Brynnan: The Alsar Imperative

A Question of Trust

A shower of hot water sprayed down over Brynnan and Azander’s naked bodies in the bathing room. While their companions in the Prince’s chamber engaged in erotic play, Azander and Brynnan had come together for one purpose: with their unique powers, they planned to deep-read each other’s minds at the climax of the sexual act. Brynnan was about to find out whether or not they could trust Azander.

Azander leaned in, his rust-red hair dripping, and kissed Brynnan, pushing his tongue between the Bard’s lips. Brynnan tentatively responded.

“Don’t worry, I won’t suck out your soul,” Azander said and grinned.

They kissed for a time, exploring the new territory of each other’s bodies. Brynnan felt a gentle touch from the Guardian in his mind. He recalled his heart’s love, Lord Samir, at that moment and automatically reached out for reassurance, but to his shock, a barrier prevented him; he could reach no one! He was isolated in a locked room of the mind, alone with Azander. Brynnan began to realize that the Guardian was more powerful than he had estimated, and a sound of protest escaped him.

“Shhh . . .” whispered Azander, touching a finger to the Bard’s lips. “Don’t concern yourself with the others. It’s just you and me here, and I have shielded against intrusion.”

Brynnan could have broken through it if he had called on his deeper powers, but he wanted to see where this encounter would take him, so he quieted his mind.

“That’s better,” said Azander. “Now, where were we?”

“Kissing, I believe,” said the Bard drily.

“Ah, yes!”

Azander leaned in once more, pushing Brynnan against the tiled wall. He ran his hands over his partner’s body as he resumed kissing him, pausing at Brynnan’s cock to stroke it, sliding the skin back and forth over the rigid muscle. Then he bent down on one knee and began to lick and suck Brynnan’s penis, then pulled back to regard it.

“A thing of beauty. Your partners are blessed.”

“Thank you,” muttered the Bard. “I think.”

“No, I am sincere,” Azander replied, and he again applied his mouth to Brynnan’s cock and testicles.

He turned Brynnan around, and the Bard braced himself with his hands on the wall. He felt a hot tongue pressing into his anal portal and moaned. Azander continued to rim him. Then he stood and placed his hands on the Bard’s hips. He pushed a knee between Brynnan’s legs to nudge them open, and Brynnan knew what was coming next. Accordingly, he bent forward and spread his legs.

He felt a cock probing his ass, seeking entry to the primed gateway to Azander’s pleasure. The stiff penis thrust into the rectal opening and paused. Brynnan endured some spasms: Azander’s cock was substantial. He relaxed and felt it pushing deeper inside him.

The Guardian’s mind brushed his again, and it felt like sensual stroking. Brynnan allowed it. Even as the rigid phallus pushed in and out in a slowly building rhythm, their minds entwined like swirling smoke. Brynnan suddenly received a more profound sense of the man: he detected a firmness of resolve, a desire to know him. The Bard opened himself up like a night-blooming flower, accepting Azander’s probing mind. He felt his consciousness explored as if Azander wandered through different rooms, metaphorically perusing doors, chests, and cupboards to see what was in them.

Recent memories came to the fore: making love with the Warlord and the roughness of Samir’s passion, the whipping and being bound in silken ropes. Brynnan continued to let Azander in, hiding nothing about those events. Then an unexpected memory presented itself: he was by a large river at night with Andri and Col, and he held Col’s baby son in his arms, lowering him into the water for a blessing. He realized then that Azander was reading him, even though he had not yet cum.

Azander’s fucking became powerfully insistent as he thrust deeper and faster, water pouring over them. His hand reached around the Bard’s body and grasped Brynnan’s cock, jerking it off, bringing him close to ejaculation.

“Aah! You’re making me cum,” Brynnan cried out.

Like a tsunami, a powerful wave of lust fulfilled washed over him as his cum jetted out, dripping from Azanders fist. At that moment of his disorientation, his mind became unshielded.

As if he were falling through space, it seemed his spirit rushed through the Shadow-ways, ending at the dread portal that led to the Desert of Souls. It began to open. Abruptly, he pulled away and found himself in his Father’s kingdom of Annwn, the Underworld. Under an apple tree in a grove, he spied the woman that was his harp’s soul, Mavrenn. Shocked, he pulled back, shielding abruptly and powerfully, casting away Azander’s invading mind. He sagged onto the tiles on his hands and knees.

