Breaking the Barbarian Ch. 05

Through it all, Miriam kept my hands pinned at the small of my back as she licked and nuzzled the side of my neck.

"Your submission and compliance have earned you a great boon," Miriam growled into my ear. "Very few men have earned such treatment from the Mother Superior."

Isidora batted her gray eyes and took me just a bit deeper, licking the underside of my manhood while her firm lips suckled. As she worked, she left plenty of room for Catriona to continue her gentle strokes.

"Now you understand why I was so weak and whimpering beneath her lips the night that we blindfolded you," Catriona said into my other ear, her warm and sweet tone a sharp contrast to Miriam's thrumming growls.

Isidora pulled back, her tongue lashing and flicking. The absence of those skilled lips caused my hips to buck, which in turn caused Miriam to growl and tighten her grasp on me.

"Sister Catriona," Isidora murmured.

The redhead at once fell to her knees beside her mistress. Miriam growled anew and yanked my wrists back further. Using my belt, she tied my wrists together to keep me more secure. Once I was bound, she dug her fingers into my neck, the burst of pain reminding me of my place.

I moaned as Catriona's tongue grazed the base of my shaft, reveling in the pain of Miriam's grip and the warmth spreading through my cock. As the redhead licked and suckled near the base, Isidora lavished attention upon the tip.

The Mother Superior slid further down, her tongue swirling past her lips. Murmuring and moaning, Catriona raised up a little, allowing her tongue to brush against Isidora's. Pearly droplets leaked from the tip of my cock and Isidora smeared the mess about with her tongue.

Both women murmured at the taste of it, their eyes fluttering, their licks growing faster and stronger.

"Even after all this time you've yet to enjoy the skill of my lips," Miriam growled against the back of my neck, giving me a soft bite. "So I think it's about time I take over."

Isidora rose first, after running her tongue along the side of my shaft for one long, wicked lick. I whimpered as she broke away, and that sound turned to a sob as Catriona repeated that exact same movement.

Relief flooded through me as Miriam sank to her knees, her fellow nuns rising to stand behind me. Isidora gripped my neck while Catriona grasped my hips.

Miriam's blue eyes gleamed up at me as she opened her mouth wide. Isidora took hold of my cock and guided past the other nun's welcoming lips.

After Miriam flicked her gaze up towards Catriona, the redhead shoved on my hips, plunging my cock deeper into Miriam's mouth. I cried out at the warm embrace of her lips, and then again at the clever lashing of her tongue beneath the head of my aching shaft.

With surprising strength given her usual tenderness, Catriona gripped my hips and yanked me backwards, then sent me plowing forward against Miriam's mouth. The other nun mewled and moaned, then Catriona rocked me back once more.

Again and again. Guiding me. Toying with me. Directing me deeper and deeper into Miriam's wondrous, perfect mouth.

As my body writhed and tensed in the nuns' grasp, my eyes stared up at the forest canopy above. To try to steady myself, I focused on the beams of moonlight, only to be distracted by the deepest plunge yet.

Isidora whispered something under her breath. Catriona's nails dug into my hips, halting my next plunge and keeping my shaft just an inch inside Miriam's wicked lips.

I thrashed my head back and forth, grunting and trying to rock my hips forward. Miriam raised her hands, bracing against my thighs to keep me in place. As I struggled and tried to thrust deeper into her mouth, she licked and suckled near the tip.

That treatment was enough to make me moan and sob, but not enough to send me careening over the edge.

"Please," I sputtered, my back aching as I strained against the nuns' firm grasp.

"Have you not learned from us, Anvarr?" Isidora murmured. "You must be specific with your desperate pleas."

"Please let me come," I said, my eyes rolling back into my head. "Just a bit deeper. That will be enough. Please. In Saint Morwenna's name..."

Isidora and Catriona released my hips, freeing me from my blissful prison. A moment later, Miriam's nails fell from my thighs.

I wasted no time. I rocked my hips back and then shoved forward, plunging my cock as deep into Miriam's mouth as I could go. She grunted with effort, gurgled and moaned, but did not push me back. Embracing every inch of me, she cooed and giggled around my shaft.

The hunger in her eyes and the slurping of her lips proved to be my undoing. My cry rippled through the forest, my bound hands clenching into fierce fists. Blonde hair flailed through the air as I threw back my head, and my powerful hips pushed deep against Miriam as my seed surged forth. Ropes of my essence filled her pulsating mouth.

