W&W Chapter 35

Our Tribe worships in the Norse way, although you'd need to go to Firehawk to understand what "Norse" really means. And you might not want to do that, unless you have several days free. The man used to teach history, and he loves to talk. And talk. And by Thor keep talking! You'd probably come away with sore ears, knowing more than you needed or wanted, and unsure where to put the excess information. I know I regretted ever asking him what the hell this "Norse" thing was he kept blathering about!

What *I* mean is, we worship Thor, Tyr, Odin--- that lot. I tend to offer to Heimdall for my craft, and he's never failed me yet. But according to Iceflame, droning on translating for us from a scroll, the elves were the first gods.

Oh, not to us Northmen of course---hell, from what I understood we almost considered the elves an honorary tribe, back in the day. Their structure of government was loosely similar to ours, with battle chiefs and warriors being the norm. Although they had a bunch called the Elders, who from what I've read seemed to be a crew of fussy old point-eared pricks with lousy personalities and a liking for sticking their noses in other people's business.

No, it was the crazy Southern fools who spotted an elf one day and decided that someone that beautiful had to be a deity. Why the hell a "god" was trotting around on Khesh instead of up in the sky where gods belong, of course, never entered the so-called brains of the Southern boys. And naturally when the elves looked down their noses in amused contempt at the pack of fools who came to them with their kneeling and praying and general bleating, the Southerners' worship turned to hatred just like that.

And considering the elf I knew personally, I had to chuckle at the very idea of one as anybody's god. The thought of having to swear in Firehawk's name instead of Odin's was what really tickled me. "By the Hawk's skinny rump!" No, it just didn't have the right ring to it!

My snickers in the middle of a lesson caused Iceflame to eye me coldly. His sister Kyra then earned his displeasure by interrupting his lecture to say firmly, "I'm not interested in a bunch of old, dead elves. I wanna know about Firehawk!"

"A little booklearning wouldn't kill you, Kyra," I observed cagily. I knew who to suck up to in such a case! I was eager to borrow some of Iceflame's personal, more hoarded books---especially the Eastern smut he'd procured as a name-day present for the Warchief.

Well, Jalin called it an art book. Art, by Thor's balls! I'd got a glimpse of one of the pictures before the boy had slammed it shut, a little red in the face. And what I saw made my eyes bulge, and something else lower down too. Now I'm a grown man and I've seen a lot, good and bad, but never any human beings in THAT position! And I was dying to see more, by thunder! Art book my ass, as the Hawk would say.

But I didn't think I was slick enough to steal the thing out from under his watchful nose. It was damn near the size of my shield for one thing! So getting on his good side was the project on my mind lately. As far as that was possible for a man who yelled at him every other day to get his guard up/swing that knife like you mean it, dammit/quit mincing around and KILL the damn target!

The thirteen-year old scowled at me belligerently, even as her older brother looked approving. That is, his face warmed about three degrees from "beautiful iceberg". Jalin's always been kind of a somber boy, but lately? I've seen funerals that were cheerier.

"Kyra!" her mother scolded. Foxmoon was bustling about, trying to clean around us as such women are prone to do, getting dust in our noses and stepping on our toes. I swear I have never seen her not cleaning something, unless she's cooking it. "Apologize to the Captain this minute! Girl, how can you be so rude?"

"Easily," I grinned, and the brat gave me a saucy look from big, pansy-colored eyes. She was gonna be a looker, that one; nothing like Iceflame of course, but a charming, cute chit. Too bad she was so young. Well, give her a year or two, and I might be bringing her presents and bawling love ballads at the top of my lungs, just to embarrass her if nothing else. Irenea was too beautiful for me to court. Swansteel was more a drinking buddy than a woman to me, though of course we got friendlier than that now and again. And the witchwoman, though I'd enjoyed sharing with her and thought she'd liked it too---well, she was intimidating enough to scare off a pack of the Black Moon boys! I consider myself more or less brave, but not suicidal.

"We were discussing the elves," Iceflame snapped, looking nettled. I guess it couldn't be much of a joy for him, teaching a pair of reprobates like me and his little sister.

"You were boring on about things in the past, you mean. What I wanna know about is whether Firehawk's any good in bed or not? He must be really terrible, since you dropped him like a hot biscuit."

