To Discover His Truth

The Battlefield Solution

 After hearing the news about Geraint’s captured lover from the mountain herder, Geraint, Nijal, and Brynnan had to backtrack on the trail they had followed.  They lost the sun as they reached the fork once more on the mountain track. This time, they took the downhill route towards the main trail. A light rain began to fall as swirling mist descended to blanket the trees.

Geraint shivered and unrolled his rain cloak, slinging it over his regular one. Brynnan’s wind-silk cloak kept him both warm and dry in any weather. Nijal simply ignored the conditions. The trail became slippery from the rain, but their sure-footed horses navigated it well.

Geraint broke the silence, “I don’t know if we can catch up with the men who have taken Andri. The herder, Darryn, travelled two more days back on the trail until he found us. That’s a tough lead to close. Our pack horses prevent us from moving fast.”

“It certainly leaves us with difficult choices,” mused Brynnan, “We dare not leave the pack horses. If one of us stayed with them, it would reduce our force by one-third. Anyway, assume our adversaries are thirty men. We cannot fight them directly. That leaves stealth and guile.”

Nijal spoke, “If we don’t leave the pack horses behind, we will have to travel for a longer time each day. That means cold camps. As for the horses, we can use up our grain supply to feed them and cut down their grazing time. We will take a risk and forego the night watches for maximum rest. We can forego sex.”

Geraint snorted in disgust at Nijal’s last statement, “I disagree about the sex. We will be under stress until we succeed in getting Andri free, and sex can help that. On the battlefield, we fucked a lot.”

“Then I bow to you in this, old Warrior. You can be our Battlefield Sex Master,” Nijal said, with the quirk of a smile.

They made a cold and silent camp that night, deep in the forest and away from the road. There was no fire to attract enemies, but Geraint had grain and smoked fish soaking all afternoon, made soft enough to eat for their supper, and supplemented with dried fruit. Brynnan fed a measure of grain to each of the tired horses. A nearby waterfall provided water for both the men and their beasts.

Brynnan noticed the old Warrior’s distracted air and knew he was preoccupied with his young lover.

He reached for Geraint and embraced him in a close hug, “Geraint, let us go in together and make love before we sleep. My ass yearns for the feel of you inside me.”

Geraint kissed the Bard, pushing his tongue in deeply. Then they helped each other do a light clean out with the aid of flexible, water-filled bottles.

They had decided not to post watch in the night, relying on Nijal’s horse to warn of any disturbance, but all three lay in the tent together. Nijal had scouted the camp perimeter before coming in to join Brynnan and Geraint. The milder air on this lower slope made the tent a more much more comfortable place. The two men stripped off their clothes. Nijal stayed dressed as he lay beside them. However, he reached into his pack and brought out a length of cord attached to a steel ring.

Brynnan wore a red silk rope harness knotted over his chest in a star pattern. It had been tied on him by the Warlord, Samir, as a parting gift. It made Brynnan feel connected to his lover.

Moving over, Nijal slipped the steel ring around Brynnan’s balls and cock. He took the attached cord and tied it to the harness.

“Lord Samir instructed me to remind you that you are his bond slave as well as his lover.”

“I thank you from my heart, Nijal.”

The three exchanged deep kisses until Geraint rolled Brynnan onto his back. He opened the Bard’s legs and draped one of them over his shoulder, this exposing his ass.

Nijal, a battlefield surgeon, produced a bottle of lubricant – ‘therapeutic first aid medicine,’ he called it - from his medical kit and poured some in his hand. He massaged the Warrior’s cock with it and poured more onto Brynnan’s ass opening. Geraint reached down and worked lube-covered fingers into it. Then he rubbed his stiffened cock against the Bard’s. Brynnan raised his hips more, and the old Warrior found his target.

Brynnan hadn’t been feeling especially horny when he had asked Geraint for sex; instead, he wanted to give him comfort. But as the thick cock pushed its way in, he felt a surge of lust and desire.

As if reading his reaction, Geraint said, “I will make you submit to me, Bard. Tell me what you want.”

“I want all of your cock, Warrior,” Brynnan replied through gritted teeth, “Give me whatever you wish. I will be blessed.”

Geraint rapidly changed pace, and the steady pushing became pounding. The Warrior’s eyes were shut tight, unusual for him, indicating to Brynnan that he was in a far different place.

The pounding was on the verge of pain, but Brynnan guessed the words Geraint wanted to hear and spoke to him, “I submit to you; I will be obedient to your wishes; do with me what you will.”

