[Queen of Orcs 01] - King's Property

by Morgan Howell

  “Yes,” said Kol. “You’d think at least they’d pretend to flee.”

  “Don’t make no difference to piss eyes,” said Teeg. He gazed at the bright moon high in the sky. “That will bother them, though. They’d have a better chance in the dark.”

  “Light or dark, they’ve no chance at all,” said Kol. “The scouts reckon there are six thousand in the hills.”

  “It’ll be bloody work,” said Teeg. “How fine to watch it from here.”

  Kol tied Thunder’s reins to one of the tree’s lower branches, then joined Teeg to view the night unfold. By then, Dar realized that those around the tree were the favored few who had been warned of the upcoming danger. They wouldn’t be going anywhere soon. She considered climbing down the tree, jumping on Thunder, and galloping off to get Twea. Having no experience riding, Dar realized that the idea was more a measure of her desperation than a practical plan. She rejected it. The terrible truth was that she was stuck, unable to reach Twea. Throwing her life away wouldn’t help the girl. All Dar could do was wait and hope events would turn in her favor.

  The night grew as dark as it was going to get. A damp chill came to the still air and mist rose from the stream in the valley. The orcs were easily seen in the bright moonlight, as was the baggage train, a hundred paces behind them. Dar could even discern that it was mostly women who remained with the halted wagons. Men on horses shouted orders, and the orcs began to silently advance. Careful to be quiet, Dar climbed higher for a better view.

  Thirty-eight

  From her perch high in the tree, Dar watched strategy dissolve into chaos. The battle began in an orderly enough manner. The orcs advanced to where the campfires burned. As they did, the mist rose until it appeared as if they were wading through water. Upon some signal Dar couldn’t hear, they charged. The campfires were quickly extinguished. This, it turned out, was also a signal. Shouts reverberated from the wooded hilltops and men boiled out from them like angry ants from agitated nests. Their bodies blackened the slopes as they charged down them, the moonlight sparkling off the bare steel of their blades.

  The battle was joined and the night quickly filled with the sounds of slaughter. Dar couldn’t distinguish between man and orc in the writhing mass. The horrific deeds performed there were too far away to see; yet Dar felt them in her heart. Only fear of discovery kept her from sobbing. The fighting went on and on. Dar lost all sense of time, and for a long while she had little idea how the battle went. Eventually, the dark mass of fighters began to move toward the baggage train, slowly at first, then ever more rapidly. Are the orcs retreating? Dar wondered. Have they been overwhelmed?

  The sounds of combat grew louder. At first, Dar thought it was because the fighting in the valley was closer. Then she realized that most of the sounds were coming from a new direction. The soldiers about the tree sensed it, too. They turned their attention from the valley to the slopes above them. Murdant Kol sent a man to investigate. He climbed the rest of the way up the hill and disappeared into the trees. He reappeared a few minutes later, running and shouting. “Retreat! Retreat! Kregant’s been surprised!”

  The soldier sped down the hill and probably would have continued running if Murdant Kol hadn’t blocked his way. The man was still more afraid of Kol than the enemy, and he babbled a quick account of what he had seen. High in the tree, Dar could hear little of it, but the panic in the soldier’s voice was unmistakable. Other soldiers began to emerge from the trees. They, also, were from Kregant’s army. One of them was a tolum from a foot regiment. “Fall back!” he yelled. “Regroup at the valley entrance.”

  Murdant Kol mounted Thunder and drew his sword. “Follow me!” he shouted.

  Kol led the soldiers down the slope, and the frightened women joined them. When they reached the valley floor, they were engulfed by mist and became vague, fading shapes. Soon they disappeared altogether. The valley was filled with the noise of combat, but the mist obscured it. Trees hid the fighting on the hilltops. Dar was surrounded by death, but it was invisible, which made it all the more terrifying.

  At long last, the sounds of fighting became distant, leaving only disembodied voices in its wake. Moans, screams, and sobs filled the night, their din softening as the sufferers died, one by one. After the valley grew quiet, Dar climbed down from the tree. The night was old and the moon was near the horizon when she descended the slope into the mist and walked toward the baggage train, fearful of what she would find.

