WandWpart19

Wizards (Death Storm/Thunder Rider)

R for language; NC-17 for inner workings of both. There are no White Wizards here, only shades of grey.

Asher waited the few hours until dawn, and then a little longer, before finally contacting the Lady with his report. At this distance, perhaps, she couldn't strike at him. Not through a Web of Seeing, which had no relation to magic really. And it did seem rather unlikely she could hurt him, even in the night when her powers were greatest. Even with magic.

Not here in the forest. Oh, the deep green smells of it, the cool beauty. And despite all the bad memories it was still HIS element. Never hers! And he was not exactly feeble himself in any case.

Still, he preferred caution. She was as hungry as he'd ever seen her. But far from weakened by her needs; that would take many years to happen. And she would probably go insane first, become even more dangerous.

As dangerous as any other rabid beast. No, worse. For what he had learned from the Rangers couldn't tame this maddened animal. Not that he would be inclined to offer her such peace in any event.

Asher's lip curled sourly as he skillfully manipulated the device that would connect him to the palace many leagues to the southeast. She would answer immediately, of course. No doubt had been pacing and drooling by the small alcove that held the crystal spider webbing for many days, cursing him. She always expected hourly updates, even if a person were in the heat of a battle. Even if nothing had happened. Probably, even if her spy were dead.

Especially if her spy were dead. Zombies were far more obedient than the living. Luckily, they were also stupid, slow and prone to rot too quickly. This sad fact prevented her from killing all her minions including Asher. Most of her intrigues required some intelligence.

He permitted himself a touch of amusement, at how frantic she would be at his total silence since the time of his departure. Usually he humored her, reporting back often with meaningless dribble skillfully woven around the grains of true information. She didn't seem to notice or care about content, just that the webbing stay active. Sparkling and filled with the chatter of her thousand servants currying favor. Oh, she could gloat and watch the misty screen in the webs for hours! Important or trivial, the glut of information, color and noise proved to her how powerful she still was. Sometimes she even ate while watching. A disgusting sight.

Too bad for her that she needed more these days. But lucky for her guards, who were not powerful enough to even constitute a snack for her now ravenous appetite. He remembered days when whole platoons had gone down her gullet, kept her fed for weeks at a time.

As a small disk of vapor spun into existence on the air before him, Asher let his memory touch briefly on another time. When the Lady had been truly powerful. When he had believed in her, passionately. Sought her body her many bodies with the same trusting passion.

That memory lasted as long as smoke in the wind. As long as it took, for the air-mirror to fill with the Lady's image. A golden-haired angel of light, with soft blue eyes and the form of a graceful goddess.

"Asher." Ah, no "beloved" on this one! She was as angry as he had suspected. And the harsh voice certainly didn't match the angelic representation she chose to send. It was an old witch's voice, raw and hateful. And of course, the lips of the image didn't even stir. "You have made no contact since you left! What are you thinking? Have you taken them yet? How dare you? When you knew I was waiting for news! You know better, you will be punished! You will be torn to pieces! Damn you, do you think yourself above punishment now? You are wrong!"

"My Lady, forgive me." His words were smooth and calm. As was the image he chose to send her. This "spell" of communication was not real magic. It was a thing of dragons, the technology discovered in snooping through the abandoned palace the Lady had overrun. Not completely understood by the magic-savvy Eastern mages, but they had cobbled together enough to make it usable. And unlike true magic it required devices; the crystal and steel spiderwebbing in the Room of Seeing. The small chip of reflective metal he used to activate the webbing. Perhaps the dragons might have owned the knowledge to make the imagery transmitted match reality, but Asher was just as glad that only false pictures could be sent by this stolen version of the craft. He resisted an uncharacteristic urge to stick his tongue out at the image of the Lady. She had of course chosen the likeness of that glorious perfection which hadn't really existed for years now.

A slow, boiling rage began to gather in him as she continued to complain of his inefficiency, flay him with her tongue. By all the gods, she had a nerve! As if she understood everything, all that which he must go through to do her bidding and still found it not enough.

She didn't know the half of it! For one thing, she didn't realize what torture it was, to lurk in this small forest. Inhale the soft, rich smells. Feel the presence of those animals, both mild and dangerous, that once he could have fed from his hands.

To remember innocence. No torture the bitch could fashion would ever compare to that agony.

He'd never explained why he had left the Rangers to return to her. And she hadn't asked. Of course in her darkangel arrogance she'd assumed the reason. That he had been unable to live without her.

The truth was, the Rangers had been unable to live with the monster she had made of him. Despite his pitiful need for what they offered, they had cast him away in horror.

