Breaing the Barbarian

When we met in Baron Rikard's command tent the next morning, the elderly baron no longer looked to be on the verge of death. Though he still leaned heavily on a cane for support, the nuns' skills had warded off the infection and returned some vitality to his battered body.

Also in attendance were Miriam, Isidora, Orgumir, and one of Rikard's senior knights. Before us on the table was a map of the duchy.

"Word will soon reach Grozdan at Saerkell about Selwyn's attempted betrayal," I said, pointing to the fortress on the map. "But he will not have all the facts. He'll have no idea that our force is mostly intact, or who exactly survived."

"So we sweeten the bait," Miriam said. Even through the veil, I could see her wolfish grin. "We spread word that the Mother Superior and Baron Rikard have fallen, along with our Kovgaardian friends. We let Grozdan think we're weaker than we are...he comes marching out of Saerkell, and we ambush him on the road."

"When we were out foraging last week, I spotted a damned fine ambush spot along the road from Saerkell to Rikard's barony," Orgumir said with a wolfish grin. "The road cuts right through a pass in the hills: lots of cover, little room for troops on the road to maneuver."

"I know the place," Miriam said, nodding. "And I agree that it would be an ugly spot for Grozdan to be caught in."

Isidora sighed and tapped the table.

"As grim as it is for a holy sister to help plan a bloody battle, I also concur. The forests near that road are filled with ingredients that may be useful as well. Mushrooms that can be set ablaze to create fumes that inflame the eyes, herbs that can dull the senses..."

The Mother Superior looked to me.

"Go forth with Sister Miriam, your men, and the best of Rikard's scouts. Make sure the area near that pass is secure, and Miriam can lead the foraging efforts. A few of Rikard's men can scout Saerkell, to watch for when the duke moves. And if he falls for the bait and marches forth..."

Her fist thudded onto the map.

"We end his tyranny and set Etmorra back on the path to prosperity."

After a deep breath, she reached out and took hold of my wrist and spoke with a tenderness she'd never displayed to me in public before.

"And tread carefully, Anvarr." She reached for Miriam, taking hold of her hand as well. "And you too, Sister."

"Don't worry, your holiness," Miriam said with a crooked grin. "I'll look after him."

**

Miriam 'looking after me' resulted in quite the wild fuck during our first night on the road. Mere minutes after I'd pitched my tent, Miriam had grabbed me by the hand and dragged me inside. In a frenzy we'd torn off our clothes and she'd pushed me back onto my bedroll.

Despite her smaller frame, she had little trouble forcing me down and gripping both of my wrists, pinning them back behind my head.

"I don't have the time or patience to bind you," she hissed. "So keep your hands to yourself."

Miriam raked one hand across my chest, her nails drawing wondrous red lines against my pale skin. Leaning down, she sank her teeth into my neck, growling as she nibbled.

Her teeth clamped down for a harsher bite as she slipped my cock inside of her. I grunted, though her needy growls drowned out the sounds of my own bliss. Keeping her teeth affixed to my flesh, she rocked her hips in quick, savage little movements that left us both breathless.

"You fuck like a woman of Kovgaard," I managed in between soft grunts. "Wild and fierce."

Miriam gave me another bite and lifted her head, glaring down at me as she braced her hands against my chest.

"The women of your land are soft little weaklings compared to me," she snarled.

"Prove it," I said, flashing her a defiant grin.

And by the gods, did she rise to the challenge.

One hand grasped my neck, her nails biting deep. The other raked up and down my chest, turning my body into a tapestry of lustful violence. As she clawed at me, her narrow hips rocked up and down: heedless of my own pleasure, caring only for her own.

And yet her disregard for my bliss ignited my own lusts even more. The knowledge that I was a tool, a toy, something for her to use...

I groaned and rocked my hips.

She continued to claw and slash at me, still maintaining perfect control and never quite breaking the skin. Wild, bestial growls and moans flooded the tent.

"Make yourself useful," Miriam said with a wild grin. "Fingers between my legs. Now."

Wanting to test her, I instead grunted and gripped her hips.

Her claw-like hand grasped at my cheek, her nails scraping against my skin.

"Obey or I'll roll away and finish myself off."

I flinched at that threat and the sting of her nails. My shaking hand moved between her legs and I rolled my thumb over her folds. In moments I'd found her clit. Focusing upon it, I traced my thumb in rapid circles around it, causing her to clench around my cock and rock her hips even faster.

