Brynnan: An Evil in Siginak

The Lesson

The sword blade swept towards Brynnan’s ribs, and he executed the roll just a moment too late. That was when the Dance went wrong. A thin line of red appeared on his body, but by that time, Kyros was already in the follow-through, and Nijal was circling in. Before Brynnan could respond to the called moves, a deep voice interrupted.

“Enough!” Lord Samir stood up and moved towards the three men. His icy light grey eyes conveyed his displeasure as he confronted Brynnan.

“The Dance of Cuts is no place for daydreaming! You lost focus for just an instant, and that’s all it takes, in the Dance and in real combat. What were you thinking?” Samir remonstrated.

Kyros and Nijal exchanged a look. These days, it was rare for the Warlord to lose patience with his lover.

“Take a break,” Nijal said to Kyros, flinging him a towel. Kyros, bare to the waist like the others, rubbed himself dry of sweat. The Dance was demanding and the exertion extreme, especially in the three-way form. And there was no room for error.

Which was why the Warlord’s anger was justified. Nijal, Brynnan and Kyros were all highly skilled. Nijal, the blond-maned ageless Guardian, had practiced the art for longer than Brynnan had been alive. Kyros was Strategos, or leader of the Brotherhood of Deieros in Torrent Mountain. The band of male warriors, whose partners were also their lovers, practiced the Dance from their initiation as youthful warriors by their older mentors onward as a form of disciplined training. And Brynnan had trained for it since his early days in the Bardic College of ArMor-ys. He was an accomplished gymnast as well as Bard and Priest, with a genetically enhanced metabolism and an extraordinary heritage.

Brynnan was chagrined. “You are fully justified, my Lord. I did lose focus. I have no excuse.”

Kyros said, “Shall we close the session?”

The handsome, black-haired, and bearded Strategos had a history with Brynnan. When they had initially met, Kyros was one of fifteen men of the Brotherhood who had raped the Bard at their camp because he was falsely declared the loser in a Dance of Cuts between himself and another warrior. But after that, Brynnan supported his student protégé’s request to comfort Kyros after the death of the man’s young lover. Kyros and Brynnan had settled their differences and now were guarded friends.

Before Brynnan could voice his answer to Kyros, Samir said, “The Dance will resume. This is not the time to end it with a failure. And Brynnan, I want to see absolute focus from you.”

This was not high-handed of Samir. He was the Warlord of Torrent Mountain and responsible for his warriors’ training and the men under his jurisdiction.

So Brynnan swallowed his pride and said humbly, “Yes, my Lord.”

The two drummers who maintained the rhythm of the Dance took up their tabla drums again as Brynnan, Nijal, and Kyros took their positions. It was Nijal’s turn to start the calls, and he waited for the drums to begin, then called the responses to the moves he was making for his partners. They fell into the rhythm and became like a potentially deadly verse of poetry in motion, interweaving their actions, circling, leaping, often with rolls and somersaults as their swords glittered in a hypnotic web of movement.

Others in the practice arena were drawn to watch until, by seemingly instantaneous and mutual consent, the three dancers backed off each other and stilled their swords as the drums abruptly silenced. Then they handed their weapons to the attendants and embraced each other. The Dance was over.

“Brynnan, let me tend you in your apartments. The cut is still oozing blood and needs closing, but it won’t scar if treated properly,” said Nijal.

He was of an old race, the Alsar, that thrived on the planet until the first wave of settlers arrived from space, from the Long Dark. He was also an immensely competent surgeon and healer and had previously treated Brynnan’s more severe injuries.

“Good,” said Samir. “We will see you there shortly. I wanted to speak with you.”

As Samir turned to leave, he said to Brynnan, “As for you, after Nijal sees to you, go prepare yourself for an ass-fucking.”

*    *    *

Bathed, cleaned out and with a strip of tape along the cut on his chest in place of stitches, Brynnan sat naked on the side of the bed, waiting for his lover, Lord Samir, who was currently speaking to Nijal.

“I need someone trustworthy and capable of travelling to Siginak, the Sojourners’ settlement and conducting a quiet investigation. I have heard reports of some disturbance there. The information is vague, but since they used to be our enemies, and we knew them as the Invaders, I want to leave no stone unturned. Let it not be said in future that I let slip something that became a real danger. But the Sojourners’ issues can be subtle, coming as they do from a culture and science far different from ours. So I need someone who understands that. I need you.”

“I see your points,” replied Nijal, “and they are valid. I will consider it, although I think I’ll likely go. My work with Dronnadh, Prince Jehanadir and their Sojourners will continue, but a temporary absence won’t hurt.”

“I thank you, my friend,” said Samir. “But how goes the training of those settlers in Narib who display mind-reading abilities?”

“They are eager to learn and have good potential as healers who can read their patient’s ailments. I think they are still afraid of Brynnan and me, of our mental powers. We nearly destroyed them all when they were our enemies.”

“See? You would be just the right choice to send to Siginak.”

