Brynnan: The Alsar Imperative

The Breath of Life

As early evening drew on, Eirik, in the Traders’ Compound, entered his room and stripped. His Uncle, Jorge, was not there, having arranged to meet with two of Captain Bonafede’s Senarican guards, ostensibly to visit a Seer who serviced the traders, telling their fortunes and reading signs about their love lives. Jorge was not the least gullible, but he hoped to use the two guards he had befriended to further exploit them.

Eirik poured water from a jug into a large bowl and began to wash himself. He hummed a tune as he rubbed soap into a wet cloth. He paused as he heard a rattle at the door. Thinking it was Jorge coming back early, he turned to open it, but to his shock, a metal shim slid through the crack in the door, lifting the inside latch.

Eirik swept up a sword as the door opened, and a man stepped inside. He was tall and dressed in sombre clothing. Eirik recognized him and hesitated.

“I don’t think you want to do that, Eirik,” Adelchis told him.

Jorge’s nephew slowly lowered the sword to the table and set it down. He was acutely aware that he was in the presence of an assassin but also knew it was vital to remain calm and act casually, so he said, with feigned annoyance, “Can’t you knock, Master Adelchis? What brings you?”

“You do. Lord Vieri sent me.”

“Oh?” Eirik wondered if he were about to die.

Adelchis’ eyes travelled up and down the young man’s muscular form. A light glinted in his eyes that, to Eirik, boded no good. “You are summoned to the Lord’s chambers. You needn’t bother washing; there are better facilities there, and you must be clean for tonight.”

Eirik sighed with relief and turned it into a yawn. Lord Vieri’s man had merely been sent to fetch him. He reached for the clean clothes he had set out.

The assassin approached closer. “Wait. Don’t dress yet.” It was more a command than a request. “Lord Vieri has given me leave to sample the merchandise. You don’t mind, do you?” His question was a challenge.

Eirik sought the right words. “Yes, I do mind. But the Lord pays my wages and more besides, so I suppose I don’t have much say in it.”

Adelchis placed a hand over Eirik’s chest. “I can practically hear your heartbeat. It’s fast. Do you fear me?”

‘Damn right, I fear you,’ Eirik thought but said aloud. “Your heart would speed up too if some stranger suddenly wanted to fuck you, and you had little say in it.”

“I won’t put my seed inside you. That’s not my prerogative. But I think I’ll have you please me in other ways. Come over by the bed and kneel.”

Adelchis seated himself on the bed. Opening his breeches, he pulled out his long, thick cock. “Stroke it,” he ordered.

As Eirik knelt before him, he was in two minds. It boded ill that Adelchis felt free to take liberties. Was his usefulness coming to an end? His uncle had warned him that the assassin was a deadly adversary, and Eirik feared that Jorge would enter and a fight would ensue. He determined to get the act over with as quickly as possible and put off his desire for retaliation. He stroked Adelchis’ cock adeptly, kneading the rigid flesh.

“Aah, that’s good. Now suck me.”

Eirik shut down his ego and complied, taking the cock all the way in and sucking in long slow pulls. He tasted pre-cum  and swallowed as the assassin thrust his hips forward. A hand grasped Eirik’s long, loose hair, forcing his head down, and he struggled to breathe. Eventually, the hand eased to allow the young man to suck the head, working his tongue about the glans while pumping the cock with his fist. Adelchis groaned and did not stop him.

Then Eirik felt invading thoughts in his mind: ‘Make me cum now. I’m going to fuck you after Vieri is finished with you. You’ll be mine—for a little while, anyway . . .’

With horror, he realized that Adelchis had the mind talent. Eirik quickly caught himself and thought about non-confrontational things, mainly about how the assassin was ready to cum. He felt the man’s increasing urgency, the cock throbbing, the surge of semen that shot into his mouth. He hid his distaste and thought of his uncle’s cum, which he enjoyed.

“Get up and dress,” Adelchis said impatiently. “It’s time you were in the Lord’s quarters.”

