WandW6

"You say it wasn't a set-up; do you think I'm an idiot?" I shouted. We were gathered in Carson's tent; ravenous hunger had finally caught up with me and I was ripping frantically at a chicken leg as I stalked in circles, ranting and swearing.

I suppose the chicken-chomping must have diminished my scariness factor, because Smitty sure didn't look impressed with my rage. "I think you're ACTING like an idiot, McIntyre. C'mon, think for a minute. Do you really suppose Carson is devious enough for this? I'd think you'd know him better than me," she added, somewhat snidely, "but even after less than a year's acquaintance I can tell our boy goes on pure emotion; he ain't got a tricky bone in his body."

She reached for what looked like an over-sized apple but probably wasn't, a dreamy look of gluttony on her face. The huge board had been laid with fruits and meats in response to me nearly fainting from starvation as the clan tossed me in the air and clapped me on the back outside. Manaburn weakness could only be held back so long by the fascination of ongoing events, even ones as interesting as we'd all just been through.

The tribe's new solicitude for the previously abhorred wizard was amazing; they had practically come to blows over who would donate food for my fainting ass. Then the lucky ones chosen - by the High bloody King at his imperious best, damn him - had piled their offerings in his tent. They probably would have remained there to watch us stuff ourselves, too. We were definitely the prime-time mini-series at this point.

But Smitty booted them out, insisting that she had to instruct the newly engaged couple on the finer points of tribal marriage ritual. Actually, I think she stayed as a sort of buffer between me and Carson, and to gobble free lunch, of course. I wasn't as crazed with fury as I had been with him previously, but I was in no damned good mood, either. Not a set-up! Jesus!

I shot a glower at him; he was seated on his elaborate throne-like velvet and teakwood chair, but not like any kind of haughty king. More like a kid expecting a scolding, impossibly long legs crossed under him, scooted back and hiding under the long braidings of his hair as much as possible. He didn't seem interested in eating, either.

"Right, Smitty. No set-up. He was ALREADY in those damned ceremonial leathers when he started yelling at me, for Christ's sake! He planned the whole fucking thing from the word go!" I'd always had a dislike for talking about people in the room as if they weren't present, but he had detached himself so completely - and I was so annoyed - that I broke a cardinal rule this one time.

I looked back and forth between the two of them, but Carson was volunteering nothing further. It was Smitty who, after taking a huge bite of fruit and crunching it down nosily, cleared her throat and explained. "He was dressed up for your FUNERAL, you stupid gormless dork. Yeah, right, goggle at me with those big green eyes behind those dumb wire specs you don't even need to see with. And stop being such a redhead and getting pissed off before you even know all the facts, you moron!"

It was the longest and most passionate speech I'd ever heard her make, and she wasn't grinning, this time. In fact, the way she was eyeballing me reminded me of an algebra teacher I'd once had, just before I failed the class. I stopped pacing, stared at her, then slowly lowered myself to a cushion placed so I could watch both her and Carson.

"Better," she said calmly, rubbing an itch near her nose ring. "Yeah, to answer all the questions you didn't have sense enough to ask before flying totally off the handle - "

"I'm not alone in that!" I objected, stung. Carson made a faint noise of what might have been either protest or apology; she slammed her hand down on the table and glared at both of us impartially.

"You were legally dead for almost two days, McIntyre. No pulse, cold, stiff - the works. Oh, *I* knew you were in extreme coma from using more damn magic than was good for you. You musta thrown everything you had into Carson, because he was healthier than I've ever seen him. But what could I do about it?" She raised her shoulders expressively. "I don't have healing magic; that's not my job. I'm here as the bloody living encyclopedia of tribal law and ceremony. And you were so drained, without at least a bit of healing that fake death would've become fact in a hell of a hurry."

"Well, then saving your ass was an odd way of showing dislike, if you ask me," she said curtly. "Well, I gotta admit she was always a sneak-around, high-assed bitch until two days ago, but man! You shoulda seen her, bullying the guards who carried you in already arranged as a corpse, right up to Mr. High King himself, crawling into camp at your side with his death face hanging out. She took over the king's tent, made 'em clean you up, dress you like a live person instead of a deader - "

His voice was definitely rising to hysteria on the last sentence, but a warning glance from Smitty - although a much more compassionate look than any she had yet given me - shut him up like an oyster.

