NC-17 for language mainly. Nobody gets to really make love at all in this part, it's mostly yelling at each other. Some kissing and such; plot development (ouch sorry!) The voice was female, arrogant, and might have been musical at a lower volume. Obviously she had pitched it to reach inside the tent. Talk about a mood-killer. We broke apart reluctantly, floundering a bit, in mutual irritation. I yanked the furs a little higher up over my bare ass. Carson didn't even bother. "Mi'lady, mi'lady, he said no one to disturb him till dawn or he'd carve out our hearts with his own hand!" "My God, did you really tell the poor fellows that?" I inquired, pretty impressed. "Carse, that's gruesome!" Then I looked at him and my humor died. All trace of peace and joy had fled his eyes, and the soft hot mouth that had melted into mine was a thin straight slash in a face like carved ice. I fought against hating this woman I didn't even know, for doing that to him. Listening to her continuing comments, I found the battle a challenge. "Dog! Do you think he meant to include me in your silly orders? Out of my way; a queen's wrath is no less than a king's, you fool!" A queen's--! I stared at Carson; he gazed back sternly, shook his head once in a hard negative. "I will deal with this," he said in a voice of chilled razors, reaching for his leggings. He had barely dragged them on before she burst into the tent, pushing past the loose ties as if totally assured they couldn't be meant to keep *her* out. Her entrance was followed by a protesting cry from a guard probably sure of his doom. Not pretty. No--gorgeous, in a dark, lush, crimson-mouthed way. And knowing it, unfortunately. She was dressed in a gown of amber velvet, low-necked enough to frame a truly admirable cleavage. Hell, I had to admit it, in another place and time my tongue would've been hanging out--if she'd kept her mouth shut. Her eyes, the same mink-brown as her waving hair, settled on Carson towering over her, half-naked and cold-eyed. She smiled seductively, ignoring my presence in his bed as if I were a pillow. Excellent; she was a half-wit. "My Lord," she began in a sweet, tinkling tone I might have fallen for if I hadn't just heard her tongue-lashing the poor guard like a drill sergeant. "Forgive me, I feared for your loneliness this evil night, before battle--" "Definitely a half-wit," I muttered aloud; she managed to continue pretending I didn't exist, but Carson slashed me a silencing glance that might have hurt if I hadn't seen the corner of his mouth jerk with amusement before he returned his gaze to her. "My--dear Lady Irenea. I thank you for your concern." Carson's tone of voice did anything but thank her. "But as you can surely see--I am adequately companioned." Oh, Jesus. I never had got the hang of this thee-and-thou poison-tongue polite form of verbal backstabbing. But apparently this was the game of choice, and Carson was at least a dabbler. Given his statement, she could no longer ignore me, and her gaze met mine at last, filled with mock surprise on top, venom underneath. "Oh, I see--a catamite. A cat-eyed catamite," she giggled, and I studied her in amazement; she actually thought this was witty. "Well," she said, staring at me openly now with feigned amusement, "It might be pretty, were the eyes less green and the hair more acquainted with a comb and scissors. And a mustache--oh, la, out of date at least a decade, Sir Cat. Well, begone then, sirrah; the King has no further need of you." "Has he not, indeed?" Carson said softly, before I could draw a breath to tell her to fuck off. "And does this mean my lady is offering *her* services for the nightwithout her previous price-tag?" Services? What the fuck! I fought down the desire to kick his ass, as well as hers. There must be some peculiar stuff moving behind the scenes here. Keep your butt in the bed, keep your Irish temper down, and watch the show, McIntyre, old boy; it might prove instructive. She was ignoring me again, turning those dark bedroom eyes on Carson in a pleading look. "My Lord--you know my desire for you. And yet, if you hold me not dear enough to crown as your wife, how can I in good conscience come to you?" "Oh, holy horseshit! What an absolute load of crap!" I snapped disgustedly, too quickly for Carson to insert the next verse in this drawn-out social dribble. "Anne Boelyn in the flesh. Even in this world they want to make you pay for pussy." I don't know how my tonguestone translated this comment, but it was obvious she didn't like it. She turned a look of such malice on me that I was almost impressed. And then, to my absolute astonishment, she cast a spell on me--or tried to. "I SAID BEGONE, BOY!" she commanded me in her drill sergeant's