"I can see it in your eyes," she growled. "The light of Saint Morwenna. The fire of surrender."

I managed a shaky laugh until her fingers dug into my neck once more, sending a pulse of pain through my body but not quite cutting off my breath.

She leaned her head back and murmured a prayer. Her hips went still, her thighs shaking against mine. Those bright blue eyes fluttered and a delirious, wild grin spread across her pale face.

In breathless silence, Miriam reached her climax. For half a minute she loomed above me like a triumphant conqueror, her thighs tensing, her sex clenching.

"Your turn," she said, batting my hand away from her sex.

I gripped her hips once more and pounded up against her. Her lithe body writhed and bounced, allowing me to do all the work.

Given that she'd been doing most of the work for the first half of our lovemaking, it was only fair. The grip of her hand and the bite of her nails spurred me on, each burst of pain cracking like a whip upon my soul.

"Come for me," she growled, her eyes twitching as I gave her my fiercest, deepest thrust yet. "In Saint Morwenna's name."

When I tumbled over the edge, I did so solely for Miriam, not for some strange and mysterious Saint. My hands clutched against her, nearly as tightly as she'd gripped my neck. With my body ablaze with need, my back arched against the bedroll, my neck tensing as I flailed my head from side to side. Wild blonde hair cascaded over my face, hiding her from view.

And yet I did not need to see her in order to surrender.

My growl of relief and release filled the tent, the sounds coiling around her soft laugh of triumph.

After one last rock of my shaking hips, I relaxed and let out a thrumming groan.

"That was...unusually aggressive," I said, grinning down at the marks she'd left upon my body. "Even for you. Not that I am complaining, of course. I quite like it."

Sighing, she rested her forehead against mine.

"The fight back at the convent set my blood ablaze. Built up all this tension...couldn't think of another way to release it."

"Spoken like a Kovgaardian. We celebrate with lovemaking both before and after battle." I snorted. "Sometimes during, at least according to some of the myths of my people."

"Tell me one of those myths, then," she said, rocking her hips a little, drawing forth a grunt from my trembling lips.

"The tale of the Wolf-Daughter," I said with a fond smile. "There was a warrior named Meldrun who sought to tame the clans, uniting them all into a true kingdom. He dueled and slaughtered many rival jarls and chieftains along the way. After every victory, he would purge the entire family of the defeated chieftain, to remove any potential rivals. One such jarl had a young daughter; despite Meldrun's bloodlust, he was unable to bring himself to kill a mere child."

She huffed.

"I was hoping for a wicked and bawdy tale. You're off to a poor start."

"Patience," I said, giving her taut backside a playful swat before continuing. "Meldrun instead left the child to die. Ravens came for the girl, seeking an easy meal, but she was strong despite her age, and fended them off. Then a bear came, but the little girl was clever, and hid beneath a fallen tree until the bear passed.

"A pack of wolves watched the entire time. Eager for meat, the wolves closed in, but the fierce girl managed to stab the eye of one of the wolves. Impressed by her ferocity, the wolves welcomed her as one of their own, taking her with them into the woods.

"For years she lived within the forest, hunting alongside the wolves and learning the ways of the wild. She became more beast than woman, howling at the moon, running on all fours...and word spread of this strange she-beast. Since she had no name, the rumors instead called her the Wolf-Daughter.

"Meldrun's son Kethulf came of age as well, and led his father's armies in wars against rival clans. After one such battle, Kethulf chased his foes into the Wolf-Daughter's forest. The wolves fell upon the retreating warriors, devouring them and staining the snow with blood.

"Kethulf was thus denied his true victory and did not win the glory he had hoped for. Angered, he wandered through the woods in search of the wolves and the Wolf-Daughter. After Kethulf wounded one of her wolf-kin, the Wolf-Daughter attacked, biting and nearly killing the young warrior. They dueled and hunted one another for hours. Their clashes lasted for days in some versions of the tale.

"And when Kethulf's lucky sword-strike took out the Wolf-Daughter's eye, she had the same revelation that the wolf-pack did when they'd found her. Though wounded, she was impressed by his ferocity. Rather than kill him, she offered herself to him, taking him as a lover."

Miriam's soft laugh filled the tent, and she pulled herself off of my cock.

"That's ridiculous. She loses an eye and then spreads her legs for him a moment later?"

"It's just a story," I said, giving her backside another playful swat. "If it did really happen, I suspect the truth was a bit less...harsh."

