[Queen of Orcs 01] - King's Property (24 page)

The sun rose and men began to arrive for their half ration of cold porridge. The other women appeared. Murdant Teeg arrived to assign work details. There was no sign of Sevren, and Dar feared he had raised her hopes falsely. Twea already had been assigned to gather wood when a stranger in blue and scarlet rode up. He was burly with a neatly trimmed blond beard. Halting his horse at the cooking site, he asked in a loud voice, “Who’s murdant here?”

“I am,” said Murdant Teeg.

“I need two women to work at the royal compound.”

“Memni!” shouted Teeg. “Tasha!”

“
I’ll
choose the women,” said the man. He peered about and pointed at Twea. “I’ll have that wee one there and…” He looked about some more. “…the one they call the orc wench.”

“You’ll have neither,” said Murdant Kol, who had just appeared.

“And who are you?”

“High Murdant Kol.”

The man appeared unimpressed. “These women will work for the king. If you do na like it, speak to him.” He turned toward Twea and Dar. “Come, lassies, there’s work to be done.”

The man began to slowly ride away. Dar and Twea, after a moment of hesitation, tagged behind. Murdant Kol watched, silent and red-faced, as they departed. The man on horseback said nothing until they were halfway to the royal compound. Then he burst out laughing. “Your high murdant must be very fond of you. He looked heartbroken when you left him.”

“Are we leaving for good?” asked Twea.

“Nay, only while we bide in camp,” said the man.

“Sevren sent you, didn’t he?” said Dar.

“Aye. I’m his murdant. Murdant Cron.”

“Is he your superior?” asked Dar.

“Nay, I’m his,” said Cron. “But we Southerners stick together.”

“What will we be doing?” asked Dar.

“Na much until the king arrives. You’ll help Davot. He’s the cook.”

When they entered the royal compound, Cron led Dar and Twea to a large tent. A wisp of smoke rose from a vent along its ridge, and soot darkened the red and blue fabric. When Dar entered the tent, she expected to find a fire pit. Instead, she saw a row of large metal boxes. “What are those?” she asked.

“Have ye never seen a woodstove?” asked a plump man wearing a greasy, food-stained doublet. He turned to Cron. “What kind of help have ye brought me?”

“Two fit for scrubbing and glad to do it.”

“What’re yer names?” asked the man, whom Dar assumed was Davot. After Dar and Twea answered, he looked at them with an amused expression. “Ye’re
glad
to scrub?” he asked.

“It’s better work than we usually do,” said Dar.

Davot smiled. “Then pity there’s so little of it. There’ll be only the porridge pot to scrub until the king arrives.”

“When will that be?” asked Dar.

“Whenever he pleases,” said Davot. “Ye can be certain of that.” He led Dar over to a kettle that held warm porridge. “Empty what’s left into a bowl and clean the pot. Help yerself to porridge while ye’re at it. There’s no rationing here. When ye’re done, ye can visit yer guardsman.”

Dar stiffened. “
My
guardsman?”

The cook grinned. “Do ye really think I need two lasses to scrub a pot?”

“I’m staying with Twea,” said Dar.

Sevren entered the cook tent long after the pot had been thoroughly scrubbed. He smiled when he saw Twea and Dar. “Twea,” he said, “would you like to ride Skymere?”

Twea, who had been tidying the stack of firewood, jumped up excitedly. “I’d
love
to!”

Sevren turned to Dar. “You can come, too.”

“Three can’t ride a horse,” said Dar.

“Twea will ride,” said Sevren. “You and I can walk.”

“Come with us, Dar,” said Twea. “Please.”

Dar gave Sevren a dubious look. “Why are you doing this?”

Sevren grinned. “I’ve always been partial to black teeth.”

“An orc crushed the neck of the last man who touched me.”

“I know.”

“He’d do it again.”

“Then my life is in your hands,” said Sevren.

“It’s in
your
hands,” retorted Dar. “Watch where you put them.”

Dar’s warning had the effect of broadening Sevren’s grin. “I knew we’d get along.”

Dar shot him a quizzical and slightly irritated look.

The three left the tent. Skymere was outside. Sevren lifted Twea into the saddle, then handed Dar the reins. “You can lead him. He trusts you.”

“Where are we going?”