Miriam slurped down everything I had to give, her head bobbing as she milked me dry.

Something firm and warm gripped my neck the very moment my climax struck. In the frenzied haze of my bliss and surrender, I'd forgotten all about the sacred collar. Isidora had clasped it around my neck at the exact moment I'd given in to Miriam's skill.

I swooned at the aftershocks and at the gentle, comforting grip of that collar.

"Praise be to Saint Morwenna," I muttered.

A hungry purr left Miriam's lips as she pulled back, her tongue bathing my twitching cock as she withdrew.

"This collar marks you as a soul favored by Saint Morwenna," Isidora murmured, leaning in to kiss the sacred leather. "To those who adhere to our tenets and respect our ways, it marks you as one touched by the divine. Her power and grace will ward you against what lurks beneath Saerkell."

I shivered, unable to form the words to thank her for that honor. Some Kovgaardians might have balked at being bound to a southern saint, but the ways of Saint Morwenna were not altogether different from some of the lustful rituals of my homeland. There was no reason I could not bend to the lusts of a southern saint while also honoring the hungry war-gods of my people.

Surrender and conquest, in equal measure.

Catriona removed the belt from around my wrists. Donning their veils and murmuring prayers, the three nuns vanished into the dark forest to return to their own camp.

For several minutes I lingered there, a bewildered and sated smile upon my face. Only once I'd stopped panting did I gather up my leggings.

**

With my body tingling from that unusual ritual, I headed into the forest to find the rest of my warriors. They'd joined up with Ivor and his camp of hunters a quarter mile deeper into the woods. Smirks and laughter greeted my return.

Orgumir raised an eyebrow at the collar, noting the sacred runes. None of them offered any jests, however. It seemed they recognized and respected the sanctity of it, just as the nuns had respected the sanctity of our own rituals.

"So what's the plan?" one of the local hunters asked.

"Ivor will lead us across the valley to the waterfall that hopefully will lead us into passages beneath the castle," I said, giving a nod to the grizzled archer. "If we can find a way up, we will send a few men back to get word to the rest of the rebel army to prepare for an attack. Then our group of infiltrators will find a way up to the walls, to sabotage those artillery pieces. Once we've launched an attack from within to seize the gates, the rest of the army can advance."

"Ugly," said one of Rikard's men. "And risky."

"Not as ugly or risky as mounting a full assault while those catapults are still intact," said Ivor.

With a whistle, he brought the other local hunters and scouts to their feet. Within minutes the rag-tag band of scouts and raiders had assembled: thirty locals in all, along with my Kovgaardians and Sister Miriam. We would not stand much of a chance against the entire garrison on our own, but a larger infiltration force would likely be spotted crossing the valley.

Like silent, hungry wolves we descended the moonlit paths that led from the cliff down to the valley floor. When we reached the sloping hills of the valley, Ivor led the way, guiding us from grove to grove. We stuck to the shadows as best we could, waiting for the clouds to thicken before risking a dash across open ground.

At our slow, stealthy pace it took us nearly an hour to reach the far side of the valley. Above us loomed the imposing, jagged battlements of the cursed fortress. A thin waterfall rained down, casting a soothing mist of water over our panting band of warriors.

"Ivor," I said with a nod at the archer.

He slipped into the wall of water. The rest of us fanned out, weapons at the ready, keeping watch while the seasoned scout looked for the entrance hidden beneath the rushing water.

After a few minutes he returned: soaking wet, and grinning like a hungry predator.

"I found something. A narrow passage. Barely big enough for two men across. But it goes far and most importantly, it goesup."

Leaving three men behind to watch over the waterfall, I moved through the veil of water, my axe and shield at the ready.

Beyond the waterfall rested a deep, dark cave lit with a few glowing patches of mushrooms. Orgumir ignited a torch right behind me, illuminating the jagged walls and the dagger-like stalactites that dangled above.

At the far end of the cave was a narrow passage. Gouged into the rock beside it were two Kovgaardian runes.

Frowning, I ran my fingers over the symbols. I'd learned earlier that some of my people had settled here as mercenaries, and I'd heard the legends of the locals slaughtering Kovgaardians at Saerkell. That still did not explain the presence of such runes, however.

I pushed deeper, right behind Ivor. The tunnel sloped upward and grew small enough that we had to crouch to advance. It eventually widened into a large cavern filled with glowing mushrooms. Scattered about on the floor were dozens of bones and rusted pieces of armor.