“I think you are correct. But now, I will take my leave. I can see Brynnan is waiting patiently for you!”

“Why don’t you stay, Nijal? I intend to teach my lover a lesson in remaining focused, and you can help.” Samir glanced at Brynnan with an expression that boded no good.

Nijal laughed briefly. “It had better be an effective lesson, so I think I’ll help. I have never before noticed our Bard be less than totally focused on the moves during the Dance.”

He turned to Brynnan, “Whatever distracted you could have had grave consequences. You know we three Dance with unguarded blades.”

Brynnan said nothing in reply, but his eyes were shadowed by some thought he would not name.

Samir and Nijal stripped off their clothes. The Warlord was a tall, powerful man with fair tanned skin, cropped light brown hair touched with white, and a beard trimmed short. His eyes were an icy light grey rimmed with black, giving him a gaze which could freeze the subject of his displeasure or assume the softness of snow fields at dusk. He was well-muscled, with broad, powerful shoulders, wide laterals and chest and abdominals kept taut from intense daily workouts.

Nijal had more exotic colouring, reminding one of a lion: a mane of hair coloured like sun-bleached grass, gold-toned skin and unusual eyes with changing shades of green and turquoise rimmed with amber. He was young-seeming, looking about Brynnan’s age, but his race was very long-lived, and age did not show itself until late.

“Brynnan, fetch me the blindfold—the wider one and the black leather flogger,” Samir instructed.

When his Bard had complied, Samir wrapped the thick, black silk around his lover’s eyes. The Warlord did not elaborate further instructions, and the two older men began to touch Brynnan as he stood by the bed.

Nijal said, “Focus on each of us as we use our hands. Don’t move; just absorb what is being done to you and who is doing it.”

Brynnan thought he could discern who was doing what, especially the familiar hand of his Lord, but it was not easy at first to tell which man caressed him, for, on this occasion, they had closed their minds to him. All three of them, when they wished, could share thoughts.

The two older men kept their touch light as they ran their fingers down his body, over the silky black hairs of his chest, stomach and groin, then on his neck and back and on his cock, which responded eagerly to them.

As it became hard, Brynnan shivered when a finger massaged his cock’s head, dipping into the drops of pre-cum and swirling it around the sensitive glans. His inner thighs were not spared, nor was his ass. Then he felt their tongues licking him. One of them lightly sucked his nipples, and the other knelt and ran the tip of his tongue down the shaft of his cock. Brynnan moaned as his arousal increased, wanting the man attending to his cock to take it into his mouth and suck on it. He felt tortured in a different way as he yearned after the sensation. By that denial, he thought it must be Samir who worked on his cock, as his lover would frequently edge him in their lovemaking sessions, refraining from allowing him to cum and making him want more until he begged for release. Then the orgasmic experience would crush him utterly.

 Indeed, just as his arousal grew to a fever pitch, the men stopped their ministrations, and Samir’s voice spoke.

“Now, touch us.”

Brynnan clamped down on the urge to cum. The release denied was almost physically painful, but he managed to switch his focus away from himself. His hands explored their bodies, and at least it was easy to tell whom he was touching. Brynnan stroked Samir’s wide lats, then around to the defined abs and flat stomach. Then he lightly massaged the Warlord’s huge cock, which grew in size at his sensitive manipulations.

Reaching out, he touched Nijal. His frame was muscular but with an animal leanness, like Brynnan’s own. He felt the Guardian’s response when he ran his fingers over his chest hairs and erect nipples. And when he stroked Nijal’s ball sack, it raised the fine hairs as the skin tightened, contracting over his testicles.

Then a voice said softly, “Enough.”

He felt Nijal’s hands grasping his cock, which responded with a leap as a current of sexual energy flared through it. A mouth bit his neck, then a hand turned his face, and someone kissed him: Nijal. He returned the deep, sensual kiss before Samir took over, his kiss rougher and more possessive as he seized Brynnan’s long, dark hair in his hand and pulled his head back, forcing open the Bard’s mouth with his tongue.

He was pushed down on the large bed that he and the Warlord shared and felt the others lying on either side of him.

“Suck our cocks,” Samir said.

Brynnan sought the nearest one: Nijal’s. He began licking the shaft, Nijal’s testicles, and then back to the cock before deep-throating it. He heard Nijal sigh with pleasure, so he sucked harder.

A hand in his hair forced him away from the Guardian’s cock and onto Samir’s. He tasted pre-cum as he serviced the broad glans and sensitive frenulum. Fingers penetrated Brynnan’s ass, making him moan. He worked further on the two cocks before someone seized his hips and positioned him on hands and knees. Lubricant readied him, slick fingers working it in. And the Bard knew what would come next.

As Samir’s unmistakable cock pushed its way into his rectum without warning, making him shudder and gasp, Brynnan became aware that it didn’t matter that he was the son of the Dread Lord of the Underworld, his father, the Huntsman and Keeper of Souls. Although Brynnan could pass into the Shadow Realms, and join in his father’s Hunt, now he was only a man submitting to discipline from two men he loved and trusted.

