[Queen of Orcs 02] - Clan Daughter (27 page)

“Orcs don’t keep whores,” said Dar.

“Then why’d you come?”

“Out of loyalty.”

“To whom? Our king? Your regiment? Sevren?” Cron put a sarcastic twist on the last choice.

“My comrades,” said Dar, instantly wishing she had held her tongue.

Cron smiled and gave Sevren a vindicated look. “I take it you mean the orcs. Then why do you wish to leave them?”

“To save my life. A murdant I once spurned serves in the garrison. He swore to kill me, and he meant it. He’s tried before.”

Sevren spoke for the first time. “Dar speaks truly. I know of the man. Murdant Kol’s notorious.”

“Fond of the whip, I’ve heard,” said Cron. “But Sevren, this is different from last time. You know that.” He turned to Dar. “I’m a murdant in the royal guard. My duty is to my king, and you’re his property. My men can na pluck a woman from his regiments, even if she claims she’s threatened.”

“I can still serve the king,” said Dar. “I can cook.”

“He has lots of cooks already.”

“I cook orcish food and the orc queen is the king’s guest. I can prepare her favorite dishes.”

Cron shrugged. “I’ll speak to Davot. Who knows? Maybe he can use you. But do na get your hopes up.” Then he left the room.

“Do na mind Cron,” said Sevren. “He’s worried, but he got you here. It was his idea to bring you with a pack, so you wouldn’t be noticed.”

“Still, he doesn’t approve.”

“He thinks I’m being foolish. Perhaps I am.” Sevren approached Dar, giving the impression that he was about to embrace her. When Dar stiffened, he restrained himself. “What’s that on your chin?”

“My clan tattoo. I’m Dargu-yat now, with an orc family. Mother. Father. Sisters and brothers.”

“Husband?”

“No.”

Sevren appeared relieved. He reached out and tenderly brushed his fingers over the lines on Dar’s chin. It seemed a ploy to touch her. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “And sad also. It was pleasant to think you were happy and free.”

“I was both awhile.”

“But you came back.”

“I had to.” Dar decided to gamble on telling the truth. “The orc queen’s my mother’s sister. I need to know she’s well.”

Sevren seemed amused. “You don’t look like royalty.”

The remark annoyed Dar. “No. I don’t.”

Hearing the edge in Dar’s voice, Sevren sensed his error. “I only meant your clothes and lack of shoes seem less than regal.”

Dar said nothing, and Sevren sought to change the subject. “I kept my vow and searched for you and Twea after the battle. I found Twea’s resting place and knew you had survived. Ever since, I’ve wondered how you fared.”

“I told the orcs I’d get them home, and I did. We made our way to the Urkheit Mountains, then traveled eastward to their homeland.”

“
You
led them?”

Dar smiled wryly at Sevren’s surprise. “Orcs are different from men. They listen to women.”

“Well, they were wise to listen to you,” replied Sevren. “How does it feel to be back?”

“Even worse than I imagined.”

“I hoped you had come back for me.”

Sevren’s directness surprised Dar, and she took care how she replied. “Ever since the battle, I’ve been a leaf in the wind. Now, I’ve been blown here.”

Sevren stared at the floor. “’Twas a fool’s hope.”

“I never forgot your kindness to Twea and me,” said Dar. “That’s why I sent that message.”

“Then I’ll content myself with your good opinion.”

Dar smiled, more comfortable with Sevren’s eloquence than his sincerity. “And what of you since the battle?”

Sevren’s face darkened and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “All’s gone ill. I feel tainted as a guardsman, for the king used his orcs to plunder Karm’s temple.”

“I heard.”

“The shrine lay in Feistav’s kingdom, but that’s na excuse—the goddess rules all the world. Men blame the orcs, but ’twas men that gave the orders and men who profited. But na me,” Sevren added quickly. “I stayed apart and took nothing holy. That dress I gave you has been my only pay.”

“I guess most were less pious.”

