W&W Chapter 33

There's a big misconception, both on Earth and on Khesh, about people like me. You know, rock musicians, wizards, elves. For some reason, everybody thinks any of these tag-lines is just a synonym for "impractical brainless air-head".

I'm here to tell you it just ain't so. I fill all three of these positions, and I'm the most common-sense, down-to-earth guy I know. Well, maybe excepting Do'nar I reckon. Not counting when he's eyeballs-deep in Blue Death, of course, at which point he's perfectly capable of talking to a tree.

And both here and in Berkeley, I've always had my feet on the ground a thousand times more rooted than Carson. My bad boy was and still is the king of dreamers, an emotional fountain of romantic dribble totally at odds with his mean appearance. He definitely proved that point, by the frantic pace at which he urged Butthead back to camp; I could barely keep up on my bike even wide fuckin' open. If he'd forced such speed outta his nag during our race I would've been toast and no mistake.

I mean, I was eager to get back to our bed and give my boy a boink, too. It was far from a fair thing that I'd gotten off and he hadn't, and I'm a guy who insists on an even deal for all, especially where sex is involved. And since it was still early, I was hopeful we'd be allowed an hour or so to put things in balance.

But I wasn't really expecting it, all things considered. So when we neared the camp and I spotted the crowd of warriors milling about, and the way they flocked toward us when they spied their warchief, I was disappointed but not too surprised. Nothing to do but heave an exasperated sigh and deal with it, I figured.

Carson, though, obviously had forgotten the whole reason why he'd been at such pains to sneak outta camp in the first place---namely, so these drips wouldn't pester him. He pulled Butthead to a sliding abrupt stop, and the look of astonished fury on his face should have melted the crew of nattering fools right out of his path.

His dire expression certainly had an effect on the young sprout Le'gahn; you know, the guy who guarded our tent, whom I'd promised to teach the wonders of motocross riding. The kid was at the head of the pack of pests, kinda being pushed forward reluctantly as far as I could see. When Carson bent his wrathful gaze downward and snarled, "WELL?!" the poor bastard turned the color of day-old cat puke and gave signs of having soiled himself into the bargain.

Now Le'gahn is no pussy; he's a tough, arrogant juvenile delinquent in fact. He certainly has no trouble getting right in MY face, y'know? But facing down Carson---well.

I may have erred in describing too much what Carson is like with me, as opposed to with other folks. I got away with murder and I knew it. But that was because the boy was in love with me, and I was lucky enough to lay claim to his softer side. Pretty much total claim, because he really didn't have a lot of sweet to go around, enough for me and maybe a dribble for Jalin. His ugly childhood had hardened and embittered him, the more so since he really did start out as a sensitive, gentle person. In fact I guess it was a miracle, or a testament to how strong he was, that he still owned a shred of kindness.

Erectionless now and mad as piss about it, the King of the Twelve Tribes leaped off his warbeast and jumped poor Le'gahn like a trapdoor spider. "You no doubt have a good reason to delay me, on my way to relax? I would enjoy knowing about it, certainly having nothing better to do with my time than hear the same reports and complaints and advice three hundred times a day, foolishness that the damned War Captain is supposed to take care of for me!"

Le'gahn cringed, and kind of squeaked out, "Warchief, Lord Nightwolf, I, I, am sorry to trouble you. But the captain of the Flame Moon tribe insisted this report go to you only. I have been scouting for them as you know----"

"I neither KNOW, nor give a damn!" Carson growled, with a glare than could have stunned a basilisk. Le'gahn looked ready to assume the fetal position; he sure as hell wouldn't be forthcoming with any more information if my judgment was correct. So I booted the kickstand on my Kawasaki down and sallied forth to do my job as diplomat, such as it was.

The kid unwound somewhat from his impression of an earthworm tossed into a bottle of alcohol, and threw me a grateful look. "Lord Wizard. I, um, well. I joined the Flame Moon tribe on their strike against invading Southerners, in fact slew an archer myself"

He preened despite Carson's danger-filled presence, and I made an admiring noise just to speed him onward. Yes yes kid, very commendable but you better get to the point here before all hell breaks loose. Remember the Warchief who used to execute people for pissing him off?

