To Discover His Truth

Running the Gauntlet

Lord Artagan reached out his hand towards his Lady and gestured her to the empty chair beside his. She sat down with a graceful movement of her skirts. She tugged lightly on the collar, and immediately Andri moved and sat on the stone floor behind the Lady, but within her reach.

Brynnan tried not to show too much visible interest in the Lady and Andri. Meanwhile, a servant brought him a cup of inferior tasting wine, so he preoccupied himself with that. But secretly, he watched Lady Sarain’s behaviour. She sipped her wine and talked freely with her Lord, who treated her with deference. Then she turned to Andri. Gripping the chain leash close to the collar, she forced him to drink from her cup, then she leaned down and kissed him aggressively.

Brynnan noticed that Andri’s blank expression hid distaste, with a certain amount of fear, and the Bard blamed him not one bit. On the scales of power, all the gold seemed to be on the Lady’s side.

She turned to Lord Artagan, “But my Lord, I see that we have a new guest tonight - a bard by the look of his harp. When will he play for us?”

“We were but waiting for your presence, Lady. Welcome to my court, singer. I am Lord Artagan, and, I believe, you are Bryn. What say you?”

Brynnan stood up and gave Artagan a courtly bow of his head, “I thank Lord Artagan for his welcome. I am grateful for his generous hospitality and intend to repay it as I can with my music. May I ask the Lord a question?”

Artagan waved a hand for him to continue.

“Why does my Lord deem it necessary to lock his guest in his room? I am truly puzzled.”

Before the Lord could speak, Brynnan said to himself, ‘It is for your own safety. . .’

The Lord replied, “It is for your own safety that we do this. At night we let the war dogs loose to patrol the keep, lest enemies invade. Any strangers would be subject to harm.”

“I see. I'll be careful not to wander,” the Bard replied, thinking, ‘I have sung these lyrics before,’ but he decided to tamp down his cynicism before it could leak through.

“We will ensure your safety,” said Lord Artagan, “but now, we would hear you sing and play your harp.”

“And what would please you and your court?”

“I shall let my Lady choose,” he gestured to her.

Lady Sarain said, “Let him sing the lay of the ‘Slaughter of Innocence,’ if he knows it.”

“I know it, Lady. If you please?”

She nodded, and he uncased Mavrenn. Brynnan heard some appreciative gasps. Mavrenn did indeed look beautiful in the light of lamp and fire. Her rich, purple wood gleamed, and the bone figurehead on the harp’s pillar seemed ready to sing. The ruby eyes glittered.

Lord Artagan leaned forward, naked greed on his face. Suddenly Brynnan was afraid for a different reason: the Lord coveted his harp.

He thought the Lady’s music choice was somewhat gruesome. It was not a happy song. Nevertheless, he gave it to her. As he played the introduction upon Mavrenn, he saw Andri’s head begin to lift, and as Brynnan voiced the first words, Andri stared at him with an incredulous look. Then, thankfully, the youth seemed to catch himself, for his expression became bland again.

‘Good lad,’ thought Brynnan, relieved that Andri was catching on.

Mercifully, he finished the song, and Lady Sarain seemed pleased. Then Brynnan suggested to the Lord that his men pick some pieces, which Artagan allowed. The men asked for the more traditional fare; ballads of battles won and lives lost. The Bard gave them his best; he could do no less without violating his oaths. The men in the hall thumped their tankards and cups against the tables to show appreciation. Brynnan put up with it.

Then Sarain whispered something to her Lord, and he nodded. He held up his hand for silence and announced, “My Lady wishes to retire at this time,” he looked at Brynnan, “and you will attend her. She wishes to hear your music in private. We thank you for entertaining us. You are more skilled than my men led me to believe.”

Artagan’s words were not a request but an order, but it worked with Brynnan’s plans. He arose, bowed to the Lord, along with his guests, and put Mavrenn in her case. Slinging the case strap over his shoulder, he followed the Lady and Andri out of the hall.

