Love and Shkulaktoss - Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Finally, the day came. By order of High Chief Magrul, all orcs of the Shattered Blade tribe assembled at the shkulaktoss field set up for the tournament. The dwarves sent most of their adult number, leaving behind only a few guardians and essential laborers to mind the stronghold of their clan. Dwarves assembled at one side, orcs at another, and tension hung thick in the air.

Lazur Heggrad, an orc elder and one of the judges, spoke first of the rules of the game. Several target posts were erected throughout the shkulaktoss field, each bearing three bands. Each band of each target post was worth a certain number of points, from one point for the middle band of the nearest post, to fifty for the lowest band of the far post, and several numbers in between. Each thrower took three throws of the shkulak, a carved, weighted wooden disc, and combined the score from the bands hit during all three throws. Normally, scores would be kept by visually noting them, but in this case, all agreed that fresh dye would be applied to the posts after every throw, so that it would come off onto the thrower's shkulak when it hit and confirm the score.

Once that explanation was given, dwarves and orcs alike swore an oath before their leaders to honor the outcome of the game as a just and fair competition. Garauk didn't know the dwarven custom, but Katernin had assured him that the oath was quite serious to them. To the orcs, he knew, it was a serious matter indeed. Murderers, sadists, and even rapists could all be tolerated in the Shattered Blade tribe, but oathbreakers were the worst kind of scoundrel, fit only to be driven from the tribe or killed at once.

The game began, and proceeded as expected in the first rounds. Numerous dwarves came forward to try their luck; the best were mediocre by the standards of the orcs. Many of the orcs acquitted themselves quite well, such that for much of the day the five highest, sometimes even the ten highest scores belonged to orcish throwers. Queen Alya performed terribly; King Grennaur not much better. Ferdoch was among the lowest scorers of all, his score routinely beaten by decrepit elders and children from the Shattered Blade tribe.

The orc warrior Egrash led the ranks of the scores with eighty-four points when Garauk stepped up in the mid-afternoon. He stood before the white line in the dirt, the shkulak heavy in his hands, and stared down the field at the many target poles. A silence hung over the field, and Katernin looked up from her preparations to watch him with pensive interest. He was, after all, the son of the High Chief, and the one who had accepted the challenge on behalf of the Shattered Blades tribe. His performance here was worthy of interest.

Garauk threw with perfect aim and struck the top of a distant pole for twenty-five points with his first throw, to a murmur of interest from the crowd. His next throw struck the bottom of a somewhat nearer pole, earning thirty-seven more. The crowd went into a hush. With sixty-two points, he was now in reach of taking the top score! But many more were still yet to throw, including High Chief Magrul, and the man whose name was on the lips of most orcs, the mighty Ullegh. He would have to do better. A truly big score here could secure the future for all of them!

Garauk stopped and looked down the field. The disc felt free in his hands, like an extension of his body, so that all he needed to do was point and touch with it, as if it was the tip of his finger. He looked into the crowd of dwarves, saw Katernin watching him. "Do it," she mouthed to him silently. "I love ye." Garauk took aim. He focused on the bottom of the most distant target pole. Fifty points. He crouched, aimed, threw.

The toss was low. The shkulak spun to a stop in the dirt inches before the target pole. It was an outright miss. Murmurs went through the crowd, and a judge called out "Final total of sixty-two points for Garauk, son of High Chief Magrul Kargalish!"

Garauk met Katernin's eyes with a miserable, crestfallen stare.

"You disappoint me, boy," Magrul grumbled when he approached. Later, when it was Magrul's turn, his own score upon was only a sixty-five: scarcely higher than Garauk's, and he had hit all three of his targets whereas Garauk had scored sixty-two off of only two. Nevertheless, he gave Garauk a satisfied smirk when returning from his throws.

Indeed, for most of the day it appeared that Egrash's score of eighty-four points was going to stand as the winner. One dwarf, Pelaga Browncloak, managed to get everyone's hopes up by achieving a high score of eighty points, but that was still not enough to seize the lead. Finally, with the sun starting to set in the sky, Ullegh took the field to a cacaophony of boastful cheers and bellows from the orcs assembled.