I didn't really want to laugh at Jalin; I liked the boy, even with all his fussy ways and serious attitude. That was why I'd appeared at Foxmoon's door two years ago, offering to trade fighting lessons for some education. I'd seen him being teased by some bigger kids and didn't much like it. It's not the Tribal way to taunt people who weren't meant to be warriors, but kids will be kids even when they know it's wrong. And really the last thing I'd wanted to do at the time was learn to read, I'd have rather squared off against the Nightwolf in battle and let him beat me to a pulp!

But the boy was so proud, that chewing out the other kids as I had every right to do would only have humiliated him further. Better he learn to fight his own battles and gain some sense of self-worth. But I could think of nothing to trade for my battle tricks except to pretend I wanted to learn my letters, because that was the one thing the boy was good at. An offer to teach him to fight without any strings attached would just have made him suspicious, since I'm second-best warrior in the tribe and usually charge for my services. By Thor's hammer, I was petrified when I finally made my decision to put my nose in a damned, incomprehensible book for this snotty teenager's sake!

Come to think, probably Iceflame was scared at the thought of failure himself, or at least of looking foolish and weak. Most of our trainings here tend to be military and semi-public, but I understood enough to impress strongly on him that *his* training would be in a private spot in the arena. And woe betide anyone who came poking around to watch!

And to my surprise at least, neither one of us was as bad at the other's craft as we feared. Once the terrifying experience of learning the basics was out of the way, we both enjoyed improving our skills. I discovered I liked to read, it was truly like magic to learn things from those baffling little squiggles! Oh, I still mutter the words out loud and carefully follow the line with my finger---a habit that drives my teacher crazy. And though Jalin would never be able to "kick ass" on even a moderately skilled tribesman, he might just be good enough now to defend himself from a Southerner!

But though I grew to like him, he sure was a sour boy for all his beauty. He was the sort of person you wanted to goose, just for the hell of it and to make him hop a little. Not that I've ever done it of course! And I don't think Firehawk has either, though it's in his nature. He's surprisingly gentle with the boy, another reason we've become friends, me and Hawk. I like a man who has the gumption to be kind.

Anyway, Kyra's remark did the trick just as well as a poke in the ribs. Jalin hopped, then started sputtering in outrage. Slamming his book on the table and snapping "Mother!" in an offended tone, as if he expected her to do something about this brat she'd spawned.

What Foxmoon did was say candidly, "I've wondered how he'd be in bed, myself." She didn't even pause in her sweeping while giving her experienced opinion. "In general men that pretty aren't the best of lovers, but la! I think that one might be the exception. He has a devil's own look in those eyes at times, as if he knows how to make sex fun. And I think he knows how to please his partner, just from seeing the changes in our Lord King. He appears most well-loved, these days---and sounds it too, at night!"

"MOTHER!" Jalin yelled in horror, turning red as a beet. And that was that; not the shrewdest move to laugh at your teacher, but I had to do it or bust a gut. I don't know if his shock was from Foxmoon discussing the Warchief's love life, Firehawk's abilities between furs, or the mere fact of his mother talking about sex at all. But damn me, his expression sure won the prize!

And of course at that point, with Jalin all upset and me howling like a fool, there was another voice come into the mix. "What's so damn funny?" Firehawk said, strolling in like he owned the place.

One thing you have to know about the Hawk---he's good with kids. Jalin is nervous and defensive around even his own siblings, the more so with the ones like Kyra, old enough to talk back to him. But he's uncomfortable with the small ones also. There are some days when I think Jalin is just uncomfortable with everyone.

There was a crew of little ones, gathered at our feet. Foxmoon seemed to collect them, her own and other peoples. They hadn't really been interested in our studious talk, had been playing amongst themselves, giggling at the funny yelling adults. But the minute Hawk came into the tent, they were up and on top of him like leeches.

"Firehawk!!" they screeched. And from one of them the Nightwolf's oldest son, an amazingly composed three-year-old, came a really scary remark. "Mommy!" he squawked, wobbling to his feet and heading right for the wizard like an arrow. He'd somehow worked out in his little brain that since Hawk was his father's Bonded, that made the wizard his mother.

Firehawk groaned. "Ah, geeze, don't CALL me that, if your real mother heard that shit I'd be gutted with a thirty-inch spear!" Nonetheless he scooped the little boy up and gave him a fond hug. There are days, I swear it, when I'm proud to know that blasted elf.

"My lord wizard," Jalin observed. His voice was suddenly as tense as if he was talking to an enemy, and I stared at him in amazement. I think his mother and sister did too. It wasn't an address you'd expect a boy to use, greeting his akanea lover like they barely knew each other!

