[Queen of Orcs 02] - Clan Daughter

by Morgan Howell

  The mage’s black tent had been lost in the retreat, and the hut was to be its temporary replacement. The guardsmen labored the entire day under the sorcerer’s watchful eye to seal every crack where light might enter. After sunset, they completed the work by blackening the hut’s walls and ceiling with a mixture of ash and blood. As the men painted, the mage burned incense that fouled the air. All who breathed it had disturbing dreams that night, especially the two men who fetched the final item the mage required.

  Othar waited until the night’s darkest hour to return to the hut. Inside, a single oil lamp illuminated the bound child, who shivered in the unnatural cold. The mage closed the door and covered it with a thick curtain before getting to work. Taking a dagger and his iron bowl, he sacrificed the boy and used his blood to paint a protective circle. Once inside the circle, Othar opened a black sack embroidered with spells stitched in black thread.

  The bones inside the sack had grown heavier, as if they weren’t bones at all but objects crafted from iron or lead. The sorcerer had first noticed the change after the slaughter at the Vale of Pines. Othar didn’t understand its cause, but he hoped it foretold a change in his fortunes. He needed a change, for he sensed that the king’s anger might overcome his fear. If it did, Othar’s life was forfeit for his disastrous counsels.

  Despite this, Othar remained devoted to the bones that had placed him in jeopardy. They had become more than tools. The bones had such a hold on him that he was as much their servant as they were his. Without them he was only a sham, for auguring with the bones was the only real magic Othar could perform. Before they came into his possession, Othar’s sorcery relied on deception and a knowledge of herbs and poisons. His daunting presence had been all show, for his skills had scarcely exceeded those of a knowledgeable Wise Woman. The bones had changed that. When their unearthly coldness stung Othar’s hands, he felt powerful—a true sorcerer at last.

  Othar tossed the bones on the earthen floor and studied their portents. Never had the signs been so clear or promising. It occurred to him that the entity behind the bones was pleased by the battle’s bloody outcome, and it was rewarding him much the way a sated master throws his slave some meat.

  That night, Othar learned much that pleased him. He discovered where rich plunder could be had—enough to appease his greedy king. He saw that the mysterious threat was far away and retreating farther still. Additional study yielded even greater satisfaction. Othar’s unknown enemy was moving into peril. The mage read the signs for “betrayal,” “bloodshed,” and “soon.”

  Dar carefully rationed the food she stole, and it lasted for three nights of travel. During that time, the small plots bordered by hedgerows gave way to more open holdings. These were separated by woodlands and grew ever larger. Eventually, Dar and the orcs stopped encountering solitary huts. The land’s inhabitants lived in compounds that included dwellings of varying sizes, barns, and storehouses surrounded by broad fields and pastures.

  With the passage of time and distance, Dar grew accustomed to fear. However, she never lost her awareness of peril, whether she was trekking in the dark or hiding in daylight. She continued to feel lost, for they had yet to glimpse the mountains. Dar also watched Zna-yat carefully. He displayed no hostility toward her, and after a while she began to wonder if she had imagined his disgusted look. Still, Dar made a point of sleeping on the ground.

  After the food ran out, Dar resolved to steal some more, though it meant entering one of the compounds. It was well past midnight when she made the attempt. While the orcs hid, she crept toward a stone storehouse nestled among other buildings.

  Reaching the compound required crossing a broad field. Dar was close to the first buildings when a dog started barking. She dropped to the ground. Then she waited nervously, prepared to spring up and run for her life. The dog yelped, and the night became silent again. Dar didn’t move. A long time passed. Everything remained quiet. After a spell of indecision, Dar began to creep toward the storehouse, her ears straining for the slightest sound. She reached its heavy door without incident and pulled it open just enough to squeeze inside.

  The interior of the storehouse had the rich aroma of smoked meats. They were invisible within the pitchblack room. Dar was forced to search for them by shuffling about and waving her arms. When she touched a bin filled with goldenroot, she paused to stuff some in her knapsack. Then she continued groping for the meat that smelled so tantalizing. Dar was still searching when the door flew open and torchlight illuminated her.

