[Queen of Orcs 01] - King's Property (6 page)

After Kol departed, Dar headed to the cooking site. Passing the women’s tent, she paused to peer inside. It was empty. Dar was tired after a troubled sleep, and the temptation to rest was irresistible. She slipped inside and lay down on the straw.
I’ve done everything I’ve been told. If Neffa wants me, she can find me.

Not long afterward, Neffa did just that and woke Dar with a kick. Dar avoided a second one only by springing to her feet. “Lazy sow!” yelled Neffa. “There’s no rest while the sun shines!”

Dar suppressed the urge to kick Neffa back. “What would you have me do?”

“Roast and pound grain,” said Neffa. “And when you’re done with that, I’ll give you other work. Next time I catch you napping, I’ll tell a murdant. He’ll have you whipped. Understand?”

“Yes,” said Dar.

Dar joined the women who were roasting and pounding the camp’s entire store of grain in preparation for the march. Loral was there, and she helped Dar get set up. Each kettle of grain took a long time to process, and even Dar’s work-hardened hands were blistered by the fifth batch. Dulled by the monotony of her work, she was caught off guard by the soldier. He seized her from behind, pinioning her arms. Then he lifted and swung her around. When Dar’s feet touched the ground again, she was facing Varf. Another soldier grabbed her ankles. Dar struggled to break free, but the two men held her fast.

“Hello, birdie,” said Varf. “Remember me?”

“Yes,” said Dar. Then, swallowing her pride, she added, “I’m sorry about this morning.”

“Not sorry enough.” said Varf. He scanned the fire pit and pulled out a large stick. Its tip smoldered. “That porridge burned.” Varf blew on the stick until its end glowed orange.

Dar glanced about frantically. The other women had stopped working. Their nervous stillness reminded Dar of fawns frozen by a hunter’s approach. Some nearby soldiers looked on, also. They appeared amused. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Give you something to remember me by,” replied Varf. He bent down and lifted the hem of Dar’s shift.

“I’m Kol’s woman!” blurted Dar.

Varf stopped. “What?”

“I’m Murdant Kol’s woman. He told me to say that.”

The soldier holding Dar’s arms eased his grip slightly. “Varf…” he said in a cautionary tone.

“She’s bluffing,” said Varf.

“What if she’s not?” asked the other soldier.

Varf stared into Dar’s eyes, then tossed the stick away. “Then I’d say she’s jumped from the pot to the fire.” He spit, hitting Dar’s foot. “Come on, men, the bitch learned her lesson.”

The soldiers released Dar and retreated with Varf. She stood alone, feeling only partly relieved, for the expressions of the women made her uneasy. Dar hadn’t planned to say that she was Kol’s woman, and she feared the words that had saved her would have other consequences. As she pondered her situation, the women gradually resumed their work until only Loral glared at her. “That didn’t take long,” she said in a cold tone.

“What do you mean?” asked Dar.

Loral turned away without answering.

Dar worked into the late afternoon surrounded by women, yet apart from them. Loral had ceased speaking to her, while the others had never started. Dar caught their surreptitious glances and sensed she was the subject of whispered conversations. Their behavior reminded Dar of her stepmother’s after learning her new husband had abused his daughter.
Thess blamed me, not him. These women are acting the same way.

As the afternoon wore on, the pace around the cooking tent picked up. Neffa ordered Dar to make porridge for the orcs and serve it to them as well. When the porridge was ready, Dar headed for the washing tent. There, she found Memni scrubbing off the grime from a day of lugging firewood. She looked exhausted, but smiled when she saw Dar. Dar smiled back, relieved she wasn’t ostracized by everyone. After Dar washed and dressed, she joined Memni outside. “I’ve got porridge duty again,” Memni said with a sigh. Then she grinned. “I hear you got a man!”

“Who told you that?”

“Everyone. Word travels fast.”

“It’s not what they think,” said Dar. “At least, I hope not.”

“Hurry,” shouted Neffa. “Don’t make the orcs wait.”

Dar and Memni slid a pole through the kettle’s handle, lifted it, and joined the women bearing food. They had nearly reached the circle of straw shelters when they heard a drunken voice shouting, “Stop! Stop, ya bitches!”

