[Queen of Orcs 01] - King's Property

by Morgan Howell

  Dar tried to distract herself from this ominous feeling by examining the countryside. Her viewpoint was different from what it had been on her previous marches. This time, she was part of a huge army and she saw things from the midst of a mob. The orcs blocked sight of the road ahead, and the trailing troops obscured what lay behind. Often, Dar couldn’t even see the opposite side of the road. What little scenery she glimpsed bore the marks of earlier conflicts. The deserted fields were going wild, and nothing made by human hands was unmarred. All the buildings she passed were burned ruins. The only signs of their inhabitants were bones lying by the roadside, still dressed in weathering rags.

  The landscape had been altered by death, and it had death’s stillness. Yet the absence of the enemy heightened, rather than calmed, Dar’s anxiety. The effect seemed universal. Everyone was edgy. Dar saw it in the soldiers’ eyes and the frenetic riding of the scouts. Dar felt as she had when waiting for the lash to strike—the question was not if there’d be a blow, but when.

  The tread of so many orcs churned the wet road until it was a morass. When the wagons bogged down, Dar, and even Twea, were pressed to help push them. Soon the march became mindless drudgery, which dulled Dar’s apprehensions. By the time the army halted its march for the day, she was caked with mud and exhausted. Twea moved as if in a trance.

  The women, tired as they were, had to set up camp and prepare porridge. When it was time to serve the orcs, bathing was cursory. The water in the small basin quickly turned muddy, but it wasn’t changed. When the women returned from serving, few bothered to wash their robes before staggering off to sleep. Dar made the effort, then returned to the Embrace of Muth la and found Kovok-mah’s shelter. Twea was sound asleep and Kovok-mah was also. Dar quickly joined them.

  As Murdants Teeg and Kol walked through the darkening camp, it was quiet. Only sentries moved about. Teeg smiled appreciatively at the scene. “It’s good to be campaignin’ again.”

  “Yes,” said Kol. “A man grows stale in camp.”

  “And poor,” said Teeg. “I could do with some loot.

  You’re privy with the Queen’s Man, when’s the first chance for plunder?”

  “We’re headed for a small town,” said Kol. “It’s two days off.”

  “Walled?”

  “Nothing the piss eyes can’t handle. I don’t think there’ll be a siege.”

  “Quick is best,” said Teeg. “It means full larders and plump women. When I tup, I like a bit of cushion.”

  Kol merely grunted.

  “Ye don’t seem fond of bony bitches yerself,” said Teeg. “Ye seldom use yer woman.”

  “I use her all the time,” said Kol. “She’s the one that told me about Memni.”

  “That was a proud bit of work,” said Teeg. “The bitches have hopped to it ever since.”

  “They need an example every once in a while, and I wanted the practice.”

  “For what? The weasel?”

  Kol smiled. “Her day is coming.”

  “What about the piss eye?”

  “Soon he’ll be no problem,” said Kol.

  “How come?”

  “This campaign will be different from the last. More than raiding.”

  “How’d ye know that?”

  “The mage’s auguries. Expect a battle. A big one.”

  “So? What does that have to do with the piss eye?”

  “He and his friends will serve as bait,” said Kol, “and you know what happens to bait.”

  “Why would the king forsake his piss eyes?” asked Teeg. “They’re mighty handy.”

  “He can get more,” said Kol. “After all, he holds their queen.”

  “I’m a simple man,” said Teeg. “Such cleverness hurts my head.”

  The two men reached their tent and found Neena asleep upon Kol’s bedroll. “Well, she’s a cheeky slut,” said Teeg, “comin’ in without yer leave.”

  “She probably has some information,” said Kol. “I told her to keep an eye on Dar.”

  Teeg eyed the sleeping woman. “Ye plan on pokin’ her t’night?”

  A sardonic smile came to Kol’s lips. “Why do you ask?”

  “Knowin’ ye, she’ll go to waste,” said Teeg. “But since there’s naught to drink, I could use a tup.”

  “I thought you disliked bony women.”

  “I’m a practical dog,” said Teeg. “If I can’t have meat, I’ll make glad with a bone.”

  “I’m going to check the sentries,” said Kol. “Don’t take too long.”

