To Discover His Truth

The Court of Cyndyllan

Four riders rested their horses along the cliff edge. A wild, grey sea inundated the shoreline, and a strong salt wind whipped the horses’ manes and the riders’ hair. The shore below curved away from them to the North, towards a rising rocky outcrop between mountains and sea. The citadel of Yrys, the seat of power of the Chieftain-King, Cyndyllan, was a half-day’s ride away, and Brynnan and his companions planned to arrive before dark.

They were met on the sea road by mounted warriors, who escorted them the rest of the way. They treated the Bard with great respect and gave deference to Geraint, Nijal and Andri. Before they reached the citadel, another party rode to meet them – Cyndyllan himself and chosen people of his court. Brynnan looked at his country’s Lord. In eight years since the Bard’s departure, Cyndyllan had become a mature man of older middle age. Black hair to his shoulders, threaded with grey and curling slightly, a strong face, bearded, with wise eyes, not overly tall but with a robust and muscled frame.

The Chieftain-King pulled up alongside Brynnan’s horse and leaned over to embrace the Bard from his saddle. “A thousand welcomes, Brynnan Marec Mavrenn; I had not thought to see you in the world of the living again. We thought you were lost to us, as was Mara ferch Caruwyn. You have no word . . .?”

“No word, my Chieftain.”

Cyndyllan sensed Brynnan’s reticence and said, “A topic that will keep until we are alone.”

Then he looked and saw Nijal, who rode behind Brynnan. “Greetings to you, Nijal, Alsar Guardian; it gladdens my heart to see you also.”

Brynnan introduced Geraint as ‘the Warrior who guards my back and keeps me in line,’ and of Andri, ‘my apprentice.’

Andri tried to suppress a smile and appear solemn, but he failed, his high cheekbones showing and the bow of his sculpted lips curving.

 Cyndyllan looked at him with an appreciative eye. “I am sure he does you much credit. When you are rested, I hope you will play for us, and perhaps Andri, too, can sing.”

“Andri’s voice is a true gift to us. I will be honoured to oblige you, my Lord.”

*    *    *

The room given to Brynnan was rich and spacious. It was an outer room in the citadel, with a window facing the sea. Shallow alcoves in the wall bore orbs that bathed the room in soft light. The attached bathing room was extensive, and Brynnan made full use of it. He was given robes fit for a Ruithin Bard of high rank: black silk trimmed with silver filigree. His own garments were taken for cleaning.

He had just lain down to rest when he heard Geraint’s voice at the chamber door, and he bid him enter. Geraint came in, with Andri following. Geraint wore a warrior’s garb with a dark green plaid cloak fastened at the shoulder with a triskelion pin and Andri a black cassock, not unlike Brynnan’s robes.

“I am glad your Chieftain is a hospitable man,” said Geraint. “Andri and I just spent a long time bathing each other. I’d forgotten what hot water felt like. Better than a pot of melted snow in the freezing mornings.

“I like it here. The captain of the guard seems like a decent man. We plan to meet tomorrow after he gets off duty. Andri can stay with you, as I would be boring him with shop talk. If it’s not interfering in your plans, that is?”

“Of course not. My Lord Cyndyllan wants to hear him sing in any case.”

“So,” said Geraint in a more serious tone. “When do you plan on informing the King of our mission?”

“Soonest. Tomorrow if possible. Guests are customarily feasted and entertained for three days before anyone discusses anything, but I will waive protocol. I would like to spend a month at Yrys, but it’s not possible. I’m anxious to reach the last stop in our journey – the ArMor-Ys Redoubt and home of my Ruithin brothers and sisters. The Mother grant that we find an answer there, after the trials we have endured in getting here.”

“I just hope our return journey is not as perilous,” said Geraint.

“I could sleep for a month,” said the Bard, suddenly looking weary. “But right now, we have bathed and prepped; we have comfort, time and privacy. I’d like to take advantage of that–and of the both of you. Do you two want to sleep?”

“No!” Geraint and Andri replied in unison. Geraint added, “Someone has to keep you in line.”

Brynnan smiled and slipped off his robe. Geraint helped Andri undress before he, too, stripped off his clothes.

Geraint and the Bard pulled Andri onto the bed. His smooth, lithe body seemed to intoxicate the two men, contrasting with the old Warrior’s grey-furred body and Brynnan’s sculpted one. They were all over him, kissing, sucking and licking. Andri’s handsome cock quickly became hard, and Geraint sucked it with skill.

Brynnan knelt by Andri’s head, and the young singer turned to suck Brynnan’s cock. The youth’s bandaged arm was healing fast from the arrow wound, and Brynnan again blessed his newfound heritage that enabled him to cure Andri of the poison.