*    *    *

The guests relaxed. As promised, the Prince’s boy, Shahin, prepared to dance at the feast. The tables in the Great Hall had been cleared of the rich fare, and now, attendants served sweet dessert wines of Narib’s renowned vintage.

The Senarican party sat far from the high table where Prince Jehanadir held sway, behind even the Prince’s own courtiers.

Lord Vieri expressed his displeasure to the Seneschal, Kambiz. “This is ill use of a guest! We have been searched for weapons, and none allowed except for our small knives for use at table; my personal guard is forbidden to attend, yet I notice that the Warlord of Torrent Mountain has his with him, and Prince Jehanadir keeps us at arm’s length. We expected my Lady and I to be invited to the high table, yet I see the Warlord of Torrent Mountain, his Bard, and several strangers among the Prince’s own nobles. I must protest!”

Tall, black-skinned Kambiz, his head wrapped in decorative folds of jewelled cloth, responded. “You have no cause for distress, Lord Vieri. This is the protocol of our Court: you arrived unannounced. We do not know you and have only your word to vouch for you. Do you have letters from the Council of Senarica? State visits normally take many Moons to arrange. The Prince, a living treasure of his land, has survived attacks by foes and malcontents and is heavily protected.” He placed a hand on Vieri’s shoulder. “Now come, you have been treated to our best in viands and wines; the Prince’s dancer, young Shahin, is about to perform for you and our other guests: a signal honour, if you must know, and we have arranged an audience for you with the Prince on the morrow. Please enjoy the rest of your evening here and bear our regards to your Lady.”

Kambiz noted how the Lordi reigned in his ire. The Seneschal had spoken courteously but fairly to him, and surely Lord Vieri knew that to push matters now would not further his cause.

But Vieri had one last request to make. “I have heard of the Warlord’s Bard, an ArMorican man, I believe, whose skills are renowned. Will we at least hear him play?”

“Alas, my Lord. You must forgive him tonight. He has bruised his wrist and rests it. Perhaps tomorrow evening.”

Lord Vieri glanced suspiciously at the high table where Brynnan Marec Mavrenn sat in animated conversation with one of the strange Alsar, a man with hair the colour of mahogany. But he said no more and let the Seneschal escort him back to his seat.

Kambiz summoned a nearby attendant. “Serve the Lord Vieri and his nobles our best wine, and see that their cups are kept filled.”

At the High Table, Dronnadh had been watching the exchange. “Interesting,” he remarked to the Prince. “I expected him to protest more than that. He bites down on his impatience like a horse on the bit. I sense he awaits for a more opportune time.”

“We shall see,” Jehanadir said as he beckoned the musicians to come forward. “Tomorrow, we will interview him, but I will have my guards, you, and our Alsar visitors present.”

The musicians, including the Darbouka player from Shahin’s desert homeland, took their places. The drums started a complex rhythm, then the syrinx and flute players joined in. The nobles and guests hushed their conversation and looked expectantly at the floor where a wide circle of glowing orbs cast a bright, blue-tinted glow.

Shahin walked softly to the circle’s centre and stood, head held proudly as if looking into a distant expanse. Tonight he was dressed in a short sapphire-coloured kilt with a long, turquoise sash. The gold chains he wore for the dance glittered with the rainbow fire of many small gems and tiny silver bells. They wrapped his torso and gathered into a looped belt at his waist. More chains extended to gold bands around his wrists and biceps. The boy’s wheat-gold hair flowed long and loose down his back. His subtly painted eyes, tinted with lapis lazuli and lined with kohl, enhanced his features’ refined masculine beauty. He seemed like an exotic bird freed from a gilded cage as he started to move.

Shahin’s movements blended perfectly with the music, and he seemed controlled by the Darbouka player as if under some ancient spell. His limbs wove a glittering web as the chains flashed and chimed, the moves intensely erotic without being overt.