  The damp air smelled of blood and Dar walked only a short way before she encountered the first corpse. A man stared at the sky, his gore-covered face frozen in a grimace. Dar quickly looked away, but soon it was impossible to walk without stepping over the dead. They were everywhere, both men and orcs. Dar looked at each orc’s face, afraid he might be Kovok-mah.

  Thus Dar made her gruesome way to the baggage train. There she found her first dead woman, still clutching her weapon—a serving spoon. The scene about her looked like the aftermath of a storm. Wreckage extended in all directions until it was hidden by the mist. Slain oxen lay among piled corpses and ruined wagons. Most of the wagons were overturned, their contents smashed and scattered.

  Dar continued to stumble though the mist and discovered a miracle. The wagon where she had hidden Twea was intact. It stood out in the devastation like a piece of unbroken pottery in a ransacked house. Dar rushed toward it, her heart pounding with anticipation.

  The wagon appeared just as Dar had left it. As she approached, she spied a figure standing by its rear. The figure was a woman. The mist obscured her features, so Dar was quite near before she recognized her. It was Taren. Arrows protruded from her chest, pinning her to the wooden wagon. Taren still gripped a bloody knife, and three dead soldiers lay at her feet. Dar gazed at her with sorrowful gratitude. “You gave your life for Twea.” Only the jutting arrows prevented her from embracing the dead woman.

  Dar stepped over the soldiers’ corpses to peer into the wagon. Through a force of will, she turned her thoughts from everything but hope. Dar looked about. A small bare foot protruded from the cover. “Twea, it’s time to go.”

  Stillness.

  Dar didn’t move, so she might prolong the possibility that the girl was only sleeping. “Twea, get up. You can rest later.”

  Reluctantly, Dar shook the foot. She already knew it would be cold; yet that didn’t lessen the shock. Dar lifted the cover. Twea returned Dar’s gaze with a look of terrified surprise. Her eyes were wide. Her parted lips seemed gasping. Blood darkened the front of her shift.

  Ever since her vision of Twea’s spirit on the Dark Path, Dar had foreboded the girl’s death. Yet foreknowledge didn’t lessen her pain. Grief hit her like a sudden blow. Dar felt her chest would burst. She arched back to scream her agony, and the scream became a long wail that echoed through the valley. When Dar had spent her breath, but not her sorrow, she lifted Twea from the wagon and carried her into the night with no idea where she was headed. Dar stopped walking only when the body of a slain orc blocked her path. It was Thomak-tok, who used to make Dar laugh with his quips about the porridge. Washavokis killed him, just as they killed Twea.

  With cruel symmetry, men had killed both the one Dar protected and the ones who protected Dar. She was left stranded among the dead, unsure which army was the greater threat. As Dar thought how men had so thoroughly shattered her life, grief gave way to rage. She felt cornered, and like a cornered animal, she could only lash out. In her pain, Dar craved a chance to strike back. Only vengeance offered solace—vengeance for Twea’s death, for her abuse, and for all men’s injustices. Men are filth. Dog’s teeth. Washavokis.

  Dar gently set Twea down. Then she pried Thomak-tok’s broadsword from his fingers. Standing protectively over Twea’s body, Dar screamed defiance into the night. “Kusk washavoki!” Washavoki filth! “Come and die! Die! Die! Kusk washavoki!”

  The broadsword was heavy, and Dar needed both hands to swing it. Most likely she would manage only a single blow. Dar didn’t
care. The sword’s weight and size matched her fury. There was no reason to live and there were many reasons to die. They have to come! Stragglers. Looters. Anyone. Dar’s only desire was that her challenge would be met. It didn’t matter if King Feistav’s or King Kregant’s men came forth, she would gladly slaughter either.

  Dar’s arms felt leaden and her voice was raw when she finally heard the sounds of movement in the mist. She blinked the tears from her eyes, raised the sword to strike, and hoarsely shouted, “Thayav kusk washavoki!” Die washavoki filth!

  Five shadowy forms appeared.

  Dar prepared for death. “Mer nav su, kusk washavoki!” I am here, washavoki filth!

  A voice called out. “Dargu? Lat ther?” Dargu? You live?

  For a moment Dar thought the dead had spoken. Then she saw it wasn’t so. Her rage lessened. The sword wavered in her hands, then lowered. “Hai,” she said in a low voice. “Mer lav.” I live.

