Breaking the Barbarian Ch. 04

Snarling, I pulled myself out of her, only to grab her hips and shove her down to the ground. Once on her hands and knees upon the floor, she tilted her ass up towards me.

A command. An invitation.

One I accepted with a wild, hungry grin.

Kneeling behind her, I gripped her dark curls and settled my cock back inside that tight sex. A moment later I was plowing into her with even greater intensity, her body rippling and trembling beneath the onslaught.

Isidora cried out with joy at each impact of my hips. My own groans and cries entwined with hers, creating a wicked, lustful chorus within the sacred chamber.

"Yes, yes, yes," she growled, her eyes fluttering. "Saint Morwenna, grant this man your-"

The words broke down. She went limp beneath me, save for the twitching and bucking of her hips.

I had enough sense of mind to moan out her name before I tumbled over the edge. The eruption of my seed overflowed from her sex. Droplets leaked out onto the stone, adding another debauched offering to the sacred cavern.

My growls devolved into needy sobs and my powerful thrusts slowed to gentle pulses against her. My hand loosened its grip on her hair and I leaned down, lazily kissing the back of her neck.

"Well done," Isidora cooed. "I am glad that you can conquer as well as surrender. There is joy to be found in both approaches, yes?"

"Absolutely," I murmured, licking the back of her neck.

I slipped out of her and slumped against the ground. The nun turned and brushed some sweaty curls out of her face. With an impish grin she moved to straddle my torso, her nails raking up and down my chest.

"I fear I don't have the strength left for much more," I said with a weary grin.

"Neither do I. But the way you laid back like that...irresistible."

She leaned down, giving me a slow kiss. I grunted as her thigh brushed against my softening cock.

"Is this the sort of treatment you inflict upon every man who visits your convent?" I asked, grinning.

"No, no. This was all Catriona's doing, really. After she told me about how you'd grabbed her wrist in your pained fury, Miriam joked that you should be punished. That ignited all sorts of wicked ideas in their heads...and here we are. We usually only bestow such gifts upon the worthy."

She cocked her head.

"And I admit...there were other factors. I knew that we needed help against Grozdan and that it would be easier to entice you with the prospect of wicked delights."

I gave her backside a playful squeeze, as if to punish her for that scheme.

"I would have helped, regardless. The offer of finding Hoskuld and a trip home would have been reward enough."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Are you complaining about the manner in which I chose to recruit you?"

"Not at all," I said, grinning and squeezing her backside again.

Leaning down, Isidora gave me another slow kiss, then rolled away.

"Come along, Anvarr. There is still more work to be done tonight."

**

My wild encounter with the Mother Superior filled me with newfound strength to face the next day. As the cargo ships set sail, I led my warriors, Sister Miriam, and a dozen of Baron Rikard's rebels on a swift northward ride.

We trotted along the old stone roads that had been laid down by conquering imperial troops more than a century ago, occasionally veering into the countryside to avoid villages loyal to Grozdan. Our path took us through mossy fens, teeming forests, and long stretches of looted farmland.

When we made camp on a hill overlooking long stretches of untamed grassland, I sighed and looked out over the horizon, marveling at the greenery and the sprawling wilderness.

"What a beautiful battleground," I murmured.

"And I thought I'd never see a place prettier than Fellhaven," Orgumir said as he passed out rations of bread and dried meat. "But I'm realizing now that Fellhaven was too tamed by comparison. Too conquered. Too many towns, walls, and villages. Far more farms and mills. Here in Etmorra, the wilderness still seems to fight back."

"I've always found it dull," said Miriam, looking up from her meal. "And I've heard the north is a place of true, untamed beauty. Endless tundra, frosty forests, mountains of ice..."

"Aye, it's beautiful," I said. "Though the beauty is somewhat lessened by how bloody dangerous it is. If a wolf or a bear doesn't kill you, the winter's bite will, or the blade of a rival warrior." I glanced over my shoulder. "What's Asparra like? Does it compare at all to this?"

"The city of Asparra itself is a damned cesspit, for about two thirds of the population. Slums and hovels and wretched streets. The palace districts are paradises: slices of heaven within the mortal world. The countryside beyond the city, though..." She smiled and closed her eyes. "Beautiful. Wide plains of golden grass. Rolling hills lined with blue-leaved trees. The low mountains rising like dragon's teeth from the edge of the sea..."

"You miss it?"