The Prince, Jehanadir, stood and, lifting a slim, curved sword, tossed it towards Shahin, who swept it out of the air without missing a beat. He balanced it on his head and shimmied his hips, turning in a graceful, swirling move without dislodging the sword. Then he slid to one knee and stretched out, supporting his body with one arm. His hips undulated, and his free arm extended in a graceful snake movement. He rolled onto his belly and then upright once more. The sword remained perfectly in place.

Brynnan felt pure joy in this young man who celebrated life so beautifully with his art, offering his gift to all present. Still, the Bard noted the audience’s reactions, particularly of the Lord and Lady from Senarica. Their two confidants, Matteo Baldassar and Lazzaro Precipio, sat on either side of them. The blond Matteo whispered in his Lord’s ear as both men feasted their eyes on the dancing boy. Brynnan could see the lust shining in Lord Vieri and Lady Alessa’s eyes. He was glad that Shahin’s dance was confined to the circle of light at the centre of the feasting hall, a clever device that kept him from contact with others. And the sword was not a toy.

After the dance, people shook their heads as if waking from a dream, and Jehanadir’s courtiers applauded wholeheartedly. The Prince called Shahin to come to him. He kept his boy close, as his performances at their feasts were not frequent.

Brynnan smiled as Shahin settled beside his lover and, incidentally, beside the Bard. “You outdid yourself tonight, young man. I think the sword was a clever touch.”

Shahin grinned, “Yes, and I can use it, Brynnan—and not just to dance with. My Prince and Kambiz have been teaching me!”

“He’s getting quite good,” said Jehanadir, hooking an arm around his boy’s shoulders. “Unfortunately, training him in the arts of self-defence is necessary. Even Dronnadh schools him in unarmed combat.”

Shahin placed a hand on the Prince’s thigh. “Don’t worry too much about it, my dear Lord. Any would-be assassin or kidnapper has to get through our guards first.”

“As long as you stay with them. I don’t want you wandering off on your own while these strangers are present at our Court.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

Eventually, the feast came to a close. Jehanadir was anxious to be alone with his young lover. Shahin’s dance had awakened his desire. Brynnan, too, readied himself to leave. It would soon be time to send his spirit-raven form to spy on the Senaricans when Lord Vieri would summon Jorge’s nephew, Eirik, to his chamber.

*    *    *

As the Bard neared his own room, Geraint and Azander joined him.

“If you have no objection, Azander and I have agreed to guard your body when your spirit travels,” said the old Warrior. “M’Lord Samir and Nijal are busy meeting with the six new Alsar Guardians who arrived this afternoon.”

“I know. I felt their minds. The Guardians are all ones whom my spirit has met elsewhere,” said Brynnan. “And they also vouch for you, Azander,” he added.

“That’s good to know,” Azander replied disingenuously and grinned. “Especially as you’ve decided to trust me.”

In the chamber, Brynnan undressed, but Geraint remained clothed, “In case something happens.” But Azander stripped and lay close beside the Bard as he settled on the wide bed. Brynnan felt the Guardian’s mind placing a shield about the three of them.

“If you don’t mind, my shield will follow you on your spirit journey,” Azander told Brynnan. “If we encounter a sensitive mind, they will be unaware of you.”

The Bard quieted himself and quickly summoned his spirit form in the guise of a large raven. It took shape and perched on one of the posts of the bed. Geraint could see it, close as he was to his friend, and he shivered. Then the bird spread its wings and disappeared.

Brynnan sought Eirik’s mind, rather than Lord Vieri’s or Lady Alessa’s, and found him quickly enough in the Lord’s assigned chamber. The couple had not yet entered, but he had not long to wait. He made himself part of a wall tapestry featuring a hunting scene, and only an astute eye would notice that a large black bird had been added in a tree above the white stag featured in the weave.

Eirik knelt naked on the thick carpet, and Brynnan could sense his nervousness as he lightly brushed the young man’s mind. He found images of Adelchis. Eirik was worried, and the raven spirit decided to make contact.