“There’s a path along the river,” said Sevren. “It’s a pleasant place. Quiet, too.”

Soon they were walking by the Turgen. Dar and Sevren were silent. Skymere’s hoofs upon the gravel, the rush of water, and Twea’s gay chatter were the only sounds.

As Dar walked along, she studied the man beside her. He seemed only a few years older than her, but already marked by a military life. His lean frame had a hardened look—wiry, yet strong—and was animated by an alertness that made Dar think Sevren would be deadly with a knife or sword. His face had a battered look. A scar notched his cheek and the bridge of his nose. Whenever Sevren smiled, it gave his mouth a funny twist. But it was his eyes that Dar noticed most. They were as unusual as his red hair—pale brown, and when they caught the sun, Dar saw flecks of green and gold. Sevren smiled frequently at Twea’s remarks, and those smiles lingered in his eyes. They lessened Dar’s uneasiness.

Twea was talking about her home when Dar impulsively asked Sevren where he was from. He looked surprised that Dar had spoken. “Averen,” he said.

“Where’s that?” asked Dar.

“It lies far south of the Cloud Mountains. Past Luvein and Vinden, then to the west. Mountain country. As beautiful as Karm is good. There’s no place finer.”

“Then why’d you leave?”

“In the highlands, a boy can follow two trades—farming or fighting. Farming takes land. To fight, you only need a sword.”

“So you were raised to be a soldier?” asked Dar.

“Nay, but landless sons must make their own way.”

“And this is the way you chose.”

Sevren detected scorn in her voice. “An empty purse chose it for me. I’m a farmer—just one who lacks a farm. But that will change. I’ve saved what I earned.”

“Earned by looting farmers,” said Dar.

“I protect the king,” said Sevren. “That’s different from soldiering.”

“I’ve seen what’s done in his name,” said Dar. “Looting. You protect a looter.”

Sevren’s face turned grim. “Best keep such words behind your teeth. If they reach the wrong ears…”

“Have they?”

Sevren shook his head.

“Do you think I’m wrong?”

“I’m a King’s Guard. I will na answer.”

“Why not? Whisper so only I will hear.”

“The king has a mage who’s skilled in secret arts,” said Sevren. “He can hear and see what others cannot. Even thoughts, they say.”

“And you’re afraid of him?”

“Cautious,” answered Sevren. “If you’re wise, you’ll be cautious, too.”

Dar grew silent. The path turned with the river, revealing a beach of gray sand. Sevren lifted Twea from the saddle. “We must let Skymere rest from his heavy burden,” he said.

Twea dashed to the water’s edge as soon as her feet touched the ground. Sevren smiled. “She’s a sunny child, though she has little cause. In Averen, we’d say she’s ‘faerie-kissed.’”

“She’s just ignorant of her future,” said Dar.

“As are we all,” said Sevren. When he glanced at Dar, he was surprised to see his remark had upset her.

Twenty-nine

While Twea played, Dar took advantage of her unexpected leisure to doze. Not only did she welcome a chance to rest, sleep allowed her to avoid Sevren. It was afternoon when he gently shook her awake. “I promised Davot I’d have you back in time to help with dinner,” he said.

As they returned to the royal compound, Dar bombarded Sevren with questions about his life. He told her that he was the youngest in a family of nine and had left home in his teens to make his way in the world. Averen was part of a waning empire. Ambitious lords raised their own troops, and men-at-arms found ready employment. Sevren had made his way to the rich province of Luvein, where warring nobles were always looking for soldiers. There he honed his skills and learned to ride.

“What brought you here?” Dar asked.

“When I was young, I thought swordsmen could protect the weak.” He smiled ruefully, as if astonished by his own naïveté. “I learned differently. The weak can na afford soldiers. The strong can and use them for their own benefit.”

“Yet you still served them.”

“For a while, I switched from lord to lord until I learned they were all the same. By then, I was used to soldiering. And you bond with your comrades. Many are good men who have only their lives to sell. One told me of a king who was a man of peace and justice.”

“King Kregant?”

“Aye. The elder one. I rode north to join his guard and discovered he’d died.”

“And the son was unlike his father?”

