To Discover His Truth

The Ghost-Note

 In Redstone Holding’s keep, the evening meal had ended, and Brynnan received a summons from Lord Artagan to entertain his men and his nobles.

He brought out his harp and bowed to the Lord and Lady, “Please allow me to choose a song.” Lady Sarain gestured him to proceed.

“Lady Sarain, last night I discovered that your Young Dog knows this piece. Would you allow him to accompany me with voice? I know it will please you.”

Lady Sarain considered Brynnan’s request as Lord Artagan looked on with interest. “Yes, he may accompany you,” she said, “I did not know he could sing. Very well. And I suppose I will have to remove the claw collar for this song. As you reminded me last night, it would not do to trigger the collar prematurely.”

“My Lady shows sound wisdom,” the Bard said with shameless flattery.

Lady Sarain looked pleased as she gently pulled Andri towards her with the long, chain leash. She unlocked the collar but looped the free end of the chain loosely around Andri’s neck and locked it.

Andri had that closed, solemn look on his face. The Lord Artagan had fucked him early in the morning before he had unchained Brynnan. There was no love in the act, only personal gratification for the Lord. The Bard felt heartbroken for Andri. He was forced to participate in the lad’s suffering, and he felt helpless. This could not continue. He vowed to make his move this day.

Andri and Brynnan were awake when Lord Artagan had arrived. He did not waste time in making his demands known.

“You,” he said, pointing at Andri, “Prepare yourself to be fucked, and you,” he said to the Bard, “will play with him as I do it. And you had better make him cum when I cum,” added the Lord.

“Then he can fuck me afterwards,” chimed in the Lady Sarian from the bed.

Artagan wasted no time and exposed his already-hard cock. Brynnan thought quickly. He reached for the fruit bowl and grabbed a plum as he had done previously. He crushed the plum in his hand and rubbed the pulp into Artagan’s cock. Artagan first looked surprised, then he smiled and thrust his hips forward to receive more of the massage. Brynnan manipulated the man’s cock as much as he could, hoping to make Andri’s fucking of shorter duration. Soon, though, Lord Artagan insisted on shoving his cock in Andri’s ass.

Andri lay on his back, facing his abuser. But as Artagan pumped his cock in and out, Brynnan moved close in beside the youth. He grasped Andrij’s cock while whispering in his ear, “Close your eyes. Concentrate on my hand, not on your ass.”

The Bard timed his strokes to the Lord’s mounting excitement. Thanks to Geraint’s teaching, he brought Andri to a climax just as the Lord was ejaculating.  Before the Lady could lay her claim on Brynnan, he asked Lord Artigan’s permission that he and Andrij be allowed to attend to their necessities and take a piss at least. Permission was granted. Lord Artigan called in the guard to accompany them to the bathing room.

Afterwards, he was not able to escape the Lady’s attention. It was the first time he had been with a woman since his captivity under the Warlord Samir. He moved his body automatically while he disengaged his mind from it. Eventually, the ordeal was over for both himself and Andri.

Lady Sarian had seemed pleased enough. To that end, as he was allowed to walk the halls. Artan, Lord Artigan’s page boy, actually came across Brynnan. His eyes lit up when he saw the Bard, and he ran to him, red hair flying. But when he reached Brynnan, the boy’s smile faded. “They have put a collar on you, too.”

“That’s right, Artan. It seems a common thing Lord Artagan does to his visitors. I heard that three messengers were here last year. Did you see them? Did Lady Sarain collar them too?

“Yes. The Lady kept two of them for half a moon-span, then I heard that she gave them away to her guards. The third one disappeared. One of my friends in the stable got his horse for him, so I think he escaped.”

Brynnan felt his heart beating faster at those words. He took a plunge and asked, “Would you ask your friends to do that for me? Then I could escape, too. And take that other young prisoner with me.”

Artan looked scared but said, “I am sure they would do it if I asked them. What would you want us to do?”

Then the Bard explained his desperate plan to the boy.

* * *

So Andri was allowed to stand beside the Bard that evening as he prepared to sing to the gathering. Brynnan played introductory phrases on the harp, which constituted a message to Andri: the song would be sung in the Shadow style, with subtle harmonics.

Andri’s powerful, baritone voice on the opening phrase caught his listeners by surprise. He sang with all his heart as if the abject situation he endured did not exist.

