Nicadaemus (Breaking the Chains Ch. 2)

Morganna is quiet, only a few soft groans escaping her. Their kiss ends, and Morganna tosses her head back, her breasts bouncing to the rhythm as she rides me.

Séna bends to kiss me, her eyes twinkling with desire, her tongue filling my mouth, her long raven hair caressing my flesh. Then she rises, straddling me as well, facing Morganna. Her hips are above my face, and slowly she lowers her pussy to my lips, and I find her wet with desire as well. My tongue traces her clitoris, dancing around the bare flesh of her pussy, where she has meticulously shaven herself.

She gasps and then moans loudly, her sounds of passions smothered by kisses from Morganna. One of my hands grasps the hip of Morganna, and the other squeezes Sénas ass tightly. One woman grinds on my dick, and the other on my tongue, and I feel lost, drifting in another reality. I drink Séna, and she slowly undulates against my tongue as Morganna rides me harder and I begin to thrust my hips against her, my dick pressing further inside of her.

Their kiss breaks, and now they both cry out in passion, Morganna's voice more husky, and Sénas higher pitched and louder. It seems we hang on the brink of a precipice, on the edge of a strong current, and suddenly we plunge over a waterfall, and I can feel Séna cumming on my tongue, and Morganna arching, her short nails digging into the flesh of my hips as she cums, and then I am spilling myself inside of her, cumming and then, just as my body seems overwhelmed with that orgasm, cumming again and crying out against the soft flesh of Séna's pussy.

For a moment, I float in the oblivion of ecstasy. When Morganna slides herself from me, and Séna rises from my face, I look up. They stand naked in the dim light, and I see their bodies entwine. The pale flesh of Séna embraced by the darkly tanned figure of Morganna, their lips locked in a deep kiss. They seem to be no longer aware of me, and I watch, as if I am an intruder in someody elses dream.

Morgannas hands slide over Sénas body, and I imagine how it must feel to my little witch to have those hard hands on her soft flesh. Their kiss never breaks as they first descend to their knees, and then Séna gently pushes Morganna back on the floor. Séna kisses Morganna deeply again, mounting her. Slowly she descends, tracing the contours of the warrior woman's large breasts, her tongue dancing across the hard nipples, and she slides her finger inside of her. Morgannas back arches and she moans, clutching Sénas long hair in her hands tightly.

Séna descends over the hard muscles of Morgannas abdomen, still fingering her, stopping only when her lips reach her pussy. I see my Séna bury her face between the tanned legs of the other woman, and I can hear her soft purrs as she begins to suck on her pussy.

Morgannas back arches even further, and she begins to thrust her hips against Séna's face, and groan even louder than she had when I had been fucking her. Her toes are curled down, and she wraps her strong legs around Sénas back. I can only imagine what Morganna feels, knowing well the talent of Sénas tongue.

And then, a scream parts the lips of Morganna, a scream of passion, and her body convulses with an orgasm. She lays on the floor, breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling with her labored breathing. Séna looks up, licking her lips as her eyes fix on mine, and she slithers the short distance to lay beside me, speaking quietly as her nose presses to mine, "If we are to die tomorrow, then we will die happily."

"Aye," I manage weakly.

Her lips lock with mine, and as her tongue seeks mine. I taste Morganna on it. Her hand tangles in my hair, and the kiss is desperate and passionate. When our lips part, she lays her head on my chest and whispers, "I love you my knight."

"And I love you."

I feel another warm form slip beside us on my other side, pulling the blanket around all three of us. It is Morganna, and her head finds the nook between my arm and chest. I see her hand seek the hand of Séna, and their fingers inerlace. Their warmth intoxicates me, and suddenly, I find sleep not so hard to come by at all.

( 4 ) The Price

The first rays sunlight stain the morning sky like blood. I stand in the shadows of the gallows at the Tower, Londoniums infamous dungeon, a place where I started my own journey not so long ago. I place where I abandoned my knighthood, and became a member of the Radz.

Already the large plaza in front of the Dance Floor, the name of this place of execution, is crowded with onlookers, eager to watch the newest enemies of the state kick out the last of their lives at the end of a rope. Today is a special day, for six members of the Radz, captured in a botched attack on a Royal Treasury Coach, are scheduled to die. Today is a special day, because in this crowd, like me, are many of their comrades, and we plan to unleash the fury of hell against the authority of Brytannia, and send a message to the Queen that she will not soon forget.

