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Rating: R for language/changeable viewpoints

The Tale of the Tunes Part I

One fine morning Firehawk appeared at Do'nar's outside forge, bearing a strange-looking device and seeming  much more chipper than he had any right to, after the night before.  And to the big man's astonishment, given the wizard's usual avoidance of anything Do'nar recognized as honest labor,  Hawk requested the use of the facility---or rather, of the "mana" Do'nar would pull up as he worked the starmetal.

Do'nar eyed him beadily.  The fact that Hawk had fleeced him of two sets of armbands and a hundred silver coins in last night's poker rally had nothing to do with the smith's attitude, of course.  It was simply too early to sound so alert and look so fresh!  He could drink Hawk under the table, and had proven it, last night and a score of times before.  But the way they approached the morning after was very different and definitely unfair.

Do'nar had work to do, commissions to fulfill.  He'd groaned resoundingly as the rising sun stabbed his tender eyeballs, then wobbled off to his forge after tossing a bucket of icy water over his head.

Firehawk, damn him, had nothing to do in early morn except pleasure the Warchief.  Now perhaps that counted as *work* on some level, but it still didn't excuse the bastard from looking so smug, and happy, and glad to be alive, at the dawn of the day when all Do'nar wanted was to go the hell back to bed!

"Hey, Do'nar, my man!" Firehawk sang out the instant he spied the big warrior. "I need sky-magic.  You got it in the raw.  Wanna do me a favor here?  I'm gonna make this baby speak!"

He spun the odd instrument he carried on his hip, looked as surprised as Do'nar when the device not only returned to him but actually leaped into his grasp as if begging to be sounded.

Do'nar wasn't fooled, though.  Trust a wizard to put on a show to get his way!

"A favor would be you stop yelling and spare my head from splitting into pieces," the big man snapped.  He generally didn't mind assisting the wizard with whatever he liked no matter how foolish, but he had a valkyrie's hoard of things to repair for yammering tribesmen, and a project for a starmetal shield not even figured out yet.  Not to mention a head that felt like a giant rock balanced on an aching neck that could barely support the weight. Why today, Hawk, for pity's sake!

A faint grin flickered on Firehawk's expressive mouth.  "You seem just a hair testy, dude.  Maybe you should switch to the spice dump Carson calls booze.  He's passed out, but it ain't from no alcohol poisoning."  The wizard positively glowed with smugness. "I blew him into next Thursday just before the sun rose.  You mighta heard all the racket he made?"

"I was unconscious, damn you, and not capable of hearing anything," Do'nar said grumpily, rubbing his eyes and wishing someone less exuberant had chosen to visit him.  "And I have no idea what a 'Thursday' is.  And even less notion why you'd blast the warchief with your breath; I'm sure it didn't please him.  You drank a respectable amount for a scrawny wizard before you collapsed, and he's a mite---temperatefor a Rider."

Firehawk eyed the suffering man whimsically, as if deciding whether to have fun with him or treat him mercifully for once.  He settled the issue in favor of comedic effect, as usual.

"My stone doesn't translate 'blow', huh?  Modest littler bugger. 'K, I sucked his rod until my jaw locked and he exploded into many itty, bitty pieces.  Which considering his size is a lotta damn pieces." Hawk cocked an impish eye at the suddenly brick-red warrior.  "I gather that came across in Tribal---Do'nar?  Why the hell are you dumping that bucket over your cranium, dude?  Hangover that bad?"

"Gack!" Do'nar remarked. For the moment, he was speechless.  The visual the miserable elf chucked his way so casually had slammed him right between the eyes.  His whole body burned, not just his face!

Swansteel had once attempted to do this thing to him.  They were both incredibly drunk at the time and the result had been messy and, he suspected, not very professional. But the sight of her doing it had been arousing in itself, even if she *had* dozed off in the middle of things.

But his own flailing experience paled in comparison to the vision of Hawk playfully offering the same service to his lover.  And I bet he's *very* good at it, Do'nar thought helplessly.  And wide awake all though, and merciless. His eyes drifted to Firehawk's lips, and with an oath he hurled the contents of the ice-skimmed bucket straight into his own groin.

After that, it was some minutes before he noticed anything except his own voice cursing feebly, and the betrayed agony of his frozen, shriveled rod.  The shock of cold on his delicate parts had walloped most of his wits right out of him, he supposed.  Because he sure didn't expect to find himself spread-eagle on his back in the forge yard, blinking up at Firehawk's worried face.

"Dude!" the wizard scolded, once he noticed Do'nar's bewildered scowl.  His fingers for some reason were busy, weaving a light pattern in the air just above the felled warrior's groin area.  "There's better ways to cure a hangover!  Damn, the Tribe has everything, even masochists it looks like.  What'cha trying to do, neuter yourself the good old-fashion barbarian way?  Eeesh, to put it mildly."

