[Queen of Orcs 01] - King's Property Read online

  In the firelight, Loral’s lips looked dark. Dar bent over to stroke Loral’s brow. It was clammy. “You’ve been lying on damp ground,” Dar said. “It’s dry closer to the fire.”

  Loral said nothing; she simply stared at Dar, looking confused. Dar took matters into her own hands and dragged Loral to drier ground. The place where Loral had lain appeared black in the dim light, like a permanent shadow. Dar touched the large, dark spot and drew back her fingers. Blood! Loral had been lying in a pool of it.

  The discovery plunged Dar into despair. She’s been bleeding half the night. Judging by the quantity of blood, she guessed that Loral was dying and wondered if Loral had guessed it, also. Should I tell her? Dar couldn’t bring herself to say the words. “Loral.”

  “What?” said Loral, her voice as distant as a sleeper’s.

  “I’ll take care of your baby.”

  A faint smile came to Loral’s dark lips. “Thanks.”

  “Do you have a name for her?”

  “Frey.”

  “That’s a pretty name.”

  Loral said something that Dar couldn’t understand, then closed her eyes. For a moment, Dar thought Loral had died, but she still breathed. Dar lifted the cloak and took Frey from her. The infant woke and began to cry. Dar tore the neck of her shift until she could slip the baby down its front and guide her to a breast. The child began to suck and calmed down. “I’m nursing you with empty breasts while I watch your mother die,” Dar whispered to her. “What good am I?”

  Light came to a gray sky, revealing that Loral’s dark lips were a shade of blue. They contrasted with skin that was almost white. Loral’s breathing was barely perceptible. By the time the sun rose, it had ceased altogether.

  With a brand from the fire, Dar burned away the scar that had marked Loral as the king’s property. Dar took back her bloodstained cloak, for she needed it too much to leave it behind. She covered Loral’s ruined forehead with sprigs of heather, then arranged her corpse so she looked peaceful and dignified. That was the best Dar could do; she had no means to bury her friend, nor were there stones to build a cairn.

  Dar held Frey so she might view her mother. “She gave you life,” Dar said to the fussing baby, “though she bought it with her own.”

  Dar returned Frey to the warmth of her shift and sat down to eat some bread, soaking it in water so it was chewable. She briefly considered remaining to lead a solitary and feral life. A baby wouldn’t last long in the wild, thought Dar. Returning to the regiment at least gives her a chance. Though that chance seemed a slim one, Dar felt compelled to do whatever she could.

  Tired as she was, Dar knew she must hurry to catch up with the soldiers. They’re probably already on the march. Dar wrapped a strip of rag around her head to hide her brand from anyone she encountered. Then she grabbed the pot and its contents, donned her cloak, and headed for the road, carrying Frey beneath her torn shift.

  The road snaked through the empty landscape, bearing the marks of the army’s passing. Dar walked as quickly as she could; yet it was mid morning before she came upon the remains of the previous night’s encampment. By then, she was concerned about Frey, for she doubted Loral had been able to nurse her. Dar poured water into the kettle, wetted a finger, and pushed it into the infant’s mouth. The child sucked it vigorously. “You’re thirsty, aren’t you?” said Dar. She continued to give the baby water, one drop at a time.

  With her attention focused on Frey, Dar didn’t notice the man walking on the road until he was fairly close. She was alarmed to note that, despite being dressed as a peasant, he carried a sword. Dar slipped into the heather, crouched down, and retreated into the tangled brush. She hid twenty paces from the road and waited for the man to pass. With hearing heightened by fear, she listened to his footsteps. They grew louder, then stopped.

  “I saw you,” called a voice. “What cause have you to hide?”

  Dar remained silent and still. She heard the sound of someone moving in the heather.

  “I mean no harm,” said the voice. “Perhaps I can help you.”

  Frey began to cry. Dar was trying to calm her when a man bearing a small knapsack stepped before her. His weather-stained clothes were ragged, and his bearded face was as grim as any soldier’s. He smiled at Dar, but the smile didn’t reach his wolfish eyes, and she noticed his hand gripped his sword hilt.