"So," she continued, "Irenea's got power, but no training, as you likely already know. And she's been using what she's got for giving her rivals warts, not healing spells, but she's a quick study, that girl. A few questions to the official healers - who wouldn't touch you with a thirty-foot pole, by the way - and she was pouring everything she had into half-assed healing spells she managed to strong-arm them into teaching her. Enough to keep you going, at any rate, until your natural defenses were strong enough to kick in. And when I was sure you were gonna make it - " she jerked her somewhat pointed chin in Carson's direction, " - I scryed him out, and called him back in from the forest."

"And he's damn good at it; took me a lot of work to find his butt," she grumbled. "Yeah, he dressed for the fuckin' funeral, but at the last minute he lost his nerve and vanished." She grinned a bit. "Man, was everybody *pissed.* They were really looking forward to torching your ass up and partying on the ashes."

"Christ, you really *haven't* done anything since you got here but hold hands and play hide-the-salami, have you?" Ignoring my sputterings of wrath, she continued mildly, "That's why he's the second person you owe a debt to. Because only the Warchief can give the go-ahead for a funeral for someone who dies on Rider land, even if the dead guy is a non-tribesman. And by "funeral" here, chum, they mean they pile your ass on a stack of wood and burn it down to the ground."

She finished her pseudo-apple in a last huge bite, sighed, and stretched like a well-fed cat. "So by disappearing, he pretty well assured that no one could touch you until he decided to come back. Irenea was in fairly bad shape herself after running healing spells and watching you for two days, so he booted her out and took the last few hours of guard duty himself. That's what you woke up into. Any further questions?"

"No." I was already feeling stunned at the wealth of information. This woman was a gold mine of facts, all right, even more prone to blather on than I myself. "I mean, yes." I looked at Carson. "If you were so damned upset when you thought I was dead, why the FUCK did you give me so much shit when I turned out to be alive? It wasn't exactly a welcome back party!"

"He suffered like hell, you idiot," she snapped, before Carson could so much as flap a lip. "He didn't know anything about this poison you mentioned - although after your little cat-fight everybody in the twelve tribes probably knows you saved his ass. He thought you'd died for no reason, doing something stupid to help him when it wasn't even necessary. Of course when you came back to life he felt like killing you."

"Do you really mind it - so much?" It was Carson, his voice somewhat wistful. For the first time he was sitting up straight, hair pushed back, and staring at me in a way that was as intimate as a touch. Smitty might not have been within a million miles of us.

"Carson - no. I don't mind. It's a little - unexpected, and I didn't realize it was even allowed. But I don't *mind*, not the way you mean. If it's that important to you - hey!"

I'd started to get up, to go to him, maybe to prove directly on his body that I didn't mind one bit, being an official consort - whatever *that* entailed. The erection he'd called forth by grabbing me in front of the whole tribe hadn't vanished, it'd been lying in wait until I felt healthier, and the look he'd just given me had reminded my body of unfinished business. But Smitty stopped me by grabbing the seat of my garish green and blue pants and yanking me back to the cushion. I glared at her; she returned the look with interest and then some.

"Christ, you guys." She eyeballed my crotch appreciatively, without one bit of modesty, and shook her head. "I never seen anybody who could get aroused on eye contact alone. I must admit, it's impressive; I don't see how you bloody get anything else done at all. Anyway," she continued, suddenly sprightly as a sparrow, "you have to understand, Keith, you've cheated this bunch of at least three major parties."

I turned my gimlet eye on Carson, who prudently withdrew into his hair again. "I got the distinct impression from SOMEBODY, that this issue was undecided and we were still at war."

"Oh, no; we trashed 'em. The treaties and tribute and all still have to be worked out, but we scored a big-time victory; you probably don't realize it, but Carson is the best fuckin' war leader ever in the history of the race. Of course we won!"

I eyed him again, surprised and then speculative, and thought I caught a blazing blue glance that had nothing of modesty in it. She was right; it wasn't something I would of imagined about the guy I was sleeping with. Showed what I knew, I guess.

"But then you came roaring up and got killed. That nipped *that* celebration in the bud. Not that any of the Riders cared if you were dead, but with their High King in total abject mourning, I guess even to these idiots it seemed a bad time to ask for a party."

