Wizards and Warriors Part Twenty-three

Now, I would be the diplomat. I risked a glance at Do'nar and-----ah, shit! I'd forgotten He was goggling just like the rest. Hadn't realized I was an elf either, though he'd been right up there with the sex toy comments. Somehow, in getting friendlier with him it had just kinda slipped my mind that I'd only "come out" to Jalin, Smitty and Carson of course. Irenea had found out by accident. Oh, I'd kinda used the elf thing as a gimmick when I'd been a bard-for-hire, but everybody accepted it as just that-----a gimmick. The musicians in this world, thank whomever, were as into flash as any Earth rocker boys, though the music was way different of course. Fake ears, a bit of blarney, not the real thing, of course!----and I'd let 'em think it, not being suicidal. Well, it was all outta the bag now.

He stared at me, and for a small moment I thought I had overestimated him. Then he shook his head so hard I could almost hear his brains rattle. "By the fat, bare arses of a thousand gods!!! " he roared, and suddenly I was in a grip that should have killed me. "An elf!! The damnfool wizard is a by-the-gods elf!!! No wonder everybody including me is mad to lay him!! How the hell can we lose, with an elf on our side?"

He'd managed to turn it into a good thing. The whole fucking arena rang with the delighted yells of this mob of maniacs. Hot damn! An elf! It really was the War of the Four Quarters, then! About time too; kick their pesky asses!

"There are other reasons, I think this might be the fated war," the big guy continued, a grin splitting his face. "Although by the gods, this, um, revelation makes my thoughts seem fairly petty! So I'll be brief with them."

I eyed him skeptically. I knew how much Do'nar liked to gas on. But if he had some real information it was probably a good idea to let him flap his bill uninterrupted for once. Carson's attitude above all had made me see this was serious shit here, not a meeting held just to bore me to tears.

His face grew grave again. "You all know I'm no friend to Southerners. And most of you know why, aside from them being god-cursed busybodies who try to force everyone to live and believe as they do. But for those who don't know the story----" He eyed me here, his look lingering on my exposed ears with fresh wonder. "I was not of the Riders, originally. I'm like you, wizard, adopted into this tribe."

I stared at him. What? If Do'nar said he was from Earth too I was gonna smack him one. The big galoot was the absolute essence of a Northern barbarian, way more even than Carson who was a bit too exotic looking to fit the mold totally.

He caught my thought from the look on my face, I guess. Anyway he began to chuckle, richly entertained. "No, I'm not from another world, boy! This one suits me well enough. But my home tribe were crafter people. Not all the tribes are as war-like as the Riders, though it's a dangerous world and all own some skill with weapons."

"But the Storm River people---my birth-people----were easy pickings for a thousand Southern bastards. Too many of them, as always. They killed my parents. Raped and killed my sisters. My younger brother they took-----as a sex slave, I imagine, he was a handsome lad, though only seven. Just the age they like 'em, worthless pricks!"

I was staring at him in absolute horror. "Shit, Do'nar. I-----I don't know what to say here. You're not making this up, are you? Where were you when this was going on? How long ago did it happen?"

"I was eight." His voice was so matter-of-fact it chilled me. Well, it happened some twenty years ago, but still! "With my uncle, on a trading trip. I remember buying candy, to share with the others. Five of us there were, three sisters and us two boys. If I'd been there I think it would've been death for me too; I was big for my age, and certainly not the pretty type those swine find pleasing. But the point is, I noticed signs of Easterners then, too. It is not the first time they've run with the South, though usually they're sneaky about it. The East is more complicated than either South or North, Hawk. And not all the Easterners follow a single lord. They've got more noble houses and confusing politics, that I wonder sometimes if they know themselves who's at war with who!"

"But the East---well, it's stiff with magic-users of various kinds. And some of those bastards want the Starmetal. They've been working up to it. And now I think they're finally ready to strike."