"Continue with your silly tale, Anvarr," she said, resting her head upon my shoulder.

"Both of their hearts warmed for one another. Despite the wounds they'd inflicted, they became lovers. She taught him the ways of the wild, and he taught her how to wield a sword, spear, and shield.

"Kethulf would visit her every summer, continuing their strange romance. But one year, the Wolf-Daughter found out who Kethulf's father was and attacked her lover in a vengeful rage. During the fight, she took out his eye, just as he had taken hers. But Kethulf also saw wisdom through that wound, and understood the full extent of her pain, realizing the truth of his father's crimes.

"So the two half-blind lovers formed an alliance, leading wolves and warriors alike against the wicked Meldrun. Together they toppled Meldrun's fledgling kingdom. As one, they faced down the wicked king and cut him apart. Together they ruled, guiding the clans to prosperity."

"Hmm," Miriam murmured against my shoulder. "Despite the nice ending, lovers taking out each other's eyes does not make for a particularly enjoyable tale."

"You just prefer to deliver lesser wounds," I said, pointing to the scratch marks.

With a giggle, she leaned over and licked one of the long red lines upon my chest.

"Indeed I do. Would you care for a few more?"

I answered her question with a hungry kiss.

**

For the next few days we prowled the wilderness of central Etmorra, foraging for mushrooms and herbs that would be useful in our ambush. Some of our scouts headed east to keep an eye on the main road and Saerkell.

Thanks to the lessons I'd received back at the convent, I proved a quick study under Miriam's tutelage, helping her gather dozens of herbs and flowers. Given the dangers of some of the mushrooms, however, she insisted on gathering those herself, lest I blunder and poison myself in the process.

On the third day, one of our scouts returned with news that Grozdan and his host were finally departing Saerkell. According to the scout's frenzied report, Grozdan had over a thousand levies with him, a hundred knights, and another few hundred mercenaries.

It was a vast host in comparison to our own paltry rebel army. We would need every possible advantage if we were to succeed.

As Miriam brewed alchemical agents to deploy against Grozdan's forces, I trained alongside Rikard's militia. We drilled for hours and hours, rehearsing the precise timing of the ambush and going over the exact routes to trap Grozdan.

With our inferior numbers, we had no hope of actually destroying his entire force. We just needed to capture or kill Grozdan himself. Without a master to pay them, the mercenaries would wilt away and his knights would more likely desert rather than fight to avenge an unpopular duke.

Rikard's sentries rode into our forest camp a little before dusk, informing us that Grozdan's slow, lumbering army had encamped some distance away. If that pace continued, they would reach the ambush site at midday.

"Hardly an ideal time," Orgumir said, scowling. "Was hoping for dusk, when they'd be more exhausted."

"Midday means we can use the sun to our advantage," said one of Rikard's men. "It will be hot and bearing down on them, and they'll have been marching for hours by that point. They'll be tired and sweaty, and we'll be fresh and resting within the shade."

I glanced over to Miriam, who stood over four barrels, each filled with a noxious, multicolored brew.

"And how goes your work?"

"Almost done," she said, dropping more red mushrooms into a barrel. "When the time comes, all we need to do is role these two barrels down the hill. I can brew up some alchemical oil which can be used to set several arrows alight. Our best marksmen can then target the barrels: even a meager flame will ignite the mixture within. When they explode within Grozdan's host, they'll kick up a nasty tide of smoke that will scald their eyes and render them half-blind."

"And as they reel and weep, our archers shall rain fury down upon them," Sorunna said with a low growl.

"And the other barrels?" Orgumir asked.

"This one contains a stunning agent: a variant of the one we used on Anvarr the night we met," she said, giving me a sly smile. "Even a glancing blow from this venom will slow and stun the target, making them easy prey."

Her fingers brushed over the last barrel.

"This one is filled with a scent akin to that of wolf pheromones."

"A wolf's what?" one of my northern warriors asked.

"A wolf's unique stench. Very strong, very potent. If an arrow dipped in this concoction gets near a horse, even a well-trained destrier is likely to panic. To a horse, it will seem like thousands of wolves are nearby. That will blunt the advantage of their cavalry."

"And the rest of the work will be up to our steel and strength," I said, looking over the nearby rebels.

Hundreds of people gathered around me: hardened knights, grizzled huntsmen, seasoned woodsmen, fresh-faced peasants, battle-tested northerners. Rebels, fools, and heroes all. They looked at me with pride and a bit of fear. That was natural...and good. Fear could be a potent motivator.

