Bringer of Winter- a M/M/M Epic Fantasy Romance

4- War'rog Shadow

KHIFF—

Ryker and I were left outside the inn alone for over twenty minutes. In that time, the village boys grew braver and braver, coming closer with each passing minute, and my fear began to rise. What was it about these boys being my age, and the way they watched me, that made bile and terror choke me?

When Olin finally exited the inn, he untied me and Ryker and led us back behind the building, where a small lean-to probably served as a stable. And where he tied us, making the ropes a bit longer so that we could sit on the moldy hay. I watched him in a kind of morbid fascination as he tied Ryker, who also studied the man, and then as he led the four horses back to stay beside us two at a time. The horses he merely hobbled, shutting the little gate that surrounded the lean-to, and then he went about throwing cleaner, fresher hay into the lean-to for the horses to eat.

Gods, I'm less than a horse! At least they get fed.

Within a few minutes, Paul came around the corner of the building. A whispered conversation followed, none of which I understood, and Paul moved to us.

"The innkeeper won't let you stay in the inn. Eten tried, so that we could keep a closer eye on you, but he won't let Northmen sleep in his beds. So we'll take turns keepin' watch. Don't try anything, 'cause if you do when we're alone we'll just kill you, no questions asked. Understood?"

I nodded but Ryker simply stared Paul down, silent as the night. Paul's eyes flickered to the man but he said nothing else, handing me the thin blanket Ryker and I had been sharing the entire trip and turning away.

Without a word, Ryker lay on the dirty hay and motioned for me to join him. When I tried to lie on the ground next to him he growled, lifted me bodily, and dropped me onto his stomach so that none of my body touched the dirty hay. I rolled my eyes and laid the blanket over us, relaxed my body against his, and dug my face into his neck.

On top of all my misery, I now lay in a stable next to horses who were treated better than I was. Everything was wrong, everything was disgusting. Everything I had been holding back moved to the front, as if being shoved by the moldy hay that filled my nose with its musky scent.

"Ryker, I miss Mama," I said gently, so quietly I didn't know for a full ten heartbeats if he heard. And then, just as quietly, he answered.

"I'm so sorry, little Khif."

His words were so damn simple, and yet with them the tears I hadn't been able to shed yet began to pour. I wetted his dirty, ragged tunic, moaning as I looked at the state we had fallen in. Three months ago, I was picking wild flowers and weaving them into a diadem for little Ally while Ryker looked on, that constant half smile marking his face as he watched Naka prance around, kicking the flowers' pollen into the air with the best giggle in the world bursting from deep in her chest. Three months ago, Ryker wore the royal insignia of the Cailleach Bheur, sewn onto the finest cloth our seamstresses could make, his chest bowed with pride as I hit each and every target I aimed at with my short, curved bow. Three months ago, Ryker was laughing that deep, belly aching laugh as I made shadow puppets against the wall of the nursery where I had lived for the first five years of my life and where Ally and baby Naka still slept. Three months ago, my mama was brushing my hair, cursing its thickness and loving its color.

Damn it, three months ago I was sixteen-years-old. Now, I was eighty-nine for all it mattered, an old man for all I could feel from the pain in my bones and the tiredness in my eyes. Now I was ancient and had lived my life. Now, my life was over, because Ally was dead, Naka was dead, Mama was dead, my father was dead, and Ryker was in a dirty, torn tunic that was soaked in his blood that leaked through the soiled bandage of the wound he took to protect me. Now, Ryker was lying on dirty hay so that I didn't have to touch it, sleep on it.