voice, at the same time raising her arm and pointing at me dramatically in a manner you never see outside of a really bad sword and sorcery flick. And despite my sarcastic expectations, a spell of sorts really came winging toward me. The cool fire wraps itself around me, becomes me, automatically now when I am threatened. That which was not-Keith fielded the spell casually like a star outfielder, and pulled the cantrip close in to examine it. Both I and the flame that was part of me shook our heads. Not bad for powerthe lady had the Gift, more was the pitybut sloppy. The work of a lazy, undisciplined mind. Not a shining crystal abstract, complete and sealed in on itself, more a blobby smear of angry colors. The reds and poison greens showed me that it was a pain spell, but it was so unstructured that it couldn't have seriously injured even a non-wizard, although she'd poured enough force into itthrough mere ignorance or real maliceto actually kill someone if it had been put together right. When I am in the Fire, time speeds for me. I looked up to see her triumphant smile; my ten or so seconds of absolute, sudden stillness had probably convinced her that her little popgun had scored. Carson's face was slowly changing as he realized what she'd attempted; I had to do something before he broke her neck. Well, as I said, her silly spell couldn't seriously hurt anyone, but it should be potent enough to give a hell of a migraine for a day or two. Just as Carson was starting to move, I swirled out of the chill discipline that cloaked me, and casually flicked her own spell back at her. Right between the eyes. Good shot, Keith, m'boy. "Not bad for a start, but you should try finishing your spells before throwing them at people," I was petty enough to say. She gasped as if shot in the ass by an arrow, bending over and clutching her head. Then slowly, she raised her eyesstill holding her temples, I was pleased to noteand stared at me with widened, unbelieving eyes and a dawning hatred that saddened me a bit. Well, she had started itI think. Carson, to my surprise and alarm, did not stop advancing on her after I gave her this hand-slap; he grabbed her by the throat one-handed, in a manner that made even me gasp, and I rolled out of the furs quickly and started forward to prevent murder. However, he didn't tighten his grip, though he held her there, choking with fear and the pain of her massive headache. Her terror was well founded, given the look on his face. "You are so lucky, my lady," he breathed in a gentle voice more frightening than a shriek. "So very lucky, that my friend is strong enough to defend himself from your foolishness. For if you had hurt him in any way,"--he gave her a little shake here that must have sent steak knives off in her head"your death by torture would not be enough to satisfy me." "Oh, Carse, lighten up and let her go, 'kay?" I reached up to squeeze his shoulder gently, and when I felt him trembling I really was concerned; the bastard hardly knew how strong he was, especially when enraged. Sure enough, when he released her she staggered backward, dragging horribly for air, her white gorgeous neck already darkening with bruises. "Shit, Carson!" I scolded him, totally disgusted. "Now I gotta waste time with a healing spell. You always overdo it--" I started towards her, and was most displeased when he stopped me by--absolute infamy--seizing me by the hair. "Let her suffer for a moment longer," he said coldly. He turned his hand slightly, forcing me to look into his face. "And let us remember who is king here, and who is wizard!" I matched his angry gaze with one of my own. "Let go of my fucking hair," I said very quietly, "or this particular wizard will see how far up a king's ass he can shoot a lightning bolt." We glared at each other for long seconds, neither giving an inch. I was becoming concerned that I would need to back my playand was growing furious enough to try it--when there was a horrid shriek from Irenea. Carson released me--I had a sudden certainty that he was grateful for an excuse to do so that didn't require him to back down. "And what now, damn you?" he snarled at her. "What more can you do to destroy my only night of pleasure in this entire damnable campaign?" He was fearsome enough, but she paid him not the smallest attention. She was staring at me, with a look of absolute horror. "Elven," she croaked finally, her voice down an octave from her injuries. "God save me, you are--elven!" I clapped hands to my head and swore comprehensively. Only a pointed eartip emerging on the left side, but on the right the whole bloody thing exposed, in all its Spock-like glory. "*Shit*. Nice timing on picking me up by my hair, Ravenstreet!" He stabbed