[Queen of Orcs 01] - King's Property

by Morgan Howell

  “Aye, ’tis me.” Teeg was sitting by the doorway, his back against the blackened wall. Dar could barely see him. Teeg’s other hand moved, and Dar heard the sound of liquid sloshing in a bottle. She stepped back, but the murdant held fast. “Stay awhile.”

  Dar had little choice. She knelt down in the ruined doorway. Teeg let go of her shift, grabbed her torso, and pulled her toward him. Crushed against his armored doublet, Dar smelled the drink on Teeg’s breath. She tried to break free. “Be still, birdie, yer safe. No man dare touch ye.”

  “You’re touching me now.”

  “Just a hug. Ye can’t begrudge that.”

  “I don’t think Murdant Kol would like it.”

  “Huggin’s not tuppin’, so don’t get yer piss hot. When Kol’s done with ye, best be on my good side.”

  Dar grew still.

  “That’s more like it,” said Teeg, not relaxing his grip. “Want some brandy?”

  “No.”

  “Suit yourself.” Teeg took a long swig from the bottle. “By Karm’s ass, this place is a dung heap.”

  “It looks like it was nice once,” said Dar.

  “Aye, ’twas better than nothin’.” Teeg spit into the darkness. “That tolum had shit for brains. ‘Teach ’em a lesson,’ he said. Well, we did, but who’s campin’ in the weeds?”

  “The army did this?”

  “Who else?”

  “Why?”

  “The peasants were hidin’ food. The tolum found out and set the piss eyes on ’em.”

  Dar shuddered at the thought, causing Teeg to chuckle. “’Twasn’t pretty,” he said, “but war never is.”

  “War? These were the king’s own subjects.”

  “They should have thought of that when they hid the food.”

  Teeg shifted his arm and began to inch his fingers toward Dar’s breast. When they reached it, Dar suddenly said, “I’d like a sip after all.”

  “That’s more like it,” said Teeg.

  He passed Dar the bottle, and she tossed it into the weeds.

  “Ye crazy bitch!” Teeg pushed Dar aside to grope for his brandy, allowing her to move into the shadows. Unable to run, Dar hid nearby and listened to Teeg curse and thrash in the dark. After a minute, he grew quiet. Dar remained still and waited. The ground was wet with dew before the murdant finally stumbled toward his tent. Only then did Dar creep away to join the sleeping women.

  When the army was on the march, breakfast consisted of leftover porridge. The five women’s morning duties were to serve the men, clean the kettle, and pack the wagons. Dar had managed to avoid Murdant Teeg at breakfast, but he found her as she was loading a wagon. He grabbed her arm and said, “Ye walk today.” Then he went to hitch the oxen.

  Taren overheard Teeg’s statement. “Can you keep up?”

  “I’ll have to,” said Dar.

  “Don’t lag behind,” said Taren. “Not every head brought in for bounty comes from a runaway.”

  It was still early morning when the officers led their troops onto the road. The soldiers walked as a mob at the rear of the wagons. The women kept out of their way by tagging behind. The orcs followed at a distance, marching in orderly ranks. Only they and the two mounted officers gave the column a military appearance; the men looked more like brigands than soldiers.

  From the outset, Dar had difficulty keeping pace. A shooting pain in her thigh caused her to walk with a stiff-legged gait that was both tiring and awkward. Despite determined effort, Dar soon lagged behind the women. Next, the orcs overtook her, parting their ranks so she walked among them—enveloped, yet apart. Gritting her teeth, Dar tried to walk faster, but her injured leg was incapable of the effort. The orcs passed her. The distance between Dar and the column increased until she could no longer see it.

  As Dar trudged alone, she was alert to every sound. She had taken Taren’s warning to heart, knowing her head would bring a windfall to anyone who took it. Peasants had cause to hate the army, and she expected no mercy. Thus, when Dar heard footsteps in the woods, she looked about for a means of defense. Spotting a large, pointed rock by the roadside, she grabbed it. It would be a clumsy weapon against a sword or knife, but it was better than nothing.

  Thick, high greenery flanked the road, screening her view. Whoever was approaching took no effort to move quietly. When the noise sounded close, Dar used both hands to lift the rock above her head. She assumed an aggressive pose and expression. Then the shrubs parted, and Kovok-mah stepped onto the road.

  Dar regarded him warily, uncertain of his intentions. Then Kovok-mah’s lips curled back in what Dar realized was an orcish smile. “Dargu is very fierce.”