Now I've got a curious bone in my body, and I'd wondered myself, why Jalin seemed to be suddenly avoiding Firehawk. I mean, the lad had been so smitten with the damn wizard it was close to pitiful. And then, suddenly, the boy had been avoiding him altogether. It made no sense.

The wizard eyed Jalin, bouncing the three-year old on his hip and fending off the remaining troop with one hand, like a man who's done it before. "Sorry to just barge in, Fox, but I didn't think you'd hear me yell, with all the racket going on in here. Is Do'nar telling his dumb jokes again? Which I've heard all of 'em, so don't start, you big moose! I'm not polite enough to laugh like some people."

Foxmoon, a little flustered considering what she'd rapped out just before he entered, actually stopped her damned bustling in his honor, started "Lord Keef-ing" him left and right. Then she went trotting off to rustle him some goodie, I think. She hadn't offered to feed me! How that wizard was beginning to rate around here would have been purely galling if I hadn't been friends with him. Hey now! Dumb jokes? Maybe it was galling anyway!

Then I got a closer look at Hawk's expression and realized he was insulting me to lighten the tenseness a little, maybe even get Jalin to laugh. It didn't work, by the way. The boy looked as grim as a Southborn priest thinking about sinners.

But I caught the hectic sparkle in the big, crystal-grey eyes that had inspired ballads from some romantic idjit in the Flame Moon tribe. And I realized with some unease that he was close to tears. What the hell?

"Uh---Jalin---Iceflame, I mean? I need your help with something. A shield spell, for the party. I'm sure Do'nar's told you more'n you wanna hear about that." Hawk sounded uneasy at Jalin's attitude too, but I could tell he didn't intend to pester the boy about it right here and now. Which in a way was a pity; aside from the fact I was dying to know what was going on, sometimes it's best not to let differences between two people fester.

The party! Gods damn me, I hadn't forgotten. I'd just thought the bastards would never get around to it. They'd talked about it this morning, after all. We should have been half-way through it and drunk as pigs already!

"Oh, so we're really going to have one finally?" I said. "And you're going to shield the place so we can have fun in peace? Damn, wizard, that's showing more sense than I'd usually give you credit for." He'd explained magical shields to me once when we were jawing, and though it seemed a little like cheating when considered in a battle, I thought it was a fine idea in this case. I didn't want to be dealing with any loose Southerners when I was celebrating Asher's return!

Firehawk gave me a mildly filthy look. Damned unfair, with what he'd said about my jokes. "Which shows how much sense *you* have, you Travolta-looking dork! Bite my nose with a rubber hose, Barbarino!""

"'Welcome Back Kotter', your first appearance. Don't you remember anything? And here you sit on your hind end, gossiping, while your poor brother is out hunting for the feast," he sniped. Now this last was an insult I could understand.

"I'm studying, rot your eyes! And my brother is a ranger, hunting is his business! After he's prayed enough to the gods to forgive him for hurting a rabbit, of course."

Truth to tell, I couldn't either. Asher didn't really fit the idea I'd got of a ranger from my reading. He seemed to enjoy killing things, if you want to know the truth of it. But then, he'd been through hell. The Southerners had taken him, abused him. I didn't like to think about it. It made my blood boil, and that's no good for a man's health.

"I'll hunt for the feast," Asher'd said earlier this morning, with the faint mocking smile I was beginning to treasure. "Don't worry, Do'nar---I'll make sure to bag enough pork to fill even your gullet!"

My younger brother. I cherished him, but damn if I understood him. He was a strange and brooding fellow, this young man Asher. This man whom I should have grown up with. And being hurt like that at such a young age, who could blame him?

I pulled my mind from Asher now and tried to focus on the present. When you drink as much as I do, your thoughts wander around in a fashion that would annoy a person, if he had to read such rambling stuff! I understand it's far from a healthy habit, but it's Tribal as hell to guzzle a lot and I enjoy it.

Foxmoon came hustling in with a plate of candied fruits, which she smacked my hand away from as she offered it to that dratted wizard. He took one, but I think only to be polite and with no honest desire for the sweet like I had. His eyes were still locked thoughtfully on Jalin.

"Say what?" the wizard barked, in a tone he never used with Jalin normally. I couldn't say I blamed him. I don't understand much about magic myself, but even if the task was impossible there was no need to get rude about it.

Jalin blushed, and shifted ground. "I mean---I have decided to give up that kind of magic. Now that I'm training as shaman, it seems---fitting. I'm sorry, Hawk."