Azander paled and crouched down beside the Bard. “Brynnan, I did not mean to go that far—I am sorry.”

“No, it was my fault,” the Bard replied. “I let you in, but I did not realize the extent of your power. You present as being a mild-spoken and considerate man, but you have a core as hard as diamond.”

“Perhaps we should cease our play. I did not intend to harm you—”

“No, Guardian. We are not yet done. Stand up, and I will pleasure you with my mouth.”

Azander seemed to realize that the Bard’s comment was not a request. He looked intently into Brynnan’s eyes for several moments, then stood. Brynnan, on his knees, regarded the large cock. It was not as big as his lover’s but sizeable enough, thick and straight. He took it in his mouth and sucked. Employing the skills taught him by Geraint, he wrought pleasure in the Alsar Guardian’s body, taking his time and prolonging the experience. He pulled back the foreskin and licked the glans, swirling his tongue around it before probing the piss-slit. Whenever Azander was close to cumming, Brynnan would hold back: he teased and edged his partner until the Guardian gasped in his lust. Finally, sensing that ejaculation was imminent, Brynnan sucked the head, even as he manipulated the shaft with rapid jerks of his hand, feeding on Azander’s cock. The Bard felt semen surge through the dripping member, erupting in his mouth. He took the cock all the way in, swallowing and milking the last drops from it with his throat muscles. Azander cried out in ecstasy, and it was Brynnan’s turn to read the man.

Images like the ones he had experienced at the ruins filled his mind: explosions and massive walls crumbling. In slow motion, the Moon Tower collapsed, killing the Alsar people trapped inside. Brynnan/Azander ran forward, calling a name, ‘Eleutheria . . .’ Rage and despair overwhelmed him/them.

Brynnan’s mind lived through other memories with Azander that flashed by rapidly. He travelled the planet with him and marvelled at strange creatures and plants. Then he stood beside a human male who was carving a purple wood and spoke to him. ‘Dristan; Dristan Brydydd Mawr . . .’ A woman walked up to him, a beautiful woman with long, rippling black hair that cloaked her back. Her red eyes glittered. With shock, he recognized her. ‘Mavrenn!’

The realization pulled him back to the present. He and Azander stared at each other.

“You knew her . . .” Brynnan said in wonder. “You were there when her Bard, Dristan, carved the harp. It must have been very shortly before her bodily death.”

Azander replied, “And you have seen her, too. In the Land of Shadows.”

“It is also the Blessed Realm and the Land of the Ever-Young. Yes, I have travelled there. Do not ask me how at this time.”

“It is significant that both our visions ended with Mavrenn. I was shielding us from the others, but Dronnadh undoubtedly could have explained the connection.”

He reached a hand down to Brynnan and pulled him to his feet. Then, impulsively, he kissed him.

“I think we are wet enough,” he said, turning off the water’s spray. He picked up two towels and tossed one to the Bard. “We have both shown secrets to one another. I’d like to discuss it with you later if you will trust me. I realize my reading was abrupt and intrusive, but that is the nature of these things. But I’d never knowingly hurt you.”

“I’m coming to believe it. But, as I said, you have a core as hard as diamond.”

“And you have a core as mysterious as a moonless night. Part of you is cloaked in shadow,” said Azander.

Brynnan appreciated the irony of the words. Azander was closer to the truth than he realized, as if he sensed some of it. The Bard was not quite ready to enlighten him.

 “You said I am like diamond at my core,” said Azander. “Well, I learned that hardness long ago—the ruins where we met in my memory were called Candrika, the City of Moonlight. I was there when the invaders destroyed it with their advanced weapons. My companions and those I loved died there.”

Oddly, Brynnan could identify with Azander’s comments. He had seen enough of war and destruction himself. He remembered the name, ‘Eleutheria,’ that the Guardian had called out as the tower fell, but he did not desire to discover more just then. If Azander ever wanted to tell him, he would.

Azander stood still a moment and closed his eyes. As if a door had been opened, Brynnan’s awareness encompassed his friends’ minds again as the Guardian dropped his perimeter shield. He felt Nijal’s concern and his lover, the Warlord’s impatience and worry.

