Power Trio

“Hey, Dee.” Graila pulls up beside Hammer, the wooden beads in her braids clacking. She switches to packtongue. “Ready for elf puke?”

Dee chuckles. “Shut up.” She stabs three fingers forward. “Ahead and report.”

“By your command.”

“Graila. You’re watered?”

“Aye, chief.” Graila rolls her eyes. “Strength and Victory.”

Dee gives her a wink and a nod as she rides ahead. “Victory and Strength.”

Graila forgets about her bottle on longer rides. It’s always sloshing when they get back to camp. Even now, the outrider surreptitiously uncaps it and takes a swig.

Graila oughta give Anise more credit. The elf is turning as green as her hair, but she’s not complaining. Anise has an air like she’s always on edge, but she never goes over it, never actually loses control. She’s hard on herself, more than she’s hard on anyone else. Dee was just like that when she started up as packmistress, thinks maybe the elf could stand to project a little more confidence. But it’s not her place to give her boss advice, even if the little elf concerns her sometimes with how thin and delicate she looks.

“Graila’s just gonna scout up at the North cross wall for us,” she explains. It bugs Anise when she gives commands and then doesn’t translate them.

Anise turns round and looks up at her, caution in her golden eyes. She has a pretty little skunk stripe of silver off her temple, mingling into her green hair. Between that and the sleepy bags under her eyes, Dee imagines she’s older than she looks. Elves can be like that. “Not expecting trouble, are we?”

“Nah. Just want the lay of the land.” Dee gives her a reassuring pat on the shoulder, feels more give to the elf’s posture than usual. “You hungry, boss?”

“I’m okay,” Anise says.

“Haven’t seen you eat for a bit,” Dee says. “Riding a rhino is tough work.”

“I’m really fine.”

“Okay. Well, I’m gonna eat.” She whistles. “Rarek. Ration.”

Her huge, scarred seneschal pulls a freeze-dried pack of jerky out of his saddlebag and underhand tosses it to her. She catches it and waves it at him. “Thank you, brother.” He returns the wave silently. Rarek says about a dozen words a day.

Dee twists the reins across her forearm and snaps the stamped brown-paper package open, takes a nibble of salty auroch. She isn’t hungry, actually, not enough to spend the meat on herself, but she’s got a hunch.

Anise proves her correct. “If you’re offering, I’ll have some.”

“You bet, boss.” Dee takes one strip out for herself and drops the rest into Anise’s lap as she takes the braided reins back in hand. The elf’s a skinny little thing. Maybe that’s how elves are supposed to be, but it trigger’s Dee’s instinct to get her fed.

Anise talks sometimes like she’s gross and over-the-hill, and it took Dee a while to realize she was being serious and self-deprecating, not joking around. To the packmistress’s eyes, she’s about as cute as an elf ought to be. Willowy and elegant. And she’s got a great ass. Dee’s thought of mentioning that to cheer her up, but she’s told Earthlings are uptight about that sort of thing.

Anise chews the jerky as Graila’s whistling birdsong signal filters through the air. Dee raises a fist. “Hold, pack.”

Her outrider canters across the snow, circles to a stop close to Dee’s ear. “Half dozen, astride,” she mutters. “Strapped. He tries to intimidate you, chief.”

Dee swirls some spit around in her mouth. “Heard. Thanks, Grail.”

Anise holds a piece of jerky up. “You want one?”

Graila takes the meat from Anise and dangles it in front of Toktok, her rangy rhino. Her gray tongue emerges and wraps around it.

Anise frowns. “I thought rhinos were herbivores.”

“Not these rhinos, ma’am.” Graila grins a sharpened grin.

“So boss.” Dee clears her throat. “Might get testy up ahead.”

“Testy?”

“I might have to remind our boy Taff about the agreement he signed,” Dee says. “He’s in the mood to test my tusks.” Anise hunkers down and goes a shade paler. Dee talks fast. “This is what you hired us for. We’re ready to handle it. But if I need you to do anything and I don’t have time to ask nice or explain myself, this is my apology in advance.”

“Apology accepted,” the elf says, voice pinched with anxiety. Dee resists the urge to ruffle her little green hairdo.

The dark ribbon of the North Cross wall lays across the snowscape. The Mother Moon is out, its Daughter’s faint crescent visible behind it. This far out into the stick the grand stone wall that slices through the Packlands is just a simple wooden palisade, with a floodlight glow at its single-story gatehouse, before a double-crank dwarfiron portcullis.

In the cobbled road at the gate, there awaits a semicircular ring of orcs astride rhinos. Dee opens a hand and Graila puts a pair of binoculars in it. She sweeps across the faces, recognizes Taff and his hothead seneschal (and mate) Wina. “Ah, shit,” she says. “Got his mate-eschal with him. Probably gave him all kinds of dumb peacocking notions.”

“What’s our play?” Graila takes her ‘nocs back. “Six of them, three of us. Four if you count the elf.”

“Please do not count me,” Anise says.

