It was nearly sunrise, and Dar lay clothed on the floor of Kovok-mah’s shelter. She was shivering, and the mage haunted her thoughts. Dar wanted to dismiss her experience as a nightmare, but it felt like something else. A vision? A warning? Dar wasn’t sure. Yet she felt it was important to avoid the sorcerer. She didn’t understand why, but the strength of her feelings made her disinclined to doubt them. Intuition had kept her alive thus far, so she heeded it.
Sevren met Dar and Twea at the edge of the royal compound as they headed for the kitchen tent. “I’ve talked to Davot,” he said in a low voice. “You and Twea will na work in the kitchen. You’re to gather herbs. Look for them where we walked along the riverbank, and I’ll meet you there.”
Sevren strolled away as if their encounter had been by chance. Dar and Twea reported to Davot, who produced two large baskets. He reached into one and pulled out some withered herbs. Dar recognized wild thyme, marjoram, cress, and the curling scapes of garlic. There were also some leaves that were new to her. “I need ye to gather these afresh,” Davot said. “Fill the baskets…” He paused to wink. “…even if it takes ye all day.”
Soon, Dar and Twea were walking along the riverbank. When they could no longer be spied from camp, Sevren appeared and addressed Twea. “Halt! Are those the royal herbs you bear?”
“Aye,” said Twea with a grin.
“Then I must guard them,” said Sevren. “For I’m a royal guardsman.”
“And what of the bearers?” asked Dar, caught up in Sevren’s playful mood.
Sevren knelt before Twea. “Milady, I’ll defend you with my life. Your mother, also.” He looked up at Dar. “For so the orcs name you.”
“It seems you’re also a royal spy,” said Dar.
“I use only those arts that Karm gives every honest man. A pair of ears and a set of eyes.”
“And an oily tongue,” said Dar.
Sevren looked to Twea with a wounded expression. “Milady, I pray your mother is na your tutor in courtesy.”
“Oh, don’t mind her,” said Twea. “Dar doesn’t trust men.”
“Then she is wise,” said Sevren. He rose and peered into Dar’s basket. “I know little of herbs. I fear I’ll make a poor guide.”
“Then you can carry the baskets,” said Dar.
“If I did, I’d be an even poorer guard, for that would encumber my sword arm.”
Dar’s smile took on a hint of scorn. “Such a manly excuse for avoiding work.”
“Each should do what each does best.”
“So gathering herbs is women’s work?” asked Dar.
“Is it na said that mothers own the food?”
Dar looked at Sevren strangely. “Kuum da-suthat tha suth urkzimmuthi?”
“What did you just say?” asked Sevren.
“I asked how you learned orcish wisdom.”
“I’ve picked things up,” said Sevren, “but I would na call it wisdom.”
“What would you call it?” asked Dar.
“Fables.”
“Like the fable women aren’t worthless?”
“I never said they were.”
“But you believe it,” said Dar.
“Nay!” said Sevren. “That’s why I like you.”
Dar noticed that Twea was watching her intently. “Twea,” she said, “this is grown-up talk. Go ahead, but stay in sight.” After the girl reluctantly moved up the pathway, Dar turned to Sevren. “You like me?” she said, making it sound like an accusation.
“Aye, Karm help me. Even Twea can see it. Why can na you?”
“Your words come too easily.”
“How can I prove I’m earnest?”
“You can start by being useful.” Dar drew her dagger. “I want to learn how to use this. The last time I tried, it was taken from me.”
“You want to learn to kill?”
“No. I want to learn how to protect myself and Twea, even if that means killing.”
Sevren sighed. “I’d rather teach you a gentler skill.”
“It’s not a gentle world. This is what I need.”
“Then I’ll teach you,” said Sevren.
Dar’s instruction in the use of a blade began in the early afternoon, after the baskets were full and everyone had dined on the brown bread that Sevren had brought. First, Sevren examined Dar’s weapon. Balancing it in his hand, he declared it well made but poorly maintained. “The blade is dull and rust-pocked.” He took a stone and showed Dar how to use it to sharpen the blade. Once she restored the dagger’s edge, he proceeded within her first lesson. “You’ll na learn everything in an afternoon, or a moon’s worth of afternoons. Skill comes from confidence, and confidence comes with practice.”
