[Queen of Orcs 01] - King's Property (30 page)

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 news 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.

Dar finally spied Kovok-mah carrying a load of branches to the pile. She waited until he dropped them before she approached. To her relief, Kovok-mah appeared uninjured. When he saw her, he smiled sadly as he gestured toward the human camp. “Washavokis are happy,” he said in Orcish.

“This mother is not happy.”

“Because you are not cruel.”

“Kovy!” said Twea. “I slept in a tree!”

Kovok-mah smiled, this time without sadness. “Tree is good place for bird.”

“But not for Little Bird,” said Twea. “It was hard and scratchy.”

“For Little Bird, lap is better nest,” said Kovok-mah.

“What will urkzimmuthi do now?” asked Dar.

“We will rest,” said Kovok-mah.

“May we rest with you awhile?” asked Dar. “I did not sleep last night.”

“Dar was crying,” said Twea.

“What is crying?” asked Kovok-mah.

“Sound washavokis make when they are sad,” said Dar.

“Hai,” said Kovok-mah. “I have heard you make this sound. Were you sad for dead washavokis?”

“I had another vision,” said Dar. “Though I didn’t understand it, it made me cry.”

Kovok-mah regarded Dar with an enigmatic expression, then raised his hand in front of his chest to make the sign of Muth la. Dar knew he wouldn’t comment on her vision, so she changed the subject. “What does ‘muth velavash’ mean?”

“Mother who blesses,” said Kovok-mah. “All who you blessed still live.”

“When I said ‘May Muth la protect you,’ it was a wish, not a blessing.”

“Those were words for blessing,” said Kovok-mah. “Perhaps Muth la placed them in your chest.”

Thirty-five

Dar slept dreamlessly until she woke with a start. Kovok-mah slumbered, but Twea was gone. Dar quickly peered outside. The sun was low in the sky; she had overslept. Dar left the shelter and gazed about the Embrace. Twea was nowhere to be seen. Dar entered the shelter and shook Kovok-mah awake. “Where is Little Bird?”

Kovok-mah blinked sleepily. “Little Bird?”

“She’s gone. Do you know where she went?”

“Thwa.”

“Perhaps she’s getting ready to serve.”

“We will not eat this day, for slain join Muth la.”

“Then I’d better find her,” said Dar. She left the shelter and headed for the other camp. On the way, she grabbed a few sticks of firewood. The noise coming from the camp had grown to a dull roar, and Dar arrived upon a chaotic scene. Everyone was celebrating, and no one she encountered seemed sober. After days of short rations, food and drink were everywhere.

Dar made her way to the cooking pit. Her subterfuge with the firewood was unnecessary, for discipline seemed to have collapsed. No one was in charge. A small pig charred untended on a spit. A kettle smoked on the fire. The ground was littered with empty bottles, bread crusts, cheese rinds, and other half-eatentidbits. Yesterday the litter would have been considered a feast.

Few women were about. Those Dar saw seemed as drunk as the soldiers. Some sported new clothes. One woman stumbled by in a lady’s brocade dress, her lip swollen and bloody. Another staggered about naked.

Dar grabbed a bread crust from the dirt and ate it as she continued her search for Twea. Worried that the girl was in some soldier’s tent, she looked among them first. The flaps on many were either missing or open, so Dar could see the activities inside. Most of the participants were too intoxicated to care who saw them. When a tent’s flaps were closed, Dar parted them, peeked inside, and hurried on. As she moved from tent to tent, she grew more anxious. Drink had made the soldiers reckless as well as randy, and Dar feared that drunken men wouldn’t be deterred by Kovok-mah’s threat.

Dar heard Twea’s laugh. She froze and listened. She heard the laugh again. This time, she traced to its source. It was a tent. Its flap was closed. Dar rushed over and threw it open.

Twea sat on a bedroll beside a soldier, a large fleshy man whose jerkin was open to reveal a chest covered with curls of thick black hair. Twea held a bottle, and her face had a silly, vacant expression. The hem of her shift was pulled high up her thighs and the soldier was walking his fingers up her skinny legs, pretending they were a tiny man. Twea laughed at the game, but Dar knew where the fingers were headed. “Leave that girl alone!” she shouted. “An orc protects her.”

“Dar!” said Twea in a slurred voice. She started to get up, but the man pressed his hand against her thigh, forcing her to remain put.

The soldier regarded Dar. “I see no piss eye, and I don’t recall invitin’ ye.” He looked Dar over and smiled drunkenly. “But more’s merrier. I’m man enough for the both of ye.”

Dar smiled and entered the tent. “All right,” she said, “but big girls first.” She stepped over Twea’s legs so she stood between her and the soldier. Then she knelt down, forcing the two apart. “Girls with tits are more fun. Don’t you agree?”

The man flashed a stupid grin by way of reply. When he grabbed Dar’s breasts, she said, “Twea, get out.”