"---and their shaman joined us in battle to bespell the enemy. He, he asked me to inform the warchief, that he had seen signs of the Eastern involvement at last. And wished his notion seconded by the shaman of our tribe." The boy swallowed, waved a hand as if in apology. "I admit I am one who has little trust in wizardry---your pardon!---but I am told that sorcery is indeed the Easterner's weapon. And the shaman claims he saw a blurring in the trees, the forests to the East, that bespeaks the movement of an invisible army towards us. He wishes this to be confirmed, by a stronger mage."

Huh. Well this was actually useful news, I was wondering when those jerks would start their move. By now I was between Carson and the innocent messenger, and I slithered backwards enough to bump my ass gently against my poor frustrated lover. Hopefully, sweeten his mood a trace. It might have worked, in any case I felt his arm glide around my waist and pull me in tightly.

"Okay, Le'gahn, good job. Thing is, you should go find Jalin, he's the guy who's all up on illusion magic. I can't tell truth from fiction where that's concerned, though I hate to admit it. But I bet I can help fry those bozos if someone points me in the right direction!"

The kid cracked a laugh, and tossed me a saucy, admiring look. His panache totally restored, he bobbed his black mohawk in my general direction and scooted off to search out our master of illusion magic.

"Good enough," Carson growled softly, pushing me impatiently in the direction of our tent. "Iceflame and Smitty between them can sort this out, and welcome to it----what now!" This as a big, familiar figure in worn leathers blocked our path, dragging someone else with him by the scruff of the neck and yelling "Warchief!" in a delighted tone as if sure of his welcome.

"Jesus, Do'nar, your timing sucks!" I groaned. Glad to see him or not, I couldn't believe the poor unlucky bastard would show up just now, and with something on his mind too by all indications. Carson was gonna blow any second; just watching his expression was like being privy to a hurricane warning.

Still, Do'nar was his friend and he responded with tolerable composure. How long it would last was anyone's guess. "Captain. I am glad to see you returned; this war business is your job, and it seems to have tripled in your absence. Did your alliance with the Black Moon tribe run smoothly?" See? Carson could do "nice" for some folks, even when he didn't want to.

Do'nar grinned wolfishly. "Smoothly enough, though they left us little to sport with. Half the Southern bastards were dead by the time we got there, and the rest strung up on hooks and yelling for their mothers! But Wolf, this is not about those bastards---I have a boon, to ask my Warchief."

His voice changed when he said this last, turning almost tearful. And I'll be go to hell, the big bastard dropped to one knee, pulling his protesting companion with him. It was not a sight I'd ever thought to see, that big galoot on bended knee to even Carson.

"I've found my brother, whom I lost years ago," he announced with no fanfare, in a raw and honest voice that made me swallow hard. "And I know our time is cut short for such ceremony, even your bonding hacked to a sheer indignity! But by Thor, Wolf, you'll have my gratitude for all my life if you could find it in your heart to spare the smallest of rites, to bring him into our tribe. He's been too long without a people, by the gods!"

Eyes as golden as dark honey. Long brown hair all ruffled, touched with gilt and bronze. Do'nar's coloring, as well as a way more refined version of his good looks.

He'd thought he had Do'nar's number, that the big man would be easy to manipulate. Kind, emotional people usually were pushovers; it was a fact of life he'd proven, time and time again. Implying that he was the man's long-lost brother and gently nudging him into belief should have clinched his hold on Do'nar's affections, and indeed it had---in a way. Except Do'nar wasn't behaving at all like he was supposed to, dammit!

He really hadn't needed to be nudged into anything, he'd pounced on the notion like a barn cat on a mouse all by himself. Asher couldn't help being slightly miffed at that; his acting talents hadn't been the least bit necessary! And Do'nar was supposed to be thrilled and happy, of course, but just between the two of them. He certainly hadn't figured the man would be determined to bray the news to everyone in his tribe, and for gods' sake have a ceremony to make it official into the bargain! His reasoned attempt to talk Do'nar out of it, citing everything from bad taste to his own shyness, had fallen on deaf ears. His new "brother" was one stubborn bastard and no mistake.