He matched looks with Carson, who nodded curtly in agreement. I dug through my memory of the elven texts I'm absorbed, and found a reference. "You mean the magic stuff, that they claimed the elves made from falling stars or something? I thought that was just, um, poetic license. Bullshit, to be honest. Hell, even in the earth stories about elves they got them with all kindsa fancy metal, and it always seemed like wishful thinking to me."

"The blade you gave me is of that metal," Carson said quietly. "As is the other, though that one is not elvish in make. Do'nar worked the starsteel, for that one."

"Do'nar has a talent?" Oops, that didn't come out right. For one thing, I sounded like I couldn't believe he was good at anything. Which made that bastard Sun Wolf grin, even as Do'nar's smile faded a bit at my tone. "No, I didn't mean it quite that way, big guy. But where the hell do you get this crap, is what I wanna know. From what I read it didn't sound so common!"

"The Riders are the most Western of the Twelve Tribes, Hawk. In fact, we are barely twenty miles from what used to be elven country, though that's not a thing we tell everyone. But stars still die there---in fact we had to move this camp one season, we were too close and the skies were busy that autumn, falling around our heads every minute it seemed! It can be perilous in the western hills, for mortal men. But I go there at times, to collect the magic metal, and I've taught myself the craft of shaping it to weapons, and also jewelry. Although it was not a thing I mastered over a few days, by Odin!"

Well, I had no damn trouble believing that one! I couldn't understand how anyone could work such stuff. I'd seen Carson use that black blade of his, and it wasn't all skill on his part. That crap cut through plate armor like it was butter. Be worth a fortune in this sword-crazy universe.

"And part of the Prophecy of the War is that the Eastern magicians will come against us for the metal. They desire it deeply, and we block their way to the only place it falls in the whole land of Khesh."

I opened my mouth to respond in some way, then lost my train of thought as I noticed the guy at the door. I didn't remember him being there before. I think he'd just come in, on the wave of my revealed ears. Or maybe while Do'nar was finishing up his spiel.

He didn't look tribal. Not big enough, for one thing. He was about my size, maybe an inch or so taller. And he was dressed in a mix of greens and greys that for some reason reminded me of the forest, rather than the rolling plains that made up so much of this Northern country.

He caught my attention for two reasons. One was the resemblance he had to Richard Chamberlain as Aramis in the Dick Lester production of "The Three Musketeers." One of my favorite movies, by the way. Yeah, it wasn't enough that Do'nar had turned into John Travolta, they had to send me another goddamn actor!

Despite his aristocratic bronze-haired looks, there was something in his voice on that last remark that was nearly evil. You would of thought someone had gone behind his back and he'd just now found it out. And wasn't too pleased about it either.

"I too, hate the Southerners." This remark I didn't doubt in the least. Not considering the way his face changed when he said it. "It will be a double honor, to offer you my sword."

The way he phrased it, it was almost a question. And for some reason I wanted to stick my nose in, tell him to move on down the road. Get lost. Beat it. Don't need your help, thanks a ton but no thanks.

No wonder she had been fawning on him! She knew his feelings for the Southern pigs. Was she insane? Well, of course, yes to that. But he hadn't known the extent of it. Allies of the Southerners! How could even she sink so low?

Love had treated him kindly. The harsh lines near his mouth had all but vanished. And his eyes were definitely not empty now, nor cold. Stormy, intense. Full of fire and life.

He moved his gaze to that one, and nearly smiled. The red-haired elf-boy was absolutely seething. Not a fool, not this one. Noticed how he looked at me, did you?

In fact, he couldn't quite decide now which one he wanted more. The barbarian warlord he'd convinced himself should belong to him. Or the beautiful little flame-rat who'd stolen him away.

Amazingly, the redhaired boy growled at him exactly like a pretty but dangerous animal. And he felt an immediate wave of desire that was almost horrible in its intensity. For the stupid redhead.

Oh, damn. He was no more proof against elven magic than anyone else, it seemed. And he'd always had a weakness, for beautiful things. He'd been prepared, he'd known the elf was lovely. He'd thought himself armed against it. But up close, this bastard's beauty defied reason. He was flame incarnate. It was so damned unfair!

