[Queen of Orcs 01] - King's Property Page 2

  “Tomorrow, you’ll see you’re wrong,” said Dar, trying to sound confident.

  “Tomorrow, we’ll be walking the Dark Path.”

  “Get some sleep, Leela. Things will seem different in daylight.”

  Leela lay down, and when Dar pressed against her for warmth, she could feel Leela trembling. Despite her fatigue, Dar had trouble falling asleep. Her forehead throbbed and her thoughts were uneasy. The savagery of orcs was legendary. They say orcs pull out hearts with their bare hands. Might not they eat them also? Dar had no answer. Lying branded and chained in the dark, she began to wonder if Leela was right.

  The moon had risen, filling the clearing with pale light, when Leela shook Dar awake. Dar looked at her stupidly. “What’s the matter?” she asked in a sleepy voice.

  “Nothing,” replied Leela. “I just need your help.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now. Don’t wake the soldiers.”

  Dar was puzzled, but the look on Leela’s face reassured her. Dread had been replaced by calmness. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Help me up to that branch,” said Leela, pointing to a tree limb several feet above Dar’s head.

  “Why?”

  “There’s something I need to do. Come on. Hurry before someone sees us.”

  Still foggy from sleep, Dar rose and entwined her fingers to form a stirrup with her hands. Leela stepped into it and rose to grab the tree limb. Dar watched as Leela pulled herself up and threw a leg over the branch. After a brief struggle, Leela stood upon the limb, grasping the next higher one. The bells on the chain were silent; Leela must have stuffed them with grass.

  “Leela!” whispered Dar. “What are you doing?”

  Leela didn’t answer, but climbed until the chain prevented her from ascending higher. She stood balanced on a stout branch, steadying herself with one hand on the tree trunk. “Dar,” she called down, not bothering to lower her voice. “Grab the chain with both hands and hold on tight.”

  Dar was about to ask why when she guessed the reason. “Leela!”

  Too late. Leela stepped off the branch and plummeted to earth. The chain and the iron ring about her neck jerked her to a stop before she hit the ground. The chain dug into the bark of the branch that Leela had stood upon an instant before; otherwise, Dar might have been pulled upward and strangled. “Help!” she cried. “Someone help Leela!”

  As the soldiers stumbled toward her, Dar looked for signs of life. Leela’s feet kicked spasmodically, but her neck seemed unnaturally long and her eyes stared from a head held at a strange angle. The murdant arrived first and spun the dangling body so it faced him.

  “Get her down!” said Dar.

  “No hurry about that,” said the murdant.

  The tolum strode over. “What’s going on?”

  “One of the girls killed herself.”

  The tolum kicked the dirt. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He stared angrily at the still twitching corpse, then drew his sword and swung it with both hands. Leela’s body dropped at Dar’s feet, while her head tumbled in another direction. He stood glaring at Dar, sword in hand. “You stupid bitch! You let her do it!”

  For a moment, Dar thought he would decapitate her also. Instead, he released the sword hilt with one hand and slapped her so hard that she tasted blood. He seemed about to strike her again when the murdant asked, “Sir, what will we do?”

  “Stop on the way and grab another girl.”

  “Our commander wanted highland girls.”

  “He also ordered me to report tomorrow. We don’t have time to go back to the highlands.”

  As two soldiers dragged Leela’s body away, the tolum found her head and picked it up by the hair. “He wanted two mountain girls? Well, we got two—both properly branded.”

  “What will they do with a head, sir?” asked the murdant.

  “They can eat it, for all I care. I fulfilled my orders.”

  The tolum sauntered over to where Dar was chained and thrust out Leela’s head. “Take it and see that nothing drags it off tonight. Tomorrow, you’ll carry it.”

  Dar was too cowed to disobey. Despite her horror, she grasped the long, blond locks. Leela’s eyes glistened in the moonlight, staring at something beyond living vision. They seemed peaceful, and Dar imagined their owner’s spirit walking the Dark Path, clad only in memories, and shedding even those as she traveled westward.