We fanned out to catch our bearings and our breath. Orgumir nudged a skeleton with his boot, then knelt and picked up a rusted helmet.

"The work of a Kovgaardian smith," he said.

Miriam knelt beside a body, frowning.

"The legends say that Saerkell was cursed because its rulers slaughtered Kovgaardian emissaries," she murmured. "Perhaps this was the resting place of the victims."

"Leave the dead be," Sorunna hissed at one of the Etmorran scouts who was poking at a set of skeletal ribs.

"Aye," said Ivor, gesturing to a hole in the wall about fifteen feet up. "I think that's our way up."

Miriam climbed up first, ably scampering up the stone. After she'd affixed several ropes to some sturdy rocks beyond, the rest of us followed.

That passageway led to a large chamber. Gaps in the ceiling allowed in slivers of moonlight, which cast a silvery gleam over more skeletal corpses.

One skeleton rested against the far wall, clad in a set of rusted ring-mail. Rings of gold and silver adorned its fingers. Dusty, skeletal hands clasped a rune-etched sword that had not rusted at all despite the dampness of the cavern and the passage of time.

I approached slowly, my sweaty hand tightening around the haft of my axe.

The runes upon the blade did not identify any individuals or clans. Instead they weaved a poem: a short description of the savage beauty of Kovgaard's mountains.

"This man was a king," I murmured. "Or the kin of one."

No mere warrior would have worn so many rings or wielded such a sword. Whether through magic or skilled metallurgy, the blade had somehow survived the ravages of time.

An icy chill filled the cavern as I stared at that sword. My hand longed to reach out and claim it...

Warmth flitted from the collar, almost like a warning.

"I can't imagine a finer blade with which to kill Grozdan," Orgumir said, grinning.

"No," I murmured, shaking my head. "We will let the souls and the steel of the dead rest."

I took a step back and the icy chill faded.

Ivor found us two more passages: one led to a dead end, while the other weaved further up through the stone. With my body still shivering from the memories of that blade, I remained at Ivor's side as we pushed further and further upwards.

Curses rippled through my warriors as we arrived at another dead end.

"Waste of bloody time," an Etmorran scout murmured.

"Wait," Miriam said, shouldering her way through the panting scouts.

She stopped in front of the dark stone that had blocked the way, then ran her hand over a few gaps in the stone.

"Do you smell that?"

I sniffed the air then shook my head.

"Mushrooms and manure," she said with a grin. "There's a mushroom garden right through there: one of the ways they keep this castle self-sufficient."

Together, Ivor and I shoved at the wall, loosening one of the cracked stones. It tumbled away and Orgumir lifted the torch, revealing a large chamber filled with mounds of reeking dirt.

There was nobody around, but judging by the iron door at the other side of the chamber and the piles of baskets, the garden was still in active use.

I grinned.

We'd made it.

Together we shoved more bricks out of the way, clearing a path for our warriors to enter. Some gagged at the stench of the fungal farm while we crept across to the other side.

Footsteps echoed through the door and I took a deep breath.

"Be swift, be true," I said, casting my firm gaze across the assembled warriors. "Embrace blood and iron."

With that, I braced my shoulder against the door.

Wrath and ruin awaited.

**

Bells rang and trumpets shrieked as I bounded my way up the stairs. Behind me, a dying mercenary gurgled as Miriam leapt over him, blood and poison dripping from her knives. She still clung to her sacred vows, never striking to kill, only striking to wound or stun.

Together we burst through the wooden door onto the parapet. Before us sat four of the enemy catapults, all aimed at the slim gap in the rocky hills that provided the best means for a direct assault.

A dozen mercenaries stood guard beside the war-machines, their eyes wide with shock and fear.

Howling out a wordless war-cry, I readied my shield and charged.

One man tumbled over the parapet, screaming for several moments before landing with a sickening splat. Another managed to rake his sword across my cheek before he died with Ivor's axe in his throat. Miriam's poisoned daggers sent one man staggering into my path. With a snarl, I pitched him over the wall to join his fallen comrade.

More scouts and northmen flowed past me, joining the fray and butchering the surprised guards. Alarm bells rang out in a calamitous tune. Signal fires ignited within the other towers of the ruined fortress. Elsewhere, Orgumir and the other scouts were wreaking havoc and cutting down the other crews.