  Teeg grinned and disappeared into the tent.

  Kol began his rounds. They eventually took him to the outer edge of the orcs’ encampment. The neat arrangement of their shelters contrasted with the muddled sprawl of its human counterpart. The orc sentries moved smartly within the confines of the upright branches. They watched Kol as he approached, their eyes glowing gold in the day’s last light. Kol had served alongside orcs for years, but their gaze still gave him shivers. They didn’t fear him, and that made him uneasy.

  Dar’s somewhere in there, thought Kol, safe with her piss eye. The idea provoked him. He clenched his fist and thought of whips.

  The road was nearly dry the next day, and walking was easier. Everything else was harder. Rations were cut again, and hunger made everyone irritable. Two women from other regiments were flogged. Dar never found out why. Life was reduced to taking the next step and staying out of trouble. Dar marched when she was told, rested when she was allowed, and obeyed every order. She made sure that Twea did the same. In the harshness of the march, life at base camp seemed like a pleasant dream.

  Dar endured the second day of marching, and then endured the third. It ended differently from the first two. The march stopped early in the afternoon, and the orcs didn’t set up an encampment. They merely piled up their bundled shelters and regrouped to form a broad, deep mass of shieldrons. Human officers rode among them, shouting orders in broken Orcish. The orcs began to move slowly, while the baggage train stayed put.

  Aware that something was happening, Dar became alert. She gazed about and saw the countryside was unspoiled. There were apple trees flanking the near side of the road, their fruit still green and tiny. The lanes between the trees had been newly scythed. The tool that had done it lay dropped at the edge of high grass. There was general confusion within the halted baggage train, and Dar decided to climb a tree to view what was taking place. She found an apple tree with a tall, stout trunk and climbed it easily.

  The first thing Dar saw was a town of whitewashed stone buildings surrounded by a low wall. Work seemed underway to make the wall higher, but only a small stretch had been completed. The townsfolk’s preparation for an attack had started too late. From her perch in the tree, Dar could hear bells ringing the alarm.

  The town lay within a broad valley, close enough for Dar to see its panicked residents scurrying about. Lush fields surrounded it. A small river wrapped around part of its walls, but in the wrong place to be an obstacle to the orcs. From Dar’s viewpoint, the king’s forces appeared arranged like tokens in an old highland game called stone’s battle. Orcs and men took the place of different-colored pebbles; yet Dar perceived the strategy of the forthcoming attack by their positions. The orcs stood massed on the high slope of the valley’s side, preparing to advance when darkness gave their night-keen eyes the advantage. The king’s cavalry occupied positions on the far side of the valley to cut off any escape. Foot soldiers were beginning to march around the orcs, to reinforce the horsemen and to loot the town after it was taken.

  “Hey, bitch!” shouted a murdant. “Get down from there!”

  Dar climbed down. The murdant struck her for shirking and ordered her to report to her unit. Dar wandered about the milling soldiers and women until she found Neffa. “Go to Teeg’s wagon,” said Neffa, “get those black seeds, and give them to the piss eyes.”

  Dar went to the wagon and filled a small sack with washuthahi seeds. Then she headed for the orc formation. The or
c shieldrons didn’t carry banners or other identifying devices, and their utilitarian armor varied little between individuals. Thus, Dar had difficulty finding the shieldrons from her regiment. Women from other regiments simply handed out seeds randomly, but Dar wouldn’t do that. She searched until she found the orcs she knew. When she did, she said not only the serving phrase, but also added “Fasat Muth la luthat tha.” May Muth la protect you.

  When she spoke to Kovok-mah, he looked so sad that she impulsively stroked his cheek. Then she turned away quickly, so he wouldn’t see her tears.

  Thirty-four

  There was no place for Twea or Dar to sleep. The orcs had left no encampment and the women wouldn’t have them. Dar and Twea wandered about camp, dodging sentries until it was dusk. Then Dar returned to the apple tree she had climbed earlier. One of its branches was nearly horizontal and thick enough for Twea to lie upon. When no one was looking, they climbed into the tree, hoping its leaves and the growing darkness would hide them.

