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

  “If you whore about like she does, you’ll serve every night. Neffa’s not blind.”

  Before Dar could speak, Taren walked away. Memni returned shortly afterward. “Build up the fire,” she said, “while I mix in the water.”

  Dar piled wood on the embers as Memni added water to turn the toasted and pulverized grain into a viscous paste. Then the two women dragged the kettle back over the flames. “Dar, would you stir?” asked Memni. “I’m beat. Sometimes I think Faus sleeps all day just so he can tup all night.”

  “And you submit to that for a handful of roots?”

  “He gives me other things as well.”

  “Like those bruises?”

  “They’re not his fault; I shouldn’t make him mad. Faus loves me.”

  Dar was about to reply, but changed her mind. Her nights are probably easier if she thinks he loves her.

  The sun rose to the shouts of murdants rousing the men. Soon, soldiers carrying wooden bowls began to cluster about the cooking tent, waiting to be fed. Dar’s job was to ladle out the porridge. She had served the orcs during the soldiers’ evening meal, so this was her first encounter with most of the regiment’s men. Though she expected crudeness, she was unprepared to be the focus of it. Word had spread that there was a “fresh birdie,” and the men were eager for a look. Some didn’t confine themselves to looking and made free with their hands. Even more were free with their tongues. Their frank appraisals of Dar’s looks and whether she was “worth tupping” were made as if she were deaf or, at least, unfeeling.

  Dar tried to ignore the comments and fend off the advances as best she could. They roused a mixture of anger and humiliation that showed on her face. That only increased the attention she received. Soon, she felt like a wounded animal harried by a flock of ravens. Finally, when one man grabbed her breast as she was serving him, she snapped and threw porridge in his face.

  A soldier laughed. “Well, Varf, it seems that birdie pecks.”

  Varf’s hand shot out and seized Dar’s wrist so firmly she gasped. He pulled it upward while squeezing until she dropped the ladle. After it hit the ground, the soldier drew his knife and moved the blade toward Dar’s face. “Let’s see how well she pecks without a beak.”

  A hand gripped Varf’s shoulder. “The girl was clumsy,” said a steely voice. “I’m sure she’s sorry. Aren’t you, scabby?”

  Before Dar could mumble “yes,” Varf put his knife away. “I was just teasing, Murdant,” he said.

  The man who had intervened was older and harder-looking than the other soldiers. His leathery, sun-darkened face made his pale blue eyes seem more piercing. Those eyes fixed on Dar, but they didn’t rove over her body. “Serve the man,” the murdant said, “and this time mind you get it in his bowl.”

  Dar picked up the ladle and wiped it on her shift before serving Varf. Her hand shook so violently, she feared missing the bowl. Varf scowled, but the murdant’s presence seemed to temper his anger.

  “All right!” said the murdant in a loud voice. “Stop gaping and eat up. The lazy days are over. The Queen’s Man has issued orders. I want all the murdants to report to me.” He turned to Dar. “You’re new. What’s your name?”

  “Dar.”

  “Well, Dar, watch where you serve the porridge from now on. The men will have their fun, and it’s not wise to rile them.”

  “Yes, Murdant.”

  The murdant stepped away, then turned, as if seized by an afterthought. “Come to the Queen’s Man’s compound when you’re done here. There’s some work for you. Ask for me, Murdant Kol.”

  Dar finished serving. After the porridge-throwing incident, the soldiers were less free with their hands, and their comments were more subdued. From the way the other women regarded her, Dar suspected some regretted that Varf hadn’t carried out his threat. She recalled the enraged look in his eyes and felt certain he hadn’t been teasing. She touched her nose and silently thanked Murdant Kol that it was still there.

  After the soldiers departed, the women grabbed hurried meals before beginning the next round of chores. Dar headed for the Queen’s Man’s compound. It lay at the edge of the encampment, for the general who commanded the regiment’s orcish and human soldiers stayed apart from both. His compound reflected his high rank. The tents there were large and finely made. Each was sewn together and fitted over a frame so it resembled a cloth house with vertical walls and a pyramidal roof. Dar guessed the largest one belonged to the Queen’s Man. As she approached it, a soldier barred her way.