"Rude, my ass!" the pretty little sex toy snarled. And suddenly, he looked a lot less young, not so little, and much more formidable. "Just who the fuck are you anyway, come strolling in here like you own the place?" Well. Despite his looks, he was less than a people-pleaser. This could work against him.

But it made Asher's sudden and intense desire all the hotter, even as it infuriated him. An arrogant snot. By the gods, to rape and gut him would be a sheer pleasure.

"Beloved." Oh, gods. It hurt, to hear the Nightwolf say that word. Knowing that he wasn't the one addressed. Goddammit!. Only the power of his confused feelings kept him silent, outwardly calm.

There was someone staring at him with stark hatred, a gaze like a blade of ice. He finally noticed, and looked up coolly into the face of a lovely blond boy. Frost-pale, with simmering grey eyes that held a touch of violet. The sort who would have sold for an unbelievable sum in the Eastern lands. Or if born into a major house, good gods! The dower-price on him would be staggering. More than a king could afford. Asher tried a charming smile; though boys so young were still not to his taste, there was something about this one that unnerved him.

The brat stared back at him, totally unimpressed. Seeming to hate him more for the attempt. These barbarians could be so damned uncivilized. Even the pretty ones.

"This is Asher Kaine, beloved. He has fought beside me before, and fought well." Nightwolf's voice was matter-of-fact. He didn't seem to catch on that his little twist of elvish tail was furiously jealous. An innocent still, in many ways, was Nightwolf. "He is a ranger." Then the Wolf's eyes were on him, and he swallowed at what that intense blue gaze did to him. "Do you bring others, or have you come alone, my friend?"

"This war is unpopular with the rangers." He managed to say it lightly enough. Thank the gods the barbarians were a world unto themselves, knowing little of outside doings! War of the Four Quarters, a load of crap almost compatible with the tales of Wizard and Warrior! "So I am afraid I can offer only my own services to you."

"You go against your own people to help us. I call that uncommon charitable, by Thor!" It was the big ox----what was his name? He'd shaved his beard and seemed to have lost some weight, but his slightly husky voice was most distinctive. He was studying Asher with a slightly beady eye. He always had been a rude, suspicious heathen. Asher smiled at him, as if they were old friends finally reunited. This one, he could handle.

"Do'nar, isn't it? A pleasure to see you too. The Rangers are not my "people", precisely. I study with them. My friends, I choose as I please. Is there a problem with this, in your mind?"

The big man grunted, looking a bit taken aback. "Well----I suppose not. That is----glad to have your help. I guess. I do remember you now, by Odin's staff. You fought well. Cracked more than a few Southern skulls." He had brightened a little, and the two of them smiled at the memory of cracking Southern skulls. It was somewhat interesting, to experience an honest emotion of pleasure. He would have to try it out more often.

It was only a Darkness spell! It saved all you bastards! I didn't call the dead, though I could have! You rigid fucks! You wouldn't be alive to be prating against me now if I hadn't cast the spell!

He'd panicked, in the hellish storm of so many warriors against them. Southerners of course, those shits might lack skill but numbers they had. Bred like rats. Oh gods, how he hated them.

He'd seen his lover go down. A mean and feisty woman, who'd enjoyed the fact that she was training him and screwing him too, with almost crazy delight. He'd fallen in love with her, a little. He'd nearly been ready to admit to her, that he knew the black spells. He'd wanted to ask her help, in fighting off the call of them.

He'd panicked at her fall. Thrown the spell. Blinding their enemies, so the Rangers could defeat them. And hadn't the bastards jumped at the chance? Oh, they talked big words after the fact, but their lily-white butts had been in there killing while the getting was good!

"You bow, your clothing, you keep. You have earned it. Not all your deeds have been foul. But know this. If you venture into the Great Forest again, with my own hand I will slay you."