  “You look worse for your journey,” he said, taking in Dar’s muck-blackened legs and feet. “Where are you headed?”

  “That’s my own business,” said Dar, rising.

  “And so it is. I never claimed otherwise.” The man gazed at the lump in Dar’s shift. “You got a babe in there?” He stepped closer. “Can I see? I’m fond of babes.”

  Dar glanced down at Frey. As she did, the man tore the rag from her head. He grinned when he saw her brand. “That’s worth five silvers.”

  The stranger seized the top of Dar’s shift as he drew his sword. Dar swung the kettle, striking the man’s forehead. He moaned, wobbled, and released her. She swung again, this time with such force that the kettle’s handle snapped. The man pitched face-first into a bush. Dar grabbed his sword, then turned him over. His eyes stared blankly beneath the crater in his forehead.

  Frey wailed, having slipped farther down Dar’s shift. Dar tended to her, then decided to search the dead man’s knapsack for food. She rolled him over and untied the drawstring. Locks of human hair fell out. Dar investigated no further.

  Armed with the bounty hunter’s sword, Dar traveled unmolested. The few people she encountered gave her a wide berth, for she had a dangerous and desperate air. If anyone guessed her rag hid a brand, they took care not to show it. Throughout the day, Dar trudged after the army and caught up with it at dusk. The women had already served the evening meal and were cleaning up.

  Neena spotted Dar first. “Dar! Where’s Loral?”

  “She walks the Dark Path.”

  “And her baby?”

  “I have her here.” The women rushed over, and Dar produced Frey.

  “Too bad it’s a girl,” said Taren. “Peasants are more likely to take a boy.”

  “We could keep her here,” said Kari.

  “None of us can nurse it,” said Taren. “Even if we could, this is no place for a child.”

  Neena gently touched Frey’s hand. “She’s so tiny.”

  “Aye, she’s that,” said Taren. “Helpless, too. Go tell the murdant that Dar’s returned with a babe.”

  As Dar gazed at the baby in her arms, she was overwhelmed by melancholy. The injustices in Loral’s life had passed to her child. “It’s so unfair,” she whispered.

  A hand touched Dar’s shoulder. “Is this the babe?” asked a voice.

  Startled, Dar whirled about.

  Murdant Kol glanced at the child. “She favors her mother.”

  Sixteen

  Murdant Kol spurred his horse to a gallop as he rode from camp at daybreak. Speed was unnecessary, but haste gave the right impression. He slowed his steed to a trot only when he cleared a rise and was hidden from view. The bouncing gait had disturbed the baby in his arms, who continued to wail after the horse slowed down. “Hush!” said Kol in a tone more effective on soldiers than newborns. The baby did not obey.

  Wrapping one arm about the child required guiding the horse single-handedly. Kol, an accomplished rider, made it look effortless. Soon he was riding in familiar territory where heath gave way to pastures. The green hills were sheep country, and the wool trade supported a small, walled town on the Lurven River. The Lurven divided the valley, and the road headed for the only bridge, a stone arch about a mile upstream from the town. It was still early morning when Murdant Kol reached it.

  The rains had swelled the river, and its dark waters flowed swiftly beneath wisps of mist. Kol halted his horse in the middle of the span. In the distance, the mist took on a golden hue. It was a tranquil sight. Kol lifted Frey, who had finally dozed off, so she faced the vista. The baby was light in his hand, and he
easily tossed her in a high arc. A short cry preceded the splash. Silence followed. The blanket drifted toward the surface of the black water. Then the current bore it away.

  Murdant Kol turned his horse toward town and the pleasant prospect of a proper breakfast.

  The women were marching even before Murdant Kol entered the town. “Dar,” asked Kari. “What were you doing in the tent this morning?”

  “Washing.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “She’s picked up orcish habits,” said Taren with a note of distaste. “First the black teeth. Now bathing.”

  “Do you think Murdant Kol will find a home for Frey?” asked Dar, trying to change the subject.

  “Perchance,” said Taren. “An orphan leads a hard life, though.”

  “It’ll be less hard than her mother’s,” said Dar.

  “Aye,” said Taren. “The men saw to that.”