She studied me, perhaps noticing that my tone was a little clipped. "So then they thought, well, there'd be a big wake for your dead ass. I mean, they prefer to drink and emote over someone they like, but they can always stretch a point and dance on an enemy's grave."

There was something like a growl from Carson's area; he was not liking her notion of humor. Myself, I was reluctantly beginning to feel amusement, even admiration. Smitty was definitely an untapped resource, and I didn't blame her relishing her sudden role as narrator. "But then I wasn't dead. Big disappointment, right?"

She beamed at my ready understanding. "Major big disappointment. I mean, they knew that Carson would have to come back from hiding at some point, so they were still anticipating a barbecue eventually. That's partly why I went looking for him, aside from letting the poor drip know that the love of his life hadn't croaked after all and he could stop bawling - "

Carson was sitting up *very* straight now, staring at Smitty with eyes of lashing blue flame that should've cooked her where she sat. She didn't seem to notice, and I dipped my head to hide a grin in my collar, pretty sure she was casually insulting him to get him out of the maudlin, apologetic mood he'd fallen into. A good tactic; one I wouldn't dare use a lot, probably, but this woman had more balls than a croquet set.

" - but also, dude, to guard your ass from some disappointed tribesman who might've got the notion to knife you once and for all so that the party would still happen."

"You woulda tore 'em into itty, bitty pieces, right? Well, you notice nobody dared." She chose another piece of fruit from the vast assortment, looking pretty damned pleased with herself. I had to admit I didn't blame her.

Her eyes traveled from their first, startled glance at my grip on her just above the ornate black metal armband that identified her as witchlady of the Shadow Riders, to settle on my face. She smiled, hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. I noticed a spray of freckles across her nose and that she actually had dimples, a cute feature one doesn't usually associate with tall, lean women.

I was going to release her arm then anyway. But I would've had no choice in any case, because about then Carson decided to become a bit less detached. In fact, he hurtled down from his fancy carved chair like a stealth fighter to crash between me and her, nearly toppling the two of us like bowling pins.

"Carse, what the fuck!" I began, and then prudently bagged any more comments. The look he shot me from under lowering vampire eyebrows was positively evil. He reached for a piece of meat from the table, but I was under no illusion that he'd come down here for a lunch break.

I glanced around helplessly, to find the damn woman bent over double with mirth again. Nothing seemed to faze her; probably just as well, considering whom she had to deal with, and I wasn't referring to myself exactly.

"Oh, all right. Since it's obviously bothering you so much." She scooted somewhat away from Carson; probably a good move, but I was afraid if I did the same he'd take it the wrong way. So I stayed put, wondering how that "no touching" law applied now that the jealous fool was practically sitting in my lap.

She rose casually for a stretch, then strolled to the other side of the table to put a bit of distance between us - or possibly so she could keep an eye on both of us, I don't know. Anyway she made a convincing show of picking another piece of fruit before reseating herself across from us. Maybe she was a little more rattled by Carson's move than you could tell from her attitude.

"No sexual touching," she clarified. "No handholding, kissing - definitely no screwing. No overt tactile signs of affection, even." She studied us critically, her panache seeming restored. "Looking at each other from across the room with tongues hanging out used to be okay, but with you two, I don't know, you'd probably manage to turn it into something indecent enough to get you off."

"Sitting near each other at table or the like," she stated with emphasis, lifting a humorous brow at me, "is okay, as long as you don't forget you're there to eat FOOD." She shot a sarcastic glance at Carson, who was munching balefully on a chunk of what looked like venison, pretty much as if he wished he could throw it at her. "No groping under the table, either; believe me, no matter how slick you think you are, someone will notice."

I slammed my fist down on the foodboard; even Carson jumped, and her smirk slipped a trifle. "I've just been raised from the dead, if you've bloody forgotten! You don't just get starved for *food* when you've been in that kind of mana burn, do I make my goddamned point?!" She nodded jerkily; I could feel Carson staring at me with new respect, but I didn't dare meet his glance. Right now groping under the table was the least of things I wanted to do to him.

"Well," she didn't quite stammer, "it's quarter moon now, so - well, till next quarter moon. That's when the marriage ceremony takes place, at Twin Moon. Of when the marriage braid was accepted. Y'see."

I ignored her, leaped up and began pacing again, unable to believe such stupidity. "These rules are cracked; this whole damn race is insane! I wanna be UNofficial again, thank you very much!"