Then, not so delighted. The stupid, skinny woman he remembered as the Tribe's witch stepped forward, and said calmly, "That's gonna change in about ten minutes or so. Get ready for a hasty wedding, you bozos. No way we can win this war if these guys aren't Bonded. So it's gonna happen NOW."



	The War of the Four Quarters PG-13 Well still no sex. But get ready for the next part. It will be crazy. ********************************************* Thunder of night. Thunder of dreams. Thunder of a shitload of warriors all talking at once. I met Carson's eyes, finally. And he wasn't dodging my gaze now in any way, shape or form. Oh, God. He looked so proud of me. It was all worth it. Whatever happened next, it was worth it for that one look. Our eyes locked. Later. Later, when I could touch him. Hold him in the night. Now, I would be the diplomat. I risked a glance at Do'nar and-----ah, shit! I'd forgotten He was goggling just like the rest. Hadn't realized I was an elf either, though he'd been right up there with the sex toy comments. Somehow, in getting friendlier with him it had just kinda slipped my mind that I'd only "come out" to Jalin, Smitty and Carson of course. Irenea had found out by accident. Oh, I'd kinda used the elf thing as a gimmick when I'd been a bard-for-hire, but everybody accepted it as just that-----a gimmick. The musicians in this world, thank whomever, were as into flash as any Earth rocker boys, though the music was way different of course. Fake ears, a bit of blarney, not the real thing, of course!----and I'd let 'em think it, not being suicidal. Well, it was all outta the bag now. I focused on Do'nar as the smartest of the bunch and let him have it. "Hey there, dumbass! Do'nar? Can you get a grip? Your best buddy is an elf! A real, live elf. Can you deal?" He stared at me, and for a small moment I thought I had overestimated him. Then he shook his head so hard I could almost hear his brains rattle. "By the fat, bare arses of a thousand gods!!! " he roared, and suddenly I was in a grip that should have killed me. "An elf!! The damnfool wizard is a by-the-gods elf!!! No wonder everybody including me is mad to lay him!! How the hell can we lose, with an elf on our side?" He'd managed to turn it into a good thing. The whole fucking arena rang with the delighted yells of this mob of maniacs. Hot damn! An elf! It really was the War of the Four Quarters, then! About time too; kick their pesky asses! Hey, wait. Had Do'nar just said he was hot for me? I pulled loose from his grip in one bad-ass hurry. "There are other reasons, I think this might be the fated war," the big guy continued, a grin splitting his face. "Although by the gods, this, um, revelation makes my thoughts seem fairly petty! So I'll be brief with them." I eyed him skeptically. I knew how much Do'nar liked to gas on. But if he had some real information it was probably a good idea to let him flap his bill uninterrupted for once. Carson's attitude above all had made me see this was serious shit here, not a meeting held just to bore me to tears. His face grew grave again. "You all know I'm no friend to Southerners. And most of you know why, aside from them being god-cursed busybodies who try to force everyone to live and believe as they do. But for those who don't know the story----" He eyed me here, his look lingering on my exposed ears with fresh wonder. "I was not of the Riders, originally. I'm like you, wizard, adopted into this tribe." I stared at him. What? If Do'nar said he was from Earth too I was gonna smack him one. The big galoot was the absolute essence of a Northern barbarian, way more even than Carson who was a bit too exotic looking to fit the mold totally. He caught my thought from the look on my face, I guess. Anyway he began to chuckle, richly entertained. "No, I'm not from another world, boy! This one suits me well enough. But my home tribe were crafter people. Not all the tribes are as war-like as the Riders, though it's a dangerous world and all own some skill with weapons." "But the Storm River people---my birth-people----were easy pickings for a thousand Southern bastards. Too many of them, as always. They killed my parents. Raped and killed my sisters. My younger brother they took-----as a sex slave, I imagine, he was a handsome lad, though only seven. Just the age they like 'em, worthless pricks!" I was staring at him in absolute horror. "Shit, Do'nar. I-----I don't know what to say here. You're not making this up, are you? Where were you when this was going on? How long ago did it happen?" "I was eight." His