‘Eirik, it is I, Brynnan Marec Mavrenn—don’t be alarmed! I have come to watch over you.’

He sensed the relief in Eirik’s mind just as the chamber door opened and the Senarican couple entered, accompanied by a serving maid. Jorge’s nephew bowed his head and waited for them to speak first.

“You will serve us both tonight,” said Vieri. “I see, however, that you are not yet aroused as we instructed. Not in the mood?”

“My Lord, being escorted by your very capable guard, Adelchis, does not lend itself to relaxation, but I am ready to serve you now.”

“Adelchis only acts on my instructions, and what he does is with my permission. After we are finished with you, he will escort you back,” the Lord said.

“My Lord,” Lady Alessa interrupted reprovingly. “Your words apparently don’t inspire confidence in my young man. I think I had better assist him.”

She slipped off her golden gown with her maid’s help and ordered Eirik onto the bed. Flaunting her curved body, she climbed over him, her fair hair sheeting down in a gleaming curtain.

Eirik closed his eyes and submitted to her mouth on his member. It was not long before his cock stiffened.

Brynnan again watched from the shadows as the couple took advantage of their plaything. Vieri sank his cock in Eirik’s ass and fucked him vigorously; the young man, now positioned over Alessa, seemed to enjoy the rough play. The Lord and Lady tried every permutation they could think of until Eirik’s cum spurted out.

Alessa pushed him aside and climbed off the bed. “I leave him to you, my Lord.”

Silently, the maid came forward and threw a cloak over her Mistress’s shoulders. Unusually, Alessa approached Eirik again and kissed him tenderly on his mouth.

“Well, Eirik. It’s been fun, but the stakes are about to get higher. You have been an entertaining diversion, but our wheelwright’s arm heals.

“Are you saying you don’t require my services anymore?”

“Oh, tonight, my Lord still has activities in mind, but I think I will be too busy to play after this. Don’t worry; you and your uncle will be sent from us with our gratitude.”

Brynnan could sense that even Eirik did not quite believe her. The promise of Adelchis to “escort” him afterward seemed to take on a new, sinister meaning.

Alessa turned to Lord Vieri. “Oh, my Lord; I heard today from Matteo. One of Prince Jehanadir’s attendants let slip in his hearing that the Prince plans a trip up the mountain in two days’ time. I wonder what for? I think it might be an opportunity for us.”

“You shouldn’t speak so freely in front of our guest,” Vieri admonished.

“After tonight, it won’t matter,” Alessa replied and laughed.

She swept out, followed by her maid.

*    *    *

In Brynnan’s room, Geraint and Azander lay each side of the Bard. To Azander, Brynnan’s body felt cold, but that was a normal circumstance when the spirit travelled, hence the importance of lending their bodily warmth. Azander spooned against the Bard’s back and wrapped an arm around him, feeling stiff muscles like cool marble.

“What do we do if his spirit is slow to return?” the Guardian asked.

“We both fuck him and give him our seed. There’s a special energy in it that seems to restore him. I have done it, and so has Nijal, many times. When the Invaders came, Brynnan sent his spirit out frequently.”

“How much more time do we give him?”

Geraint replied, “You will sense it if his spirit struggles. Now let us watch—and wait!”

*    *    *

Lord Vieri was almost ready to cum again. His lust filled him tonight, a combination of watching the boy, Shahin, dance at the feast and having Eirik to himself. Jorge’s nephew lay on his back on the bed. Vieri picked up a thin but strong rope that he had placed handy.

“You won’t object if I bind your wrists, I trust?”

Eirik merely shrugged, thinking little of it.

“You’re a strong man, Eirik; I want to see you helpless,” the Lord told him as he securely tied the young man’s wrists to a bar behind the bed.

Eric felt uncomfortable, and a nagging doubt teased his mind, but he comforted himself with the thought that some entity watched over him. Vieri knelt between his thighs, teasing and sucking Eirik’s nipples. He poured lubricant on the young man’s ass before slicking his cock with it. Grasping Eirik’s stiff shaft, he masturbated it with his fist, making Eirik groan. Before he could cum, Vieri teased the anal portal with his cock, then suddenly thrust it in, making the young man wince.

