[Queen of Orcs 01] - King's Property (25 page)

Dar and Twea reported to the royal compound at the first sign of dawn. After they left, a damp, sluggish breeze blew in from the river. It flowed around Kovok-mah’s shelter, spreading Twea’s and Dar’s scent among the sleeping orcs, who awoke to discover the change in the air. The scent of washavokis in their midst, which had been a subtle note before, was difficult to ignore. Sitting in his shelter, Garga-tok fingered the ears sewn to the edge of his cape and decided the situation had grown intolerable.
I’ll meet with others
, he thought.
It’s time to act
.

After the morning meal was served, Dar heard the thunder of hooves as the guards rode from the base camp. “Off to meet the king,” Davot said. “His Highness will be here on the morrow. Busy times ahead.”

Davot and his staff were already preparing tomorrow’s feast. Bread could be baked in advance, and dozens of bowls were filled with rising dough. Soon Dar and Twea were feeding fires in all the ovens, washing bowls and pots, hauling water, and replenishing the woodpile. The tent turned sweltering with the ovens’ heat. Dar’s sweat-soaked shift clung to her body, which was covered with soot from the stoves and dirt from handling firewood. By dinnertime, the baking was done and Dar approached Davot. “Can Twea go back to the regiment? She needs to serve the orcs tonight.”

“She’ll eat better here,” said Davot.

“Yes, but if she serves the orcs, she’ll get to bathe.”

“Bathe? Why would she want to do that?”

“Orcs have sensitive noses.”

Davot shrugged. “Aye, she can go.”

After sending Twea off with a warning to scrub herself well, Dar worked until the ashes were cleared from the ovens and the last pot was washed. It was dusk when she finished and headed for the river. There was a section of riverbank where a grove of trees grew up to the water and offered enough privacy to bathe. She approached it only after glancing about to ensure no soldiers saw her. When Dar reached the trees, she made her way to the river.

The Turgen’s swift current had gnawed at its channel to carve a steep bank. The roots of the trees closest to the river were exposed where the earth about them had been swept away. Dar cautiously climbed down the bank. She was unable to swim, and the water made her nervous. Entering the river slowly, she carefully felt its bed with her feet for firm places to stand. Just a few steps from the shore, the water reached her knees. The current pushed forcefully against her legs, gurgling loudly.

Dar removed her clothes and washed them in the swiftly flowing stream. Once her garments were as clean as she could get them, she wrung them out, hung them on an exposed root, and turned her attention to washing herself. She had no doubts that Kovok-mah liked her scent, but even her washavoki sense of smell discerned it had grown strong. She scrubbed away the day’s sweat and grime, knowing that her essence would remain. When she was satisfied, she left the river and donned her damp clothes.

Dar didn’t see Zna-yat until she climbed the bank. Standing silently among the trees, he startled her. Dar doubted this was a chance encounter, but acted as if it was. She curled back her lips and said, “Tava, Zna-yat.”

The orc didn’t reply.

Zna-yat spoke only Orcish, so Dar addressed him in that tongue. “Why are you outside Muth la’s Embrace?”

“Washavokis do not own world. I go where I please.”

“As you should,” said Dar.

“My mother’s brother’s son lost his cape today.”

“His cape?” said Dar, uncertain what Zna-yat meant.

“Hai. Sons say he has forsaken wisdom. They agreed he is poor leader. Another wears cape now.”

“Why?”

“Leaders should not stink of washavoki.”

Dar sensed where this conversation was headed. “I am mother,” she stated.

“Thwa,” said Zna-yat. “You mock mothers. You have disgraced Kovok-mah.”

“I will ask him if he agrees,” said Dar. She started to leave, but Zna-yat blocked her path.

“Thwa. Your words have evil magic.”

Dar attempted to dart away, but Zna-yat seized her arm. “You have not washed well. I still smell you.” He grabbed her other arm and dragged her to the crest of the bank.

“What are you doing?” asked Dar even as she guessed. An instant later, the orc flung her into the river.

Zna-yat saw Dar’s arms and legs flail the air before she splashed into the gray water. Dar vanished beneath its surface. The orc watched to see if she would rise. Dar’s head bobbed up far downstream from where she had landed, then submerged as quickly as it had risen. It was even more distant the next time Zna-yat spied it—a dark speck amid swirling gray. The head disappeared again, this time for good. Zna-yat waited, scanning the broad Turgen with his keen eyes. When he was satisfied that Dar had drowned, he climbed down the riverbank and washed her scent from his hands.

Thirty

With an icy shock, the world became an airless, gray blur. There was nothing solid to touch, only water. The cold seized Dar and rushed her along, tumbling her about as it did. It toyed with her—a gasp of air, a glimpse of sky, then grayness again. Dar struggled. Her arms and legs thrashed futilely. Cold invaded her body, turning it stiff and leaden. Her efforts became lethargic. Soon, her lungs ached for air, but there was only the Turgen to fill them.

I’ll die
, thought Dar. Strangely, the idea was devoid of terror. The river held her in a frigid embrace, carrying her to the Dark Path. Dar wondered when she would arrive.
Soon, I think. I only have to breathe
. The world began to fade even before she tried.

Something struck Dar and gripped her. In her confused state, she thought it was a hand. The hand fought against the river. Dar was no longer moving. Her body pressed against something hard and rough. Above her head, the gray was lighter. Dar tried to move toward the light and discovered she could push against the rough hand. Suddenly, she saw leaves. There was air. Dar gasped.

