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

14- Dyed with Blood

KHIF-

When I was twelve years old, I took my first life. It was a huge, proud buck. My arrow found his throat, and my dagger his belly as he lay heaving on the dirt. His death, after the arrow, was a mercy.

The initiation of a war'rog into the clan signified the end of the warrior's training. And to end that training, blood had to be spilled to show your true valor and battle prowess. Long ago, the blood was that of an enemy. In more recent times, my people had embraced peace as much as they were able, and we substituted the blood of an animal during the hunt with that of a human we had killed. It was only when we had skinned and cut the buck into strips back in our camp that I allowed myself to vomit copiously against a tree in the forest. Ryker watched on, his face impassive, as I screamed my defiance, pain, and sorrow for the loss of the animal's life and my own innocence. Never again would I be a child, but was to be considered a war'rog shadow, standing always just behind my counterpart, Ryker, a war'rog berserker.

After that, I was only taken on a half dozen hunts, as they were mostly left to the war'rog clan and the fear for my life was always high on every Nibean's mind. My death was a special kind of nightmare for them, as it meant their utter defeat. Their failure.

When Rothart was attacked, I killed one of the invaders in the castle, and nine more in our travels. Three were Pryn farmers, hunters, or travelers. I didn't know or particularly care what and who they were, only that they had food and blankets, clothes and a fire, and my people needed it. The starving, freezing, sickly and downtrodden people who had followed me out of Rothart and who loyally refused to leave my side needed the provisions, and with the thought my scimitars found those men's hearts easily.

The other four were Pryn soldiers, a contingent of scouts sent from Ryt, their outpost camp on the border between Nibea and True Pryn, as they called it. To my four killed in that battle, Ryker had killed triple that, at least, and had managed to kill the last man before passing out on top of me, protecting me even in unconsciousness.

Olin and the man in Uriok were the last, and with his death, for the first time since I was twelve years old, I felt guilt, rage, and helplessness compound within me at the end of a life that was precious, sacred, and could have continued on if my own had ended.

None of that, not even the battle that killed the rest of my servants and friends, prepared me for this. All of those had their lives ended for a purpose. Maybe not one they would agree with, but one I believed in. I killed the buck for food, and warmth, and because the war'rog demanded her blood for me to become one with them. The other men I killed to protect my people, Ryker, and myself.

This was killing for killing's sake.

Once I had realized the Pryn's intentions, Ryker was gripping me and throwing me behind him, for the men around us had begun to move.

HEATH-

I didn't understand my actions as I bought my way into the fight. I had never watched one of the gladiator battles, had never given them a second thought but for the money I made in betting on Master Dreu's fighters, and yet all night I tossed and turned, excited and fearful for the battle I knew I would watch the next day.

The battle I knew my Khif would fight in. Over and over, I imagined those stunning blue eyes shining as he killed, that thick red hair billowing out around him as he moved gracefully and slaughtered the men around him. All night I was hard against my sheets as I pictured the slaughter.

As I watched the crowd around me thicken in anticipation of the gladiator's fight, I knew that the advertising of two Northmen warriors fighting in the battle had spread quickly. There were more people coming to watch this fight than I had ever seen filling the arena, and the thought sent irritation welling through me.