His thoughts became distracted when Andri begged him to fuck his ass. Brynnan shifted down, and Geraint made room, passing the bottle of lubricant to Brynnan. The Bard took Andri from behind. He held the sweet ass cheeks and inserted his cock slowly and carefully. Although Andri could handle Geraint’s very large, thick cock, Brynnan did not want to make assumptions about how much and how hard the boy could take comfortably. He needn’t have worried as Andri urged him on. He gripped Andri’s hips and pumped harder.

Then he felt Geraint behind him. “Lie to your sides,” the old Warrior commanded. When Brynnan was in position, he felt Geraint slapping lube in his ass; then, the man maneuvered himself so that his cock entered Brynnan’s rectal passage. So, the Bard was fucked as he, himself, fucked the young singer. He revelled in the sensation of being caught between his two lovers: the older man and the youth. Geraint’s stamina and the hardness of his cock certainly belied his age, but he did keep himself fit.

The invasion and intense sensations in his ass triggered Brynnan’s orgasm, and he cried out, pumping his cum into Andri. He collapsed onto the boy and submitted to Geraint’s relentless pounding; his body almost limp with lust fulfilled. Geraint grunted and ejaculated inside Brynnan.

Brynnan told Andri, “Let me and Geraint rest and watch you make yourself cum for us. Your cock  is gorgeous-I find great pleasure in watching.”

Andri half sat up to kiss Brynnan’s mouth, unashamedly pushing his tongue inside. He kissed Geraint in the same manner, then lay back with his hand on his cock and began to jerk off. Brynnan rested on Geraint, who held him with one arm and lazily played with his own cock with his other hand. Brynnan loved to see the expression of concentration and sensuality in Andri’s face, and he was torn between looking at Andri’s creaming cock as the ejaculation took place and the boy’s expression of ecstasy. But in any case, it filled him with joy.

They bathed each other thoroughly afterwards. The hot waterfall rain in the bathing area felt like a sensual finishing touch.

“Now, when we are summoned, we shall be useless,” Andri said and smiled. “I hope they don’t want us to sing or anything.”

“Better that than endless discussion,” replied Geraint.  

Brynnan looked pensive. “But my Chieftain Cyndyllan will have some hard choices to make when he hears our news. And I have yet to give him an account of the events that occurred nearly two years ago when I helped the Lady Mara escape. And then there’s Nikarkos, his hostage, who has benefitted from the generosity of the King, and who betrayed Mara and me.”

“Let it be all discussed tomorrow,” said Geraint carelessly. “We will make time for it, but now I want to just soak in the memory of our lovemaking. Nijal has indeed missed out on something special.”

*   *   *

But Nijal was laying the groundwork. They were seated in the Lord’s chambers. The Guardian talked with Cyndyllan, who was attended by two of his closest sub-chieftains and advisers, Cadan of the Blue Lias and Morven Sea-Lord. Also attending was Cadwyr, a Ruithin priest of a high degree. Slender of build, white hair tied back behind his neck and clean-shaven. He listened silently but intently.

“The issues facing you are complex, Lord Cyndyllan. Brynnan has gone through many changes and is no longer the peaceful young man of your prior acquaintance. You also have an enemy in your midst, the hostage, Nikarkos, whom the Warlord Samir pledged you when he took Mara and Brynnan to the Torrent Mountain City-state. Nikarkos sent two spies to Lord Samir, who brought accusations against Mara and triggered a deplorable chain of events. Your Bard was tortured for over a year after he helped Mara to escape. It has changed him, as has subsequent trials he has experienced since. But I earnestly ask you to trust his judgement, especially now it has been tempered with these experiences. Do not act in anger or haste towards Torrent Mountain. You will find out fully when we meet tomorrow, and Brynnan can speak for himself. The Warrior Geraint is a witness, as am I.”

Cyndyllan breathed deeply as he processed his thoughts and emotions, even as Cadan started from his chair and urged, “These actions on the part of the Warlord should not go unpunished!”

Then the Ruithin, Cadwyr spoke for the first time. “Lord Cyndyllan, I believe you will find out that events will go beyond any reactions such as ‘punishment’ or ‘revenge.’ What Brynnan and his companions have to reveal will change your outlook into a form you will scarcely recognize. It behooves us to gather all the information we can. But Brynnan Marec Mavrenn cannot stay here overlong. Our Grand Master at the ArMor-ys redoubt also needs to be apprised, and I am sure you will welcome his counsel on the matter.”

“Your words make sense, Cadwyr. Cadan, curb your impatience. I will let Brynnan rest tonight despite my own desire to know more immediately. When I laid eyes on him, I sensed some deep burden he was carrying, and he seemed weary. I thank you, Nijal, Guardian, for bringing these concerns to me. If there is anything I can do before then, send a messenger.”