The hand was a tree that had fallen into the river. Its leaves screened the darkening sky and its roots still rested on the shore. Dar was entangled in its branches. For a while, she felt she was dreaming, but when the tree didn’t vanish, that feeling became astonishment. Eventually, Dar began to struggle toward the shore. The way was treacherous, even with her clinging to the tree, and it was night by the time her feet touched dry ground. When they did, she heard a soft groan as the tree began to shift and slide into the current. Dar stepped back and watched it drift away. Soon it was only a parting shadow swirling on the dark river.

Dar headed for Kovok-mah’s shelter. When she entered Muth la’s Embrace, a patrol of orcs approached her and halted. “Dargu?” said a guard in a voice that betrayed surprise. It made Dar suspect the orcs knew what Zna-yat had done.

“Hai.”

“Were you not in river?” asked another guard, confirming Dar’s suspicions.

“I was,” Dar replied in Orcish, “but I have returned.”

“How can that be?” asked the guard.

“Tree saved me.”

The orcs’ eyes grew wide, and one pressed his palm against his chest, splaying his fingers so they pointed upward. Dar had seen that gesture before, although she didn’t know its significance. “Tree?” said the orc, in a hushed tone.

“Hai,” said Dar. Then, with all the dignity she could muster, she walked to Kovok-mah’s shelter. Behind her, she heard the orcs speaking in low, agitated tones.

Skymere moved down the dark road with a gait that betrayed his exhaustion. The long ride had pushed the stallion to the limits of his endurance, and Sevren was angry over it. Despite this, he rode silently and stoically. A King’s Guard didn’t complain. At least, a prudent one didn’t.

Sevren’s companions were equally quiet. None knew the reason for their journey, other than the king had willed it. They had received no explanation for the order, and experience told them to expect none. Sevren suspected it was merely an exercise of power for power’s sake. The king liked pomp and probably wished to enter base camp accompanied by the full complement of his guards. Sevren wondered who would be impressed.

As the rising moon silvered the horizon, Sevren spied the fires of the king’s camp. He hoped that meant he could tend his horse soon. Before long, he heard voices made boisterous by drink.
For some, war’s a merry business.
Their gaiety made Sevren reflect how Dar would see only the grim side of battle.
Privation, not riches. Carnage, not glory.
Sevren hoped she would be spared the worst.
No one should see what I’ve seen
. Even as he had that thought, Sevren realized he had been luckier than many.
There are worse things than viewing horrors. Far worse
.

It wasn’t the first time during the long ride that Sevren had thought of Dar. After spending time with her, what had begun as curiosity had blossomed into deeper feelings. Sevren had spent much of the day pondering why Dar, who wasn’t eager for his company, attracted him. She had a special quality, and “spirit” inadequately described it.
She wears rags, but there’s a grandness to her no lord or lady can match
. Sevren found it in Dar’s rapport with Skymere, her protection of Twea, and her fearlessness among the orcs. He also saw it in the way she treated him. Unlike most women, Dar was unimpressed that he was a guardsman. To Sevren, that was a good sign. She showed contempt for that part of him he had come to disdain. In all his travels, he had never encountered a woman like her. Already, he was smitten.

When Sevren entered the camp, his thoughts of Dar were interrupted by the trumpet that signaled the arrival of the royal guard. The king, surrounded by advisers and courtiers, left a tent to receive their obeisance, and Sevren viewed the royal party as he rode past. Kregant II stood foremost, his corpulent figure clad in gold-embroidered scarlet. The king’s florid face matched his attire, and unsteady legs marred his dignity. Though approaching middle age, he looked younger than his years. A wispy beard emphasized his callow appearance.

Sevren surveyed the men about the king. All were familiar, but one surprised him. Othar, the king’s mage, appeared to have aged decades since the guardsman had seen him last. If Sevren didn’t know better, he would have thought the sorcerer was an elderly man. Yet something other than years had sucked life from his features, leaving them hard and withered. It marked them in a way that caused Sevren to think no wholesome thing had ravaged Othar’s face. Only his dark eyes remained unchanged. They were as baneful as ever. When they glanced at Sevren, his hair rose.

The king returned to his carouse, while his guardsmen dismounted and tended their horses. Sevren fed, watered, and rubbed down Skymere before he looked to his own needs. These were simple. He spread his sleeping roll on the ground and ate a hard biscuit washed down with water. After he supped, he took off his boots and, wrapped in his cloak, lay down to sleep. The night was clear. As Sevren gazed at the stars, he reflected how they were shining over Averen also. He imagined himself there, stargazing from his own farmstead. In his mind’s eye it was nestled among mountains with a lake to mirror the night sky. It was an old dream, which hard years had rendered more alluring. Tonight, however, Sevren added something new: Dar gazed at the stars with him.

Twea was asleep when Dar entered Kovok-mah’s shelter, but Kovok-mah was awake. He appeared anxious, yet his voice was restrained. “You are wet,” he said in Orcish.

“Hai, I bathed and washed clothes,” replied Dar. Though she had resolved never to lie to Kovok-mah, she didn’t wish to tell him about Zna-yat. Thus, Dar was relieved when Kovok-mah refrained from questioning her further. She had a question for him, however. Dar mimicked the gesture that the guard had made. “What does this mean?” she asked.

“Tree,” said Kovok-mah.

“Why would urkzimmuthi make this sign?”

“Tree is Muth la,” said Kovok-mah.

“How?”

“Tree is in earth and sky.”

“I understand,” said Dar. “Tree is like Muth la.”

“Thwa,” said Kovok-mah. “Tree
is
Muth la.”

An eerie sensation came over Dar, and she understood why the guards had appeared awed. Kovok-mah handed Dar her dry cloak. He had it handy, as if he expected her to need it. “You rest now,” he whispered.