Chains of Fate

Chapter Eleven

Kyle woke with a start to the sound of a loud bell being rung. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked around to see where he was. A pile of straw surrounded him. To his left and right were stalls, opened and emptied. Judging by the smell, he had spent the night with the horses in a stable nearby the tavern. He rubbed his forehead. How had he ended up here? The last thing he remembered was drinking himself merry at the tavern. There'd been music, boisterous chatter, and red faced men sitting at tables, drunk and needing to go home to their wives.

Kyle recalled the face of a young woman. He had gazed longingly at her milk white skin and pale blue eyes that peeked out from beneath long dark lashes. A tavern wench perhaps? She'd been strumming a long, thin instrument. Men had been gathered around her, admiring her deft handwork. Kyle had taken an instant liking to her. She'd been exactly his type - talented and pretty. But he didn't remember speaking to her or anyone else. He had been sitting alone at a table close to the wall. From afar he had observed her, unable to draw his eyes away.

Thinking back, Kyle remembered catching the girl staring at him. Despite playing for the enjoyment of all, she had picked him out of the crowd. The look she gave him had been just suggestive enough to spark some hope in Kyle. Maybe he'd get a taste of her soft lips and warm skin. He imagined how it would feel to have her body pressed against his. Women were dangerous creatures. But like every hot blooded male, Kyle could not avoid them.

As his memories from the previous night resurfaced, Kyle sat up. He cursed. His head was threatening to burst. It felt as if it had been bashed in a few times but there were no visible injuries to support this, so he figured that he was simply hung over. He drank often and always too much. He didn't gave a shit what Dellons, Rachel, or the rest thought about him. Like every poor bastard, he took his comforts where he could get them.

After the girl's performance had ended, the entire tavern fell under her control. Men began to follow her around like dogs chasing after their master. Kyle wouldn't have blinked if one or more had crumpled to their knees to beg for her attention. As it happened, the girl had paid her followers no mind. She busied herself, serving fresh cups of ginger ale. She did manage to make her way to his table, once. They were able to exchange looks for about a minute before she turned away and hurried back to the front of the room.

When she appeared again, she had acquired a persistent stalker. At one point, as she bent down to retrieve a fallen mug, her stalker placed himself in her path. He then pulled her up and into his arms. Kyle had looked on as the man pawed the front of her dress, hands reaching for her hips. The girl tried several times to push him away but he didn't back down. With a forceful tug she surrendered.

Kyle never did move in to save her. Her weak attempts to escape the man had convinced him that she had been putting on an act to make herself appear desirable. Luckily, or perhaps not, her knight in shining armor came in the form of good o'l Kwonho. He entered the tavern at just the right moment, ready and willing to play hero for a night. Kwonho forced the pervert to release the girl and gave him a hard shove. Then he stole away with her to the back, where they would not be disturbed. He had left Kyle and the rest to imagine what had become of the lovely maiden in distress. There was only one thing a man wanted from a girl he went out of his way to save.

Kyle worked hard to convince himself that he had better things to do. He then left the lighted building to look for a place to take a piss. He relieved himself in a bush. Or had it been behind a tree? His memory was still fuzzy and the images from the previous evening blurred together. He thought he remembered being on the main road. There had been trees growing in clumps all along the way to the tavern - tall southern palms with stocky trunks and leaves that resembled miniature fans. He remembered passing those. And at some point he must have found his way to the stables. The smell of horse would have drawn him away from the tavern, drunk as he must have been. It was just like him to bunk with the animals. Being one himself, he supposed it was only fitting.