Breaing the Barbarian

I awoke to the sound of the door scraping against the stone floor. Two veiled nuns entered, bearing a large bucket of warm water, towels, soap, and a dark red robe.

"Make yourself presentable," one said. "The Mother Superior would like to break her fast with you."

Once they were gone, I used the warm water and soap to scourge away the sweat, dried blood, and grime from the previous day. I slipped into the comfortable robe and the simple boots they'd provided, before pounding on the door to tell the nuns I was ready.

They showed me down the hall, towards the far end of the residence. We passed by more engravings of Saint Morwenna in various states of submission or triumph. Paintings of whips, chains, knots, and flowers covered the ceiling.

A doorway led out into a grand garden ringed by trees with bright pink leaves. Songbirds flitted from branch to branch; bees darted between the colorful petals. At the far end of the garden was a stone stairway that led up to the wall ringing the convent.

Mother Superior Isidora sat at a little table overlooking the countryside. Before her on the table were fruit-filled bowls and two cups of steaming tea.

"I trust you slept well," she said, not taking her veiled gaze from the horizon.

"Yes," I said, before remembering her sacred title. "Yes, your holiness."

"The ordeal inflicted by Sister Catriona's skills must have left you quite famished. Sit. Drink. Eat."

I obeyed, devouring the fruit within moments.

As I sipped on the tea, I looked out over the countryside. No longer addled by pain and exhaustion, my senses were keen enough to finally take in the view. Everything was so green and verdant compared to the wild tundra and icy forests of my homeland. My admiration shifted to concern at the sight of several burned villages in the distance.

"Etmorra is a beautiful land, even with all the carnage visited upon its people," I said. "What is happening out there?"

"The wrath of Duke Grozdan," Isidora said, her voice dripping with venom. "The last Duke died with no local heirs. Thus given the intricate laws of ducal succession, the title fell to Grozdan: a cousin of a baron on the mainland. He arrived to claim his title a year ago and has been squeezing Etmorra dry ever since. To fill his own coffers, he has nearly doubled the taxes and tithes.

"When the people cannot pay, they suffer the ire of his soldiers and mercenaries. Of course, when he burns their barns and fishing boats, this just makes it harder for them to keep up with his increased demands. And thus the cycle of repression goes on and on."

"The men I killed on the beach were Grozdan's lackeys, I take it?"

"Yes. They came to the village to seize more of their sheep. Given that Grozdan had already 'requisitioned' half of their flock, the locals hesitated, and thus suffered the wrath of his men. You put a stop to that."

"Not without help," I said with a snort. "One of the villagers killed the last soldier with a pitchfork, saving me in the process." I cocked my head. "And what of the villagers? Surely Grozdan's other soldiers know their men are missing."

"I have granted the villagers sanctuary down in the sacred caverns beneath the convent, along with others who have fled Grozdan's wrath. All told, our convent supports nearly a hundred people who suffered from Grozdan's greed and cruelty."

She finally looked away from the ravaged countryside to meet my gaze. A faint breeze rustled through her veil and her long dark curls.

"Which brings me to the matter at hand: a mutually beneficial arrangement. Our friends elsewhere in Etmorra have confirmed the survival of other shipwrecked northerners. We do not know yet if the survivors include your comrades or your brother, but we should be able to find out.

"We can thus help you find your brother, allowing you to enact your vengeance. We can even arrange for passage back to Kovgaard; merchant ships occasionally stop here before heading north."

My eyes narrowed.

"And the price of such assistance?"

"Grozdan's men are already looking for the man who killed those soldiers on the beach. They suspect that the killer was a northman, given the others who washed up on the shore. A man as conspicuous as you will be noticed if you leave the convent or try to go to the port to seek passage. It will only be a matter of time before Grozdan's wrath finds you."

"And it is only a matter of time before Grozdan's dogs come for

you

," I pointed out. "Surely the Duke already knows that you are offering shelter to his rebellious subjects."

"Indeed. Hence the need for a mutually beneficial arrangement. I can keep you safe for the time being and help confirm the survival of Hoskuld and the other northerners, and arrange for a ship back home for you once your bloody work is done. All I ask is that you extend the scope of your vengeance to include Grozdan."