Her quarters flaunted a luxurious decadence. Rare animal furs, hangings and tapestries clad the walls. Odd statues stood on pedestals, portraying erotic actions in explicit detail. A large bondage and torture frame, complete with hooks and rigging, tried to disguise itself as a bed. In another area, a black onyx bathtub, big enough for four people, took up the entire space of an alcove. Hot, steaming water filled it, and a spicy-sweet scent arose. But by far, the most unusual features were two enormous, black, sleek creatures: war dogs sporting collars so spiky grabbing them was impossible. They lay quietly, but their eyes followed every move Brynnan and Andri made.

The young singer crouched on the floor on a silk rug; head bowed as he awaited orders. The Lady had schooled him already.

Sarain faced them, “Make no mistake. You are both here to please me. Serve me exactly as I say, and you will live, disobey, and you will die. Make any move against me, and the war dogs will tear you to pieces.”

Brynnan again had that sense of déjà vu, the sense that he had lived this before. But of course. He recalled wearing a claw collar and being told those very words by his former torturer, now become lover, Samir.

Without being told, he uncased Mavrenn. He sat on a bench by the bed and began to play. The Lady turned with a frown on her face, and then before she could remonstrate, the music caught her.

He played a beautiful, wild yet stately tune. He saw Sarain take a deep breath and straighten up. Her tensed shoulders dropped, and the pinched and aggressive look on her face relaxed. She seemed transformed, and her beautiful face shone.

Andri lifted his head and stared at her, and at Brynnan, in awe.

Inside him, something in Brynnan wept. The tune he played, or rather, profaned, was Mara’s theme, Mara being the Warlord Samir’s missing wife: a lyrical ode to her beauty in body and spirit. Something of that seemed to be rubbing off on Sarain, as Brynnan had planned. He finished the tune with a gentle ripple of strings.

“What was that?” Lady Sarain demanded.

“Simply a tune to celebrate a woman’s beauty,” the Bard replied.

Sarain seemed pleased. Then she collected herself, “You will play more music for me later, Bryn, but now I will play you. I wish you to strip, first of all, then bathe yourself. Then you can begin by watching the Young Dog fuck me.”

Brynnan didn’t argue with her but obeyed immediately. He knew from experience that it was the right thing to do. As he stripped off his clothing, Sarain saw the Bard’s scarred body, especially the scars on his back and neck, and she noticed the soft, red rope harness binding his chest.

“Who marked you, Bryn?” She demanded, walking closer to inspect his body. She touched him, running her fingers down his silky, almost black, chest hair that swirled around each breast.

“It is my shame, Lady. I was in service to a mountain Lord, as his bard. My weak nature led me astray with the Lord’s wife. He caught me fucking her and punished me with the bullwhip while making me wear a killing claw collar. I narrowly survived it with my life intact. I learned my lesson well.” Then he seemed to think of something else, “But what if your Lord comes here while we are physically engaged?” Brynnan deliberately assumed a fearful expression.

Sarain gave a brutal laugh, “I expect him to join us later. Fear not, bard, no harm will come to you as long as you obey us,” she paused and hooked a finger in his harness, “And this? Do you not take it off?”

Brynnan lowered his head, looking abashed, “That is also to my shame. It was put on me by the Lord I served. In their customs, it brands me as one who is disgraced. For me to remove it, and not him, would doubly disgrace me in the eyes of those who know what I did,” then he looked pleadingly at Sarain, “Lady, will you not remove it from me? As long as I wear it, I am stigmatized.”

A cruel smile curved Sarain’s lips, “I rather think not. I like the idea of being served by a disgraced, if skillful, bard. You will keep it on.”

Brynnan looked defeated and lowered his head, bowing in apparent submission.

The hot water in the onyx tub soothed his aching body. He ducked his head under it and shook the water from his hair.

Sarain unlocked the manacles from the harness on Andri. “Get up, Young Dog, and go dry him, then bring him to me.”