His being sorry didn't placate the wizard one bit; in fact Hawk was beginning to look angry. It doesn't take much to set the man off; I suppose it's part of being both a redhead and a fire-wizard, to have a temper like that.

"Give up magic? When you're so good at it? Well, it's your choice but that's crazy, kid, and you know it! And I could use your help here! I can't do it alone, you know; it'd kill my ass with mana-burn and then I'd miss the shindig! And don't you even care about defending this bunch of losers? The way they party, they'll be damn near helpless three hours in!"

Jalin is braver than many give him credit for; he met the wizard's snapping green eyes inflexibly, though his face was pale. By the gods, I enjoy plaguing the wizard just to watch him sizzle, but this was a different thing. It might even get dangerous. I had the memory of my beard to prove that!

"I'm sorry, Firehawk," Jalin said softly. "I can't." Then suddenly the tears broke through, both to my and the Hawk's surprise. Because despite his fragile appearanceand Jalin's face and body are more delicate than most Tribal *girls*--- the boy isn't a bawler at all. The kid is in fact too grimly in control of his emotions usually. I'd always thought a decent, honest cry might do him good.

Well, this wasn't the kind of crying that heals you, and I didn't like it, this storm of weeping. "Here, boy, calm down; no need for such uproar, dammit!"

Jalin threw his scroll on the table and leaped to his feet. He ignored my attempt to comfort him, and I'm first to admit it wasn't a very decent effort on my part. But this sudden explosion had rattled me. "I hate that kind of magic! So just stop asking me!" the boy shouted, glaring at the wizard as if he despised him.

No, I'm wrong. There was nothing about hatred in that desperate expression, even though Jalin's next words were a bitter "I wish you'd never come here, you and your magic!"

Words that are meant to wound generally get the job done. And I could tell that Firehawk was hurt by these, even though to a stupid person it would have appeared he just got madder. "Jalin, what the fuck is the deal with you lately? And don't tell me you hate magic, because I know you don't! We shared mind-touch for awhile, before you shut me off!"

All the littler kids had backed away and were huddled around the sides of the tent, staring at their older brother with big scared eyes. Foxmoon was so aghast that she mirrored their actions instead of scolding her son; she looked shocked enough to never be capable of cleaning again. And Kyra was looking from me to Jalin and back again, with a "Do something!" expression on her cute round face. By the gods I wanted to, but I couldn't think of what. I'm more decisive in battle than butting into people's personal affairs. Knowing how to behead an enemy did nothing to help me now.

"Yeah, you're better at mind-magic than I'll ever be, and it's your right to want privacy, but don't lie to me! I *know* how you felt about doing magic, it was the most important thing in your life---"

He pushed through the pack of his brothers and sisters with no regard for their safety, and barreled out the door. Firehawk was trying to peel the weeping, confused toddler from clinging to his neck without hurting the child. Consequently he was too busy to grab Jalin, though usually he moves like lightning in a pinch. That didn't stop him from cussing, and he was using swear words I'd never even read about. Even Kyra was bawling now, mainly because Jalin's actions had blasted any hope of flirting with the wizard, I think.

I sat there stunned and did nothing for too long, like the big dumb moose Firehawk calls me. Then I got to my feet, swearing as much as the Hawk if not so original about it. "Everybody stop wailing; it makes my thundering head hurt! Gods damn it, Hawk, the boy should be spanked for such disrespect to you. But something's eating him and it's bad. I want to help the both of you, but I'm just a dumb fighting man and this stuff is embarrassing! So stop yelling and tell me you have a notion what all this is about! No, don't run after him; I'm his teacher in arms. I know him better than you do outside the bedroom, and I tell you it'll just make it worse. I'll talk to him later, but I need a small clue here."

The wizard halted on his way out the door, and threw me a look less outraged than I'd expected for me butting into his business. In fact he looked mighty shifty, I thought, an expression I'd never seen there before.

But he's too honest a bastard to lie very well, and after a moment he acknowledged it, heaving a small sigh. "Fox. Could you maybe drag these rugrats to some other part of the tent for a few? I hate to push you around in your own home, but me and Do'nar need to talk and I'm too freaked out here to decide where else we should do it."

"Freaked out." I heard the actual words he said, and then the translation to our tribal equivalent in my brain. He meant "nishil mar", a condition of horrible fear and foreboding that froze your capacity to think, reason or even move. To hear the flamboyant, smart-mouth sorcerer admit to such a feeling made my own gut clench and freeze, I tell you.