"You want me to be your assassin," I said, my brow furrowing. "I know little about your Saint Morwenna but I can't imagine her approving of rebellion or murder."

"Indeed, the scriptures do prevent the direct taking of life. But I would not be taking his life.

You

would be." She raised an eyebrow, the expression barely visible through the dark silken veil. "Why the sudden qualms about killing? You have no reservations about killing your brother or his men, nor about those men at the beach. And yet you balk at the prospect of overthrowing a corrupt Duke?"

"This Duke sounds like a man who needs a blade to the heart," I said with a low growl. "But your struggle against him is not my concern."

"Are you so certain that you can find your own way back? When a big lumbering northman like you shows up in the port, asking for passage home...someone is going to notice. You'll have Grozdan's knives in your back before you could board a ship. The Duke is already your enemy, and stands between you and your quest."

I glared down at the half-empty teacup, then out towards the burned villages.

This was not my land or my war. Grozdan, cruel and tyrannical as he was, had done me no direct harm. The soldiers who'd accosted me on the beach would have done so regardless of which Duke ruled over them.

And yet the Mother Superior's words rang true. Skilled as I was in the ways of battle, I knew little of Etmorra and would not survive for long as an outsider. Given my lack of money and connections, I had no hope of securing passage aboard a ship without drawing attention to myself.

"If this is what it takes, so be it," I said, my voice coming out as a low, hungry rumble. "I swear upon my blood and iron that I shall see Duke Grozdan dead."

"Excellent," she said, patting the back of my hand. "There is, however, another matter. As you may have surmised from what occurred last night, there is no small amount of interest in you. We receive few visitors. Fewer still with your..." Her eyes twinkled beneath the veil. "

Stature

."

"If I will be a distraction to your nuns, I can camp outside the walls, or down in the caverns below with the refugees."

"If you wish. Of course...you may also wish to explore the other cruel delights of my Sisterhood. To learn more of the triumphs and trials of Saint Morwenna. To endure further Rites."

Warmth rippled through me at that notion. While the trials of the night before had been excruciating, they had also been...enlightening. That rough, cruel treatment had ignited desires in me I hadn't thought possible. To be bound and broken like that was a path I still wanted to explore.

"And if I tired of such attention, I could still leave?"

"Of course, of course. Any binding will be of your own volition. You are our guest, not a slave. Although do keep in mind that Sister Catriona still owes you another strike of that lash."

Given that my back still bore abrasions from the redheaded nun's efforts, it was not something I could have forgotten.

I shivered once more at the thought of being chained and used. To be broken and remade, to be tortured and granted release...

"I would like to take some time to think about it," I murmured, feeling a spark of shame at the thought of submitting so quickly. "First I need to get back down to the beach, to scavenge for more supplies and to see to the fallen."

Once the dead were laid to rest, I could then focus on the cruel delights of the Sisterhood.

"Of course. I shall send Sister Miriam with you. Of all the Sisters here, she is the one you will want at your side in case of trouble."

I nodded, recalling the way that Sister Miriam had so deftly sliced away my sweaty tunic with her blade.

"I have to say...this is quite the curious convent."

"Did you have much experience with nuns and convents in Kovgaard?"

Shaking my head, I chuckled.

"No, but I've heard stories. After my father was captured at the Battle of Fellhaven, some nuns tended to his wounds and cared for him despite the fact that he'd been their enemy. I never would have imagined such women capable of the things you unleashed upon me last night."

"Is every clan and tribe in Kovgaard the same? Do they all share the same customs and practices?"

"Of course not."

"So it is with the holy orders. Some are pious, chaste, and celibate. Some focus on observing the stars, the study of the human body, or the pondering of abstract religious concepts. Some brew beer or tend to sacred horses. Our Sisterhood is but one of many different expressions of the divine."

"Your Saint Morwenna then is...what? A goddess?"

"I suggest that you pester Sister Miriam with these questions during your ride back down to the beach. Though talented in many respects, she does need further work with theological matters. She could use the practice in explaining our customs to an outsider."

**

I waited outside the gate, staring across the countryside, wondering if Hoskuld still drew breath. Part of me hoped that he had died, choking on blood and seawater. Such an ignoble death was more than he deserved, of course.