  Twea fell asleep, but Dar could find no comfortable perch, and the looming attack weighed heavily on her mind. When it grew dark, she climbed until she could view the town. The waning crescent moon wouldn’t rise until early morning, so it would be a dark night. As the last light faded, watch fires were lit along the town’s walls. The orange flames reflected off the whitewashed buildings, making the town shimmer like a bright mirage in the night. Dar heard the soft sound of tramping feet. She could barely see the mass of orcs as they marched into the valley. In the darkness, they seemed like a shadow passing over the fields.

  When the shadow reached the light from the watch fires, it resolved into an army. The orcs attacked where the wall was lowest and carried ladders to surmount it. They pressed against the meager fortifications, and from Dar’s perch their movements resembled a wave striking an obstacle that could resist it only briefly before being overflowed. The fires went out where the orcs poured over the wall. The urkzimmuthi fought silently. All the sounds were human—only shouts at first, then cries more distressing to hear. Even at a distance, Dar was horrified as her imagination gave substance to what she could barely see. Still, she couldn’t take her eyes away. The town grew slowly dark as its fires were extinguished until it was only a vague, gray shape in the black valley. Dar climbed downward, wedged her body between the tree’s trunk and a limb, and tried to rest.

  Sometime in the night, Dar sensed that the tree had changed. She opened her eyes and saw that it was leafless. Its branches held her high above a different valley, which was dark and filled with mist. Dar could see the lay of the land but little more, except for one thing: The valley seemed filled with stars. On second look, Dar realized that the “stars” were something else. They were gold, not white, and the mist couldn’t obscure them. They gleamed undimmed, and Dar loved them.

  The lights commenced to move through the valley. When they reached the midpoint, Dar saw an ominous darkness. Like two separate waves, it crashed against the lights from either side. When it touched them, they winked out. Each time a light disappeared, Dar felt a stab of sorrow. As more lights vanished, her grief grew until it became unbearable. “Why?” she cried out. “Why do you show me this?”

  The tree became the old apple tree within the orchard, leafy with the growth of spring. Twea was calling in a frightened voice, “Dar, are you all right? Why are you crying?”

  With difficulty, Dar suppressed her sobs but not the grief that caused them. “I just had a bad dream,” she said. “Go back to sleep.”

  Twea said nothing more, and after a while Dar assumed she was asleep. Dar couldn’t even shut her eyes. She waited for dawn to come, fearfully pondering what she had seen.

  Kregant II also waited for dawn. He had spent the night in the company of his mage, drinking and pacing about his tent. Guardsmen reported frequently with news of the battle’s progress. Their accounts were optimistic, but sketchy, for none of the king’s human troops had entered the town. They wouldn’t advance until sunrise. Thus, despite the encouraging reports, the king remained nervous.

  “Othar,” said the king. “The bones did say that we will win?”

  “Yes, sire,” replied the mage. Though he had lost count of how many times he had answered the same question, his voice didn’t betray his weariness of it.

  “And they say the town’s a rich prize?”

  “I saw gold, sire. The bones didn’t say how much.”

  “By Karm’s teeth, then what’s their use?”

  “They will repay their price,” said the sorcerer. “Many times over.”

  “They’d better,” said the king.

  “Are you unhappy with my counsel?” asked Othar in a low, even voice.

  “No,” said Kregant quickly, his face growing pale. “I…I only meant the treasury is bare. I need victories.”

  Othar’s withered lips formed what passed for a smile. “Wisdom is never cheap. You should be glad it only cost you gold.”

  “Maybe you should consult the bones again,” said the king. “I wish to know more about the great battle they foretell.”

  “I’ll need another child for that,” said the mage. “Perhaps, after the town is taken…”

  “There’s a branded girl in camp. I’ll have her fetched.”

  “Lads are best,” said the mage, wishing to postpone another session in the black tent. “Besides, the bones have already revealed much.”

  “So about the battle, the great one, I mean. Are you certain of its outcome?”

  Othar chose his words with care. “The bones say our ends will be achieved.” He was thankful when the king was appeased by that answer and resumed drinking. The mage found Kregant’s demand for certainty annoying. Necromancy was a subtle business, and the guidance it provided was seldom unambiguous. The entity behind the bones didn’t reveal everything. Moreover, Othar was aware that it had a bias toward bloodshed. The bones’ counsels often seemed excessive, but that never prevented him from promoting them.

