Brynnan and the Sea Raiders

The Key

The shore loomed closer. The dragon ships swept into the bay under oars and approached a landing. Jarl Falke’s Einheri led the fleet, followed closely by Arne’s Mjothvitnir.

In Mjothvitnir’s bow, Brynnan stood chained beside Geraint. Hearing a loud voice across the waters, he saw Falke’s ship closing alongside them. Falke himself stood on deck, staring directly at him with a shocked expression. But there was no time now for Brynnan’s former captor to act upon his sudden discovery that Hrafn, as he had named him, was alive. Falke’s expression was set in fury, and he shouted Arne’s name.

After Arne had pulled the two captives from the sea, he had kept the fact of their existence hidden from the other ships as he knew that Falke would want to claim Hrafn again for whatever purpose. Brynnan understood that to Falke, he was now too dangerous to be allowed to live, but Arne desperately wanted the knowledge of the Sea God Aegir’s realm. Arne had also fallen under Geraint’s influence, craving the sexual secrets of the gods that Geraint possessed.

However, their planned raid was happening now. The raiders were already shipping oars, seizing their shields and jumping into the shallows to wade ashore. Dressed in all their warlike finery and bristling with weapons, they made their way to the beach near the Esterhaven trading port. They anticipated rich plunder—in goods and slaves.

On the hills behind the raiders’ staging area, distant horns sounded, and smoke from signal fires rose into the air.

“Well, lad. This is it. Arne either has us slain now or keeps us chained here to further his ends. And Falke looks pissed. Can you wake those runes branded on you and summon your power; get us out of this mess?”

“I have already contacted my Father, and he has taken steps. I don’t know if he has succeeded as yet. But see, Geraint! On the beach: Arne and Falke confront each other. They are coming to blows.”

The old Warrior followed Brynnan’s gaze. A fight seemed to have broken out on shore between Arne’s and Falke’s men, and the two leaders were already engaged with each other, swinging their swords with ferocious energy.

“But wait; they are breaking apart again,” said Brynnan, whose eyesight was exceptionally keen. “Now, they head up the trail with men from the other ships. They have probably called a truce until the raid is done.”

“But it puts us in a bad spot. We have now become a target. And we are chained here,” the old Warrior growled.

“I see Thorvald, Arne’s Helmsman, heading towards us with two crewmen. Has he come to slay us, I wonder?” Brynnan observed.

They could only wait as Thorvald climbed aboard the Mjothvitnir. He approached them directly.

“Hrafn, you are in danger from Falke and his men. We cannot protect you here while the raid is ongoing. Arne has sent me to unchain you.”

“And Geraint?”

Thorvald looked at the old Warrior. “He will attempt to fight, like as not. I don’t trust him.”

“Geraint will protect me, though. He will not jeopardize my safety to satisfy any lust for revenge,” Brynnan argued. “Let me convince you. The men have used me daily, but you have had no part of me, as you attend to the captain.”

“Ulfr and Hydyr will stand behind me and keep eyes on Geraint.”

“Fair enough,” agreed Brynnan.

Thorvald took an iron key and unlocked the collar around Brynnan’s neck, at which point their captive at once stepped away from the mast and knelt before the Helmsman.

“Do it as you would do to the Wind Lord or to Aegir himself,” said Thorvald, opening the flap of his breeches.

Brynnan wasted no time. He licked Thorvald’s ball sack at once but did not rush his task: the stakes were too high. He used his skills and imagination, remembering how he had sucked off Kari, God of the North Wind. He imagined that Thorvald’s cock was as huge. So he licked from the root to the tip and back again before sucking on the head, using an exquisite touch to stir Thorvald’s lust. His teasing the head of the Helmsman’s cock with his tongue and stroking the shaft with his hand brought Thorvald’s still sizeable cock to a full erection.

Then Brynnan did take the shaft in his mouth, plunging down and deep-throating the whole cock. The sudden shift to complete envelopment had Thorvald groaning, and Brynnan tasted his pre-cum. He sucked the Helmsman’s stiff shaft thoroughly and did not neglect to massage his ball sack. Each pull of his mouth and each stroke of his tongue urged Thorvald closer to the point of no return. Finally, he fell over that edge, ejaculating forcefully into Brynnan’s throat, making his captive swallow it all.