“Maybe I can practice with the orcs,” said Dar.
Sevren looked dubious. “Orcs rely on strength and doggedness in a fight, na subtlety. It’s speed and cleverness you need with a dagger.”
“You mean I’ll have to practice with you?” asked Dar.
Sevren grinned. “Every spare moment.” Dar’s frown made him regret that he had looked so pleased, and he quickly turned to teaching actual moves. He commenced with defensive ones. He showed how a dagger could serve as a shield against a sword and how it could even catch a blade to disarm an opponent. Using a stick as a sword, Sevren attacked Dar so she could practice defending herself. As she improved, Sevren gradually increased the speed and ferocity of his attacks. Soon he wasn’t holding back.
The ease with which Dar mastered the moves amazed Sevren. Though she lacked his strength, she made up for it in speed and an ability to anticipate his moves. Reading an opponent was a crucial skill, and Sevren knew men who had taken days to reach the proficiency Dar had already acquired. It was she who suggested that Sevren use his sword rather than a stick. Sevren was leery. “A sword might hurt you,” he said.
“That’s its purpose,” replied Dar. “I must face the thing I fear.”
“I do na believe you fear anything,” said Sevren.
“That’s because you don’t know me.”
Dar proved as proficient against steel as she did against wood, though Sevren couldn’t bring himself to attack with full force. His arm was tired and Twea was bored when the lesson finally stopped. It was approaching dinnertime, and Dar thought it wise to head back. When they reached the spot where Sevren had met them, he bowed low to Twea. “Farewell, milady,” he said. “I must part. Tell your fierce mother I will tutor her again tomorrow.”
Twea began to giggle as she and Dar walked to the royal compound. “I told you he liked you,” she said. “He didn’t even mention the blood on your face.”
Dar grew suddenly concerned. “Is it still there?”
“Aye.”
“Good,” said Dar.
“So, do you like Sevren now?” asked Twea. “Maybe, a little?”
“Are you his spy?” asked Dar.
“At least, tell me if you cut him on purpose.”
“Of course not! That was an accident. And just a scratch, besides.”
Twea looked unconvinced. “Well, he called you fierce.”
“Dargu nak gaz,” said Dar in a deep, dramatic voice. “Weasel is fierce.”
Twea laughed.
Davot took the herbs from Twea and Dar. “Good job,” he said, “but I’ll be needin’ more tomorrow.” With that, and a wink, he sent them back to their regiment. Dar hoped they would arrive in time to serve the orcs their meal. The other women dreaded the job, and Dar was confident that no one would prevent her or Twea from performing it.
Twea was ignored when she entered the bathing tent, but Dar’s entrance was met by sudden silence and cold stares. Her absence seemed to have only increased the hostility directed toward her. As Dar scrubbed in the tense stillness, taking care to leave Zna-yat’s blood untouched, she scanned the faces about her, trying to determine who was missing. She didn’t bother to ask who Murdant Kol had flogged to death, for she knew that would be futile. Instead, she sought to discover his victim’s identity b
y a process of elimination. By the time she left the bathing tent, she had narrowed it down to two possibilities—Neena or Memni.
Dar went with Twea and the others to pick up the food. Taren was working at the cooking pit, and Dar managed to whisper, “Who was flogged? Neena?”
Taren gave a subtle sign that she heard Dar and then turned to speak to another woman. “I’m tired of cooking, but—oh well—we can’t all be the high murdant’s woman.”
If Neena’s Kol’s woman, then…Dar had to know for sure. “Memni?” she whispered.
Taren’s look confirmed Dar’s fears. Poor Memni, Dar thought, recalling her own lashes. Dar felt grief and anger at once, but she bottled up her feelings to maintain a stoic face. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what desperation drove her friend to run away. Dar knew that she was unlikely ever to learn the story, and that heightened the sting of Memni’s death.
Dar felt less isolated when she served the orcs, for they often exchanged pleasantries. Some merely greeted her. Others made a point of calling her “mother.” Thomak-tok always made her smile by extravagantly praising the excellence of the bland porridge. Zna-yat never spoke.