an arrogant glance at me, and damned if the idiot didn't seem almost gloatingly pleased at this disaster; I could've barbecued him with a fireball. I would have preferred kicking his ass physically, but times had changed and I knew I wouldn't win that approach. A fireball it would be, then. "Now," he almost purred, turning his attention back to Irenea. "You know *now* whom you deal with, you fool?" "Stormsinger," she rasped, eyes so huge that the whites showed all around. "My LordII--beg leave toto" "Flee?" Carson finished brutally. "You have it." As she picked up her skirts and began a hasty curtsy, I was dumb enough to offer, "Hey, wait! Let me at least heal your throat first." I took a step forward; she shrieked and leaped backwards, tangling herself in her velvets and crashing to the floor where she cowered like a whipped animal. I have never been partial to being stared at as if I were an ogre, although since becoming a wizard in this reality it has happened more than once. But I was too exasperated, too bloody upset with the way my reunion with Carson had suddenly gone berserk, to try and make nice noises. I knelt down beside her and said curtly, "Woman, you started this crap and right now I'm trying to help you, which you damn well don't deserve. So shut the fuck up with that whimpering and cooperate!" "Always the diplomat," Carson murmured from somewhere behind me. "You shut up too!" I snapped, not bothering to look at him. I reached for her throat and she let me, though her eyes got if possible even larger. I closed my eyes and swirled into silverlight, casting anger and self away with a measure of relief. Ah--good. No breakage or tearing, only bruises. Deep, though, and painful; perhaps Carson was right and I should let her suffe--no, not my place to judge. She was younger than I had thought, and had been taught she had only one power with which to escape from mediocrity; the power to bind a strong man to her with sex and magic, and use his power through his desire of her. Not true, I tried to tell her, as I poured emerald light into her injuries. I wished I could pour it into her heart, as well. Christ, how we fuck ourselves up with fear and loneliness and half-truths, whether on Earth or in an alternate reality. Finished, I released her, and came back to myself feeling only slightly drained; for all Carson's rage, I was pleased that he hadn't really hurt her too badly. I looked at her throat; it was white and unmarked. "Okay, I think you'll live," I told her, starting to get up; I was stopped by a timid hand on my arm. "My--lord wizard," she stammered; her eyes were still wide but there was a different look in them now, and for the first time I remembered I was totally stark naked. "I--thank you, for your gentleness and--courtesy." "Oh, anytime," I gabbled, leaping up and backing off, trying hard to remember one courteous word I'd said to her. She arose slowly and stiffly, and curtsied to me instead of Carson; in fact, now she was ignoring *him* totally. "By your leave," she said, flashing me one quick enigmatic glance from eyes as dark as soot before exiting the tent. "I believe you have made a conquest," Carson said dryly. He didn't sound especially pleased at this idea. "Yeah, just my luck that at *this* point in my life women are falling all over me," I said disgustedly. "Couldn't happen when I was a horny high-school kid, hell no. Carson, you mind explaining what that was all about anyway? If that woman was one of your warmaidens I'm a duck!" "Then you are partially feathered," he replied, with a hint of a smile. He moved to an elaborate inlaid chest, opened it, and pulled outah, dammit!another shirt. With a faint sigh, I began to gather my clothes from the floor and dress as well. I shoulda known the rest of the night was shot for lovemaking as soon as that harpy came crashing in here. "Her mother *was* a warmaiden," he explained, sitting on the bed to tug on his soft, high boots. I couldn't help releasing another discontented sigh. I thought the glance he slipped me was at least a bit apologetic, but he was right; the mood was killed, at least for the moment. "And her dad?" I tugged on my jeans and zipped up, but saw no reason just yet to go for the boots and tee shirt. With any luck the sight of my naked chestor toes, if he had gotten really kinkywould swing things back in a direction more pleasing to me. I did rescue my specs from the floor and resettle them, though. Oh, I knew we had to talk before the dawn came. Ask and answer some questions, both important and trivial. Learn each other again, rediscover our friendship as well as our mutual desire after three years of loneliness. But God, it was hard. Just looking at the cold, remorseless face so at