Brynnan joined in, his voice rich and deep but on a slightly higher register than Andri’s. Their two voices then melded, one ornamented, one plainsong. The theme invoked eternity and a falling into the void. Its effect opened the listeners’ minds to subliminal suggestion, where they fell into a rapture.

Brynnan did not wait for further permission: his audience was already caught. He sang one Shadow-song after another. Andri joined in at times, and the harmonic tones resonated. Some of the songs brought waves of pure pleasure, thus reinforcing the desire to hear more. The Bard saw his listeners all falling into that trance-like doze.

Then Brynnan moved. He reached Andri and seized the chain around the young man’s neck.

‘I can do this,’ he told himself and focused his mind wholly on the chain. He pulled, exerting all the force he could muster, and the chain snapped. ‘Thank you, blood of Nijal,’ he thought.

No one reacted. Then the Bard calmly put Mavrenn in her case. He was still singing a low, repetitive phrase that carried a hypnotic rhythm. He took Andri by the arm and led him down the hall to where the gallery staircase started. They climbed the steps together and entered the gallery.

A guard stood in their way. This time Andri sang the phrase, and Brynnan joined in, maintaining a slightly different pitch to create a third tone, a ghost note that was not really there. As the pitch changed, so did the psychoacoustic tone. The guard first slumped against the wall, then slid down to a seated position.

Brynnan passed a hand across the man’s eyes, saying, “You will sleep now.”

The guard’s eyes rolled up in his head, which dropped to one shoulder, and he slept.

Just as Brynnan breathed a sigh of relief, a large black shadow came running down the gallery, straight at them: a war dog! Its silence seemed all the more deadly. Light glinted off the spiked collar. Andri gasped in fear, but Brynnan, mustering authority into his voice and projecting calmness, called out ‘ngarrikati,’ and the dog dropped to the ground. Andri just stared at the Bard and then the dog.

Brynnan was already stripping off his shirt to reveal the rope harness, “Andri, help me untie this. Show no fear of the beast.”

 The young singer immediately started undoing the knots in the red harness. After the initial knots, the rope slipped free when pulled, as one piece looped into the other, giving Andri a surprising length when he finished. Brynnan took it and tied one end off to a portico pillar on the gallery. 

He looked out of the window in the wall. Night was falling. The view showed the keep courtyard and the stables, lit with orb lights placed at intervals. As for the window, it would be a tight fit, but it was doable.

 He commanded Andri to climb down. Andri asked no questions but swiftly obeyed, working his body through the window and using the rope. He let go of the rope end when he was on the ground, and Brynnan retrieved it. He attached his harp to the line, taking the utmost care to lower it into Andri’s waiting arms. Now it was his turn. First, Brynnan looked over the gallery rail into the hall. The trance still seemed to hold. Some people just sat with a rapt look on their faces, and others slept. He briefly checked that the Lord and Lady were still immobilized before he undid the line and retied it with a remote release lift hitch, carefully keeping the tied line taut. He glanced one more time at the silent dog, saying, “Kurramunu warnmala nyimu!” Then he slipped through the narrow window and climbed down the rope. 

At the base of the wall, he stood on the ground and let the rope go slack. He shook it and felt relief as the top end came tumbling down on him.

Anxiously Brynnan looked around. At the stables, he saw a young boy beckoning them to hurry. The two walked swiftly to the stable entrance. Inside, two young grooms stood in the aisle, with his dapple grey horse Rhiannon, an unfamiliar black horse already saddled, and Artan. His young face was pale and drawn, but he looked determined. Spontaneously, Brynnan embraced him and kissed the top of his head, “You are amazing; all of you are amazing,” he said to the boys.

Artan directed them all inside a large stall in the shadows of the aisle, where no orbs shone. Brynnan asked him, “You know what you are to do now?”

“Yes.”

“Then go!”

Artan took off at a run.

Brynnan turned to Andri. He could see the young man was bursting to ask questions, but he remained obedient to the Bard’s firm instructions that he ask nothing.

But Brynnan took pity and said, “We wait. The gate guards have not yet sounded an alarm, but they will. Artan has gone to rouse the Lord Artagan. Then this courtyard will be swarming with guards, and we must remain undetected. Think thoughts of other times and places because thoughts of hiding and escape will attract the seekers, subconsciously.”