  As Dar trudged along, her sadness over Loral’s death fought with her concern for Frey and the dread caused by Murdant Kol’s reappearance. His sudden return had been a shock, although she had expected it. Their reunion had a strangely official quality, more like a meeting of a murdant and his subordinate than a man and his woman. Kol had briefly questioned her about the birth and Loral’s death, but he had been more interested in how Dar acquired the sword. Frey seemed of little consequence to him. He had taken the sword that evening, and the baby at first light.

  The clear sky and mild weather did nothing to lighten Dar’s spirits. Her pace lagged, and soon she was walking among the orcs. “Dargu gavak nervler,” said a voice.

  Dar looked about and saw Kovok-mah had spoken. “What?”

  “I said you look sad.”

  Dar, who still had trouble reading Kovok-mah’s facial expressions, was surprised he could discern hers. “Mer nav,” she said. I am.

  “Kam?” Why?

  “Loral walks the Dark Path.”

  Kovok-mah regarded Dar with an expression she assumed was puzzlement. “What road is this?”

  “The one spirits travel after they leave the body. Loral is dead.”

  “She has returned to Muth la,” said Kovok-mah. “It is sad for you, but not for Loral.”

  “I left her lying on the ground,” said Dar, her voice cracking.

  “We would say ‘te far Muthz la’—‘on Muth la’s breast.’ It is good place. Think of your own mother.”

  The remark caused Dar to cry softly. Kovok-mah watched her, then said, “You have made this sound before. On day we met.”

  “Mer nav nervler.” I am sad. Dar ceased sobbing and let out a wrenching sigh. “How do you say ‘real mother’?”

  “Real mother? I do not understand.”

  “Loral had a baby, doesn’t that make her a real mother?”

  “We would call her ‘muthuri.’ It means ‘giving mother’ in your speech.”

  “I see,” said Dar. “Loral gave life. I give only porridge.” She sighed again.

  “You are still mother,” said Kovok-mah, “and your teeth are pretty.”

  Dar smiled at his transparency. “Hai. Will they ever look like a dog’s again?”

  “Not if you are careful to chew washuthahi.”

  “I’ll try to keep up my appearance.”

  “It is pleasing to see pretty teeth.”

  Dar walked silently awhile, then she asked, “What do urkzimmuthi mothers look like?”

  “They are smaller than sons, their heads are smooth, and all their teeth are little,” said Kovok-mah. “They look somewhat like you, but much prettier.”

  Dar smiled. “Don’t you believe in flattery?”

  “What is flattery?”

  “You wouldn’t understand. It’s a kind of lie.”

  “You mean saying words without meaning?”

  “Hai. Like saying I’m pretty.”

  “Your teeth are pretty.”

  “You told me that before.”

  “And you have big chest.”

  Dar looked down. “My breasts aren’t big.”

  Kovok-mah smiled. “Thwa urkfar—not breasts. ‘Big chest’ means big feelings, courage.”

  “Washavokis would say ‘a big heart’ or perhaps a brave one,” said Dar.

  “Maybe same thing,” said Kovok-mah, who didn’t seem sure. “It is good to have big chest. I give you no flattery.”

  Dar had rejoined the women by the time they marched past the town. Until then, the largest settlement she had ever seen had been the village near her home. Compared with that collection of huts, the small town seemed imposing. Dar gaped at the structures visible above its wall, astonished by their size, cut-stone masonry, and tiled roofs. Her amazement amused Kari, who was teasing Dar when Murdant Kol rode out from the town’s gates. Dar strained to see if he still had Frey and would have spoken with him if he hadn’t joined the officers at the front of the column. For the rest of the day, she anxiously waited for a chance to learn if Kol had found the baby a home. When the army finally halted for the night, Dar hurried to see him. “Murdant Kol,” she said. “What news? Were you successful?”

  Kol smiled. “Karm has favored the child. I found a family that took her in as one of their own. They’re weavers who prize a girl’s nimble fingers.”

  “Do they have other children?” asked Dar.

  “Three daughters. They were already doting on the babe when I left.”

  Dar beamed, but then her face took on a different expression. “You must be happy for your daughter.”

