[Queen of Orcs 01] - King's Property

by Morgan Howell

  “Vata,” Dar said, hoping Kovok-mah understood the finality of her good-bye.

  Clutching her torn shift to cover herself, Dar hurried to the women’s tent. She hoped to change into her other shift and, perhaps, find a weapon before the men came. Taren sat up when she entered. “So, you’re back,” she said. She eyed Dar’s torn garment. “Was it bad?”

  “Worse than you can imagine,” said Dar as she rapidly changed. “Where are the knives?”

  “Why do you want a knife?”

  “I just need one.”

  “They’re on the wagon,” said Taren.

  Teeg’s wagon, thought Dar. Her heart sank further. I’ll only have a stick of firewood or a ladle to defend myself. Dar left the tent to avoid further questions. The kettle of cold porridge sat near the ashes of last night’s fire. The serving ladle hung from its edge. Dar hefted it. The utensil felt light in her hand, but all the firewood had been burned. I guess this is my weapon. She dipped it in the cold mush to take her last meal.

  Dar was still eating when Taren emerged from the tent. “Dar, what happened last night?”

  Dar swallowed. “Murdant Kol finally made his move. He…” The sight of men leaving the barn made her stop. Usually, the soldiers straggled in to eat, bleary and grumpy. This morning, they swaggered from their sleeping quarters as a small mob and moved as purposefully. Dar noted none carried a wooden bowl. As she watched them advance, the urge to run became nearly irresistible. Dar stayed put only by summoning all her courage.

  The soldiers halted a few steps from the kettle. By the time they did, Kari and Neena were also watching them, aware that something was about to happen. The men eyed Dar as a pack, united by belligerence and lust. Yet, as individuals, they hesitated to step forward. Dar could only guess what Murdant Kol had told them, but the result of his words was evident—she was for the taking. It was only a question of who would be the first.

  After a tense moment, Muut decided it would be him. He advanced, grinning. “I’ve wanted a taste of this for a while,” he said. He lunged at Dar and she swung the ladle, hitting his jaw. Dar heard a soldier laugh. Then Muut punched her in the chest. Dar’s breath whooshed, and she was unable to take another. She doubled over, dropping the ladle.

  Muut grabbed her arm and jerked. “To the barn, bitch.”

  Dar was able to gasp a bit of air as Muut began to drag her away. The other soldiers followed. Now that the first move had been made, each was eager for his turn.

  Dar was halfway to the barn when Muut suddenly released her. Confused, Dar glanced about and saw that Kovok-mah stood where Muut had been. He was fully armed, and he held Muut by the neck, dangling him above the ground at arm’s length. The orc ignored the man kicking and thrashing within his grasp and slowly regarded the other soldiers. “This is my woe man!” he bellowed.

  Kovok-mah tightened his fingers around Muut’s neck. There was a crunch of gristle. Then he casually tossed the man aside. The soldiers drew back, silent and cowed. The only sound came from Muut, who gurgled and gasped as if drowning. As everyone watched, his face turned bluish gray.

  “Touch my woe man, and I kill you,” said Kovok-mah. Then he turned and strode away.

  The soldiers remained still, but Neena shrieked and ran toward Muut. She knelt beside him, caressed his face, and began to sob. Her actions broke the mob’s inertia, and the soldiers gathered around their fallen comrade. By then, Muut lay still. A soldier examined him. “He’s dead,” he said, regarding Dar with revulsion. “Yer lover killed him.”

  “My lover?” said Dar.

  “He called you his woman,” said the soldier.

  Neena glared at Dar, her grief mingled with repugnance. “How could you?” she said. “An orc! What kind of monster are you?”

  Dar was too stunned to protest. She glanced at Taren and Kari and saw the same loathing in their faces.

  “It’s her black teeth,” said a man. “Piss eyes fancy them.”

  “Well, they can have the unnatural bitch,” said another.

  The men embraced the idea that avoiding Dar showed contempt for her rather than fear of the orc, and their self-respect returned as fright became disdain. “Taren,” said a soldier, “we won’t have that one servin’ us.”

  “Aye,” chimed in several others.

