Business, Pleasure, and Pugilism

[Otto]

Oh gods. Did Leo just wave a spear at the warchief?

And did he just give Imruk Black-Talon, Supreme Khan of the Berevar Host, an ultimatum?

Oh gods.

We're going to die.

Leo probably thought that a good orc would rise to any challenge. But if the Khan had to respond to every orc who threw down the gauntlet, there'd be a new leader every week. Challenges made to the higher-ups had to come from worthy and reputable warriors (read: not Leopold), and had to have a good cause behind them (read: not Leopold's). Barging in where you were barely welcome and making demands of the host was a major faux pas - but while elves and humans would probably just snub you, orcs were more fond of adding your skull to their growing collection of drinking vessels.

The entire tent was silent. More than twoscore sets of eyes glimmered at the envoy, and their owners' hands were each resting on the hilts of their weapons... except for the Khan. Imruk's warleader was visibly scowling at the humans and their snaga, but the Khan slouched in his chair and drummed five blackened fingers on the table.

"Gurat urdan maj-at," the Khan grumbled. "Shof-an kishaulus."

The hitherto frozen orcs now began to mutter darkly to each other. The mood had clearly turned sour, but Leopold and co. seemed to no longer be the target of these Berevarans' spite.

"And what," Leopold whispered out the corner of his mouth, "did the Khan say just now?"

Otto was still in shock at what he had heard. "He says... he says he needs to actually consider it. He's going to seek counsel. The other orcs aren't too pleased - I would have bet money he'd have us all slaughtered-"

Tha Khan's voice once again cut over the hubbub. "Krug!" he roared out.

The grumbling instantly ceased. Someone at the rear of the room began to guffaw. Another orc started giggling uncontrollably, and another few hollered with laughter. Soon enough, the whole tent was shaking with jollity as the punchline seemed to drop for everyone but the trio. A small and gangly snaga emerged from outside, sidled between the press of bodies to warily approach the Khan's table, and dropped to his knees. Imruk gestured for the slave to rise and approach.

"Blumos?" the Khan said, pointing at Leopold. Krug appraised his master's guests while the other orc added, "Tum-uurz?"

Imruk's dishevelled underling nodded sagely. "Jan-uurz," he suggested.

Otto's sense of hope vanished. "Oh," he said, dispiritedly.

"What is it?"

"That's the cook." Otto replied flatly. "He's the Khan's counsel. They're discussing how to cook us."

"Oh."

"I want you to shout something out right now, alright?"

Leopold brightened a little. "Yes?"

"'Kung-pik'. Emphasise the 'pik'."

"Alright?"

"As in, right now."

Leopold nodded. He cupped his hands to either side of his mouth, breathed deep, and yelled the word as loud as he could across the still-chuckling orcs. They all paused in apparent disbelief - and then started laughing afresh. Even the Khan cracked a smile.

"Well, that seemed to work," Leopold said with relief. "But what did I say?"

Even Otto couldn't keep from grinning. "'Slow-roast.'"

"Um..."

"It worked, didn't it?" Otto cajoled. "They... we still have a sense of humour. You'll become one of the boys yet."

They saw the Khan stand. Imruk raised an arm, and the other orcs quietened almost immediately. He opened his mouth to speak, but paused with a frown, and glared down at Krug. The snaga was sent rolling away with a sharp kick, quickly took the hint and bolted out the tent. Imruk returned his attention to the room and proceeded to address them all with a short speech in orcish. Otto mumbled a translation into Leopold's ear as best he could.

"The Khan says that you can fight his warchief, though he doesn't agree to any of your terms. Basically, if you win, the Khan will forget your transgression and allow us to live."

"Sorry, " Leopold interjected. "Do you mean 'forgive'?"

Otto gave Leopold a mildly reprimanding look. "They're orcs," he replied. "They don't forgive."