  Dar let the rock drop. She began to laugh, partly from relief and partly from awareness of how ridiculous she looked. When it became obvious that Kovok-mah didn’t understand her laughter, she laughed even harder. She was gasping for breath by the time she stopped.

  “Why were you barking?” asked Kovok-mah.

  “I wasn’t barking. I was laughing.” Dar hissed in imitation of orcish laughter.

  Kovok-mah smiled. “You are…” He paused. “I do not know washavoki word. Ga nat gusha.”

  “I’m gusha? What does that mean?”

  “You do strange things, things that make me hissav.” Kovok-mah hissed with pretend laughter.

  “So I’m funny?”

  “Perhaps that is word.”

  “I’m glad you’re amused.”

  If Kovok-mah caught Dar’s sarcasm, he showed no sign of it. “It is not wise to walk alone.”

  “I walk alone because I can’t keep up. Zna-yat nearly tore off my leg.”

  “Lie down,” said Kovok-mah.

  “Why?”

  “Nat thwa gusha.”

  Be not funny? thought Dar. It occurred to her that “gusha” probably meant “silly,” not “funny.” She hesitated, then lay on the road. Kovok-mah knelt beside her and began to pull her shift up to her waist. Alarmed, Dar tried to stop him, but Kovok-mah seemed unaware of her attempt at modesty. Dar ceased struggling and hoped her body held no attraction to an orc. Kovok-mah’s hands were huge and clawed, but his fingers probed Dar’s swollen thigh gently. Gradually, Dar relaxed.

  “Nothing is torn,” he said after a thorough examination. From a pouch, he produced a freshly uprooted plant with large, fuzzy leaves. “This is nayimgat. Chew leaf, but do not swallow it.”

  Dar took a leaf and sniffed it. It was strongly aromatic. She stuffed the leaf into her mouth and chewed. Its bitter taste caused her mouth to water. Her tongue became numb, and she swallowed her saliva with difficulty. Dar wondered if herbs that would heal an orc might sicken a human. Too late to worry about that. The numbness spread. She was dizzy by the time she spit out the leaf.

  “Come,” said Kovok-mah. “Rest in shade.”

  “I can’t rest. I must keep walking.” Yet, as Dar spoke, she doubted walking was possible. Her eyes were having difficulty focusing and it took great effort even to rise. She attempted a step and pitched forward, barely aware of the hands that caught her.

  It was dusk when Dar opened her eyes. The road was different. She smelled smoke and heard the lowing of oxen mingled with men’s voices. Dar sat up. She was lying in a roadside copse of birches.

  Kovok-mah was gone. He must have brought me here. Dar wondered why. Is he in charge of strays? She doubted it. Her ribs felt bruised. He probably hefted me on his shoulder. Her injured leg ached as if it had been pummeled, but it was no longer stiff. Dar rose. There were no shooting pains in her thigh.

  Dar walked—limping only slightly—toward the voices. When the road turned, she saw the encampment. Neena and Kari were returning from serving the orcs. Taren spied Dar and hurried over to her. “We thought you were gone for good. How did you make it?”

  Dar decided not to mention Kovok-mah. “I rested, and my leg got better.”

  “Karm surely guarded you. Come eat somethin’. You look exhausted.”

  As Dar ate some porridge, she caught Mur
dant Teeg staring at her with a surprised expression. She pretended not to notice. Afterward, she went into the sleeping tent. Loral was lying there, moaning softly.

  “Are you all right?” asked Dar.

  “Just a backache,” said Loral. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “I’m here. I made it.”

  “I’ve been thinking all day about how I treated you,” said Loral. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault Kol likes you.”

  “He doesn’t like me,” said Dar. “He just wants me. There’s a difference.”

  “Don’t avoid him for my sake.”

  “I’ve other reasons.”

  “You can’t cross a murdant! Teeg didn’t lift a finger, but he nearly caused your death. You’ve got to…” Loral gasped and moaned.

  “Roll over on your side,” said Dar. “My mother had pains like yours. I know what helps.” Loral moved and Dar knelt beside her.

  “I’m glad we’re friends again,” said Dar as she began to massage Loral’s back. “Is this helping?”

  Loral sighed. “Yes.”

  “Good. These pains usually go away. If they don’t and get stronger, it means you’re going to have your baby.”

  “If that happens, will you know what to do?”