No. I needed more than just his death. I needed him to face me once more in battle, in a trial of iron and blood. Only then could we both restore our honor.

Thus I clung to the hope that he had lived and found shelter somewhere on the island. Perhaps the wretch would save me a bit of trouble and decide to fight for Grozdan. Then I could kill both my brother and the Duke, satisfying my oaths to both my king and the Mother Superior.

The gate opened behind me. A veiled nun strode out, leading two horses. One of them had my ring-mail draped over its rump, with my looted hatchet strapped to the saddlebag.

"Sister Miriam?" I asked. During the frenzied haze of my 'torture' the night before, I hadn't gotten a good look at the veiled woman.

"Yes," she said, her voice sounding almost bored. "Don your armor and mount up. We must be quick. Grozdan's patrols will be out in force after the death of his men yesterday."

Through the veil, I caught a hint of icy blue eyes and a thin pale face.

"You should have cast all of the corpses into the sea before leaving," she said. "Leaving evidence behind has complicated matters for you."

"I was bleeding out from a wound to the back at the time. Nor was I in any condition to drag bodies around," I said, donning my ring-mail.

To my surprise, the damage to the armor had already been patched. I paused to marvel at the craftsmanship, earning an annoyed huff from Miriam.

"You act as if it is your first time seeing armor. Mount up."

I swung myself into the saddle of the large horse, patting its neck to reassure it and allow it to adjust to my presence.

As we moved down the cobblestone road, I noticed that Miriam had a crossbow slung over her back and had donned a belt of knives.

"This Sisterhood is full of surprises. Wicked, sensuous torturers who wield crossbows and daggers."

Miriam said nothing.

"The Mother Superior said that I should pester you about the tenets and history of your faith. She said you needed the practice."

"Yes," she murmured, her voice low and tense. "She told me that as well. I had hoped a small-minded reaver such as yourself would have forgotten her suggestion so that we could ride in peace."

"Peace it is, then," I said with a shrug.

Miriam looked over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing beneath the veil.

"That is it? No pestering?"

"A personal rule of mine is to never annoy a woman who has more than three knives on her person."

A soft, surprisingly musical laugh erupted through the veil.

"Perhaps not so small-minded after all." She sighed. "But you perhaps should pester me. We'll have some time before we make it down from the safety of the hills; once we reach the beach we'll need to be on our guard. There won't be much time for talk of theology."

"I can pester another sister about theology; I'd prefer to pester you about how a nun comes to know how to use a crossbow and knives. The Sisters are forbidden from taking lives, are they not?"

"I learned the tricks of the blade and crossbow before I took the vows, Anvarr. And in terms of killing: this crossbow has a weaker string than a traditional one. So at worst, the bolts will just nick the skin. But I coat my bolts and blades in a stunning venom: a stronger version of the one we put into your wine last night. So I can stun, slow, or paralyze my foes without breaking my holy vows."

"A clever circumvention of the rules."

"Half the work of religious life is finding clever circumventions of the rules." She snorted. "And since I know you are going to pester me further about how I learned to use such weapons: I was a thief and a thug before this life. I ran with a gang of pirates and smugglers in Asparra: a violent and ugly life. One that I longed to escape from. The Sisterhood provided that escape. And that is all you need to know about my old trade."

Keeping in mind my personal rule about not annoying an armed woman, I didn't press her for further details. From what little I'd heard of the teeming, crime-ridden city of Asparra, Miriam must have had a hard life indeed before taking the holy vows.

"Back to theology, then," I said as our horses navigated the narrow, steep stone road that weaved between the rocky hills. "Who exactly is Saint Morwenna?"

"She was an herbalist who was born in Etmorra, before the Empire unified the duchies and brought the island under Imperial rule. When the Empire eventually did invade, she was arrested for suspicion of witchcraft, due to her knowledge of herblore.

"When the inquisitors bound and tortured her, she reveled in the pain and submission. Within her cries of joy, the inquisitors heard the whispers of heaven. Her sacred submission revealed that she was not in fact an evil witch, and that her work was in fact sacred. The inquisitors were so awed by the beauty of her submission and the revelations she inspired, that they in turn submitted to her."

That explained the differing depictions of the woman: bound and helpless in some paintings, triumphant and domineering in others.