He closed his eyes, and found the composure he needed to answer her calmly. Break through her raving almost politely, when to murder her with hooks and poisoned needles wouldn't have been enough to satisfy him.

"Lady. I have been surrounded by Northern pigs for weeks. And you of all people must know that it is harder, to fool those immune to illusion magic. That is my use to you. If I am slow, I apologize for it. But you understand the reason."

Gods and demons, he was good! She was falling for it. Believing it. Well, what else could she do? The mention of the Northern resistance to illusion magic had tamed the bitch! She was chattering with anger, but she couldn't deny it.

It was before his time, before the Nightwolf's time. But he'd heard the stories. How a dozen of the Lady's finest illusionists had strolled into the Shadow Rider's camp, bearing the likeness of the barbarian warchief and several of his followers. It should have worked, the real warchief was off on a raid. They had a plausible story for his return. They intended to gain that tribe's trust, then kill all of them in their sleep. Take those forms, infect every Tribe in the North.

Instead, the group of drunken natives around the campfire had stared at them in disbelief. Then leaped up with demented howls and ready axes. Slaughtered every one of them, except for the cringing illusionist they'd finally tortured to death. Their finest mage, the one who'd dared to mimic the form of their warchief.

That one, they'd saved for Bloodwolf's return.

It had been hundreds of years ago, even before she'd abandoned the ruined body of the Lord of Pain to become the Death Lady. Yet still she remembered the humiliation. Those Northern horse-molesters, immune to illusion! She had been outraged, totally offended. How dare they resist her greatest power! Oh, they had seen the illusion magic. But it had been to them like ghosts hovering over the Easterners' real forms, instead of solid shape-change.

They hadn't been fooled for a whisper of a second. And they'd sent the magicians' heads and livers back to her in a trunk they'd first graciously pissed upon. Asher chuckled at the thought despite his anger. How insulted she must have been! He'd been told she threw tantrums for weeks on end, killed scores of her own troops in her rage at the failed mission and the Northerners' gift to her. Well, to him actually, in that place and time.

Stupid bitch. A stupid arrogant bitch, whether in male or female form.

But her need for a talented human spy with no reliance on magic had saved him from much. He bore no brands of slavery, no ring of death-heads tattooed around his wrists like delicate bracelets. She needed him to look more generic, since all the strength of illusion-magic she had taught him wasn't worth a shit against the wretched barbarians! And she needed his mind intact, his wits sharp.

Oh, there were other jobs she sent him on, where those dark powers were useful to him. Journeys of theft and treachery to the South of the land, a realm full of gullible bastards with no backbone or intelligence. Knee-jerk imbeciles too stupid to realize that the one god they worshipped was actually a demon. A minor demon at that! It was no challenge to fool Southerners. And their mindlessly conformist ranks certainly held no one like the Nightwolf.

The Southerners were irrelevant, though. A sudden thought came to him, an unwelcome one. Had she chosen him from the very beginning, to take down the North for her?

She was talking again now, and he forced himself to listen through the sudden alarm in his soul.

"I understand, my Asher. I know you are working hard, on my behalf." Gods, she must be hungry! Nearly whining. "Yet, what have you accomplished? Please, my love, tell me. I worry for you, in that uncouth place. I wish you home quickly."

There was a time when he would have believed such sap. Would she kill him if he gagged at it now? No, she needed him badly, for awhile at least. He spoke to her gently. His fingers twitched, as if imagining themselves around her neck. It's neck. Darkangel. Never forget that.

"I am humbled; a Wizard has come, as you foresaw. The power has risen between them, Lady. I was too slow to prevent it. I think it happened long before the Wizard even came to the North."

It sounded like an excuse, though actually he had become sure of it over the days of watching them together. But such ideas would only irritate her. She no longer possessed the intellect to ponder what might have happened in times past. Like a spoiled brat, her focus was on the here and now, and what she desired at present. And he would not share with her, what ideas his suspicions had brought forth.

The Wolf was a barbarian tribesman. Illusion magic wouldn't confuse him. But the wizardwherever the hell he was from, he certainly wasn't Tribal!

It was something to ponder. Although he'd need caution; elves were devious, tricky,

two-timing bastards! How this one had snared someone as strong and straightforward as Nightwolf - Well, he knew nothing of elvish magic; no one did really.

But Asher intended to start learning. Very much, and very soon.

He paused, delicately. "Perhaps your feasting will be even better, since the Warrior has gained in might through their union. But they have not yet Bonded." He spoke quickly, before she could draw in a breath to protest. "And so, even without illusion, I believe I can take the Nightwolf for you. As you remember, we are friends. And I have kept my Ranger garb, and weapons." The Rangers let me keep them. Perhaps feeling sorry for what they did to me. Or perhaps for a subtler punishment, a cruelty that rivaled the Lady herself. "He has no reason to suspect I am no longer with them. It will work, I think."