odds with the hot passion of his azure eyes, the sexy lushness of his lips-- All I wanted was to grab him and never let go. Kiss the harsh lines from around that sensuous mouth till nothing but softness remained. Dive into him and find that dark sweetness I knew lurked just beneath the icy surface. Feel that hard warrior's body against me, all that silken strength and graceful power mine to hold, to taste, to possess-- I shook my head violently, tried to focus on what he was saying. Thanks to my wandering thoughts, my goddamn levis were too tight again. Then he spoke a name and suddenly I was all attention. "Lord Severn?" I stared at him as he settled on the edge of the bed, tucking one long leg beneath him and stretching the other out until his booted foot nearly touched my bare one. "*Severn* is her father? The scapegoat they sent to play diplomat while planning the sneak attack?" I groaned as he nodded somberly. "Oh, what a fuckin' mess." "Yes, " he agreed, then reached up and gripped my hand. Twined his fingers in mine so naturally, so affectionately-- This time his touch pierced my heart with tenderness even more than it stirred desire. I sat beside him, comfortably close, our joined hands cradled in my lap, and shook my head, beginning to see some humor in the situation at that. "Lord Severn banging a battle maiden. Man, it blows my mind! He must've had more balls in his misspent youth than are apparent now, I tell ya. So I guess it's her father's idea for her, to, ah--pursue you?" "As part of the supposed treaty," Carson agreed grimly. "I doubt she likes me any better than I care for her." He gave a slight shudder. "I am not fond of pushy, strong-willed women. But apparently she loves the old fool and will strive to please him." He eyed me narrowly. "You are certain that Severn knows nothing of this betrayal your Southern prince has planned?" I pulled my fingers free of his and glared, outraged. "Don't call that asshole *my* Southern prince, if you fucking please!" His lip twitched slightly. "Apologies," he said meekly, and with a great show of forbearance I allowed him to slide his hand onto my thigh and squeeze it gently. But though his hand remained touching me, his expression was serious again, so I did my best to answer him. "Severn is probably the nicest, most gullible old bastard in Golard's whole kingdom. For which reason," I said with a certain amount of cynicism, "he's never called on to do anything political. Until now--and the poor guy was just tickled pink to be needed for once. The idea that it's all a crock of bullshit would never enter his head--don't think he'd believe it if the whole mess was explained to him." Carson tilted his head, accepting my statement but with questions still lurking in his expression. "Yeah, well, what?" My voice was testy. I had an uncomfortable certainty that he was feeling his way towards a place I preferred not to go. He didn't disappoint me. "And so you heard of the--plot. By wizardly ways I won't attempt to fathom." I grinned, trying to fend him off from the next question. "I snooped blatantly. Didn't need much magic, although I did send a magic ear spell into a few rooms the bastards were rude enough to lock against me." "Ah." The look on his face told me he saw through my bluff and would call it in shortly. "And so, out of the kindness of your heart only, you decided to travel to the North and inform the Tribes of this plot against them." He raised an eyebrow for punctuation, staring at me intently. I shifted a bit, the opposite of comfortable. "Well, I--" "Despite," he continued relentlessly, "having no idea I was with them, which though it sounds arrogant might barely be a sufficient excuse for such foolishness! Or where to actually *find* a group of people who are essentially nomadic. You even admit to releasing your horse after a few days because you discovered you 'disliked riding!' Do you even know what the Riders *do* to Southern idiots who come strolling into their lands like they think they're going on a picnic?" "Ah--torture them to death in various excruciating ways?" I said it lightly, trying to foil his growing temper. Had a feeling I wouldn't like him when he was angry. My efforts, alas, had an opposite effect. He shook my hand loose from his, leaped to his feet, and began pacing like an agitated jungle cat, shooting me a glance that actually bordered on dislike. "Three years and another world away, and still a reckless idiot! What would you have done if you'd run into a different Tribe, forsooth? After all there are twelve of them!" "And you're High King for all of 'em," I pointed out in as placating a manner as was possible for me--and I'm the first to admit I'm not much of a placater. "But Warchief