[Queen of Orcs 02] - Clan Daughter (13 page)

“Mother’s muthuri may object,” said Kovok-mah, “or perhaps son’s muthuri.”

“They must approve?”

“Hai.”

Dar was glad there was no one to tell them how to behave. Through further questions, she discovered that, from a human perspective, the roles of orc males and females were reversed. It was mothers who made advances, while sons were expected to be demure. Understanding a mother’s role was one thing; acting it out was quite another. Dar had no experience with the subtleties of romance, even with her own kind. Expressing her feelings to an orc seemed doubly difficult. Yet she had to try. Rising to her knees, she sniffed Kovok-mah’s neck. “Perhaps I smell atur,” she said. “I can’t really say.”

“It’s there, Dargu.”

“Touch me,” said Dar. Saying the words felt awkward, like she was begging or, even worse, demanding.

“Mothers do not speak, Dargu.”

“What do they do?”

Kovok-mah showed her. Among humans, the gesture would have been brazen and slutty; yet Kovok-mah assured her that it was both proper and polite. Dar tried it, and Kovok-mah tenderly brushed her face with his clawed fingers. “Dargu, I…” He paused, unsure how to put his feelings into words. “Dargu, my chest is filled with you.” Then he gave Dar a clumsy kiss.

When Dar and Kovok-mah returned to the circle, a fire was blazing and the orcs were awake. Dar was acutely aware that they could smell what she was feeling. Kovok-mah sat down and she climbed upon his lap. Then, although it felt awkward, she took Kovok-mah’s hand and guided it to her breast. The orcs acted like it was an everyday occurrence.

Zna-yat smiled. “So, Kovok-mah has not displeased you.”

“Thwa,” replied Dar. “I’m displeased with myself. I’ve led poorly.”

“I think not,” said Zna-yat. The others gestured their agreement.

“We may die,” said Dar.

“Perhaps,” replied Duth-tok, “but no washavoki will slay us.”

“You’ve done well,” said Varz-hak.

“They speak wisdom,” said Zna-yat. “You’ve shown us Muth la’s path, however it ends.” He bowed his head and made the sign of the Tree.

Dar was comforted, despite the orcs’ fatalism. The Cloak of Mothers would be a far better resting place than the Vale of Pines. Yet Dar couldn’t help thinking they would be dead all the same.

Fourteen

The following day, Dar woke in better spirits. She guided the orcs by plodding along, choosing whatever path felt best to her. For all practical purposes, they were lost, although neither she nor the orcs ever had more than a vague idea where their destination lay. By late afternoon, they were deep into the maze of ridges and valleys. By then, finding food seemed as important as finding a way home. Though they foraged as they walked, the results were scant. Dar wondered if starving orcs had scoured the land so thoroughly that nothing edible survived. Despite all their efforts, she and the orcs were reduced to eating woody mushrooms that served mostly as an exercise in chewing.

The next day was like the previous one, except everyone was far hungrier. Walking on an empty stomach was tiring, so Dar halted the march early, attempting to substitute rest for nourishment. The trek resumed next morning. In the afternoon, they entered the broadest valley they had yet encountered. There, they discovered a shallow river. Dar turned to Zna-yat, who knew the most about the Blath Urkmuthi. “Have you heard of this river?” she asked.

“Thwa,” he replied. “No one visits this land. Its lore is forgotten.”

Dar decided to follow the river downstream. After she and the orcs had walked a while, they passed a place where debris partly blocked the channel. Lama-tok stopped and stared at it. “Dargu, I see something interesting.”

Dar walked back to where he stood. “What is it?”

Lama-tok pointed to the stones that had trapped the debris. “That is bridge.”

Dar saw Lama-tok was right. The river was spanned by a straight and even line of stones that obviously had been placed there. Only the pile of branches and logs on the upstream side had obscured their symmetric pattern. Sometimes a single large boulder formed a stepping-stone. More frequently, several stones were fitted carefully together. “Another ruin,” said Dar. They had encountered several that day.

“This one has been repaired recently,” said Lama-tok, pointing to one of the stepping-stones. To Dar’s eyes, its unmortared stonework looked little different from that of the others; however, she didn’t doubt the former mason. She scanned the countryside and thought she saw a hint of a path.
Either few travel here, or they don’t wish to be detected.

The other orcs gathered round. Duth-tok agreed with his brother that some of the stonework was new. “No more than one winter old.”

“Who would have done this?’ asked Dar.

“Urkzimmuthi fitted those stones,” said Lama-tok.

Dar turned to Zna-yat. “You said this land was abandoned.”

“That is what tales say,” he replied. “If urkzimmuthi still live here, no one speaks of them.” He looked warily about and the other orcs did the same. No one told Dar they were concerned for her safety, but their actions spoke for them.
The Goblin Wars were fought here
, she thought, recalling Zna-yat’s stories of washavoki raids.
Hatred is bound to linger.

“Dargu,” said Zna-yat. “Which way should we go?”

Dar considered the possibilities.
We can try to find whoever made the trail
, she thought,
or we can flee.
The latter choice was more appealing, but Dar felt it was the wrong one.
If Muth la is truly directing my path, I’ll be safe
. She pointed to the faint pathway. “We’ll go that way.”

Kovok-mah said nothing, but he was visibly worried by Dar’s choice. When she began to lead the way, he stayed close by her side. Dar was only a short distance from the river when the trail disappeared. She halted and peered around for some clue that orcs had passed there. Nothing appeared disturbed. She turned to her companions. “I cannot find way.”

“Do you wish to find strange urkzimmuthi?” asked Zna-yat.

“Hai.”