"Parts of it. I certainly do not miss the bounty hunters and rival gangs who made my life a living hell."

"You traded one set of thugs for another," said Sorunna as she warmed her tattooed hands beside the fire.

"Not for long," I said with a firm nod. "If Grozdan doesn't take the bait after our port raid, I daresay he might do so once we attack that winery of his and free the other northmen."

As Miriam and I kept watch, one of Baron Rikard's knights sang a sad, slow song about a legendary knight who had lost his beloved horse. The next verse shifted into a lament for the mythical hero's fallen comrade, and then the loss of his beautiful lover.

"What a damned unfortunate song," I said under my breath.

"Depends on who is listening to it, I suppose," said Miriam. "That song is about Sir Ernaut from Asparra. To Asparrans, he's a legend and a hero. But in Tsannor, just across the border from Asparra, the myths depict him as a butcher and a madman. So if Catriona were here, she'd probably scowl at the sound of that song."

"Hard to imagine her scowling, except in a playful, sexual way."

"Oh, she has some fire in her, given what she's endured."

I frowned, realizing I'd never really gotten the chance to ask Catriona how she'd ended up in the convent. During her lessons on herblore, I'd pestered her about her past, but she had dodged the question.

"She never really told me much, other than that she was from Tsannor."

Miriam's soft laugh rolled down the hillside.

"By Saint Morwenna's grace, you don't know?" When I shook my head, she grinned and continued. "She's a duchess. Or at least she could be again, if she claimed the title."

My eyes widened, shocked that I'd had a duchess's lips around my cock, and had spilled my seed deep within a woman of such high status.

"Gods, that sounds like quite a tale."

"Her father was the brother of the Duke of Tsannor, but far removed from the succession. When the Duke died fighting Asparra, the Duke's brother started to pick off his successors. One by one. Poisonings, staged accidents, murders in the night...seven corpses in all, until the Duke's brother himself took the title.

"He ruled for years, bringing Tsannor into a golden age of sorts. He never had other children, so Catriona stood to inherit it all."

I brushed my fingers over my wrist, recalling how Catriona had bound and used me a few nights before. Memories of soft laughs and gentle touches sent a shiver down my spine. How could such a kind and vibrant woman have been the child of such a monster?

"When she eventually found evidence of the murders, she allied with Asparra to overthrow her father. Which was unthinkable for a Tsannoran to do, given the rivalry between the Duchies and the centuries of tension. Rather than keep the title, she abdicated in favor of a distant claimant chosen by Asparra, and then took the holy vows."

"And her father?"

"Dead in an Asparran dungeon. Tsannor now prospers, but as a puppet of their old rivals. There's talk of unrest, of course, but things are as peaceful as they've ever been."

"You were a thief, Catriona was the heir to a duchy...does every nun have some dark and ugly past?"

"Far from it. Some were just women who had nowhere else to go, or who didn't want to settle into arranged marriages. Many of them are just fascinated with herblore and never really delved into the more wicked rituals. Some are just people who wanted to find a way to help."

"And Isidora?"

Miriam said nothing for several long, tense moments.

"I know she started her holy journey with another order, dedicated to another saint. Beyond that, I've no idea how she ended up with the Sisterhood of the Blessed Chain. So it is not my place to speculate."

In silence we kept watch, until Sorunna and one of Rikard's men relieved us.

At dawn we continued our ride, slipping past burned farms and abandoned wineries. In the afternoon we had to dart off the main road to avoid a larger patrol of Grozdan's knights. Though we likely could have taken them had we prepared an ambush, our priority for now remained my fellow Kovgaardians at the winery.

As we guided our horses down a dirt road that weaved between redwood trees, the stench of smoke wafted upon the wind.

"Another village fallen to Grozdan's greed," Sorunna said with a low growl.

Miriam scowled beneath her veil but said nothing. When the road brought us to the edge of the forest and back onto the rolling hills of the countryside, we caught sight of smoke rising from the northeast.

"Not a village," Miriam hissed. "That's coming from the winery."

My scowl soon matched the nun's. Had the prisoners somehow escaped? Was Hoskuld on the run with his other warriors after torching the winery?

I drew my axe and spurred my horse onwards.

The road crested the next hill, bringing our destination into view. A low stone wall ringed the winery, which included a barn, stables, a small but opulent manor made of blue stone, and a row of small huts. Several dozen horses milled about beyond the gates. Vast seas of grapevines stretched beyond the winery's walls: untouched and unspoiled.