  Kol feigned puzzlement. “My daughter? Did Loral tell you that?”

  “No, someone else did.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t credit gossip. The child’s not mine. Loral would have told you herself if you had asked her.”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  “Aye, and it’s a shame. She was a fine lass.” Murdant Kol paused, as if lost in thought. “Do you know anything about horses?”

  “No,” said Dar.

  “I’ve heard you get on with the piss eyes. Someone like that would be good with horses.”

  “I don’t see why.”

  “Both beasts are dangerous, but you strike me as the fearless type.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Then brave, instead.” Kol smiled. “Not many would attack a swordsman armed only with a kettle.”

  “I was protecting Frey.”

  “I fancy you’ll show the same devotion to my horse. I need someone to care for Thunder.”

  “I wouldn’t know how.”

  “I’ll teach you.”

  Dar regarded the murdant uneasily. “We’re already short a woman, and…”

  “You’ll do what’s required,” said Murdant Kol in a sharp tone.

  Dar’s face colored, but she kept her voice meek. “Yes, Murdant.”

  “I left my groom behind,” said Kol, his voice easy again, “and these soldiers are a ham-handed lot. I sense you have the proper touch. The rest you can learn.”

  “When do you want to teach me?”

  “Now. Thunder must be groomed after being ridden.”

  Dar glanced toward where the women were lighting the cooking fires. “Now?”

  “Yes.” Kol touched Dar’s arm and felt her tense. “You seem skittish. That won’t do. Thunder can sense fear.”

  “Your horse doesn’t frighten me.”

  “Then what does?” asked Kol. When Dar didn’t answer, he grinned. “Surely not me.”

  “I told you I’m not fearless. I was frightened when I killed that man.”

  Kol’s grin broadened. “But you still killed him.”

  “I did.”

  “I ride Thunder because the horse has spirit,” said Kol. “I appreciate spirit. Come, it’s time you two met.”

  Kol led Dar to where Thunder was tethered and showed her how to rub him down. Then he watched Dar work, noting how her gentle touch calmed the horse. She has good instincts, he thought, recalling that Thunder had killed a groom. The fool tried force and got trampled for it. As
high murdant, Kol knew mastery was achieved by many means. Violence was only one of them.

  Seventeen

  Taren looked at Dar crossly when she approached the cooking fires. “Dallyin’ already? I thought you wanted no part of Murdant Kol.”

  “I don’t,” said Dar. “He made me take care of his horse.”

  Taren scowled. “As if we weren’t shorthanded already. Help me with the porridge. I can’t do everything.”

  “Where are the others?”

  “Gatherin’ wood. There’s precious little. I must speak to Murdant Teeg about gettin’ a new girl.”

  “Please don’t,” said Dar.

  “What’s it to you?”

  “I keep thinking of Loral,” said Dar. “Why ruin another life?”

  “What about our lives?” said Taren. “Many backs make burdens light.”

  “I’ll work twice as hard to make up the difference,” said Dar. “At least, let me try.”

  Taren looked skeptical. “Murdant Teeg can decide to take a girl on his own, or Murdant Kol, for that matter.”

  “I know,” said Dar. “Just don’t ask them to do it.”

  “But how can you do this added work and spend nights with your murdant?”

  “Maybe there won’t be any nights.”

  “I thought you were his woman, or has he lost interest?”

  “I don’t understand what’s going on,” said Dar. “He hasn’t…you know.”

  “I don’t know,” said Taren.

  “He could drag me to his tent anytime he wants, but he hasn’t. He’s only touched my arm. And yet…the way he looks at me…”

  “Have you changed your mind?” asked Taren.

  “No.”

  “Then what will you do? You can’t fight him.”

  “Probably not, but he seems to know how I feel.”

  “Aye, and he could be playin’ with you,” said Taren.

  “How did he treat Loral?”

  “I’m not the one to ask, but I think it’s plain.”

  “He told me Frey isn’t his child.”

  Taren snorted. “Aye, and Loral died a virgin, just like Karm’s mother.” Mentioning Loral’s death made Taren think. “All right, Dar. I won’t ask Teeg for another girl. We’ll make do until the regiment joins up.”