  The sorcerer was more disturbed by something that had occurred recently. He had become conscious that a second entity struggled with the first. This struggle was apparent in the omens he received when he cast the bones. Something was muddling them, rendering their predictions more vague than usual and their guidance harder to interpret. Yet Othar remained convinced that his auguries were sound. If the details were unclear, the broad outlines were not. There would be a great battle. Thousands would be slaughtered. The bones said he would benefit, and that was sufficient for him.

  Kovok-mah was glad when the sun rose, for it meant the washavoki soldiers would arrive soon. Then he could leave and cleanse himself of the night’s deadly employment. It hadn’t been difficult work; the frightened washavokis upon the wall had been easy to kill and there were no orders to slay woe mans or small washavokis if they didn’t carry arms. Kovok-mah didn’t even kill the hairy-faced washavokis unless they tried to kill him. Others were less restrained—the fringe on Garga-tok’s cape would have many new ears—but for his part, Kovok-mah was tired of death.

  The soldiers’ entrance into the town was noisy. There were shouting and women’s screams accompanied by the crash and smash of looting. Kovok-mah was familiar with all those noises. Once the washavokis drank burning water, they would grow louder. Kovok-mah heard hoofbeats. A washavoki tolum rode down the cobbled street. He swayed slightly in the saddle, already betraying the effects of drink. The tolum stopped when he saw Kovok-mah, showed his dog’s teeth, and addressed him in broken Orcish. “Queen’s Man say ‘good, good.’ Sons keep promise. Happy queen. You go now.”

  Before Kovok-mah headed up the ridge, he walked into the river, still wearing death’s hard clothes. He stopped only when the water reached his neck. Then he stood motionless, so the blood could wash from the iron that wrapped his body. He stood that way for a long time, for he wanted not only the blood to be gone, but also the scent of blood and the odor of fear and pain that accompanied it.

  Glee spread through the camp with n
ews of victory. Dar and Twea climbed down from the tree at dawn to the sounds of cheering. When they reported to Neffa, she put them to work digging a fire pit. The digging was necessary because there had been no cooking the previous night. Instead, the women had served “battle porridge”—uncooked grain soaked in water.

  “Dig a long one,” Neffa told Dar. “There’ll be lots to cook today.”

  The other women showed up talking excitedly of delicacies that would come from the looted town and gifts the soldiers might bestow. The men disappeared, a sure sign that the orcs had vacated the town and it was ripe for plunder. Women drifted off to see what they could from the ridge. Every once in a while, one would run back with a bit of news: Livestock was being herded toward the camp. Buildings were ablaze. Bodies floated in the river.

  Late in the morning, the first soldiers returned, most of them drunk. Rumors arrived with them: A duke had been captured. No, it was a prince—King Feistav’s own son. There was a room filled with gold. The wine had been poisoned. The prince was, in fact, a princess, and soldiers had raped her. All the women would receive jewels.

  Neffa sent Dar to gather firewood after the pit was dug. Twea came with her without Neffa’s leave, but Dar didn’t worry that it would cause trouble. There was a general air of jubilation, and even Neffa had been infected. When Dar and Twea gathered enough wood to appear to be working, Dar went to find the orcs. She discovered they had set up their encampment on the far side of the orchard, more distant from the humans than usual. The upright branches that marked Muth la’s Embrace had been erected, along with shelters. These were arranged to form a wide circle, and in the center of the circle was a pile of wood. It was already large, and orcs were continuing to add to it. Close by, the bodies of their slain lay upon rolled-up shelters.

  Dar and Twea entered the Embrace, still carrying the firewood they had gathered. In contrast to the increasingly loud and raucous sounds coming from the human camp, the circle was quiet. Dar sensed the solemnity of the occasion. She walked to the pile of wood and added the branches she had gathered. Twea did the same. Then they began to search for Kovok-mah. Most of the orcs Dar encountered were strange to her; yet all seemed to recognize her. Over and over again, she heard a phrase being murmured as she passed, “muth velavash,” but she didn’t know what it meant.