[Queen of Orcs 01] - King's Property (31 page)

“All of us are naked when we journey westward,” said Sevren, sensing Dar’s turmoil. “When you stand before Karm, this dress will be forgotten.”

“I fear I’ll make that journey soon,” said Dar.

“’Tis my hope you’ll journey south, instead, and have a long life as a free woman.”

Dar hesitated awhile longer, then sighed and said, “I’ll keep it.”

“I’m glad,” said Sevren.

“I must go. Twea’s hungry.”

“I’ll walk with you,” said Sevren. “The men are wild with drink.”

Dar didn’t protest, and Sevren accompanied her until they separated at the orcs’ encampment. Dar entered Muth la’s Embrace. The pyre at its center was ablaze. The slain orcs lay upon it. Dar had heard of men who burned their dead fully armed and decked out in war’s finery. The orcs, however, left this world naked and resting on the same reed shelters that had comforted them in life. The living orcs encircled the pyre, sitting motionless. As flames reached higher into the sky, they began their lament.

The voices sang of neither valor nor glory. Instead, they addressed the slain with verses ending with the refrain:

“Your scent lingers,

And we think of you,

Though you have wandered.

From sight and touch.

Into Our Mother’s arms.”

Soon, the deep, mournful voices drowned out the sounds coming from the other camp.

Thirty-six

“Wake up, Twea,” said Dar.

Twea moaned and rolled over in Kovok-mah’s lap. “My head hurts.”

“That’s wine’s way with silly girls. Now get up! We have to work.”

If the exchange roused Kovok-mah, he gave no sign of it. His eyes remained closed as Twea joined Dar outside the shelter. The promise of dawn lit the sky. Twea moaned again.

“I hope your head aches all day,” said Dar, “to remind you of how stupid you were. That man was
not
nice. You’re lucky you didn’t find out how unnice he really was.”

Despite her throbbing head, Twea managed a smile. “Well, someone was nice to
you
. Where’d you get that dress?”

Dar’s face reddened. “Sevren gave it to me. And not for the reason you think.”

Twea put on an innocent face. “What reason is that?”

“He gave it to me because he likes me, the silly man.”

“I’ll say he’s silly,” said Twea.

Dar scowled. “Come on. Let’s not rile Neffa. Her head probably hurts as bad as yours.”

When Twea and Dar arrived at the fire pit, no one was there. Dar found a ladle and poked it into a kettle of burned stew. Some of the stew was edible, though it had a scorched, bitter taste. Twea’s stomach was too queasy for her to eat. Neffa dragged in at dawn and glared at Dar with bloodshot eyes. “Why aren’t you making porridge? Do I have to tell you everything?”

Dar didn’t point out that they hadn’t cooked porridge in the morning since beginning the march. Instead, she merely asked how much to make. “A full ration,” replied Neffa. “The men will be in foul temper. Hot food may help.”

Dar went to the supply wagon and measured out a full ration of grain, then returned to the cooking pit, where Twea was starting a fire. Twea grinned and nudged Dar. “Neffa’s wearing new shoes,” she whispered.

Dar looked and saw that Neffa’s ratty sandals had been replaced by new footwear. “Some soldier must have got very drunk last night,” she replied.

Twea giggled.

Other women arrived slowly, most of them hungover. Their misery didn’t prevent them from comparing the gifts each had received from soldiers. Some wore new clothing—dresses, cloaks, or shoes. Others had trinkets.

“Have you seen Neena?” asked one woman.

“Aye,” said another. “Murdant Kol gave her a fine new dress…”

“I heard two,” said a third woman.

“…and a pair of boots
and
jewels.”

“They’re only glass beads,” said the third.

“Well she puts on airs like they’re rubies.”

“I wish I were the high murdant’s woman,” said the first with a sigh.

With that wistful comment, all three women glanced at Dar. They noticed her new dress and began to whisper among themselves. It pleased Dar that they were unable to satisfy their curiosity.

The soldiers staggered in even later than the women, and the murdants appeared last of all. When they did, discipline returned with a vengeance. In the course of the morning, several floggings were meted out. Before noon, everyone was hard at work. The soldiers were sent into the town to systematically pillage supplies. The women spent the day cooking and preserving food. When Dar and Twea took the orcs their meal, it included meat and roots for the first time in weeks. Dar was surprised to find that the only trace of the funeral pyre was a darkened patch of ground; all the ashes had disappeared. As she served the orcs their food, the soldiers torched the town.

The following morning, the army resumed its march with clear heads and full bellies. Dar, Twea, and five other women were assigned to drive a mixed herd of cows and sheep on the march. Each day, the herd grew smaller as it was devoured. The army took new ground as it advanced; yet that was all it took. The farms the soldiers overran were empty and whatever food or supplies they contained had been carried off or destroyed. The next town they reached was equally barren. By then, the sheep and cows were gone, as was most of the other food. The larders that were expected to replenish the army’s rations were bare. The soldiers burned them, but their ashes didn’t fill their growling stomachs.

The army had been on the march for days when it torched the empty town. By then, even Dar understood their situation. From the conversations she overheard and her own observations, she surmised the defenders’ strategy. An invading army lived off plunder, and King Feistav had destroyed his own subjects’ goods lest they fall into King Kregant’s hands. The invaders were marching into a wasteland, and the farther they marched, the more desperate became their circumstances. Dar wasn’t privy to the meetings in the king’s tent, but she saw the scouts ride out into the countryside and she went on the forced marches when they brought news of an unspoiled prize.

