Breaking The Chains

A thick fog falls over Londonium, and wisps of mist dance down the alleys and avenues like phantoms chasing away the daylight. Ahead of me looms the Tower, the most dreaded dungeon in all the land of Brytannia. Perhaps no other place besides Hell has known as many suffering souls, and it's halls have been the last that many have walked.

I stop and stand in the shadows of the Dance Floor. The gallows, where a dozen arms tower above and crook down, a noose run through their metal loop, threaded back to a wench. A wench that is slowly drawn tight, raising the victim from the worn wooden boards beneath and leaving him to dance in the air gasping for breath. Many such executions have I witnessed, and many prisoners have I stood final watch over.

Tonight, my commander has summoned me forth for such a vigil again. His details were sparse, only that a member of the Radz was to be executed at dawn, and rumors had it that a band of the rebels was going to make an effort to storm the Tower. It would no doubt be a suicide mission, but one can never underestimate their guile and resourcefulness.

Sometimes I thought them in a way similar to me: rebels battling an establishment that had abandoned traditional convention, the way of the sword and the spell, to embrace the double evils of gunpowder and steam. I have never held a musket in my hands, nor ever sought passage on a train. I prefer my sword and my steed, and to myself, think the world would be a better place if our Queen were to possess the same wisdom.

I waste no more time, wrapping my heavy cloak tight around me to ward off the growing chill of the night, my left hand resting on the pommel of my sword so that should any wiley cutpurse think he can take me, he might reconsider.

The watchmen at the portcullis of the Tower raise the gate quickly as I approach, as the last dying rays of sunlight reflect off the gold badge at my chest: a blazing sun with one eye staring outwards. The badge of Her Majesty's Divine Order of Retribution. Elite knights that have not abandoned the code that has protected the sovereigns of Brytannia for centuries.

A guide quietly falls in step in front of me, leading me deep down into the bowels of the Tower. I have never seen it's deepest dungeon, and legends say it's catacombs run for miles. Many speak of having seen and heard spectres of long dead occupants wandering the environs. I have never had such an experience.

The deeper we go, the more putrid the odors become. The musty smell of mold, sweat, piss and excrement at first. Then death and decay. I walk as briskly as the guide allows, my boots clicking loudly on the stone floor.

Suddenly we stop, and I realize I am not sure how far we have travelled as my mind has wandered. Wandered to the many faces I have seen breathe their last breath at the end of a noose.

The guide's key turns loudly in the rusty lock, and I step into the cell. Only a single torch burns within, and my commander, Owain turns towards me, the dim light glinting on his gold shoulder epaulets.

"Donovan," he says heartily, shaking my hand in a firm embrace. His weathered features are framed by a salt and pepper beard. "I am glad you could undertake this task."

I nod, curiously looking around for the prisoner, "Always at your service sire."

He nods in return as well, stepping to the side and turning, letting the light shine further into the room. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, but when they do, I find myself surprised at the prisoner I see shackled to the far wall.

It is a young woman, naked. Her skin is fair, and the slightly pointed ears and almond shaped eyes tell me that some elven blood courses through her veins. Her breasts are small and upturned with dark nipples, her hips slender and legs long. But what catches my attention the most is the total lack of hair between her legs, as if for some reason, she shaved it away.

I look up and realize her dark brown eyes are regarding me curiously, obviously having noted my interest at her unusual grooming. I quickly turn back to Owain. "This is the dangerous prisoner?"

"Aye my loyal knight. She is a witch. Her and her companions cast a ritual on the tracks North of Browburg so that when the train passed over them, they writhed like snakes." He shakes his head in disgust, shooting the girl a poisonous look. "But they got more than they bargained for. Instead of gold onboard, it was a troop carrier, and all of them were wiped out but her, despite their magic."

I nodded, looking back at her again. "Don't worry though Donovan. Without her runes and poltices and other talismans, she is powerless."

"Yes. But do you think they will try to save her?"