  Teeg appeared with a shovel, which he tossed at Dar’s feet. “Ye can dig Muut’s grave, bein’ yer the one that got him killed.” When Dar simply stared at the shovel, he added, “Hop to it, or ye’ll feel the lash.”

  Dar took up the shovel and dug where the earth looked soft. As she dug, she felt both relieved and humiliated by Kovok-mah’s intervention. By calling her “his woman,” he had simultaneously saved and degraded her. Dar was appalled by how readily everyone believed the worst, no matter how far-fetched.

  Kovok-mah stood at the edge of the sacred circle watching the washavokis. Their actions perplexed him. The washavokis were eating, ignoring the dead one. Kovok-mah wondered why there were no prayers or rites. Dargu stood alone, digging a hole in Muth la’s breast. She didn’t appear happy. Already, he wondered if he had acted wisely.

  Zna-yat approached. “Mother’s brother’s son, you stink of washavoki.”

  “Hai. Strange things have happened.”

  “I know exactly what has happened,” said Zna-yat. “You’ve become fool.” When Kovok-mah tensed and exposed his fangs, Zna-yat’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t challenge me. I won’t bend my neck this time.”

  Kovok-mah returned Zna-yat’s stare. “Then you want to fight?”

  “You are my kin and still strong in my chest. I’d rather speak wisdom instead.”

  “What is this wisdom?”

  “Dargu has evil magic.”

  “I think not.”

  “Your chest has grown small,” said Zna-yat. “This is Dargu’s doing. It has learned our words so it can cast spells on you.”

  “You speak foolishness,” said Kovok-mah.

  “How else could it have slept in your shelter?”

  “I allowed it for Muth la’s sake.”

  Zna-yat gave a derisive hiss. “Muth la? How can sons speak for Muth la?”

  “When we lack mothers to guide us, we must think for ourselves.”

  “Then you’ve thought poorly.”

  “I followed my chest,” said Kovok-mah. “It told me I should protect Dargu from evil washavokis.”

  “Dargu is washavoki,” said Zna-yat, “so it is evil, also. For your sake, I’ll kill it.”

  “Don’t!”

  “Has your chest grown so small that you would spare washavokis?”

  “I would spare this one.”

  “If you persist in this folly, others will not follow you. They’ll meet and choose another. You’ll lose your cape.”

  “If I lose it,” said Kovok-mah, “killing Dargu will not get it back.”

  Zna-yat studied his cousin’s face. At last he said, “I won’t kill it…not yet.”

  As Teeg approached Murdant Kol, he could discern no emotion in his face. Kol merely stood in his rigid manner, watching Dar dig the grave from a distance. Teeg couldn’t resist saying, “I’m glad to see she’s not spoilin’ her new dress.” Kol’s face darkened, alerting Teeg to watch his tongue.

  “I burned that dress,” said Kol.

  “So, ye got yer fill without it,” said Teeg, suspecting Kol had not.

  Kol grunted.

  “That piss eye was a surprise,” said Teeg as casually as he could. “One of her tricks, I suppose.”

  “Yes,” said Kol, his face growing even darker.

  “I’m not fond of tricks, myself,” said Teeg. “Weasels, either.” He made a show of drawing his dagger. “It’s best to get rid of vermin.”

  “Piss eyes don’t bluff,” said Murdant Kol. “He’ll slay the man that touches her.”

  “He doesn’t have to know who did it.”

  “Then he’d probably kill everyone to be sure. Piss eyes don’t do things in half measures.”

&
nbsp; “There’s only one of him,” said Teeg.

  “The men can’t stand against a piss eye,” said Kol. “That sorry lot only uses weapons for brawling or scaring peasants.”

  Teeg wondered how he’d fare against an orc and decided he would rather not find out. “So we leave her be?”

  “There’s no reason for that,” said Kol.

  “Still, we let her live?”

  “For the time being,” replied Kol. “Soon, we’ll be at war, and anything can happen.”

  Teeg caught Kol’s drift and showed his jagged teeth. “Aye, war’s full of opportunity.”

  It was difficult to use a shovel barefoot, and Muut’s grave was still shallow when the men had finished breakfast. Dar was still at work when Murdant Kol approached. As soon as she spotted him, she changed her grip on the shovel so she could swing it if necessary. The movement wasn’t lost on Kol, who halted outside the shovel’s reach. “That’s deep enough,” he said. “Dump him in and cover him.”