“Aye. And their sacrilege has caused na end of trouble. Folk are stirred up. Kregant’s using orcs against his own people.”

“Why would he risk sacking a temple?”

“Some say greed, and they’re part right. But I think it was mainly Blood Crow’s doing.”

“The mage?”

“Aye. After he consults his magic bones and says what must be done, Kregant heels like his dog.”

With a sudden chill, Dar remembered Velasa-pah’s words.
There is a man who listens to bones. He is your enemy, but the bones are a greater enemy.

Sevren watched Dar’s reaction with concern. “You’ve gone white.”

Before Dar could reply, Cron returned with Davot, who smiled upon seeing Dar. “I remember ye,” he said. “How fares yer wee friend?”

“Dead,” said Dar.

Davot looked upset. “Oh dear! I’m so sorry. So sorry.” He paused and collected his composure. “Murdant Cron says ye cook orc food.”

“I was taught in their royal kitchen.”

“Really? How strange. How fortunate. The orcish queen’s been off her food,” said Davot. “It’s a worry. Aye, for sure. The king’s mage is displeased.” Davot shuddered slightly. “
Most
displeased. Perhaps orc dishes would improve her appetite.”

“So, you want her?” asked Cron.

“I’ll give the lass a try.” Davot looked at Dar. “What’s yer name again?”

“Dar.”

“Well, Dar, ye can sleep in the kitchen with the scrubmaid.”

“Thank you.”

“Then I guess it’s settled,” said Cron. “How can His Majesty mind? Dar’s still serving orcs.”

Davot led Dar to a chimney-covered building connected to the palace. When he opened its door, warm air, savory aromas, and wood smoke flowed from a cavernous room. The kitchen’s far wall was lined with fireplaces large enough for several people to stand inside. In one, a huge boar slowly turned on a spit cranked by two women. In addition to the fireplaces, there were brick ovens and metal stoves, but the floor space was taken up mostly by tables. There, men were busy preparing elaborate dishes while women did more menial tasks.

“Here we cook for the entire palace,” said Davot. “Everything from porridge to peacocks.”

“And muthtufa, kambek, and roast pashi?” asked Dar.

“Never heard of those.”

“They’re all orc dishes.”

“I see,” said Davot, already distracted. The kitchen was his domain and all its activity his responsibility. Gazing about the room, Davot saw tasks he wanted done or done differently. He walked into the thick of things, giving orders while Dar trailed behind. Caught up in the demands of the moment, Davot seemed to forget why Dar was there. It was a while before he spoke to her again. “What do ye need to get started?”

“A pot and ingredients,” said Dar. “But I only know their Orcish names. I think that…”

“Weena!” bellowed Davot. A large, middle-aged woman hurried over. “Weena, this is Dar. She’s going to cook for the orc.”

“A
girl’s
to cook?”

“Only for the orc,” said Davot. “Get her what she needs.” Then he turned his attention elsewhere.

Weena’s gaze fixed on Dar’s brand. “I’ve heard of girls like you. Maybe you’ve cooked for orcs and soldiers, but this is a proper kitchen.”

“But one that can’t cook proper orcish food,” replied Dar. “That’s why Davot brought me here.”

Weena scowled. “He said I’m to help you, and I will. But don’t put on airs. You’ll work like the other girls when you’re not cooking.” Then Weena took Dar through the storerooms. There Dar was able to find a number of items she could use. “Whiteroot” turned out to be pashi, “groundnut” was brak, and some of the kitchen’s spices were also used by orcs. Dar assembled the ingredients to make brak fried in seasoned oil. She cooked it in one of the fireplaces where she also roasted pashi.

At dinnertime, a server took the food Dar had prepared, releasing her for other tasks. Wearing a blue smock over her shift, she helped carry food to the banquet hall. She used a servant passageway, part of a network of narrow corridors and stairs that allowed the help to move through the castle unseen. The passageway was dimly lit, so when Dar emerged into the banquet hall, it seemed ablaze with light. She placed a large silver tray of wine-poached fruit on the serving station, then gazed about in wonder.