  “No,” said Dar.

  Eleven

  Rain arrived before sunrise. It found holes in the tattered tent and dripped on Dar until she woke. It felt too early to rise, but her discomfort was greater than her drowsiness. Dar sat up and moved her leg. It seemed better. The other women stirred.

  The rain fell harder, and everyone grew wet as water invaded the shelter. When the black sky turned pale, the women left the tent to be drenched in earnest. Their breath condensed in the cold, damp air as they waited to serve the men soggy breakfasts. Everyone was in a dismal mood.

  On the march, the muddy road mired men and oxen, and Dar had no problem keeping up. The miserable weather turned the marchers inward. Everyone seemed sullen and absorbed in his or her misery. Yet, as Dar sloshed barefoot in the mud, her thoughts were not on her cold feet or her waterlogged cloak. Instead, she pondered her plight.

  Dar was trapped, and she knew it. Marked as she was by her brand, escape was suicide, while life in the regiment seemed only a slower path to death. Dar saw how quickly the army wore women down; even Neffa wasn’t much older than she. Women were easy to replace and valued accordingly. In such an atmosphere, men’s “generosity” and “protection” were hollow promises. Though Dar racked her brain, there seemed no refuge. Then she had an inspiration.

  Dar lagged behind until the orcs overtook her. Soon she was walking in their midst. Spying Kovok-mah at the rear of the column, Dar slowed down until they were walking abreast. “Tava, Kovok-mah.”

  Kovok-mah didn’t reply or even turn his head.

  “Tava, Kovok-mah,” said Dar, louder this time.

  The orc regarded Dar. An iron helmet enclosed his head and his green eyes peered out from it like a beast’s from a hole. With a sinking feeling, Dar realized the vastness of their differences, and her plan seemed as risky as it was desperate. Nevertheless, she persisted.

  “Kovok-mah, can we speak together?”

  The orc didn’t respond, but he slowed his pace until the two of them trailed the marching column. When Kovok-mah still didn’t speak, Dar took the initiative. “I would like to learn your language.”

  “Kam?”

  That must mean “why,” thought Dar. She gave what she hoped was a lighthearted answer. “Dargu nak gusha.” Weasel is silly.

  “Hai. Gusha.”

  Wrong approach, thought Dar. “Dargu nak muth.” Weasel is mother.

  Kovok-mah stopped walking. “Why wants this washavoki to talk like urkzimmuthi?”

  “Thwa washavoki,” said Dar. Not washavoki. “Dargu nak muth.”

  “You have not answered my question.”

  Dar pointed to the scab on her forehead. “See this? I was marked so I can never leave. I will live among urkzimmuthi till I die.”

  “So? You have your own kind.”

  “Washavokis do not respect mothers.”

  “Many urkzimmuthi say washavokis are not mothers.”

  “But you think differently.”

  Kovok-mah stared at Dar with an expression she was incapable of reading. It made her wonder if he had guessed her motive. Men feared orcs, and Dar hoped to learn Orcish so she might use that fear to her advantage.

  Kovok-mah took his time deciding. At last, he waved his hand about. “Hafalf. Rain.”

  Dar smiled, realizing Kovok-mah had agreed to teach her. “Hafalf.”

  Kovok-mah cupped his hand, dipped it into a puddle, and held it before Dar. “Falf.”

  Dar peered at the liquid in the orc’s palm. “Falf. Does that mean ‘water’?”

  “Hai.” Kovok-mah lifted a lock of Dar’s dripping hair. “Dargu nak falfi.”

  “Dargu nak falfi. I’m wet.”

  “Hai.” Kovok-mah touched his chest. “Ma nav falfi.”

  Dar did the same and repeated the phrase.

  “Thwa. Kovok-mah pahak ‘Ma nav falfi.’ Dargu pahak ‘lt nav falfi.’”

  Dar thought for a moment. “Pahak” probably means “say.” Does he mean that orc women say “I” differently than orc men? She responded using the little Orcish she knew. “Mer nav Dargu. Mer nav muth.”

  “Hai. Dargu nak qum.”

  Qum? thought Dar. She wondered what it meant, then made a hopeful guess. “Does that mean I’m smart?”

  Kovok-mah’s lips curled into a smile. “Hai. Dargu nak zar qum.”

  Engrossed in learning, Dar forgot the foul weather. Her enthusiasm intrigued Kovok-mah. As he walked down the muddy road naming things to the strange and inquisitive washavoki, Kovok-mah didn’t heed his comrades’ disapproving glances, but he did notice them.