only of the Shadow Riders," he shot back, glowering. He had the eyebrows to do it well. "If perhaps you had stumbled upon the Eagle Lords" Dammit! I was in no mood to waste valuable time being scolded by this overgrown, embarrassingly sexy pencilhead. Being a man of sense where it counted, I had other ideas for how to spend the remainder of the night. Too bad he preferred to argue. I balanced my elbow on my knee, rested my chin in my hand, and proceeded to sulk. "--or the White Death Riders, or the Flame Moon tribe--" "Or the Fred Flintstones, or the Augie Doggies, or the fucking James T. Kirk polka club!" This was it, I was pissed, I'd had it! He was the same damn way on Earth when I used to ride motocross, all worrying and scolding and mother-henning me until I wanted just to shake him till his teeth rattled and see if THAT would loosen him up. Except then he was only fifteen and his dad was already smacking him around and I just couldn't do it. Now he was way bigger than me and the only way I could do it would be by cheating. "Goddammit, Carson, I can take care of myself! Your barbarian whatnots wouldn't have come within a hundred feet of me unless I wanted them to. And I had a somewhat personal agenda in informing the Tribes on fucking Prince Golard, since the asshole tried to bloody rape me!" Oops. I hadn't really meant to share that with him, but I must admit that it stopped him in both his pacing and his ranting. He stood and stared down at me, nostrils flaring ever so slightly, blessedly silent at last. "Well, I TOLD you this whole pretty-boy-elf-eared thing was a bad deal in this world," I said waspishly, secretly just a bit pleased at the slow fury that was gathering on that icy face. "Chill out Carson, he wasn't the first--just the ugliest. I whupped ass on him. But I wanted to get even just a tad more--and really, after I kicked his gonads up past his ears I sort of wasn't the most popular fellow in the Southern kingdom, and so I thought I might as well--ah, Carse? Are you listening to me?" I slid off the bed and circled him warily. He had flung himself to his knees by another massive carved chest, which he threw open one-handed; the crash the lid made coming open made me jump and gave me a pretty good idea of the weight of the damn thing as well. Prudently, I keep my distance from this maniac as he yanked out leather armour, two sheathed swords, and a collection of straps whose purpose I couldn't begin to fathom. Then he was storming to the tent door and literally snarling at the poor over-worked guard. "Get Do'nar. Tell him we ride NOW. Have him gather clan warriors, all who wish to kill Southern scum, by the crossroads. We leave within the hour; those who lag must catch up if they can and be damned to them if they can't!" "Shit, Carson, " I foolishly ventured. "It's the middle of the fuckin' night; I thought you said--" He turned on me so fast I all but fell over. His eyes were those of a mad devil as he smiled at me. "We kill best in the middle of the fucking night, Sensei. Have you an objection to voice?" "Ah--no. Fine with me," I sort of peeped. I'd never seen him in this mood before and although I'm hard to scare, I also don't consider myself an idiot. "Groovy. No prob. Won't take me a minute to get ready. Ah--I assume I'm riding with you, right?" He continued to stare at me, that crazy smile softening just a bit as if in affection. "You," he said in the softest of voices, "are staying here and out of trouble. I haven't found you again to lose you in a skirmish with worthless dogs. After I've taken this bastard prince and detached from him some body parts he cherishes, then if he still lives I'll bring him back for your amusement as well. But you are no warrior and your life I will not risk in this." I was shaking my head sadly as I scooped up my teeshirt and pulled it on gloomily. Christ, my sex life NEVER ran smoothly. Now I was in lust with a damned fool who had obviously been hanging out barbarian for too goddamn long if he thought he was gonna order ME to stay safely at home. "Fuck you," I told him firmly, staring straight into those arrogant, evil eyes with the stony look I had used on the last employer who'd ordered me to cut my hair. "I'm going, and you can't stop me." He gave me a quick, indefinable look and then continued dressing. At any other time, I would of been pleased just to stand and leer at him as he pulled on all that dark leather armor and belted on the two swords with a careless ease that spoke of long practice. As he tugged the straps into place around his chest and waist like cartridge belts, I realized, well, they kinda *were*cartridge belts. There were small sheathes in the wide leather straps. Filled with sharp ebony blades