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"Honor much. Weapons taken and kept," the Baron said.
"Wives! Wives! Wives!" the Grogs chanted.
"Oh, screw that," the Gray Baron said, reaching for his shoulder holster. He pulled his pistol and fired at Valentine.
Valentine needed every iota of his hair-trigger reflexes to throw himself sideways and down out of the path of the bullet.
A hail of plates, bones, and bottles rained on the Gray Baron and his officers. One of the Chief's clan had issued a challenge all could understand, and the Chief had neither pacified the malcontent nor met him in fair fight! No wonder his teeth had turned black and lies came from his mouth.
The cage suddenly collapsed. Grogs pushed, prodded, and poked Valentine. It felt uncomfortably like the way he'd seen an old Wolf cook testing hung meat. Were they planning a mixed buffet barbecue?
A massive shape loomed over him, blotting out the light.
"Dvfud," it mouthed.
Bee!
She reared up on her hind legs and shoved the Gray Ones apart. Valentine basked in the air and space that two muscular arms the length of a good road bike could provide.
Bee put her back to him and began to talk, loudly and quickly. To Valentine, Grog speech always sounded like old boards being pulled apart and melon-sized rocks being tossed into a pond.
Then Ahn-Kha was beside him. A hairy arm wrapped about his chest, took him carefully under the armpit, and lifted him clear of the mass of Grogs.
Valentine ignored Ahn-Kha's rescue, mesmerized by the sight of Bee. Usually she remained quietly at heel, like a companionable older dog who simply enjoyed watching events rather than creating them. This new version of Bee might be mistaken for Snake Arms doing her dance. She talked with mouth, arms, fingers, and foot stomps, half dance and half speech.
"What's Bee saying? Or is it just a protective display?"
"Her dialect is a little difficult to follow, my David, but in general, she's saying that you put the moon in the sky. This is the first I've heard of you rescuing her from a circus."
"I didn't know warrior Grogs listened to females."
"They do. Bee's at a respectable age, where she becomes-the human word would be 'Auntie.' That is an important title."
"Auntie Bee?" Valentine said. His head was swimming. "Why does that sound familiar?"
"You don't speak much of your family. I am not sure. My David, did you intend for Gray Ones to come to Kentucky as well?"
"No, only your people."
"Well, I don't think Bee fully understands your plans. She is talking up the place in the manner of a-what is that title?-real estate salesman."
Yips and hoots broke out among the Grogs.
"What excites them?"
"She's talking about how many legworms there are, and that the humans are friendly and welcoming to Grogs."
Valentine looked at the Gray Ones. They were spellbound. Or perhaps still under the influence of the Kurian aphrodisiacs. Bee had them riveted as she spoke to the ring, turning every moment or two on one vast forearm to face a different part of the audience.
The hundreds of Grogs broke out of their circle, forming groups, calling, pushing, pulling, and cajoling. Others loped off in a four-legged run to acquire friends and relatives for the scrum.
"I think a new Grog tribe is being formed, my David."
"Would your people mind having them along, or does it mean interspecies warfare?"
"We look on the Gray Ones as rustics. Some we find charming and congenial, others-not so. As long as they are not high-handed. Some of the habits of the Gray Baron's army will have to be changed."
The camp was in chaos. Gray Ones were chasing the few available females. "Chuckles" was missing. Valentine hoped for her sake she'd made it out unmolested. But Gray Ones had been known to make do with human females and other livestock, when desperate ...
