Page 37 of Steel & Thunder
He has a decent selection. A lot of books on philosophy, war and peace, that type of thing. There are a few books on swordplay and technique that look like they might be interesting, but I cracked one open and the first ten pages were just this old dude recounting his childhood. Maybe it gets more interesting later on.
I finish tying my laces and do a little jog in place. I’ve actually been looking forward to the run since he asked about it. What? I’m used to either running drills five times a week or spending half the day on my feet traveling. Sitting around doing nothing for too long makes me antsy.
Just when I think we’re leaving and heading for the front door, Sir (I’m doing my best to keep the title in mind) returns to the bedroom to retrieve some things: cuffs and a leash. The chain is long, at least twice as long as the others he’s used, but it’s still a fucking leash. I stare at it, the disdain on my face clear as day, but I don’t protest when it’s attached to my wrist. Better than my neck. Once we’re finally ready and step outside, he locks the door behind us. We walk past the gate and go left before Ironstorm turns his face to me.
“Ready?” I nod in the affirmative and we’re off.
Our pace starts at a brisk jog. I don’t have any problems keeping up, but the leash does take some getting used to. I’m not worried about it getting caught on anything; it just keeps hitting me in the side, which is annoying. I also have to pay attention not to let someone or something get caught between us.
I inhale deeply as we run together. It really is nice to get outside in the fresh air and do something physical. I hate to admit it, but something I actually miss about the academy was how much stuff there was to do. You could always find a sparring partner, and there were pickup football games almost every weekend. I’ve been running around, climbing on, and hitting stuff since I was a little boy—it’s just what I know.
The weather outside today is nice, the sky mostly clear with a few fluffy clouds. It’s not too hot, though both of us are already working up a sweat. The streets aren’t busy, a few orcs here and there. The houses and bodies that we pass fade into a blur as my brain starts to drift off during the run. I barely even register the leash after a while.
At some point, the sweat from my brow starts falling into my eyes. I wipe it off on my arm, and it’s enough to make me aware of my surroundings again. I think the houses we pass look familiar, and my suspicions are confirmed when, after another turn, I recognize the park on our left from the previous day.
We slow down as we approach, coming to a stop under a tree to catch our breath. The park is as busy as it was when we first arrived yesterday, with plenty of orcs (and a few-non-orcs) around us playing games and eating their lunches. I lean back against the tree and wipe more sweat from my forehead while I look around. The park almost seems split down the middle: one half a mostly open field while the other is dotted with trees around a small pond in the center. The whole area is fairly flat, and I realize it’s also the first place within the city that I’ve seen any grass. People seem pretty content with their dirt roads and yards. I see a few stone benches—and the meat-on-a-stick cart—but for the most part, everything in the park is natural. The trees here resemble the ones making up the outer city’s tree line, though obviously much smaller. I watch a squirrel run down the trunk of one, only to climb up one of the statues lining the front of the tribal hall.
“Who are those statues of?” I point at the one with the squirrel atop it.
“The six members of the first tribal council.” That makes sense. We’ve got something similar in our town square with Lutheria’s founders. “Look, we can get some water before we start the run back.” Sir nods his head in the direction of a well near the center of the park and leads us over.
There’s a bucket, but no cups or anything so we just use our hands. The first mouthful of cold water after a workout always tastes amazing. Ironstorm fills a second bucket after we finish most of the first, and when I’m feeling rehydrated, I plop down on the grass to finish resting. Leaning back against the well, I see a group of a dozen or so orcs, men and women, playing a game of football. I mean, I guess it’s probably not “football,” but it’s close enough. Everyone is trying to kick a round ball between two sets of goal posts made from tree branches stuck in the ground. I do notice some of the orcs tackling each other and even grabbing and running with the ball, which is different.
“Would you like to play?” The question comes from above, making me raise my head.
“...Could we?” I’m not sure they’d want some human forcing his way into their game.