  “What are ye doin’ here?”

  “Murdant Kol told me to come. He said there was some work.”

  “Wait here. He’s busy with the murdants.”

  As Dar waited, she thought she heard Murdant Kol’s voice coming through the wall of a nearby tent. “…all shieldrons must be at the assembly point by the end of this moon. Take it easy; the Queen’s Man wants the orcs rested for the campaign. Murdant Teeg, you’ll have…”

  “So birdie,” said the soldier, “what does Kol want of ye?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The soldier grinned. “Can’t ye guess?”

  When Dar blushed, the soldier’s grin broadened.

  Dar’s inquisition was interrupted when a group of men emerged from the closest tent. Dar recognized Murdant Teeg among them. Murdant Kol strode out last, with the assurance of a man with authority. He glanced in Dar’s direction and smiled. “There are some hares in the cook tent,” he said. “The officers got them hawking and want their pelts for helmet liners. You’ll skin them and scrape their hides for tanning.”

  “I’ll have to soak the hides for at least a day before scraping them,” said Dar.

  “A day is all you’ll have,” said Kol. “We’ll be breaking camp day after tomorrow.”

  “Then I’ll be sure to finish them by then.”

  “Good,” said Kol. He led Dar to the tent where food was prepared for the officers. It was much smaller and better made than the one Dar worked in, featuring sides that could be rolled down in bad weather and a vent to let smoke out yet keep rain from entering. Two branded women were there, one tending the fires and the other pounding grain. Three men were preparing a meal. Kol addressed one of them. “Dar, here, will be skinning the hares. Give her a liver for her trouble.”

  Murdant Kol left, and Dar began to work. There were seven hares and she took extra care skinning and dressing them. When she was done, a cook took the carcasses. Dar reminded him that Murdant Kol had said she could have a liver. Irritation crossed the man’s face, but he handed Dar one. “Take it, birdie, but don’t cook it here.”

  Dar cupped the morsel in her hand and carried the pelts to the river. There, she waded out to a submerged boulder, spread the pelts on it, and weighted them down with rocks. That done, Dar skewered the liver on a stick and headed for the fire pit. It was crowded with women busy preparing another meal. Dar halted, imagining their reaction if she roasted her reward while they worked. Dar moved out of the women’s sight, then removed the liver from the stick and ate it raw.

  Dar was wiping her bloody fingers on the grass when she noticed Murdant Kol watching her. He sauntered over. “You’re a fierce one,” he said. “No wonder you rile the men.” Kol eyed Dar’s body as if he were judging a horse. Dar tensed under his scrutiny and Kol acknowledged her reaction by smiling. “Yes,” he said. “I’m certain of it—your face looks better with a nose.”

  Dar frowned but did not reply.

  “You show too much spirit,” said Kol. “It causes trouble.”

  “So?”

  Kol shook his head. “With that attitude you won’t last long.”

  “So I should become a whore? I’d sooner die.”

  “You need do neither. Just don’t provoke the men.”

  “And let them abuse me?”

  “If they try, tell them you’re my woman. They’ll stop.”

  Dar stiffened. “Your woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’r
e claiming me, as if I were plunder.”

  “No,” replied Kol. “I’m offering my protection.”

  “Why?”

  “Out of kindness,” replied Kol. He smiled. “Is that so surprising?”

  Dar thought it was. She studied Murdant Kol’s face, trying to divine the reason for his smile, but his pale eyes offered no hint.

  Six

  After Kol departed, Dar headed to the cooking site. Passing the women’s tent, she paused to peer inside. It was empty. Dar was tired after a troubled sleep, and the temptation to rest was irresistible. She slipped inside and lay down on the straw. I’ve done everything I’ve been told. If Neffa wants me, she can find me.

  Not long afterward, Neffa did just that and woke Dar with a kick. Dar avoided a second one only by springing to her feet. “Lazy sow!” yelled Neffa. “There’s no rest while the sun shines!”

  Dar suppressed the urge to kick Neffa back. “What would you have me do?”

  “Roast and pound grain,” said Neffa. “And when you’re done with that, I’ll give you other work. Next time I catch you napping, I’ll tell a murdant. He’ll have you whipped. Understand?”