And strong as an ox, to boot. He'd been alarmed enough to attempt escape when the Nightwolf rode into camp and Do'nar expressed his intentions of informing the warchief of this new development. The big moose had not only captured him effortlessly, but had actually dragged him across camp despite his struggles and planted them both in Nightwolf's face to make his request.

Goddammit! He didn't want any ceremonies; ceremonies were dangerous. Even these backwater, barbaric Northern affairs were more than apt to catch the attention of whatever gods they worshipped and that made Asher very nervous indeed. He might not believe in prophecies, but he believed in gods. Thanks to the Deathlady, he'd made acquaintance with one of the darker ones. And although Cthullu had done nothing but bestow favors upon him, still that presence had chilled him. He'd been violently sick afterwards, terrified for days. He wanted nothing to do with gods. Drawing any god's attention to your doings was plain idiotic, even if you weren't plotting something against one of the deity's worshippers. And this whole damn tribe knowing his business wasn't going to make his schemes against the elf any easier to deploy!

The elf. He studied that one covertly, as the redhead's expressive mouth twisted into a rueful smile. Was the elf a worshipper, then? He seemed a bit irreverent to be really religious . . .

"Well, shit. Ain't this somethin'." Firehawk was talking to him, for some reason, and he sounded as awkward as Asher felt. "Man, I guess---whoa. Do'nar's brother. Shit! Words fail me, man." The elf looked utterly disgusted as he made this announcement; then he flashed the bemused Asher an apologetic grin that gave charm a new and better definition. "Guess I'll just do the pre-packaged thing and say 'welcome to the tribe' and all that crap. I really can't think of anything better here, my brain's gone out to lunch from shock."

He'd become friends with Do'nar without even meaning to. It would be pure insanity to start liking this bastard he meant to kill. He wouldn't be that stupid, by all the gods!

As if to test his determination, the wretched fool abruptly snatched up his hand and pumped it a few times, in some weird ritual that Asher couldn't remember as tribal. Almost dreamily, he noted to himself that the elf's grip was far stronger than his decorative appearance indicated.

With a return of his fey, lopsided smile, Firehawk dropped Asher's hand and started talking again. Words failed him, there was no doubt about it! Asher bit back on another chuckle.

"I'm sorry, dude. I'm afraid I had you pegged, well, as a supreme asshole. Maybe because you and Nightwolf had some history, I dunno. I never thought I was a jealous guy, but guess I don't know everything."

He admitted it, and so easily. Goddamn him. "Nobody knows everything, even about themselves," Asher heard himself say. The Nine Hells! What did he mean by that? "Things always change. People, especially. And I won't deny that I certainly can be an 'asshole', at times. Perhaps your viewpoint was correct, since my feelings towards you were---similar. And just as jealous."

Do'nar and Nightwolf had been more or less listening to the two of them exchange pleasantries up to now, both of them looking frankly disbelieving. But at the wizard's final comment, Do'nar shouted with mock fury, and swatted at his head.

"Too slow, big guy," Firehawk snickered, dancing aside. Then his eyes widened as the big man kept coming, grabbing for his shirt this time. Prudently, he turned tail and fled, Do'nar thundering after him and shouting insults, curses and fervent pleas for him to stop running and take his beating like a man.

Asher stared after them, then glanced at the chuckling warchief, enraptured. Had he ever seen a real smile on that harsh face, let alone heard this soft rumble of amusement come forth from him? Never. And it caught at his heart almost painfully.

The Wolf noticed his upset look and misread it, his laughter dying. "Don't worry, they're not angry. They play like that constantly, damned fools, loving nothing more than trading insults. And I fear to explain the practical jokes each visits upon the other; you'll be thinking you have a toddler for a brother and not an adult warrior."

"I---it's strange, to have a brother," Asher managed to say. He didn't know where to look, or how to speak to this man suddenly. Certainly he didn't know how to react to the strange warmth of the Wolf's expression.