I wear a voluminous cloak, it's cowl pulled low and it's folds concealing my long sword and dagger. Our group is spread throughout the crowd, and somewhere in the midst of them is Nicadaemus as well. It is the first time I have conducted any sort of attack with him present. Up until the other night, he was naught but a legend, a boogie man to me. Now he is very real, and the Radz that are present, are inspired by their leader's presence.

I can't help but feel just a bit apprehensive. I see the golden badge of the Knights of the Gun on a guard at the foot of the Dance Floor: a blazing sun with two crossed muskets over it. He wears two flintlock pistols at his belt, and a wide bladed dirk as well. He is the harbinger of a new age, an age that doesn't need, and perhaps doesn't want, magic in it's midst. He is the antithesis of all I was taught, and the rivalry between his order of knighthood and the one to which I belonged, The Order of Divine Retribution, is intense.

As the prisoners are led up the stairs of the gallows, the crowd presses closer, to get a better look, and I wonder how we will ever fight in such close quarters. How we will save ourselves from slaying the innocent in such chaos. I feel Séna's warm little hand slip into mine and squeeze it softly for a brief moment before letting go. I look at her, and her dark eyes sparkle in the morning sunlight, and she smiles, winking at me. Her lips mouth the words "I love you" and I smile at her.

I worry for her safety, but I know her magic is strong. She will not be part of the offense, but more the defense. Her powers will help heal the wounded and confuse our pursuers. However, I still worry for her; even though we have only been together a short time, I cannot imagine my life without her.

The bailiff begins to recite the charges against the prisoners, and I glance around the crowd again, noting where my allies are located. We have spread ourselves evenly, so musketeers cannot target one group, and, in Nicadaemus' hopes, not fire for fear of hitting innocent citizens. I think he understimates the zeal of the Queen's soldiers in destroying the Radz. I think he knows this, but there is no better plan, and now, there is no turning back.

As the bailiff reaches the end of his speech, I bow my head, looking at the cobblestones beneath my boots.

"Let judgment be passed on these criminals!" he cries vehemently, and Nicadaemus' plan goes into action.

I don't really see it, because to see it would be a victim. But I feel it, I know it from our talks. A glowing ball of light launches into the air, and I can sense the crowd glancing skyward in curiosity, a pause in the execution of the prisoners as the guards try to discern what is happening. Suddenly, the ball erupts into a light brighter than three suns; I see it flashing on the ground, an intense burst. It temporarily blinds all of those who have looked into it.

Quickly, I throw my cowl back and rip my weapons from their scabbards. People stumble about me, screaming, falling, pushing, scrambling for safety. I see guards moving; not all were foolish enough to look into the light. A figure flies from the ground, and distractedly, I look up.

Nicadaemus soars like a bird, his cloak billowing in the air, his long red hair flowing behind him. He is like an angel, an angel of death as I see his finger point to a confused group of guards and a fireball erupts in their midst. The acrid smell of burning flesh fills the air.

Already I have lost track of Séna, and out of the corner of my eye I see Morganna crossing blades with a soldier, gracefully tearing through his defenses, her eyes sparkling icily. I press forwards, wading through the crowd towards the gallows. Somewhere else I hear another explosion, followed by the report of muskets, more screams, and the crowd becomes a stampede, driven by fear.

A sword thrusts towards me and I parry it with my dagger. I realize I have not been focused, and only luck has saved me from being skewered on the blade of my opponent. He is a mere soldier, a footman armed with a longsword, helmeted and wearing chain mail. His clumsiness helped to save me as well, his attack poorly aimed. I feint and parry again, and then I drive my sword into his throat, feeling his blood spray onto my face as he falls before me.

More muskets fire, and I see innocents fall in the barrage as they run. No doubt their deaths will be attributed to the Radz. I have learned much of the Queen's propaganda machine lately. My anger is fueled by the merciless act, and I bound through the crowd, clearing my way with shoves and pushes, until I stand near the stairs of the Dance Floor.

