The following night, the celebration was held outside the village on the shore of the river. A massive bonfire had been erected, and Koruk could feel the pleasant heat on his skin even standing as far back as he was. Tables had been laid out, and a few orcish men and women worked feverishly over a cluster of smaller fires to cook the night’s feast. The cloying smell of roast pork made Koruk salivate, but he did his best to restrain himself.

  A large crowd had circled around him and Moktark, as the latter told an only slightly embellished tale of their exploits in the north. The tribesmen in the crowd were captivated by every word as Moktark paced around the circle. The two heroes of the hour even fought a mock battle, with Moktark acting out the role of Kevesh the Beast Tamer warrior, portrayed as a strong but incredibly dimwitted buffoon who was easily dispatched by a one-liner spouting Koruk. The crowd laughed and roared approval as Kevesh was cast down, and jeered as Kevesh treacherously refused to withdraw his troops in shame.

  It was a clever display, Koruk thought after the battle. Moktark had cast himself as the villain and him as the hero, and thus put him in a good light even though in reality it had been Moktark that defeated Kevesh. He felt a warm feeling in his belly at his friend’s kindness, but was quickly distracted as the crowd pressed forward badgering him and Moktark with questions and cheers.

  During this Oben had sat idly by. A few children had approached him and looked at him with curiosity, but by and large he was ignored by the crowds of partiers. Maybe it was for the best, he thought. He was a stranger in a strange land. He gazed up at the clear sky, at the stars and the moons. The constellations at least were familiar to him, even if nothing else on this world was. A lot had changed in three thousand years. He sighed, and looked over at the crowd of orcs. It looked like the primitives who rescued him had taken the door from his escape pod, and were showing it off to one another. The juxtaposition of childlike wonder on their brutal faces brought a small smile to his face. It was almost comical. He couldn’t blame them he supposed. One of the orcs approached him, the smaller one who had treated his injuries.

  Time to play my role then, he thought.

  ***

  Koruk hoisted Oben up onto his shoulders, smiling broadly. Moktark began a speech.

  “Behold! This is Oben, the fire drake! A man who crawled out of the egg of a dragon, who sailed on the blue sky! Now he will travel with us, to fight our enemies in the south and claim their ancient treasures! Treasures like this door of silver, pulled from the egg of the dragon itself!” Moktark said, holding the silver door over his head with one hand. Oben squirmed a bit, looking uncomfortable, and Koruk put him down and quietly thanked him.

  “A fine treasure, brave heroes. May I have a look at it?” an elderly yet commanding voice called out. All eyes turned as Soth stepped forward, his long beard dangling to nearly the level of his belt.

  “Of course, chieftain. We’d be honoured.” Moktark said.

  Soth spent some time examining the shield, muttering to himself, as Moktark turned back to pleasing the crowd with a tale of his later battles with the Beast Tamers. Feeling that his role in the story was finished, Koruk knelt down beside Soth to observe.

  The older orc rubbed a black stone over the surface of the door, a puzzled expression on his face. He held the stone up to his face and examined it closely, and put it away with a grunt.

  “It’s not silver.” He said offhandedly.

  “What do you mean?” Koruk asked. Soth looked at him curiously for awhile, as if deciding whether to answer.

  “This stone, it’s a touchstone.” he said, displaying the dull, black pebble. It didn’t look like anything special to Koruk, just another rock like you could find anywhere. “If you rub it on silver or gold, a streak will appear on the stone. A trained eye can see the quality of the metal from examining it. Old trick I learned from the soot shamans.”

  “I see no streaks.” Koruk said, confused.

  “Yes quite right, No streaks. This metal... it’s too hard to be silver. I don’t know what it is.”

  Soth pulled out a variety of tools out of the pouch. An obsidian knife, a flint drill, and a beautiful bronze dagger. He tested each in turn, scraping and scratching at the surface of the door with them. None of them made a scratch.

  “Astonishing.” He muttered.

  Soth rose to his feet and smoothed his beard. Seeing the look on his face, Moktark interrupted his story and marched over.

  “What have you found old man? You look vexed.” He asked. Soth appeared to notice him for the first time, and turned to him.

  “Hm? Ah Moktark, good. I’d like you to hit this with your axe as hard as you can.”

  Moktark was taken aback.

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  “Are you sure? I don’t want to damage it. I just got it.” He said sheepishly.

  “Trust me.” Soth said, taking a few steps back. “When you’re ready.”

  Moktark raised his brow quizzically. He fetched his flint axe he was using for demonstration and hefted it in his hand, and then propped up the door on a log. He lifted the axe, and hesitated a bit, looking back at Soth for confirmation. Soth nodded, and Moktark brought the axe down in an overhand stroke. It swept through the air like a bolt of lightning and slammed into the door with a loud crack. Shards of stone exploded into the air. The door flexed and sprang back. Moktark looked at his ruined axe and tossed it to the ground.

  “You tricked me! That was a good axe!” He said, pointing accusingly at Soth.

  “Look at the door.”

  Moktark’s eyes turned from anger to shock, and then to wonder. The surface of the door was virtually untouched, save for the smallest of scratches where the axe struck it. He ran his fingers over it unbelieving. The crowd gasped and crowded in to look.

  “I think this artefact is wasted as a door for your hut young warrior.” Soth said. “But, as a shield...”