Owain laughs loudly, clasping me on the back, "The Radz are as unpredictable as the seas of the North Cape! But we shall be prepared, come what may. Remember, use your sword on her first, then any that would dare to save her."

"I understand."

"Good, " he says as he steps towards her. "You will dance at dawn witch," and he spits in her face.

Her tongue flicks out as quick as a serpent's, licking away the saliva that drips down her cheek. When she speaks, there is something musical to her voice, and it carries the lilt of the High Elves of the Emerald Isle, now laced with bitterness, " I taste your fear knight. One day soon, your sword will fail you and our carcass will feed the vultures."

For a moment his eyes narrow, and he seems to be about to say something, but quickly he turns on his heel, knocking for the guide to let him out. He leaves without any further word, and following the clatter of the lock again, only silence reigns.

I take off my cloak and hang it on a peg near the door. As I turn, I find her regarding me. Her eyes are a deep dark brown, and her head is tilted to the side in curiosity. Despite the dirt that covers her, and the whelps from where they have lashed her with a scourge, she still remains beautiful. Strikingly so.

For a moment, I imagine the noose around her neck, stretching it beyond it's natural length as she gasps and kicks on the Dance Floor. I decide I shall not stay to witness tomorrows execution unless I am asked.

"Sir knight," she speaks softly. I find that I have been looking at her for some time, for how long I am not sure, a bit mesmerized by her alabaster skin, raven hair, and gentle curves. Something a knight should not do, yet of which I am guilty.

"My name is Sena."

I nod, "I am Donovan."

"Donovan..." she says my name as if she is tasting it, letting it roll over her tongue, and she shuts her eyes and says it softly once more, a chill creeping over my flesh. "Donovan..."

Her eyes slowly open again. "Isn't it true, Donovan, that a prisoner destined for the gallows is granted one last wish?"

"Within reason, " I point out.

"Of course."

I wonder what ruse she may be playing, or if it is part of some grand plot to initiate an escape attempt by her companions.

"I want you to grant me my final wish my brave knight."

I search her words for sarcasm, but find only sincerity in them, and I step forwards, my curiosity peaked. "And that is?"

She pauses a moment, her eyes wandering over me, almost hungrily, "Fuck me."

For a moment I am stunned by her request. And then a feeling of excitement fills me, and I feel myself growing hard at the thought. My duties are many, and my time is limited. I cannot remember the last time I held a woman near me. And then I feel anger, "Temptress!" I say, "You mock me."

As I start to turn, I hear a pleading in her voice. "I do not jest knight. I would have asked your commander, but he is a coward, another worm of the Queen's court. But you are different."

I shake my head, "I am no different. I took the same oath as he, and wield my sword in service to Her Majesty."

She smiles, and it is a warm and comforting smile, despite her impending doom. I find I cannot turn away now.

"You spoke the words of the oath, but they are no longer in your heart."

"Yes, they are."

"As you say. Will you grant me my wish then, and uphold the law of the land?"

I shake my head again, "I cannot do this. It is a perversion...impossible."

"But it is my wish. I want to feel a man inside me one last time before I die. A real man like you Donovan."

I turn my back, "Enough! How can you ask such of me? I am a knight."

"I ask because it is your wish as well. When you first laid eyes upon me, you wanted to fuck me. I could see it in you, hear it in the words you didn't say."

"You are a witch."

"I am damned Donovan. Give me one last wish."

I turn back to her, ready to denounce her, deride her, to spit upon her and slap her, to call her a slut and a traitor. But her soft brown eyes stare back at me pleadingly.

"You want to know Donovan. You want to know why I shaved myself. You want to know how it feels to kiss my bare pussy don't you?"

I try to think of something to say, but my tongue does not obey. It is hard to breathe and feels as though my throat has constricted, as if I am the one in the noose. I suddenly realize what she says is true. And I must decide, what I shall do.

"Do it my knight, please, taste me..."

And before I truly realize it, I am on my knees before her, my lips pressed to her clitoris, feeling the smoothly shaven flesh there, kissing its warmth. Her deep moan raises goosebumps on my flesh and my hands slide slowly up her long legs, grasping her ass tightly. She presses against me, wrapping one leg around my shoulders, pulling me closer as I plunge my tongue inside her, tasting her warmth.