  Dar’s lesson ended. Kovok-mah returned to the marching column and Dar rejoined the women. “I was worried ’bout you,” said Taren. “How’s your leg?”

  Dar realized that the orcs had screened her and Kovok-mah from view. “It’s all right,” she replied. “I slowed down awhile and got a second wind.”

  “That’s what I need,” said Loral. “My back’s hurting again.”

  Dar saw the pain in Loral’s eyes and recalled her mother. “You shouldn’t be walking.”

  “We won’t march much longer,” said Taren. “The tolum hates ridin’ in the rain.”

  Dar surveyed the landscape, wondering where they would halt. The woods had given way to small fields and clustered huts. To her eyes, many sites looked suitable, but the shieldron marched past them. A while later, the sustolum—a lad scarcely out of his teens—rode to the rear where he spoke a command in Orcish. A dozen orcs left the column and followed him as he returned to the head of the march. The shieldron halted, and Dar watched the two officers and the twelve orcs leave the road. A few huts, clustered about a large barn, lay a short distance away. The officers led the orcs in their direction. The soldiers followed at a greater distance.

  Some of the orcs entered the largest hut while the officers remained on horseback. They brought out a man, two women, and numerous children. Then the orcs entered the other buildings and collected more people. When the peasants were assembled, the tolum spoke. Dar was too distant to hear what he said. When the tolum finished speaking, he raised his arm. The soldiers advanced and the wagons headed toward the barn.

  Taren turned to Loral. “You’ll sleep dry tonight.”

  Loral, her face screwed up in pain, only nodded.

  The women approached the buildings. By the time they reached them, soldiers were engaged in carrying off food. Two held a struggling pig while a third dispatched it with his sword. He grinned at Dar. “Ye’ll be roastin’ pork tonight!”

  Taren sighed. “We’d best get a fire goin’. Let’s find the kitchen.”

  Having grown up in a one-room hut, Dar had no idea what Taren was talking about. She assumed every building was a separate hom
e. Yet not wishing to appear ignorant, Dar looked about and pushed open the door of a small, windowless structure. Its interior was black and filled with the aroma of smoked meat, though all the meat hooks were empty. An ancient woman sat slumped on the floor. She was sobbing. “Is this the kitchen?” asked Dar.

  The woman slowly rose and hobbled over to Dar. Her teary eyes bore a venomous look. Dar felt paralyzed by it and seized by the compulsion to explain that she was different from the men who had plundered the larder. She never got the chance. The woman spat in her face, then slammed the door.

  Taren found the communal kitchen, which had an ample supply of dry wood. The women lit a fire in preparation for cooking. Dar was glad they need not gather firewood, though she felt guilty taking it. The soldiers shared none of her qualms and brought an excess of food to cook. They had already moved into the barn after driving the livestock into the rain. The officers commandeered the largest hut for their use. A few orcs were stationed about to ensure the peasants remained docile. The rest encamped in a field, as if to distance themselves from the looting soldiers.

  Despite her conscience, Dar was happy to be out of the rain and cooking in a warm building. There was a pig to roast, a dozen chickens to pluck and stew, roots to boil, and porridge to make. The pig took a long time to cook, and dinner was served near dusk. Dar and Neena served the orcs, who ate outside in the rain. It seemed strange to Dar that the orcs would endure the weather while procuring shelter for the men. She wanted to ask Kovok-mah about that, but decided to wait. When they finished serving, Neena joined Kari, who was with the soldiers in the barn. Dar returned to the kitchen.

  Loral was asleep on the floor.

  “Taren,” said Dar in a low voice, “I’m worried about her. I don’t think she should march all day.”

  “There’s nothin’ to be done for it,” said Taren.

  “I rode in a wagon. Why can’t she?”

  “Teeg would not abide it.”

  “Why not?”

  Taren shrugged. “I don’t know the reason, but I know the man. Loral must walk.”

  Dar gazed at Loral curled up on the hard-packed dirt. She was pale. Even slumbering, she looked exhausted. Dar thought a minute, then stepped out into the rain. She walked over to the officers’ hut and entered it. The tolum and the sustolum were seated at a table strewn with the remains of an ample dinner. Each had a bottle. The tolum, a porky man in his early twenties, eyed Dar coldly. “By Karm’s ass, what are you doing here?”