Brunhilde, the Huntress

There was a loud bang as something slammed into his cell door. He had barred it before going to sleep. He watched the wooden slats flex as something slammed into the door, perhaps the boot of an invader. There was another bang and the timbers shuddered, dust falling off the inside of the doors.

“I know there’s a monk in there,” said a cold, feminine voice from the other side of the door, “Now open up. If I have to break this door down, so help me, I’ll kill you. Open up and give me whatever you have!”

Martin began hyperventilating, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes wide. It was a woman. That could only mean one thing: Somai raiders. The Somai were known to do terrible things to those who resisted them: drawing and quartering, pulling your ribs out until you looked like a bloody eagle, burning, boiling in oil, enslavement…

The door shuddered again, the timbers groaning under the **** of the woman’s boot.

“Open!” she cried, “Or I’ll gut you like a deer!”

“W-wait!” screamed Martin shrilly, hurrying over to the door. He pulled the bar off the door, and fell backwards as it flew open, slamming into the stone wall. He looked up and saw her there, an enormous Somai raider clad in armor. She was a foot taller than he was, holding a torch in one hand. That hand had a buckler strapped to it. In her other hand was a sword. He could not see her face very well in the light of the torch. She stood in the doorway, peering down at him. He yelped and scrambled backward on his hands, still in a sitting position, until he felt his back hit the wall behind him. She didn’t move, but only looked down at him. He began to shake violently, cold sweat trickling down his face, itching. She started toward him. Her chainmail clinked and her boots made a heavy thud on the floor as she came closer. He squeezed his eyes shut, grimaced, and looked down, certain that she’d run him through with the sword.

He felt the cold steel tip of the sword under his chin. Oh, no. This was it. Martin was certain that he was going to die. She’d plunge it into his throat, and he’d flop like a fish out of water briefly before gurgling his life away on the cold stone floor. He whimpered, his back and chest tightening as he awaited the inevitable.

Only… it didn’t move forward. The sword-tip beneath his chin pressed up, tilting his chin upward.

“Open your eyes,” commanded the Somai woman. Martin opened his eyes and saw her looking down at him.

“I, I…” he stammered, “I don’t, I haven’t, there’s no gold.” He was nearly delirious with fear.

“I know you don’t,” she said softly, looking down at him. He panicked. What could she possibly want? And why was she smiling at him all of the sudden?

“Stand,” she said. He sat there, frozen. Her face changed, becoming grave, and she barked, “Stand!”

He started to his feet and stood there terrified. His palms were sweaty. His hands gripped his habit and shook with the rest of him.

“Face the wall.”

Martin complied, knowing that he stood no chance against her.

“Hands behind your back.”

He swallowed and obeyed, and felt her tying his hands with a rope. Moments later, she tugged on his arm.

“Follow me,” she said without emotion, “And stay close. So long as the other Somai know that you are my captive, you are safe.

He stumbled after her and fell, unable to keep up with her stride.

“Speed up, will you?” she snapped, roughly pulling him to his feet again. He grunted and started after her again, panting. She stopped and looked at him momentarily.

“You limp,” she said, “That’s not good. You’ll fetch a lower price than I thought. Not that limping will be a problem for what they want to use you for…”

He shivered. Did that mean she was going to… sell him? They went out the door of his cell, down the hallway, and out the side door. He suppressed a scream seeing the monastery’s main building in flames. In the dull red light of the fire, he could see the bodies of the other monks black on the ground laying in spreading pools of blood. He shuddered and followed her. He felt her tight grip on his arm just above the elbow. As she pulled him along, he thought of all the monks that were now dead. The archons. The neophytes. All of the clergy and lay brothers.

The woman led him away, toward the river that ran near the monastery. He saw their longboat there. The Somai had longboats with flat bottoms that allowed them to sail far inland and raid unsuspecting settlements at night. He saw several other Somai warriors walking from the monastery, some carrying bags or crates of loot. They all looked like tall, black shadows in the red fire light, with their capes billowing out behind them. None of them had captives of their own. He was the only one.

The ship was very long, and must have been at least twenty feet tall. It was an enormous black shape in the darkness. It was large enough to have a belowdecks. They were not far from the ocean. The land of the Somai, Yrkheim, was three days by sail with favorable winds.

The woman stopped for a moment. He watched as the Somai, tall and clad in armor and furs, carried loot up the gangplank and into the ship. Martin shivered in the cold night air, feeling the icy wind blow across his legs under his habit. He was still barefoot. Soon, another woman approached, holding a torch. This one was blonde, and even taller than the woman that had taken him.

“Brunhilda!” said the blonde woman, “You have a captive?”

“Yes,” said Brunhilda, placing her hand on top of Martin’s head, “He’ll fetch a good price in the market.”

The blonde woman leaned down with her torch, studying Martin’s face. His eyes darted down and to his left, staring at the ground, too afraid to look her in the eye. She reached out one hand and stroked his cheek as if he were a cat.

“My, but he’s precious. Someone is going to have fun with him,” she said softly. Then she stood back up, turned, and walked up the gangplank into the ship.

“Come on,” said Brunhilda, pulling him along. He limped unsteadily up the gangplank and into the ship. Brunhilda took him belowdecks. The inside of the ship was dark, although moonlight filtered through the portholes and let him catch sight of his surroundings. He had expected a barracks, and there was one, with Somai warrior-women sleeping in hammocks. Their large, pale bodies were partially visible under their blankets. A white, freckled shoulder here, a long pale thigh there. One slept entirely naked without a blanket, lying on her back with her hair unpinned in a pool of moonlight. She was cold with no covers, and her pink nipples were stiff in the frosty moonbeam. Martin shivered when he saw her, not from the cold.

But Brunhilda must have been some kind of officer, higher in status. She had a room of her own. He followed her across the creaking timbers and through a doorway. Inside was a small room, pitch black. Brunhilda said something in a language Martin didn’t understand, and a small lamp with a wick affixed to the wall was suddenly lighted. He sucked in a deep breath. She knew magic! She barred the door and began stripping her clothes off, ignoring him completely. Martin watched her. She had medium-sized breasts proportional to her frame, wide hips, and her bottom was plump and round. She had long, curvy, powerful thighs. And she was largely covered with freckles. As she began combing her hair with a bone comb, Martin finally dared to speak.

“Why are you keeping me in here?” he said.

“Because you’re worth a lot of money,” she replied, brushing her hair and not looking at him, “And the others would try to steal you. Or,” she cast a glance at him, “They might try to use you. I can’t afford to let you out of my sight.”

“Where are we going?” he asked. She did not answer his question, but only said, “Go to sleep.”

She lay down in her bed. Martin didn’t quite know what to do, so he curled up in the corner on the wooden floor, trying to pull his arms and legs into his habit to stay as warm as he could. It wasn’t comfortable, but he eventually managed to drift away.

He awoke the next morning with a crick in his neck from sleeping in an awkward position.