[Queen of Orcs 02] - Clan Daughter (3 page)

“Help me, Kovok-mah,” Dar said. “You must be my eyes and nose. I seek place where washavokis cannot see us, somewhere they seldom come.”

“I understand.”

When they reached the edge of the trees, Dar asked Kovok-mah what he thought. Kovok-mah paused to look about and sniff. “There is road through trees. I smell newly cut wood. Washavokis visit frequently. Their scent is fresh and strong.”

Dawn was approaching, and Dar glanced about with a growing sense of desperation. A thicket of brush caught her eye. She headed toward it, and the orcs followed. Closer up, Dar recognized the arching, thorny canes and dense foliage of wild blackberries. Their berries would still be green, so there was no reason for anyone to brave their thorns.

“We’ll be safe in there,” said Dar, pointing to the thicket. “If washavokis come nearby, they won’t see us.”

“What if they do?” asked Duth-tok.

“Be still, and they won’t,” replied Dar.

“You haven’t answered his question,” said Zna-yat.

“Any that see us must die,” answered Dar. “Yet, once we begin to kill, I fear washavokis will swarm like ants until we’re destroyed.”

“Dargu speaks wisdom,” said Kovok-mah. “It was that way in battle.”

The orcs motioned their agreement, even Zna-yat.

When Dar sensed the matter was settled, she began to gingerly pick her way toward the center of the thicket. Despite her care, there was no avoiding the thorns. They stabbed her bare feet, raked her arms and legs, and snagged her shift.

“Stop,” said Kovok-mah.

“Why?” asked Dar.

Kovok-mah said nothing, but strode into the brambles and lifted Dar high above them. Then he made his way to the middle of the thicket and cleared an area with his sandaled feet before setting Dar down.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she said.

“I smelled pain,” said Kovok-mah.

The other orcs followed Kovok-mah into the brambles, as seemingly unbothered by the thorns as he. Once they reached the center, they enlarged the cleared space and sat down. The surrounding foliage rose several feet above their heads and screened any view of the woods and meadow. Almost immediately, they closed their eyes and drifted off to sleep. While Dar looked for a spot to sleep also, Kovok-mah removed his cloak and folded it to cushion his broad lap. “Rest here,” he said, patting the cloak. “There are no thorns where Little Bird slept.”

Dar gave him a dubious look. “I’m bigger than Little Bird.”

“Not so much bigger.”

Dar stepped back and winced as a thorn entered her heel. When she tried to pull it out, she lost her balance and tumbled onto Kovok-mah’s lap.

“Is this not better than lying upon thorns and dirt?” asked Kovok-mah.

“There’s not enough room to sleep.”

“If you sit properly there is,” said Kovok-mah. He grabbed Dar’s waist and easily lifted and turned her so she was sitting with her back against his chest.

“I’ve never slept sitting up,” said Dar. “I’ll fall on my face.”

“I’ll hold you so you won’t,” said Kovok-mah. He wrapped his massive arms about Dar, supporting her torso and providing a place for her to rest her head.

At first, Dar didn’t know how to react. If a man had attempted a similar embrace, Dar would have fought free. Yet Kovok-mah’s touch felt different. It stirred within Dar childhood memories of being cradled in her mother’s arms. She relaxed, and a sleepy calmness stole over her.

“You led us well,” said Kovok-mah, his voice so low that it seemed a murmur. “I will watch while you sleep.”

Dar closed her eyes, but the scrapes from the thorns still stung. “What does pain smell like?” she asked.

“Somewhat throk, but mulfi.”

“I have no idea what you said.”

“Throk is strong smell after fire strikes from sky. Mulf is scent of black muck by river.”

Dar tried to imagine the combination. “Ugh! Are you sure you want me on your lap?”

Kovok-mah hissed softly, shaking slightly as he laughed. “Scents that reveal feelings are not thought as pleasing or unpleasing.”

“So pain doesn’t stink?”

“Thwa,” said Kovok-mah.

“What else does my scent reveal?”

“That you’re brave.”

“You can smell bravery?”

“Thwa,” replied Kovok-mah, “but I can smell fear. It hasn’t stopped you. That is brave.”

