Breaking the Barbarian Ch. 02

"Where are we going?"

"There is another town up the road, one that has already suffered a great deal under Grozdan. Those lands are ruled by Baron Rikard: an honorable man who has defied Grozdan before, and I fear this latest violence may inspire Grozdan to retaliate."

We rode for another half hour, passing a few hamlets and farms that looked to have been untouched by Grozdan's greed. I couldn't help but gawk at the vast fields of grapevines and the palatial manors that Miriam told me were wineries. Such places must have been the source of the delicious wine they'd given me the night before.

Miriam diverted off the main road, guiding us into a thin forest before dismounting and leading me towards the tree-line.

Once there, we crouched down and she withdrew a spyglass from her pack.

A flick of her fingers cast off the veil, giving me a better look at her thin, pale face, which was framed by wild, short dark curls. Along her cheek was a faint white scar. From the look of her nose, it had been broken and reset on several occasions, though that didn't diminish from her appeal in the slightest. Her almost savage beauty reminded me of the witches and shield-maidens of my homeland.

Her blue eyes narrowed at me.

"You are staring at me when you should be keeping watch."

I chuckled and glanced northward. A few hundred yards from the forest rested a large town upon the banks of a river. The sprawling, unwalled settlement contained dozens of cabins and huts, along with a stone watchtower and a two-story manor that likely housed the local baron. Beyond the town stretched emerald-green pastures, wheatfields, and sprawling rows of grapevines.

There was no sign of any damage or bloodshed.

Miriam raised the spyglass and hissed.

"Look," she said. "At the base of the watchtower."

I took the spyglass, catching sight of a wooden dais in front of the stone tower. Six soldiers in green cloaks stood upon it, stalking back and forth. Behind them stood an old man, his head bowed and his body shaking. In front of him rested a bloodstained executioner's block. One of the soldiers read from a scroll, while half a hundred people looked on with a mixture of grief and horror.

"That's Baron Rikard, the town's ruler," Miriam hissed. "One of the only nobles to actually stand up to Grozdan. A good man. And soon to be a dead one."

All because ofme. If I hadn't splashed ashore and killed Grozdan's men, the wicked Duke wouldn't have needed to make an example of a defiant lord.

"Not if we do something about it," I said, rising and heading back for my horse. "I will ride in through town to draw their attention. You use the skills from your old life to find a way to get there and free the baron."

"You are mad," she said with a snort, though she did not move to stop me.

"No," I said, flashing her a wild grin. "I am a warrior of Kovgaard. Hard to tell the difference between that and madness, though."

I swung into the saddle. A moment later I sent the horse bursting out of the tree-line and thundering onto the road. Even as my horse trotted towards the town, I knew full-well how foolish this was. There could have been more soldiers nearby, or the locals might turn on me simply for being a strange, terrifying foreigner.

Honor and furious purpose had taken control, however, and I had chosen my path.

Shouts rose from the crowd of peasants. Some turned to run. Others whirled about, eyes wide. The soldiers on the dais drew their weapons, while the condemned Baron Rikard cocked his head.

"Dogs of Duke Grozdan!" I bellowed, keeping my hand on a sword I'd taken from the beach, but not yet drawing it.

"Bloody hells," a soldier hissed. "It's one of the northmen. Has to be the madman who killed the patrol yesterday."

Four of them hopped off the stage and advanced towards me, while the others remained beside the baron.

"I have heard that Baron Rikard is a wise, just ruler," I bellowed, even though I only had Miriam's brief assessment to rely on. "Is this how your Duke treats wise, just men? Hacking off their heads as if he was some common brigand?"

"This is of no concern of yours, northman," hissed an advancing soldier.

"In a way, I suppose it is," snarled another. "Since you'll be up on that stage getting your head lopped off, right after the baron's."

"Haven't you taken enough from us?" shrieked an old woman in the crowd. "Again and again you bleed us dry, now you would claim the Baron's life?"

"Aye!" shouted someone else. "Half of our crops and flocks, half of the silver in the village, but that's not enough, is it?"

"Quiet," a soldier snarled. "Or I'll drag you up there to die with your baron."

A head of lettuce sailed through the air, slamming into the back of a soldier's head. He cursed and whirled, blade at the ready.

As more shouts rose from the crowd, he pulled his blade back, about to swing at the first villager within reach.