  The torch was held by a boy who gripped the leash of a muzzled dog. Two grown men, armed with pitchforks, accompanied the boy. He remained put, grinning with excitement, as the two men entered the storehouse. Dar drew both her daggers. The men advanced, backing her into a corner.

  “You’ll drop those blades if you’re wise,” said one of the men.

  “Stick her!” yelled the boy.

  “Patience, young master,” said the other man. “Your father said we’re to let the thief surrender.”

  “Best be quick,” said his companion.

  Dar weighed her chances in a fight, then dropped her daggers.

  “Smart lass. Now, kick them away.”

  Dar complied and one of the men picked them up. Afterward, he ordered her to lie on her stomach. Dar obeyed and felt the prongs of a pitchfork press against her neck as one of the men took her knapsack, then grabbed her left ankle and tied her left wrist to it.

  “Get on your feet,” said one of Dar’s captors. As Dar struggled to an awkward, crouching position—the only stance her bonds permitted—the man addressed the boy. “Tell your father we’ve caught the thief and shall bring her to the stump.”

  The boy handed the man the torch, then ran off. “Follow me,” said the man. Dar clumsily hobbled out of the storehouse, stopping when the man stopped. “You should’ve paid heed to the hand,” he said.

  “What hand?” asked Dar.

  The man raised the torch, and its light revealed a hand nailed to the door. Its flesh had weathered until mostly bone remained. “That’s to warn thieves. Pity you didn’t see it.”

  The other man prodded Dar with his pitchfork. “Come, lass, let’s get this done.”

  Dar had no choice but to follow the man with the torch, though she didn’t need his guidance. Her destination was clearly marked by a small crowd of people, several of whom bore torches also. They stood behind a short, flat-topped stump, talking excitedly. Some children, too impatient to wait for Dar to make her way to them, ran over for a closer look.

  “It’s a lady,” said a small girl. “Will they really chop her hand?”

  “Of course,” said a boy. “She’s a thief.”

  As Dar approached the stump, she almost cried out in Orcish for help. Then she recalled the slaughter in the rainy courtyard. It’d be the same here. If the orcs spared anyone, they’d be hunted down; yet even a massacre would only buy them a small head start. Also, any rescue attempt might cost her more than a hand; she was bound and guarded, easy to strike down. Dar remained silent.

  The man with the torch strode ahead and stopped before a man with graying hair who stood foremost in the crowd. “Master,” he said, “we caught her in the storehouse with this.” He spilled the contents of Dar’s knapsack on the ground.

  The master called out. “Bring the thief forward.”

  Several men dragged Dar the rest of the way to the stump and forced her to kneel before it. The stump was obviously where fowl were beheaded, for its blood-darkened top was crisscrossed with ax marks. A large man wearing a bloodstained butcher’s smock emerged from the crowd, seized Dar’s wrist, and pressed her right arm against the rough, sticky wood. He raised a broad-headed hatchet in his other hand, then shifted his gaze to the master. Dar gazed at him also.

  The master’s eyes met Dar’s. “Fool! Everyone knows the price for thievery.”

  “I had no choice.”

  The master’s expression became contemptuous. “Too proud to work or too
slothful?”

  “If you had to choose, would you rather lose a hand or a head?”

  “What’s this nonsense?”

  “Pull the bandage from my brow and see.”

  The master nodded and the man with the hatchet tore Dar’s bandage away to reveal her brand. The sight of it provoked murmurs from the crowd, which hushed when the master spoke again. “I’ve heard of such marks. Were you slave to goblins?”

  “I was,” said Dar. “Now the king will reward you for my head.” She sighed and laid her neck on the stump.

  “Don’t you know where you are?”

  Dar looked up, feigning puzzlement. “No. I’ve been lost ever since I ran away.”

  The master’s eyes narrowed. “Then why show your brand?”

  “What chance will I have with one hand? I may as well die here.”

  A woman touched the master’s sleeve. “Garl,” she said. He turned to her and they had a whispered conversation. Afterward, Garl gazed at Dar. “My wife thinks you’d choose honest work over stealing.”

  “I would,” said Dar.

  Garl’s wife spoke. “You need not fear the invader or his goblins. This is King Feistav’s realm.”