Every forced march ended in disappointment. Three more times they reached empty, smoldering towns. Rations were halved, then halved again. Each day’s march was an exhausting and fruitless ordeal. Kovok-mah became withdrawn. Dar was uncertain of the cause, though she suspected it was the weariness that afflicted everyone. Only Twea could raise his spirits, and only occasionally. Twea grew ever thinner. The soles of her feet cracked from days of walking and Dar often carried her, feeling both relieved and distressed that she was so light a burden.

The king’s party always stayed safely at the rear. King Kregant kept his guardsmen close to his person, sending them out only to bear messages to his commanders. Dar saw Sevren occasionally upon such errands. He always waved, but never stopped. Dar suspected that he wasn’t allowed.

One night after another trying day, Dar was roused from sleep by an orc sentry. “Muth velavash,” he called from outside Kovok-mah’s shelter.

“Hai?”

“There is washavoki that calls for Dargu. It will not go away.”

“Who is this washavoki?” asked Dar.

“I do not know. It wears red and blue.”

Sevren
, thought Dar. “I will see this washavoki.” She left the shelter and followed the sentry. Though a gibbous moon shone brightly, Dar could see no sign of Sevren. The sentry led Dar toward a thicket of weeds that lay just outside Muth la’s Embrace. When Dar approached the thicket, Sevren rose from it and softly called her name.

“Sevren, what are you doing here?”

“Keep your voice down,” he answered. He waved for her to join him before sinking into his hiding place. Dar found Sevren and squatted next to him. “What’s this about?” she asked.

He handed her a loaf of bread. It felt hard and stale, but it was intact. “For you and Twea,” he said. “The king’s finest.”

“How’d you get this?”

“Be careful,” said Sevren. “You’ll be flogged if you’re caught with it.”

Dar guessed the answer to her question. “You stole this from the king!”

“You deserve it more than he does.”

“But you could be flogged for taking it!”

“’Twould be my least penalty for tonight’s offenses,” said Sevren. “All were worth the risk. I had to see you.”

“Why?”

“I know you and Twea are hungry. I was worried.”

“We’re all hungry.”

“Other things worry me, too. Something’s amiss.”

“What?” asked Dar.

“We’re being led into a trap. It’s obvious. Each town is dangled as bait, then destroyed just before we reach it. Tomorrow, we’ll do another forced march into the Vale of Pines. ’Tis the perfect spot for an ambush.”

“Have you told the king?”

“He has generals to do that, and they’re more clever than a guardsman. They know what’s going on. They’re doing this with open eyes.”

“Why?”

“I’ve na idea, except the mage is involved. The Queen’s Man has a part, too. They’ve been thick together.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“For two reasons. Warn your protectors…”

“You mean the orcs?”

“Yes, the orcs. They’ll lead any attack. Warn them they’re going into a trap. And you should know that if the orcs are slain, the soldiers will abandon you. They care only for their own skins. Move clear of the baggage train when the attack begins. I swear by Karm I’ll find you.”

“You frighten me,” said Dar.

“There’s na helping that. I want you safe. Twea, too.”

“You’ve risked your life to tell me this, haven’t you?”

“I’ve risked my life many times, but seldom for so good a reason.” Sevren peered over the weeds and looked about. “The way’s clear,” he said. “I should go.”

“Wait! I have something for you.”

“What?”

“Something you may want,” Dar said. “I just discovered it.” Then she kissed him.

Dar returned to Kovok-mah’s shelter and shook him awake.

“Atham?” he asked in a sleepy voice.
What?

Dar replied in Orcish in case Twea overheard. “I’ve learned of great danger.”

“What is it?”

“Tomorrow, if you fight, there’ll be…” Dar couldn’t think of the Orcish word for “trap.” Neither could she think of words for “trick,” “deceit,” or “double-cross.” A moment’s reflection made her realize that the orcs lacked terms for every form of deception she could imagine, and she lacked the words to describe the threat. “…there’ll be much danger.”

“There’s always danger,” said Kovok-mah.

“But urkzimmuthi will die and washavoki soldiers won’t.”

“This often happens.”

“Thwa, thwa, thwa,” said Dar. “Tomorrow will be different.”

“Each battle is different.”

“Washavokis will hide like cat to jump on mouse,” said Dar, trying to describe an ambush.

“That has happened before. I’ve seen it in other battles.”

“But washavokis have spoken words without meaning. Urkzimmuthi will die for no reason,” said Dar.

“Words spoken by washavokis often make little sense. Yet I know they want us to kill. Our queen has promised we would. If we die, that is reason.”

In the darkness within the shelter, Dar couldn’t see Kovok-mah’s face, only the faint green glint of his eyes. They pierced the gloom better than hers. “Dargu, don’t be sad,” he said in a gentle voice.

“Why don’t you understand? You must understand! Who leads urkzimmuthi fighters?”

“Queen’s Man and his tolums.”

“Thwa,” said Dar. “Which son leads fighters?”

“There is no such son.”

“Some sons have capes,” said Dar. “Are they not leaders?”

“They’re not like washavoki tolums that tell us what to do,” said Kovok-mah. “Cape is sign of wisdom. Sons choose to listen.”

“You’re wise. Sons will listen to you.”

“What should I say? Fighting is dangerous? Washavokis are cruel? This is common wisdom.”

“Tomorrow will be different,” said Dar. “Many sons will die.”

“You’ve seen little fighting. Many often die.”

As Dar pondered how she might make Kovok-mah understand how the orcs would be betrayed, she recalled how Murdant Teeg had compared them to hunting dogs. “They’re strong and tough,” he had said, “but they lack guile. It’s guile that wins battles.”
How can creatures unable to lie comprehend treachery?
She envisioned Kovok-mah and the others marching to their annihilation, and she couldn’t see how to prevent them.

Thirty-seven