Power Trio

It’s about midnight, and the fire’s low. He sticks near it, strumming his dragon acoustic. He’s put a rug over a lump of snow and is sitting on it, trying to get some relief for his aching tailbone.

Eventually, he’s sure, he’ll grow to love riding. The shocking speed the pack rhinos can achieve, the wind blowing past, the steady snort of breath and the sheer power awaiting his instruction.

Today all he could do was cling desperately to the reins and try to keep his nuts from cracking.

The action on his rewarded guitar is so low that the A string rattles on every fret, but he can fix that once he’s got time and tools.

He’s already thinking about how he’ll fix everything. The pack is the hard part, that life debt. But it was a necessary trade.

With his six-string by his side, he’s got a lot more options. Sure, he swore to the pack. But he’s only half orc, he figures. His other half is a sneaky little round-ear. And it didn't swear a thing.

He is forming a plan. He can return to Earth as someone else. It nearly killed him, the crossover, but it’s dawning on him it’s exactly what he needed. The walls were closing in on the guy he used to be. Unpaid bills, unanswered calls, angry ex-girlfriends and tearful ex-boyfriends and murderous ex-employers.

He is very glad that he doesn’t have his ID with him.

He is not named Nicholas.

But it’ll do.

A familiar whistle. Dee approaches, stands on the other edge of the fire. “You about ready to turn in?” she asks.

“Sure.” He looks around. “Where should I be going? Do I get a yurt?”

“Ain’t got one to spare,” she says. “C’mon. You’re with me again.”

He tries not to look excited. “I am?” Don’t get attached, Nick. That’s you now. Your name is Nick.

“Sure,” she says. “Means I don’t have to run that space heater so high. Fall in, Nicky Voraag, if those sore cheeks of yours are gonna let you walk.”

A few of his new packmates murmur to each other. The rangy riflewoman, Graila, he thinks her name is, leers at him as he follows their mistress.

She opens the flap for him and enters after him, kicks her boots off. Nick follows suit and sits. Dee shrugs out of her tunic, down to her civvy clothes again. The sweat of the bundled-up workday makes her shirt cling to her body. She sits criss-cross in the middle of the yurt, lights a lantern. Its glow outlines her broad, muscular form. He can see the contours of her sports bra, the little outward curve on the neckline where her heavy breasts spill over the band. He turns away. He shouldn’t look at Dee in this way. He’s not planning on staying with the pack for long.

Should he be taking more off? He doesn’t have the layers Dee has. Just the winter stuff and a pair of linen trousers. He should have asked for more clothes. He can hear his heartbeat unnaturally loud.

“You’re sounding good on that six-string, Nick,” she says. “I have a proposition for you. Before we turn in.”

He rests a hand on the thin canvas case Legendary gave him for his new instrument. “I’m listening.”

“Anise says no magic.” Shadows dance on the felt behind Dee. “I’m gonna be honest, Nick. I’m not sure about that.”

Gears turn in Nick’s mind. Dee’s behavior is making more sense. “You want me in the pack because I’m a bard.”

“I want you in the pack because I think you’re hungry for a new start and I think I can make a proper orc out of you,” Dee says. “And because you’re a bard. And I want you to teach me.”

He scratches his neck. “I’ve taught people how to play.”

“I want you to teach me magic. I teach you how to survive the old world. You teach me that.”

“I can’t promise that. Getting good enough to incant is going to take you a long time. But I promise you’ll at least learn the instrument and get the grounding you need.”

Dee grins. “All right, Nicky. If that’s what we can do, it’s what we’ll try. You wanna give it a shot now?”

“First lesson, you mean?”

She shakes her head. “You got here trying to incant. You ever manage that spell before?”

“I have,” he says. “Once or twice.”

“Once, or twice?”

“Once.”

“You wanna try again, I give you permission,” Dee says. “And I wanna watch.”

Nick fidgets with the zipper on his gig bag. “I don’t know, boss. Cantator was pretty clear.”

“Cantator hired the whole pack, not just you and not just me,” Dee says. “We ain’t gonna let her down. I pledged that. But she’s got a lot to worry about already. I’ve promised her you’re not part of that. The particulars of how we work belong to us. If I say you can cast, then you can cast. And I hope you will, for me.”

He sucks air through his teeth. “Things didn’t go great for me last time.”