To his delight and horror, Nightwolf said quietly, "I'm glad, my friend, that you have found one," in that deep velvet voice that haunted his most erotic dreams. And then he was embraced---a quick hug between comrades, nothing more. But still more than enough to arouse him to the point of doing something insanely foolish.

He pulled away, not wanting to, flushed and stammering. "Uh---what is this ceremony Do'nar speaks of? It will make me a tribesman?" He didn't really care, but he had to redirect his thoughts to anything other than how hard and powerful that leather-clad body had felt pressed against him.

"It will, but the ceremony is less important in confirming you a Rider than what comes afterward." The warchief's smile was almost---impish, if such a thing could exist on such a strong and brooding face.

Nightwolf laughed again, easily. "The party we will hold for you," he replied, eyes dancing. "And the amount of Blue Death you can consume before losing consciousness---that is the true test of a Shadow Rider."

"The party!?" Do'nar roared in delight. He'd managed to catch the wizard and lug him back to their side tossed over his impressive shoulder like a sack of grain, the redhead swearing a blue streak and threatening to incinerate him from the inside outwards. Now he released Firehawk, who abandoned his plans of vengeance to parrot him eagerly. "A party?!? Hot damn! But Carson, what about the war and shit? Should we be getting pie-eyed at this point? I hate to be the voice of reason here . . ."

"Then why begin now?" Do'nar griped, trying to shush him. "Dammit, Hawk, a drunken Rider with the blind staggers could still whup four times his weight in Southerners and you know it!! We deserve a party, by the gods! Your marriage, my brother's return----" Here Do'nar grabbed Asher by the back of the neck and pulled him into a rough hug; he managed not to tense, though in general he hated being touched. He even hugged back, almost as if he---liked it? Of course not, he was acting! "By Odin's flaming beard, are we supposed to wait for a third reason to celebrate a little? Hogwash! I tell you if I don't get a good roaring drunk on and eat pork until I puke in honor of these things, I'm going to explode and it won't be a pretty sight!"

Firehawk burst out laughing. "Jesus Christ, defend us from having that kinda mess to clean up! Okay, I'm in, what the hell." He grinned fiendishly. "What with the visiting tribes, we got so many buddies on hand those freakin' cowards would be shit-scared to attack us, anyway."

"Even if they could break through the outer tribes, which is an unlikely thing," Carson added in his soft musical voice. "And, lanisha? I have reason to celebrate also---I am as tired of waiting as Do'nar is, to express my joy before the gods and my people."

The two of them, wizard and warrior, exchanged a look that was molten, yet strangely innocent. Asher told himself he was disgusted, but his thought had little force behind it, and even less disgust.

"Didn't think you were a party animal, warchief. Lord knows you got no appreciation for good liquor!" his lover gibed abruptly, almost as if on purpose to break the suddenly intimate mood between them.

Nightwolf snorted. "I can drink as well as any other fool who chooses to ignore the foul taste of such concoctions in a quest for inebriation. But I have responsibilities to consider. Who else will bother to tuck your sotted carcass into bed when you once again try to outdrink the Captain and fail?"

"Oh, so you're gettin' out of it by claiming to be designated driver, huh? Very noble, but it's not gonna fly this time, sword-boy. You're gonna guzzle this time and guzzle big, or I'm gonna take it as a personal insult . . ."

Do'nar still had one arm looped around Asher's neck, and now he tugged gently, moving the two of them away. "C'mon, boy, let's go home and prepare for this thing, clean up a bit at least. Those two may actually get the preparations for the event rolling, if they lack an audience for their bickering!"

Asher stared at Do'nar and then risked a glance at the wizard, who was laughing and making a strange finger gesture in Do'nar's direction. Nightwolf too was smiling faintly. The fondness between the three was unmistakable. And it was, was somehow spilling over onto him, because he was laughing himself without knowing why.

Friends, family. Home? These were things that made you soft, this caring for anyone other than yourself! Caring made you weak, and a target as well. The problem was that this weakness---felt incredibly good, better than anything else he'd known in all his life.