[Queen of Orcs 01] - King's Property (9 page)

Kovok-mah was the latter. When Dar had a free moment, she limped toward him until she was close enough to speak softly. “Shashav, Kovok-mah.”

“How you know word for ‘thanks’?”

“You say ‘Shashav Muth la’ when you get food, so I thought ‘shashav’ must mean ‘thanks.’”

“Why you thank me?”

“For saving my life.”

“Zna-yat did improper thing,” said Kovok-mah. “I could not allow it.”

Dar bowed her head. “Shashav. I would like to learn the words to tell Zna-yat I am sorry.”

“Thwa,” said Kovok-mah.

“Why not?”

“Dargu nak muth.”

“You keep saying that. I’m not a mother. I have no child.”

“Bowl is for food. When it is empty, it is still bowl.”

Dar realized that “muth” must be Orcish for both “mother” and “female.” “So, because I’m a mother, you won’t teach me?”

“You should not say sorry to Zna-yat. Instead, say ‘Kala muth verlav tha.’ It means ‘This mother forgives you.’ This will not shame him, but it will help him see he was wrong.”

Kovok-mah’s reasoning struck Dar as strange.
No soldier would care if I forgave him
. Yet, apparently, an orc would. “Kala muth verlav tha,” said Dar. “This mother forgives you.”

“Hai,” said Kovok-mah. “You speak good.”

“Shashav, Kovok-mah.” Dar saw orcs emerging from the woods. “I should go,” she said. “Vata, Kovok-mah.”

“Vata, Dargu.”

As Dar limped back to the cooking area, she smiled when she realized that “vata”—Orcish for “good-bye”—was the reverse of “tava,” which meant “hello.”

“What are you smiling about?” asked Loral.

“Something the orc said.”

“I’ve never heard of orcs saying anything funny.”

“Have you ever talked to one?” asked Dar.

“No,” said Loral, “and I don’t intend to start. You, of all people, should know how risky that is.”

Dinner was ready at sundown. Dar and Neena entered the sleeping tent to scrub the scent from their bodies and change into serving robes. The kettle held porridge for only thirty-six, and Dar was able to help carry it, despite her leg. It was she who addressed the orcs saying “Saf nak ur Muthz la”—
Food is One Mother’s gift
. When the orcs replied “Shashav Muth la”—
Thanks One Mother
—she felt partly included.

That feeling gave Dar the courage to speak to Zna-yat. She limped over to her attacker, looking him squarely in the eye. His face was impassive, but Dar noted that his nostrils flared as she approached. She also noticed that every orc was watching her. Dar halted. “Zna-yat,” she said, “kala muth verlav tha.”
Zna-yat, this mother forgives you.

Zna-yat’s mouth twisted like Kovok-mah’s did when he was surprised. He muttered something Dar didn’t understand and turned his eyes away. Dar was unsure what effect her words had on Zna-yat, but merely uttering them made her feel bold.

Ten

The woods were deep in shadow; yet, as Kovok-mah returned from bathing, he had no difficulty finding his way. He liked the night, when the washavokis were nearly blind but the urkzimmuthi saw clearly. The washavokis usually grew quiet after Muth la hid her golden eye, and Kovok-mah relished the peace. The only sounds were natural ones. Frogs peeped their springtime love song. The stream gurgled over its stony bed. Leaves rustled. It felt good to have shed death’s hard clothes. Kovok-mah paused to let the breath of Muth la take the water from his skin. As he savored the tranquillity and the breeze, the day’s last light left the sky.

Kovok-mah heard footsteps. He turned. Seeing Zna-yat approach, he greeted him in Orcish, the only language his cousin understood. “Tava, father’s sister’s son.”

“Tava, mother’s brother’s son,” replied Zna-yat. “Thomak-tok asks how many guards tonight.”

“Only one. Muth la hides her silver eye. Washavokis will stumble and make noise if they come.”

“Hai,” agreed Zna-yat, “and we’re still far from place for killing.”

“Still, washavokis kill anywhere.”

“Hai. Anywhere.” Zna-yat lingered. When he spoke again, he used the intimate form of address permitted close friends. “Kovok, I’m puzzled.”

“Why?”

“This morning, you called one washavoki mother and didn’t let me kill it.”

“Hai.”