In his mind’s eye, Brynnan saw the old Warrior as teaching a well-deserved lesson to Andri, who had been forbidden to accompany them. They had warned him against the exact situation he now seemed to be enduring.

But the words were the right ones, for Geraint came just then, shooting his load with hard jerks of his body.

Geraint lay down over Brynnan, breathing deeply, and wiped his eyes with a hand, “Curse me, lad, you’ve brought me to tears.”

But Brynnan knew that the tears were not for him but his captured young lover.

Nijal reached over and embraced the old Warrior, “Rest easy. I will go check our perimeter briefly; then I will be back to help keep us warm.”

The next day, they travelled with caution. They noticed trampled moss and grass at one place, so they paused to let Nijal check it out. He found horse tracks in the forest duff layer, a mix of pine needles, decayed wood and soil, which led them to a clearing. There were stones littered in square patterns, several campfire rings and freshly chopped firewood.

“They camped here, not last night, but the one before,” he said, bending down on one knee. “If you have six to eight men to each campfire, and there are four campfires, we may have to deal with twenty-four to thirty-two men. Darryn, the herder, mentioned thirty men in his count. It sounds accurate.”

He looked around the clearing, then paused. He beckoned Geraint and Brynnan closer.

“Bloodstains on the rock,” stated Geraint, “Likewise, over a day old, but the rain has not yet washed it away, so I would say it is recent.”

“Come, now. It may be nothing, or it may be that there was a quarrel between two men,” Brynnan responded.

“Ah! But here’s another mystery.”

Nijal moved to a spruce sapling whose trimmed lower branches lay nearby. On the tree itself, several horizontal grazes caused resin to ooze out. The duff layer around the base of the tree was scuffed and trampled. The Guardian bent down to pick up what seemed to be a handful of cut willow shoots. He examined them closely.

“What is it?” asked Brynnan.

“Someone was tied to this tree and whipped. The rope bindings are causing the sap to run, even now. See how trampled the ground is? Whoever the victim was, he was wearing soft leather boots, different from the other prints. They beat him with these –,” he indicated the wands, “–hard enough to leave bloody welts. See, there is blood on the willows.”

“Is this the same blood that splatters the rocks?” Geraint asked.

“I doubt it, but I would have to use my kit and analyze the samples. That blood is not from a flesh wound but a gut wound. I can tell from the smell of it. I cannot see whipping someone then bringing him over to the rock to run him through with a sword,” concluded Nijal.

“I can,” the Bard had turned pale. He closed his eyes and shook his head to remove the unwelcome memories. The Warlord impaled on his broadsword and initially left him for dead. Then he became Lord Samir’s tortured prisoner for a year, and finally, his sex slave. Then the Warlord had discovered he’d made a mistake and that Brynnan had not betrayed him.

Nijal immediately stepped beside the Bard and embraced him, “I am so sorry, dear friend,” he said, “I was thoughtless. Anything can happen. Two separate instances don’t necessarily mean a correlation because they both involve blood. But again, it can happen. Forgive me.”

Geraint came up and gave Brynnan a rough embrace, “Let us leave this sad place,” he said.

The small company moved out back onto the trail. They mounted up and moved on. Further on, they heard bird cries. Ravens and two eagles circled in the skies above a patch of forest.

“The birds have found something. There may be a kill,” Nijal remarked.

The distinct sweet/foul odour of decay assailed them. Geraint urged his horse, Shade, forward without waiting for the others.

“Let him investigate,” said Nijal. “He is our expert in death.”

Brynnan agreed. He had seen enough death himself to know that he would not care for the sight. If it was a person, and they were alive or in the act of dying, then Brynnan knew he would have a duty to attend them in his role as Ruithin priest.

As they drew near, they saw the blue-roan horse, Shade, tied to a tree, then Geraint appeared from the forest. He brought them his report.

“A dead man: sword thrust from behind and into the kidney. He’d not have died quick, poor bastard. If that was his blood back at the camp, it’s amazing he made it this far. I believe he was a member of those we seek, and what’s more, I know where they are heading.”

He produced a piece of cloth with an embroidered crest, “I tore this from his jacket: Redstone Holding, on the Ironstrike River.”

Brynnan said, “But of course that would be the case because my Lord Samir specifically warned me against going there. That is where his messengers went missing.”

“That is true. M’Lord thinks they are overdue for a reckoning.”