  Dar forced tears to her eyes. “Oh, praised be Karm!”

  Garl’s expression remained suspicious. “Faranna,” he said to his wife, “she’s still a thief.”

  “If she were to become a bondmaid,” said Faranna, “two hands would serve us better than one.”

  “Perchance,” said Garl. “Or they might rob us twice as quick.”

  “Please, milady,” said Dar. “After slaving for goblins, any toil will seem light. Let me serve you.”

  Faranna smiled. “There are no lords and ladies at Garlsholding. Call me Mistress.”

  Dar bowed her head. “Yes, Mistress.”

  “I’ve agreed to nothing,” said Garl.

  “Her hand remains forfeit,” said Faranna, “if she proves false.”

  Garl made a show of deliberating before he spoke. “What’s your name, girl?”

  “Dar.”

  “You’ve heard our speech,” said Garl. “In return for mercy, will you bond yourself to us?”

  “I will, Master.”

  “Hunda!” called Garl.

  The man who had borne the torch stepped forward.

  “Unbind the new bondmaid,” said Garl. “She’ll sleep with Theena.” As Hunda went to untie Dar, Garl added, “Bolt her door.”

  The crowd began to disperse once the excitement was over. Some seemed disappointed by the outcome of events, Garl’s son in particular. He walked over to where Dar was being untied and said, “We’ll be watching you.”

  When Dar was free of her bonds, Hunda led her to a barn built of stout timbers. He stuck his torch in the ground, took Dar’s elbow, and escorted her into the dark structure. Dar could see little except the shadowy outlines of stalls and the vague forms of the creatures within them. The last stall was larger than the rest, with sides built up to fully enclose it. Its low door was open. “This is where you’ll stay,” said Hunda. He pushed Dar toward the doorway. “Go in. You’re a lucky lass. The master’s gentler than I would have been.”

  As Dar bent down to enter the stall, she heard straw rustling as someone stirred.

  “It’s too early to rise,” said a sleepy voice.

  “Aye, it is, Theena,” replied Hunda. “The master has a new bondmaid.”

  Dar entered the stall, and the door closed behind her. The sound of a sliding wooden bolt followed. “Why are we locked in?” asked Theena.

  “I was caught in the storehouse,” said Dar.

  “Stealing?” asked Theena, suddenly sounding wide awake.

  “I had no choice.”

  Dar wished to rest, but was plied with so many questions that she ended up giving an account of her life, beginning in the highlands and ending with her capture that night. It was often fictitious, though she tried to follow the truth whenever possible. Theena was most interested in hearing about orcs, which she called goblins. The region’s Goblin Wars were the subject of fearsome legends. “Is it true goblins eat people?” asked Theena.

  “I saw it with my own eyes,” said Dar, playing for sympathy. “Once, a girl displeased a murdant, so he threw her naked to the goblins.”

  “What did they do?” asked Theena.

  “Pulled her apart like a boiled chicken.”

  Dar could hear Theena shudder in the dark. “How could you bear it?”

  “We would have fled, but we were branded and there were bounties on our heads.” Dar groped for Theena’s hand and guided it to her forehead. The bondmaid’s fingers traced Dar’s crown-shaped scar. “The goblins owned me,” said Dar. “But now, by Karm’s grace, I’m delivered.”

  “Aye, there are no goblins here,” said Theena. “I work hard, but I’m well fed and get clothes each Karmsbirth.”

  “Do you ever wish to leave?” asked Dar.

  “Where would I go?” replied Theena, in a tone that made it clear that the question was unanswerable. “I’m like you. I have no kin.”

  Dar yawned loudly. “I’ve been walking all night,” she said. “I must rest a bit.” She pushed together enough loose straw to cushion the dirt floor before lying down. Though exhausted, Dar couldn’t sleep. She wondered what the orcs were thinking. Do they know I’m a captive or do they think I’m dead? Perhaps they believe I’ve deserted them. What will they do? Wait for me? Attack? Leave? The last seemed most likely, making Garlsholding the end of Dar’s journey.