With a shout I sent my horse surging forward, drawing my sword as I charged. The soldier whirled, slashing up at my horse's neck. I deflected the blade with ease. My horse reared, kicking the man in the face and sending him sprawling to the cobblestones.

The other soldiers rushed me. I parried a spear-thrust, then a brick took the spearman in the back of the head. As he tumbled forward, I hacked off his hand. Blood sprayed and the crowd surged, swarming the other soldiers.

Upon the stage, a soldier shoved Baron Rikard down onto the headsman's block. His shaking hands tore his blade from its scabbard.

A crossbow bolt sliced through the air, just barely grazing his cheek. The soldier hissed with pain, brushed his fingers over the wound, then swayed.

As he toppled, Miriam leapt down from a nearby rooftop, landing atop the other soldier. They collided in a heap; she delivered a savage punch to his neck, then rose and kicked him in the groin. After rolling the reeling soldier down off the stage, she turned and sliced through the Baron's bonds.

Leaving the remaining soldiers to the wrath of the crowd, I guided my horse up to the stage. Baron Rikard looked back and forth between the groaning soldiers and my blood-soaked blade.

"Another northman," Baron Rikard murmured. "What...what are you doing?"

"Doing the right thing. Themadthing," I grunted. "Are you all right?"

"For now," the wiry old man said, rubbing at his wrists and giving Miriam a grateful nod. "Duke Grozdan's wrath will be...beyond reason now."

"The man was about to lop off the head of a beloved baron," Miriam said with a snort. "He was already beyond reason." She cocked her head. "Why did he want you dead?"

"We found nine survivors from the shipwreck and kept them in my estate to tend to their wounds. After word spread of the bloodshed on the beach, the Duke sent soldiers here to question the survivors." He sighed and shook his head. "After interrogating the foreigners, his soldiers decided to conduct another 'requisition,' intending to confiscate more of my people's flocks."

He leaned back against the executioner's block.

"I could take no more. My people have suffered enough. So I finally stood up to those greedy knights but they overpowered me and my guards."

"Do the northlanders still live?" I asked, wondering if my comrades or my wretched brother were among them.

"Yes. Most are unconscious, though. Some of their wounds were grave, and we lacked the healing skills of the Sisterhood."

Before I could ask the Baron to take me to the other survivors, a member of the crowd gave a shout.

"What should we do with the other soldiers, milord?"

"Take them to the old stable, tend to their wounds, and keep them under guard."

"Does this mean we're finally rising up against that bastard of a duke?" asked a young boy with a nasty bruise upon his face.

"I..." Rikard winced and looked at the blood upon the cobblestones. "Let us just worry about getting those soldiers secured for now."

"I will help," said Miriam, before nodding at me. "You go and see to those northlanders."

"Come along," Rikard said, patting me on the shoulder.

I followed the baron as the jeering crowd dragged the soldiers towards the other side of town.

"A blessing from the gods, you are," Rikard said, smiling up at me. "Those bastards wouldn't have just stopped once they took my head. Anyone who got too upset with my execution would have been next on the block."

We arrived at the humble manor, which still larger and better-constructed than anything else in the town. A portly woman about Rikard's age was there, who rushed forward and wrapped the Baron in a tearful embrace.

"I am all right, darling." Rikard glanced to me. "This is my wife, Beatrice. This is..." He frowned. "Gods, you saved my life and I don't even know your name."

"I am Anvarr, son of Eyvald and Valgerd. Of the Red Omen clan of Kovgaard."

"Well that's a damned mouthful," Beatrice said with a tearful laugh, breaking away from her husband to give me an embrace as fierce as the one she'd given Rikard. "But I am grateful, Anvarr, son of Eyvald and Valgerd. Thank you."

It took considerable effort to extricate myself from the baroness' embrace. Rikard sent her off to help oversee the prisoners, before leading me into his estate. Several pieces of furniture and paintings had been smashed, with debris scattered on the floor.

The Baron sighed at the sight of a large bloodstain upon the wall.

"They killed one of my guards. All for the crime of standing up for the basic rights of the people."

"He died with honor," I said.

"He needn't have died at all, if our damned Duke wasn't such a greedy bastard," Rikard grumbled, before leading me downstairs into the wine cellar.

Nine Kovgaardians were sprawled out upon cots or bedrolls. Their outfits of furs and hides were stained with blood and sweat. Bandages covered their wounds; Rikard had clearly taken good care of them.