A great inferno had enveloped the barn and parts of the central manor. Figures darted back and forth amidst the smoke.

Axe in hand and rage building in my heart, I sent my horse racing down the road. Miriam and Orgumir both shouted after me.

Heedless of their concern and caring only for the fate of my wretched brother, I ignored their cries and continued my mad ride towards the doomed estate.

As I closed in, I caught sight of six men in chainmail and half-helms standing in front of the gate. Blood dripped from their axes and spears. Ash marred their blue cloaks.

They shouted and braced themselves, weapons at the ready.

"Halt!" they bellowed.

"Anvarr!" Miriam yelled from behind me.

Snarling, I dismounted and unslung the shield from my back, ready to charge through those six men if I had to.

"Stop!" Miriam shouted again. "These are Baron Selwyn's men."

"And why should I bloody care?" I growled, stepping forward.

"They are foes of Grozdan," she reminded me, her words rapid and tense. "Their lands have suffered just as much as Rikard's."

"Indeed," one of the spearmen said, his weapon shaking in his grasp as he looked between me and the other riders. "We received word that one of Grozdan's lieutenants was sheltering here, so we took a chance and struck. Rikard no longer stands alone against the duke."

"This northlander is also an enemy of Grozdan's," Miriam said to the soldier as she patted my weapon. "He means you no harm. He was...looking for people: northlanders who were being kept here as prisoners."

The soldier shrugged.

"I don't know. Some of Grozdan's men ran into the barn after we took the manor. Rather than storm the place we set it ablaze. Heard lots of screaming. Maybe your northlanders could have been in there."

Cold fury gripped my heart and limbs. Snarling, I took three quick steps forward, my axe raised. Miriam moved in a blur, interposing herself between me and the soldiers.

"Stop," she hissed. "I know that you are angry, but I also know that you are capable of controlling yourself, Anvarr. You are not a beast."

"These fucking dogs may have burned alive my other warriors," I hissed, my sweaty hand clenching around my axe.

"I know. But wrath will not change that. Instead, let us go inside and see what happened. I will be there, Anvarr. Right there with you."

She closed in, grasping my hand and forcing me to lower my axe.

After taking several moments to glare at her, I took a deep breath and lowered my shield. Baron Selwyn's men kept their weapons at the ready, watching me with wary eyes as Miriam led me through the gate.

Inside the manor's courtyard, several more blue-cloaked rebels looted a dozen green-cloaked corpses. Heat wafted from the burning barn and manor. Several of the men coughed and choked upon the rising tide of smoke.

My wide, angry eyes settled on the barn. The blackened wood creaked. Part of the roof gave way, kicking up a wave of ash and soot.

With a howl, I brushed past Miriam and charged the smoldering barn door. After tearing away the spear that had been used to jam the door shut, I grabbed the scalding handle and pulled, growling through the pain.

Smoke billowed outwards.

Two dozen charred corpses were scattered about within, some pierced with arrows or spears. Many had been crushed beneath burned beams, others had likely collapsed from breathing in so much smoke. The stench of burning flesh assailed my nostrils.

Heedless of the fire raging around me, I snarled and pushed inside.

"Hoskuld!" I bellowed.

My cold, rational mind knew full well that my brother could not have survived that inferno. But my enraged, aggrieved heart forced me further into the fiery carnage.

Miriam cried out my name. I ignored her and pressed onward, even as embers rained down upon my head.

On the far side of the barn, pinned beneath a wooden beam, was the man I'd traveled all this way to kill.

My nemesis. My comrade. My brother.

His skin was bloody, blackened, and burned. Those long wild blonde locks had been singed and scorched. To my horror, his hands were bound with iron manacles. His pale, ash-covered face stared lifelessly up at the ceiling of the burning barn.

He'd died in chains.

Howling, I rushed towards him. Burning debris fell down around me. After hacking apart the wooden beam with my axe, I grabbed my dead brother's legs and tugged, dragging him over the ash and past the burned bodies of his friends and captors.

Miriam rushed in to help me. The burning roof gave way behind us, collapsing down upon the other bodies.

Once outside, I swayed and staggered before falling to my knees beside my brother's sizzling corpse.

Orgumir approached, frowning.