Since Firehawk's translation device chose to interpret the odd word "masochists" as "damn bean-headed fools", Do'nar's bad temper was not improved.  But he couldn't deny his body felt better.  Hawk was an excellent healer if nothing else!  Waves of tingling warmth began to flow through him from the groin up.  He started to relax into it, eyes half-closing.

Then a vision popped into his skull unexpectedlya mental picture of his warchief striding into the forge on some business or other and spotting his Captain sprawled in the dirt with Nightwolf's lover bent over his crotch.

Do'nar sat up so fast he nearly knocked Firehawk over like a bowling pin.  The wizard squawked indignantly as the shimmering green mana-fire he'd been weaving over his friend's nether regions abruptly winked out.  "Jeeez, Do'nar!  What the fuck is up with you? You gotta stay still if you wanna be healed, 's a delicate process and shit!"

"I'm healed enough, thank you!" the big man barked, struggling to his feet and wishing there was another icy bucket within reach.  "No---don't bother, don't touch me by Odin!  The madness has passed, you damnfool spell slinger.  My dick is fine thanks to you!"

This was a patent untruth, as well as being a rather suspicious remark to beller out in public!  But Do'ner's aghast glance at the entrance to the forge reassured him.  No one but he and Firehawk were stupid enough to be awake at the crack of dawn.  And the Warchief always slept in, especially if the sex had been good.damn!  He had to get his mind off these things!

"Well, now that you're pestered me awake, how can I assist you?" he grumbled, turning abruptly toward the table where his notes for Sun Eagle's expensive shield were stacked.  His wits really didn't feel sharp enough to deal with the complex task right now, but puzzling out the design the  moron thought would look good on his arms would take Do'nar's mind off more dangerous things.

Firehawk peeked shamelessly over Do'nar's big forearm, and chuckled at the labored sketch.  "Hey, a flying potato!  Those little hooky things ARE wings, right?  Man, that is one ugly spud---look at the nose on it!"

Do'nar burst out laughing; he was no friend to Sun Eagle, and only the outrageous price he was gouging the bastard for had convinced him to bother with this project at all.  "It's supposed to be a dragon," he chuckled, the last of his irritation with Hawk dissolving.  "*I* fancied it looked like a piece of dog mess, but I reckon you could get a vegetable out of it with a bit of imagination!"

They stood companionably snickering at the absent warrior's creative shortcomings.  Firehawk wasn't fond of Sun Eagle either, and once informed who'd drawn the design he found many more amusing, spiteful things to say about it.  When he wheedled the parchment from Do'nar along with a bit of charcoal and rapidly added stink lines and a stick warrior off to the side holding his nose, Do'nar guffawed so hard his head began to throb again.  Firehawk wasn't the artist the Warchief was, but he was damn sure better than Sun Eagle!

"Stop, stop, you infernal son of the Nine Hells!" Do'nar ordered, snatching the drawing away hastily.  "This is a paid project---hahaha!  If the bastard comes round and sees how you've improved his work he'll burst at the seams!"

"Cool; I wanna see that happen right now. Let's go visit his tent and show him!"

The two of them rocked with mutual delight at the thought, but to Hawk's disgust Do'nar kept firm hold of the drawing this time.  "Much joy as it would give me to watch that blowhard suffer, I need the coin more.  Get your paws off my commission and tell me what you need me to do for you!"

Somewhat to Do'nar's surprise, Firehawk did not leap into an over-enthusiastic and head-splitting description of whatever magical plans he had in mind.  Instead he stopped giggling and pulled his instrument into his arms, almost cradling it.  A long, whip-like piece tipped with metal dangled from the music-box.  It had no practical use as far as the smith could see, but Hawk twirled it in his fingers thoughtfully, examining the metal part with a faint frown of concentration. As if he were actually figuring out a bit of handiwork like a real smith.  "Got any starmetal scraps laying around I can use?" Hawk finally inquired, almost absently.

"Scraps!" Do'nar was righteously offended.  "Starmetal is precious stuff, you lamebrain.  It doesn't come in 'scraps' like old rags or something!"

"Easy, guy," Hawk laughed, seeming delighted at his friend's ire.  "Don't swell up like a big toad and pop yourself over a poor choice of words."

"A big what?.speaking of poor words, by thunder!"

Do'nar raised his voice a little too much in his irritation, and his skull thumped in warning.  He groaned and palmed it, mouthing curses silently as the wizard grinned at him.

Before he recovered, Hawk placed the gitar gently against a wall and spread his hands to about a foot apart.  "I need a, well, let's say a 'piece' of the stuff about yea big, I think," he remarked.  "I asked for a scrap because, well, I honestly don't know if it'll survive the magic."