"Bow before Ullegh!" he roared, and he threw the shkulak like a vengeful god throwing lightning. It flew far, fast, and true, and struck the bottom of the most distant pole. Fifty points, the single highest scoring target band. The orcs went into an uproar.

It was some minutes before the assembly quieted once more, and Ullegh took his shkulak for a second time. He stopped in mid-throw, then turned to address the dwarves. "After my victory," he roared at them, "I will give you the honor of witnessing as I humble your foolish princess with naught but the power of my own naked self!"

A few grumbles and catcalls rose up from the dwarves, and Ullegh turned and stalked away, and idly whipped the shkulak out with a snap of the arm. It sailed far and true again, and a rising murmur took hold of the crowd, just before it grazed the bottom of the most distant target pole again! Another fifty points were scored, and the assembled orcs screamed.

Garauk's heart sank, and he groaned as he watched a grin spread ear-to-ear across Ullegh's face. His eyes had a faraway, vacant look to them, and flecks of foam started to appear at the corners of his mouth as he took deep, heavy, loud breaths looking around at all of them. He was clearly quite insane. He raised his shkulak high, as if he meant to throw it at the crowd. "Your lives," he screamed at the top of his lungs, "will be in Ullegh's hands now! Each and every one of you!" He laughed in his booming, maniacal laugh, and then turned, took two steps, and threw the shkulak.

Bottom of the distant post, again. Fifty points, for a perfect score of one hundred and fifty points. Unbeatable.

The orcs went into an absolute uproar. Bottles opened and booze flowed into clay cups, while some warriors giddily hugged and headbutted one another in a gesture known among young orc men as the Embrace of Brothers. Cheers and taunts emerged from their number, directed at the dwarves, demanding that individual dwarves come forth and serve them: lick my feet, clean my boots, suck my cock. The dwarves, for their part, stared ahead with bitter scowls. Several were reaching for weapons, and Garauk saw King Grennaur mutter something to an aide, who nodded. They were planning to break the oath. Blood would be shed here.

"Stop!" Katernin shouted over the din. "We have sworn to honor the terms of the contest. But the contest is not yet over!"

"Ullegh's score cannot be surpassed," Magrul protested. "The contest is over! He is the winner! A higher score is not possible!"

"High Chief," said Lazur Heggrad, the elder orc who was one of the judges, "though I am loyal to you and the Shattered Blade tribe until my death, I have sworn an oath to uphold this contest, and I will not break it. Thus it is my sworn duty to tell all of us here that what you have said regarding the contest is not the truth."

"I have seen a thousand games of shkulaktoss," Magrul bellowed, "and never a score of one hundred and fifty. It is virtually impossible for her to equal his score. It is literally impossible for her to defeat it!"

"That is not correct," Lazur protested, but his old, shaky voice was in danger of being drowned out.

"All must play!" Garauk exclaimed. " All must play, if their futures are to be bound by oath to this game. Ullegh himself said that."

"That is correct," Lazur said, raising his voice as high as he could. "The son of the High Chief speaks truly!"

A murmur went through the orcs. Ullegh approached Lazur, still laughing softly to himself. "I fear no competition, old man," he said. "I am a spirited thrower! Who will challenge me!?"

Katernin stepped forward. "I, Princess Katernin Ironcrown, have not yet thrown the disc," she said. "And as it was I who challenged ye to begin, Ullegh, it is right and proper that I compete before the challenge ends."

Ullegh laughed giddily. "Of course, Princess," he said. "Make your throw, and then I will claim you. Just know that a scant few days ago, I had decided that, when this moment came, I would fuck your butt. But now that we stand here, know that I have changed my mind: I have decided that I will fuck your ass instead!" He threw back his head and laughed loudly, and Katernin stopped to stare at him in puzzlement.

"Pay him no attention!" Garauk shouted. "I... I don't know what you're going to do, but I believe in you! I trust you!" Her eyes met his, stricken with uncertainty, and he raised his voice to a near-scream to exclaim, "I love you!"

Katernin looked at a paper that bore drawings of angles and directions one more time. Her jaw set, and she stepped forward onto the field, holding the shkulak. She took as fine a stance as Garauk had ever seen, took aim, and threw.