Nicadaemus and several others work furiously to free the prisoners and I see a trio of guards rushing to take the stairs to stop them. I am alone in their defense, but the three that approach are common soldiers, and for a former knight they are no match. My sword and dagger are a blur, and they are driven by the foolhardy notion that one swordsman is no match for three.

I am a dancer, sidestepping, dodging, pirouetting and thrusting. My sword carves a bloody trail, and they all fall before me. The first is impaled on my blade and the next's throat is slit. The final one attacks madly and an upwards thrust to his groin sends him down as well.

Now blood and sweat cover me, my heart roars in my ears and my breathing is heavy. As I turn to look about, I see the Knight of the Gun I had observed earlier. His pistol is raised, and I look to see his target. Morganna is engaged in a fight with a guard, her back to him. I begin to scream "No," but the words seem to take an eternity to form. As I start to run, the ground seems to have become a bog, sucking me down, and everything moves slowly, as if every second has become a minute.

I see the hammer fall, and the flash of ignition in the firing pan. My heart beats. The gun roars and kicks and I see the musket ball fire from it's barrel. My heart pounds. The bullet appears to move so slow that if I were close enough, I could catch it with my hand. It's trajectory is straight and the gunman's aim true. My heart thuds.

It impacts Morganna near the middle of her back. Blood sprays as the 1/2" diameter lead ball smashes into her, and she spins around, and I briefly see pain contort her face as she falls, her beautiful blue eyes filled with horror.

My heart explodes and I am there, my blade raised. The knight's dirk blocks my poorly aimed blow as I attack furiously. He turns his now empty pistol and strikes me across the face with it's brass encased butt. I taste my own blood as I drive my dagger at him and he slides from it's path.

"Traitor!' he spits. Does he know me? The butt of his pistol arcs towards me again, but I see it as a distraction for the stab towards my gut. He is a marksman, but he is not a swordsman. I dodge both blows, and as the momentum of his attack sets him off balance, I drive my dagger between his ribs and look into his shock and pain filled eyes.

"Bastard, " I growl, and as he slides from my blade, I spit on him.

I turn to where I saw Morganna fall. The tide of the battle is now in control of the Radz. I hear no more musket fire, but I see not only my allies and enemies bodies littering the ground, but also that of those who were foolish enough to attend today's execution. Little did they know they were the ones who would die.

I run, but my heart sinks as I see her lying there, face down, a pool of dark blood surrounding her. Sheathing my blades, I kneel, and I can hear her wheezing. Gently, I take her body in my arms and turn her over. Her chest is covered in blood where the round exited. Her eyes are half lidded, and her lips are covered with a bloody froth.

She looks at me, and somehow she manages a brief smile. "Donovan," she rasps.

Her hand fumbles for mine, and I take it, grasping it tightly, "I am sorry," I whisper as tears sting my eyes. How many have I lost in battle that were my friends, yet the tears never flowed?

Her lips move, but I can barely hear her. I lower myself to her, and I feel her soft breath on my face, then her lips on my ear as she speaks softly, a broken sentence, "Donovan....never....yield..."

Her hand spasms, squeezing mine tightly, and her body shudders once, then her grip is loose, and she is limp in my arms. When I raise my head to look down at her, her ice blue eyes, eyes that were so filled with passion and life only hours past, are dull, wide and blank, staring at the sky. A single, final tear carves a channel through the dirt and blood on her face.

"My love," Séna says behind me softly, and I feel her small hand on my shoulder. "We must go, reinforcements will arrive soon..."

When I look up at her, I see Nicadaemus on the Dance Floor, his arms spread wide. He wears his makeup today, the white and red facepaint of an insane clown, the mask of a mad harlequin, his hair a scarlet halo. "We are victorious!" he shouts as fames fill his hands and he leaps from the gallows to the ground below. I know now where I have seen him before. I have seen him in my nightmares, those blazing eyes in the darkness of my dreams. I am not sure what it means.

I scoop Morganna's body up into my arms, and as I survey the battlefield, I wonder at the price of this victory. Six of our fellows were saved, and a major blow struck against the Queen. As Séna and I walk away, Nicadaemus launches his final pyrotechnic assault as the Dance Floor erupts in a colorful explosion. His laughter fills the square, and I walk with my head bowed, the heat of the fire washing across my back. I look into Morganna's hollow eyes, and I wonder, if the price we paid today was not too great.