voice was so matter-of-fact it chilled me. Well, it happened some twenty years ago, but still! "With my uncle, on a trading trip. I remember buying candy, to share with the others. Five of us there were, three sisters and us two boys. If I'd been there I think it would've been death for me too; I was big for my age, and certainly not the pretty type those swine find pleasing. But the point is, I noticed signs of Easterners then, too. It is not the first time they've run with the South, though usually they're sneaky about it. The East is more complicated than either South or North, Hawk. And not all the Easterners follow a single lord. They've got more noble houses and confusing politics, that I wonder sometimes if they know themselves who's at war with who!" "But the East---well, it's stiff with magic-users of various kinds. And some of those bastards want the Starmetal. They've been working up to it. And now I think they're finally ready to strike." He matched looks with Carson, who nodded curtly in agreement. I dug through my memory of the elven texts I'm absorbed, and found a reference. "You mean the magic stuff, that they claimed the elves made from falling stars or something? I thought that was just, um, poetic license. Bullshit, to be honest. Hell, even in the earth stories about elves they got them with all kindsa fancy metal, and it always seemed like wishful thinking to me." "The blade you gave me is of that metal," Carson said quietly. "As is the other, though that one is not elvish in make. Do'nar worked the starsteel, for that one." Do'nar?! Say what? I stared at the big lug; he grinned charmingly, pleased as pie to have gotten one over me yet again. "Do'nar has a talent?" Oops, that didn't come out right. For one thing, I sounded like I couldn't believe he was good at anything. Which made that bastard Sun Wolf grin, even as Do'nar's smile faded a bit at my tone. "No, I didn't mean it quite that way, big guy. But where the hell do you get this crap, is what I wanna know. From what I read it didn't sound so common!" "The Riders are the most Western of the Twelve Tribes, Hawk. In fact, we are barely twenty miles from what used to be elven country, though that's not a thing we tell everyone. But stars still die there---in fact we had to move this camp one season, we were too close and the skies were busy that autumn, falling around our heads every minute it seemed! It can be perilous in the western hills, for mortal men. But I go there at times, to collect the magic metal, and I've taught myself the craft of shaping it to weapons, and also jewelry. Although it was not a thing I mastered over a few days, by Odin!" Well, I had no damn trouble believing that one! I couldn't understand how anyone could work such stuff. I'd seen Carson use that black blade of his, and it wasn't all skill on his part. That crap cut through plate armor like it was butter. Be worth a fortune in this sword-crazy universe. "And part of the Prophecy of the War is that the Eastern magicians will come against us for the metal. They desire it deeply, and we block their way to the only place it falls in the whole land of Khesh." I opened my mouth to respond in some way, then lost my train of thought as I noticed the guy at the door. I didn't remember him being there before. I think he'd just come in, on the wave of my revealed ears. Or maybe while Do'nar was finishing up his spiel. He didn't look tribal. Not big enough, for one thing. He was about my size, maybe an inch or so taller. And he was dressed in a mix of greens and greys that for some reason reminded me of the forest, rather than the rolling plains that made up so much of this Northern country. He caught my attention for two reasons. One was the resemblance he had to Richard Chamberlain as Aramis in the Dick Lester production of "The Three Musketeers." One of my favorite movies, by the way. Yeah, it wasn't enough that Do'nar had turned into John Travolta, they had to send me another goddamn actor! The other thing that I noticed about this fiendishly good-looking bastard was the way he was staring at Carson. And----- Shit. The way Carson was staring back. "Asher." He said it in too soft a voice, and the tall guy in the doorway smiled. "Lord Nightwolf." He had a strong and musical voice, the fuck. Hey, wait. Why was I reacting like this? I didn't even know this guy! "I come on behalf of the Rangers. But it seems my news is stale, to say the least." His golden eyes settled on me thoughtfully. I didn't like it. "An elf. Interesting. And I was unaware, that the East had allied with