The Lord was well into fucking his secured victim when the door opened, and someone entered the room.

“Adelchis, you are just in time. Join in with me,” Vieri said without looking around.

“My pleasure, Lord,” the assassin replied.

Swiftly stripping, the newcomer climbed on the bed and laid his cock against Eirik’s mouth. The young man had little recourse but to suck it as Lord Vieri continued to pound into him.

“Take my cum, mio maiala,” the Lord gasped, straining into the firm ass and tight passage.

Eirik felt the hot flood of Vieri’s ejaculate spurt into his anal chute. ‘I hope it’s over ...” he thought.

But it wasn’t to be. The assassin took Lord Vieri’s place and sunk his shaft into the dripping ass without further ceremony. His large cock felt like an iron bar. But as he fucked Eirik, Adelchis ran his hands up the young man’s body, pausing at his throat. He grasped it and squeezed.

The assassin showed no immediate signs of letting up, and Eirik, his chest fruitlessly trying to suck in air, thrashed and struggled, but the ropes held. The dreadful pressure eased as he began to black out, causing the young man to inhale deeply. Just as he began to breathe normally, Adelchis again placed his hands around Eirik’s throat but didn’t squeeze straight away. Instead, he kissed Eirik, but as his lips sealed his mouth, the assassin sucked the air out of the young man’s lungs and then squeezed.

Eirik thrashed frantically. He knew he was going to die.

Then Lord Vieri said, “Not here, man! Our plans will be ruined if the Prince’s guards find us with a body. Would you risk the harp or learning the Prince’s secret?”

Eirik blacked out again.

*    *    *

Geraint saw Brynnan toss and turn. But before he or Azander could act, the Bard simply . . .faded from between them.

“Quick!” shouted the old Warrior. “There is danger! I’m going there—“

“I’ll follow in spirit—you just go!”

Geraint took off running. It was far from the guests’ quarters, and he prayed he was not too late. There was silence from Brynnan’s mind, but Geraint felt it like a gathering storm.

*    *    *

Back in Vieri’s chamber, Eirik struggled weakly. Had Adelchis stopped? Then he heard the assassin say, “Just one more time, my Lord; his struggles arouse me greatly.”

The hands began to throttle the young man again but abruptly ceased, and Adelchis sprang back from him with a cry of alarm. He heard Lord Vieri curse. Eirik twisted his head and saw—

Brynnan stood in the room before the two men. He was naked, but that did not distract the eye. What did was his aspect. A shadow seemed to cloak him, making him more demon than man. The planes and hollows of his face looked deathly, and twin sparks of blue fire shone in the black pits of his eyes. He raised a hand to the brand marks on his chest, clearly visible in the swirls of black body hair.

Vieri started to stammer something, but Adelchis was quicker. Seizing Vieri by the shoulder, he dragged him out of the room and, at the same time, attempted to attack the Bard’s mind. The probe just lost itself in the fathomless depths of Brynnan's being, like a voice echoing in a vast cave.

But the Shadow Lord’s son dismissed his concerns of Adelchis and Vieri: Eirik was in more immediate need of his help. Dismissing his deathly aura, he untied the bonds and sat beside the young man, rubbing his back with a comforting hand while Eirik breathed deeply and massaged the marks on his wrists, rubbed raw in his struggles.

There were more footsteps outside the door. Eirik looked up in fear, but Brynnan said, “Be calm. It is only our friend.”

Geraint strode in with several guards behind him. “Is Eirik alright? Where’s Vieri?”

“Eirik will recover. He had a nasty experience. Lord Vieri left somewhat precipitously with his bodyguard, Adelchis.

“We’ll go fetch them.”