It happened as Brynnan predicted: a ram’s horn shattered the stillness with abrasive cries of alarm. The keep doors opened, and guards ran for the stables. The boys in their own stable wing were prepared for this and quickly led the horses kept there out to the men; it was the only thing that prevented the guards from entering Brynnan and Andri’s hiding place.

General confusion and shouting prevailed in the courtyard. Brynnan heard Lord Artagan’s voice rallying his men.

“Get ready,” he said to Andri.

Gate guards pushed the Holding’s main gates open. Other guards handed burning torches to the men. The mounted company surged through: Lord Artagan in the lead, then his nobles and leaders, then guards and finally, a miscellaneous collection of people of the court.

Brynnan and Andri mounted their horses and headed out of the stables to join the tail end of the gathering. Flinging horse blankets, provided by the stable boys, about their bodies, they blended in and were carried away through the gate.

The group headed upslope and turned off on a trail to the right of the main path before they reached the valley top. Brynnan and Andri followed, but instead of turning onto the smaller track, they ducked into the trees just past it and waited. Sure enough, they heard hoofbeats and stragglers arrived – five more riders. One of them was a woman. As they turned off onto the side trail, the woman spoke, thus revealing herself – it was the Lady Sarian!

Beside Brynnan, Andri started his horse forward; the Bard quickly seized the horse’s reins near the bit and held fast. “Let her go,” he hissed angrily at the young singer.

The Lady paused her horse and looked around with suspicion. “Did you hear something?” she asked her guards.

One guard held his flaming torch high and rode a tight circle; then, “Nothing Lady. But the tracks show our men rode down the grazing path.”

“Then let us go meet them, but be aware! Our escaped slaves may be in hiding along the way,” Sarian gave a last glance around, and the party moved off.

Brynnan was still angry, but he did not speak to Andri. They turned their horses downhill and made their way towards the river. The footing for the two horses proved difficult by starlight, and Brynnan had to trust in Rhiannon’s sensibilities. They cautiously passed the turnoff to the keep and made their way down to the river. The noise of the rapids sounded almost deafening, and Brynnan risked speech.

“Never disobey me again when we are trying to escape with our lives!”

“But we could have got her; we could have ‒”

 “What? Killed her? Fought four guards?”

“Yes! We could have . . .” Andri seemed to realize what he was proposing, “. . .gotten killed . . .” He hung his head.

“No time for that now. Stay quiet! Do as you are told!”

Brynnan looked around, ‘Now, where exactly is this ford?’ he said to himself.

The risk of crossing in darkness presented a real challenge, and Brynnan was just about to commit Rhiannon to the flood when halfway in the river appeared riders on horseback. Brynnan froze.

“We are discovered,” he thought despairingly, “And we were so close. . . “

A horse neighed out of the darkness. The Bard recognized it as Nijal’s horse, Myst. He still did not call out in case Myst’s rider was not Nijal, unlikely as that would be. Then the riders closed in. There were three of them. A stranger led them at the forefront, followed by Geraint and Nijal.

“Come follow us. Keep exactly to my trail,’ the stranger said.

Brynnan and Andri obeyed. Having perhaps learned his lesson, Andri did not call out to Geraint, who let his horse stand in the river as they passed. Then the old Warrior turned and followed behind them as rear guard. The crossing seemed interminably long, but eventually, they reached the far shore.

Just as they exited the water, angry cries reached them from behind. Alarmed, Brynnan turned to see the four guards, with Lady Sirian, converging upon them. The Lady brandished a sword, and the guards their javelins in one hand and torches in the other. The first guard nearest them launched his javelin at Geraint, who deflected it by a lightning-quick blow of his sword. Other javelins sped from the men’s grasps, but Geraint’s horse, Shade, evaded them, and they splashed harmlessly in the shallows. Then the guards drew their swords.

Nijal returned past Brynnan to aid Geraint. He called to Brynnan, “Take Andrij and follow Rafe; we will catch up.”

Although Brynnan wanted to fight, that was not his purpose, so he obeyed Nijal. As he glanced back at the ford, he saw that one guard was down, another unhorsed and the remaining two closing in on his friends. Lady Sarian took the lead and struck at Geraint with skillful aim. The sword got through his guard and slashed his arm. Ignoring the wound, Geraint pressed forward, crowding her, and his own sword moved in a counterstroke with deadly speed. Brynnan saw her fall.

Then he turned and put his horse into a canter up the hill slope, despite the darkness, as he followed Rafe, with Andri close behind him.