the South." Despite his aristocratic bronze-haired looks, there was something in his voice on that last remark that was nearly evil. You would of thought someone had gone behind his back and he'd just now found it out. And wasn't too pleased about it either. "I too, hate the Southerners." This remark I didn't doubt in the least. Not considering the way his face changed when he said it. "It will be a double honor, to offer you my sword." The way he phrased it, it was almost a question. And for some reason I wanted to stick my nose in, tell him to move on down the road. Get lost. Beat it. Don't need your help, thanks a ton but no thanks. But this was Carson's play, and he wasn't looking at me. Only at Asher. "To fight beside you again would be a privilege." In that silken tone of voice I'd thought was only for me! Shit. I couldn't deny it. I was so fucking jealous I was just about to cry here. ASHER Allied with the Southerners. By the gods, the bitch had betrayed him again! No wonder she had been fawning on him! She knew his feelings for the Southern pigs. Was she insane? Well, of course, yes to that. But he hadn't known the extent of it. Allies of the Southerners! How could even she sink so low? Feelings were raging through him. Fury and shame, of course. But---other things. He was studying Nightwolf, observing the changes in him after all this time. And by the gods----impossible though it seemed, he was more beautiful than ever. Love had treated him kindly. The harsh lines near his mouth had all but vanished. And his eyes were definitely not empty now, nor cold. Stormy, intense. Full of fire and life. Thanks to the stupid elf. He moved his gaze to that one, and nearly smiled. The red-haired elf-boy was absolutely seething. Not a fool, not this one. Noticed how he looked at me, did you? He still wants me. After all this time with you, there's still a part of him that wants me. The elf met his gaze, with a flaming green fury in his eyes. And despite the foolish spectacles, the outlandish mustache---- Asher almost stepped back before he caught himself. You'll fight for him, will you? All right. Despite himself, a real smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. Dammit. He could barely believe it. He liked the little bastard. In fact, he couldn't quite decide now which one he wanted more. The barbarian warlord he'd convinced himself should belong to him. Or the beautiful little flame-rat who'd stolen him away. He chose to smile sweetly at the rat. "A thousand apologies. I should have introduced myself, I am most infernally rude." Amazingly, the redhaired boy growled at him exactly like a pretty but dangerous animal. And he felt an immediate wave of desire that was almost horrible in its intensity. For the stupid redhead. Oh, damn. He was no more proof against elven magic than anyone else, it seemed. And he'd always had a weakness, for beautiful things. He'd been prepared, he'd known the elf was lovely. He'd thought himself armed against it. But up close, this bastard's beauty defied reason. He was flame incarnate. It was so damned unfair! And then he spoke, and Asher was---- Charmed. Although the fellow's words couldn't be exactly called charming in and of themselves. "Rude, my ass!" the pretty little sex toy snarled. And suddenly, he looked a lot less young, not so little, and much more formidable. "Just who the fuck are you anyway, come strolling in here like you own the place?" Well. Despite his looks, he was less than a people-pleaser. This could work against him. But it made Asher's sudden and intense desire all the hotter, even as it infuriated him. An arrogant snot. By the gods, to rape and gut him would be a sheer pleasure. "Beloved." Oh, gods. It hurt, to hear the Nightwolf say that word. Knowing that he wasn't the one addressed. Goddammit!. Only the power of his confused feelings kept him silent, outwardly calm. Nightwolf. And this other one. If the three of them had only been alone, not in a room full of goggling apes! There was someone staring at him with stark hatred, a gaze like a blade of ice. He finally noticed, and looked up coolly into the face of a lovely blond boy. Frost-pale, with simmering grey eyes that held a touch of violet. The sort who would have sold for an unbelievable sum in the Eastern lands. Or if born into a major house, good gods! The dower-price on him would be staggering. More than a king could afford. Asher tried a charming smile; though boys so young were still not to his taste, there was something about this one that unnerved him. The brat stared back at him, totally