My gaze settled upon a banner leaning against a tree. The flag displayed the curious sigil of Etmorra: a lion fighting with a two-headed snake.

"I've been here for weeks and I admit I've never heard the story behind that heraldry," I said.

A huntsman beside the banner grinned.

"It's a damned good tale, milord."

"Careful there," I said, laughing and raising a hand. "I'm no lord."

"You're leadin' us, milord," the huntsman said. "You took those ships from the port, stopped Selwyn from seizing the convent, and your plan has got us this far. What else am I supposed to call you?"

Several of my fellow Kovgaardians snickered.

"Just Anvarr. That's all. Now tell me this 'damned good tale' about that heraldry."

"It's not just a story to be told, milord," he said, then cleared his throat. "Excuse me,

Anvarr

."

Chuckles rose from the other rebels.

"It's a song to be sung."

With that, the bearded huntsman hopped up onto a moss-covered boulder. Someone tossed him a lute and he gave it a few strums. His low, sonorous voice echoed through the woods, his lute and lyrics weaving an epic tale.

He sang of a massive two-headed serpent that prowled the world, devouring islands and cities. A fierce knight swore to avenge his fallen homeland, hoping to find a refuge for those who had been cast out after the serpent had devoured their city.

During his epic hunt, the knight learned that the great serpent could not be felled by steel or iron, and was in fact impervious to any man-forged weapon. So the knight made a bargain with a witch, turning himself and his chosen knights into lions.

They hunted the serpent across the sky, tearing it to pieces. Its blood flowed down, creating the seas, and its corpse splashed down within those waters. Thus its bones became Etmorra itself. The knights had been trapped in the form of lions, and so wandered the forests and mountains of the island. The survivors of the fallen kingdoms flocked to the new land, with the lions serving as their eternal protectors.

The rag-tag army roared with delight as the huntsman sang out the last few lines. A few even teared up, some murmuring the song's refrain under their breath, almost like a prayer.

"If you can work a bow as well as you can work that lute, we're in damned good hands tomorrow, my friend," Orgumir said with a laugh. "What's your name, song-weaver?"

"Ivor," the huntsman said, smiling and hopping down from the log. "Has anyone else here got any songs?"

"By the fangs of the gods, we do," Orgumir said, grinning wildly. "A good song is a northman's favorite thing...aside from a good fuck or a good fight."

Laughter rippled through the forest. Sorunna and the others began a low chant, singing a version of the Wolf-Daughter's story that I had shared with Miriam in my tent. When they were done, Ivor broke into another song about a fisherman who snagged the moon with his net. In reply, Orgumir led two of the other northerners in a wild tune about a bear fighting a river-spirit.

Ivor was certainly the best performer of the bunch, but the back-and-forth soon had the entire forest thrumming with delight.

"How about you?" Miriam said, smirking over at me from behind her barrels. "Any songs for us?"

"If you hear me sing, you'll find yourself longing for the clamor of battle instead," I said with a laugh. "I'm dreadful at it."

"You may be a piss-poor singer but you can give a damned fine speech, Anvarr," Sorunna said, grinning from ear to ear. Encouraging shouts rose from my warriors. "Give us a good one before we rest tonight. Send us to slumber with iron in our hearts, to prepare us for battle."

With a sigh, I rose to stand upon the same boulder Ivor had used.

"In my clan, we dedicate battles to beasts. This serves as an omen. A harbinger. A portent. If we wish to fill the fields with enemy dead, leaving none alive, we invoke the raven to feast upon the battlefield. If we wish to pursue and chase the enemy, harrying them until they are broken, we invoke the wolf. If we wish to stand firm, to hold our ground unyielding, we invoke the bear."

I swept my gaze over the ranks of the rebels.

"But for tomorrow, I say we invoke a beast that does not prowl the forests of my homeland. A beast of legend. A proud hunter. A fierce killer." I pointed to the banner with the snarling lion upon it. "Tomorrow belongs to the

lions

, my friends. The

true

lions of Etmorra. Not a monstrous duke or his cowardly knights or his greedy mercenaries. To

you

. To the

lions

!"

Sorunna raised her fist high and took up the cry. Ivor soon joined her. A moment later, the forests reverberated beneath the force of the army's roars and cries. Were Grozdan's army any closer, I might have worried the tumult would catch their attention.