To Discover His Truth

 Wolf Song 

The Bard, the Old Warrior and the Guardian reached the high point of Scarfell Pass. Snow coated the trail at this altitude, but it was not deep. Above them, Scarfell’s white peak blocked the sun, casting blue shadows across the track.

Their route descended to a fork, where they chose the right-hand path that was longer and more rugged than the main trail reached by the left fork. The Bard, Brynnan, felt relief that they were less likely to encounter others.

However, as evening fell, ravens in the forest indicated a disturbance. Brynnan and Nijal, the Guardian, paused in their task of setting camp and listened. The raucous, harsh cries assailed their ears from a distance, creating echoes on the mountainside.

“It is on the trail behind us,” remarked the Bard, “Do we investigate?” 

Nijal considered the suggestion. Of the three companions,  Nijal’s travels in the wilds made him the most competent observer.

“I would suggest not, unless the disturbance approaches us more closely. Let us be aware,” Nijal said.

Brynnan agreed with a nod of his head, and the two men returned to their tasks. Meanwhile, Geraint arrived with an armload of firewood. 

“What’s this I hear about a disturbance?”

“Something unusual may be out there. The ravens are unduly active,” said Nijal.

“We could forego the fire,” Brynnan mused.

“No, I’d like my tea and a hot supper!” declared Geraint adamantly. 

“I agree,” said Nijal, “If it’s human, a fire may draw them in; save us hunting.”

“Even if there are multiple people?” said Brynnan skeptically.

“Besides whoever is on watch duty, we have another helper. My horse, Myst, also can warn us,” replied Nijal.

Brynnan bowed in surrender. 

So Geraint had his fire and cooked them a meal. The others settled in the warmth. The conversation seemed uncharacteristically guarded between Nijal and the old Warrior until Brynnan put his bowl on the ground and looked directly at the other two men. 

“What?” he said.

Nijal and Gueraint glanced at him as if surprised. Then Geraint ventured to ask, “Brynnan, are you doing alright?”

Brynnan looked mystified for a few moments. Then he replied, “I won’t break, you know. What is an aching heart compared with the torture and rape I have endured? Yes, I severely miss my Lord and keeper of my heart, Samir, but I am focused on our mission now. The quickest way to heal my heart is to find the information we need that proves the star invaders are indeed coming. Then we can return.”

“I am glad to hear that, my lad,” said Geraint, “It was foolish of me to skirt the issue of your well-being. I should’ve just been my normal self and asked you outright.” 

“Be blunt, you mean,” Brynnan replied with a smile.

“That, too. So if we are not to treat you like a delicate flower, you can take the first watch. And stay within hailing distance of our camp!” Geraint admonished.

“Yes, O Father of Battles,” Brynnan grinned at him.

Brynnan’s time on watch turned out to be mostly uneventful. He moved silently in the dark, tasting the air and letting the sounds and smells pass him their messages.  He could smell the pines and a faint odour of . . . goats? 

There is nothing wrong here; the forest seemed to say. But Brynnan did not relax his guard. Trouble, when it came, could arrive fast.

However, he reflected on Nijal’s comment that the campfire might draw in their possible visitor. Walking to an outcrop of rock that overlooked the mountainside, he sat and watched the stars in the clear sky. He saw a streak of light in the heavens. It brought to mind the invaders from beyond the sun. In a few years, or sooner, they might arrive to threaten the way of life the original settlers had developed, and there was not much time to prepare. He hoped for success in his mission to find proof of their coming.

Deep in the forest, a single wolf howled only to be answered by silence. Brynnan made up his mind and began to sing. He chose a lullaby called ‘The Wolf’s Call.’ The haunting tune reflected the night and the solitary wolf’s howl. If anyone heard and understood, they would perceive no threat.

“Sleep safely, my darling one,

Wolf is hunting, but not for you,

The old deer has fallen asleep,

A night of sleep longer than yours . . . “

Geraint relieved him after the appointed time. Brynnan reported quietly, “I sang a lullaby. Oh, and I thought I smelled goats. Make of that what you will.”