“I’m not brave,” said Dar. “Bravery is lacking fear.”

“If that were true, only fools would be brave. You’ve chosen dangerous path and are wise to be afraid.”

“Are you afraid, also?”

“I’m not foolish.”

“But I thought urkzimmuthi were fearless.”

Kovok-mah hissed again. “That’s because you smell poorly.”

Dar slept dreamlessly until the sound of voices woke her. She glanced at the sun. It was still morning. Dar looked about. All she saw were motionless orcs and sunlit leaves. Wrapped in Kovok-mah’s arms, she couldn’t see if he was awake, though she suspected that he was. The other orcs were. Varz-hak regarded her with a questioning expression. Dar made the sign for “silence.”

The voices grew louder until Dar could catch a few words. It seemed that two women were gathering wood and chatting as they worked. Dar struggled to remain calm as the voices sounded ever nearer. Kovok-mah slowly moved his arm to grip his sword. Close by, a twig snapped. Her heart pounding, Dar waited for some clue that they had been spotted. None came. The voices slowly grew fainter as the invisible women departed. Dar relaxed and Kovok-mah released his sword hilt.

Eventually, Dar dozed off only to be awakened again by the sound of more people. She tensely waited for them to depart, but they were joined by others. The wood lot, it proved, was a busy place, and the noise of people coming and going continued throughout the day. Once, a child approached their hiding place so closely that Dar could hear each little footstep in the grass. They seemed only a few paces away. The sounds of activity died down only as sunset approached. By then, keeping still had become exquisite torture. Dar ached all over, and hunger pangs churned her empty stomach.

When darkness finally came, Dar and the orcs left their thorny refuge. Clouds obscured the moon, and the night was darker than the previous one. Dar still led the way, but she relied on Kovok-mah’s keen senses in selecting the course. They had frequent whispered consultations, and as the night progressed, Kovok-mah became more adept at finding the stealthiest route. Dar smiled with approval when he skirted a peasant’s hut that was still invisible to her. “You’re becoming wolf.”

Kovok-mah returned Dar’s smile, displaying teeth that had faded to nearly white. “I already have wolf’s teeth.”

Dar immediately wished she had washuthahi seeds to keep her teeth black. “Are my teeth still pretty?” she asked, hoping they were not the same shade as Kovok-mah’s.

“Thwa,” replied Kovok-mah.

Dar sighed, knowing the word “washavoki” referred to a dog’s white teeth.

Kovok-mah understood the cause of Dar’s sigh. “You have urkzimmuthi chest,” he said. “That is more important than teeth.”

Dar and the orcs spent the following day hiding in the dank cellar of a ruined house. There was no food to share and hunger sapped even the orcs’ energy. Everyone slumbered until nightfall. Dar awoke, sad from dreaming of Twea and still feeling tired. It was overcast and little moonlight penetrated the clouds. When they began their march, it was so dark that Dar decided to stop slinking about hedgerow pathways and risk traveling on the road. It headed directly northward, and she had confidence that the orcs’ keen eyes would spot any humans long before the humans spotted them.

Once on the road, the travelers made better progress, though hunger slowed their pace. They passed fields filled with sprouts and orchards laden with tiny green fruit, but saw nothing fit to eat. Occasionally, they encountered an isolated hut or two. They left the road to avoid those. The travelers were making such a detour when Dar halted. “Kovok-mah,” she said, “come with me.”

They had been walking through a grove that bordered one side of a peasant holding. Dar led Kovok-mah to the edge of the woods so he could gaze across the fields at the hut. “Look around that hut,” said Dar. “Do you see…” She paused, trying to think of the Orcish word for “root house.” When she couldn’t, Dar started over. “I’m looking for house dug into ground—mound of earth with door. Washavokis keep food there.”

Kovok-mah gazed into the dark. “I see mound with door.” He pointed.

Dar looked where Kovok-mah indicated, but she could barely make out the peasant’s hut in the gloom. “I can’t see it,” she said. “Describe where it is.”

“I’ll lead you there.”

“Thwa,” said Dar. “You must not be seen.”