He held his breath. And as certainly as the rot of her memory, she recalled only what he told her. She laughed behind her beautiful image, and he tasted the poison of it like a fetid stench on the soft forest air.

"Soon, my Asher?" she said thickly, and he smiled.

"As soon as I can contrive it, my Lady, he shall be yours. Yet I would remind you."

"Remind me? Of what!" Oh, that had been a bad term to use. Her memory was so damaged these days, even she was aware of it. And she was consequently defensive about it.

Well, that was her problem. He would have this. He would be paid back for everything. Then destroy her later into the bargain.

"The wizard," he breathed softly. "You said if he was pretty enough - "

Nightwolf. Merron. How it hurt, to betray both of them in some twisted way.

"You said I could have him. If he was pretty enough to please me."

She was chuckling thickly. He could feel it like slime crawling over his skin, even through the pathetic path of the stupid "technology."

"Is he then pretty enough, my Asher?" She was drooling again. Even if he couldn't see it, he knew it.

He couldn't answer. He couldn't even breathe. What the hell was wrong with him? It was the forest, taking revenge on his betrayal. Killing him with memories. Memories were poison for such as him. He should follow this thing's example, care only for the "now".

"Yes," he managed to whisper. "Beautiful as a dream." Where the hell had that come from? She was laughing at him again. Pleased as only a demon could be when finding a slave's weakness. Or so she thought, the wizard meant nothing to him!

"All right, my love. You shall have him. He is yours. Just bring me the Wolf. And I understand, if it takes some time. But hurry as much as you can, Beloved."

By all the gods he didn't believe in, she had almost added a "Please" to that. And he would almost feel sorry for her. If he could.

"I understand," he replied, in a thin and toneless voice. "Never fear." Never fear I will give you your own warped soul to drink before I feed you the Wolf! And I want the damned wizard only to rip him to pieces! That's all I "understand", you swamp-hag!

"I will report more often, my Lady," was what he said. "And I will work with as much speed as is prudent."

"My Asher," she said, in a voice that was warm, almost affectionate. "Always, you were the best of my servants. Always." And then her image faded. And he was grinding his teeth, shaking with reaction. The best of her servants!

It was true, dammit. It was so totally, horribly true.

The soft hiss of the rain on the leaves above him was all that roused him from whatever choked his memory. Late summer storm. The same as when he'd last left the Nightwolf. Hurt, but still a Ranger. Still alive. Oh. he remembered how it felt, to be alive!

And his main revenge for being one of the dead again would be against the Darkangel, of course. When he was strong enough. But in the meantime

He smiled a little. Consciously making the smile charming, even though there was no audience except for his too-affectionate steed. The wistful smile suited his bronze-touched beauty, and he well knew it.

Charisma, too, was a kind of illusion magic. One even the Northmen had no defense against. And although his final vengeance would be on the Lady, it might be pleasant to play a bit with the damned elf that had stolen from him. Taken everything he'd ever wanted, without effort or even caring.

Yes. It would be enjoyable, to steal back from the foolish elf-boy.

To hurt him. To kill him. To fuck him.

In no particular order.

I waited the few hours left till dawn. Then a little after, before pulling gently free of Jalin to go to my smaller tent, hop aboard my breakfast table that was now a desk and start plotting diagrams of what we'd need to do to snag me some wheels.

Yeah, after Carson had stormed out in a fit of irritation I'd boinked the boy. So what? The kid deserved it, and I sure didn't need sleep. I'd tuned down the elf-senses, and still I was more than wired. More than horny, too. I mean, being an elf is thoroughly different from being human. You just can't begin to imagine it.

Even I was having trouble with it.

For one thing, well, you seem to have what you might call an eternal hard-on.

Right now having something different on my mind, a fairly involved piece of magic, was better than good. Some guys might think that walking around constantly stiff as stone is an excellent thing, but my take on it was different. I was in the Tribes, and getting laid wasn't that big a problem. I didn't have to prove anything to anybody. I didn't NEED a permanent erection to show off!! Right now, in fact, I woulda been grateful for a cold shower.

Assuming even that would work. I mean, Jalin hadn't even worked.

He'd been on me the moment Carse left the tent. Not horny, upset. "Hawk. Was he angry at you, because of me?" Those clear grey eyes dropped, then raised to my face even as he gripped my arms in fingers as delicate as silk over ivory. "Because I, I, was unpleasant about you sharing without me?" He looked totally woeful, truly troubled. He had no desire to come between us, he cared for both of us that much. How rare is that? How fucking precious is that? It was beyond unbelievable, at least in the world I'd come from.