After serving, Dar changed back into her shift and helped with the washing before going to Kovok-mah’s shelter. Twea was already there. Both she and Kovok-mah had been chewing washuthahi seeds. Dar could tell from the seeds’ distinctive odor, which permeated the shelter, and by the distracted look in Twea’s eyes. The girl exposed her black teeth in a manic smile and said, “Uthahi.” Pretty.
“You shouldn’t be chewing those now,” said Dar, feeling cross. “They’ll keep you up.” She felt like scolding Kovok-mah, but didn’t know the Orcish word for “spoiled.” Instead she said to him in his own language, “You chewed many seeds.”
“Hai.”
“It is not raining,” said Dar. “It is not cold. You have not marched. Why so many?”
“Sadness will come. I wish not to think of it.”
Dar regarded Kovok-mah. His massive hand gently stroked Twea’s thin back as the girl fidgeted in his lap. His green-gold eyes, which had once seemed so alien, held the same depth of sorrow that she sometimes caught in Sevren’s gaze. Both orc and man had witnessed war, and the seeing had left its mark. Dar’s irritation melted. She, also, didn’t wish to think of the future. “I would like some of those seeds,” she said.
It rained hard the next day and the one that followed. Dar and Twea’s herb gathering became only a pretext to spend the day with Sevren. He had found a sheltered spot where an overhang kept out most of the rain. Twea spent the hours watching Dar learn the basics of knife fighting. When she grew bored, Twea chewed a washuthahi seed. This new habit worried Dar, but she couldn’t bring herself to nag the girl.
The constant rain washed away all signs of the blood on Dar’s face, and she had no idea if its scent still lingered. Certainly, she couldn’t detect it. The idea that the “blood time” was over and Zna-yat was free to attack again gave urgency to her lessons. Sevren taught her the classic attacks and defenses, the most lethal striking points, how to stab and how to slash, and moves to prevent being disarmed. Toward the end of the second day, he began another lesson.
Leaving Twea beneath the overhang, Sevren walked Dar over to a tree and borrowed her dagger. “There is one time when you have an advantage over a swordsman,” he said. He threw the dagger into the tree’s trunk. “You can kill at a distance.” He pulled the weapon from the wood and gave it back to Dar. “But you gain that advantage at great risk. You only have one chance. Now, you try.”
Dar’s throw went wide and the dagger disappeared into the undergrowth. “Now you are defenseless,” said Sevren. “If that tree has a sword, it will slay you.”
“I think I can outrun it,” said Dar.
Sevren didn’t smile. “Throwing your dagger should be the last resort. ’Tis a desperate move.” He joined Dar as she searched for her weapon. “This is one skill you can practice on your own. Do na let anyone see you throw until you’re good. Then, show off. A reputation gives advantage.”
Sevren found the dagger and held it out. “I think ’tis time for my fee.”
“Your fee?” said Dar.
Sevren smiled. “Mine are costly lessons.”
Dar eyed Sevren warily, then grabbed the dagger from his hand. “How costly?”
“A kiss will settle your account.”
“I’ve none to give,” said Dar, more abruptly than she intended.
Sevren tried to mask his embarrassment with a grin. “Perhaps, one day, you’ll discover one and remember your debt.”
Dar said nothing, but walked close to the tree and threw her dagger. It struck the wood, but didn’t stick. She picked it up and tried again.
Dar kept silently practicing in the rain. Eventually, Sevren tired of watching her and joined Twea beneath the overhang.
The next morning was fair. Sevren met Dar and Twea before they reached the kitchen tent. “Twea,” he said, “go see Davot. I need to speak to Dar.”
Dar motioned to Twea that she should go, then looked at Sevren. “What’s this about?”
“I can na go with you today,” said Sevren. “I may na see you for a while. War has begun.”
The news brought a chill to Dar’s stomach. “So my lessons are ended?”
“I’ll try to see you when I can,” said Sevren. Then he added, “If that would please you.” When Dar simply shrugged, he sighed. “You do na like me.”
“It’s not that. It’s just…I’ve had bad times with men.”
“You serve with scum, but I’m na like them.”