“And he will do it, Geraint. I am sure. How do you read the situation of our dead man?” the Bard asked him.

“they, or he, killed this man where there were plenty of witnesses as the blood – and I believe it belonged to him – was near a campfire. When you strike a man in the back in a crowded camp, there’s only one reason - a quarrel. Words are said that make things boil over, and the assailant strikes in the heat of the moment as the victim turns to walk away.”

“And I wonder what, or more likely, who, they would be quarrelling over?” mused Nijal, “My guess would be their young captive.”

“A likely cause, I agree. I am glad it wasn’t Andri lying in the grass back there,” Geraint’s expression was grim. “We are dealing with ruthless men. There is no evidence they punished the poor bastard’s killer.”

“I don’t think we will catch up to them before they reach their Holding,” said Nijal, “Our route has a rough spot ahead as it descends to the valley where the Ironstrike flows. Then there is a promontory that overlooks the river, and the Holding is seated upon it. They have clear visibility all around, and doubtless, guard patrols. We will not be able to approach them unremarked.”

“That leaves one option, I think. Guile. One of us has to enter the hold, and it had better be me, as I have the only plausible reason. As a travelling Bard, I may be admitted to their company to entertain them.”

Geraint protested, “You can’t count on being safe or treated well. And would you risk your harp? Besides, you’re a handsome man, and many may desire you. Need I lose both my lovers?”

But Nijal shook his fair hair in denial and interjected, “I agree with our Bard, Geraint. You, of all people, know that there is no gain without risk. Brynnan is resourceful, and he is a survivor. I think he’s our best chance.”

The old Warrior sighed, “I don’t like it, Guardian, but you are right. When we are closer, let us make a camp deep in the woods off the trail. I wouldn’t like to risk our packhorses, Byll and Frieda,” he said. “I suggest we select some plausible, but least valuable, camping gear and Rhiannon will just have to carry it, as well as carrying you and your harp. We can establish a meeting point for when you escape with Andri. If you have to, leave your horse and harp behind ‒,” he raised a hand as Brynnan began to protest, “I doubt they would harm Mavrenn, and Lord Samir, or whoever he sends, could rescue her later. . .”

The Bard bit his tongue, halting what he would say. There was no way he would leave either Mavrenn or Rhiannon behind, but he decided not to contest the point.

They travelled late into falling darkness and made their stealth camp by a stream. Streams were plentiful in this rugged mountain country, and they found it in the night just by listening.

Brynnan and Geraint filled the water skins and then bathed each other - a nightly ritual. Geraint returned to camp, and Brynnan watered the horses once more before retiring. As he reached their clearing, he saw two figures in the starlight. A large tree lay in the forest, and Nijal appeared to be fucking Geraint, who lay over it. Brynnan approached them.

The old Warrior caught sight of him, “Join us,” he said.

Brynnan, aware now that his remaining time was precious and that the chance to make love to Geraint and Nijal now might be his last, recklessly shed his clothes and leaned over the tree trunk beside Geraint.

“Spread your legs more and raise your ass,” Nijal told him, and the Bard obeyed.

He felt lubed fingers probing, then the feel of Nijal’s stiff cock entering his ass. Nijal fucked him gently at first, then switched back to Geraint. He alternated between both Bard and Warrior. Meanwhile, Geraint reached out and gripped the red silk harness crossing Brynnan’s back and held on tightly.

After a time, Nijal suggested they switch roles. He lay down over the tree trunk, pressed close to Brynnan. Geraint stood up and began to fuck them both, alternating as Nijal had done. The difference in the feeling and action was noticeable, but Brynnan could not choose one over the other if asked.

Just when he thought he might cum, Geraint called, “Switch!” and lay down over the tree again.

Brynnan knew what he had to do. He stood and stroked both men’s supine backs. Then he carefully entered Nijal’s ass, feeling again that shyness that Nijal instilled in him when he had fucked Nijal before. He switched over to Geraint and had no difficulties entering or pumping his cock in the firm, hairy ass. Then he was ready to cum. He warned the others, and they encouraged him to ejaculate. As the cum left his body and his balls contracted, then released in spasms, both Geraint and Nijal came too. They all had a difficult time keeping silent.

Back in the tent, the three men lay in a tangle of limbs. They shared deep, wet, lazy kisses. Brynnan felt incredibly connected with the bonding they created. He felt as if there were no secrets between them, and they could trust each other with their lives. Geraint’s ‘battlefield fucking’ really worked.