  Three

  The soldiers quickly returned to sleep. Dar, however, remained awake. Leela’s suicide gave credibility to her dire predictions, making sleep impossible. Dar prayed to Karm for protection with little hope of receiving it. The Goddess seemed remote and abstract in contrast to the immediacy of branded flesh and Leela’s severed head. Dar spent the remainder of the night leaning against the tree trunk, waiting for dawn, and fearing that the upcoming day would be her last.

  When the sun rose, the soldiers woke eager to finish their business. Breakfast was hurried, and the march was also. On the journey, Dar’s lack of sleep quickly took its toll. Leela’s head was surprisingly heavy, and Dar’s arms soon ached from carrying it. Her brand throbbed, as did the bruise from the tolum’s blow. Dar stumbled frequently, causing the tolum to eventually take the head and tie it to his saddle by the hair. The murdant also unlocked the ring about Dar’s neck, permitting her to walk without the chain. Dar’s exhaustion made it unnecessary, for escape was beyond her.

  Thus unburdened, Dar got enough of a second wind to take in the country about her. She had never seen any place like it. The land was fertile and in the full lushness of spring. The trees, unlike the stunted highland ones, were tall and full. The fields were neatly bordered and filled with sprouting crops. The homes reflected the bounty of the land; even the most humble ones exceeded all but the richest highland dwellings.

  Yet the surrounding beauty and abundance didn’t ease Dar’s growing anxiety. She sensed that they were nearing the orc regiment, for the soldiers grew jittery and their talk turned to their destination. “I’d rather go to battle,” said one, “than visit orcs.”

  “Me, too,” said another. “It’s like going near wild dogs. Ya never know if they’ll bite.”

  “Aye, one false step can get yer neck snapped,” said a third.

  “They’re dogs, all right,” said the murdant. “Mad ones.”

  “And the men are curs,” said the third soldier.

  Dar perked up a little. “Are there men in the regiment?” she asked.

  “Aye, the army’s dregs,” replied the murdant.

  “Are they branded like the women?” asked Dar.

  “There’s no need,” said the murdant. “The orcs do all the fighting. The men are barely soldiers—more like flies around shit. It’s an easy life for them.”

  “If ya don’t mind the stink,” added a soldier.

  “Or piss off an orc,” said another, grinning and passing a finger across his throat.

  “How do they serve the orcs?” asked Dar.

  “They don’t,” said the murdant. “They serve the orcs’ commander, and he’s a man. Some general. They call him the Queen’s Man. Don’t ask me why.”

  “So a man commands the orcs?” asked Dar, who found this news encouraging.

  “Aye,” said the murdant. “And they say he’s as bad as them.”

  When the road neared a small river, a lane diverged from it and headed for the waterway. The soldiers followed the lane, which soon turned muddy. Wagon wheels and hoofs had churned the damp ground, and Dar noted footprints that were larger than any man’s.

  When the lane turned with a bend in the river, Dar saw a broad, open area. The regiment’s encampment sprawled over most of it, a chaotic jumble of tents, wagons, and animals. The air smelled of manure, wood smoke, damp earth, and garbage. No orcs were visible, but a few men lounged about the wagons. The tolum directed his horse toward them. The soldiers and Dar followed.

  Though the camp seemed peaceful, entering it filled Dar with dread. She felt as if she were an an
imal being led into a slaughter pen. With each step Dar fought rising panic. I must seem calm and keep my wits about me.

  The tolum halted before three slovenly men who squatted on the ground and tossed bones in a game of knockem. They looked up at the mounted officer, but didn’t rise. Ignoring their disrespect, the tolum addressed them. “I’m Tolum Krem,” he said. “Where’s the Queen’s Man?”

  “Out hawking with his officers,” said a man in a greasy leather jerkin.

  “Who’s in charge?”

  “Murdant Teeg,” said the man as he scooped up the bones and tossed them.

  The tolum’s murdant stepped forward and scattered the bones with a kick. “Then, you’d best go get him.”

  The man in the jerkin scowled and rose, taking his hand from his dagger hilt as he did. A few minutes later, he returned with a large, coarsely featured man with a thick black beard. He wore an ancient-looking doublet, made of quilted cloth and sewn with metal plates. Murdant Teeg regarded the young officer indifferently. “What brings ye here, sir?”

  “My commander sends the Queen’s Man the two highland girls that he requested along with his regards.”