“How about this? You take a spin at it, and if you manage it, I’ll give you another reward. That worked with the rhino.” Dee taps her chin. “I’m more of a carrot girl than a stick girl. You strike me as a carrot guy.”

“A reward like what?”

“What do you want, Slim?”

“I picked last time,” Nick says. “How about you pick this time?”

“Okay.” Dee leans forward. Her brown eyes are wide but calm. “I’ll show you my tits.”

His brain slams the brakes and checks that sentence in the rearview.

“What?”

“If you manage an incantation,” Dee says, “I will take my shirt and my bra off and give you a look at the ladies.” She lays a hand on her ample chest, as if explaining a brand-new concept. “Saw you checking them out a second ago. They’re nice, huh? You want a better view?”

Well, what do you say to that?

A smile creeps across her mouth. Her lips are plump and dark. The shiny nub of her left tusk pokes out. Nick sees it and follows suit, his grin tipping over into a laugh. She joins him, shoulders shaking, her laugh high and girlish for her size.

“You’re joking,” he says.

She stops laughing, just grins at him like she’s got a secret.

“You’re joking,” he repeats. “Right?”

“If I wasn’t,” she says, “would you say yes?”

“But are you?”

“How boutcha give that incantation a shot?” Dee rests her chin in her hand, watches him like he’s a fascinating zoo animal. “And we’ll see if we can find out.”

This is leverage, Nick thinks. You have something she wants. You should use it to get something more useful than a peek at a strange woman’s large breasts. But his hand is unzipping the bag. She tracks the motion. “That’s saying yes, y’know.”

“Shhh.” He tunes up, and fingerstyles an experimental arpeggio. “Let me focus.” He launches into the song.

He sways gently with the rising and curling sound of his strings as they hum under his calloused fingers. Deep gutbucket E string. Forward and bright D string. High chime of the B-E. His six oldest, closest friends. The neck is plasticky and cheap-feeling. Doesn’t matter. A guitar’s a guitar, and Nick thrills to it. He clears his throat, opens his mouth, and adds his voice to the laminated-wood chorus, wandering below and above and through its vibration as it tingles where it lays across his midsection.

And as he plays, the lamp flickers, and he feels the tunnel opening, the threads of reality fraying and widening. He sees the god’s-eye untangle, waiting for him to reach out and just touch…

Dee’s big pink tongue runs along her upper lip. His eye jerks to the motion.

And it all rushes away from him like a missed subway car, hurtling into the horizon. God dammit. He settles back, puts the guitar aside. “Sorry,” he says. “Can’t be too careful. Got to get this thing set up, hammer out the line some more.”

“Ah, well. All good.” Dee shrugs and turns the lantern off, plunging the yurt into darkness. “Between your other stuff tomorrow, I’ll let you go unsupervised for a while so you can work on it.” She opens the lip of the furry bedding he woke up inside this morning and rolls into it. “C’mere. Big day tomorrow.”

Nick climbs in with her, lays stiffly on the far side of the fur. It’s not a small bed, but Dee’s shoulders are wide enough that one of them is going to brush against him no matter where he lays.

“Do you want to get to know me, Nick?” she asks.

“Hmm?”

“Some orcs try to get to know their packmaster, be their friend. Some prefer to keep their distance. I’m okay either way. We can find you room in someone else’s yurt.”

“I’d like to get to know you,” he says. And sure, he’d also like to get out from under her thumb. But both are true, somehow.

“Okay, Nicky.” She turns onto her side to face him, giving him a little more room. “I think I’d like that, too.”

“Okay. What’s your favorite color?”

“Green,” she says. “Lucky me, right? What’s yours?”

“Same color. Green.”

He can make out her smile in the dark. “How about that.”

“Dee,” he says. “You were kidding, right?”

“About getting my tits out?” Her musical old world accent smacks the t in out and curls after it, a little expulsion of air.

“Yeah.”

“It’s just tits, man. Pack ain’t shy about skin. You’ll find out once summer comes around. Another reason to put on some pounds. Impress all the singles, get you a mate.” She lays onto her back again, arm brushing him. “You always sleep in your winter clothes, Nicky?”

Be very careful with this woman, Nick. She’s got you tied down. Don’t go and tighten the knot.

“It’s chilly,” he says.

A few more seconds of wind.

“Fair enough,” she says. “G’night.”

“Night, packmistress.”

Nick tries to get what sleep he can. It isn’t much.