  “All right,” said Dar, not taking her eyes from Kol.

  “Afterward, give Thunder a good grooming before you saddle him. You neglected him last night.”

  “Last night…”

  “Didn’t change your duties,” said Murdant Kol. “Neither did tupping that piss eye.”

  Dar’s face reddened. “I never did that!”

  “You’re not fooling anyone,” said Kol, pleased his words had the desired effect. “We all have eyes and ears. Now get to work.”

  Kol turned on his heel and strode to where the women were loading a wagon. Dar briefly watched him stop and talk with them. Then she dropped the shovel and walked over to Muut’s corpse. It had lain untouched as the camp went about its business. No one but Neena seems to care, Dar thought. She glanced up and saw Neena was still talking to Murdant Kol. She dreaded to think what they were discussing.

  When Dar dragged Muut to his grave, she spied his dagger. After depositing him in the hole and ensuring no one was watching, Dar used the dagger to cut its scabbard from Muut’s belt. She quickly lifted her shift and tucked the weapon in the waist cord of her undergarment. Then she piled dirt on Muut’s body.

  The soldiers waited until Dar was grooming Thunder before they approached Muut’s resting place. One emptied a bottle on it “to give him one last drink.” The rest made remarks of feeble jocularity. Only Neena wept.

  Twenty-two

  When the shieldron belatedly began its march, Dar tried to take her place among the women. Taren barred her way. “Go to your orc. We don’t want your kind.”

  “What kind is that?” asked Dar.

  “There’s no word for it,” said Taren. “None foul enough.”

  “Just what do you think happened last night?” asked Dar.

  “We know what you did,” said Taren, “and we’re disgusted.”

  “Who told you? Murdant Kol?”

  Taren nodded.

  “And you believe him?”

  “Look,” said Taren, “you told me yourself you don’t like men. And all of us heard what the orc said before it killed poor Muut.”

  “Poor Muut? How can you take his side? You know what he was going to do.”

  “He wasn’t perfect, but he was kind to Neena. And he was human. More human, it seems, than you.”

  Dar nearly burst into tears, but she refused to give anyone the satisfaction, especially Neena, who was staring at her with undiluted enmity. Dar saw the futility of further argument; the women had sided with their oppressors. She felt as she had on her first day in the regiment—surrounded by others, yet utterly alone. As Dar turned her back on the women, she reminded herself that she had Kovok-mah. Just like Cymbe had her bear.

  The tale of Cymbe and the Bear was familiar to every highland child. Dar’s father had told it often. Cymbe was a little girl who, like Dar, lived in a small hut with her parents. She wasn’t happy, for she had to work hard and every meal was porridge. Then, one day, a bear urged her to join him in the forest. “In the woods, you’ll never toil,” he said. “I know the trees in which bees hide their honey and the slopes where the berries ripen first. Every day, I’ll catch fish or hares or a deer, and every night we’ll feast.”

  Cymbe gladly ran off with the bear, and they lived an easy life together. The girl grew fat. Her hair lengthened and tangled until it covered her body, and she looked like a bear. After a while, Cymbe thought she was one. Yet, when summer ended, the bees went to sleep, the berries shriveled, and the fish and game fled. Then the bear spoke to Cymbe. “Hard times are ahead, so I’ll sleep through the winter.”

  “What about me?” asked Cymbe. “I still must eat.”

  “I’ve fed you all summer,” replied the bear, smacking his lips. “Now it’s your turn to feed me.”

  Dar’s father always laughed at the end of the story. The moral of the tale varied according to his need. Cymbe was invoked when Dar or her brothers grew tired of porridge. “Remember Cymbe” might answer a complaint about chores, warn of a stranger’s approach, or rebuke discontent. Yet, even as a child, Dar devised her own moral—Cymbe’s fatal error wasn’t wishing for a better life, but misunderstanding bears. Do I understand orcs any better?

  While Dar pondered that question, the shieldron snaked out onto the road. The officers and Murdant Kol led the way on horseback, followed by the two wagons, the foot soldiers, the women, and finally the orcs. Dar saw no place for her in that procession, though she knew she must join it. She fell in behind the column of orcs, who hid her from the sight of the others.