His heart’s love, Samir, now continued to fiercely thrust himself inside Brynnan’s ass. The hard pumping was painful, making him focus on breathing and relaxing his muscles to accommodate the battering cock. He needed to be in the moment to cope with the pain and the sexual excitement. The blindfold denied him the ability to evaluate his lovers’ course of action, keeping him off-balance and entirely dependent on sensations fed to him. The pounding seemed to take a long time, but that, too, was subjective.

 Meanwhile, Nijal’s cock sought his mouth, and Brynnan took it in to suck without question, aiming to please both men as best as he could.

He felt Samir’s arousal rise to a fever pitch as he prepared to cum. Brynnan’s ass muscles tightly gripped the cock stretching his ass, then he felt the forceful jets of semen flood his rectal passage as the Warlord’s ejaculation took place. He shuddered and bowed his head.

However, brief moments later, he felt another cock penetrate him and could have cried out with the absence of his beloved Lord, whether he was rough or not. But Nijal soon took his full attention. Usually a gentle and considerate lover, today he expressed himself with a rougher passion.

Brynnan had known Nijal since he had been a young apprentice bard; still a boy, who had already won the position of the Marec Mavrenn, Servant of Ravens, and keeper of the treasured artifact, his harp Mavrenn. Nijal, while visiting the College at ArMor-ys, would tell him ancient tales of the harp’s life and former servants. But they had never sexually engaged with each other until the Invaders from the Stars had come, necessitating a long journey by Brynnan, Nijal and the old Warrior, Geraint. Before they left, Nijal had fucked Brynnan for the first time, and Lord Samir had given his permission for his lover to share his body on their journey.

So now he experienced this rougher version of his friend, and he understood that Nijal, too, was teaching him a lesson on focusing. He submitted willingly as, at last, Nijal ejaculated with a cry of pure release.

In all this treatment, Brynnan had not been allowed to cum. The reason became evident as he was pulled from the bed and guided to the room’s centre. Samir secured his lover’s wrists to a hook and chain mounted in the ceiling, and Brynnan waited, knowing what must come.

The Warlord had a penchant for whips and rough play in their lovemaking. Still, he usually used only the less damaging flogger on Brynnan instead of a braided whip or cane, and then only sensually. But now, the leather flogger struck him forcefully, its multiple thongs bringing a burning pain. At first, he did not know whether Samir or Nijal wielded the whip. He decided it must be Nijal who let the falls caress his skin after each stinging stroke. The pain accumulated into a fiery sensation that engulfed his entire body. Then a different hand took the whip.

Samir’s strokes matched, then exceeded Nijal’s. But the pain translated into intense sexual arousal, especially when someone turned him, and Samir flogged his thighs and genitals. It focused his mind wonderfully.

Just over two summers before, Brynnan had been the Warlord’s prisoner based on false information by an enemy. For a year, he had been beaten every day by two torturers. Samir himself had once bullwhipped Brynnan, leaving his back scarred and nearly breaking him. But this current flogging bore no relation to torture. Now, even with the pain, Brynnan could sense the love of both men, and he appreciated their skill and care.

The Warlord was the dominant partner in their relationship. When Brynnan had first been made captive, he was an ass-virgin, having only enjoyed the company of women. But after the year of torture, Lord Samir had made the Bard his sex slave before realizing the love that had lain dormant between them for several years. When the truth about Brynnan’s innocence came to light, Samir had wanted to free him, but the Bard had begged to remain Samir’s own captive to their love.

Pain, translated into heat and intense sexual arousal, brought Brynnan to the extreme of his senses. “My Lord, may I cum?” he gasped.

Samir’s response was to seize his hair and kiss him deeply while stroking Brynnan’s cock with his free hand. The Warlord suddenly opened his mind again, and as Brynnan ejaculated, he felt the full force of Samir’s mind and heart. The love there drew him in as he mentally surrendered to his Lord.

After that, they removed the blindfold and unbound him. The lesson was clear in his mind: Brynnan knew that there would be no hesitation the next time he participated in the Dance of Cuts.

*    *    *

Later, Samir sat with Brynnan on the broad terrace outside their apartments, high up on the mountainside where the Redoubt was built. The sound of the nearby waterfall provided a soft background counterpoint to Brynnan’s harp-playing as he rested his cheek against Mavrenn’s shoulder, lost in the music, his fingers flashing over the strings.

Samir said, “Share with me your thoughts. I want to know what made you hesitate in the Dance.”

This time there was no avoiding the issue. “It was an attempted probe at my mind. It was brief, and I easily suppressed it, but it was enough to disrupt my concentration. I have felt it previously, and it began recently.”

Brynnan opened his mind, allowing Samir to share in the feeling. The Warlord jerked back as if he had been stung.

“This is familiar to me, but I can’t quite place it. Where does it originate?”

“Siginak. I fear one of the Sojourners’ mnemotechs is trying to control my mind again.”

*    *    *

To be continued . . .