“I don’t understand. Washavokis can’t be mothers. They’re animals.”

“All animals come in two kinds, and one kind is like mother.”

“Being like one thing isn’t same as being it,” said Zna-yat.

“One kind of washavoki called ‘woe man’ is enough like mothers that Muth la isn’t dishonored when they serve food. Our queen says so.”

“I’d rather receive it from true mothers,” said Zna-yat.

“I would, too,” said Kovok-mah. “But since I can’t, I’ll tolerate these woe mans. They’ll act more like mothers if we treat them so.”

Zna-yat pondered what Kovok-mah had said. “Is that why you call Weasel mother?”

“Hai.”

“There’s some sense in what you say, but only some.”

“World has become strange,” said Kovok-mah, “and we must learn to do strange things.”

“That Weasel spoke to me this evening. It said ‘This mother forgives you.’ I was much surprised.”

“How did you reply?”

“I said breath of Muth la would soon take its stink away.”

“That was reasonable,” said Kovok-mah. “Weasel is clean for washavoki.”

“Perhaps so, but your interest in it is peculiar.”

“Interest?”

“I’ve seen you speak to it. I know you taught it those words.”

“Hai. It asked me to.”

Zna-yat smiled. “Back home, you were always good to your goats. I think Weasel has become your new goat. That explains why you don’t mind its smell.”

Kovok-mah laughed. “Zna, you understand me too well. Weasel is like my goat.”

“It’s still washavoki.”

“And mother,” said Kovok-mah.

“Such thinking proves you’ve been away from home too long.”

“Hai,” agreed Kovok-mah, “far too long.”

The women, except for Dar, were exhausted from marching all day. The soldiers were tired also, and by nightfall the camp was a quiet place. Dar’s companions quickly fell asleep, but she was restless. No fatigue washed the worry from her mind or dulled the throbbing in her leg. Dar left the tent and peered into the night. There was no moon, and the obscure world seemed almost formless. Nevertheless, Dar limped into the dark, making her way as much by feel as by sight.

She entered one of the ruined huts and discovered it filled with weeds. Any trace of the people who had once lived there was hidden by the gloom. As she turned to leave, someone grabbed the skirt of her shift. “Can’t sleep?” asked a man.

Dar recognized his voice. “Murdant Teeg?”

“Aye, ’tis me.” Teeg was sitting by the doorway, his back against the blackened wall. Dar could barely see him. Teeg’s other hand moved, and Dar heard the sound of liquid sloshing in a bottle. She stepped back, but the murdant held fast. “Stay awhile.”

Dar had little choice. She knelt down in the ruined doorway. Teeg let go of her shift, grabbed her torso, and pulled her toward him. Crushed against his armored doublet, Dar smelled the drink on Teeg’s breath. She tried to break free. “Be still, birdie, yer safe. No man dare touch ye.”

“You’re touching me now.”

“Just a hug. Ye can’t begrudge that.”

“I don’t think Murdant Kol would like it.”

“Huggin’s not tuppin’, so don’t get yer piss hot. When Kol’s done with ye, best be on my good side.”

Dar grew still.

“That’s more like it,” said Teeg, not relaxing his grip. “Want some brandy?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” Teeg took a long swig from the bottle. “By Karm’s ass, this place is a dung heap.”

“It looks like it was nice once,” said Dar.

“Aye, ’twas better than nothin’.” Teeg spit into the darkness. “That tolum had shit for brains. ‘Teach ’em a lesson,’ he said. Well, we did, but who’s campin’ in the weeds?”

“The army did this?”

“Who else?”

“Why?”

“The peasants were hidin’ food. The tolum found out and set the piss eyes on ’em.”

Dar shuddered at the thought, causing Teeg to chuckle. “’Twasn’t pretty,” he said, “but war never is.”

“War? These were the king’s own subjects.”

“They should have thought of that when they hid the food.”

Teeg shifted his arm and began to inch his fingers toward Dar’s breast. When they reached it, Dar suddenly said, “I’d like a sip after all.”

“That’s more like it,” said Teeg.

He passed Dar the bottle, and she tossed it into the weeds.

“Ye crazy bitch!” Teeg pushed Dar aside to grope for his brandy, allowing her to move into the shadows. Unable to run, Dar hid nearby and listened to Teeg curse and thrash in the dark. After a minute, he grew quiet. Dar remained still and waited. The ground was wet with dew before the murdant finally stumbled toward his tent. Only then did Dar creep away to join the sleeping women.