Entering the Prince’s chamber, Brynnan quickly reassured those present. He walked up to Samir, who lay on the bed with his arm around Shahin, the Prince’s boy. The young dancer looked content. The Bard kissed them both and told the Warlord, “Banish your concerns, dear heart; Azander and I have come to an understanding. He also fears for Mavrenn. I think we can use his help.”

*   *   *

The following day, the Warlord gathered Brynnan, Asirin and Geraint to inspect his men’s disposition. The garrison where they lodged was just outside the city gates, so they took their horses. Brynnan’s dapple grey horse, Rhiannon, whickered softly when she saw him and nuzzled his shoulder, pushing it with her head as the Bard scratched her neck. He took some moments to compliment the grooms on their care.

Captain Alanus met them at the garrison, along with Asirin’s lieutenant, Cadmus.

“How are the men, Alanus?” Samir asked.

“No problems, Warlord. The Senarican guards are quartered with us, and though I can’t say we get along, they have not troubled us, although I’m keeping an eye on them, as you ordered.”

“I see some of my brother Deieros over there, sparring with your men, Captain,” remarked Asirin.

“Yes, there’s talk among us of practicing your Dance of Cuts, but I think we know who will win.”

Cadmus spoke, “You only get better if you practice. Your men are good learners, Alanus.”

They walked among Samir’s guard, and the Warlord spoke with each of them. Their loyalty to their Lord was intense, and none would hesitate to lay down their life for him. After that, Samir and his companions visited the Deieros warriors, and Asirin met with them.

Brynnan meanwhile scanned the aether, looking for a particular mind, one that was familiar with his dear friends Col and Andri. He knew the Senarican wagons had been put at the Trader’s Compound nearby.

“My Lord Samir, give me leave to look for those of whom we spoke. I sense one of them not too far away.”

“Yes, my Bard, do that, and take Geraint with you before he finds a dice game and causes trouble.”

“M’Lord!” protested the old Warrior. “Do you think I’d cause trouble so early in the morning?”

Samir laughed. “You are capable of it any time of day, old friend.”

“Ah! But that’s one of the reasons you love me,” Geraint responded.

As they rode over to the Trader’s Compound, Brynnan glanced at Geraint and noticed his expression.

“What are you smiling about, my friend?”

“Oh, I’m just looking forward to seeing Jorge,” Geraint replied.

“I gather you, and he formed a friendship.”

“We two old fighters have many things in common.”

“Like your desire for each other—“

“Mmm, there is that, also,” chuckled the old Warrior.

“I hope you realize this is to be a serious visit. We are not going over there to play.”

“We’ll see . . .” Geraint said and winked.

Brynnan merely shook his head.

They reached the Compound and found the Senarican wagons lined up outside. Four guards patrolled around them.

Brynnan spotted Eirik working on a wagon. He was dressed plainly and wore a leather tool belt around his waist. His long hair was tied back in a bun, and his sleeves were rolled up as he adjusted a wheel.

Geraint approached the young man. “Eirik!” he called out.

Eirik looked up. “Geraint, as I live and breathe! I never expected to find you here.”

Geraint dismounted and clasped Eirik in a bear hug. “It does my old eyes good to look on you. Working, as usual.” He turned to Brynnan.

“This is Brynnan Marec Mavrenn; come to speak with your uncle.”

Eirik clasped arms with the Bard. “My uncle has told me about you. But how are you both here in Narib?”

Geraint said, “I could say the same of you. What with the Senaricans you currently serve, this seems to be a popular destination.”

Eirik’s expression darkened. “Yes, I think you had better talk to my uncle—and myself. Wait while I go tell the guards; they keep an eye on me, you know.”

Eirik returned shortly. “Come on. My uncle is inside the Compound, talking to people and gathering information.”

Inside, a colourful crowd of people and animals filled the expansive yard. A well surrounded by troughs served both men and beasts at the courtyard’s centre. Alcoves spaced around two walls provided storage for goods and stables for the animals. Quarters for the traders and their people lined the remaining two walls.

Geraint spotted Jorge seated under an awning with three traders. He appeared deep in conversation. However, as Brynnan and Geraint started to approach, Jorge lifted his head like a questing hound. He turned and looked at them directly, and his pale blue eyes gleamed as he recognized the old Warrior. He said something to his companions and left them.

“Geraint and—Brynnan Marec Mavrenn? Unless I miss my guess.”