  Murdant Teeg looked at Dar. “Two? I see but one.”

  The tolum jerked Leela’s head loose from his saddle and tossed it on the ground. “Two girls, both properly branded.”

  Teeg used his foot to roll the head so it faced upward. “It seems ye brought her least useful part.” He turned to the man who had fetched him. “Stick it on a stake next to the other one.”

  As the soldier carried the head away, Tolum Krem said, “We’re done here.”

  Murdant Teeg flashed a sardonic smile. “Do ye not wish to dine with the Queen’s Man tonight? I’m sure he’d be interested in learnin’ what happened to the rest of his girl.”

  “Give him my regrets, but we must report to our unit.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Tolum Krem turned his horse, and trotted off with his soldiers hurrying behind. Murdant Teeg spit. “I’ll bet he’s regretful, the little horse shit!” He turned to Dar. “Well, birdie, what’s yer name?”

  “Dar.”

  “What happened to the other one? She run off?”

  “She killed herself last night.”

  “There’s plenty who’d have saved her the trouble. Bear that in mind if yer thinkin’ of boltin’.”

  “She was afraid of the orcs. She thought they’d eat us.”

  Teeg grinned, revealing broken, yellow teeth. “And so they might, little birdie, if ye do not as yer told.” He turned to the two remaining men. “Get her to Neffa.” Then the murdant walked away.

  The men regarded Dar as cats might a mouse, and their interest put Dar on her guard. She watched warily as one slowly circled her, his eyes roving over her body. “You’re a fresh one,” he said. “Not yet scabbed over. Ever seen a piss eye?”

  “What’s that?” asked Dar.

  “An orc. Fancy meeting one?”

  Dar shook her head.

  The soldier stopped behind her, so close she could smell his sour breath. “We could put it off,” he whispered as he squeezed her bottom, “and go to my tent instead.”

  Dar quickly pivoted out of his reach.

  The other man caught the look in Dar’s eyes and laughed. “Better watch that one, Muut. She looks like she’d bite.”

  “She’ll lose that look soon enough,” replied Muut. “Why don’t we take her to Garga?”

  His companion grinned. “That would be a bit of fun.”

  Muut seized Dar’s upper arm and held it tightly. “Come on, birdie, it’s time you met a piss eye.”

  Clutching her shabby bundle, Dar was marched along in Muut’s grasp. They entered an area filled with haphazardly erected tents of varying size. Many consisted of no more than a bit of weather-beaten cloth draped over a line stretched between poles. The ground between the crude shelters was muddied by traffic and littered with garbage and worse. As Dar passed among the tents, she spied men lolling inside some, while ragged women with brands on their foreheads scurried about with bundles of firewood and other burdens.

  Muut didn’t stop at the tents, but dragged Dar past them toward a slight rise. Its top was crowned with what looked like a collection of conical haystacks. These man-high grass-and-reed structures were enclosed by a wide circle of bare branches that were set upright in the ground. The purpose of the circle wasn’t clear, for the branches were placed too far apart to form a barrier. Whatever its significance, the men’s boisterous mood dampened as they approached the circle. They halted at its edge, and Muut pointed to the nearest cone. “Go over there,” he said, releasing Dar’s arm.

  Dar nervously obeyed.

  “Garga-tok,” called Muut in a loud voice.

  Huge hands, darkly tanned and tipped with claws, thrust from the straw and parted it like a curtain. A pair of yellow eyes peered from the shadows.

  Muut yelled, “We brought you a new girl.”

  The grass parted further and Garga-tok emerged into the sunlight. His body was shaped like that of a very large man, though it was far more massive and muscular, particularly about the chest, neck, and shoulders. He wore a short-sleeved tunic that extended to his knees. It was covered with small, rounded iron plates that overlapped like fish scales. The armored garment was rusty and ponderous-looking, but the orc seemed oblivious of its weight. A broad-bladed dagger hung from a wide leather belt. His shoulders were covered by a short cape with a curious fringe sewn on its edges. In horror, Dar realized the fringe was made of human ears, some of which bore women’s earrings.