Andri swiftly complied. As he arose from the floor, the Lady took the snake whip from her belt and lashed Andri’s shoulders. The young man tried not to react but couldn't help flinching.

Andri took a large towel from behind the tub and softly rubbed it against Brynnan’s body with his right hand while his left hand touched and caressed the Bard. Brynnan could feel the young singer’s hunger for him, and he responded to Andri’s touch by becoming hard. He stroked the young singer’s hair and felt him tremble.

“I’ve changed my mind,” announced the Lady, “We will begin, I think, by me watching you, Bryn, fuck the Young Dog. You seem to respond to him.”

“I am sorry, Lady Sarain, for my weak nature.”

Andri’s eyes widened in disbelief at Brynnan’s statement, and he was about to say something unwise. Brynnan surreptitiously stepped on the youth’s toes, enough to cause him pain, while apologizing.

“I am sorry, did I hurt you? Forgive my clumsiness, but come let us do as the Lady orders, lest she becomes angry at us.”

Brynnan guided Andri to the bed, using a firm grip on his upper arm that was tighter than it looked, warning Andri to obey. Luckily, Andri went willingly. They climbed on the high bed, and Brynnan took Andri in his arms, then paused.

“Milady Sarain, this boy is wearing a claw collar. I am afraid to fuck him as any undue move could trigger the collar. Would you consider its removal for this? You have your dogs; surely they will prevent him from getting into mischief? Or do you fear him?”

Sarain assumed an angry expression, “Fear a mere boy? No. I will remove the collar. Beware my dogs!”

She did so, and Andri breathed a sigh of relief. His neck sported claw marks, but they were minor compared to Brynnan’s own scarred throat.

“Now go ahead and please me. And you had better show some passion!”

So Brynnan again embraced Andri. The young man felt stiff with apprehension. Brynnan gently bit his ear and whispered, “Use your training. Blank your mind of her. It is just you and I, my lover. Play along for now and live!”

Then he kissed Andri deeply, tonguing his mouth and thankfully felt him responding. The young singer returned the kiss with passion, kissed more as they stroked each other’s bodies.

Brynnan looked around for lubricant. There was none. However, he did spot a bowl of late-season fruits, including wild plums. He reached out and seized one. Pushing Andri face down on the bed (so he would not have to face the Lady), he crushed the plum in his hand. The juices ran down Andri’s ass as the Bard rubbed the soft pulp in. Then Brynnan used his fingers to massage the opening, gradually feeling it relaxing. He moved down and rimmed the fresh ass, and this time Andri genuinely responded, squirming and sighing. Only after he had primed the young man did Brynnan move up again and push his cock into Andri’s ass.

Lady Sarain, seated in a broad, thronelike chair, leaned forward with avid interest.

“Yes!” she said, “I want to see you fuck him hard. Such sweet young flesh! “

She continued talking in this manner while she ran her hands over her full breasts. Brynnan tuned her out. It was just himself and Andri. He pumped his cock in the youth’s ass with a steady rhythm, kneeling upright and gripping the slim hips. He had not realized how much he missed being with the young singer. But the big challenge lay ahead for some suitable night; they would escape, if only the Mother-of-All would bless his endeavour. For now, he intended to win Lady Sarain’s favour, whatever it took. So he fucked Andri with abandon, giving the Lady a fine display of lust.

Lady Sarain arose and sat at the edge of the bed. She had unlaced the top of her gown, and her heavy breasts, with prominent pink-brown nipples, showed through the opening. Reaching, she put out a hand, about to seize hold of Brynnan’s cock as it pumped in and out. He steeled himself to tolerate the unwelcome intrusion.

A small bell sounded in the chamber, and the door opened. Lord Artagan stepped in. The war dogs immediately stood, growling, but subsided at a word from the Lord. Brynnan committed the word to memory. It was a word in a language that he knew.

He paused in his fucking, but the Lord said, “Do keep going. It seems I have arrived just in time.”