  Moktark’s eyes lit up. He understood.

  “Anyone wielding a shield like this would be invulnerable...” Moktark said quietly. He flipped the door over. It had a couple of handles on the back and some other protrusions. “Yeah, that could work...”

  “Put a couple leather straps there, should work.” Someone from the crowd said.

  “And look, you can see your enemies through that window, but they can’t hit you! You don’t need to peek around the shield!” Said another. Moktark nodded, taking it in. He smiled at Soth, and gave him a nod of appreciation.

  “A shield befitting a great warrior.” Soth said. “I’ve done all I can to examine it, but I’m out of my element. When you take it south with you to Zernthod, show it to the soot shamans. They may know more about the magic that went into its construction.”

  Other warriors took part in the triumph, showcasing the loot they had pillaged and proclaiming their deeds, but they were largely overshadowed by Koruk and Moktark’s story. The exception came near the end of the festival, when a middle aged warrior drug a trio of goats and a young woman before the crowds.

  “Ah you brought more meat for the feast!” Shouted a voice. The warrior shook his head.

  “No, these aren’t for eating. These are special goats! Magic goats!” He proclaimed, standing in front of them to ward off the hungry crowd. They looked at him dubiously.

  “Magic goats? Are you going to hit them with your axe and tell us they’re invincible?”

  He shook his head.

  “No. I stole these from the beast tamers. Watch!”

  He motioned the young woman forward. She was pretty, Koruk thought. Almost dainty, if a she-orc could ever be described in those terms, with short tusks and a soft slender green body. What she did next however, was disturbing. She placed a pot under the goat, knelt beside it, and began pulling on its udder, squeezing milk out.

  The crowd looked on silently, horror mixed with curiosity on their faces.

  “I… uh, didn’t know you were into that, Tagguk.” Someone said. A nervous laugh reverberated through the crowd.

  “What? No you don’t understand. The Beast Tamers take the milk from these goats and drink it! It’s very good!”

  “Look I know the girl is cute but this is perverse Tagguk.”

  “Just have patience, you’ll see.”

  The pot was filled, and the girl gave it to Tagguk. He took a swig of it, and wiped the white liquid off his lip. Jeers and retching noises greeted him from the crowd.

  “What, it’s good! Who wants to try some?” He shouted.

  Silence.

  Curiosity got the better of Koruk. He stepped forward.

  “Uh, I’ll try it, I guess?”

  Tagguk looked excited, but Koruk’s eyes were more focused on the girl. She wasn’t from his village, and had the uniform green skin of a Beast Tamer. Was she a battle captive? She met his gaze and held it a moment, before breaking away.

  Looking at the pot full of white liquid, Koruk immediately had second thoughts.

  “I’m not going to turn into a baby or something if I drink this am I?” He asked.

  “Bah, do I look like a babe to you? It’s fine, try it!” Tagguk said. His eyes seemed almost pleading. Koruk decided to try it, if only to spare the older warrior some embarrassment.

  “...”

  “How was it?”

  “… It wasn’t too bad. It was… weird… but uh...” Koruk said, looking at the crowd. They seemed to be waiting for his judgment. “Yeah, it was alright.”

  “There you hear it! Who’s next!?” Tagguk shouted, pure joy written on his features. A couple other orcs stepped forward hesitantly, and Koruk made his escape.

  After the warriors had told their stories and presented their treasures, Koruk’s nose twitched as a delicious smell hit it. He wasn’t the only one who noticed either, as he eyed a steady stream of orcs heading for the outdoor feasting tables. Moktark and Oben joined him, and they found a seat on a long wooden bench alongside the couple hundred other partiers.

  All manner of delicious food had been laid out. Whole roasted pigs, stuffed with mashed yam and seasoned with herbs. Racks of smoked fish. Coconuts and fruit from the northern shore. Wild game. An epic feast, befitting heroes.

  There was no fanfare, no civility. Orcs hastily grabbed at the food, fighting over the best pieces, and hoarded it in a heap in front of them on the table before digging in. Even the women showed off their savagery, clawing and scratching anyone who tried to deny them their dinner. It was an absolute free for all filled with shouting and flailing.

  Oben seemed uncertain, and Moktark clapped him on the back.

  “Eat little Drake!” He said between mouthfuls of pork. “Before it’s all gone!”

  Oben smiled, and plucked a piece of pork away from a carcass with his small fingers. He tasted it, and his eyes lit up.

  “I never taste this. It is big good!” He said.

  “Here, try it with this.” Koruk said, and passed him a bowl of a green sauce.

  “What this?”

  “Mint sauce, I think. Herbs from up in the hills.”

  Oben tried it. The flavours were unlike anything he had ever experienced. He felt his sinuses blasted open, and coughed.

  “Very strong. Wow.” He said, but he continued dipping his pork into it.

  When the food on the table was gone, the cooks brought out a second course, along with heady drinks of fermented yam and bowls of the goat’s milk demonstrated earlier. To Koruk’s surprise, Oben seemed to enjoy the milk and drank deeply of it, which encouraged others watching to do the same.

  After the table was picked clean, the table turned to drunken banter and laughter. Koruk’s head felt light from the drink, and he and his companions found themselves stumbling home afterwards with smiles on their faces.