A smile blossomed upon my face at the sight of Orgumir, the seasoned old warrior who had been at my father's side for battle after battle, and whose skills had saved my life on countless occasions.

I rushed over to the man, clasping his hand, careful not to disturb the bandages upon his chest.

"Orgumir, you old wolf," I said. "I knew you were too tough to kill."

"And I knew you'd survive as well, young cub," Orgumir said, his eyes fluttering open. "Because I knew a face as ugly as yours would be rejected by the gods. They'd send you right back down to earth, to make the rest of us mortals suffer."

I laughed and tightened my grasp on his hand.

Next to him was Sorunna, a brawny shield-maiden who had joined my quest because Hoskuld had killed one of her cousins during his theft of the king's gold. She was unconscious, with a thick bandage wrapped around her head. A sweep of my gaze through the cellar confirmed the survival of five other warriors from my ship.

The remaining unconscious northlanders, however, hailed from Hoskuld's crew. I recognized one as a man whose hand I'd maimed during the battle aboard my brother's ship.

My lips twitched into a sneer and I reached for my sword.

"Hold," Baron Rikard said, placing a thin hand upon my wrist. "What are you doing?"

"These are dishonorable dogs," I hissed. "They sailed with my brother: a murderer, a thief, a traitor."

Rikard kept his grasp on my wrist and moved to stand between me and my brother's men.

"These men are my guests. Whatever their crimes, I will not see them butchered without a proper trial."

"This is different," I hissed. "These are not horse thieves or common criminals. They are wretched souls who-"

"Anvarr," Orgumir grunted. "The Baron saved my life. And thus I place my protection upon his guests. Break the Baron's trust and you'll have to answer to me as well."

I whirled, my eyes flaring.

"You would stand between me and justice?"

"I would stand between you and dishonor, my friend. Stay your hand."

"We can keep them with the other captives," Rikard murmured. "And then when the time is right, you can make your case, by the laws of this duchy. Or take them home to face justice before your gods and King."

I bared my teeth at the slumbering traitors, then relaxed, my hand falling from my sword.

"So be it. I thank you for looking after my warriors, Baron."

After one last glare at my brother's wounded warriors, I turned and stormed out of the wine cellar.

**

Music roared through the night. The executioner's dais had been turned into a stage for a few amateur bards. They pounded drums and strummed lutes, swaying back and forth as the crowd belted out a riotous song about a drunken fox.

I had not joined in the revelry, and had instead lurked on the edges of the town square, keeping an eye on the northern road in case more soldiers arrived. Over the course of my watchful brooding, a dozen local women had approached to ask for a dance.

I'd spurned them all, keeping a hand on my sword-hilt and my eyes on the road.

Sister Miriam finally returned from the town's makeshift prison and leaned against the wall beside me.

"One would think after all the torture you endured at Catriona's hands, you might have sought other comfort tonight."

"I am too worried about a reprisal from Grozdan."

"None of Grozdan's soldiers escaped. He wouldn't have expected their return for a few days at least. So there's time. Besides, some volunteers are already out on sentry duty anyway." She patted my firm shoulder. "You can relax."

I sighed and looked out across the twirling crowd of dancers, picking out the curvaceous blonde with the impressive bosom who had last asked me to dance. She spun about, arm in arm with Orgumir, who had recovered enough over the past few hours to join in the revelry. Not far away, Sorunna was engaged in a drinking contest with the town blacksmith, and two of my other warriors were showing off their swords to some wide-eyed boys.

"Ah," Miriam murmured. "But you are probably thinking a pretty villager wouldn't be enough, aren't you?"

My brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"You've had a taste for the gifts of the Blessed Chain. Just a regular night of lovemaking wouldn't do it for you."

"Not every bout of lovemaking requires whips and chains," I said, even as I reached down to brush over the spot on my wrist where the manacles had bit into my skin the night before.

Despite the darkness and the veil, I caught a hungry gleam in her blue eyes.

"Do you think I need whips or chains to claim you, Anvarr?" she asked. Her thin fingers rose, brushing over my neck. I flinched but didn't pull away. "You already wear chains. At least around your soul, if not around your body yet."

Her hand trailed down my chest, fiddling with the straps of my armor.

"This morning you seemed to have nothing but distrust for me," I said, swallowing. "And now you seek to claim me?"

"Distrust and desire are not mutually exclusive," she said with a raspy laugh. "But even with that said, any distrust vanished the very moment you rode in to rescue the Baron. No questions. No hesitation. You saw a man in need and burst into action."