So Brynnan resumed his work and fucked Andri hard and fast. The Bard felt on familiar ground with the Lord watching, like the times he was fucked by Geraint, and Lord Samir watched. He felt himself cumming, and pulling his cock out, grasped it and shot his cum all over Andri’s ass. He sat back on his haunches, breathing deeply.

“Well played, bard,” Artagan said.

While Brynnan and Andri recovered, with the Bard lying back and embracing a confused Andri and comforting him, Lady Sarain talked to her Lord and explained to him Bryn’s disgrace.

Lord Artagan turned to the Bard, “And so you wear that harness as a badge of shame. I like it. Come here.”

Brynnan slipped off the bed and approached Artagan.

“Have you ever sucked another man?” Lord Artagan asked.

Brynnan hung his head and, in a subdued voice, said, “I once angered my Lord, and he struck me. Then he made me kneel and suck his cock as punishment for my insubordination. I felt humiliated.”

The Bard's account was perfectly accurate. The cock-sucking had happened as Brynnan described it, but he didn’t mention all the other occasions he had sucked cock.

But it seemed to excite Artagan, who said, “I think I want you to show me how you did it, or would you rather incur my displeasure? My punishments will be far worse than mere humiliation.”

Brynnan sank to his knees before Lord Artagan and waited. The Lord exposed himself, and his cock was half hard. It was relatively long but narrow and curved to the left. Not particularly beautiful, thought Brynnan. His lovers’ cocks differed, but they were all exceptional in their own unique way. This one was definitely not exceptional. But he said nothing and followed Artagan’s orders as to how to go about sucking. 

The Bard took the cock into his mouth, feeling distaste as it was not freshly washed. He resisted the urge to spit. So he sucked Artagan’s cock, without deep-throating, and fortunately, it did not violate his bardic and Ruithin code when he gave a less than exciting performance. But the Lord seemed pleased enough. Before he could cum, he pulled out and directed Brynnan to the bed. Andri was no longer there: splashing noises led his attention to the onyx tub, where Andri and the Lady Sarain bathed together. She, of course, was naked now, and what she was doing to Andri, he could not guess.

Lord Artagan didn’t waste any time but stripped off his robes and, joining Brynnan, pushed him onto his back on the bed. He hoisted up the Bard’s hips, spread his legs and rammed his cock into Brynnan’s asshole. It was dry and tight, so Artagan spat into his hand and rubbed it on his cock before trying again. Brynnan hated the experience. Artagan had his way with him; it was painful, and the Bard was only relieved that the man’s cock was thinner than average. He endured it to the bitter end. The most challenging part was not allowing his true feelings to show.

Afterwards, when the Lord dressed again and sat drinking wine, Brynnan asked him, “Do you treat every guest this way? Do your guests ultimately survive?”

The Lord looked surprised but said boldly, “Anyone who comes and has something to offer is a valued guest.”

Lady Sarain had dressed again and joined them. Sitting in her chair with Andri at her feet, she chimed in, “As our guests a year ago. Two handsome men. They had a lot to offer, and they brought us an important message. We let them entertain us then sent them on their way.”

‘Sent them to the Shadow Realm, more likely,’ the Bard thought. Were these the Warlord Samir’s missing messengers?

“Before we continue, may I offer you another song?”

Artagan nodded, then remarked, “That is indeed a wondrous harp. It must be precious.”

“I agree it is beautiful – the wood is called ‘purple heart.’ But no, it is old and constantly goes out of tune, and I have to retune the strings every day."

Brynnan sat on the bench and pulled Mavrenn to his shoulder to play. He adjusted a few of the tuning pins before beginning the ‘Wolf Song,’ the one that he had played on the trail to lure the herder out of the woods; only this time, he sang it in his native tongue so that the Lord and Lady couldn't understand the words of the lullaby.  The enchanting tune caught his audience’s attention straight away. This time the Bard sang it Shadow-style, and the song was so poignant that it captured and overwhelmed the thoughts of the three others in the room. Brynnan, half-turned away, allowed the music to pull him also into a dream state. The difference was that when the song finished, he returned to complete and clear consciousness.

