Page 20 of Steel & Thunder
“Are you hungry?” Ironstorm’s question has me turning my head.
“Maybe a little?” We ate only a couple of hours ago, but it wasn’t a lot. Not like dinner last night. Shit, am I getting spoiled after one meal? “I’m fine.”
“No. Better to get something in your stomach now.” He changes course to move toward the cart. “I am sorry to say this may take longer than I would like.”
If he insists. I don’t tend to argue when food is involved. He reaches into his bag again to pull out his coin pouch. He holds three fingers up to the orc working the cart, grabbing a few silver coins and exchanging them for three meat kabobs. As we continue walking, he separates one of the sticks from the others and takes a large bite out of it, sliding the top half of the meat off the stick and into his mouth. He hands me the remaining half along with one of the uneaten kabobs. I wanna complain, but it’s not like I haven’t had the man’s tongue in my mouth already, right? So I take a bite.
Damn, that’s good. A little chewy, but very juicy and tender. I can’t help the small moan that escapes me.
“Sounds like you approve.” I ignore the half-smirk on his face.
“What is it?” It’s familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.
“Venison. Elk, I believe.” He tears into the remaining meat-stick.
I follow suit, and the rest of our walk is quiet other than the sounds of our tearing and chewing. By the time we reach the statues, I’ve got one empty stick, and I’m polishing off the second. When I’m finished, both are taken from me and dropped into a waste bin, and I’m handed a handkerchief to wipe my mouth with. After stuffing it back in his pocket, Ironstorm walks us up the steps and into the building. The entryway is open, the large wooden double doors swung all the way inside.
There are more orcs in here than at the park. Some are lined up in front of a large table with more orcs behind it; others sit at desks looking over papers. A number of them look fairly well dressed, like that fancy orc lawyer from the jail. Whatever this place is, it feels very “official.”
Ironstorm seems to know where he’s going, leading us straight to a hallway on our left. Makes sense. He’s basically this city’s version of a knight or guard so he’s probably been here a lot. I follow him down a few winding hallways, passing doors as we go, some closed, some open with people inside. Honestly, it’s all pretty boring. Eventually we come to a stop in front of an office, and Ironstorm raps his knuckles against the open door.
“Khazak!” The orc behind the desk looks up from his papers and smiles before saying something in Orcish and waving us in.
“Khazak” sits in one of the chairs on this side of the desk, and I take the other one. The two of them begin to speak about something that doesn’t seem terribly urgent. The new orc gives me an occasional glance, but the conversation stays between the two of them. Finally, after laughing at a joke I can’t understand, he turns his attention to me fully.
“So this is your new Avakesh?” What did he just call me?
“This is him.” A hand squeezes my shoulder.
“You and your friends have been the talk of the town since you arrived.” The orc grabs a stack of papers and begins rifling through them. “And after your match yesterday, people have not stopped asking questions about you.”
Really? Am I that interesting?
“Alright, here is the paperwork to finalize the outcome of the Nagul Uzu’gor, the official immigration papers, and the form to register him as your avakesh.” The orc hands the stack of papers to Ironstorm. “Is that everything?”
“I believe so.” Ironstorm flips through the papers. “We shall fill these out now, if that is alright?”
“Please, take your time,” he stands as he speaks. “I have a meeting I must attend. If you finish before I return, just leave everything on my desk, and I will make sure it is submitted correctly.”
“Thank you, Orduk.” Captain Ironstorm clears some desk space in front of him. “Rumk’r Avon.”
“Rumk’r Avon.” The other orc—Orduk—repeats the words back and nods his head before exiting the room.
“What was the last thing you both said?” I wait until we’re alone before asking. I’m pretty sure I heard him saying that yesterday before we…showered.
“I believe it translates to ‘many blessings’ in your language.” He reaches for a small inkpot and a pen and begins to write on the top sheet of paper. Writing with a pen somehow makes it seem even more official.
“Whose blessings?” Who do orcs pray to, exactly?
“Hmm. Ancestors, nature, spirits.” He continues looking down and writing as he speaks. “It is not tied to one particular thing.”
“Do orcs follow a religion?” That’s my third question while he’s trying to fill out the stack of papers. “Sorry. Not trying to annoy you.”
“It is alright. Ask whatever you would like. This first batch will take the longest. Normally this would have already been filled out by someone else, but as I am both responsible for the arrest and one of the ritual’s participants, it falls to me.” He flips through the top half of the paper stack. “As it is, I am writing the details of our initial confrontation and your arrest. This will act as a resolution to your charges.”
“To answer your question,” he continues to talk as he returns to writing, “I can only speak for the orcs in this city. We do not have a formal name for our religion, but we do have our own pantheon: Nargol the Sky-Father, Vol’tha the Earth-Mother, and Sha-mir the River-Guardian. However, I would say that only a third of the city is particularly devout. The rest of us still observe certain festivals and try to keep the teachings in mind but generally go about our normal lives. There are a few locations in the city devoted to certain ceremonies and rituals, but we only have a single temple of worship. We also have followers of a few other faiths in the city and a number of small shrines dedicated to the Olympians, the Aesir, and the Kami. I believe we even have a growing number of citizens who follow your god.”
“My god?” That’s news to me.