*    *    *

Andri and Geraint returned to their chamber to sleep, but now that he was rested, Brynnan stood looking out the window onto the grey seas that were pounding the shore. Presently he felt a mind touching his. It was not unwelcomed and totally unlike the miasmic touch of Kian-Hen, but the Bard recognized it as Ruithin. The higher priests could learn to touch minds to summon one another. Brynnan went to the chamber door. He opened it to see Cadwyr, the Ruithin Priest standing there.

Brynnan smiled and said, “You could merely have knocked, you know.”

Cadwyr smiled in return. “This way is more interesting. May I come in?”

Brynnan opened the door and gestured. They sat. Cadwyr began. “It warms my heart to see you again, in the flesh. You must know, though, the Guardian, Nijal, spoke with Cyndyllan and myself and two of his men.” He held up his hand as Brynnan started to speak. “I am not here to get information from you. That can come as you will it, tomorrow. I came because you are Marec Mavrenn, dedicated to her, and Servant of Ravens. It’s pure greed on my part. I had hoped to hear you play.”

Brynnan turned to the window again and looked out to sea. “Have you a warm cloak, Cadwyr? Let us go to the lower terrace and listen to the waves, and I will play for you.”

The Ruithin Priest was only too happy to comply. Brynnan took up his wind-silk cloak, which he had swapped back from Geraint, the Warrior having the black one. Cadwyr picked up his own mantle and a wooden flute on the way down.

The citadel of Ys was hollowed into the ancient mountain outcrop and was extensive. On the lower level, an expansive terrace fronted the sea. Below it, a path led down to dunes pierced with golden marram grass that breached the snow cover and out to rock flats and tidepools, where waves danced with excited energy, sending spray into the air.

The two Ruithin found a spot sheltered from the wind. “Will your hands be warm enough to play?” asked Cadwyr.

“Playing Mavrenn always warms me,” said Brynnan as he uncased the harp.

There was the smell of salt and kelp in the wind. The sky had cleared, and a late sun was setting. The soft bands of light in the sky reflected in the sea. Several large seabirds swept the waves with long, black wings, occasionally swooping to scoop up fish in their beaks.

The wind blew through Mavrenn’s strings, and the harp seemed to revel in it, a blend of whispery sounds flowing out from her. The tones melded with the winter evening. Brynnan joined in, encouraging harmony, then his hands pulled forth a tune about the sea. He timed the rhythm to the incoming and receding waves, making their sound part of his song. Cadwyr listened in delight and then brought his pipe to his lips. The plaintive notes ornamented Brynnan’s playing.

The two men sat until darkness fell on them, but a bright moon rose in the southeast to give them light. Brynnan brought his playing to a close.

“She has a beautiful sound. It is a true gift to me to hear her once again. When Nijal briefly mentioned that you had spent more than a year in captivity, I wondered how it had affected your playing, but you are a master harpist still.”

“Yes. I thank the Mother that none sought to harm her during that time. I nearly lost the ability to play her and to sing. The Warlord sought to take away my voice and my sense of touch. He succeeded for a time, but when it was revealed to Lord Samir that he had been lied to, he enlisted Nijal to heal me.”

“You must hate this Warlord for what he did to you.”

“No. Actually, Samir and I are lovers.”

Cadwyr was silent for long moments. Then he said, “I understand that the relationship of captor and captive can become a sexual and mutually dependent one that forms a strong bond. When someone has held the power of life and death over you, you want to please them to survive.”

“That’s the rational explanation.”

“You have another?”

In the darkness, Brynnan just smiled.

*    *    *

When Nijal came to Brynnan that night, the Bard told him of the disclosure.

“You told Cadwyr you and Samir were lovers? You must have a reason.”

“Yes. With the traitor Nikarkos in the mix, and possibly others, word may come to Cyndyllan in any case. His trust in me must be unshaken, so it is better he hears it from me through Cadwyr.”

“Ah! It’s just your normal deviousness. I understand.” Nijal kissed the Bard. “Now come lie with me.”

Their lovemaking was gentle, and they held their bodies close, kissing each other while their cocks rubbed together until, at last, both came.  Then sleep wrapped them in its embrace.

*   *   *

Cyndyllan’s Council convened the next day. Brynnan felt a slight apprehension, wondering how his words would be received. But he told his narrative without embroidered words, keeping to facts. He touched on the events of Scarfell Pass, Andri’s capture by the Lord of Redstone Holding, his subsequent rescue, the companions' encounter with the Brotherhood of Deieros, and the events of the blue people of the caves at the Broken Hills. The events of their time with King Rhydian of Redmark caused a stir, especially when he told of the actions of the renegade Ruithin ‘Ancient One’, Kian-Hen. In all this, he did not disclose the profoundly personal events of his dealings with the Shadow Realm and the King of the Woods. But his bardic eloquence captured his listeners, drawing them deeply into the tale.