  “Yes,” said Dar.

  Dar joined the women who were roasting and pounding the camp’s entire store of grain in preparation for the march. Loral was there, and she helped Dar get set up. Each kettle of grain took a long time to process, and even Dar’s work-hardened hands were blistered by the fifth batch. Dulled by the monotony of her work, she was caught off guard by the soldier. He seized her from behind, pinioning her arms. Then he lifted and swung her around. When Dar’s feet touched the ground again, she was facing Varf. Another soldier grabbed her ankles. Dar struggled to break free, but the two men held her fast.

  “Hello, birdie,” said Varf. “Remember me?”

  “Yes,” said Dar. Then, swallowing her pride, she added, “I’m sorry about this morning.”

  “Not sorry enough.” said Varf. He scanned the fire pit and pulled out a large stick. Its tip smoldered. “That porridge burned.” Varf blew on the stick until its end glowed orange.

  Dar glanced about frantically. The other women had stopped working. Their nervous stillness reminded Dar of fawns frozen by a hunter’s approach. Some nearby soldiers looked on, also. They appeared amused. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “Give you something to remember me by,” replied Varf. He bent down and lifted the hem of Dar’s shift.

  “I’m Kol’s woman!” blurted Dar.

  Varf stopped. “What?”

  “I’m Murdant Kol’s woman. He told me to say that.”

  The soldier holding Dar’s arms eased his grip slightly. “Varf…” he said in a cautionary tone.

  “She’s bluffing,” said Varf.

  “What if she’s not?” asked the other soldier.

  Varf stared into Dar’s eyes, then tossed the stick away. “Then I’d say she’s jumped from the pot to the fire.” He spit, hitting Dar’s foot. “Come on, men, the bitch learned her lesson.”

  The soldiers released Dar and retreated with Varf. She stood alone, feeling only partly relieved, for the expressions of the women made her uneasy. Dar hadn’t planned to say that she was Kol’s woman, and she feared the words that had saved her would have other consequences. As she pondered her situation, the women gradually resumed their work until only Loral glared at her. “That didn’t take long,” she said in a cold tone.

  “What do you mean?” asked Dar.

  Loral turned away without answering.

  Dar worked into the late afternoon surrounded by women, yet apart from them. Loral had ceased speaking to her, while the others had never started. Dar caught their surreptitious glances and sensed she was the subject of whispered conversations. Their behavior reminded Dar of her stepmother’s after learning her new husband had abused his daughter. Thess blamed me, not him. These women are acting the same way.

  As the afternoon wore on, the pace around the cooking tent picked up. Neffa ordered Dar to make porridge for the orcs and serve it to them as well. When the porridge was ready, Dar headed for the washing tent. There, she found Memni scrubbing off the grime from a day of lugging firewood. She looked exhausted, but smiled when she saw Dar. Dar smiled back, relieved she wasn’t ostracized by everyone. After Dar washed and dressed, she joined Memni outside. “I’ve got porridge duty again,” Memni said with a sigh. Then she grinned. “I hear you got a man!”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Everyone. Word travels fast.”

  “It’s not what they think,” said Dar. “At least, I hope not.”

  “Hurry,” shouted Neffa. “Don’t make the orcs wait.”

  Dar and Memni slid a pole through the kettle’s handle, lifted it, and joined the women bearing food. They had nearly reached the circle of straw shelters when they heard a drunken voice shouting, “Stop! Stop, ya bitches!”

  Dar turned to see a soldier staggering up the slope, his bowl in hand. His comrades warned him to come back, but they kept outside the circle of branches. Dar thought they seemed afraid to enter it. The soldier with the bowl ignored their calls. Instead, he kept stumbling toward Dar and Memni.

  “Can’t ya hear me? Stop! Gimme some tuppin’ porridge.”

  “You can’t have this,” said Memni. “It’s for…”

  The soldier swung at Memni, but missed. Memni dropped her end of the pole, nearly causing the kettle to tip over when it hit the ground. “Don’t tell me what I can’t do,” said the soldier as he dipped his bowl into the steaming porridge.