It was a solid, beautiful throw to the bottom section of the third-most distant target pole, worth forty points. The field broke into cacaphony once more, and the orcish celebration resumed, shouting and catcalling loudly. Ullegh took hold of Katernin and started trying to wrest her out of her trousers, grinning like a fiend. Numerous dwarves reached for their weapons.

"Stop!" Katernin cried. "I've two more throws left, so let go, ye mule-headed, lantern-jawed, ignorant poop!" She smacked him hard across the face with her shkulak.

"She is right!" Lazur said. "The dwarf princess Katernin has two more throws left with which to compete! Unhand her, Ullegh, or break your sworn oath!"

Ullegh dropped Katernin and scowled at Lazur. "When I win," he growled, "your life is in my hands too, old man, by sworn oath. Remember that."

Garauk felt despair in the pit of his stomach. Even two perfect throws to the fifty-point section of the distant pole would not equal Ullegh's score now. Katernin had not yet lost, but it was merely a formality. Nonetheless, she brushed herself off, straightened her clothing, and took her stance again. Garauk's heart soared at her courage, futile though it was. He girded himself to show the same courage in a few short seconds: he would fight, and he would die, breaking his oath in order to futilely attempt to defend her from the consequences of this loss.

Katernin's second throw struck the same section that Garauk's second throw had struck, earning her thirty-seven points. Her total score was now seventy-seven. In most games of shkulaktoss, it was a great score that should have set up her third throw to win the contest with a commanding lead. But virtually no games of shkulaktoss saw Ullegh's current score of one hundred and fifty. She was barely over half of it!

This time there was no uproar. A grim hush fell over the assembly, orcs and dwarves alike. The rules had been made clear. Princess Katernin had one more throw in which to make up seventy-four points to win. She took her stance, but this time Garauk noticed that her grip of the shkulak was off, her hips set differently. Was the stress causing her to break form? It didn't matter; a score of zero points was now as good as a score of fifty! Neither would enable her to win.

Katernin's next throw was an odd, wobbling thing; it sailed over the tops of several target poles, dancing in the air, and came down to strike the top of the second-most distant pole at an odd angle for thirty-five points. It then banked, continuing to spin and fly, and made a wobbling path back up the field to strike the bottom of the third-most distant pole nearby. Forty points.

A hush went over the crowd. Lozar stepped forward and took the fallen shkulak in his hands. It bore smudges of dye on its rim from both strikes as he held it aloft. "Princess Katernin's third throw," he shouted, "scores seventy-five points, for a total of one hundred and fifty-two points! By the rules which we have all sworn to uphold, she is the winner of this tournament of shkulaktoss!"

The assembly went into pandemonium. Dwarves cheered, throwing their caps into the air, while orcs barked bitter curses and flew into earth-pounding ranges. Several reached for weapons, only to be grabbed and dissuaded by sternly-speaking peers urging them not to act rashly. Garauk saw Ullegh snarl, grind his teeth with such force that two of them broke within his mouth, and then take up his spear, Jagged Tooth. With a scream of blind fury, he charged towards Katernin, holding the spear aloft.

"OATHBREAKER!" someone shouted, and several other orcs took up the call. The first one to tackle Ullegh caught his foot, barely slowing him, but several more caught him next about the waist and the legs, and he was pulled down, bellowing in outrage, into a pile of orcish bodies.

When disbelief cleared, Garauk could not contain his surging joy. He ran out onto the field, in full view of dwarves and orcs alike, and swept Katernin up into his arms, kissing her deeply and passionately. Her legs wound around his slender waist, and she returned the kiss with as much ardor. When they broke, and he saw her smile, triumphant but vulnerable, he only fell deeper in love with her than ever. She had trained hard, she had taken a big chance, and somehow, in her brilliant engineer's brain, she had figured that the trick she had played was just possible.

"I did this for everyone," Katernin told him softly, "but also for us two only. Nothing remains that will now keep ye and I apart."

"By all the gods and spirits," Garauk gasped, "how I love you, Katernin."

The assembly now grew quiet as Lazur and the other judges approached Katernin. "Does any here dispute," Lazur called out, "that Princess Katernin Ironcrown is the winner of this shkulaktoss contest?"

The field was silent.

"Does any here now state," Lazur called out, "that he or she will break the oath that all of us have sworn today, to put our futures in the hands of the winner of this game?"