Dee swings off of Hammer, pats his haunch. “Not gonna give him anything to feed his ego. He wants to puff his chest out, he can do it at poor little outnumbered, rideless Dee-dee. Graila, Overwatch.”

“Aye.” Graila unslings her hunting rifle, lays it across her lap. Anise is stiff as a board.

“Just a precaution, boss.” Dee gives her a reassuring double fingergun. “Graila’s just here to keep everyone honest. Do you trust me?”

“I trust you.”

“All right, then. I’mma go earn my paycheck real quick.”

She strides down the road, high-kneeing to keep her gait in the thick snow. More fat flakes descend irregularly; one lands on her cheek. It’s a lovely winter night, but cold. She’s looking forward to getting a little fire in the veins.

Her wingmen descend behind her on rhinoback, at a cautious distance. Hammer’s reins are in Rarek’s hand and Anise astride is doing everything she can to project sober professionalism, even though she’s clearly bugging out and getting jostled all over again.

“Voraag River Pack greets the Cross North,” Dee calls. The snow muffles everything, robs her voice of echo or reverb. “You rolled out a welcoming party, Taff. Mighty kind.”

“Diak’zinae,” Taff rumbles. He sits astride a well-bred racing rhino, must have cost a fortune. The fur coat and the semiautomatic piece at his waist are equally upscale. “You are under-manned.”

Dee holds up a finger. “That bargaining preamble we signed said English only in negotiations, brother.” She gestures to Anise, who tries to sit up straighter. “Ms. Cantator and you have a deal. I answer to her. Just wanted to come up before I bring the convoy in the morning, make sure it’s still square, and get some last signatures.”

Taff spits a steaming wad of chaw into the snow. “We got a problem.”

Dee puts her hands on her hips. “Let’s solve it.”

“Problem is the agreement says Voraag River Pack,” Taff says. “That’s your sister’s pack, ain’t it?”

“And mine,” Dee says. She sees how Taff is going to play this. Good. Let him think this is her weakness. Let him believe he’s playing her.

Let him imagine it’s herself she hates, for the bullet she put between her sister’s eyes.

“You are not packmaster,” Wina says.

“English.” Dee’s voice is smooth as the unbroken snow.

“Your sister was strong,” Taff says. “She had tusks of command. You, I don’t know. Only what I hear. Which ain’t so good.”

He looks to Anise. “New deal. We take half of what we asked for, we leave all the rhinos Warcry brung. But you ditch Voraag here. North Cross, we’ve got the right people, and more of them. We’ll take you through. You’ll be better off.”

“I’d like to stick with the originally signed agreement,” Anise says.

Taff chuckles and shakes his head. “You don’t know who you’re moving with. Used to be that an orc who kills a packmaster is the packmaster. But those are old ways. Old and backward. The old agreement, we can’t honor it. Not with this one. Thought hard about it. Can’t sit with it.”

Taff wants her tangr’ak hot, her inner flame toasting her brain. But there’s precious few orcs in this world who can control that fire like Diak’zinae can. It’s the only reason she’s still alive. “Careful, brother,” she says.

“English.” Taff leers down at her from his rhino as it canters up to her, on the rim of the floodlight. “We talk English now. And we don’t go and kill our leaders to take their place. Your own sister.”

“How about you come down here?” Dee says. “And say that a little louder.” She drags the heel of her boot in a slow circle, makes a line in front of her in the snow. “Ask Wina to put some slack on your leash, let you come eye-to-eye with me.”

Taff swings off of his rhino, stomps forth and presses his forehead to Dee’s. “I name you honorless,” he says. “Sororicide.”

“Name it on your steel,” Dee says, and knows he will. Knows he thinks he’s got her all aggro and dumb. She lightens the gauntlet grip she keeps on her anger, just a little. Just enough.

Taff’s hand slaps leather. Dee’s faster.

The chrome barrel of her revolver twitches out from her hip and shoves under Taff’s jaw. “Slow,” Dee says. He’s about to juke his head and go for the disarm. He doesn’t think she’ll pull the trigger.

There it is. His arm up, head moving, hand slamming into her elbow and twisting it away.

She drops the revolver through the air, catches it in her other glove and pulls the hammer back with a click. It’s pointed directly at Taff’s crotch.

“Weak,” she growls. “Tend your fire and keep your word. Preserve your honor. And your fucking grandkids.”

Snowy silence. Graila’s rifle is tilted up, her finger resting next to the trigger, her sights zeroed into one of the North Cross Pack’s heads.

Taff shoves himself roughly away from Dee. “We keep to the agreement.” Wina opens her mouth. He snarls it shut again. “Move quick tomorrow. I want to see the back of you. I want Voraag out of my turf.”

“You got it, brao’ka. My boss just has to review some things with you and get your initials and we’re outta your hair.” Dee twirls her pistol back into her belt and climbs onto Hammer. She taps Anise. “Go ahead, Ani. We’re behind you.”

“I don’t know how,” Anise murmurs.

“Sure you do. Hard part’s done.”

Anise clutches her wrist. “I mean, I don’t know how to get off this damn rhino. Help please.”