She is a chalice, and I drink from her, her magic filling me. She undulates against me, grinding herself into my face as I force my tongue deeper into her, tasting her desire.

"Donovan..." she gasps, "..fuck me."

I stand, dropping my sword to the floor as I unfasten my breeches. I look down into her eyes, and they burn like two embers, beckoning me to take her. There is no dungeon, no straw on the floor, no cold stone walls. Just me and Sena. I wrap my arms around her slender waist and pull her to me. My lips seek hers, and she kisses me deeply, her tongue thrashing against mine in wild passion. She presses her hips to me, and I reach down, cupping her ass in my hands again, lifting her slightly from the floor.

As I slide into her, her back arches, and she impales herself on my dick even further, wrapping her long legs around my back and locking her ankles together.

"Yes," she moans. "Fuck me hard. Ravage me Donovan, take me."

I thrust as hard as I can, and her lips part in a scream, a scream of both pleasure and pain as her tight pussy is violated even deeper by my length. Her hands thrash in the shackles, balled into fists, her knuckles white. Her dark hair brushes my face, and it is soft and intoxicating.

Suddenly, her lips are at my ear, their touch like the wings of a butterfly, "Donovan...when you cum...please...drive your dagger into my heart...spare me...from the gallows...give me the death I want."

Her words fill me with even more desire, and I find myself slamming harder into her, her ass smacking against the wall, the chains rattling loudly, her moans echoing in the cell. I feel the intensity build inside me, and then I am spilling myself inside her, cumming and then cumming again, shouting as loud as a cry in battle, my hands sliding up the smooth skin of her back, my dick impaling her so deeply, like a spear driven deep inside her. She shudders against me, convulsing in her orgasm.

And then her legs slide from around me, and she slumps on the floor, breathing heavily. She turns away from me, staring back down at the straw that litters the room, "Donovan...you did not give me my wish..."

I buckle my breeches, the white hot fire of ecstasy still coursing through my veins.

"Nay," I say, reaching for my sword and drawing it from my scabbard. She looks up, for a moment, fear crossing her features, then a smile as she closes her dark eyes. I raise the sword, and I swing it with all my might, for it must cleave true in one hit. The impact jars my whole body, and the clang of the shackles is deafening. They fall to the floor, cut by my sword.

Sena opens her eyes, looking at her freed hands. "Donovan?"

"We must hurry if we are to get you from here before it is too late."

Quickly she stands, pressing her naked body to mine. "Donovan...they will hang you for such a crime...you will no longer be a knight, but a pariah."

I think a moment, realizing it is not too late. I could kill her now and be done with it. But I sheathe my sword, "To Hell with them."

She nods as I step to the door, pulling down my cloak. I toss it to her and she wraps it around her lithe form. I pound on the door and a guard opens it.

"Sir?" and suddenly the pommel of my sword smashes into his jaw.

"Come Sena."

She slides her small hand into my free one, and the touch of her warm flesh against mine summons a shiver to me again. We make our way quickly up the hall, my boots a staccato click, and her bare feet a whisper on the ancient stones.

No one challenges us again. I am....was...a Knight of Her Majesty's Order of Divine Retribution. As we reach the stables where I left my mount, I tear my badge off and toss it into a trough. She looks at me as if to say "Are you sure?" and I answer by spurring my horse.

As we gallop down the streets of the city, I wonder how long it will be until the alarm is sounded. But we safely make it through the main gates and onto the road leading from Londonium. They will come I have no doubt, and I wonder what I may have done. At once I am frightened but elated.

I stop a moment and look over my shoulder at her, the moonlight reflecting on her pale skin, dancing in her dark eyes. "Sena?"

"Yes my knight?"

"What if your friends come for you tonight?"

She laughs, and it is music, chimes singing in a summer breeze. "Donovan. They were never coming. They sent me for you." And we ride into the night.