  The day was hot and Dar was thirsty when the march halted for a brief rest. The orcs carried their own water, but the soldiers and the women drank from a water barrel at the end of one of the wagons. Dar headed for it to quench her thirst. The soldiers always drank first. As Dar waited for her turn to use the common ladle, she became conscious that she was both the center of attention, yet pointedly ignored. Dar waited until everyone had drunk, then approached the barrel. A burly soldier brushed past her, knocking her aside to seize the ladle. “Don’t want her lips where mine go.”

  “No telling where they’ve been,” said another.

  “Think about it,” said Neena. “Can’t you guess?”

  Neena’s question prompted speculation that grew ever filthier. Dar tried to ignore it as she cupped her hands and hurriedly drank. When she finished, she looked up and saw the soldiers had surrounded her. They seemed like dogs around a viper, filled with loathing and fear. Dar was uncertain which made them more dangerous. Rather than try to push her way through the men, she darted beneath the wagon and emerged out of their reach. As she retreated, she heard Neena laugh. “Did you see the whore blush? One of you men guessed right.”

  Dar headed for her refuge at the end of the column. As she passed the orcs, she sensed a change in them also. Dar had grown familiar enough with orc facial expressions that she could detect their resentment. It seemed directed toward her. Why would they be angry with me? wondered Dar, alarmed by the prospect. She glanced about for Kovok-mah. When she caught his eye, he looked away.

  When the march resumed, Dar trudged behind the orcs, brooding that—like Cymbe—ignorance would be her undoing. Kovok-mah’s actions had altered her life, and she needed to understand them. Dar picked up her pace until she strode beside Kovok-mah. “Pahav ta mer,” she said. Speak with me.

  Kovok-mah replied in Dar’s language. “There is nothing to say.”

  Dar continued to walk beside Kovok-mah. Glancing about, she became aware that the other orcs were watching them. It occurred to her that Kovok-mah’s deed might have caused him problems with the others, making his position a delicate one. If that was true, she would have to proceed with care. She needed to get Kovok-mah to speak with her, but he must not lose face by doing so.

  In time, an idea came to Dar. She exposed her teeth and puffed up her chest in a comic imitation of an orc challenge. “Dargu is very fierce,” said Dar in Orcish. Then she roared with a warbling, high-pitched cry that parodied the
deep, thunderous sound made by an orc. Kovok-mah’s initial surprise turned to amusement.

  Dar roared again. “Talk to fierce Dargu.”

  Kovok-mah dissolved into laughter, slowing his pace as he did. Dar halted and bent her neck in the orcish sign of submission. Kovok-mah stopped walking also. The marching orcs flowed around the pair. Dar noted that a few were laughing and more were smiling.

  Kovok-mah continued to stand still, as if he were laughing too hard to walk. He waited until there was a long gap between him and the other orcs before he resumed walking. By then, he regarded Dar with an expression that was more curious than amused. “What do you wish to say?” he asked.

  Dar was suddenly at a loss for words. She felt as if she were balanced on a mountain peak where a step in any direction would send her sliding downward. Dar hesitated, knowing she must take that step and it was likely to determine the course of her life. She grew nervous and all she uttered was “Why?”

  “Why what?” asked Kovok-mah.

  “Why did you do it? Why did you call me your woman? What did it mean?”

  “I protect you.”

  “Why? I’m washavoki.”

  “Ther nav muth.” You are mother.

  “Muth. Woman. What difference does that make? Why did you save me?”

  Kovok-mah was slow to answer. When he did, he seemed to be groping for words. “Muth la is everywhere…yet…she is far away. Her voice is hard to hear. Even harder to understand. Muth la is first mother. She speaks through mothers. Sons have little wisdom, but we, too, try to hear Muth la’s voice. I think…I think she says to me—protect this washavoki mother.”

  Dar said nothing. After a while, Kovok-mah asked, “Why do your eyes make your face wet?”

  “All my life, I…I’ve been treated…treated like…” Dar wiped away her tears. “I’m only a woman. You talk like I’m worth saving.”