"Lord Keef, don't apologize to me, truly I don't require such from you! Kyra, help me with the littler ones!" Hawk gave the two women a pale imitation of his usual dazzling smile as they hustled the children off determinedly. Young Wolf, usually the quietest of little lads, was still saying "Mommy?" in a confused and frightened tone as they took him. It was as depressing a situation as I've ever been involved in. I wanted to kick something, or take it's head off, but since only Firehawk now remained in the room my wants needed restraint.

He laughed a little, said "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, cowboy." Usually I would have asked what the hell a "cowboy" was---most things his magical translator converts but others it leaves you wondering about. But this was no time to be jawing about side issues and I knew it.

He took a seat. Then sighed and propped his arms on the table, cupping his pointed chin in his hands and staring at me dispiritedly from those usually alive and humorous slanted green eyes. The scorch of his multi-fired hair tumbling around his shoulders and those eyes were the only things that seemed colorful about him now. He looked a little whipped, and I didn't like that look on him though he was as gorgeous as ever. I tell you, I like women, but Firehawk is the one person of my own sex that makes me kinda curious as to what it would be like. The hot pepper of his personality didn't distract from his appeal, either---well, maybe sometimes when he was being seriously insulting.

But now the fire of his character seemed dampened, and I couldn't help reaching out and awkwardly patting one of his arms. "Well, get on with it, wizard. I know it's hard, but I've never seen you at a lack for words before."

I'd never heard him go straight to the point before, either, without a lot of rambling on and joke-telling. But he did it now, and it was bad as I'd figured. No, it was worse, because gods were involved and that's never pleasant.

"Jalin used Dragon Magic, to find out what was gonna happen, what I was here for exactly. And I think he found out that in order to save this place, I gotta sacrifice myself to Tyr's dark side."

"What! That's impossible!" He winced at the volume of my yell, then grinned a little. His flame wasn't completely out, even with knowledge like this.

"Not as in death, as in 'boink', though damn if I'm sure I'll survive the crap. It's gonna be a pain in the ass," he understated, with another of those tired grins. Me, I wasn't finding any humor in this at all.

I stopped, recalling what had happened when the Hawk had been welcomed into the Tribe. He saw what I was remembering from the look on my face, I think, because he nodded once and went on in a disgusted voice that was more like him.

"Yeh, he's part of Carson and so he's hot for me, aren't I lucky? I think it's gonna happen soon, and it makes Jalin feel so awful that he wants nothing to do with me. At least that's the way I got it figured out. The kid's scared to death of that freak, even though he helped me fight the bastard. And knowing it's gotta be done to win the war, or whatever the hell it's gonna fix here---that there's nothing either one of us can do about it---that's gotta hurt the kid big-time."

"These are all suppositions based on incomplete information, dammit!" I protested. Mainly I just didn't want to believe a word of it, but sometimes you can feel things are true even when it makes no sense to your brain at all.

He eyed me whimsically, looking much better with that sassy smirk on his face. "Do'nar, booklearning must be good for you. You're thinking logically and talking in words of more than one syllable."

He astonished me again by saying quietly, "Do'nar, if I don't fucking joke about it I'll start having screaming fits instead. And there's been enough noise around poor Fox's joint today."

Sometimes you feel such god-awful sympathy for another human being it's painful. I got up, walked around the table to the damnfool wizard, reached down and hugged him hard around the shoulders.

He let me do it, too. For longer than I expected, which meant he was truly hurting. Then he stirred in my grip and snapped waspishly, "Let me go, you big fuck. I'm okay! And if Carson strolled in and saw you wrapped around me like that he'd be as suspicious as I am of you liking 'just women.'"

"Now that just ain't possible," he said back, sounding like his usual conceited self. There'd been nothing sexual in that hug and he knew it. But he'd needed it, as much as he now needed the talk between us to go back to normal. His eyes, expressive as always, thanked me for it even as he grinned mockingly to show me how "okay" he was.

He shuddered. "Let's leave rumps out of it for now, okay? No, he doesn't and you won't be blabbing off at the mouth about it to him, either! Not even in the deepest pits of Blue Death City you won't!" Maybe he *was* feeling better, because he glared at me in a manner that made me fear he'd torch up my hair any instant if I protested his order. I did it anyway, because holding back from sharing such a thing with his own lover seemed wrong to me.

"Nobody can stop it happening if it's gonna happen, Do'nar. It's Fate, and I've come to believe in that a little." He looked me straight in the eye then, not angrily but very piercingly. "And what do you think Carse would feel like, knowing he's gonna hurt me like that? I won't do it to him, not just to make myself feel better I won't. Because it wouldn't anyway. If I could figure out how to do it I'd wipe his memory of it *after* it happened, too!"