Thorvald, replete, sighed in satisfaction. “I would wish we had more time, but we will soon fight the people of this settlement, and there’s conquest to claim,” he said as he unlocked Geraint. “Go now, and stay away from Falke’s men. Wait at the haugr, the burial cairns on top of yonder hilltop. I know you do not fear the dead, Hrafn, but we do, and Falke’s men will not go there. Arne swears you will be treated well if you return to us once the raid is over. He wants no harm to come to either of you. There is much that he still would learn.”

‘I bet there is . . .’ Geraint sent to Brynnan’s mind.

Then, followed by Thorvald, Ulfr and Hydyr, the two freed captives slipped over the side to wade ashore.

*    *    *

Brynnan and Geraint initially headed toward the hilltop pointed out by Thorvald. Eventually, they turned and headed south on a parallel path to the raiders, leading to the settlement of Esterhaven. They kept their senses alert.

“We saw signal fires, but what I am not seeing or smelling right now is smoke,” said Geraint. “The sea raiders typically fire the places they have raided, but only after the plunder and captives have been taken. It means that engagement is still underway. I wonder if the people are resisting and fighting for their lives or if they have already fled? Let us find out.”

Between low hills, they glimpsed the buildings of the settlement. The raiders had chosen to land further up the coast so they would not be crowded into the small harbour and become vulnerable. As the two men drew closer, they began to hear the sound of shouting and warfare; the din of weapons beating on weapons and shields, and the screams and cries of men.

The fighting was not in the town’s streets, as they had expected, but outside where an expanse of clear space lay. But the raiders did not fight the townspeople; they faced troops.

Seeing specific accoutrements and armour, Geraint exclaimed in amazement, “It’s m’Lord Samir’s troops! And I see the colours of the Brotherhood of Deieros from the Redstone fortification! There are others—possibly the defenders of Esterhaven and soldiers from other outposts, but the troops are mainly from Torrent Mountain. But how?”

Brynnan answered his friend. “Before I left to find you, my Lord Samir arranged to bring troops once more to the coast to fight the sea raiders. We did not know where to expect them, so I told him I would send word if I could to direct him to the exact location.”

“But you did not tell me you had reached m’Lord’s mind!”

“I haven’t. But my Father has that power. I asked him to warn my beloved Lord. I am grateful that the message has been received. Let us make haste now.”

Geraint laid a restraining hand on Brynnan’s shoulder. “Not so fast, my lad. We have just escaped these raiders. We’re weaponless—at least I am, not having unearthly powers, and Winds from the Void and suchlike, as you have. But I am still tasked by m’Lord to protect you. That has never changed. All I’m asking is that we use our heads.”

“You are right, dear friend, as usual. But I must find Samir. I daren’t call to him with my mind right now; if he’s in combat, I don’t want to distract him.

A swishing noise suddenly alerted them, and an axe-head narrowly missed Brynnan’s neck as he swerved back. Three raiders from behind them launched a vicious assault. They were much bigger men than Brynnan, but he spun into a dropkick that broke the foremost attacker’s wrist.

As the axe flew from the raider’s grip, Geraint seized it out of the air. Without pause, the old Warrior struck against the closest raider, the axe blow cleaving his shield. The third raider had a sword, and he at once closed with Geraint. They were about equal in reach, but after a series of attempted strikes, Geraint was able to slash the attacker’s sword-bearing hand. The man then dropped his sword with a loud curse, and blood flowed from his arm, but despite it, he launched himself at Geraint, seeking to close with him.

As the raider made a grab for the axe, Geraint tossed it to Brynnan just as the man grappled his waist. Both went down, and they rolled and fought with animal savagery. Then Geraint hooked a powerful arm around the man’s throat, jerking his head back with his other hand and breaking his neck. The old Warrior followed through with a roll without pausing, sweeping up the sword and gutting the raider with the broken wrist, who had brought out a long dagger against Brynnan.

The remaining attacker had a lance with a longer reach, and he thrust it at Geraint just as Brynnan hurled the axe, which struck the raider in the shoulder. Geraint was immediately on him with the sword, and he fell, dead on his feet from a thrust to the throat. Blood sprayed, and Geraint stepped back.

“Are you alright?” Geraint panted, wiping blood from his face.

“Yes. Unharmed. Wait till I get this one’s dagger.”

