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Whitefang laughed. His daughter rolled her eyes.
"Battle alliance is for against humans," a white-eyebrowed old male said.
"They insult," a younger warrior shouted from the crowd to the side. At least that's what Valentine thought he said. The youth's trade tongue was clumsy, either from emotion or lack of practice.
"Want battle!" another youth said.
Others shouted in their own tongue. Valentine thought he recognized the word for blood.
"Kill us and you will have battle with humans," Valentine said.
Whitefang laughed, finding the prospect of war as funny as the taste of root beer.
"Fuck you up," Whitefang said. In pretty fair English.
If the Whitefangs killed them, at least it would be over quick. Warrior enemies would be dispatched quickly and cleanly. The Grogs reserved torture for criminals.
"Means bad old times," Valentine said. "Come soldiers. Come artillery. Come armored car."
"Let armored car come," Whitefang laughed. He barked at his harem, and they disappeared into the basement of the chief's house. They reemerged bearing steering wheels and machine-gun turret rings, executing neat pirouettes in front of Valentine and Callaslough.
Callaslough was breathing fast, like a bull working up a charge. "Bas-"
"Easy," Valentine said.
"Humans beg help," Valentine said, loudly enough for all to hear.
That got them talking: humans begging. Whitefang slapped his callused, hairless kneecaps to silence them.
"Doublebloods attack humans," Valentine said. "Steal much. Capture many. Doublebloods worst enemy humans now."
Even more talk now, with some excited yips from the young warriors. Valentine suspected that the Doublebloods had done their share of raiding on Whitefang lands, being just across the river from southern Illinois. He suspected an old feud existed.
"Worst than Night-stalkers?" Whitefang asked, his eyes lit by the setting sun.
"Night-stalkers on other side of Great South river. Doublebloods on human side."
"Humans stop Night-stalkers," Valentine said. "Otherwise Night-stalkers raid Whitefangs."
This time Whitefang didn't laugh. The uneasy truce-not without the occasional raid and ambush-that had existed in southern Missouri between Grogs and mankind dated to the brief Kurian occupation of the Ozarks. Reapers had been loosed into Grog lands to drive them away from Solon's planned Trans-Mississippi empire. The Grogs were only too happy to see Southern Command return.
Callaslough, who'd evidently been able to follow at least some the conversation, reached into his shirt and pulled up a pair of black Reaper teeth interlaced with his dog tags. They were only short ones from the back, but the Grogs recognized them. Callaslough held them high and rattled them.
Valentine remembered teaching Blake to clean teeth just like those, only smaller, with a brush and baking soda.
"Humans beg battle alliance," Valentine repeated. "What Double-bloods stole, Whitefangs keep. Who Doublebloods capture, White-fangs release."
"Trophies?" Whitefang asked.
"All Whitefang keep."
The young warriors stirred at that. Their prospective mates among the females started chattering to each other. A warrior returning home with the blood of an enemy on his blade, or even better, some skulls or scalps, could marry, having proved himself worthy of establishing a household and producing children.
Whitefang's daughter stared out into the crowd. Valentine followed her gaze to a tall, proud-looking warrior standing naked with only his weapons, splendidly lush hair hanging from his head and shoulders and upper back. He hadn't wanted to contaminate his clothing with human blood, should it come to that, evidently. He stared back at the girl.
She whispered in White fang's ear.
Whitefang elbowed her hard and she toppled backward. He grumbled something to the female who ran to her aid.
