Chapter 4-99: Special Deliveries (1/2)

There was a casual knocking on the back door, but discerning who it was wasn’t too hard, given how seldom that door rang. Sama eased up on her hammering slowly as one of the apprentices not doing something vital hurried to the back door.

“Morning, Gunter,” came a very deep bass from outside.

“Let me get the garage door, Mohono,” the apprentice dwarf replied quickly, hurrying over and hitting the switch that sent the stout metal bands of the delivery door rolling upwards smoothly.

The panel truck in the back edged back right to the edge of the floor. A massive figure swung over onto it before the gap closed, straddling the opening until it was at the last three inches and halted.

Mohono Blakhamar, a rare half-ogre, loomed over everyone at nearly eight feet tall. His skin was purple, his head was bald, his pupils were white, and he had two jutting tusks, slightly yellow, extending up from his lower jaw. He even had small horns curling around and down from his temples.

He was built far leaner and longer than most of his or his father’s breed, and many likened him to a troll more than an ogre. His birth had killed his mother, and his father had been a shapechanging oni, long vanished and never seen since. Hank Blakhamar had taken him in like so many other orphans, and, it was reputed, had to raise the ceilings in his home to ten feet to accommodate the growing ogryn.

Grik Blakhamar, the driver, entered through the access door of the truck. He was urkhar, a trueborn half-orc; his father had served with one of the Blackhamar boys, and died in the line of duty. He had been brought home to Hank, and raised as one of them.

Grik had the prominent undertusks of his people, a good three inches long, and a tiny ruby set into each one of them, earning him the nickname of Redfang after he bit off the face of a mage who had tried to ensorcel him.

Whatever the Blackhamars fed their kids, they all grew up brawny and pugnacious, and Gagrik was no different. He had the feral air of a berserker about him, and even Mohono would have a hard time holding him back if something threatened the family that had taken him in.

He also loved vehicles, especially big powerful trucks and street rods, and was a very gifted Driver, able to manhandle heavier vehicles than most of his competition.

He and his younger brother Mohono had formed a delivery service for the dwarven community, bringing in regular orders of special goods, especially metal bars, chunks of ore, specialty woods and leathers, and other things for the dwarven crafters. While many of the dwarven elders of other families were a bit leery about dealing with non-dwarves, the Blakhamar boys never had any problem with them. Blackhamars could brawl with you, then drink with you like the best of dwarves.

It was noteworthy that they didn’t need any extra guards when escorting what were definitely valuable items. Although they didn’t transport things like pure gold or gems except rarely, having the red-irised, yellow-eyed urukhar standing a head taller than many humans step out of his custom cabin, and then his little brother standing head AND shoulders above him, tended to dissuade a lot of people from casual violence.

If not, either of the lads tearing an arm off someone would probably do the job, too, or maybe they might unlimber their 10-gauge personal defense cannons and blow the chuckleheads through a wall. Both things had happened in the past. Both of them had notoriously short tempers for being taunted, and word had gotten around.

Their boss came out last.

Shiv Blackhamar was halvyri, but didn’t have much of the graceful beauty of the elven. She had a face like a hatchet, dark eyes like soulless pools of hurt, and moved like someone about to put a knife into you if you looked at her wrong. She didn’t have much skill with the arcane magic most halvyr did, meaning she was a specialist of the Scout Triad, specializing in Illusion, Divination, and Transmutation, with a focus on dimension-hopping magic. She was a Scout Primary, a very street-smart and dangerous young woman who had seen some appalling things at a very young age.

According to Mord, one of their older brothers had found her living on the street, brought her home, and it had taken her a month to talk to anyone. Their father had found out her backstory, but he never told anyone, and pressing too hard about it was a good way to get her finger in your eye, if not one of the knives she was very, very good with.

She had grown up, gone into the military, served somewhere doing some violent things, and come back up home, eyes darker than ever, back with a whole lot of brothers and sisters with pasts as sad as her own.

People liked to say the Blakhamar boys would just tear you apart and kill you bloodily for crossing them, but Shiv would sit there and bleed you for three days. Given how respectfully her brothers treated her, Sama didn’t have any trouble believing it.

She was also aware that all three brothers here had mad crushes on Sama, and Shiv really didn’t know what to think of a young woman who was actively Cursed and so looked even worse than she did... and had also proved to be downright lethal.

The Blakhamars being so heavy on odd non-dwarves, Sama had been adopted as an honorary Blakhamar after they learned she had no family to return to (and, she suspected, because they wanted to boast about adding a Hagchild to the family). They certainly stuffed her full of everything when she stopped by, but she never gained a pound, not that the boys minded a bit.

They naturally poked their heads into the main smithing room, one above the other, and beamed when they saw her at work there. “Hey, Sama, wanna help unload?” Grik instantly called out.

Sama rolled her wicked eye at them, which only made them grin the wider. She moved the much-abused bar from the Anvil to her Forge, turning the flames down, and dusted off her hands. “Sure. You feebs can’t do anything without me, eh?”

Their faces were almost splitting with their grins.

She pretended to ignore the dwarves maneuvering to get into position to watch the show. She saw Shiv roll her eyes and reach out to touch Grik.

Two Gravities was a Valence I spell that effectively doubled Might for purposes of lifting and carrying, and would, for instance, allow someone to wield a heavier weapon than normal, but otherwise didn’t add much to combat.

Grik took the position inside the truck, Mohono took the middle, and Sama moved into the end.

Starting a cheerful tune in Jotun that she had taught them both, and which only strapping fellows with their lungpower and size could even attempt to sing properly, Grik began grabbing the securely-packed, hundred-pound cases of ingots, ores, and other things. He slung them to Mohono, who caught them easily in his massive hands and long arms, and easily sent them arcing on through the air to Sama.

Sama caught them easily, like she was catching softballs, politely placing them into their proper places on the walls and floor with a step or two, stepping around the room to get to the right spots. If the next case had to hurtle twenty or thirty feet through the air to get to her, she still caught it, and skated it over to its proper place smoothly.

Three tons and more of delivery cases went flying through the air, and she caught them all and put them in place smoothly. The watching apprentices, including Mord, were grinning cheerfully, and even Master Vrune was only pretending to be mad at the interruption to their routine.