Free Clash of the Geeks by John Scalzi Page A

looked out across the valley and spied his once-proud village: the wall around it was broken and crumbling from years of unprovoked Wee-tin attacks. The forest he explored as a child was a black tangle of scorched earth and charred logs that were once trees. The pen where the UPKs once lived was empty, though he could see his brothers and sisters, tiny specks that appeared black from this distance, moving around as they prepared it for his triumphant return. 
    He pulled his hand away from the rocks, and saw that it was bleeding from his grip. He smiled without humor, and continued his journey up the mountain.
    •••
    He made camp without a fire in a mostly-level alcove beneath the mouth of the Bentclaw Pass, and ate a meal of uncooked meat until he could eat no more, and threw what was left over the side of the mountain. This was a traditional ritual, the night before a battle in the Bentclaw Pass, and he’d taken care to save enough, going hungry on the second day of his journey, to perform it. 
    “On the fifth day, you will be near Bentclaw Pass,” Rek had said, “and you are to eat until you are full, throwing the rest off the mountain.”
    “Why?” Any orc who wasted food would be punished, severely.
    “It is a tribute to those who have fought and fallen before you, to feed their spirits. It is also to remind you of the importance of your task: you will not need food for the journey home, because you will make it on winged back, or you will not make it at all.”
    Izlac hefted the meat in his hand and squeezed it until blood began to ooze out, just as it had earlier in the day. He thought of all the great warriors who had come here before him and the few who had returned. But he was not afraid; he felt exhilarated. He would be victorious. Izlac would save his people.
    He bellowed “Ghlag’ ghee Baâkun!” and threw the meat with all his might. He watched a thin tail of spray follow it in an arc, as it disappeared into the darkness down the side of the mountain. When he was certain that it was gone, and the spirits of his ancestors had been fed, he thanked them for their sacrifice, and begged them to guide him in the coming battle.
    He placed his axe and shield on the path, lay down next to them on the hard ground, and waited for sleep to arrive. It came slowly, as if it, too, had to climb the mountain to reach him.
    In the dream, he was a boy, and Rek was barely a man. It was Choosing Day, and he stood in the pen with the other boys who had just come of age. A score of UnicornPegasusKittens, still in their cages, waited to be released.
    “It is Choosing Day!” Rek cried.
    “Choosing Day!” They replied in unison.
    “All but one of you will fall. One of you will be Chosen to be The Rider. Be brave. Do not be afraid! You are warriors!”
    “Warriors!” They bellowed, in small voices that had yet to mature but did not tremble.
    Rek lifted his axe high and brought it down on the chain, dropping the gates and releasing the UnicornPegasusKittens. They burst from their cages, howling and caterwauling, and took to the sky, nearly blocking out the sun as they circled above. All around him, the other boys fell to the ground.
    Izlac looked to his left, and saw his childhood friend Kal. “You will be Chosen, Izzy,” As Kal spoke his face split open, spilling blood down his chest. Spinning to his left, he faced his twin brother Mak, whose chest was torn open. “We all knew it would be you, Izzy,” he said, tearing his heart from his chest, “it was always going to be you.” He bellowed “Ghlag’ ghee Baâkun ! ” as he threw it into the sky, where it was caught in mid-dive by a UnicornPegasusKitten who landed at Izlac’s feet.
    The world went silent, but for the sound of Mak’s still-beating heart. He looked back at Mak, and saw that he had become a baby, held by their mother, who sobbed. He looked away, and found himself on the mountain, now a man, surrounded by the bodies of those who were not