  Five

  Dar managed to get a little sleep before Hunda un-bolted the door, roused Theena and her, and told them to milk the goats. Then Dar got her first look at the other bondmaid. She was older than Dar and stocky with a broad face. She wore a calf-length skirt of brown homespun and a loose, sleeveless white blouse that laced up in the front. She was barefoot and her light brown hair was tucked beneath a soiled kerchief.

  Theena, whose clothes were worn and patched, was fascinated by Dar’s shift. She couldn’t help fingering the fabric. “Ooh, it’s so fine,” she said. “Fit for the mistress.”

  “A soldier gave it to me. Most like, it came from a dead woman.”

  Theena jerked her hand away, and changed the subject. “Have you milked goats afore?”

  “No. We were too poor to own them.”

  “Well, it’s not hard. I’ll show you how.”

  “When do you eat here?” asked Dar.

  “Daymeal’s at high sun, but there’s porridge after firstwork.”

  Dar never imagined that her mouth would water at the thought of porridge, but it did. Her stomach grumbled throughout the milking session. After taking the goats to pasture, she finally got to eat.

  Dar ate her first meal at Garlsholding in the long stone building where most of the servants slept and all of them dined. A kettle of porridge sat at the end of a long table lined with benches. Wooden bowls and spoons were piled nearby.

  Dar was the focus of much curiosity, which Theena happily satisfied while Dar wolfed down her porridge. The bondmaid embellished Dar’s already fanciful account, making it sound as if Dar had only narrowly escaped being devoured. Her tales entertained everyone until Hunda stood up. “Time to work,” he said. “Dar, go with Theena. But, afore you do, change into these.” He handed Dar a small bundle. “Bring me the dress. It’s too good for a bondmaid.”

  Dar did as she was told and returned wearing a worn skirt and blouse similar to Theena’s. She gave Hunda the dress, then joined Theena, who handed her a hoe. Shouldering it, Dar followed Theena into the fields.

  Kovok-mah crouched motionless at the edge of the woods, watching the compound. As he had expected, the washavokis rose with the sun. Buildings obstructed his view of most of their activities, just as they had the previous evening. Then, his ears had been more useful than his eyes. He had heard the dog barking. Later, he had heard voices, though they were too distant to understand. Kovok-mah had observed torchlight reflected off the bu
ildings, but he hadn’t seen Dar since she had sneaked into the compound. Dargu was afraid when she left, thought Kovok-mah. What punishment did she fear? Having often witnessed the cruelty of washavokis, he feared Dar was dead.

  The sun was still low in the sky when washavokis walked into the field. Kovok-mah immediately recognized Dar among them, despite the distance and her different clothing. The way she moved was so familiar that he didn’t even have to see her face. Joy filled Kovok-mah’s chest when he realized Dar was alive and unhurt.

  Kovok-mah watched Dar as she toiled alongside the others. When it became apparent that Dar wasn’t being guarded, he grew puzzled. If she’s not prisoner, why is she there? Kovok-mah continued to observe Dar as he pondered her actions. He couldn’t imagine the reason for them, but Dar often did things he didn’t understand. Kovok-mah stayed until noon, when Dar and the washavokis returned to the compound. Then he withdrew to where the other orcs were hiding.

  Only Zna-yat was awake when Kovok-mah returned. “You’ve been gone long time,” he said. “What did you see?”

  “Dargu lives,” said Kovok-mah, briefly seeing disappointment in his cousin’s face. “I saw her working with washavokis.”

  “Good,” said Zna-yat. “She has returned to her kind.”

  “I’m not sure of that.”

  “How can it be otherwise?”

  “I think she’s doing this to help us.”

  “How can you be so foolish?” asked Zna-yat. “You seem to forget Dargu is washavoki. You ignore her stink. You touch her. You talk as if she has wisdom.”

  “She does.”

  “Because she speaks of Muth la?”

  “Mother of All sends her visions.”

  “Dargu talks of visions because she knows sons can’t see them,” replied Zna-yat. “Washavokis often speak words that have no meaning.”

  “You don’t understand her.”

  “It’s you who doesn’t understand. I’ve watched her magic over you grow ever stronger. It’s been painful to witness. Yet now she’s gone, and I’m glad.”