As Brynnan armed himself again, Geraint unfastened the swordsman’s baldric and put it on. He also picked up the axe and stuck it in his belt. “Shame on me,” he grunted. “I didn’t hear them buggers coming.”

They ran directly towards the melee. “Stay behind me, lad,” Geraint shouted.

Arrows flew overhead, loosed from the defenders’ ranks before the raiders had the chance to properly shoot their own. The sea warriors were used to their victims running away, and following on their heels, but these defenders were well-armed, highly skilled and wore protective gear.

Brynnan and Geraint dodged between knots of fighting men. A voice hailed them, a member of the Brotherhood of Deieros. He recognized Geraint, who answered him, “Where is Warlord Samir?” The man pointed, and they ran on.

All of a sudden, they saw the Warlord. Broadsword in hand and marked with blood and dust, he directed the men around him as they headed towards a new group of raiders. Brynnan let his mind-call alert his Lord.

Samir looked up, and his eyes briefly widened. A flare of love and recognition met him, but apart from that reaction, he was all business. “Brynnan, to me! Geraint, watch our backs. Kyros, take over. I will return shortly,” he commanded.

There was no time for pleasantries. Samir merely seized Brynnan’s arm and pulled him over to where a great horse danced on the spot, trumpeting challenges to all and sundry.

“Malpaisan! Hold still,” Samir shouted, and the horse settled. The Warlord ran up to him, reached into the horse’s saddlebag and pulled out a bundle wrapped in silk.

“Your Father’s instructions,” he said. “You will know what to do.”

Brynnan took the bundle, opened it and saw his golden torc, the neckpiece of his Father and key to the Shadow Realm, lying there. Hope surged in him, and he immediately put it on. As it clicked around his throat, the mist came. He only had a moment to glance at Geraint, who nodded tersely, understanding what was about to happen, when the world about him greyed and became silent.

*    *    *

The Shadow-ways formed about him. Focussing on his need, he concentrated, and the mists thinned. Purple grass lay under his feet. He was in Annwn, the Shadowland and Kingdom of Arawn the Huntsman.

Awareness dawned as he found himself before the Maen Seren, the Star Stone, where he had received the runes branded on his chest. The stone was a white monolith, the height of a man, with a large hole in its centre and covered in the incised sigils from where Brynnan’s three runes had come. Although the sky in Annwn suggested early evening, a different view was visible through the centre opening of the stone: black night and stars shone there, and a cold wind blew through it. Brynnan could feel its power, drawing him. The marks on his body burned dully in response.

Before he could wonder, he heard his father’s voice.

“You found your way here. I am relieved,” King Arawn said.

“I can’t stay long, Father. The raiders seek to overrun the town and my Lord Samir’s forces fight them.”

“I love your sense of humour, my son. We have all the time in the world if you so choose.”

Arawn embraced Brynnan. “I am glad you have brought your body still joined with your soul,” he commented wryly. “The powers have sought your life, but you escaped them.”

“Yes, Father. Du y Moroedd did his work well and brought us to the mortal realm.”

“That fell beast still may play a part in this Hunt. And you separated Aegir’s Realm from the Mortal one. Be ever so careful of these powers. The Void is not to be trifled with.”

“And do I trifle with it, Father? You caused me to bear the marks of the Abyss. The power terrifies me, yet I accept its burden.”

“You do, my son. And you have been much abused lately. The rapes you have endured must have barely renewed your spirit-energy, even as they taxed your body, and yet you must go back to the material world to confront these marauders of the sea.”

“I know, my Father. And this fleet is a small one—only part of their existing capability. Even if we defeat them at Esterhaven, their rulers will only send more.”

“You must change their minds; that raiding is unprofitable. In the meantime, you need the strength to confront them again. I will give it to you.”

“Here? Before the Star Stone?”

“The place is fitting. Let me take your body now.”

Arawn removed his cloak, laying it on the grass. When both were naked, they knelt facing each other and kissed, Arawn’s tongue playing against Brynnan’s. They kissed more deeply and exchanged their breaths, with Arawn sending the air of the Blessѐd Realm, the Land of Shadow, into his lungs. Brynnan could taste its power and potential.

Their arms enfolded each other’s bodies, and Brynnan felt the supple and powerful muscles that knit his father’s frame and the strong arms that held him before pushing him to the ground. Reclining, they continued kissing until Arawn broke off.