“Hmm . . . aren’t goats normally found above the tree line? But not to worry. No strange goats will get by me,” Geraint replied. He kissed the Bard with a sensual promise. “You can greet me in the morning,” he added and squeezed the Bard’s ass as he passed him.

Back at camp, Brynnan checked their horses, drank, then washed in the small stream before entering the tent. Their two tents, put together, created a larger one, capable of sleeping four people, so Brynnan found plenty of space as he discarded his fur-lined coat, slipping under the cloaks to curl up with Nijal. 

After a while, the Guardian stirred and turned to kiss his companion. His fingers tangled in the Bard’s shoulder-length dark hair as his tongue probed his partner’s willing mouth. Brynnan returned the kiss, and passion slowly rose inside him. Then Nijal moved down the Bard’s body to his cock. 

Brynnan did not object as Nijal drew out the cock and took it into his mouth. The Bard felt his member stiffening as moist warmth enveloped it, counteracting the chill air.  

As Nijal sucked his cock and played with his balls, Brynnan murmured, “You are so good to me, my friend.” 

He let himself fall back into a pool of ecstasy. The quiet and gentle action prompted him to cum, and his orgasm was surprisingly deep. Afterwards, he drifted into sleep with Nijal curled against his back. Nijal put his arm around his companion, sliding his hand through the open shirt and the silk rope harness he wore underneath it to rest against Brynnan’s heart.  In this position, Brynnan fell asleep. He was barely aware when Geraint returned and took Nijal’s place. 

In the morning, he awoke to discover himself alone. Outside, he found Geraint, newly returned from bathing, standing naked and wet by the fire. Steam curled off his body. He was well-muscled for an old Warrior, with dense hair covering his chest, back and shoulders. The short, grey-white hair on his head and trimmed white beard testified to his functional approach to professional soldiering. 

Brynnan approached the old Warrior and knelt at his feet, “I greet you, my Keeper,” he said.

Geraint grinned, “Go ahead, my lad. I’m glad we are back to our old routine.”

Brynnan embraced the old Warrior’s ass from where he knelt and took the thick, mushroom-headed cock in his mouth. Once before, Geraint had been Brynnan’s keeper when he had been a prisoner and slave of the Warlord. He had been charged with greeting and thanking the Warrior by sucking his cock daily. Lord Samir had freed Brynnan and become his lover, but now, for their journey to Brynnan’s homeland, Geraint had once again been appointed his keeper. The Bard was happy to ‘thank’ him. 

So he sucked on the cock with a skill that had been taught to him by Geraint himself, both from verbal instructions and demonstrations of sucking the Warlord’s huge cock.

Brynnan licked and sucked on Geraint’s heavy testicles and fingered his ass, seeking the prostate sweet spot. Geraint grunted and sighed happily. 

He was close to cumming when Nijal’s silver-shaded horse, Myst, let out a loud neigh. Brynnan paused, but the old Warrior instructed him to keep going.

“If they attack us, I want to cum before I die,” he stated.

In short order, Brynnan made him cum. To his credit, the old Warrior kept his eyes open, staying aware of his surroundings even in his passion. Then he stepped forward and quickly swept up his sword from where it lay beside the fire, standing naked and on guard. 

“I hear someone approaching. Get behind me, lad.”

They waited. Nijal stepped out from among the trees with a stranger at his side. There was more rustling, and three mountain goats followed them into the clearing. Myst neighed loudly, and the other horses whinnied a greeting, even as they sniffed the air. 

The stranger looked slightly dazed at the scene before him. He was a dark-skinned, black-haired man, older than Brynnan, as both his long hair and beard showed a good mix of grey hairs. Wiry and of medium build, his rough clothes reflected his occupation as a mountain herder. He carried a well-worn pack, and staff and a white goatskin slung over one shoulder.  

Nijal introduced him, “This is Darryn. He is returning to his steading, bringing these goats with him. He sought us out after he heard someone singing last night,” Nijal looked directly at the Bard with an amused expression.

