The Tempering Read online

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  Groth awoke feeling fresh and wholesome. Outwardly, anyway. Feeling as if he'd just been bathed did absolutely nothing to quench his I-left-ravenous behind a week ago hunger. He lay in a narrow cot, with nothing but a thin cloth sheet to conceal his nakedness. The not-so-small room he occupied was clean and smelled of alcohol more potent than any he'd ever drank, and on a table in the corner next to the single window sat a washbasin, with a pitcher of cool water sitting in a nearby wicker-chair. The walls were of stained wood, as was the small table and the heavy wooden door.

  How he'd become unconscious was still a mystery. The soldiers that had taken him from Azul's dungeons had been dragging him through the dungeon hallways, and when they passed the tall brown man, with the multi-braided gray hair that was pulled into a leather band and draped down his back over his black robes, the man made a small gesture with his hands, and Groth's last thoughts before awaking went swimming into the gray dawning of unconsciousness.

  As Groth lay there pondering his last few waking memories, his silent reverie was interrupted by light footsteps from outside the door. The door opened -- and a large, plump young woman with a massive mane of red hair and a pleasant smile entered the room with a covered tray and a large wooden pitcher. The woman's dress was of a somber blue, and it danced about her ankles as she walked over to the table and sat the tray down. She then turned to Groth, her smile still vibrant and sweet, with her eyes only occasionally betraying her hatred for him.

  Her voice was sweet, melodious. Only a small trace of the hatred betrayed by her eyes seeped into her words. She said simply, "The chief medic will be with you shortly. I do hope you enjoy your meal, and I certainly hope you don't eat it too fast and choke yourself." As she turned to walk to the door, only then did her smile shed its skin to show her true feelings. As she left the room, she shut the door with a little more force than was necessary -- it only took Groth's ears a few seconds to clear the ringing. Groth sampled the food, and though it was still a bit hot, in his state it tasted better even than his wife's hairy hot-box, and slight minutes later he wondered fleetingly if he hadn't stuffed the entire world into his belly. He downed the wooden pitcher of ale in three huge gulps, and wished he had more. He soon realized, though, that drinking as much and as fast as he did was a mistake.

  Think calm things...think calm things, he repeated in his thoughts, over and over, hoping that somehow, he wouldn't soon put everything back in the tray in a less ordered form.

  If I walk slowly, slowly over to the bed, lie back, easy "URP" easy...think calm...think peace. . .

  In seconds he was dashing to the washbasin, dumping the cool water anywhere he could throw it, and was murmuring and straining to the ceramic bowl as he released the mighty pressure his churning stomach forced him to purge. If he felt like he'd been through hell before. . .

  Behind the orc the door burst open, and with a walking charge a portly man with a well-trimmed black beard and mustache stomped through the doorway, and stopped to stand with fists-on-hips behind the heaving orc. The man's beady black eyes were flaming.

  "What in the name of hell's roasted whores do you think you're tryin' to do, you red-eyed leather-skinned horned son of a dead slit? I'm tryin' to save your damned-near dead ass from whatever hell you have on the other side, and you're squatin' here in the floor, tryin' to count and see how many organs you have!" The man took a deep breath, and when he exhaled he seemed a bit, but not much, calmer. When he spoke again, his naturally soft voice was a bit more gentle, relaxed.

  "When you get done givin' head to your ceramic god, go lie in the bed, so I can attempt to save whatever's left of your wretched heathen hide." After a few more dry heaves, the frail orc struggled to his feet and obeyed.

  "Why are you helping me?" Groth asked in a weak, trembling voice. He tried to give the man a fierce glare, but he only managed to make himself cough. "Are you trying to get me healthy so you can really start torturing me?"

  "Why in the hell would anybody bother with it? There's a war goin' on, orc. In times of peace we might go through the trouble just for a little fun, and sometimes I got to do a little torture myself. I know where to hurt your miserable kind better than anyone else." The man sighed, and then looked at Groth with a look of pure hatred. "I can't figure why the king, a known, lifetime ha. . .why, by the gods of Darkness themselves! The why I can't figure out. Why the king in all his infinite wisdom wants to pander to a wasted orc blacksmith is beyond my humble station. But orders are orders, and I'm to do my best to see you fit again. You should feel very grateful, orc, that the king has decided to let you live."

  The man paused a bit before he asked the orc, "Don't you orcs have some kind of oath about never speakin' to our kind when you're taken prisoner? Doesn't the fact that you're talkin' to me mean you're an oathbreaker? Well orc, flap yer yap!"

  "Starving does things to an orc's mind, human. Blacksmiths don't take the warrior's oath, but it's implied. It's tradition. Tradition has never meant much to a dying orc."

  "Kind of wordy for an orc, aren't ya. How'd you learn to speak human so well?"

  "Wouldn't you like to know."

  "It's not important. I've gotta fix you up well enough to have an audience with the king in a week's time. And you will cooperate, or I will tell the king he'll have to find another orc for whatever it is he's up to, and then you will die. I have been told to tell ya that if you cooperate with me getting you healthy, then you will at least live long enough to see the king. After that, well, I hope they decide to torture you after all." The chief medic grinned a sadistically delighted smile. "It will be my pleasure."

  Groth said nothing. What did he have to lose? If I live long enough, he thought, I'll get the chance to tell their king to his face what I think of him and his 'kingdom'.