“You are astute, hunter,” Brynnan replied.

“Not difficult; you wear the bardic dress, and that pin on your cloak with an ArMorican design gives you away.”

“Most people aren’t that observant,” said the Bard.

“Ah, but it’s a necessary skill for a hunter,” replied Jorge.

“Is there somewhere we can talk privately?” Geraint asked.

“The best we can do is Eirik and my quarters, but there’s no guarantee we can’t be overheard.”

“Don’t worry; I can shield us,” stated Brynnan.

“Yes, I expect you can,” said Jorge. “Follow me.”

They came to the room given to Eirik and his uncle. Eirik shut and barred the door. Once inside, Jorge and Geraint spontaneously embraced, then kissed each other sensuously. Brynnan waited patiently.

Eirik sat on the floor while the others claimed a bed wide enough for three or four people. Where space was at a premium, everyone shared.

“I told them we have news, Uncle, without giving details,” the young man said.

Jorge grunted. Then he spoke. “You are perhaps wondering what business Eirik and I have with the Senaricans. Two of their nobles, Lazzero Precipio and Matteo Baldassar, met my nephew near our mountain home. Their wheelwright was injured, and one of their wagons had broken. They came to our steading and offered us an exorbitant amount in jewels to hire Eirik. It seemed more likely they wanted to purchase him and not just as a common workman. At first, I refused. But afterwards, Eirik told me of a conversation between the two Lords he had overheard.”

Eirik took over. “They mentioned the goal of their journey: to visit Prince Jehanadir in Narib. And I believe they intend evil.”

Jorge said, “Acting on that, I decided to visit them to see for myself. The leader, Lord Vieri, has an attendant, a bodyguard. He is a tall man that nevertheless draws little attention to himself but is constantly at his Lord’s shoulder. I recognized him. He’s an assassin.”

Brynnan felt the stirring of alarm mixed with a prescience about the future. Worried, he asked, “Is he named ‘Adelchis?’ Long, dark hair and a dour expression?”

“That’s him! The fact that he’s an assassin does not definitely prove they plan to kill someone high in Narib’s hierarchy—perhaps even the Prince himself, but it was enough for us to take Lord Vieri’s offer. Andri spoke fondly of Prince Jehanadir. Apparently, he is a conscientious ruler. I would not see him come to harm.”

Brynnan felt cold inside. “Do you want to bring Eirik and leave the Senaricans? The Prince will offer you his protection.”

Jorge did not hesitate. “It would be counterproductive at this point. Eirik will be summoned, under guard, to Lady Alessa’s rooms tonight, and I imagine that Lord Vieri will be present. He’s developed an interest in my nephew. I’m hoping we can glean more information.”

Geraint said, “Prince Jehanadir is holding a feast tonight, and his boy, Shahin, is an accomplished dancer. Your Lord and Lady and their nobles are invited. The Prince doesn’t intend to allow them to get close to him. Perhaps he can inform them their guards will not be welcome in the Gathering Hall. At least we can keep Adelchis away. I’d hate to see him launch an attack. If he’s anything like you, Jorge, he’ll be fast and deadly. Don’t forget I’ve seen you fight, my friend.”

“We’ll talk to Jehanadir when we return, old Warrior. I think it would be prudent to have Adelchis monitored,” said Brynnan.

“They must be careful: Adelchis is very skilled. But, after the feast, when Eirik is brought to the Lady, I have a feeling my nephew also may be in danger,” said Jorge. “I cannot guard him.”

“But I can,” the Bard replied. “Either in spirit or in person.”

“I won’t ask how. You carry your own secrets. But that relieves me.”

Eirik stood up, clipping on his tool belt again. “I’d better go before the wagon guards get suspicious. Thank you for your offer, Brynnan. It’s been good to meet you.”

Eirik said a further farewell to his uncle and Geraint and left.

“We had better be going, too,” said Brynnan. “My Lord Samir awaits.”

Geraint placed a restraining hand on the Bard’s arm. “I think m’Lord can wait some more if you send a message to him. Jorge and I have a little—or not so little—business together.”

Brynnan felt Geraint’s thought in his mind. ‘It has been a long time since Jorge and I were together. Indulge me in this.’

‘Very well. Old Warrior. I will wait for you.’