It would not be long, however, before the garrison rallied.

"Ivor, Miriam," I said, panting. "Take a dozen, get to the gates, light the signal."

I pointed to Sorunna and a few other warriors with my bloody axe.

"The rest of you: let's put these catapults to better use."

Grunting with effort, Sorunna and the others helped me turn a catapult around, facing it towards the central keep. That great tower was the most intact structure of Saerkell, and was surely home to most of the garrison. Freshly awoken from their slumber, they'd be charging out into the courtyard before too long.

Together we loaded a massive stone ball into the catapult and cranked back the heavy mechanism.

Torches glittered against the horizon: Baron Rikard's waiting rebels had seen our signal and were now charging in for the kill. All we had to do was hold the walls and the gates long enough for them to arrive.

More torches ignited in the windows of the great tower. Alarm bells intensified. One of the catapults across the courtyard went up in flames. Through the din, I could make out Orgumir's howling war-cries.

Anticipation and fury gripped my bones. My fiery eyes remained affixed to the great door that led out from the large tower.

Any moment now...

The door to the large tower burst open. Dozens of shouting, confused soldiers burst forth.

My axe swung down, slicing through the rope holding back the catapult's arm. The great machine swung, unleashing the heavy stone straight into the midst of those reeling, confused men. Bones crunched and bodies flew. The stone bounced, clipped another man's legs, then slammed into the tower.

Ivor and the local huntsmen unleashed a volley of arrows that cut more men down and sent others scampering back inside for cover.

Horns rose from beyond the castle walls. I spared a quick glance over and caught sight of mounted rebels thundering across the field beside the ruined fortress. Had we not seized the walls and gates, that open ground would have been their tomb.

As my warriors howled and cheered, I brushed my fingers over the collar upon my neck, and murmured a silent prayer of thanks to Saint Morwenna.

**

Our work was far from finished, however. Even as the rebel knights streamed in through the captured gates, I led my warriors back down the walls to join them. Together we darted over the broken corpses of the loyalists cut down by the catapults.

One of Rikard's knights placed a hand upon my shoulder.

"You've done enough, Anvarr," he said as his men streamed through the blood-spattered doorway. "Rest. Celebrate. Allow us to finish the Duke."

"I swore an oath of blood and iron," I growled in reply, brushing past him and racing inside along with the others.

Within the tower, courage had already fled the souls of Grozdan's men. Many of them were barely dressed, having been roused from their slumber by the ferocity of our raid. Some still swayed under the influence of wine, no doubt having been in the midst of revelry before we'd attacked. Most tossed down their weapons to surrender. A handful of knights fought on to the bitter end, dying foolishly and bravely beneath our blades and axes.

"Where is your Duke?" I snarled at a shirtless, sleep-addled man who had tossed down his spear at the sight of me.

"Ran upstairs. Top of the walls," he sputtered, eyes downcast.

Growling out a command for my warriors to follow, I rushed up the winding stone staircase. We passed by more surrendering soldiers and panicked servants. Ignoring them, we continued our mad dash up the staircase until we burst through a door and back into the night.

Two of Grozdan's green-cloaked knights whirled, blades at the ready. Behind them stood a short, stocky man with a rash-covered scalp and a bushy beard. Clad only in a nightgown, he wielded a curved dagger.

"Out of my way," I snarled at the knights. "There is no honor in dying for a tyrant such as him."

One of the knights stepped forward, sword raised.

With a sigh, Grozdan shook his head and grabbed the man's cloak.

"Enough. Step aside."

Glaring, the knights lowered their weapons and backed away.

Curved blade in hand, Grozdan took a step closer to me and gave me a long stare.

"So here he is. Anvarr of Kovgaard. They've called you a ghost. A revenant. A demon from the depths sent to haunt me."

"I am just a man who made a vow."

I took several slow, lumbering steps forward.

"You wield a blade," I growled. "So you can die with a semblance of honor."

It was a privilege he did not deserve and that my own brother had been denied. But there would be greater glory in it for me if Grozdan died with steel in his hand.

"I was never much of a fighter," he said with a soft, weary smile.

He whirled and sprinted towards the edge of the wall. I shouted with rage and lunged after him, my desperate hand missing his back by mere inches.

With a yelp, Grozdan vaulted over the side. He splashed into the massive moat down below. His two knights, abandoned by their duke, turned and fled towards the nearest tower.