"Fangs of the gods," he cursed. "Why are you so upset, Anvarr? The bastard's gone to the gods now. All we need to do is return home and-"

I lashed out and my fist would have connected with his face had Miriam's swift slap not turned the blow at the last moment. My old friend flinched, his eyes widening.

"He deserved to die with honor!" I shouted as Miriam's grip tightened around my wrist, keeping me from reeling back for another blow. "With a sword in hand and fury in his heart. Not choking on smoke, dying like an animal in a gods-damned barn. He deserved a chance for a warrior's death, a chance to regain a shred of his dignity. And..."

I swayed, nearly overcome by the smoke that had filled my lungs.

After a sob, I sagged back down beside my brother's body, resting one hand upon his chest.

"I am sorry, Hoskuld," I murmured as a wall of the barn collapsed behind me. "I am sorry that I was not a better brother. That I did not see the signs of your treachery before it was too late. I could have...could have stopped you. Turned you back to the right path. And for the rest of my days, I will regret that I failed to give you a warrior's death."

I closed my eyes, fought off the tears, and let out a low snarl.

Though my family's honor would be restored as soon as I returned with news of Hoskuld's death, I felt not a spark of triumph.

Only grief.

Grief for a brother who had fought and hunted at my side. Grief for a brother who had saved my life in battle. Grief for a brother whose greed had shattered our family. Grief for a brother who had nearly gotten me killed a dozen times over. Grief for a brother who would not have wept for me.

"Anvarr," Miriam said, resting her hand on my shoulder.

After long last grim look down at my brother, I met the nun's gaze.

Behind her, a dozen blue-cloaked riders approached the gate. Foremost among them was a tall, lean man with long, curly red hair. He wore a breastplate flecked with gold and bore a longsword with a ruby-studded hilt. His weapons and armor were no doubt worth a small fortune.

He dismounted and slowly approached, his hand resting upon his glittering sword-hilt.

"Gods, what happened here?" he asked, looking between me and the burned barn.

"Baron Selwyn," Miriam said with a slight bow of her head. "This is Anvarr of Kovgaard. The man who has been helping the resistance."

"And this is my brother," I said, resting a hand upon Hoskuld's chest. "He was burned alive by your men."

Selwyn glanced to the ash-spattered soldiers who had stormed the manor.

"Is this true?"

"Yes, milord," a spearman said. "We had orders to attack the manor, so we attacked. We only saw Grozdan's men here, and when they ran into the barn, we set it ablaze. Had no idea anybody else was in there."

"There could have been innocent women and children sheltering within," Selwyn said in a low growl. "Were you in such a rush that you could not have at least done a minimum of reconnoitering before putting it to the torch? A glance through a gap in the walls, perhaps? Even a simple shout to offer mercy before unleashing that inferno?"

"I apologize, milord. We just wanted to finish them off and make our retreat before enemy reinforcements could arrive."

The baron sighed and knelt beside me.

"I am sorry, Anvarr. War makes fools of us all, I'm afraid. I know I can do nothing for your brother now, save to loan you a wagon so you can take him somewhere to lay him to rest."

"And you can help me kill Grozdan," I said with a snarl. "The duke's men took my brother captive, after all. Were it not for Grozdan, my brother would still draw breath."

And then he could have faced an honorable death.

"Believe me, Anvarr, I want that duke dead just as much as you. Perhaps even more," Selwyn said with a cold smile, before turning and shouting for his men to bring a wagon into the fire-ravaged compound.

We waited for the fire in the barn to die down, and dragged out the other ashen corpses. One by one we loaded the dead into the wagon. Most were so burned that it was impossible to tell if they had been from Hoskuld's warband or my own.

As Selwyn's men kept watch in the countryside for reinforcements from other ducal troops, we took the wagon back towards the forest, where we dug graves for the dead.

One by one we laid the dead to rest, placing a simple stone over each grave. I used a chisel to carve a warding rune onto each one, to protect them from foul spirits.

"If he is dead and buried, how will you prove the success of your quest?" one of Rikard's militiamen asked.

"The witches and shamans can scry the truth with certain rituals," Sorunna answered. "They will test us when we return and see the truth in the sacred flames."

For several minutes I stood above Hoskuld's grave.

"Anvarr," Miriam said with a tenderness I hadn't heard from the nun before. "I need to see to those burns."

My grief and the determination to bury the dead had kept the pain at bay, reducing it to a dull ache. I sank down onto a nearby log, allowing Miriam to swathe the burns with healing oils.