Dar turned to see a soldier staggering up the slope, his bowl in hand. His comrades warned him to come back, but they kept outside the circle of branches. Dar thought they seemed afraid to enter it. The soldier with the bowl ignored their calls. Instead, he kept stumbling toward Dar and Memni.

“Can’t ya hear me? Stop! Gimme some tuppin’ porridge.”

“You can’t have this,” said Memni. “It’s for…”

The soldier swung at Memni, but missed. Memni dropped her end of the pole, nearly causing the kettle to tip over when it hit the ground. “Don’t tell
me
what I can’t do,” said the soldier as he dipped his bowl into the steaming porridge.

Garga-tok appeared so quickly that Dar saw only a flash of movement before he gripped the soldier. The man gave a startled cry as he was lifted in the air and plunged headfirst into the kettle. What followed next was eerily quiet. The soldier’s upper torso disappeared into the porridge and the orc held him fast as he thrashed about. Whatever screams or pleas the man attempted were silenced by the hot, viscous grain. All the soldiers and women were too cowed to speak; moreover, Garga-tok seemed beyond entreaty. He held the soldier, without apparent effort, until the man went limp. Only then did Garga-tok lift the soldier from the porridge to toss his corpse beyond the circle of branches.

Garga-tok turned his yellow eyes on Dar. “Pot dirty.” He kicked the kettle, sending it rolling down the slope. “Make more.”

Dar and Memni hurried to obey, glad to flee the murderer. Only when Garga-tok departed did the bystanders begin to talk. Most of the voices were hushed, but Dar heard one soldier laugh. “I always said drink would kill him.”

The other women were asleep by the time Dar and Memni had more porridge. The moon had yet to rise, and the two women needed torches to light their way to the orcs who sat immobile in the dark. Dar called out the words Neffa had instructed her to say. “Saf nak ur Muthz la.”

The night thundered with the orcs’ response. “Shashav Muth la.”

Torch in hand, Dar hurried to serve the orcs, reciting the words she had learned the previous evening. All the orcs received their food in silence until she came to one whose eyes reflected green in the torchlight. After she recited the phrase, he said, “Tava, Dargu.”

Dar froze.

“Tava, Dargu.”

It occurred to Dar that “Tava” might be a form of greeting, so she repeated it. “Tava.”

The orc curled back his lips. “Theef maz nak Kovok-mah.”

Dar stared at him, puzzled by his behavior. When she headed toward the kettle to refill her ladle, the orc said, “Vata, Dargu.”

As Dar walked away she said “Vata” and heard the orc hiss.

Dar and Memni were tired and hungry, but they had to change out of their robes, wash them, and scrub the pot. Faus was absent, and dinner for both women consisted of scrapings from the kettle. As they ate, Dar asked Memni, “Do orcs ever speak to you when you serve them?”

“Never.”

“One does to me,” said Dar. “Always the same one. He’s tall with greenish eyes.”

“Does he wear a short cape?”

“Yes.”

“Then, he’s sort of like a murdant. The soldiers call him Kovok-something.”

“Kovok-mah,” said Dar. “So
that’s
what he said. He told me his name. I wonder why.”

“I’ve no idea,” said Memni, “but I’d avoid him. He’s the one that killed a man with one blow. All orcs are dangerous and quick to anger. Remember what happened to that soldier tonight.”

Dar shuddered at the thought. “Let’s not talk about it.”

“Tell me about Murdant Kol, instead,” said Memni. “How’d you snag him so fast?”

“I didn’t do anything, I swear by Karm’s holy name.”

“Didn’t Kol say you were his?”

“Yes, but…”

“Then you are. Don’t worry.”

“I can’t help but worry. I don’t even know the man.”

“All you need to know is that he’s the high murdant. The Queen’s Man and his officers give the orders, but the murdants run things, and Kol runs the murdants. He can have any girl he chooses.”

Dar felt a chill in the pit of her stomach. “And I have no say in the matter?”

Memni gave Dar a puzzled look. “What’s the problem? I’m happy for you.”

“Loral didn’t seem happy.”

“Well, that’s to be expected. It’s
his
baby she’s carrying.”

