Page 65 of Grumpy Pucking Orc
Ozar
The next morning, I was up early, going building to building to ensure that every orc on our team came to practice. We ran laps around the arena, then went back to the ice to work some more on our skating and puck handling. Or “turd handling,” as the team called it. It was well after noon by the time I ended practice and assembled everyone in the locker room.
“Tonight, we are going to show these humans what a team of orcs can do,” I told them.
“We’re going to get theakotbeat out of us, that’s what,” one muttered.
I glared at the orc until he lowered his eyes. “We might not be as skilled at this game as the humans, but there is something weareskilled at. We can fight. We can knock them down. We can slam them into the walls. We can find their weaknesses and exploit them.”
Ugwyll nodded. “Scare theakotout of them, and they’ll be timid. They’ll make mistakes. And with those mistakes, we’ll have a chance to score goals.”
“We will defeat our enemy tonight,” Bwat shouted andraised his arm. The other team members did the same with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
“And as a reward, every teammate who gives it his all, who fights and defends, and attempts to score even if the turd misses the net…those orcs will receive a cannoli.”
I’d faced bull-wraiths in the mists of the Wrenga Mountains. I’d battled fae in the Valley of Shadows. I’d led the forces that defeatedmwilla-mkawho’d come from the depths of the ground when the quakes split the earth. But none of those had me on edge like Friday night’s hockey game.
With boxes holding three dozen cannoli in my arms, I entered the arena and made my way to the dusty coach’s office where I hid the baked treasures in the corner fridge. In the distance, I could hear the hum of the Zamboni machine on the ice. None of the team had arrived, but the whole arena had a sense of anticipation about it. Anxious excitement. A battle about to begin.
Finding a remote corner in the depths of the arena’s mechanical areas, I cleared my mind and focused on the game. It wasn’t easy. I’d texted Jordan about the tickets and her reply had conveyed excitement, but I still worried. What if she didn’t come? If her friends had other plans, would she choose them over a night of watching us probably lose against the humans? Or worse, if she watched us lose for the second week in a row, would she reconsider her feelings for me? I knew her heart was mine, but would her pragmatic side insist on a more capable mate? Would her heart be fickle after watching yet another disaster of a game?
She’s not the usual puck bunny.
I’d looked that term up on my phone and winced at the description. Jordan was not a woman who sought a famous mate,ora mate who was famous for losing. She would support my goals but not turn from me if achievement took time. Or never happened. Besides, this hockey thing was temporary. Soon we’d be wed and home, and I could impress her with how respected I was a guardian of my clan.
Forcing those thoughts from my mind, I focused on the game as I would an upcoming battle. All other concerns needed to be locked away. Only winning mattered.
Winning. As if that were even a remote possibility.
I slammed the door shut on that. The inner battle was most likely worse than the one I’d face in a few hours, but I did my best, and when I emerged from the mechanical room, I felt at peace.
That sense of peace lasted through the chaos of the locker room, through the booming of the announcer’s voice, through the initial skate onto the ice, through the anthem where we stood respectfully with our arms by our sides. It lasted until we skated to the benches, and I saw Jordan in the stands.
She and her two friends cheered and shouted, waving their arms at us. The look on her face…it was enough to stoke those hot coals deep inside myself to a bonfire. I wanted to make her proud. I wanted to see that look of joy and love on her face every day of my life.
“I’ve got a plan,” Bwat said, handing us each a sheet of paper. “Ozar asked me to find an advantage, and I’ve got one. We need to say these things to our enemies every chance we get. It isn’t enough to yell ‘fuck’ at them; we need to insult them in this particular way.”
“They make fun of each others’ mothers?” Ugwyll asked as he read the paper. “That can’t be right.”
“It’s crossing a line,” I agreed, wincing at some of the insults.
“This is what my research revealed,” Bwat insisted.
“I’m sure this is wrong,” Ugwyll told him.
“I don’t feel comfortable with these either,” I said. “Let’s stick to insulting their manhood, their strength and skill, and their appearance.”
My resolve vanished the moment I took the ice to face off against a human male for the puck. He looked me in the eye, head tilting upward as I was taller by a foot, and told me that he’d enjoyed my mother sucking his hand-axe last night.
Bwat was right. These humansdidstoop so low as to degrade another’s mother. For a split second, I was too shocked to react, then I said the first thing that came to my head.
“She has been dead for ages. You enjoy face-fucking corpses?”
The male’s pale face turned the color of the ice. “You son of a bitch,” he snarled.
“My mother is a dog-corpse and that is what you enjoy having suck your cock?” I wondered, not sure how any of this was insulting to either me or my long-dead mother.
“Fucker,” he roared, tossing off his gloves and diving at me.
