

  “To save my life. A murdant I once spurned serves in the garrison. He swore to kill me, and he meant it. He’s tried before.”

  Sevren spoke for the first time. “Dar speaks truly. I know of the man. Murdant Kol’s notorious.”

  “Fond of the whip, I’ve heard,” said Cron. “But Sevren, this is different from last time. You know that.” He turned to Dar. “I’m a murdant in the royal guard. My duty is to my king, and you’re his property. My men can na pluck a woman from his regiments, even if she claims she’s threatened.”

  “I can still serve the king,” said Dar. “I can cook.”

  “He has lots of cooks already.”

  “I cook orcish food and the orc queen is the king’s guest. I can prepare her favorite dishes.”

  Cron shrugged. “I’ll speak to Davot. Who
knows? Maybe he can use you. But do na get your hopes up.” Then he left the room.

  “Do na mind Cron,” said Sevren. “He’s worried, but he got you here. It was his idea to bring you with a pack, so you wouldn’t be noticed.”

  “Still, he doesn’t approve.”

  “He thinks I’m being foolish. Perhaps I am.” Sevren approached Dar, giving the impression that he was about to embrace her. When Dar stiffened, he restrained himself. “What’s that on your chin?”

  “My clan tattoo. I’m Dargu-yat now, with an orc family. Mother. Father. Sisters and brothers.”

  “Husband?”

  “No.”

  Sevren appeared relieved. He reached out and tenderly brushed his fingers over the lines on Dar’s chin. It seemed a ploy to touch her. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “And sad also. It was pleasant to think you were happy and free.”

  “I was both awhile.”

  “But you came back.”

  “I had to.” Dar decided to gamble on telling the truth. “The orc queen’s my mother’s sister. I need to know she’s well.”

  Sevren seemed amused. “You don’t look like royalty.”

  The remark annoyed Dar. “No. I don’t.”

  Hearing the edge in Dar’s voice, Sevren sensed his error. “I only meant your clothes and lack of shoes seem less than regal.”

  Dar said nothing, and Sevren sought to change the subject. “I kept my vow and searched for you and Twea after the battle. I found Twea’s resting place and knew you had survived. Ever since, I’ve wondered how you fared.”

  “I told the orcs I’d get them home, and I did. We made our way to the Urkheit Mountains, then traveled eastward to their homeland.”

  “You led them?”

  Dar smiled wryly at Sevren’s surprise. “Orcs are different from men. They listen to women.”

  “Well, they were wise to listen to you,” replied Sevren. “How does it feel to be back?”

  “Even worse than I imagined.”