The great, ornate hall was filled with people and noisy with their talk. It seemed a place where a bit of gossip or a change in the seating could alter lives. Everyone appeared to be testing the wind while eating and drinking. In the charged atmosphere, Dar was of no consequence and, hence, invisible.

The head table was on a platform at the hall’s end. All who sat there faced the rest of the room. King Kregant was enthroned at the table’s center, flanked by his queen and the black-robed mage. A boy, eight winters old at most, was seated next to the queen. A dozen men, all richly dressed, dined with them. The main floor of the hall contained three long tables that were perpendicular to the head one. They were filled with persons who dressed less richly and who dined on plainer fare. Blue-clad servers scurried about the room, pouring wine and bringing food. One of them noticed Dar gawking and hit her with his serving spoon. “Off with ye! There’s more food to be got!” Dar headed toward the door but stopped to stare again once the server turned away.

Dar focused on the most dismal element in the splendid scene—the mage.
This is my enemy
, she thought. Even from across the room, the withered sorcerer looked menacing. His presence clearly dampened the spirits of those about him. The king looked subdued and his queen appeared frightened. Dar lingered until the mage looked up, as if disturbed by a sudden noise, and turned his gaze in her direction. Then Dar quickly retreated down the dark passageway.

Thirty-two

When Dar returned to the kitchen, Weena made her clean pots. While Dar scrubbed, the kitchen grew calmer and less crowded. The cooks disappeared after the final courses went up. Soon serving platters were brought down for washing. Leftovers were set aside for later use or given to the staff for dinner. Dar ate, then resumed washing. As cleanup proceeded, the help was gradually dismissed until only Dar and the scrubmaid remained. Bea, the scrubmaid, was a ragged woman who possessed the earnest cheerfulness of a half-wit. She grinned as she helped Dar upend the great pots so they could dry. “Weenee says ye’ll sleep with me.”

Dar didn’t relish the idea, for Bea smelled. “You needn’t share your bed. I’ll find my own place to sleep.”

“I don’t mind. Really! Toaty sleeps with me. He eats rats.”

Dar hoped Toaty was a cat. She heard a pan fall over. “Is that Toaty?”

“Toaty’s here,” said Bea, pointing to a gray tom rubbing against her leg.

Dar peered about the kitchen. All but one lamp had been extinguished for the night. The only other light came from embers in the fireplaces. Much of the room was wrapped in shadow, and one of the shadows was moving. At the sight of it, Bea retreated to a corner. Dar remained put. “Who’s there?” she called out.

“Just me.”

“Sevren? What are you doing here?”

The shadow resolved into the figure of the guardsman. He held out a pair of shoes. “I want to give you these.”

“Why?”

“The palace floors get cold.”

“And what do you want in return?”

“I did na come to barter. These are a gift.”

Dar hesitated, then took the shoes. They were new. “Thanks.”

Sevren smiled. “Try them on, they will na bite.”

Dar slipped on the shoes. They fit and their leather was soft.

“You do na trust men,” said Sevren.

“I find it hard after what I’ve been through.”

“It’s a skill that can be learned if you have the right teacher. You trusted me enough to send that message.”

“Yes.”

“Where are you sleeping?” asked Sevren.

“The scrubmaid has a mattress. We’ll share it.”

“She need na bother. I spoke to Davot. You do na have to sleep here.”

“Are you offering me your bed? No thanks.”

“You can have it to yourself.”

“No!”

“Why na trust me one more time? You’ll be safe.”

“I’m safe here.”

“If you change your mind, the guards’ quarters are in the courtyard, right next door. My room’s on the second floor.”

“I won’t.” Then Dar felt she sounded ungrateful. Sevren made her uneasy, but not in a frightening way.
He’s never given me cause to doubt him.
“You were kind to think of me.” Dar gave Sevren’s lips an impulsive peck. Then she quickly retreated, the kiss surprising her as much as it did Sevren.