that I belatedly realized were throwing knives. Oh, boy. Do I know how to pick 'em or what? I know it's sick. The more battle gear he threw on, the hornier I got. Maybe it was just being celibate for three years, or maybe I was just a leather slut. Either way, I was gonna ignore it, because one thing I've learned over thirty-eight years is you can't argue convincingly when your pecker is on the rampage. I chose sarcasm as an easy way to disguise what I was feeling. "Using two swords on horseback, are we? A bit ambitious. Holding the reins in your teeth, I guess? Or maybe with your dick?" He studied me almost with detachment. "I don't need to show off for you," he observed softly. "How do you cast a fireball spell?" "How do I--well I--" Good question. "Ijust--do it." I wasn't sure how to explain the cold fire that became me when I used magic. And then suddenly, looking into those dangerous blue eyes, I wasn't sure I needed to. Dumbass. I should've realized that the Warrior would have his own Fire to claim him. And somehow, I was pretty sure it wasn't a cold flame that he owned. Hot. Hot and deadly and devouring. Oh great, now I was hornier than ever. And suddenly I had no doubt that, big as he was, he could wield both those swords like flashing razors while controlling the meanest-ass warhorse the clan could breed, and toss a few of those ebony stickers into any enemy that showed up along the side. Oh, shit. "Would you *like* me to show off for you?" he asked, again softly but nearly smiling this time, taking a step toward me. Somehow I knew his hands didn't need to be anywhere near those sword hilts to reach them. Ditto for the throwing knives. "I'll pass for now," I replied with as much dignity as I could muster. Maybe later, some evil thought mentioned at a darker level. "But dammit! Carse, why the hell can't I go with you? I'm not fucking useless!" Great. The very tone of my question indicated surrender, if not actual whining. He paused, then took another step toward me, and all of a sudden despite the outrageous height, the crazy tattoos, all the fantasy warrior gear, he looked very like the twenty year old who'd seduced me in Berkeley. Hell, he looked like the fifteen-year old who'd *almost* seduced me in his rich dad's mansion in Marin. "I don't think you're useless. None more than I, Sensei, to know you can fight like a very demon from hell. But--please." Oh, shit--he was going for "please". I was toast and I knew it. How I wished I could kick his ass. He moved like some strange hybrid of wind and water, flowing around me before I was aware of him moving. I was in an embrace before I even saw it coming. "Please." His dark deep voice was so in my ear it felt like it was in my mind as well. "This time I want someone to come back to." Shit shit *shit!* Romantic fucking bullshit--this was so unfair--can't believe he's playing me like this-- Smell of oiled leather and whatever incense filled all that dark hair. Slight sharp pain; he was really holding me hard, and one of the throwing knives was pricking me through the thin tee-shirt. "What I'm thinking is," I grumbled into his chest, "is that if I wasn't capable of blasting your ass from here to Christmas you'd just tie me up, throw me in a corner and let me fucking wait till you got around to coming back. Without any goddamn 'please'." He pulled back enough to meet my eyes. For a moment it was like a light saber war, green and blue meeting, throwing firecracker sparks. Then he smiled that beautiful dark smile that usually I loved, but this time it just meant he knew he had me exactly where he wanted me. "Very likely," he was gracious enough to admit. "I guess I don't need to even say 'fuck you'." "Say it when I return." "Yeah, like you'll bend the hell over for me." "I might." "Your momma." He did what he always does when he can't outtalk me, only more so. Caught me in a furious, almost cruel kiss. This time he was the one doing the biting, and oh-oh, were my feet leaving the ground here? Being picked up and manhandled--oh, no. Maybe if we had time to play, but the bastard would be leaving any minute, and I wasn't any damn quickie, thank you so much. I punched him in the stomach, and although I seriously doubt it rocked his world a whole lot, it did surprise him enough to break up the kiss and let me get my footing back. "Save it for afterwards, tough guy." To my great annoyance, I was gasping as I spoke. "You'll fucking need it if you're gone for too damn long." His eyes were drinking me up. Felt pretty good. And yet, still suspicious. He might not have been a wizard, but he wasn't an imbecile by any means. "You promise you'll stay? Here, and out of trouble? It may be a few days." A few days. Great. "This time, I'll