When Geraint took Jorge in his arms, the hunter did not hesitate to respond. He offered no apology or excuse but seized the opportunity given. The two older men passionately kissed each other before stripping off their shirts. Geraint’s furry torso pressed against Jorge’s. They played with each other’s nipples, rubbing and pinching the stiffening points as they kissed. The old Warrior lowered his head to suck Jorge’s nipples, making him groan lustily. By mutual consent, they both stripped off their boots and breeches, exposing their proud cocks: Geraint’s enormous, girthy one and Jorge’s, which was long and thick, nesting in a thatch of grey-brown hairs.

Brynnan watched as the two men tumbled to the bed, grappling with each other. Geraint lay over Jorge, grinding his heavy phallus into his friend’s as pre-cum flowed from both cocks. The slippery, engorged members rubbed against each other with increasing urgency until they rolled and changed places. Then Jorge turned around, placing his mouth over the old Warrior’s rigid member, and the two men sucked each other off. Their actions took on a palpable excitement until Jorge, with a moan, ejaculated. Geraint eagerly swallowed his cum. Shortly after, it was the old Warrior’s turn to cum. Jorge and Geraint moved to embrace each other, sharing deep kisses.

Jorge looked up at Brynnan. “Get over here, Bard, and let us make you cum.”

Amused, Brynnan complied. Geraint and Jorge sat on the edge of the bed, and Geraint unfastened the Bard’s breeches, pulling out his cock. Then both the older men sucked and licked it until it thrust out rigidly from Brynnan’s body. He sighed and let himself surrender to their mouths and hands until he felt the rising tide of ejaculation. Geraint swallowed his cum, leaving Jorge to lick Brynnan’s cock clean.

The Bard laughed. “My Lord was right to accuse you of getting into trouble.”

“Ah, but you were complicit,” Geraint replied.

“Not for the first time, alas! I have a hard time refusing you, my friend.”

They said a warm farewell to the old hunter. “We will talk to my Lord Samir and Prince Jehanadir,” Brynnan told him. “And I will guard Eirik tonight.”

“I’ll be grateful if you can do that. He’s a good lad but not worldly-wise,” Jorge replied.

*    *    *

The Prince was deeply concerned when he heard their news. He sat in his private audience chamber with the Warlord, Dronnadh, Geraint, Brynnan, Nijal, and also Azander, who had been admitted into their confidences.

“Kambiz must hear this,” the Prince said. “My seneschal will be able to arrange guards and security at the feast and keep the Senaricans at arm’s length. However, I must at least allow Lord Vieri to speak with me.”

“Have him searched for weapons beforehand,” said the Warlord.

Nijal said, “And have Dronnadh by your side. He can detect those patterns that threaten you.”

“Thank you, my friends,” the Prince replied. “We will forbid Lord Vieri’s guards, including this Adelchis, but, Samir, I would ask you to have several of your own guards in attendance. We will quarter them beside your rooms. I contemplated just sending the Senarican party away, but it is incumbent on me to find their motives and purposes. Is the threat simply from this one Lord, or is it a move by the Senarican state?”

“They would be foolish indeed to break the Pact that ensures our peace with the Sojourners. The other city-states who belong, and Torrent Mountain, would not countenance it,” said the Warlord, frowning.

“I have already dispatched messengers to Senarica, but it will be a fair amount of time before we receive a response.”

Azander said, “We need a Guardian there. Then swift mind communications would be available. If my Lords agree, perhaps I could travel there with our guests and attach myself to their council.”

“It bears our consideration,” said the Prince.

He reached beside him to where a silken rope hung and pulled it. A bell chimed. Moments later, an attendant approached.

Jehanadir said, “Have Seneschal Kambiz summoned and brought to us. Tell him I will brook no delay.”

“At once, my Prince,” the attendant replied and bowed.

Once he was gone, Jehanadir turned to his friends. “I think we have planned as best we may for tonight’s feast. Let us hope there are no incidents, especially when Shahin dances.”

“You would risk him?” asked Geraint.

“I cannot let vague fears about our guests dictate my behaviour. They will swiftly suffer the consequences if they make any hostile move.”

“We will be on guard,” said Dronnadh.

Brynnan sensed the resolve in the Alsar Diviner’s words and hoped it would be enough.

*    *    *

To be continued . . .

 

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