“Kol’s baby?” said Dar, her chill deepening.

“What does that matter? It’s
you
he wants now.”

Seven

Dar’s father was sitting on her straw bed in the dark hut, his fingers softly traveling up and down her arm. Then his hand strayed elsewhere. Although they were alone, he spoke in a husky whisper. “Move over, honey. Let me lie beside you.”

Dar woke with a start, her heart pounding. The dream of her father evoked thoughts of Murdant Kol. Sleeping women surrounded her, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the murdant was near. Dar envisioned him touching her, and dread prevented further sleep. She lay awake until Neffa called the women forth. At the cooking site, Dar made porridge for the soldiers and served it to them. This morning, the men made no crude remarks and kept their hands to themselves. Apparently, they knew she was taken.

After the morning meal, Dar went to retrieve the pelts and heard orcs in the river. Fearful that they might have dislodged the soaking pelts, she rushed into the water. Dar was relieved to see the orcs were bathing upstream and the pelts were where she had left them. She examined one and found it properly softened, though silt had lodged in the fur. While she rinsed it out, an orc swam closer. He stopped and stood chest-deep in the water a few paces away.

Dar recognized his green-gold eyes. Though nervous, she thought it prudent to acknowledge him. “Tava, Kovok-mah.”

The orc curled back his lips. “Tava, Dargu.”

Dar had an ear for language, and having guessed the orcish word for “name,” she replied, “My theef is Dar.”

The curl of Kovok-mah’s lips became more pronounced. “Theef nak Dargu.”

“Dar.”

“Thwa,” said Kovok-mah. “No.”

“Yes,” replied Dar. “Hai.”

“Dargu nak theef turpa ala ga.”

“You said that before. What does it mean?”

“Dargu is proper name for you.”

“Why? What does ‘Dargu’ mean?”

“Dargu is small animal. It hunts. Fur is brown in summer, white in winter.”

“A
weasel
!” said Dar. She pretended to be insulted and made a show of scowling.

When Kovok-mah saw Dar’s expression, he hissed, then said, “Dargu is small, but fierce.”

The comment encouraged Dar to quip, “Especially when wet.” The orc hissed again, and it occurred to Dar that he might be laughing. That gave her the courage to ask about what troubled her. “Why did Garga-tok kill that soldier?”

“He was angry because washavoki stole from Muth la.”

Dar recognized the name. “Who is Muth la?”

Kovok-mah shook his head. “Washavokis understand nothing.”

“How can I understand if you won’t tell me?”

“Muth means ‘mother.’ Muth la is…” Kovok-mah paused, trying to think of the proper human word. “One Mother.”

Dar shot him a puzzled look. “So the soldier stole from Garga-tok’s mother?”

“Thwa. Muth la is mother of everything—world, stars, trees, animals, urkzimmuthi, even washavokis.”

“So she’s a goddess, like Karm,” said Dar. “An orc goddess.”

“I do not understand ‘goddess.’ Muth la is Muth la.”

“And the food belongs to her?”

“Hai. When you say ‘Muth la urat tha saf la,’ you say ‘One Mother gives you this food.’ Washavoki soldier stole from Muth la.”

To Dar, it seemed a poor reason to kill a man. “
I
made that food,” she said. “That soldier only took it from me.”

“You are muth,” replied the orc.

Before Dar could respond to this cryptic remark, an orc called to Kovok-mah in Orcish. Kovok-mah replied in the same tongue, and the two briefly shouted back and forth. Dar thought their words sounded angry, but she knew too little about orcs to be certain. Then, without another word to Dar, Kovok-mah swam off.

Dar finished rinsing the pelts and went to the Queen’s Man’s compound to scrape them. The camp bustled with preparations for the march, and even the soldiers were busy loading wagons, slaughtering livestock, and sharpening their weapons. As usual, the women worked harder, and Dar thought it wise to pick up her pace as she walked.

The cooks were packing when Dar borrowed a knife, spread the pelts on the ground, and set to work. She was nearly finished when Murdant Kol strode by. He stopped when he noticed her. Despite wishing to appear calm, Dar tensed as he approached.

“How’s my woman doing?” asked Kol, smiling slightly when Dar flushed red.