To think of this scrawny wizard being so fierce about protecting a man like Nightwolf, the Slayer. It was pretty damned charming---and pretty damned brave of him, to hold something like that to himself for so long. And fucking gods, for Jalin to come to know about it, and in such a way---!

I sat there staring at him, finding nothing to say. I felt awful, and yet in an odd way exalted at the same time. This was my friend, and by the gods he was a warrior in his heart as much as Nightwolf or myself.

"Gwai'vharn," I said very formally indeed. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my Swordbrother when we have the celebration? 'Tis a short ceremony. I can think of no one worthier, save for your Bonded who already shares this with me."

I let him sit there fizzing like ale just poured in a cup for a few heartbeats, enjoying it thoroughly. "'Yes, Do'nar; I would be honored as well!'" I finally coached him, grinning. Firehawk at a loss for words; damn me, it was fine! "That's the polite response, but your phrase 'okay' will do, since you're obviously too flattered at the mere thought to form a sentence! Let alone all the talking-it-to-death you'd usually bore me with, by thunder!"

"Okay," he said meekly. Of course, he couldn't stop with that even though I'd warned him in a roundabout way. "But I thought to be a Sword-brother you had to share some fighting, kill people together and all that cheerful crap?"

"Dammit, wizard, will nothing shut you up? We've killed a damn army worth of mugs between us; that satisfies tradition as far as I'm concerned!" I stuck my chin out at him, daring him to say another word. I'd wanted to continue feeling all high and noble, entranced with the moment. This was an important thing and he knew it. But Firehawk always has to do things his own way, by gad! And his way means continuing to argue even if he agrees with you.

I grunted. He was fast and tough and aggressive, and better at hand-to-hand than you'd think a medium-sized man would be. And a fairly strong bastard too; that might be an advantage, if people thought his looks made him an easy takedown. In fact he was one of the best warriors for his size and weight that I'd seen, but I saw no reason to swell his head with that opinion even if I still felt sorry for him. "You'll do in a pinch," was what I said. "But you have to stop signaling every move with your expression, dammit!"

"I had pretty good control of the knot I put on *your* head last week! Oh, all right," he conceded when he saw I was calmly staring at him instead of hollering back. "I shouldn't get pissed at you when we're fighting, it's dumb and it defeats what we're trying to accomplish. Satisfied?"

A pretty good speech, from a man who hated criticism so much. "Well, I'm more concerned about when you're fighting for your life in real war. Though I suppose you'll be burning enemy asses to cinders mostly---and I can't wait to see that! But I want you to be reasonably good at this too. And it wouldn't kill you to apologize for the lump on my head. You hit pretty hard for a milksop wizard!"

"But you're right," he added more seriously. "I need to be sharp in your way. Because I do have a limit, and I wanna save most of my magic for healing when the fight comes."

He'd thought it over. He wasn't a coward, but he was no kill-mad idjit either despite his damnable temper. And his concern for healing the wounded made me feel like hugging him again. A good thing I always come to Jalin's lessons sober as a rock, because with even one drink of Blue Death in me I'd of done it right then and got my skull torched for sure. Firehawk doesn't get all drippy emotional with even the Warchief. More than one hug from a friend would just exasperate him. So I said only, "That's sense. You're scaring me, wizard, with all this straight thinking!"

I assumed the shop talk had distracted him, and we'd resume our trade of insults. Instead, he said almost inaudibly, "Maybe I'm wrong, Do'nar. Maybe it won't happen at all."

I thought of the evil Blood Moon hanging in the night sky, and wondered if he was now trying to fool himself. I'd been disbelieving at first, but that was just shock. In my heart I believed, damn all the gods!

I'm just a fighting man. Even though I sacrifice to keep out of trouble, Odin, Tyr and the rest are really strangers that I shout at from a distance when things go wrong. Not much I know about changing their minds. But wasn't that what the Witchwoman was for, to know what the gods were up to? And sometimes, make deals with them?

My hair stood on end at the thought of going to question her, after the, um, unexpected fun we'd shared. But I had to ferret out the truth, dash it! And I could face down that bad-tempered woman for a Swordbrother.

I looked at Firehawk, sitting there waiting for me to tell him he was deluded. "Wizard, I won't feed you lies like the fruit bits that damn Foxmoon carried off before I got to eat a one! I think we're in trouble here and no mistake. But I believe you tough enough to face things as they are. Besides, I have an idea."