“Aye. But what was I to do? Ride back to Luvein? So I donned the blue and scarlet. I’ve worn it three years.” Sevren’s voice betrayed his weariness. “The king has claims in the neighboring kingdom, lands he says are his by right. We take towns and territory, but can hold neither. All we get is goods.”

“Plunder, you mean.”

“Choose your words with care. Kregant says those goods are his by right.” As Sevren said this, his expression indicated that he agreed with Dar. What he said next confirmed it further. “This is my last campaign. Next spring, I’m done with this. I’ll head south with the price of a farm in my purse.”

As they neared the royal compound, Dar asked yet another question. “Why did you seek me out? Don’t tell me it’s my teeth.”

“Your ways remind me of home,” replied Sevren.

“A sweet-sounding lie.”

“Nay, I swear ’tis true. Averen women are na meek.”

“So, you think I have spirit?”

“Aye. ’Tis a grand thing.”

“Grand? I’ll show you how grand!” said Dar. “Touch my back.”

Sevren hesitated.

“Come on. Touch it!”

Sevren ran his fingers down the back of Dar’s shift.

“Feel those scars?” said Dar. “That how spirit’s repaid here.”

Dar fell silent and Sevren thought it best to say nothing.
This one fair day must make the rest seem all the worse.

When they neared the royal compound, Dar silently handed Sevren the reins and ran the rest of the way back. Sevren didn’t chase after her, but simply watched her go. When he looked up at Twea, she was regarding him with a serious expression. “Don’t be mad at Dar,” she said.

“How can I?” replied Sevren. “I have na cause.”

Davot had a large staff of men, so Twea and Dar had little to do. Mostly, they stayed out of the way while dinner was prepared and served. They ate at the same time as the guardsmen and cleaned up afterward. When Dar and Twea were done, Murdant Cron escorted them back to their regiment. He departed after telling Teeg that he expected the two at the royal compound by sunrise. By then it was dusk.

Dar and Twea headed for the bathing tent, but Neffa barred their way.

“The orcs have already been served,” said Neffa. “There’s no reason to bathe.”

“We must anyway,” said Dar.

“The water’s been dumped,” said Neffa. “The serving robes are wet from washing.”

Neena emerged from the bathing tent. “The bitch doesn’t wear a robe, wet or dry, when she’s with her piss eye,” she said. “The brat doesn’t either.”

“That’s not true!” shouted Twea.

“Ignore her,” Dar said to Twea. She turned to face Neffa. “We have to wash.”

“Then use the river.”

Dar considered bathing in the Turgen but quickly rejected the idea. The river ran deep, and its cold, swift currents were treacherous. They might easily sweep Twea away.

“Men don’t care how a woman smells,” said Neena, “but you don’t tup a man, do you?” She smiled maliciously.

This was Neena’s idea
, thought Dar.
She knows it’ll cause mischief
. Dar worried how Kovok-mah would react when she and Twea came to his shelter unbathed and “snoffi va urkwashavoki”—reeking like washavokis. It appeared she had no choice but to find out. Dar took Twea’s hand. “Come. It’s time to rest.”

Without looking back, Dar led Twea to Kovok-mah’s shelter. He parted the reeds before they reached it, making Dar think he had been watching for them. She halted several paces away. Since she held Twea’s hand, the girl was forced to halt also.

“Dargu. Little Bird,” said Kovok-mah. “You did not serve tonight.”

“We had to work elsewhere,” said Dar, staying put.

“Come,” said Kovok-mah. “Rest.”

“Kovok-mah, merth dava-splufukuk thwa,” said Dar.
Kovok-mah, we have not bathed
. “Merth snof-fuk.”
We reek
.

Kovok-mah held out his massive arms. “Come, Little Bird.”

Dar released Twea’s hand and she ran to him. The orc scooped her up and set her on his lap. Then he breathed in deeply. “You smell like Little Bird,” he said. “This is good smell.”

Twea giggled.

Kovok-mah looked at Dar. “I think you will smell like Dargu.”

“Hai,” said Dar.

“Come. That scent is also pleasing.”

If Kovok-mah were a human, Dar would have assumed he was merely sparing her feelings. But Kovok-mah was incapable of lying, even with good intentions.
He actually likes the way I smell
. The idea both surprised and pleased her. She blushed. “Shashav.”
Thank you.