In Khesh well. The place is full of magic. Of every kind.

"Huh? What? Hell, no!" was what I said eloquently. Of course I knew my big boy was some upset; after sex Carson is usually the relaxed-cat type of guy. He'd drowse off and sleep forever if someone like me wasn't waking him up around noon wanting some more sex. Not his style, to roar out the door after a killer session looking for sword practice he didn't even need. And did I pity Swordmaster Goulding at this point; had a feeling Carse was gonna kick the living shit outta the poor unsuspecting bastard. But Jalin had nothing to do with his fit of temper; I gave him a quick hug just to prove it.

"Nah, kid, he just doesn't like the thought of me being on a bike again. Same way in our own world. Kinda silly now, he goes out into battle and risks his ass way more than I could even think of doing. Guys comin' at him from all directions waving swords and hatchets, the one thought on their minds to chop him into itty bitty pieces. And the damn fool stresses over me doing a wheelie!"

Of course, Jalin didn't have a clue what I was talking about, and at this point I was mainly chattering to hear my own self anyway. Boot up my courage, if you will. Because despite all my bravado, and despite all the very real power I could now feel flowing through me like a thousand colors of silken fire

The plain reality was, what I planned on doing was still a pretty damn hefty piece of magic. And just my luck, I was smart enough to be scared at the thought of it.

But not smart enough, to even consider NOT doing it.

War would come. And I'd be with him, this time. Helping. Or at least keeping up.

Simple as that, the quick hug I gave Jalin turned into a longer one, for both our benefit. And then he was tilting that sweet pale face up towards me, and, well, you know how it goes sometimes. Especially with an eternal hard-on.

I kissed him. He closed those big luminous eyes, and gravely kissed me back. But the wretched kid didn't stop there. He was fairly decent at multi-tasking, and before I could even process the sweetness of his gently thrusting tongue he had his hand on my crotch. Whimpered softly into my mouth, at what he found there. Well, kid, and you expect what to happen when you kiss and grope me? Not exactly made of ice here. Made of elf, which is a whole 'nother thing.

I just relaxed, and let him paw me. Which he did in spades. Until suddenly he made an exasperated sound, stopped kissing me, and glared down at my jeans with a reproachful look. "Hawk!"

"Mmmm-hmmm?" His fingers were moving in an interesting manner all over the front of my levis, felt pretty damn good in fact.

"These stupid, damned off-world pants of yours! Are they designed for chastity or merely frustration?"

"What the who?" I mumbled intelligently. I really didn't have enough blood left up north of me to grasp his meaning at all.

He made the disgusted sound again, then dropped to his knees and began intensely studying the zipper fly of my pants. Oh, that's what those provocative finger-movements had been. Fumbling for lacings and finding none. The thought tickled me for some reason, and I had to laugh. Even while vastly appreciating the sight of this slim, ice-blond beauty kneeling in front of me with the small cute nose practically touching my dick as he tried to figure things out.

He glanced up coldly at the cackling idiot, and I hastened to help him out. "Here, kid. Easier than it looks." I manipulated the zipper and extracted the item in question with some difficulty. He studied the device the zipper, I mean with quiet disapproval. "It looks dangerous, all those metal fangs. You are truly mad, to prison your rod behind such a gate." He was tugging at my britches as he spoke, but cautiously, as if he expected that metal closure to snap shut on its own and sever me right in front of him.

"Never got it caught yet," I boasted. "Ouch! Shoulda kept my mouth shut. Jalin, Christ, let me. You gotta undo the button, too. Like this here."

"How do people find time to share in your world, if they must go through all this foolishness just to get naked?" He stood up, somewhat to my disappointment, and skimmed off the blue drawstring pants he wore while I was still struggling to peel those tight jeans off my butt.

Damn. Naked and Jalin were just made for each other, weren't they? He was flawless. Lovely and graceful as some wild creature, poised like a dancer on the edge of movement. All that creamy skin gold-touched thanks to the two braziers I'd re-lit to add to the candle's light. Hair like a sheet of light, tumbling in his face as he tilted his head to smile at me almost shyly.

And, damn. That cute little string of crimson beads nearly brushing the soft, sparkly bit of fuzz from which his cock rose in innocent arrogance like a shaft of marble tipped with heat.

And here I was, the object of his desire. Stuck in my own freaking pants!

