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

17- Sata

*****Remember, there is a "Terms and Phrases" chapter in the very beginning of my story. You'll probably want it open as you read this chapter haha*****

THEO—

I could never forget Rayla's death. For the rest of my life, I swore, I would remember the moment of her death like it was only the day before that her soul had left her body. I, and everyone else in the keep that day, had known the moment she died, because her cry rang out through the entire keep, so loud I could feel the eerie tug of something mystical. It was a strange sensation, but one I could feel I would grow quite used to in the coming months.

"Cailleach Bheur roué, sata!" she screamed, the sound terrifying, fearful, and filled with death. I felt my own gut clench with agony. If only she had given in, if only she had agreed to make healing potions for my men, I could have spared her life. Such a simple thing she refused would have given me the power to save her.

Gods help me.

Although, as it turned out, her stubbornness, determination, and loyalty to her dead queen was, if not commonplace, then at least not rare. There were many others who jumped in front of swords, died in tortured agony, and in general refused to give in to any of my advances. It was a source of pride with their people to die in the Cailleach's name, and very soon I began to hate and fear the mystical queen. What kind of power did she have, that her people were loyal to her above their own lives, their own families, their own gods? She was an obsession, a curse, a being of magic I didn't understand and didn't think I ever could. But they treated her existence as if it was something that should belong to each race, each people. She was their greatest love.

On my father's orders, I was to turn back the rebel Nibeans who still fought under the name of their dead queen. This, he said, was a blatant treachery against him as their king. The Nibeans, I was to learn, thought very differently. There was no other ruler but their Cailleach. If she was dead, their culture was dead. They were no longer Nibean, no longer allowed to stain their hair white before battles. No longer allowed to pierce their skin with the blue war'rog inks. They were a broken people. A lost people.

After the first battle outside of Uriok, I led a troupe of a hundred men with Napa by my side, chasing the scattered war'rog back onto their island. Napa, injured and healing slowly, still refused to leave me. It was for this reason that I lived through the Northern War. It was Napa's devotion that got me through the many years we were in Nibea.

I met Uriah and Naka as Napa and I chased a small contingent of rebel war'rog through the woods, just north of Uriok. It was only a week after the first attack in the keep and we had driven them to the very edge of Pryn land, to the shorelines of ice and rocky sands. The war'rog, being outnumbered by a huge degree, were growing desperate, fierce, and brutal. They did not want us on Brak, and they killed many to keep us back for as long as possible. Already, I had to call for reinforcements. I was beginning to understand how we hadn't been able to bring Nibea to heel for so many generations of my family.

The day we met Uriah and Naka, I was foolish and acted like an inexperienced squire. I followed the six or so Northmen we had been pursuing on my own before making certain I had my own men at my back. Before I realized what had happened, Napa was close behind me and we were alone. An infamous northern blizzard was rising up around us with the ferocity of a beast of legend, and the snow blew heavily into our faces as we ran.

The Nibeans were on foot, but still we were hard pressed to catch up. Their barefoot, silent steps were next to impossible to track above the hoofbeats of my and Napa's warhorses and the howl of the wind, and their sizes made it difficult to pass through the closely grown trees without having to backtrack many times. Before long, we were left far behind, flustered, irritated, frozen, and lost.