“Ah.” Dee hops back to the ground, closes her mitts around Anise’s waist, and lifts her out of the saddle and onto her feet.

“Thanks, Dee.” Anise straightens her coat and pulls her messenger bag off Hammer’s back. “Now, Mr. Taff. I’d like us to refamiliarize ourselves with page two, the schedule of payments.”

* * *

Dee dismounts and rubs Hammer’s horn, gives him a big scratch on the edge of the faceplate. “Good boy, Hammer.” she purrs. “Good job playing nice with the elf.”

Legendary are hanging around the trailer again. Kell Kamiyon’s is in the pen with the rhinos while Evan sits halfway into the heated interior, goblin wife on his lap, playing a game on one of those blinky boxes they like. Dee thinks about telling them to shut the door, keep the heat in, but Kell likes her mates in her field of view, gets nervous and wiggly when she can’t see them.

Dee wonders what that’s like, being mated. Seems annoying to always be stuck to someone, but Kell has this big wolf grin every time she’s touching either of them. Hard not to be a little envious.

“Dodge, dude,” the goblin says.

“I can’t dodge it,” Evan says. “You’re supposed to jump over that one.” He sighs disappointedly as a tiny digital scream issues from the box and passes it into Thekla’s grabby fingers. “You’re up.”

Kell is delightedly rubbing the shaggy belly of Mama Korky’s youngest cub. She spends a ton of time with the rhinos. Dee likes the drummer, likes how gobsmacked she gets about all the old world stuff she professed to only having read about.

“Sister,” she says.

Kell looks up, grins as the cub play-butts her palm. “Honor to you, chief.” The earth orc has such an odd accent, all smooth and no gutter to it. It’s like she’s talking English but using packtongue words. “Did it all work out with the North Cross dickhead?”

Dee shrugs. “Had to draw the wheel gun on him but didn’t have to shoot. Not my worst negotiation.” She’s rewarded by the star-struck look she was kinda hoping for. It’s important not to get too much of an ego when you’re running the pack, or you end up like Taff, but Dee lets herself indulge with Kell. “You see our uninvited guest?”

“Over by the fire.” Kell points. “He was asking around for a guitar a bit ago. Not sure if that’s an idea you’d like, considering the magic thing. Now he’s getting Dalma’d.”

“I feel the need to apologize for my cousin again,” Thekla says. Another death rattle from the device. “Aw cuntbuckets.”

Dee hitches her pants up. “Guess I’ll go rescue him. Strength and Victory, Kelly.”

Kell smiles. She has let no one else in the camp (or the world, probably) call her Kelly. “Victory and Strength.”

She strolls down to the campfire. Nicholas is sitting knees-together on a bench next to Dalma Kamiyon, Legendary’s social media manager and Thekla’s some-amount-of-removed cousin. The black-banged and intense goblin is even shorter than Legendary’s lead singer, making her squarely the tiniest member of the tour. But her presence outlooms her.

“If you had lost a limb to frostbite,” she’s saying, “which would you have chosen?”

“Uh. Leg I guess.”

“Interesting.” Dalma examines the limb in question. “Why don’t you like your leg?”

“I do. I just—if I had to pick.”

“Would you have been willing to donate it?” Dalma asks. “To art? I sometimes dare to call myself an artist. Did you know that?”

“Oh. Dope.”

“I have never worked with a severed leg before. But I’ve had ideas.”

Dee whistles, uses her generic call since she and Nick haven’t come up with their own yet. A few of her pack look up, then return to their business when they see where she’s looking. “Hey-o, Nicky. Got a job for ya.”

Nick stands up, clearly grateful for the escape. “See you around, Dalma,” he says.

“Okay,” she says. “Hello, mistress. Have you thought on my request?”

“Still turning it over, Miss Dalma.” Dee plants a mitt on Nick’s back and steers him away, over to Storage.

“Why does that three foot tall chick terrify me?” Nick asks. “What’s her request?”

“Dalma’s going to ask you for some urine at some point for a project she’s doing,” Dee says. “Pack policy is we demur. Okay, grab those two boxes. Tomorrow we’re gonna be breaking the camp and loading the rhinos most of the morning. Gonna teach you that now while I got the time to spare.”

Nick bends down to pick up one of the hard cases Dee indicated. He tugs on it, realizes its weight. She sees doubt flicker through those stormy eyes. He squats down and lifts with his legs, hisses out air. “What’s in this shit?”

“Lighting stuff. So don’t drop it.” She takes in his strain. “Maybe let’s do two trips.”

He shakes his head. “I got it. Could you stack another one on?”

Dee cocks a brow, but does as he requests, piling a second hard case into Nick’s arms. She hoists a couple herself and jerks her head toward the pens. “C’mon. And shout if you need a break, okay? Can’t have you pulling a muscle.”

He doesn’t shout. Uphill, in the snow, with his undertrained city-boy body clearly battling him, Nick carries out his packmistress’s command. Drive, Dee thinks, and she’s glad to see it.

She told Anise this was why she wanted the guy in her pack. She was lying through her teeth about the real reason. But it’s still a nice bonus.