“Your account is disturbing in several respects. In light of the treacherous priest, I can understand your desire to reach ArMor-ys and the Grand Master. I am sure you and Cadwyr will want to discuss this together later. I will send messengers to King Rhydian and a troop of warriors to safeguard the road and clear out any remaining brigands. Is that all your news, Brynnan Marec Mavrenn?”

“Unfortunately, no. If you wish more corroborating details of our encounters, then Geraint, Nijal, and my apprentice, Andri, will supply them. But now we come to the gravest news and our mission and purpose.

“Hear, O King, and noble counsellors and Chieftains, that we come to seek proof of the Invasion long suspected so that we may raise the alarm to the peoples of the lands. After all this time, we have finally convinced the Warlord Samir of Torrent Mountain that the threat of Invaders from Beyond is real. He needs proof that we can present to his Council and the other City-States in that region. That is why I ask you to defer any retaliatory action against him for what he perceived as a betrayal by Mara ferch Caruwyn.”

“What think you, my people?” Cyndyllan addressed his assembly.

Brynnan sat back and let the discussion flow over him, occasionally answering questions, as did Geraint and Nijal.

A break was called for at noon, and food and drink were brought. Brynnan took the occasion to talk privately with the Ruithin, Cadwyr. They sat in an alcove seat in the corridor, illuminated by a golden orb. They discussed Kian-Hen for a while, then Brynnan changed the subject.

“I was gifted with a scroll from the trader, Hazrad. I have not had the opportunity to peruse it in detail, but there is a part in it, almost a kind of fore-telling, that refers to the Invaders.”

Brynnan reached into a leather bag he had brought and drew out the scroll. He removed it from the brass encasement and unrolled it to the appropriate place.

“Hear what it says:

“He shall stand before those from Beyond the Stars. The burden of his people will be laid on him, and he shall suffer greatly for them. Death stands beside him, and he shall be welcomed into that kingdom through the persecution of the Strangers. But through Death, he shall triumph.”

“When was this transcribed?” asked Cadwyr.

“I cannot vouch for its authenticity, as it is a copy from a more ancient source, the language is archaic, but it is so old that it was inscribed on a material unknown to us today, that resists weathering and decay.”

“It is written as almost a prophecy,” said Cadwyr. “Our Grand Master should see this. Interestingly, it mentions ‘those from Beyond the Stars.’ It is unfortunate that a timeline is not mentioned.”       

“I greatly mistrust foretelling, but the scroll is of interest and may be useful in context with other discoveries, which we hope to find at the ArMor-ys Redoubt. But take the scroll, for now, Cadwyr. Unfortunately, you would require many days to research it, but I would value what you have to say in the short term.”  Brynnan rolled up the scroll, replaced it in the cylinder, and handed it to Cadwyr.  

When the two men returned to the assembly, they found a discussion underway. 

Cyndyllan looked up. “We were considering what to do with the hostage, Nikarkos. My men want him executed for the damage he caused. What say you, my Bard?”

“I would delay on that. I am sure Nikarkos has other agents poised to make mischief, and it would be of value to identify them. I would have his servants replaced by our own loyal people and have him watched before you come to a final position. But I know that the Lord Samir would not grieve or consider it an insult if he were removed. He no longer has value as a hostage.”

“What you say has merit. We will consider it. But Now, Brynnan, let us take pause in these burdensome tasks. I would hear you play. We have missed Mavrenn’s presence in our country, and I will tell you, cousin’s son, that I was of two minds when I appointed you as a guardian and teacher to the Lady Mara when she was taken in marriage by Lord Samir.”

Brynnan sent Andri to fetch Mavrenn. When she was uncased, the men exclaimed about her beauty. But when the Bard played the first notes, they fell silent in rapt attention.

Brynnan gave them many songs; his rich voice blended with Andri’s. Then he allowed Andri to sing the lament of the legendary Chieftain Cynddylan ap Cyndrwyn, after whom King Cyndyllan was named. Andri sang the words in the ArMorican language, which he had become conversant in through Brynnan’s teaching. Andri did not sing it shadow-style – the court did not need emotions of gloom encouraged, but Brynnan knew that his King was fond of the lament.

Afterwards, Cyndyllan commented, “Your apprentice has a gifted voice. It touches deep emotions in my heart. He does you proud as an apprentice and will make a fine bard one day. No wonder he accompanies you to the Ruithin College.”

“Yes, my Chieftain. While we remain here, Mavrenn and I–and Andri–are at your service.”

“Perhaps this evening, if you cannot come, Andri might entertain my Queen and me.”

Brynnan looked at Geraint, who nodded.

“Andri, what say you to our King’s proposal?”

Andri looked with shining eyes to the King, “My Lord Cyndyllan, I would be honoured.”

*    *    *