  Dar’s gaze lifted from the gruesome cape to the orc’s large, grotesque head. A heavy brow shaded his inhuman eyes. Above the brow was a wide forehead, covered with a pattern of ridges and knobby growths. Behind these was a thick and tangled mane of long, reddish hair. The ridge of his nose was sharp, but turned broad close to the large nostrils. His thin-lipped mouth was wide, while his chin seemed disproportionately small and pointed for so massive a head. A design of black lines covered the lower part of his face, completing its savage look.

  Yet it wasn’t Garga-tok’s bizarre appearance that terrified Dar—it was the way he regarded her. His yellow eyes, though as inscrutable as a wild beast’s, possessed an alien intelligence. She was being examined, but she had no idea why. The orc’s interest might be malign, casual, or even culinary. Unable to fathom it, Dar felt dangerously vulnerable.

  “Youz name is what?” asked Garga-tok in a deep voice that had the rawness of a growl.

  The orc appeared so bestial that Dar was stunned when he spoke, and she stood mute until Garga-tok said more loudly, “Youz name!”

  “Dar,” she answered in a tiny voice.

  The orc curled back his lips and hissed, exposing teeth that were pearly black. A pair of sharp fangs jutted from both his upper and lower jaws, while the rest of his teeth were not unlike a human’s. “Dargu?” he said, then hissed again.

  A second orc emerged from a nearby grass cone and Garga-tok spoke to him. “Kala washavoki theefak Dargu.”

  The second orc curled back his lips and said something equally incomprehensible. Then he and Garga-tok hissed together.

  Dar turned to ask the men what the orcs were saying and discovered they had fled. When she faced Garga-tok again, he had moved so close that she had to look upward to see his face. She remained frozen to the spot, uncertain what to do and fearful of provoking him.

  Garga-tok’s nostrils flared as he stared down at her. “You stink.” He turned away and uttered something in his strange tongue before disappearing into his shelter.

  The remaining orc grabbed Dar’s upper arm, encircling it entirely with his fingers. “Sutat,” he said, pulling her arm so forcefully that she was briefly wrenched off her feet. The orc strode toward the river, gripping Dar so she was forced to half run to keep up. He was shorter than Garga-tok and the markings on his face were different. He also wore no cape. Dar, however, scarcely noticed this. Her atten
tion was fixed on the hatchet dangling from his belt. It looked very similar to one her father used to butcher game.

  The orc took her to where the sandy riverbank was littered with boulders. One was the size and shape of a table. That’s where he’ll slaughter me, Dar thought, and clean my carcass. To her surprise, the orc didn’t grab his hatchet. Instead, he marched her into the river. Once Dar stood in water up to her calves, he released her arm and said, “Splufukat.”

  Dar turned so she could face the orc. “I don’t understand.”

  The orc bent down, scooped water with his huge hands, and splashed her, drenching the front of her shift. “Splufukat. Splufukat.”

  Dar stood motionless—terrified and uncomprehending. The orc’s face gave no more clues to his mood or intentions than an animal’s would. Dar shook her head. “What do…”

  The orc seized Dar and tossed her into deeper water. She landed with a splash, fell backward, and submerged completely. Dar had never seen a body of water larger than a mountain stream, and being immersed panicked her. She struggled to her feet and dashed toward the shore. The orc blocked her way, one hand reaching for his hatchet. “Splufukat,” he said again, this time in the low, harsh tone of a growling dog.

  Dar’s terror, frustration, and exhaustion combined to burst forth in a great sob. Her body shuddered with its force, which shattered her self-control. She began weeping, and the sound attracted a second orc, who descended the bank. As Dar fought to stifle her sobs, the two orcs spoke briefly in their strange language. The first orc left, but the second one remained. He was even taller than Garga-tok, though not as massively built, and his features were more finely formed. Like Garga-tok, he wore a short cape, though it lacked the fringe of ears. The orc watched Dar with green-gold eyes, blocking the shoreline and seeming to wait for her to cease crying.

  When she did, he spoke. “Washavokis have unpleasing scent when they bathe not.”

  Dar guessed what “splufukat” meant. “You want me to bathe?”

  “Is not that plain?”

  “But it’s unhealthy.”

  The orc curled back his lips. “Do I look unhealthy? Wash body and clothes.” He pointed to Dar’s partly submerged bundle, drifting in the current. “You losing some.”