unimpressed. Seeming to hate him more for the attempt. These barbarians could be so damned uncivilized. Even the pretty ones. "This is Asher Kaine, beloved. He has fought beside me before, and fought well." Nightwolf's voice was matter-of-fact. He didn't seem to catch on that his little twist of elvish tail was furiously jealous. An innocent still, in many ways, was Nightwolf. "He is a ranger." Then the Wolf's eyes were on him, and he swallowed at what that intense blue gaze did to him. "Do you bring others, or have you come alone, my friend?" My friend. He calls me that. It was almost as good as "beloved." "This war is unpopular with the rangers." He managed to say it lightly enough. Thank the gods the barbarians were a world unto themselves, knowing little of outside doings! War of the Four Quarters, a load of crap almost compatible with the tales of Wizard and Warrior! "So I am afraid I can offer only my own services to you." "You go against your own people to help us. I call that uncommon charitable, by Thor!" It was the big ox----what was his name? He'd shaved his beard and seemed to have lost some weight, but his slightly husky voice was most distinctive. He was studying Asher with a slightly beady eye. He always had been a rude, suspicious heathen. Asher smiled at him, as if they were old friends finally reunited. This one, he could handle. "Do'nar, isn't it? A pleasure to see you too. The Rangers are not my "people", precisely. I study with them. My friends, I choose as I please. Is there a problem with this, in your mind?" The big man grunted, looking a bit taken aback. "Well----I suppose not. That is----glad to have your help. I guess. I do remember you now, by Odin's staff. You fought well. Cracked more than a few Southern skulls." He had brightened a little, and the two of them smiled at the memory of cracking Southern skulls. It was somewhat interesting, to experience an honest emotion of pleasure. He would have to try it out more often. Dammit, if he could just not remember being with the Rangers! Time skipped for him. He was alone again, hurt, betrayed. "Asher. You used Dark Magic." How could he help it? He had been steeped in it since his youth! "This is against our laws." It was only a Darkness spell! It saved all you bastards! I didn't call the dead, though I could have! You rigid fucks! You wouldn't be alive to be prating against me now if I hadn't cast the spell! He'd panicked, in the hellish storm of so many warriors against them. Southerners of course, those shits might lack skill but numbers they had. Bred like rats. Oh gods, how he hated them. He'd seen his lover go down. A mean and feisty woman, who'd enjoyed the fact that she was training him and screwing him too, with almost crazy delight. He'd fallen in love with her, a little. He'd nearly been ready to admit to her, that he knew the black spells. He'd wanted to ask her help, in fighting off the call of them. For they did call to him. A more awful drug than dreamsugar could ever be. He'd panicked at her fall. Thrown the spell. Blinding their enemies, so the Rangers could defeat them. And hadn't the bastards jumped at the chance? Oh, they talked big words after the fact, but their lily-white butts had been in there killing while the getting was good! "You know the penalty. The only magic Rangers use, is for the beasts, the forest." He'd learned it. Had a talent for it, of course. He'd been so proud, when a lion had actually fed out of his hands. "The Dark Magic is forbidden. You are no longer a Ranger. You are banned from the forests. You are disgraced." The man who had nearly been a father to him looked down. Then looked up, to stare into his eyes like a stranger. "You bow, your clothing, you keep. You have earned it. Not all your deeds have been foul. But know this. If you venture into the Great Forest again, with my own hand I will slay you." You can try! Oh by the gods it still hurt so much. Had he been silent for too long? No. The memories had barely lasted a second. He chose to look at the irate elf, and smile his most pleasant smile. "I truly feel foolish, to not know the name of my friend's Bonded?" "It's Firehawk," the elf barked back. "And we're not Bonded-----yet." It was exactly the news he was fishing for, and he was delighted. Then, not so delighted. The stupid, skinny woman he remembered as the Tribe's witch stepped forward, and said calmly, "That's gonna change in about ten minutes or so. Get ready for a hasty wedding, you bozos. No way we can win this war if these guys aren't Bonded. So it's gonna happen NOW." TBC-8-)