“Let the exchange begin. Suck my cock, then I will fuck you.”

Brynnan obediently bent to his task, running his tongue down Arawn’s pale skin, slicking over the silky body hair that mirrored his own, over the stomach to his father’s cock. He lapped at the stiffening shaft before moving to the full and tight ball sack, sucking each testicle. Moving back to the hardened rod, he sucked the glans and tasted pre-cum.

“Swallow my cock, my son. I want to feel your mouth around it,” Arawn encouraged him.

Brynnan sucked and pulled with his lips, feeling the soft skin slide over the firm flesh beneath. More pre-cum blessed his lips, and he licked that off, dipping his tongue into the piss-slit. He grasped his father’s penis in his hand, feeding it into his mouth and working it with his throat muscles.

After some time at this, Arawn whispered, “Enough, I will take you now.”

Brynnan allowed the Huntsman to turn him over, where he waited on all fours. He felt long-fingered hands stroking his sides, then gripping his buttocks. He could feel the slipperiness of copious pre-cum as Arawn’s cock probed at his rectum and pushed its way in.

Brynnan drew a sharp breath as he felt his father’s penis enter him, filling him. A lustful fire flared in his belly, and he wanted to submit and let the Shadow Lord take whatever he wanted. He groaned aloud as Arawn repeatedly drove his stiff cock in and out. He took the hard fucking he was given and felt his father’s approaching orgasm.

“Don’t cum yet, my son,” Arawn said. “I’m going to suck you off after you receive my semen in your ass.”

“Yes, Father . . .”

When The Shadow Lord came, it was as if a tide of fire swept up Brynnan’s body. Even the brands on his chest burned, perhaps because of his close proximity to the Stone of Seren. He felt the cold wind that blew from the opening in the stone, reminding him of the Abyss.

“Careful, my son. Watch where your mind takes you!” his father cautioned.

Arawn withdrew his cock, and Brynnan rolled to his back, feeling as if he floated upon the tide. Then his father leaned over his body and took Brynnan’s cock in his hand, slowly jerking it off. His lips and tongue followed as he kissed, then sucked the penis. The exquisite feeling deepened as Arawn took more of his son’s member down his throat.

Brynnan let his body relax in abandonment, his orgasm very close. He was cumming. He felt it rush upon him and cried out. Hot spurts of semen made his cock throb in almost unbearable ecstasy. Arawn sucked him completely and swallowed his cum.

The Shadow Lord lay still, half-across his son’s body. He clasped Brynnan’s hand, and their fingers intertwined, that simple contact expressing the love and satisfaction they felt with each other.

It was with reluctance that Brynnan arose. “I must go back, Father. I have to make some hard decisions. My duty is still to the dying, yet the Hunt calls me.”

“Maybe this will help you.” Arawn stood still and focused.

A dapple grey horse and a huge, dark, shaggy dog stood before them. Their eyes glowed red with otherworldly power. The horse had a bow and a quiver of arrows attached behind the saddle. Over the seat, clothes were draped. A silver horn hung from the pommel.

“Rhiannon and Ysbryd!” Brynnan exclaimed joyfully. “But I left them at Torrent Mountain!” Walking over, he made much of them, scratching the horse’s neck and ruffling the dog’s ears.

“Being the offspring of my stallion, you know your mare has no difficulty entering the Shadow-ways. I called their names, and they came. Attend to the Hunt before you attend to the dying, but leave survivors that will spread the message to the raider’s home ports.”

“But who will accompany me on this Hunt? You, my Father?”

“The very souls of the slain will follow you. Terror will reign when the living raiders see their dead companions at your heels. I will attend later; count on it!”

“I will do as you command, my Father,” Brynnan said as he dressed in the dark green hunting gear and a black cloak.

He mounted Rhiannon, feeling the burden of the duty yet feeling steady confidence and determination. He walked the mare up to King Arawn and bent down from the saddle to kiss his father farewell.

“Expect to see me later. Hunt well, my son.”

Brynnan took the horn and blew a blast, summoning the Cŵn Annwn, the Hounds of the Annwn, swift and deadly in their pursuit of souls. As the baying of the hounds filled his ears, the silver mists claimed them, and they entered the Shadow-ways.

*    *    *

To be continued . . .