Firehawk looked alarmed, as he usually does when I mention having some plan or other. "Do'nar, what are you up to? I didn't tell you this to start you scheming! All I want you to do is talk to Jalin!"

"And I will. Not that I know what you want me to say on your behalf, but I think I can comfort the boy a little. He respects my opinion, though he wouldn't admit it under torture! But don't worry, I'm just going to ask a knowledgeable person for advice on godly doings. I won't mention anything specific about you."

He looked far from satisfied, but he was depressed again and let it go. "Just tell him---I'm sorry I yelled at him. And not to feel guilty about the shield, I'll find some other way. That's it. I don't want him to know that *I* know what he found out."

"This secrecy balderdash makes my head spin," I grumbled. "In fact the whole situation does! And though I don't think you were entirely in the wrong, wizard, I'll tell him what you said."

"You better slap a game face on while you're at it. The Nightwolf loves you and he'll know something's wrong if you confront him looking like a sick sheep."

"Fuck you very much! I'm ahead of you on that one!" And he got up and bounced to the door with his usual assurance. It was so good an act I wondered briefly if I'd imagined the whole damn conversation, or dreamed it. That would be a good thing!

Then he was gone and I was left staring at the litter of books and scrolls on the table. Including the big "art" book---Jalin had really been upset, to let that out of his sight for an instant!

But I didn't even feel like peeking anymore. I had places to go, and women to talk to. A thing I've never been any good at, but it had to be done. And done sober, dammit to hell, this was too important for my wits to be dull. Aside from the fact that Sa'thal was the type of woman who'd boot a poor man's ass right out of her tent if she caught the smell of booze!

"Life sucks!" I announced to the empty room. I'd picked up on a few of the wizard's catch-phrases without even wanting to. This one, he'd explained to me in boring detail. And I had to admit, it covered the whole sorry mess better than any Tribal phrase could do.

I wasn't too happy, as I trudged morosely back to our tent. Well, okay, I had my damn game face on as Do'nar had suggested. I wasn't really slouching like a sad sack in the physical world. But my *mind* trudged, ya'know? I wanted to storm along, but I just didn't have the energy. I barely had enough for this deception stuff. Pasting on the happy face and giving the glad hand. I felt like a fucking politician.

So. I forced myself to whistle along cheerfully, stopping when hailed and answering eager questions about the party to the best of my ability. What I wanted to do was boot these pests outta my way, snarl a path to Carson's side, and have a good, hot, primal fuck to bleed off the anger and hurt. Though he wasn't likely to be there, with all the assholes wanting to pester him just hours ago.

Yeah, I was pissed off at Jalin despite what I'd said to Do'nar. And I hated that feeling, because it was pretty damn whiney and mostly unfair. //I don't wanna know this Fenris Wolf crap, but I do and it was your mind I got it from, kid! I don't wanna bust my ass building a fucking shield around camp, but I care about my friends enough to put aside my pity-party and do it!// Oh, really, Keith? Whine, whine, whine.

"Firehawk! Damn, boy, you're as beautiful as a rainbow this noonday! If you'd just shave the ferret off that pretty mouth I'd take you for my second wife, haw haw!""

(Goddammit, forgot my glasses again; got no windshield and here come the bugs straight for my kisser. And stop drooling into my face like it's a porno short, you moron! Second WHAT! Shave the WHO??!!!!!!!! Oh, gawd, Keith, push the red stuff back down where it belongs, this wouldn't be a small scorch, you can't kill company, chill chill chill. I'll trade my 'stache only for your balls, you bald fuck! And kicking your ass would be the first of my "wifely duties!")

"The---hell you say, Bluto Brains. *Nice* of you to---say that. What? No, just a polite form of address from my world. Oh, that sound? Me grinding my teeth. Er---I mean, nice to see you too, big guy---gotta run (before I light you like a torch for patting my ass like that you big !*#&$%)!"

I'm not dumb enough to complain about turning beautiful, but I'd like it better if this world weren't full of perverts. Whatever I look like is to please Carson, dammit. And then I forget about it, start to do the day to day, and oops! Why's this foreign hand on my hind end here?

But I've learned to deal. It's like signing autographs. I pass off flirting and leering with cheerfully rude remarks and usually everybody's happy. And I like to be appreciated, even if it's for something that really has nothing to do with myself as a person.

