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Suddenly gloves were on the ice and the humans and orcs were a tangle of brawling individuals. The male I’d knocked to the ground took a swing at me, which I easily evaded, thankfully remaining on my feet. I grabbed his fist on his next swing and pushed it away, which caused me to slide a few feet back and out of his reach. The striped-shirted humans blew their whistles, and tried to physically separate the fighters. It took several minutes before all the combatants were a respectable distance apart.

One of the striped-shirt males skated toward me wearing the weary expression of someone who had already enforced many rules this evening and expected to enforce more before the game was over.

“Two minutes,” he said, pointing at me.

The crowd booed and jeered.

I frowned in confusion. “Me? I’m being punished? For falling?”

“For tripping a player on the opposing team.”

This was not how the rules I’d read on the internet had been defined. “I did not use my stick to trip him. I did not trip him at all. I fell and he was in the way.”

“You tripped him using your entire body.” The striped-shirted male scowled at me, pointing toward the glass-enclosed area that we’d come to refer to as ‘the jail’.

“This is very unfair,” I told him. “I fell. I did not trip him. My body did not collide with any part of him below his hips. That is not the definition of tripping according to the YouTube video I watched.”

“Two. Minutes.”

The human’s snarl and growly voice rivaled Ozar’s in authority, so I did not argue further. It would be fruitless to debate this when the decisions of the striped-shirted humans were law. So with a huff, and a flinging of my hands in the air, I slowly turned around and stomped my way to the jail.

15

BWAT

The crowd cheered. Which was very confusing.

“Are they pleased I have been penalized?” I asked the attendant as he opened the door.

“They’re pleased you flattened number twenty-three.” He grinned. “Awesome job, by the way. Knocked the breath right out of him. You’re one hell of a defender.”

I was? That was news to me.

“I fell,” I told the human. “It was unintentional. I did not plan to fall on him and knock him down.”

The male shrugged. “Yeah, but you did. And then there was that epic fight. The fans love it, and they love you.”

I sat, trying to absorb his words. The fans loved me? I couldn’t skate. I didn’t understand the game even after reading several articles and a book, and watching countless videos. I didn’t have Ozar or Ugwyll’s fire and leadership skills. I lacked Eng’s surly presence. I was just an inept orc that couldn’t manage to know left from right while on the ice.

Glancing over at Abby, I saw her give me another thumbs up and an approving nod. That’s all I needed. If accidentally falling on top of an enemy player made Abby happy, then I would do it again.

Or not. I really didn’t want to harm anyone, and the striped-shirted human insisting I had broken the rules bothered me.

On the ice, the humans arranged themselves for something I’d learned was called a power play. They moved into formation quickly, each man taking a position without confusion. Their sticks stayed on the ice. Their knees bent properly. Their weight appeared centered. None of them had to stab their shoe-blades into the ice as they moved forward. None of them waved their arms or kicked their legs in an attempt to remain upright. They moved as if they had been born with skates on their feet and their first steps were on the ice. Smooth. Elegant. It was as if they were participants in a choreographed dance.

Jealousy shot through me. I disliked them. Not personally. Professionally.

The puck dropped, and the humans immediately began passing in a pattern I recognized from my research. Umbrella formation, it was called. High puck movement. They were attempting to draw our fighters out of position and create a shooting path. For once in my time as a hockey player, I knew exactly what they were doing.

Unfortunately, this knowledge was of no use because I was in a jail-box.

“Ozar!” I shouted through the glass. “They are establishing an umbrella!”

Ozar glanced toward me as one of the enemy shot a bad pass. The puck struck Ozar’s shin pads.

He looked down, appeared surprised to find it there, then swung his stick with both hands as though harvesting grain with a scythe. The puck shot down the length of the ice. The crowd roared. Ozar grinned. Technically, it was an effective clear. It was not, however, elegant. Elegance was not among Ozar’s skills. It wasn’t among any of our skills.

The enemy quickly recovered the puck, passing it to one of their wing-players who bypassed all of our players, heading straight toward our goal where Morag widened his stance, giving the human a clear shot right between his legs. I shouted for someone to fall on the human, even if it would result in jail-time. That was when Ugwyll launched himself toward the enemy.