Kovok-mah noted that the scent of Dar’s fear had grown stronger. “What are you planning to do?”

“We need food. I’m going to get some.”

“Why does that make you afraid?”

Dar didn’t know the Orcish word for “stealing” or even if the orcs understood the concept. Thus, it took a while for her to explain what she intended to do. When she was finished, Kovok-mah looked concerned. “You say washavokis often do this thing?”

“Hai,” said Dar. “If I’m caught, no alarm will go out. No one will track you down.”

“Yet you’ll be punished,” said Kovok-mah.

“Hai.”

“What will happen?”

“I don’t know,” replied Dar, refraining from saying that thieves were often killed or mutilated.

Kovok-mah smelled her apprehension. “This seems very dangerous.”

“We haven’t eaten for two days. We need food. I see no other choice.”

“Please don’t go,” said Kovok-mah. “My chest is strong in this.”

“I must. Now, tell me where mound lies.”

After Dar got directions, she warily crept toward the hut. Eventually, she could make out a hump in the ground behind it. When she was in the regiment, she had often encountered such structures on the farms the soldiers plundered. Root houses were stone-lined pits that were roofed over with sod to provide a cool, dry place for storing fruits and vegetables.

When Dar reached the root house, she paused and listened for sounds indicating that she had been detected. When she heard none, she slowly opened its slanting door, fearful that it might creak and betray her presence. The opening was so black that Dar had to find the ladder by feel. After glancing nervously around, she climbed down.

When Dar’s feet touched the dirt floor, she could see nothing except a square of night sky above. She shuffled away from the ladder, waving her arms about in cool air that smelled of earth and vegetables on the verge of spoiling. She touched a basket, and her fingers examined its contents. The rough and wrinkled texture of the tubers inside revealed them as tabuc, a root that must be cooked to be edible. Dar continued her search. The next basket smelled vinegary and contained apples. They felt soft and spongy and many were rotten. Dar stuffed a few of the sounder ones into her knapsack.

The next basket was the real prize. Dar recognized its contents on first touch, for goldenroot was a highland staple. It was filling and could be eaten raw. As Dar began to empty the basket, she pondered how much to take. Stuffing her sack would make it more likely that her theft would be noticed, but it would also postpone the need to steal again. Dar decided to risk taking as much as she could.

When the knapsack was filled, Dar lifted it onto her back and hurriedly ascended the ladder. After closing the door behind her, she would have run if she hadn’t feared stumbling in the dark. When Dar reached the waiting orcs, she felt waves of exultation and relief. “We must flee,” she said. “Come morning, washavokis will look for me.”

Four

As dawn approached, Kovok-mah smelled standing water and guided Dar to a swampy spot between two hills. Dar waded into black, shallow water that was choked with reeds. Eventually, she found a spot of ground that was barely above water and called to the orcs to join her. They arrived and marked the Embrace of Muth la by pushing reeds into the wet earth. Dar squatted within the hallowed space, and the orcs joined her. She opened her knapsack. “Food is Muth la’s gift.”

“Shashav, Muth la,” replied the orcs.

Dar handed out round, tawny goldenroots and wrinkled apples. Each time she said “Muth la gives you this food,” Dar felt grateful to the Mother of All for providing her the strength to do what was necessary. The roots and apples were past their prime but hunger lent them savor. Dar relished every bite, oblivious of the mosquitoes and mucky ground.

When the meal was finished, Kovok-mah sat down and folded his cloak upon his lap. “Dargu, ground is too wet for you to lie upon.”

Dar hesitated, wondering how it would look to the others. Meanwhile, her feet sank deeper into the sodden earth. Dar chose comfort over appearance and climbed upon the folded cloak. She assumed the cross-legged orcish sleeping posture, and leaned her back against Kovok-mah, who gently wrapped his arms about her. As Dar relaxed, she glimpsed Zna-yat. He quickly looked away, but not before Dar caught his disgusted expression.

I risked my life to get him food
, Dar thought.
Why does he begrudge me comfort?
Zna-yat’s look made Dar recall his veiled threats—threats she had brushed aside during the past two days. It reminded her that she still had cause to worry, and sleep came slowly despite her exhaustion and full belly.