“This one’s a wizard, High Chieftain Gnurk,” replied one of the orcs holding Whiska.
“Well, then, stick the point of a knife on the back of her neck and shove it through if she starts to say anything magical,” replied the orc at the desk, clearly irritated. “This is not math, Klung. You should be able to do it.” I was stunned to realize two things: first, that the orcs were speaking the common tongue, and not ineloquently, most likely for our benefit. Second, that I kind of liked the older guy—and not just because he was feisty. He had a kind of dwarvish handsomeness going on.
The orcs moved quickly to remove our gags. I opened my mouth to stretch my jaw and then glanced over at Nadi. She stared at the High Chieftain, her clenched jaw a pretty clear indicator of what she would do if she could get her sword back. Whiska seemed on the verge of speaking, but a pointed (so to speak) application of the knife on the back of her neck caused her to bite back whatever she had intended to say. I was relieved to see that Whiska did, somewhere in the deepest recesses of her brain, have a pragmatic survival instinct that at least occasionally prevented her from talking.
“What’s the charge, Klung?”
“Trespassing, High Chieftain. With intent to commit malice.”
“Do you base the second charge on evidence or simply the fact that they are armed and garbed as...adventurers?” He wrinkled his nose in disgust before he said “adventurers.”
“We overheard the greasy one say ‘I can’t wait to melt those possum-screwing orcs into goo and pick my teeth with their bones,’ High Chieftain.”
“I’m not greasy!” screeched Whiska. “I just have a naturally shiny coat!”
“We’ll add slander to the list of charges, then—possums are not native to this area, and so we couldn’t possibly have relations with them,” said the High Chief. “If the rat creature had suggested that some of our people lie with, say, beavers, the slander charge would not apply.”
I started to laugh, but then realized that the old orc wasn’t joking. I cleared my throat instead.
“The rat creature does not deny the claim, then?” he asked.
Whiska chortled. “Hardly.”
Adept as a wizard, maybe, but not the sharpest cheese in the cold case, and apparently less pragmatic than I’d hoped. “Whiska, it might be best if you let Nadi do the talking,” I suggested. Then, I looked at Nadi, whose jaw remained clenched as she stared with naked hatred at our captors. “Or, maybe me.”
I fixed my gaze on the old orc. “High Chieftain Yerk…”
“Gnurk. Not ‘Yerk.’” The High Chief shook his head. “Humans and elves always make such poor attempts to pronounce Orcish words. Dwarves are better, given the guttural similarities of our languages, but rarely do they care to try.”
“High Chieftain Gnurk,” I said, rolling the strange word around on my tongue. “My companion, Whiska, has a tendency toward hyperbole. Our intent is not to cause harm to your people, but rather simply to pass through on our way to Skendrick.”
“You think me naïve, she-elf?”
“Half-elf, actually.”
“Irrelevant.”
“I’d say it’s been pretty relevant all the times in my life I’ve been spit on and called ‘half-breed’ by ignorant morons.”
Nadi’s look softened for the first time in hours. “Heloise…”
“Irrelevant for this purpose,” interrupted Gnurk. “I do not believe for a moment that you intended no harm to the orcs of Bblargnorg.”
“Gesundheit,” I replied.
“You’re not half as funny as you think you are, as I suspect you have a very high opinion of yourself.”
“My opinion of myself is in direct proportion to my amazingness,” I said sweetly.
“Regardless, there is no way that a half-elf, elf, and whatever that destructive creature there is”—he gestured dismissively toward Whiska—“planned to pass through orcish territory without trying to rack up as high a body count as possible. The enmity between our races is far too great.”
“Yes,” I replied with a nod, “that may be true. As far as I can tell, though, you only have circumstantial evidence—hardly enough to convict us. So, if there’s nothing further, we’ll just be on our way, then…”
The old orc laughed, a dry, dusty chuckle that sounded like what I imagine it would sound like if a cactus lizard burped (though as far as I’m aware, cactus lizards, which only live in the Kordise Desert, don’t burp—they expel all excess gas through bags on their knee pits, which makes them sound a little bit like a creaky bellows when they walk; it also makes them look ridiculous). “You foolishly presume that an orcish court functions the same as a human court.” His expression grew stern. “I am High Chieftain Gnurk! My word is law.”
I got the distinct impression that we were in trouble.
“I cannot release from custody those who I know would plot to murder my people.”
“Your notion of ‘justice’ is exactly what I’d expect from an orc,” spat Nadi.
The High Chieftain smirked. “And the elves would respond differently if they captured a group of orcs planning to slaughter them in their sleep? They would frolic with them and fete them and release them without punishment? Braid their hair with flowers, perhaps?”
Nadi glowered, but lowered her eyes to the floor.
“So, what happens now?” I asked.
“Now? Now we feed you.”
“It’s about time, you ham-fingered puke stains!” said Whiska.
“And then we execute you,” said Gnurk, smiling.
After tasting the food the orcs served, I kind of wished they had executed us first. Nadi didn’t even try it, though Whiska seemed to enjoy it, noisily slurping down every bite of what our captors called “graulich,” but which might better be described as “stewed entrails slathered in cow urine.” (They didn’t actually disclose the recipe—old family secret, they told us—so I’m just guessing about the ingredients based on the one bite I managed to choke down.)
“I should get executed by orcs more often,” said Whiska as she finished licking not just her own bowl, but mine and Nadi’s as well. She took her time grooming her whiskers and hands (paws?) afterward before letting out a massive, floor-vibrating belch.
“Feel better?” I said.
“Ratarians don’t burp to relieve ourselves, straw hair,” she replied. “Just to gauge the quality of the food. And that food was exceptional.”
I spent a moment debating whether I should take “straw hair” as an insult or just a description of my hair—which, to be fair, was at least the color of straw, if not the consistency (and thank goodness for that, because braiding it would be a nightmare)—but decided to let it go.
“Now then,” said Whiska as she stood up, “are we ready to get out of here?”
“Yes,” said Nadi as she, too, stood and began to stretch. “I see only one weak point.” She gestured broadly to the windowless room in which we found ourselves, which was nicer than some inns I’d stayed in (which, admittedly, wasn’t saying much, because I’ve stayed in some real holes). And it had doilies.