The man spoke with a rough, strongly accented voice, “I heard a beautiful song, sung perhaps by a Heavenly Being. I think to myself, surely no one singing a song for sleeping children can be dangerous, so I decide to find you, but this man Nijal finds me.” 

Geraint relaxed his guard and lowered his sword, saying to Brynnan, “Come now, Dangerous Heavenly Being, be on your guard while I dress. Those goats look like a real threat to me!”

The goats in question, shaggy white creatures with curving horns, grazed peaceably on some bushes.

But Brynnan replied, “Have you ever seen them fight each other? Their head-butting can break bones! Don’t threaten them.”

Nijal interjected, “When you come back out, Geraint, we will hold council. Darryn has news we ought to consider.”

“I will be quick,” the old Warrior promised.

Nijal offered Darryn a place by the fire as Brynnan brewed tea. When Geraint returned, Brynnan brought tea and a bowl of pan-bread to the herder first, as trail protocol demanded. According to his code, trail hospitality was a sacred duty.

After breaking fast, they settled back to listen to Darryn. He began, “This man, Nijal, tells me you want to hear of my news. I am travelling home on the low route two days gone when I see dust far behind me. I put my ear to the road and hear horses’ footsteps. So I take my goats into the forest because strangers may think my goats make a good meal. But I watch as they pass. After, I turn back to come up the high trail. 

“These are bad men. I hear them say the word ‘Ironstrike River,’ which I think is where they are going. They have with them a captive. He is on a horse but is all tied up.”

Nijal said, “Describe this captive to us.”

“A young man or older boy. The hair is both yellow and dark. No beard. Tall.”

Geraint groaned out loud and slapped his forehead with his hand, “It has to be him. I just knew he wouldn’t stay.”

Darryn said, “You know this boy?”

Geraint was about to answer, but a warning look from Brynnan silenced him.

Nijal was more direct. He said, “We thank you, but the less you know, the less you can tell.” 

“Ah, I understand. But before I go, could the one with the heavenly voice give me a song?”

Brynnan said, “That I can do.”

He arose and fetched Mavrenn, his harp. Uncasing it, he said, “I will give you a mountain herder’s song.”

He began to play a lilting tune on the harp. Mavrenn’s clear and bell-like tones echoed in the forest clearing. Brynnan joined his voice to Mavrenn’s and sang of the herder’s call to his animals. The tune caught the attention of the herder’s goats, who crowded around the group to listen attentively, and Darryn laughed in delight. 

When the Bard had finished, the herder arose to leave. Lines of apprehension were gone from his face, replaced with an expression of joy. Darryn wished them farewell, called to his goats and left to pursue the high route across the mountain.

There was silence among the three men. Then Nijal said, “It sounds to me as if Andri has attempted to follow us and has found himself in dire straits. The question is; do we turn back and rescue him, which will cost us time and put us in danger, and maybe even jeopardize our mission, or do we continue on the high route? What say you both?”

“Rescue him,” said Geraint without hesitation.

The Bard agreed with Geraint, “If the men who captured him are from Redstone Holding, as seems likely, we cannot leave Andri in their hands. He is both innocent and naive in the ways of evil. We must attempt to free him as soon as we can. What say you, Nijal?” 

The Guardian looked pensive. “I agree with you both. We will go to him, and soonest is best. Who knows what they may do to him in their nightly camp? His survival will depend upon our speed.”

“That young fool. . . ” said Geraint, and put his hand across his eyes in obvious distress. 

An apprentice singer in the Torrent Mountain Redoubt, Andri was also Geraint’s sexual apprentice and youthful lover. The Bard was his teacher in both music and sex. Brynnan remembered all too clearly how he had fucked Andri’s virgin ass and the pleasure the boy had derived from it.

They broke camp quickly and gathered their horses, Geraint’s Shade and the Bard’s mare, Rhiannon, and the two pack-mares, Byll and Frieda. Without looking back, they turned and headed down the mountain and into danger.