He crossed his arms over his smooth, pale chest and watched me finally sit on the bed to try and kick my legs free. A little smile frosting his face as if he'd made a point. "Hurry up," he murmured.

"Have a little patience there, kid." Damn, of course I'd forgotten to take my shoes off first, and of course now the stupid pants were stuck on one of 'em. That was the problem. I didn't like to think how dumb I must've looked at this moment.

"I've been patient," he said sweetly, not quite pouting. "I want you inside me. Now."

Gulp. "Whoa. Goddamn shoe!!"

"I've wanted that since the first time I laid eyes on you." His voice was like a skein of satin as he gracefully settled on the bed near me. By now I was writhing and cussing, hard as a rock and ready to chop my own foot off if I had to. "The warchief is a powerful lover, but you, Hawk "

His voice fell, and he reached into the knot of clothing I'd become to unerringly stroke my cock. "You, I want so badly it hurts."

Goddamn son-of-a BITCHING shoe!

Jalin pulled back, eyes widening a bit, as I threw the holy fire for the second time that night. Or maybe the way I was foaming at the mouth was what startled him. Either way, say so long to another pair of straight-leg jeans and those nearly-new Reeboks. Oh well. At least I was finally naked, Jalin was on the bed, and the lube was within easy reach.

I pounced on the poor kid like a famished tiger. He didn't seem to mind in the least.

And he was just as sweet as I'd known he'd be. A smooth, creamy, exotic dessert after the fiery main course that was Carson.

He made a tiny sound as I touched his entrance with oiled-up fingers that I admit it were a bit less than steady. It was a softly pleased, almost innocent sound. More like a small child exclaiming over his first rainbow than a hot teenager ready for a screw. It kinda threw me off a bit, charming though it was. This kid was so lovely. A stupid word, but true in this case. He was so deserving of romance, poetry. And have I mentioned I have a problem with that? Maybe I just wasn't his best choice. Maybe he should think about this.

He sensed it. His eyes flew open, and all bets were off. Those were the hottest, most debauched eyes I'd ever looked into. And that included Carson's.

"Hawk." He said my name like it was something absolutely filthy, surprising me into a groan. Surprising me again, winding those long slim arms around my neck and pulling me into a hard kiss. Once done with that, be damned if the boy didn't, well, pretty much throw his legs over my shoulders. That cute little butt was right in my dick's face, and I can take a hint with the best of them.

Romance be damned. I was inside the boy in a hot second, fucking like crazy three seconds later.

And God damn me, coming like a hurricane in less than ten damn minutes! Totally thoughtless, mindless, clueless. Who the hell was the teenager here? I was gasping out apologies even as I climaxed.

And Jalin, the cute little prick, was laughing at me. Unwinding, curling up in my arms. Giggling softly.

"Hawk. It's a compliment. Thank you. You wanted me so much. Thank you."

"Um, yeah, thanks for nothing is more like it." I felt like the world's biggest, most selfish dork. And still this kid is acting like I'm sex god of the universe? What would he do if I was any good, have a seizure? The crisp waves of pleasure still igniting my body only embarrassed me further.

"Hardly 'nothing'," he purred, nuzzling my throat affectionately.

"You sure you didn't stick all those earrings in there yourself? I mean, you gotta be a virgin, to think that was decent sex!" I was still humiliated. Jesus Christ, I'd just pounded into the kid with all the finesse of a rutting beaver and he was all happy about it! I felt like a damned rapist.

"Hawk." His voice was both fond and exasperated. Strangely close to another person I knew well. "The Wolf is right. You will complain about anything or nothing, just to be doing so."

"You will complain about "

"Okay, okay. Got it in one."

"Good," he said firmly, hugging me hard. And I began to get a clue, from all the sticky stuff between us.

The kid had enjoyed our little quickie every bit as much as I had. Little bastard hadn't been deprived in the least; probably came before I did!

There are times when quickies just work, excitement-wise. Even better than the marathon runs every red-blooded guy strives for to prove how hot he is.

Before I could really process this, evaluate it and begin to gloat, Jalin was pulling away from me with a soft frown. A frown that had nothing to do with my performance.

"Hawk. There's someone. In the forest just east of here using dragon magic."

I stared at him. "Dragon magic?" I mouthed.

I'd felt nothing myself. But somehow, even as he spoke, a memory I damn sure didn't want struck me with the force of steel.

The memory of the darkangel that had pretended to be Carson's father on Earth, to keep us apart. To keep us from finding the power between us.

Charles Ravenstreet. Respected banker, civic leader, millionaire. Child abuser, demon scum. Darkangel. Leaping at me with bared fangs and hell in its eyes.

But this time when I called the fire to protect us both, nothing answered.