  Kovok-mah hurried toward her, his lips curled back in a broad smile. “Dargu nak gaz.” Dargu is fierce. He froze when he saw Twea’s body.

  Dar said in Orcish, “Washavokis killed Little Bird.”

  Kovok-mah responded by making a low, keening sound deep in his throat. Dar had never heard it before, but its anguish was unmistakable. The other orcs joined his side. All were from Kovok-mah’s shieldron. Dar knew three by name, but not well. They were Duth-tok, Lama-tok, and Varz-hak. The fourth was Zna-yat.

  Dar spoke to them in Orcish. “I hate washavokis for this.”

  Duth-tok and Lama-tok gestured their agreement.

  Kovok-mah stopped making the noise and said, “We’ll honor Little Bird before we join soldiers.”

  Dar looked at Kovok-mah as if she couldn’t believe what she had heard.

  “Come, Dargu,” said Kovok-mah with a gentle voice. “Little Bird should go to Muth la properly.”

  “How can you honor Little Bird,” said Dar, “then join washavoki soldiers?”

  “We must join them,” said Kovok-mah.

  “Thwa,” said Dar. “It makes no sense!”

  “Queen made promise.”

  “I don’t care,” replied Dar. “You cannot go.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you care,” said Zna-yat. “I see no cape upon your shoulders.”

  “Sons give capes, but Muth la gives wisdom,” said Dar. “She gave me visions to show washavoki king should not be obeyed.”

  “You, too, are washavoki,” said Zna-yat.

  “Yet I speak for Muth la,” replied Dar. “Queen is far away, but Muth la is everywhere. She wants no more sons to die for washavokis.”

  “Are we to die for you?” asked Zna-yat. “It would be same thing.”

  “I only know that Muth la speaks to me,” said Dar. “Am I not called Muth velavash? Those words came from Muth la.”

  The orcs exchanged glances. Then Duth-tok spoke up. “Dargu blessed me, and I live.”

  “I was blessed,” said Varz-hak.

  “I, too,” said Lama-tok.

  “I was not,” said Zna-yat. “Yet, I’m here.”

  “Hai,” said Dar. “You’re here. What will you do now?”

  Zna-yat hesitated for a moment. “I won’t listen to you.”

  “Do you love washavoki king so much that you would die for him?” asked Dar. “Muth la wants you to live. Why do you question that?”

  “I’m not listening,” said Zna-yat.

  “Then look around and see, instead,” said Dar. “Do king’s soldiers lie among dead? Did any soldiers aid you? Queen cannot see how king treats urkzimmuthi, but you can.”

  Zna-yat didn’t reply.

  “Who wants to live?” asked Dar.

  “I do,” said Varz-hak. “With foes so near, it’s safest to go with soldiers.”

  “Go home, instead,” said Dar.

  “How?” asked Lama-tok. “Washavokis surround us.”

  “Take paths washavokis don’t expect,” said Dar. “I can help you find them.”

  “What you say, Kovok-mah?” asked Varz-hak. “You’re wise in battles.”

  Zna-yat turned to Kovok-mah. “I live because of you,” he said, “not because of Dargu’s words. Speak, mother’s brother’s son, and I’ll heed your wisdom.”

  “I, too, will heed Kovok-mah,” said Lama-tok.

  Dar gazed at Kovok-mah also and said in the human tongue, “I wish to be with you, but I cannot return to soldiers.”

  All eyes fixed on Kovok-mah. He stood silently for a long while, struggling to resolve his mind.

  At last he spoke. “I’m not wise,” he said. “Dargu saw things I couldn’t understand. She warned me of battle, but I didn’t listen. Now few live. I’m unsure how we can get home, but this time I’ll listen to Dargu.” He bowed his head in Dar’s direction.

  Duth-tok, Lama-tok, and Varz-hak looked relieved as they bowed their heads toward Dar. Zna-yat’s face grew stony, and though he bowed, he bowed to Kovok-mah, not Dar.

  “Mother,” said Kovok-mah, “what should we do?”

  Hearing those words kindled a feeling within Dar that fought both rage and despair. It was a sense of worth. Dar took only a moment before answering Kovok-mah’s question. “Foolish washavokis say urkzimmuthi are dogs,” said Dar. “We’ll become wolves.”