“What for? Having rough sex? I know where they are, and we can confront them anytime. But there are more urgent matters. Can you take Eirik to our room and then fetch Jorge from the Trader’s Compound? Take the guards with you. It’s no longer safe for either Jorge or Eirik to stay there.”

“What about you?” said Geraint, a look of concern in his eyes.

“I will return to our room the way I came. I’m too weary. I nearly summoned—well, you can guess. I won’t speak of it here.”

Eirik dressed shakily with help from Geraint, then left with him and the guards. When they had gone, Brynnan examined the clothing Adelchis had left behind. He found three small throwing stars in a pouch attached to the belt and an ampoule of some liquid: nothing good, the Bard guessed. Holding the items in his hands, he concentrated and sent them to the endless passages of the Shadow-ways, where they would be forever lost.

His body was beginning to shake with exhaustion. With the last of his energy, he focused on Adelchis waiting for him and felt the pull of the Guardian’s mind, like an extended hand. He faded.

*    *    *

Azander suddenly found Brynnan lying beside him again. He was shivering and seemed only semiconscious. The Guardian knew what to do. He embraced the limp body from behind, clasping him tightly to share his body heat. Reaching down, Azander rubbed his penis until it stiffened and pre-cum dripped from the tip. He stroked the Bard’s ass and thighs and kissed his back before pushing his cock against Brynnan’s anal portal. The Bard stirred and responded, pressing himself against the rigid staff. There was some resistance, then Azander’s cock gained entry. The Guardian began to thrust in and out.

He kept his fucking slow, with a steady rhythm and gradually, Brynnan stopped shivering and sighed as his whole body suddenly relaxed.

“That’s it, Brynnan. Lean into me. I’m going to fuck you harder now ...”

The rhythm quickened until Azander was fucking him at a steady pace. He reached around the Bard’s loins to grasp his penis and jerked it off in time to his thrusts. Their lovemaking was not adventurous, just simple sexual action, but it proved effective. Azander could feel his partner becoming warm and active as Brynnan thrust his ass back against the Guardian’s cock. Then he sensed that the Bard was on the verge of ejaculation. He pushed in harder, pounding, wringing gasps from Brynnan’s lips.

“I’m cumming now,” the Bard groaned. “Fill me—“

“I am: you’re getting my cum inside you,” Azander replied, gritting his teeth.

Their ejaculations took place simultaneously, and the Alsar Guardian opened his mind, receiving thoughts and images from the Bard. There was no forced reading this time, just sharing emotions and memories.

Into Brynnan’s mind came an image of the Moon Tower in the Alsar city of Candrika. This time, there was no attack, just the tower standing peacefully, bathed in moonlight. Brynnan realized that the high, domed spire had been a place of peace and serenity for Azander, and, in part, his spirit was still bound to it. The Bard entered the tower room and felt a sense of welcome, looking out the open windows at the moon. Then the vision faded, and it was just Azander and him, locked tight in an embrace. Brynnan felt hot tears on his neck.

The Bard whispered, “When I was in your mind before, I saw the tower’s destruction. You cried out a word, “Eleuthera.” What did it mean?”

“It was the name of the intruder’s mothership, that mighty generation ship that travelled through the “Long Dark,” as your ancestors’ called it. I learned about it from negotiating with the intruders who had landed on the planet before the encounter. They had explained the word’s significance. In the attack that utterly destroyed our city, bolts of energy and light rained from the skies, discharged from the mothership. I found it horrifying that a ship named for the concept of freedom was raining death upon us. That was when I began to understand the mindset of those that would annihilate us.”

“But yet, you remember the tower’s beauty and peace.”

“I choose to. I seldom dwell on its destruction now.”

Brynnan turned around, pressing his body into Azander’s. “Thank you for restoring me and sharing that vision of peace.”

“It’s part of what I’m sworn to do,“ the Guardian replied.

Shortly afterwards, Geraint arrived, bringing Eirik with him. “You’ll be safe here with Brynnan and Azander,” he told the young man. “Now, I will go and fetch your uncle.”

*    *    *

To be continued . . .

 

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