He looked up. Andri lay on the floor, fast asleep. The Lady’s head drooped, and she also seemed to be sleeping. Lord Artagan rested his head on his hand, his elbow supported by the adjacent table, and the pupils in his eyes dilated, his breathing slow and deep.

“I am sorry, my Lord,” Brynnan said contritely, “I seemed to have made us all crave sleep.”

“You are forgiven. I feel it’s time to retire in any case. As for you ‒”

 “I beg your permission to sleep beside the Young Dog,” Brynnan said hurriedly, “It is a long way to my chamber, and I confess I am feeling attraction towards him. In the morning, may we perform for your Lady wife?  If you worry about her safety, you may chain me also; besides, there are your fearsome dogs,”

Lord Artagan was quiet for some moments as he considered the Bard’s request. Finally, he smiled a cruel smile that lifted Brynnan’s heart.

“That would indeed be a gift for my wife. She would have two playthings instead of one. I think I will allow it and chain you both together. But tell me, why would one request to be essentially enslaved?” There was the faintest notion of suspicion in his eyes.

‘Here goes,’ thought Brynnan. He knelt before the Lord, “Since my own Lord banished me, I have been lost in spirit. One such as I, a singer, needs a Lord to wait upon and serve. Our music is as nothing without that. You see how I am reduced to wandering the roads from Hold to Hold, begging for my bread. Also,” he blushed and looked down, “I would beg the opportunity to suck my new Lord again. I did not know I could find pleasure in it.”

Artagan seemed pleased, “Now that you have submitted to me, I will tell you. In truth, I was thinking before that I might employ your skills for a few days then give you over to my warriors to use as they wish. I know that is what my Lady plans to do with her Young Dog. He has no apparent value other than as a plaything, and my Lady’s indulgences with her toys do not last. So, I will take you, and I will chain you here as you ask.”

Brynnan closed his eyes in mental exhaustion. In his mind, he ran the Gauntlet – an ancient punishment where an accused man or captive was forced to run between two lines of soldiers who struck at him with weapons. Few survived. This Gauntlet consisted of the depraved Lord and Lady, their soldiers, war dogs, the gates of the keep, and even the river. Brynnan wondered if he, along with Andri, would survive. However, his work was not yet done.

Lord Artagan stood up, the war dogs rising with him. He rang a bell near the doorway, and two guards stepped into the room. The Lord commanded his dogs to lie down again. He directed one of the guards to stand by while Andri and Brynnan were allowed to perform their evening necessities and the other guard to take the dogs out to refresh themselves and do what dogs do.

When the dog handler returned the beasts, the Lord chained both Brynnan and Andri to heavy iron rings at the foot of the bed. There were no blankets, but a thick silk rug sufficed as bedding. Thankfully, he did not put a claw collar on the Bard. Then Lord Artagan left with his Lady, and she promised to be back very shortly. The dogs stayed.

As soon as Brynnan and Andri were alone, Andri threw himself into Brynnan’s arms, “I’m so sorry . . .” he began.

“Hush! No time for that now. You must listen carefully to what I say,” the Bard whispered back, “Play the part. Take your cues from me. Volunteer nothing and stay quiet except to answer questions – and ask no questions of your own; I have no time to answer them. Above all, be obedient to them – this is not the time to let your pride interfere. We have a chance, but it is very slim.

“I was going to wait a few days, but I see we have no option but to leave as soon as possible. That means tomorrow night if my plans work. I am with you, Andri, and even if we fail, Nijal and Geraint will not give up. No tears! Now be quiet and try to sleep.”

Even as he finished whispering to Andri, the door opened, and the Lady entered her chamber. The war dogs, who had growled, fell silent. Brynnan feigned sleep, but his mind churned as he assessed his plans for the next day. Their lives depended on one throw of the dice: one choice of song, and it had to be correct.