Do'nar yipped like a scalded pup, but managed to catch his head before it cracked through the middle in pain. "Gods of air, sea and mountain!  A chunk he wants worth 20 gold at least, and he's not sure if his damned magic won't destroy it!  How about my unborn children while you're at it, you crazy money-wasting bastard?  That much star-metal would make ten of Sun Eagle's shields!"

Do'nar expected his nemesis to fire up and argue back.  Instead, the red-head pursed his lips thoughtfully beneath the sweep of his fire-colored mustache.  "I've stashed every coin and hunk of junk I ever won from you at poker since I taught you the damn game," the elf remarked almost mildly.  The glitter in the green eyes was the only indication of how much he was enjoying this. "Gimmee the metal and you can have it all back."

The smith hung there with his mouth open and one hand cradling his head, glaring in astonishment.  His brain whirred as he tried to estimate exactly how much of value this card-crazy elf had plundered from him in the months he'd been here.  Do'nar was fairly good at reckonings like this---a working man had to be.  But the fact was, trying to total all the elf's winnings left him a little staggered.  Do'nar was usually drunk as a hoot-owl by the time the card games broke up of course, but the fact of the matter was that now that he pondered it, he couldn't remember ever winning a single blessed game---drunk or sober, Firehawk always stiffed him.  By the gods, impossible as it seemed the dratted wizard might actually have the price of so much starmetal tucked away somewhere, if he'd hung onto his winnings as he claimed!

"Well, I guess you do have some appreciation of the value," he grunted reluctantly, turning towards the locked bins where he stored the precious materials.  "As much as a daft wizard can, I reckon, and someone who's never even seen a star's death---"

"You're wrong, dude," Hawk said, and Do'nar snorted rudely as he pulled the big steel key from the cord around his neck.  If Firehawk complained at being called daft, Do'nar had other and less flattering terms---

"I've seen a star die," Hawk stated quietly.  "And guess what?  They don't really 'die' at all."

Do'nar swung around, and stared at the wizard as if seeing a ghost.

"They just transform, dude." The wizard crossed his arms, and studied the suddenly nervous warrior keenly from those intelligent, merciless green eyes.  "But you know that, doncha?  Because they talk to you, too!  I shoulda known!"

Do'nar shook his head emphatically, barely noticing the pain through the panic. "Talk to stars, err, wizard, I'm a simple fighting man!  I collect the metal and work it, that's all!  What pish-posh are you saying here?"  Do'nar laughed merrily, sweat popping up on his brow.  "Next you'll be saying I make love to trees and gamble with mountains, haw haw!"

"Hardy har har," Hawk said with a feral grin.  "Basic D&D---that's where you get the swords with the egos and intellect.  Enchanted metal.  And I forgot---the first mage on record was a metalworker.  Smithing is a form of magic.  How could I be so dumb?"

"To say I talk with stars and metal? I honestly don't know how anyone could be that dumb, by Thor!  But I'm glad you admit it at---hey!  Did you just call me a, a kind of wizard?"  Do'nar glared furiously, ignoring the soft ruffle of laughter behind him. "That's enough insult and more than enough!  I'm a----"

"Simple fighting man, yeh, I know the drill."  Do'nar squinted at him suspiciously.  Despite the agreement, when Hawk's eyes danced like that over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles it did not bode well, and Do'nar knew it.  "Soooo, you sterling representative of the common man---"

"Huh?" Do'nar barked, totally lost and with a worse headache than ever.

"Mind telling me why you flinch and mumble 'Shut up, shut up!' every time that box right there laughs at you?" the miserable elf drawled.

Oh, for another bucketful of freezing water.  And not to chuck at himself this time, by Odin's holy ass!

Firehawk smiled gently at Do'nar as the smith stood there glaring.  The wizard tossed his instrument into his arms and strummed it---lightly, but with the flaming energy that belonged to him.

I couldn't understand it
My life was all a blaze
Is it bloody Sunday
My days were in a daze

Weapon, Do'nar thought.  He could make it a weapon if he chose.  That was the power of the wizard's voice as he sang,  Strong and clear and---deadly beautiful.  Like a  winter night where the stars in the sky could change to swords in an instant.  He sang in a foreign tongue, and Do'nar found himself crying even though he only half understood the words.

When the stars came down
I was higher than the fourth of July
Whizzing right across the sky
High, high---higher---

Yes, Do'nar thought as he wept.  That is how it happened.  I needed something other than constant battle, endless blood.  And they found me. Praise to Thor, they found me.

He became aware that the music had stopped.  That Firehawk was studying him quietly again.

"Tell me how it was for you, first," Hawk almost ordered him

"All right," he said dreamily, instead of yelling indignantly at being bossed around.