stay. Just as long you understand that as soon as I find a way to keep up with you, I'm going along." Oh, yeah; a light bulb had come on in my head alright. I could give him these few days, with what I had in mind. Those dangerous eyes narrowed. Like I said, no imbecile. I could almost track his mind flipping through possibilities. "All right," he finally said quietly. I was kinda surprised he agreed so quickly. "If you'll answer me a question?" "Umsure." "How *did* you manage to find levis here? And a motorcycle tee-shirt?" Shit. Maybe that mind-link wasn't so broken after all. Or maybe he was even smarter than I thought; equally thought-provoking. "Um. Well, there's a way to kind of--portal stuff in from Earth." "I see." His expression was once again inscrutable. "It takes a lot of work, and it damn near *kills* you in backlash. I mean, I was out for a month, sick as a dog, and you can't even do food items for some reason--otherwise you know I'd be pulling in coffee and pizzas--" "You incapacitated yourself for a month for a pair of jeans and a teeshirt." "At least 10 pair of very expensive jeans, and at least 20 various teeshirts," I corrected. "And that was just a week of sick; the month was for the damn guitar." Oh, dammit. He's gonna figure it out. Why did I have to brag? Arrogant fucker, me. He studied me, then smiled the slightest bit. "A vehicle, of course, would be next to impossible." "Definitely impossible. It'd kill a person. Be stupid to even try it." Neglecting to tell him, here, that since I'm official badass Wizard, every time I use magic for a particular thing it gets an amazing amount easier, less draining, to use the same spell the next time. And that I'm already going over motorcycle specs in my head to figure which would work the best on this kind of terrain. "Now you answer me a question. If you promise I can go when--" "--you can keep up with us. I promise." The look he gave me half-way unhinged me. Desire and affection, pride and exasperation, all mixed into a pretty heady stew. Fuck. He knew what I intended to do and he wasn't gonna try to stop me. I wasn't sure if this was way cool or bloody terrible. I wasn't gonna worry about it. Time for my question. "Okay. So I'm guessing you, uh, dropped into this world on Tribal land?" He nodded silently, eyes glinting with what looked like amusement. "Okay. If they're as mean as you say they are--why didn't they just off you? Since you don't have, uh, the handy-dandy wizard language package, I would think you couldn't even talk your way out of it." "True." "And yet now you're Mr. Boss. Explain to the idiots in the peanut gallery, please." Gently, he drew a finger across one eyelid. Oh yeah. The weird tattooing. He'd gotten that and the extra foot of height when the damn spell had backfired. The one that had given me Spock ears and cat eyes. "Tribal runes," he explained softly. "Not just decorative." My scalp prickled. I was sure I wasn't gonna like this, but I asked anyway. "So what do these, er, tribal runes have to say?" He sighed quietly. He didn't like being manipulated by destiny any more than I did. "Roughly? 'The Once and Future King.' Translations vary between tribes, but close enough to where I was--welcomed. Enthusiastically." His mouth quirked. "Borne upon Arthurian legend, as you would say. Even though none here know of Arthur--I haven't the skill of skalding. Perhaps you will give them the tale one day, Stormsinger. I cannot." I stared at him, at the real distress in his face. Then I grabbed his hair, and pulled him down into another kiss, this one soft and as comforting as I could make it. Given the fact I knew now for sure we were in so damned much trouble-- "Ahem!" Well, that wasn't really the sound. Kind of a hacking, irritable, throat-clearing massive racket that filled the whole tent. I probably would've jumped guiltily completely out of Carson's embrace--it's a survival technique you learn when groping your male lover, even in Berkeley where people are fairly tolerant. Except he wasn't letting go. And the large, bearded, Viking-looking bastard standing just inside the tent door was not only scowling disapproval on us, he had no qualms about voicing it, either, especially since he doubtless assumed I didn't understand a word he was saying. "Dammit, Wolf! I know your appetites are legendary, but if you suddenly had a taste for boys, couldn't you have chosen a squab from the Tribes? Not a damned little wishy-washy Southern goddamn wizardling!" God fucking *dammit.