He walks forward at my question, calling out to the group when they are between plays. Words are exchanged, and a thumb is swung back in my direction which gets me to stand. After what looks like a nod of agreement, Ironstorm turns back to me with a smile on his face. I meet him halfway, and he removes the cuff from my wrist.
“They are happy to have more players.” He walks with me toward the group, who have paused the game for us. “The game is call rug’bal. The objective of the game is to—”
“Get the ball between the two sticks?” I mean I know it’s not football, but it’s still football. “One question: can we use hands?”
He gives me an amused look, hopefully because he finds my enthusiasm charming. “It can be grabbed, and you may run while holding it, but not pass it forward by throwing, only kicking. Also be aware: if you are in possession of the ball, you can expect close contact from the other team.” He points at one of the goals. “That is your team’s goal. They are the ones without shirts, so you will need to remove yours.”
“We aren’t on the same team?” I’m a little surprised, but that’s fine with me. I’ll kick his team’s ass.
“I thought it might be more fun this way.” He smirks before joining his team on their side of the makeshift field.
I pull the shirt over my head, tossing it under a tree where it looks like the others are keeping theirs. The women on my team seem to be wearing a thin wrap around their tops, which seem less for covering up and more for holding things in place. I’ve seen Liss using something similar. I make my way to the group of sweaty shirtless orcs, which is something else to repress, I guess. A few of the orcs give me a smile when I join them, but most give me a look that says “what is this human going to do?”
Things start up again quickly. Two players meet in the middle and fight for control of the ball when it is tossed in the air. I have no idea what the score is, but I don’t really care; I just want to play. I hang back at first, watching the rhythm of the other players and seeing who to watch out for. It’s not too difficult to pick up on who the best players are—they’re the ones being passed to the most. Ironstorm is actually pretty good and seems to assimilate right into his team. I do not have the same luck. I can’t really blame them. I probably wouldn’t trust the scrawny looking new guy either.
So I’ll just have to prove myself to them. I start moving more infield, keeping my eyes on the opposing players. No one from the other team is bothering to guard me, so when the ball is passed in my direction toward another orc, I use some of my newfound speed to sweep in and steal it. I start moving down the field immediately, hearing a grunt of confusion followed by some cheers behind me.
I don’t take the ball all the way, too many bodies between me and the goal, but I do kick it right to one of my teammates who manages to score himself. I hear another cheer and get a clap on the shoulder. I keep this up, and after I manage to steal the ball for the third time, the other team finally starts to take me seriously. I stole that last one from Captain Ironstorm himself. I actually heard him laugh when I cut in front of him.
Following that, the rest of my team starts to actually pass to me, which also means there is an orc actually guarding me now, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. The size of some of these guys must make me look like a halfling in comparison, and I have to dodge more than a few tackles. I remember how well trying to tackle Sir in the ruins worked out for me, so I stick with dodging.
No idea what the score is still, but things have seemed pretty even between us so far. You can feel the competitive energy rolling off the players, and the little shoulder bumps I’m getting after I do something good are pretty nice. This is a lot of fun and something I’m not sure I realized I was missing before now.
I mean, I can and have sparred with Adam and Liss since leaving home, but sports? Football, racing, wrestling, all of those typically require more people, or at least people who are just as interested in doing them as you. I miss competing: the thrill of winning, the challenge of an unknown opponent, the satisfaction of being on a team you know has your back.
“This is the last round,” Ironstorm calls to me from his side of the field. “Score is tied, so whichever team makes the next goal wins the game.”
“We have this won,” one of the orcs on my team says to me in Common, a confident smirk on her face. I give her a nod, because yeah, I think we do.
The ball is tossed up, and the two orcs at center immediately skirmish for control. It looks like the other team wins, just for a minute, before that player is tackled to the ground, and one of my other teammates sweeps in to take the ball. He starts moving up field with the rest of us fanning out behind him. The ball is passed back once, and then twice between my team, each of us guarded very closely by the others. Still, I can see the guy with the ball getting closer and think we might actually have a chance.
