Helen and Troy's Epic Road Quest by A. Lee Martinez

the thigh, and he yelped. “Do you think I can join an orc gang in jail?”
    Nigel took a bite of his jelly-filled powdered doughnut and shrugged. “If you kill someone for our gods, you’re a lock.”
    Franklin grinned, envisioning prowling the halls of a penitentiary like a warrior chieftain. Nigel grinned, envisioning Franklin getting shanked before even getting off the prison bus.
    â€œWhere did you get that anyway?” asked Nigel.
    â€œOh this?” Franklin rattled the flail. “I bought it. The guy said it has stopping power.”
    â€œNobody ever used those things in real life,” said Nigel. “Too unpredictable. Too clumsy. You’re more likely to take your own head off than your opponent’s.”
    â€œI’ve been practicing.”
    Franklin whipped the weapon forward. The iron ball at the end of the chain rushed at Nigel’s skull, but he caught it in one hand.
    â€œCute.” Nigel frowned. “Now put it away before you hurt yourself.”
    Grumbling, Franklin did so. Nigel walked away and checked on Peggy Truthstalker, the seer appointed by Grog. She stood hunched over a pool of spilled motor oil.
    Peggy was a tough old orc. Orc skin tightened with age rather than wrinkling, and either darkened to a deep black or paled to a ghostly white. Peggy’s had gone pale and in the right light she could’ve been mistaken for a ghostly revenant risen from her grave. Her eyes were two yellow slits, and her face was stretched in a permanent grimace.
    â€œSurprised you didn’t hurt your hand,” she said.
    â€œI think I broke a bone or two,” he replied. “But they’re little ones, so I choose to ignore them.” He bent down and looked into the black pool. “See anything yet?”
    Peggy shook her head.
    â€œAre you sure you’re doing it right?” he asked.
    â€œI didn’t become the most feared trader on Wall Street by not knowing how to read omens,” she replied.
    â€œCan I get you anything to speed this up? If this takes longer than the weekend, my wife is going to kill me.”
    Peggy said, “In the old days, a little blood could help.”
    They glanced to Franklin.
    â€œWe should probably save him for an emergency,” said Peggy.
    Nigel grunted. He ran his knife across his hand and let the blood drip into the oil. She mixed it with her fingers and leaned down to give the puddle a deep sniff. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she spit out a string of unintelligible syllables.
    He sipped his coffee and waited for her to finish. The rest of the club milled about paying her little mind as she swayed and chanted to herself.
    A crash drew Nigel’s attention. Franklin stood over his bike, having knocked it over with one of his careless flail practice swings.
    Peggy snapped out of her trance. “Grog damn it, Franklin. Now I have to start over.”
    Nigel snatched away the weapon.
    â€œHey, that’s mine!” Franklin protested.
    â€œYou can have it back when you’re ready for it.”
    â€œBut I’m going to need a weapon, aren’t I?”
    â€œSomeone arm him with something he can make less noise with,” said Nigel.
    Franklin accepted a short sword offered him, but he wasn’t happy about it. “It’s kind of small, isn’t it?”
    â€œI’m sure you can still manage to find a way to poke your eye out with it,” replied Nigel.
    Peggy started the ritual again. She was nearly ready to say something useful when another crash broke her trance.
    â€œSorry.” Franklin struggled to right his motorcycle, having knocked it over with his new sword. The blade had drawn a long scratch across its paint job. “Ah, man.”
    Nigel nodded to Harold Marrowmaw, fattest orc in the club. “Sit on him until we’re done with this.”
    Harold smiled. He was a dentist in Pasadena, so his teeth were perfectly aligned, his tusks