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Book: Scarlet and the White Wolf [01] - Scarlet and the White Wolf by Kirby Crow
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Authors: Kirby Crow
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Romance, Gay, Fantasy, Epic, Imaginary places, Gay Men, Outlaws
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around the campfire until they were cross-eyed, laughing their fool heads off at whatever filthy song was being roared to the scraping of a poorly-tuned tal vielle or a warped box harp. It was a matter of endless amusement to him that he would finally find some measure of comfort in the company of illiterate peasants, escaped convicts, felons, mercenaries, horse-thieves, and pickpockets.
After such an evening, the remainder of his night would be highly predictable: he would recline in his bed in his chieftain's yurt, watching the brazier cast patterns and shadows on the walls until sleep claimed him. Occasionally, Dira would send him a woman. Less frequently, there would be a beardless, silken dove or a rough-handed soldier fresh to the krait, and he enjoyed their company and their eager touches more than the women, for his tastes ran that way. He never allowed them to sleep in his bed, though, and he rarely sought the same body twice. To do so would be to invite intimacy, and above all, Liall guarded his heart. Like most cynics who have been shattered by love, he openly scoffed the concept of it while often finding himself in profound awe at the power it could wield over people. There was no place for love in his life. Barring everything else—his fear, his past, and his uncertain future—he was unconsciously certain he did not deserve it.
After his bedmates were dismissed, his thoughts would invariably turn to home. Even though it brought him pain, he could not stop thinking about it, like a man who keeps poking 60
Scarlet and the White Wolf--Book One
by Kirby Crow
a sore tooth with his tongue to see if it still hurts. He would think about his family left behind and wonder how they fared, and whether or not there had been famine or plague in his land, or if they had gone again to war. Sometimes he longed only to hear the sound of his own language, and then he would speak words in his native tongue to the walls of his yurt: snatches of poetry, bits of song, or jokes he had learned as a boy.
He knew that it was not wise to dwell too long on home.
Byzans had a saying that the gods loved to play tricks on mortals, and eavesdropped on human wishes and daydreams to plot their pranks. Perhaps they were right.
One morning about three weeks ago, it had snowed early and he had gone out to take his post watching the Sea Road.
Snow usually fell only on the heights in that land of amber and gold, on mountaintops and the high passes of the Zun mountain range between Minh and Morturii, in the Nerit, and of course in Lysia, which was in the mountain foothills itself and higher up than most villages. As he stood watch among the swirling white flakes, Liall spied a tall, cloaked man trudging through the camp, escorted by Kio. The traveler's head was uncovered, and Liall saw that his hair was pure white. His heart beat faster at the sight, but it was only a well-traveled old man in good health, a tinker returning to his home in Arbyss, and not one of his own northern people at all. He was bitterly disappointed and let the man pass down to the Sea Road for a copper and a row of tin buttons in the shape of beetles, and he shouted at Kio for no reason. Peysho watched Liall shrewdly and would have spoken, but Liall 61
Scarlet and the White Wolf--Book One
by Kirby Crow
growled and Peysho pulled Kio away. No, it was not wise to remember too much.
Seeing he was again brooding, Peysho pushed Liall's leg with the toe of his boot. "Copper for yer thoughts," he ventured in his atrocious accent, slurping a mouthful of hot soup. He spilled some on his chin and wiped it away on his sleeve.
Liall shook his head. "Nothing. Only wondering how bad the weather will get up here."
Peysho snorted. "Well, ye can't be worried for yerself, not with that ice water ye call blood in yer veins, so that worry must be fer us."
He chuckled. Kio and Peysho were often aghast at how little he wore on a snowy morning, when the rest of the krait were piled high
After such an evening, the remainder of his night would be highly predictable: he would recline in his bed in his chieftain's yurt, watching the brazier cast patterns and shadows on the walls until sleep claimed him. Occasionally, Dira would send him a woman. Less frequently, there would be a beardless, silken dove or a rough-handed soldier fresh to the krait, and he enjoyed their company and their eager touches more than the women, for his tastes ran that way. He never allowed them to sleep in his bed, though, and he rarely sought the same body twice. To do so would be to invite intimacy, and above all, Liall guarded his heart. Like most cynics who have been shattered by love, he openly scoffed the concept of it while often finding himself in profound awe at the power it could wield over people. There was no place for love in his life. Barring everything else—his fear, his past, and his uncertain future—he was unconsciously certain he did not deserve it.
After his bedmates were dismissed, his thoughts would invariably turn to home. Even though it brought him pain, he could not stop thinking about it, like a man who keeps poking 60
Scarlet and the White Wolf--Book One
by Kirby Crow
a sore tooth with his tongue to see if it still hurts. He would think about his family left behind and wonder how they fared, and whether or not there had been famine or plague in his land, or if they had gone again to war. Sometimes he longed only to hear the sound of his own language, and then he would speak words in his native tongue to the walls of his yurt: snatches of poetry, bits of song, or jokes he had learned as a boy.
He knew that it was not wise to dwell too long on home.
Byzans had a saying that the gods loved to play tricks on mortals, and eavesdropped on human wishes and daydreams to plot their pranks. Perhaps they were right.
One morning about three weeks ago, it had snowed early and he had gone out to take his post watching the Sea Road.
Snow usually fell only on the heights in that land of amber and gold, on mountaintops and the high passes of the Zun mountain range between Minh and Morturii, in the Nerit, and of course in Lysia, which was in the mountain foothills itself and higher up than most villages. As he stood watch among the swirling white flakes, Liall spied a tall, cloaked man trudging through the camp, escorted by Kio. The traveler's head was uncovered, and Liall saw that his hair was pure white. His heart beat faster at the sight, but it was only a well-traveled old man in good health, a tinker returning to his home in Arbyss, and not one of his own northern people at all. He was bitterly disappointed and let the man pass down to the Sea Road for a copper and a row of tin buttons in the shape of beetles, and he shouted at Kio for no reason. Peysho watched Liall shrewdly and would have spoken, but Liall 61
Scarlet and the White Wolf--Book One
by Kirby Crow
growled and Peysho pulled Kio away. No, it was not wise to remember too much.
Seeing he was again brooding, Peysho pushed Liall's leg with the toe of his boot. "Copper for yer thoughts," he ventured in his atrocious accent, slurping a mouthful of hot soup. He spilled some on his chin and wiped it away on his sleeve.
Liall shook his head. "Nothing. Only wondering how bad the weather will get up here."
Peysho snorted. "Well, ye can't be worried for yerself, not with that ice water ye call blood in yer veins, so that worry must be fer us."
He chuckled. Kio and Peysho were often aghast at how little he wore on a snowy morning, when the rest of the krait were piled high
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