* I had never thought I'd be nostalgic for looking my own age, but the word "boy" was really beginning to piss me off. Yeah, I knew I'd now probably be carded trying to buy a beer back home for Christ sake, but it wasn't my fault! And I was six feet tall; kinda slender, okay, but far from "little." Not my fault either that everybody in this world was built like a monster truck. This "Southern" thing was beginning to bite my ass too. Even on Earth I'd been from "Northern" California, thank you very much, and that was a whole different world from Southern! I glared at this idiot and opened my mouth to blast him with all this spleen. I think Carson felt me stiffen, because he said quickly, "Peace, Do'nar. Have courtesy. He is my Chosen." This startled me enough to shut me up briefly. Both the title he'd given menot that I knew what it meant really--and his relatively mild tone to this Viking beard-boy which indicated the guy was, if not a friend, at least an equal in tribe hierarchy. The fellow hooted disbelievingly. If he wasn't a friend or someone damn important, he was certainly pushing it. "Chosen? That? WellI admit he's a looker." This was said so grudgingly it almost turned into an insult. "That hair, those eyes--looks like a cross between a fire demon and a mermaid." Like a--what!!!! He was dead. Let go of me, Ravenstreet, stop getting in my way because I am gonna flame-broil this asshole and serve him up with crispy fries and a root beer shake. "But--Chosen? Wolf, I've seen you lusting like a mooncat in heat, but never totally besotted with anyone enough to call them Chosen." The charming fellow scratched his big golden brown beard, snorted, and spat deliberately on the floor of the tent. "I know this little traitor called alarm on the sneak attack, but that's no reason to honor him unduly; toss him a gold ring and let him be on his way. Are you sure you're capable of fighting? Should I lead the clans to battle? No Southern fancy boy should be a hot enough fuck to make you lose your mind like this!" This prick was so lucky that Carson had tightened his grip instead of releasing me, cannily incapacitating my arms so I couldn't make any gestures. Totally mind-driven spells took longer, needed focus. I was too damn mad to focus and he knew it. He couldn't hold me forever. Once I got loose I'd kill him, too. He couldn't shut my mouth at the same time, however. "Hey, keep your opinions to yourself, you tub of guts, you big honking cross-eyed moron! 'Boy', am I--why you--little traitor--kiss my ass, you--Lemmee go, Carson, please let me the hell go so I can kill this big stupid fuck--fancy boy? Arrrgh!" "Calm, beloved, calm, calm." Carson wasn't loosening his grip in the slightest, and all my now frantic flailing wasn't doing me a bunch of good. The fact that I could feel his body shaking with repressed laughter wasn't making my mood any sunnier. "It's just Do'nar's way--he doesn't mean to insult you--" "Doesn't mean to--you're as big an idiot as he is! Insult isn't the word for it! Let me--go!" Now the bearded wonder was chuckling too, after giving me a startled look at my command of tribal language. I could only hope it was more coherent and insulting when changed to their tongue. "Feisty little thing, isn't he? Now I know you're besotted. This one looks like trouble to me." His tone had actually turned almost approving. Didn't placate me in the least, but the first raw rush of fury had deserted me. Unfortunate. "Lemmee go, Carson," I demanded in a tone even I could tell was more sulky than intimidating. He kept his grip. "You still promise not to try to follow us to battle?" Do'nar's eyebrows lifted, and his lips pursed slightly. Prudently, he said nothing, but I could see what brain he had chugging away in that thick head. Re-evaluating me, as someone who actually would choose to go with them and fight. "Yeah. I promise." Still sulky, and the next words came out without my conscious intent. "So go already, why don't you? Get lost, get out of here, go do your goddamn war thing. Jesus, you make my ass ache!" I couldn't stalk out the tent door because Do'nar was right there blocking it, and grinning at me now, the prick. So I did the next expected pouty tantrum thing and stalked to the bed. Dived in and pulled the furs over my head. I felt like a teenage girl having a hissy fit, but I couldn't seem to stop doing it. There was a pause. Then the lightest of touches, somewhere around my ribcage. "Sensei." "Get lost," I said implacably. After a few seconds of stroking my unresponsive body, he obeyed me. And after about thirty minutes of burrowing into the covers feeling abused and self-righteous, I got up, looked around at the empty, luxurious tent. And began to wonder what I'd done and if maybe I should kick my own damn ass rather than anyone else's. I'd sent him off to battle to possibly get killedon that kind of note. A sniveling chick with PMS couldn't have done it any better. TBC.............. |