  Dar’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight, fierce and triumphant. She had found a way to hurt the king and his army. She would help the orcs desert and, by deserting, live. Somehow, we’ll make it, she told herself. The orcs have the toughness and the strength, and I’ll provide the guile.

  Thirty-nine

  The dead made Skymere skittish, so Sevren dismounted rather than ride among corpses. He led his horse to a tree and tied him to it before entering the battleground on foot. Valamar did the same. “Sevren, this is foolhardy,” he said, “and pointless, too.”

  “I made the oath, na you,” replied Sevren. “You did na have to come.”

  “Feistav’s men may be about. Someone has to watch your back.”

  “A skill, apparently, you think I’ve lost.”

  “Well, you’ve lost your wits, I know that. The girl’s dead, and if Kregant learns we’ve come here, our backs will pay for it.”

  “That coward’s too busy fleeing to count his guard,” said Sevren.

  “The king has cooler heads to do it for him.”

  “Kregant’s lost too many men to lose two more through flogging. I’ll keep my oath and take my chances. If Dar or Twea live, they’ll na be left behind.”

  Valamar held his tongue and followed his friend. The fighting was only two days past, but the air in the valley was already putrid. The dismal scene before him didn’t inspire hope, and Valamar, a seasoned warrior, knew what Sevren would almost certainly find. That Sevren, an equally experienced soldier, would think differently caused him concern. Women make men reckless, thought Valamar, even dead women.

  The grim walk up the valley told a tale in piecemeal fashion, and the two men had to travel the battleground twice before they learned the gist of it. The orcs had carried the brunt of the fighting, and almost all of them had lost their lives. Most died in the ambush, but one shieldron counterattacked and apparently fought its way into the hills. Sevren thought they must have rejoined the surviving orcs when they retreated down the valley. The retreat was orderly, for all of the dead orcs appeared to have died while fighting, not fleeing, the enemy.

  Only a few of Kregant’s human soldiers were found among the slaughtered women at the baggage train. Sevren searched there for a long time, but found no trace of Twea or Dar. Most of Kregant’s men had died in the hills or at the valley’s entrance, where they made a stand against the troops that had surprised them. The orcs that survived the ambush helped Kregant’s men fight that battle to a bloody draw. When dawn came, both armies were too exhausted and mangled to fight further. Kregant had lost half of his foot soldiers, a quarter of his cavalry, and almost all of his orcs. Judging from the battlefield, Kregant’s foes also had paid a heavy price, for the orcs had fought
valiantly for the king who had betrayed them.

  With the fighting over, King Kregant’s army was in retreat, and Valamar was anxious to rejoin them. With that in mind, he and Sevren separated to speed their search. As Valamar climbed a hillside, he had conflicting hopes. Part of him wished to find Dar’s and Twea’s bodies so they could leave. Yet another part worried what Sevren would do when he discovered Dar was dead. If Sevren chose to avenge Dar’s death, even Kregant had cause to fear. Valamar wondered what course he should take if Sevren turned against the king. Would he honor his oath as a guardsman or side with his friend?

  Valamar was still pondering this question when he discovered Twea’s body beneath a tall dead spruce. He called to Sevren, who rushed over to find his friend standing outside a circle marked by twigs pushed into the ground. The girl lay in its center with a bunch of wilted flowers upon her thin chest. “Someone placed her here,” said Valamar, “and marked the spot.”

  “Aye,” said Sevren, wiping his eyes. “Someone who cared for her.”

  “Dar?”

  “That circle’s an orcish sign,” said Sevren, “and they like to place their dead beneath trees.”

  “Orcs leave their dead unclothed and unadorned,” said Valamar. “This girl’s dressed, and there are flowers.”

  Sevren’s face lit up. “Dar lives! She’s with the orcs!”

  “We looked among the orcs before we left,” said Valamar. “She wasn’t with them.”

  “What if the orcs that fought into the hills did na join the retreat? Mayhap they joined with Dar instead. Twea’s resting place shows both human and orcish ways.”

  “If that’s true, where are they now?”

  “Far from here, most like,” said Sevren, the gladness leaving his face as he realized he would never see Dar again.

  “May Karm watch over her,” said Valamar. “Should we bury Twea?”

  “Nay,” said Sevren. “She was left this way by those who cared for her most.”

  “An orc caring for a human child? I find that hard to believe.”