When the army was on the march, breakfast consisted of leftover porridge. The five women’s morning duties were to serve the men, clean the kettle, and pack the wagons. Dar had managed to avoid Murdant Teeg at breakfast, but he found her as she was loading a wagon. He grabbed her arm and said, “Ye walk today.” Then he went to hitch the oxen.

Taren overheard Teeg’s statement. “Can you keep up?”

“I’ll have to,” said Dar.

“Don’t lag behind,” said Taren. “Not every head brought in for bounty comes from a runaway.”

It was still early morning when the officers led their troops onto the road. The soldiers walked as a mob at the rear of the wagons. The women kept out of their way by tagging behind. The orcs followed at a distance, marching in orderly ranks. Only they and the two mounted officers gave the column a military appearance; the men looked more like brigands than soldiers.

From the outset, Dar had difficulty keeping pace. A shooting pain in her thigh caused her to walk with a stiff-legged gait that was both tiring and awkward. Despite determined effort, Dar soon lagged behind the women. Next, the orcs overtook her, parting their ranks so she walked among them—enveloped, yet apart. Gritting her teeth, Dar tried to walk faster, but her injured leg was incapable of the effort. The orcs passed her. The distance between Dar and the column increased until she could no longer see it.

As Dar trudged alone, she was alert to every sound. She had taken Taren’s warning to heart, knowing her head would bring a windfall to anyone who took it. Peasants had cause to hate the army, and she expected no mercy. Thus, when Dar heard footsteps in the woods, she looked about for a means of defense. Spotting a large, pointed rock by the roadside, she grabbed it. It would be a clumsy weapon against a sword or knife, but it was better than nothing.

Thick, high greenery flanked the road, screening her view. Whoever was approaching took no effort to move quietly. When the noise sounded close, Dar used both hands to lift the rock above her head. She assumed an aggressive pose and expression. Then the shrubs parted, and Kovok-mah stepped onto the road.

Dar regarded him warily, uncertain of his intentions. Then Kovok-mah’s lips curled back in what Dar realized was an orcish smile. “Dargu is very fierce.”

Dar let the rock drop. She began to laugh, partly from relief and partly from awareness of how ridiculous she looked. When it became obvious that Kovok-mah didn’t understand her laughter, she laughed even harder. She was gasping for breath by the time she stopped.

“Why were you barking?” asked Kovok-mah.

“I wasn’t barking. I was laughing.” Dar hissed in imitation of orcish laughter.

Kovok-mah smiled. “You are…” He paused. “I do not know washavoki word. Ga nat gusha.”

“I’m gusha? What does that mean?”

“You do strange things, things that make me hissav.” Kovok-mah hissed with pretend laughter.

“So I’m funny?”

“Perhaps that is word.”

“I’m glad you’re amused.”

If Kovok-mah caught Dar’s sarcasm, he showed no sign of it. “It is not wise to walk alone.”

“I walk alone because I can’t keep up. Zna-yat nearly tore off my leg.”

“Lie down,” said Kovok-mah.

“Why?”

“Nat thwa gusha.”

Be not funny?
thought Dar. It occurred to her that “gusha” probably meant “silly,” not “funny.” She hesitated, then lay on the road. Kovok-mah knelt beside her and began to pull her shift up to her waist. Alarmed, Dar tried to stop him, but Kovok-mah seemed unaware of her attempt at modesty. Dar ceased struggling and hoped her body held no attraction to an orc. Kovok-mah’s hands were huge and clawed, but his fingers probed Dar’s swollen thigh gently. Gradually, Dar relaxed.

“Nothing is torn,” he said after a thorough examination. From a pouch, he produced a freshly uprooted plant with large, fuzzy leaves. “This is nayimgat. Chew leaf, but do not swallow it.”

Dar took a leaf and sniffed it. It was strongly aromatic. She stuffed the leaf into her mouth and chewed. Its bitter taste caused her mouth to water. Her tongue became numb, and she swallowed her saliva with difficulty. Dar wondered if herbs that would heal an orc might sicken a human.
Too late to worry about that
. The numbness spread. She was dizzy by the time she spit out the leaf.