“I know.”
“If Karm favors us, we’ll get through this and winter in Taiben. When the snows melt, I’ll head for Averen. I’ll take you with me, if you’ll come. Your brand will na doom you there.”
“I couldn’t leave Twea.”
“I’ll take her, too.”
Dar looked at Sevren suspiciously. “And in Averen, I’d be your woman?”
“You’d be whatever you choose.”
“I don’t know,” said Dar.
“Do na tell me you want to stay!”
“I loved my father. I trusted him. Then, when I was sixteen, my mother died and he…” Dar looked away. “…he betrayed me. I’ve only known you a few days.”
“You do na have to say aye or nay,” said Sevren. “You can wait till spring.”
“Then, why ask me now?”
“I know what lies ahead,” said Sevren. “You’ll want a reason to live.”
Thirty-three
Dar found Twea standing outside the kitchen tent, which was being dismantled. “Davot said we’re to go back to the regiment,” said Twea.
Dar tried not to show the dread she felt. As she walked with Twea through camp to report to Neffa, she saw that a sudden change had taken place. There was much more activity than usual, and it was accompanied by an air of tension. Murdants cursed louder. Soldiers looked grimmer. Tents collapsed and disappeared. Wagons grew full.
Dar and Twea passed a wagon that was already hitched to oxen. It was mired in mud and two soldiers, directed by a murdant, were trying to push it free. “By Karm’s dirty feet,” cursed one soldier, “why move out after rains?”
“Because the mage says it’s propitious,” said his murdant.
“Pro-pissy-ass?” replied the soldier. “What’s that?”
“It means the road’s turned to shit,” said the other soldier.
“If you don’t like it,” said the murdant, “go tell Blood Crow he’s wrong.”
The first soldier laughed. “Just give me your stuff before you go.”
“Cursed sorcerers!” said the second soldier as he kept on pushing.
Dar hurried Twea along, afraid the murdant would make them help the soldiers.
Neffa was more harried than usual when Dar and Twea reported to her. “Help load,” she barked. “Move it!”
“When are we going?” asked Dar.
“I’ll giv
e you orders,” said Neffa, casting a wary eye toward Neena, “but I’ll tell you nothing.”
Dar also glanced at Neena. The other women were rushing to break camp and load the wagons; only Neena moved leisurely. Apparently, her new status as Murdant Kol’s woman shielded her from Neffa’s wrath.
Dar and Twea enjoyed no such protection, and they did whatever they were told. As Dar worked, it became clear that the order to move out was a surprise to everyone and the surrounding chaos was the result. Only the orcs seemed organized. They donned their armor, rolled up their shelters, fixed them to their backs, dismantled Muth la’s Embrace, and formed orderly ranks long before the wagons were ready to roll.
The regiment hit the road before noon. With war commenced in earnest, the order of march was different. Orcs formed the spearhead of the invasion. Human officers no longer led the column, but rode alongside it on horseback. There were eleven orc regiments in all, well over two thousand orcs. They marched as shieldrons—squares six orcs wide and six orcs deep.
Behind this deadly force followed its baggage train—wagons with soldiers and women trailing after them. In contrast to the orcs, the baggage train moved as a disorganized mass, with wagons and personnel from different regiments mingled together. Confusion reigned.
The remainder of the army brought up the rear, and it was more disciplined. The foot soldiers moved almost as smartly as the orcs. Calvary squadrons scouted the countryside or patrolled the army’s flanks. The king came last, with his guardsmen protecting him and carrying messages.
With the orcs marching in battle formation, Dar and Twea were forced to walk in the baggage train. It was High Murdant Kol’s domain, since the officers rode alongside the orcs. To Dar’s dismay, she discovered that—like the Queen’s Man—his authority extended over all the regiments. Thus, she found no refuge among strangers. Their looks and muttered comments reflected their hostility. Evidently, Kol had fanned it while Dar served in the royal compound. As she slogged down the muddy road, Kovok-mah seemed as far away as Murdant Kol seemed close. Dar felt as if Kol had slipped a noose around her neck to tighten when the time was ripe.
[Queen of Orcs 01] - King's Property Page 20