"I just said you couldn't touch each *other,* Keith." And then, as I stared at her with the meaning of her remark slowly trickling into my understanding, she added encouragingly, "It's actually a tradition, sort of like a bachelor party. I mean, to screw the socks off everybody else in the tribe while waiting for the wedding ceremony. And I bet the clan girls will be lined up begging for *your* ass, McIntyre. Carson may be lord of the tribes, but he's boffed every one of them at least a dozen times, while you're new, exciting and until recently kind of an outlaw. Very romantic. Plus if you got some babe pregnant, she'd be just thrilled for a green-eyed red-haired kid, that's scarce as hen's teeth in the clans, and as for the clan *guys* who have a taste for - well, what?!"

Carson had risen slowly from his seat to glower down at her, a dangerous, devil-eyed presence smoldering with fury. "You talk too much, witchwoman," he stated flatly. His uninflected, restrained tone was more frightening than any kind of enraged hollering. "I owe you a great deal, but your gossip and chit-chat is beginning to try my patience. Take care you don't exhaust what I have left of it!"

It was pretty amazing, how rage made Carson so bloody articulate. Twenty minutes ago he'd been nearly tongue-tied, and now a speech like a cold-eyed vampire with a broomstick up his ass. I'd noticed the same thing when he was bawling me out. But that he was really furious, I had no doubt. I carefully sat back down, keeping myself out of it, waiting for her to either back down or be killed.

Neither thing happened. She got up, slowly and carefully, so as to be closer to looking him in the eye. "Don't you loom over me, horse-boy," she said quietly, and I closed my eyes so as not to watch her grisly end.

I should have known better. "You may be Jesus Christ Almighty to that mob of mare-humpers out there, but inside this tent we're all just a bunch of snot-nose Earthlings. Except I'm a New Yorker, and you're from bloody *California.* You're the one who better not wear out *my* patience. That includes you, McIntyre!"

My eyes popped open and I let out a squawk. "Hey - what the - I'm on your side! I mean - " I stammered, as Carson's dragon glare pinned on me, "I mean I'm innocent - I don't know what I mean. Forget I said a word."

She did better than that; she ignored me, focusing totally on Carson. "Are you pissed at me because I let him know what his options are? Because that's my job, and you know it." There was no reply from his quarter, only the blazing eyes. Perhaps a bit quicker breathing.

"Or are you pissed," she said almost in a whisper, "because I let him know how much you took advantage of those same options before he happened to show up? Oh, I know you wouldn't touch anybody else now, obsession like yours deserves to be documented. But don't fucking pretend you didn't go for everything you could before that!"

"Shit," I said, lightly. "C'mon, Smitty, I knew all that already. You keep calling me an idiot, but I'm not one really. He told me himself he was screwing everyone right and left before I - Carson!"

I should've kept my mouth shut. The hateful look that I thought was focused on Smitty switched to me, with no change in expression. "You don't even CARE!" he screamed, and then everything seemed to go into slow motion.

He kicked out, viciously. I ducked, throwing my arms over my head; a stupid move. I nearly drove my nose into his foot, because he really hadn't been aiming at me. I think he actually had to pull his punch to avoid me and boot the table as he had intended.

Then I was too busy diving for cover from flying food to worry about his intentions. By the time chickens had stopped falling from the sky and I dared raise my head and look around, he was long gone.

She choked, then gave me a warm look. "McIntyre, I'm so damn glad you're here. Not only do you crack me up, but Carson's mellowed out so much since you came."

Her eyes locked on mine; she looked as serious as a woman can when she's picking bits of food out of her clothes. "He's your friend. More than your friend. You don't want to know details. All I can say is, he was well on his way to being one of the bad guys." Then, as my look still drilled her for further clarification, she thought hard, as if searching for an item of information that wouldn't shock me too much. "Executions," she finally offered in a somewhat subdued voice, "are down a hundred percent since you showed up. He figured you wouldn't approve."

I closed my eyes and sat there for a moment, wishing I could tell her she was full of shit, and believe it. I must have sat there for too long, thinking, because there was a soft touch on my face and I realized someone had kissed me, very lightly, on the cheek.

"Don't fret," she said softly. "Now that you're here, it'll be okay. He's not a monster, he's just a hurt, lonely kid with a gun too fucking big for him. Needs someone who's there for him, who loves him - and who won't kiss his ass twenty-four hours a day like the rest of these silly bastards around here. That's you, McIntyre."