  Garga-tok appeared so quickly that Dar saw only a flash of movement before he gripped the soldier. The man gave a startled cry as he was lifted in the air and plunged headfirst into the kettle. What followed next was eerily quiet. The soldier’s upper torso disappeared into the porridge and the orc held him fast as he thrashed about. Whatever screams or pleas the man attempted were silenced by the hot, viscous grain. All the soldiers and women were too cowed to speak; moreover, Garga-tok seemed beyond entreaty. He held the soldier, without apparent effort, until the man went limp. Only then did Garga-tok lift the soldier from the porridge to toss his corpse beyond the circle of branches.

  Garga-tok turned his yellow eyes on Dar. “Pot dirty.” He kicked the kettle, sending it rolling down the slope. “Make more.”

  Dar and Memni hurried to obey, glad to flee the murderer. Only when Garga-tok departed did the bystanders begin to talk. Most of the voices were hushed, but Dar heard one soldier laugh. “I always said drink would kill him.”

  The other women were asleep by the time Dar and Memni had more porridge. The moon had yet to rise, and the two women needed torches to light their way to the orcs who sat immobile in the dark. Dar called out the words Neffa had instructed her to say. “Saf nak ur Muthz la.”

  The night thundered with the orcs’ response. “Shashav Muth la.”

  Torch in hand, Dar hurried to serve the orcs, reciting the words she had learned the previous evening. All the orcs received their food in silence until she came to one whose eyes reflected green in the torchlight. After she recited the phrase, he said, “Tava, Dargu.”

  Dar froze.

  “Tava, Dargu.”

  It occurred to Dar that “Tava” might be a form of greeting, so she repeated it. “Tava.”

  The orc curled back his lips. “Theef maz nak Kovok-mah.”

  Dar stared at him, puzzled by his behavior. When she headed toward the kettle to refill her ladle, the orc said, “Vata, Dargu.”

  As Dar walked away she said “Vata” and heard the orc hiss.

  Dar and Memni were tired and hungry, but they had to change out of their robes, wash them, and scrub the pot. Faus was absent, and dinner for both women consisted of scrapings from the kettle. As they ate, Dar asked Memni, “Do orcs ever speak to you when you serve them?”

  “Never.”

  “One does to me,” said Dar. “Always the same one. He’s tall with greenish eyes.”

  “Does he
wear a short cape?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, he’s sort of like a murdant. The soldiers call him Kovok-something.”

  “Kovok-mah,” said Dar. “So that’s what he said. He told me his name. I wonder why.”

  “I’ve no idea,” said Memni, “but I’d avoid him. He’s the one that killed a man with one blow. All orcs are dangerous and quick to anger. Remember what happened to that soldier tonight.”

  Dar shuddered at the thought. “Let’s not talk about it.”

  “Tell me about Murdant Kol, instead,” said Memni. “How’d you snag him so fast?”

  “I didn’t do anything, I swear by Karm’s holy name.”

  “Didn’t Kol say you were his?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Then you are. Don’t worry.”

  “I can’t help but worry. I don’t even know the man.”

  “All you need to know is that he’s the high murdant. The Queen’s Man and his officers give the orders, but the murdants run things, and Kol runs the murdants. He can have any girl he chooses.”

  Dar felt a chill in the pit of her stomach. “And I have no say in the matter?”

  Memni gave Dar a puzzled look. “What’s the problem? I’m happy for you.”

  “Loral didn’t seem happy.”

  “Well, that’s to be expected. It’s his baby she’s carrying.”

  “Kol’s baby?” said Dar, her chill deepening.

  “What does that matter? It’s you he wants now.”

  Seven

  Dar’s father was sitting on her straw bed in the dark hut, his fingers softly traveling up and down her arm. Then his hand strayed elsewhere. Although they were alone, he spoke in a husky whisper. “Move over, honey. Let me lie beside you.”

  Dar woke with a start, her heart pounding. The dream of her father evoked thoughts of Murdant Kol. Sleeping women surrounded her, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the murdant was near. Dar envisioned him touching her, and dread prevented further sleep. She lay awake until Neffa called the women forth. At the cooking site, Dar made porridge for the soldiers and served it to them. This morning, the men made no crude remarks and kept their hands to themselves. Apparently, they knew she was taken.