“Trail is marked with scent,” he said. “I can follow it.”

As Zna-yat moved in front, Dar saw Kovok-mah shoot him an angry look.
Kovok-mah smelled the trail, too.
As Dar had this thought, she felt Kovok-mah’s hand gently stroke her back. “I’ll be all right,” she said, knowing that Kovok-mah also smelled her fear.

After Zna-yat took the lead, Dar expected to encounter orcs quickly. She got that impression because he moved so surely, pausing only infrequently to sniff the air. Yet, when the sun set, the travelers had gone far without discovering the trail makers. Before it became too dark for her to see, Dar called a halt. “Gather much wood,” she said. “Tonight, we’ll build big fire to show we aren’t hiding. If urkzimmuthi come, be peaceful.”

The travelers had found no food, so the fire was their only comfort after a hard day. They sat around it in the dark, warming themselves but not resting. Knowing that orcs preferred to attack at night, Dar snuggled by Kovok-mah but didn’t encumber his sword arm. She watched the flames, feeling tired but anxious, while Kovok-mah gently stroked her back. Suddenly, his fingers froze.

Dar looked about, but could see nothing beyond the circle of firelight. All the orcs seemed tense, and their eyes were turned in one direction. Dar gazed where they were looking. She saw nothing and heard nothing for a long while. Then pairs of yellow eyes appeared in the dark. Dar counted them. Three…seven…eleven. Still, there was no sound.

An orc stepped into the firelight. He was oddly dressed, but Dar’s attention was focused on his drawn sword. It was huge and ancient-looking. Kovok-mah also kept his eye on the weapon as he rose slowly. The other orcs did the same. They kept their blades sheathed as Dar had instructed them, but each grasped his sword hilt. Dar rose along with the orcs, and as she did, the stranger’s eyes glared at her. “Why is this washavoki alive?” he asked in strangely accented Orcish.

Zna-yat replied evenly. “This mother guides us.”

“Fool!” said the stranger. “It is no mother.”

Zna-yat maintained his calm demeanor. “You lack understanding.”

“It is
you
who lacks understanding,” replied the sword-wielding orc. “This washavoki must die. I will kill it now.”

Zna-yat whipped out his sword. “Try, and you will die.”

Dar noted that the stranger’s rusty sword was shaking and concluded that he wasn’t used to fighting. Following her instincts, Dar stepped between him and Zna-yat. “Muth la wants no sons to die.”

The stranger stared at Dar with astonishment. “It spoke tongue of mothers!”

The stranger’s companions emerged from the darkness. Like him, they had weapons ready, though many carried only clubs. “How can it know of Muth la?” asked one.

“Muth la speaks to those who listen,” said Dar, “though she says more to some than to others.”

“To this mother, Muth la says much,” said Kovok-mah.

“Matriarch’s law is all washavokis die,” said the stranger.

“If she has wisdom to make laws,” said Dar, “then she has wisdom to change them. Take me to her so we might speak together. I will abide by her ruling and these sons will also.”

“Our Mother will keep your skull,” said the stranger. He sneered. “This washavoki smells of fear.”

“Hai,” said Dar. “I don’t fear your matriarch’s wisdom, but I fear your foolishness. Now show me way.”

The stranger hesitated, looking confused and uncertain. At last, he gestured to Dar and her companions. “Come,” he said.

Dar dreaded hiking the trail at night, but she felt she had to. She wanted to prevent a confrontation, and leaving immediately accomplished that. Still, she was well aware that she had undertaken a desperate gamble. Unless the clan’s matriarch changed the law, Dar was going to her death. Her companions could not protect her. She had staked all her hopes on the open-mindedness of a single orc. If that orc thought like most washavokis, Dar was doomed.

Fifteen

Dar’s journey in the dark was neither short nor easy. Her escort set a punishing pace over rocky ground, and Dar’s feet were bleeding by the time he halted in front of a high ridge. Dar could barely make out the low, stone structure nestled in a shadowed hollow. Though it was fairly large, its turf roof caused it to blend into the landscape. Dar assumed it was a hall. The building was dark until someone emerged from a door, briefly revealing a firelit interior.

Dar’s first impression was that a tall, stocky woman approached. She was dressed like the orc males, with cloth wrapped around her waist to make a skirt that extended below the knees. A short cape covered her shoulders; otherwise, her torso was bare. When she came closer, Dar saw her features more clearly.

Dar gasped. She had seen a similar face before—in her vision by the hedgerow.
That was no woman who spoke to me. She was an orc!
Dar saw how she had mistaken her for a human, for orc females looked different from the males. The mother before her had a smooth forehead, even teeth, and a robust body with nearly human proportions. While her face was more delicate than a male’s, its features were orcish. Beneath a prominent brow was a nose that had a thin ridge and a broad base. Her small chin featured a tattooed design that extended to the bottom lip.

The mother barely glanced at Dar. Instead, her attention was on Dar’s guide. “Why have you brought this animal here?” she asked in a voice that revealed authority and annoyance.

“It wishes to speak with Our Mother,” replied the orc. Dar thought he sounded meek.

“How could you know that?”

“Because I asked him to bring me here,” said Dar.

“It speaks!” said the mother with surprise. Then she turned to the guide. “Still, husband, you should have killed it.”

“It had sons protecting it. They looked skilled in fighting.”

“I wanted no one to die,” said Dar. “That’s why I came.”

“It’s
you
who will die, washavoki,” said the mother. “It’s our law.”

“I wish to speak to your matriarch about this law,” said Dar. “I will abide by her decision.”

“Thwa,” said the mother. She addressed her husband. “Kill it.”