I meant it as a compliment and was surprised when a sudden shudder ran visibly through her body. Her mouth quivered. "I'm fucking scared to death of him. But if I showed it, he'd break me in two, Keith. I'm glad to relinquish the job of handling him back over to you."

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Yeah, Carson could be scary at times, but for crying out loud - how come everybody but me was so fucking terrified of him?

"No, not yet. Let him have some time to cool off, it won't seem so much like you're running after him. And he'll simmer down; the whole tribe's like that; dramatic rages, equally dramatic reconciliations and vows of eternal friendship. It isn't just him." She smiled, but a trifle bitterly. "It kinda wears a sane person out, after awhile."

She gurgled laughter. "Yeah, you must be exhausted. Well, when you do go after him, would you please pack a brain in your head and at least pretend to be jealous that he screwed other people? Don't you know anything?"

I stared at her. "What the fuck? Am I supposed to kick his ass? I've felt like doing it at least thirty times today, but not for something stupid like that!"

I felt myself turning red and didn't like it. "To say the least," I agreed dryly. "So I know he couldn't help turning to other people when I wasn't around. How can I be angry about it? Why should I pretend to be?"

She buried her face in her hands; over-dramatically, I felt. "McIntyre, McIntyre - you're too damn civilized for the Tribes. You'll either not last a week, or you'll end up getting them to comb their hair and take baths more than once a year. Just do what I say and pretend to be jealous. Don't hurt his feelings any more than you already have."

I glared at her. "Yes, fucking ma'am. Although it would be easier to apologize, or whatever the hell I'm doing, if I could touch him, dammit!" I sounded a little waspish even to me.

"And after a battle, and both of you nearly dying, and all that dramatic bullshit," she agreed, quite shrewdly. "Of course you want to fuck each other's brains out."

She eyeballed me sarcastically, not buying it in the least. "I'd like to see you two stop at kissing, once you got started. Jesus, don't make me laugh. But really, Keith, it *is* worth it. Having the tribe's approval behind you isn't a bad thing. Carson's been having a hard time, with his people disapproving and hating you."

She glanced at me, startled, then smiled in a way that for some reason made me blush a little and drop my eyes. "You're not only a quick study, McIntyre. You're nobody's fucking coward, either."

I couldn't think of anything to say, and that only created a smoldering silence between us even more embarrassing. I started getting up again. "I think I really better go find him."

"No, Keith. Take my advice, let him come to you. For one thing, he's good at hiding. And he knows he's in the wrong; it's his apology to make. Give him the chance to do that, like a grown-up for once."

She grinned at me. "As hot as you two are for each other? I don't think he'd survive for long without at least being able to ogle your ass, whether you can touch or not. And I have another good reason why you should go through with this thing. You guys had mind-meld between you on Earth, didn't you?"

"Thought so," she murmured. "Well, that's another reason to go through with this. Riders are immune to magic of that kind; the subtle stuff, the mind reading stuff. Oh, you can still blow 'em up with a fireball - "

She met my stare with an expressionless gaze. "That once you're Bonded as lifemates - you'll be able to mindmeld again. Because between two-who-are-one, there are no boundaries." Her lip crooked a trifle, as if she were reciting something true but a bit too saccharine for her taste. "Perfect love and perfect trust. Does that give you a little more incentive?"

"Another thing I forgot to tell you," she added brightly. "You've been too busy with hah! - other things, to even notice, I'll bet. But moon phases here are only 13 days."

She grinned at me. "To get your goat - why else? I bet even *you* can last two weeks without sex - I dunno about Carson. Yeow! McIntyre, put me down!! You think I want your slobbery kisses? Dammit!"

I slammed her down on her feet, and she staggered about a bit, dazed. I struggled for a sentence that summed up what I was feeling at the moment. "Smitty," I said, hugging her very hard again, "You righteously suck, you know it?"

To my surprise she looked me in the eye and grinned, if a bit groggily; I actually had bounced her around pretty hard. "If you're lucky, McIntyre," she said, "before two weeks is up you may get the chance to know if that's a true statement. Ouch - you bastard! Do something useful for a change! Go see Foxmoon about cleaning up this mess, damn you, get outta here before you break every bone I got!"