Take Swansteel, my Xena-babe. Well, Do'nar's babe actually; they made no secret of the fact that they occasionally got down with each other. I thought they made a cute couple, as bears go, but they kinda reminded me of a barbarian salt and pepper shaker. As I remarked to Carson once, "Ya'know, it's like when Mick Jagger said he married Bianca because she was a female version of him. They're so similar it's scary. Too much like whacking off for me!"

He'd laughed so hard he'd had to lie down and hold his stomach. Lucky we were in our tent at the time; the populace would have been too diverted by that sight. Carse woulda had to start executions up again to get his political mojo back.

Anyway, I was in a pretty good mood that day when she cruised up to me on the main drag, grinning like a sailor on shore leave who's spotted the red light district. I think she had a nip on; we always traded smart remarks about how cute I was, and I found it kinda flattering. But this time she went a little farther. Roared "Firehawk! You sexy little shit, how are yah?" swooped on in and grabbed my ass.

Of course traffic stopped in its tracks, waiting to see what I'd do. There were unfortunates in that crowd who still bore scorched fingers for trying the very thing. A few looked nervous; all looked entertained. Well, I entertained 'em, but not in the way they were probably expecting.

Instead of getting pissed and setting her ablaze, I grinned, threw one arm around her wide muscular waist, and reeled her in. Aside from anything else, I think she was amazed I had the strength to do it.

"Swansteel! Lookin' good, mama! Give your boy some sugar!" I then proceeded to lay a liplock on her of the type which I usually reserve for Carson when approaching base number two.

I was in a teasing mood but not really interested, so it wasn't a long kiss but it sure had authority. I then released her and stepped back, and I felt even finer when she stared at me with glazed hoot owl eyes, took a wobbly step backward, and fell right on her ass in the pathway.

The point of all that is hey, I'm not usually a prick about people coming onto me these days. Sure, it had made me nervous at first and it's still a mild irritant when I have places to go and things to do. But at times it can also be some fun, and no biggee now that the Riders were my family. Anyway, they couldn't help themselves much. I was an elf-boy now, ya'see. Pheromones.

At the moment, though, I was an emotional mess and just wanted to be home fast enough to disprove Einstein's theory. If I let myself snap it wouldn't be just my usual quick flare of temper and a hotfoot. I might actually hurt someone badly, someone not an enemy. I could feel my patience wearing especially thin with the outer tribe people, though only the real dorks like Lilyfrost and Whathisname seemed ready to approach me in this way.

I hadn't had a panic attack since I was back on Earth, in the dead times when me and Carson had been apart. If you've never had one, you can't imagine it. It led me to therapists. Pills and needles. And even with all that, when the agonizing fear of nothing hit me in California, I was helpless to do anything but cower.

I finally made the big loop around the arena that led downhill toward the Warchief's tent; and there most of my control left me. I'm Wizard, not Warrior---remember? I don't have iron in my soul like Carson. I was lucky I'd made it this far playing candidate for mayor.

It was about a five minute normal walk; I think I made it in two. Like one of those plastic toys that rush down a slope so stiffly, I was gathering speed as I neared my goal and I wasn't stopping for no one. I'm sure I still had a manic grin stitched on my face, but I could feel it slipping by the second.

//in the black hole of my own soul I found my lover and her breath was cold// I wrote that for Dreadnaught, somewhere in another life. Change one little word. Make it prophecy.

People leaped out of my way in astonishment. Some of them hailed me, concern in their tone. Other voices were not so kindly. "Hawk must really be in trouble; look at him go!" "The Warchief must be chasing him, mad as fire---or after something! Haw haw haw!"

I didn't care what they saw or what they thought of it. I was running hard the last hundred feet, and I heard Le'ghan's startled cry of "Gwai'vharn!" cut short by the tent flap snapping back down in his face.

I didn't feel myself hit the floor (we have a mighty thick carpet, boys and girls). I saw a flicking strobe-light image of Carson turning from his easel to stare at me, but his face seemed blanked out. The world, which had been swelling over me like a vast stooping dragon, shrunk down to me huddled on the carpet, gasping in huge lungfuls of smoky air. It was okay, though. Safe house. Safe room. For now.

(I wonder what they use for paints here? Brilliant jewel-like colors, smell more like sugared vanilla than anything. I loved watching him at his easel; though he could render reality quickly in charcoal, with color he went slowly. A slight frown between his brows, but a faint smile on his lips. He touched the canvas like a lover, with fire and darkness. I'd finally bring him a sandwich and coffee and a worried scold, hours after I really wanted to. I'd look at what he had, be amazed. I mean on the canvas, you perverts---)