"And as those inquisitors had tried to break her, Saint Morwenna in turn broke them. She showed them the fragments of the divine that could be glimpsed through submission and surrender. Her influence caused the inquisitors to repeal the laws against the use and study of certain herbs. Medical and botanical knowledge blossomed across the Empire. Many of the healing tonics and herbal bandages we use today are a direct result of her teachings and influence."

While the tale sounded a bit far-fetched, so did many of the stories told back in Kovgaard. Around the campfires in my clan's village, the shamans had shared grandiose stories of warriors wielding bows made of moonlight, and trees coming to life to inflict terrors upon the unjust. How could I dismiss Miriam's tales, when I still clung to the fables of my youth?

"That all sounds quite...wondrously wicked," I murmured, tingling a little at the thought of Catriona, Isidora, or even Miriam undergoing such a transformation. "It's a wonder the Sisterhood is not more widespread or popular."

"Despite those reforms, the duchies are still generally prudish places," she said with a snort. "So while our teachings and practices are not banned outright, they are frowned upon, save for in Saint Morwenna's homeland."

I still had countless questions, but we reached the base of the hill before I could raise them. Miriam readied her crossbow and loaded a poison-tipped bolt. Though we'd not sighted any signs of trouble, I drew my hatchet nonetheless.

We passed by the burned remains of the coastal village. Crows perched upon the ashen roofs. The bodies that had dangled from the burned structures were no longer present, likely already taken down and put to rest by their kin.

Gulls and crows picked at the dead Kovgaardians upon the shore. They scattered as I dismounted, while Miriam hopped onto a large boulder to keep watch.

I stripped the dead of their remaining weapons and what little coin they had. None of the dead carried any of the treasures stolen from Ulrik's royal hoard; no doubt the trove had fallen into the depths along with the ruptured ships and the other corpses. My quest had not been to recover the stolen gold, however. Ulrik had commanded me to bring Hoskuld to justice, and that was all. Gold could be replaced, after all, while honor could not.

Six of the fallen had been part of my crew, and I arrayed their bodies in a neat, orderly line. The five corpses from Hoskuld's band received no such treatment. Without ceremony, I dragged them into the water to let the waves take them.

"You do not honor all of the dead in the same way?" Miriam asked.

"Those were my brother's men. Treacherous dogs, one and all. Some were friends and comrades...once. They destroyed such bonds by helping my brother steal from King Ulrik."

"So you sailed across the sea in the name of a king that you yourself dueled against."

"Just as I do not understand all of the customs of your faith, I do not expect you to understand all of the ways of Kovgaard." I gave the floating, traitorous corpses a long glare. "I stood against King Ulrik in my brother's place, because to do otherwise would have shamed and dishonored the family. And now because my brother's attempted theft dishonored the family further, I now must make it right."

"And your king will welcome you back with open arms if you succeed?"

"Yes. I swore a vow to him, and he in turn swore a vow to me."

"And if you fail? What will befall your remaining kin?"

"Ulrik is a merciful king. My family will suffer dishonor and exile, but not death."

"From what I have heard of Kovgaard, dishonor is but another form of death, though."

"Indeed. Which is why I must succeed."

Once my fallen comrades had been arrayed, I sliced open the back of my hand, drawing a bit of blood. Each corpse received a sacred rune upon their forehead, marking them as honorable warriors. With their bodies sanctified, I weighed down their clothing with stones and dragged them out to sea, one by one.

The gods of the deep would consume them. If the hungry gods smiled upon their deeds, they would ensure that the souls of the honorable dead found their way to a well-deserved paradise, joining their glorious and honorable ancestors.

Breathless from the exertion, I stumbled back up the beach.

"I am sorry for your friends," Miriam said. "If they sailed all this way for the sake of your family, they must have been good men."

Despite the sorrow gripping my heart, I managed to grin.

"Half of them sailed with me for a chance at loot and glory, not for the sake of my family's honor. But even the greedy wretches were a decent sort. And they died well." My smile faded. "I just hope that others survived. I will need more aid if I am to take down Grozdan."

Once I was back on my horse, she did not lead us southward back to the road. Instead she guided us northward, past the burned village and an overgrown wheatfield.