"It seemed the right thing to do, given my agreement with the Mother Superior."

Her fingers moved to cup my chin.

"Speak the truth, Anvarr. If you had not struck that bargain with our convent, would you still have ridden forth to the aid of an innocent man?"

I nodded without hesitation.

"I would have. What those soldiers were doing was wrong."

Her hand fell away and she looked over her shoulder to a smithy down the street.

"The blacksmith offered me his shop as lodging for the evening. If you seek more than the untrained touch of a pretty villager, come find me."

With that, Miriam turned and slipped into the shadows. My heart pounded and I brushed my fingers where she'd touched me, imagining her hands around my throat...

I shivered and looked out into the crowd of dancers. That curvaceous blonde caught my eye and winked. Though I smiled back, Miriam's gleaming blue eyes haunted me, as did the heated promise of her words.

**

A few minutes later, as if guided by an invisible chain around my neck, I wandered over to the smithy, leaving behind the rowdy festivities. I pushed open the door, finding my way inside thanks to the moonlight gleaming through gaps in the ceiling.

There was no sign of Miriam, though her robe, veil, crossbow, and daggers were all arrayed in a tidy row upon a bench.

"Miriam?" I whispered, stepping forward.

The shadows rippled to my left. I tensed, only for Miriam to step out of the darkness, wearing nothing at all. Her pale hand lashed out to clutch my throat.

Tensing, my wide eyes looked her up and down. Her form was lithe and lean: the body of a fighter and a thief. Her long limbs and toned muscles were a sharp contrast to the curves of some of the other nuns.

"You should be more aware of your surroundings, northman," she hissed, baring her teeth like a hungry beast.

"Perhaps Iwanted to stumble into your ambush."

"Given how much you enjoyed being prey last evening, I can believe that."

Her nails dug into my neck.

"Armor and clothes off. Now."

I didn't break eye contact as my trembling hands worked at the straps and buckles of my armor. The ring-mail tumbled to the floor and I kicked off my boots. The loaned robe followed a moment later, exposing my muscular chest to the cool night air.

Even as I slid my smallclothes down my thighs, Miriam did not glance down. As much as I wanted to examine her body once again, I dared not look away from that icy stare.

"Which Rite will you inflict upon me?" I asked, goosebumps prickling along my neck as her nails dug just a bit deeper.

"The Rite of the Second Torment. More enjoyable than the Rite you endured last night...in a sense."

"I suspect a smithy has a few chains lying around you could borrow," I said, trying to ease the tension in my body with a joke.

"I've no need for such things. In time, I will chain you and break you in other ways. But for now..."

Her free hand rose and brushed over my lips.

"Remain where you are. Do not move until I instruct you to do so."

Miriam released me and brushed past, her hip bumping into mine. As she strutted across the smithy, I murmured with appreciation at the sight of her toned backside and narrow hips. Moonlight gleamed across her pale skin, revealing a few faded burn scars upon her back.

She turned around and hopped up onto a bench. After staring at me for several tense moments, she parted her legs. I licked my lips at the sight of the thin patch of dark curls above her sex.

"Approach," she said in a low hiss that promised untold cruelty if I disobeyed.

After I took three steps, she raised a hand.

"Stop."

I obeyed, grinding my teeth.

With her eyes still glued to mine, she slipped her fingers between her legs.

"Approach," she said again.

I took two more long steps before she told me to halt again. Her fingers circled over her folds, teasing and toying with herself.

Mere feet away, my heart pounded with growing need. Just a few more steps and she'd be in my arms. In moments I could have been inside her, thrusting away, pounding against those narrow hips, filling the smithy with her moans...

"Approach. But do not touch."

Flinching, I took those last few steps and stood between her open legs, mere inches from tantalizingly pale skin.

"Good. No need for leashes and chains. At least for now."

Her free hand rose, bracing against my rock-hard stomach. Miriam's fingers quickened between her legs. Soft sighs fled her thin lips. Arching her back, she exposed her neck. The pale skin begged to be kissed, nuzzled, licked, bitten...

And yet I held my ground, my torment and arousal growing.

"You should have heard the whimpers and moans from the other nuns last night," she murmured. "All of us were so inflamed with desire after seeing Catriona torture you...almost all of us pleasured ourselves. The hallway of the sacred residence was filled with the sounds of bliss."