Garauk was tense with apprehension, but fortunately the field remained silent again.

"Then speak," Lazur said, "Princess Katernin Ironcrown, and tell all of us assembled here your will for the futures of the White Mountain Clan and the Shattered Blade tribe."

Katernin looked around, then spoke. "The dwarves of the White Mountain Clan are kin and family to one another," she said, "as are the orcs of the Shattered Blade tribe. We are sworn to guard, protect, and aid one another. We follow our respective leaders, share in the good fortune of bounties, and assist the less fortunate in hard times, and that is because we are family. This most sacred and fundamental principle of our societies is inviolate above all others!"

Katernin paused, surveying the crowd, and Garauk was relieved to see both dwarves and orcs nodding along to her words.

"I, Katernin Ironcrown, am family to all dwarves here today," she continued, "just as the man beside me, Garauk Kargalish, is family to all orcs. But after today, this changes. After today, we all become a single family, for tomorrow is the wedding between Princess Katernin Ironcrown of the White Mountain Clan, and Garauk Kargalish of the Shattered Blade tribe, joining our two societies as allies, friends, and relations for all time! This, and no less, is my will for the White Mountain Clan and the Shattered Blade tribe, and every one of ye is bound by oath to respect and honor it."

An uproar of scattered cheers and murmurs went through both crowds again, and Katernin raised her voice to continue to be heard above the din. "The wedding is tomorrow, and the wedding feast shall be prepared and served under the direct supervision of the finest cook in either of our two societies: my own husband-to-be, Garauk Kargalish, son of High Chief Magrul Kargalish of the Shattered Blade tribe! Until then, let us celebrate our new friendship! Long live the White Mountain Clan! Long live the Shattered Blade tribe! And long live our glorious union!"

In the ensuing din, many things were said and much was done. Garauk knew none of it, for when he took Katernin in his arms and kissed her again, the rest of the world drifted away, and they were floating on the stars again, kissing, united as one forever.

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The next day, Katernin sat in her finest gown at the head of the table as orcs and dwarves under the direction of her new husband brought forth dish after dish steaming with delectable food. There was roast boar, fish chowder, turkey, and ham; wild greens dressed in oil and vinegar with diced tomatoes, perfectly roasted turnip mash drenched in butter and garlic, a sweet medley of carrots, yams, and beets in nutmeg and honey, pies of wild berry and apple, and a great lemon cake with cream frosting. The larders of the White Mountain Clan, and the very best foraging and hunting spots known to the Shattered Blade tribe, had yielded this bounty to create the greatest feast that either society had known in several generations. Garauk directed his helpers to serve it, beaming with pride, and also with happiness whenever his gaze fell upon Katernin herself on this blessed day.

Ferdoch and Ullegh were not present, having left in the night before, each cursing and vowing that their respective societies would regret the insults they had been shown. They were not missed. Apart from that, everybody seemed to be in good spirits: the elders who had served as judges during the contest now sat together, exchanging tall tales that grew more unbelievable as the afternoon drew on and the ale and brandy flowed. Here and there, a bold dwarven man would ask an orc lass to dance, and orc children played with dwarf children at the side of the gathering. Only High Chief Magrul, sitting near Katernin at the head of the table, next to King Grennaur and Queen Alya, seemed to remain disgruntled throughout it all. When Garauk brought forth a choice platter of food for Katernin, Magrul turned away in disgust.

"Eh, what's the matter with ye?" King Grennaur said to Magrul. "We're not having a war now, and our children are happy as can be. It may seem strange to our traditional way of thinking, yes, but we must give youth a chance; we are, after all, now bound by sworn oath!"

"I'm sure your daughter is pleased, dwarf," Magrul said bitterly, "but my son now waits on her and brings her meals like a common cook. This is shameful."

"There's no shame to it at all," Queen Alya protested. "He's as happy as any of us!"

"You cannot be serious," Magrul grumbled. He pointed to his son, giving Katernin her food with a lovesick smile, and shuddered. "Look over there and just tell me, tell me in your own words what you see now."

"Why," said Queen Alya, as she gazed upon the happy couple, "now is the winner of our disc contest made glorious supper by this son of ye, orc!"

The End?

This story has a direct sequel, Diplomatic Relations.

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