As Twea started to rise, the soldier yelled. “Hey! I didn’t say…”

The point of Dar’s dagger cut him short. Dar pressed it just hard enough against the base of his chin to dimple his flesh. Dar glanced toward Twea and saw that the girl was staring wide-eyed at the blade. “Move, Twea!” she shouted. “Close the flap and wait outside!”

After Twea stumbled out, Dar pushed slightly harder on the dagger, drawing some blood. “The orc’s not here,” she whispered, “so I’ll tell you what he said. It was ‘hurt her and die.’”

Terror turned the soldier sober. “I didn’t hurt her,” he said, his eyes pleading.

“I’m going to ensure you never do,” replied Dar, readying to plunge the dagger in.

The soldier whimpered and closed his eyes, and that pathetic gesture made Dar pause. She couldn’t bring herself to kill the man. She watched him tremble for a long moment, then withdrew the dagger. “The girl’s unharmed, so I’ll leave you be. Tomorrow, ask about. You’ll find I wasn’t bluffing about the orc.”

Dar left the tent and looked sternly at Twea, who wavered on unsteady feet. Twea’s wide-eyed stare remained. “You kill him?”

Dar sheathed her dagger. “No. What were you doing there?”

“He was nice,” said Twea.

“You’re drunk, and it’s made you stupid,” said Dar, grabbing Twea’s arm. “Come with me.”

Dar marched the staggering girl through the camp and orchard to Kovok-mah’s shelter, then pushed her inside it. The orc was absent, and Dar assumed it had something to do with ceremonies for the slain. “You stay there,” said Dar. “You got into enough trouble tonight.”

“Will you tell Kovy?”

“He’ll smell the drink on your breath, but I’ll keep mum about the man. You’d better, too.”

“Dar?”

“What?”

“I’m hungry.”

Dar sighed. “Didn’t you eat?”

“The man gave me some honeyed fruit. That’s all.”

“I’ll get you some bread. It’ll soak up the wine. But you stay here. Understand?”

Twea nodded, and Dar returned to camp to find some bread. The crusts and other scattered leavings had been further trampled, and she was hard-pressed to find anything suitable to eat. She was still searching when someone called her name. Dar turned and saw Sevren smiling at her. As far as she could tell, he was sober. “I’ve finally found you,” he said.

“You have,” replied Dar.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to find something for Twea to eat. We seemed to have missed the fun.”

“You sound like you do na approve.”

“Do you?”

“Soldiering’s a hard life. Men grab what pleasure they can.”

“Doesn’t this bother you?” asked Dar.

“Aye, but I can na change others’ natures. Come, I’ll take you to the royal compound. You need na pick your dinner off the ground.”

“Davot said people are flogged for taking the king’s food.”

“Our king is generous tonight. There’s bread aplenty.”

“So, he’s openhanded with others’ things. At least, those things that spoil.”

“I see you understand Our Majesty,” said Sevren. “Come. The food will na taste the worse for coming from him.”

Dar sighed. “A man once told me an empty belly’s a great cure for a conscience.”

“He must have been a soldier.”

Dar and Sevren walked to the royal compound, which seemed just as opulent as it had at base camp. An unhitched wagon was outside, and it held a considerable amount of bread. “You should have seen it when it first arrived,” said Sevren. “It was filled to overflowing with all manner of victuals.” He climbed onto the wagon’s bed and started sorting through the loaves. “It’s been picked over,” he said as he examined what was left. “Ah! They missed a prize.” He handed Dar a large loaf of soft, white bread that had fruit cooked in it. Dar’s mouth watered.

“I should take this back to Twea,” she said.

Sevren looked disappointed. “Before you do, I have something for you. I’ll get it.” Then he hurried off.

Dar listened to the sounds of carouse as she waited for Sevren’s return. She recalled the cries she had heard the previous night and thought how the pleasure about her had been bought with others’ pain and loss. She was still thinking this when Sevren arrived with a bundle of light brown cloth. He handed it to her. Dar unfolded it. It was a shift that looked nearly new. It was a simple garment, but its fabric was finely woven and well sewn. Sevren smiled broadly and stated the obvious. “It’s for you.”

Dar didn’t return his smile, and her voice was cool when she replied. “Where did you get this? What woman died so I might have it?”

The smile vanished from Sevren’s face. “Guardsmen do na loot. I got this from a wagon. It’s part of my pay.”

“A fine distinction,” said Dar. “How can I wear this and not think of another’s sorrow?”

“You do na know her fate, and na do I,” said Sevren. “It may be a sad one. Yet, if you were to burn this dress, it would na mend her life.”

Dar fingered the fabric. Nothing she had ever worn had been so soft. “I can’t take this.”

“Then your pride will leave you naked.”

“It’s not pride.”

“Is it na pride to believe you can change the world? We are na kings and queens. We must live as best we can and do what good is in our power. Wear this dress, and by your deeds requite another’s misfortune.”

Dar silently gazed at the garment in her hand, loath to let it go and feeling guilty that she wanted it. Her “good” shift, twice torn and twice mended, was becoming a rag. Her other shift already was.