To Redeem His People

Summoning Of The Hounds 

After he left the body of Lord Tyreth in the interrogation room, where Ghost had killed him, the Bard entered the Council Chamber and approached the Master of Ceremonies.

“Lord Tyreth will be delayed. Summon the Councillors,” he said.

Many people arrived again, along with the remaining five Councillors. They cast curious glances at the Bard but responded to Brynnan’s commanding presence as he exerted his bardic power.

“Councillors and people of Hesperon, hear my news. Look into your own minds and weigh the actions of the Invaders—your invited guests. You have seen the power they wield. They show it openly as they seek to intimidate and control you.”

One of the Councillors spoke, “I am Lord Jelek. We have decided not to trust our Guests after we witnessed their violence. But what can we do? We are filled with consternation. Our guards will not be able to stand against them!”

As if on cue, the doors opened, and the Invaders walked in. Leader Tekram glared at the Bard. “Where is Lord Pentayn Tyreth?”

“Have you lost contact with his mind?” said Brynnan. “He is gone.”

“This is your doing!” Tekram raised his fist to point at the Bard.

Impelled by sheer necessity, Brynnan stepped into the Shadow Realm, and time slowed. He took the bow of Annwn, strung it and nocked an arrow. He moved aside from Tekram’s aim, and the blue beam flared, narrowly missing him. At the same time, Brynnan loosed the arrow, not knowing if the strike would fulfill its deadly purpose, but the bolt lodged in Tekram’s chest, and Brynnan heard the baying of hounds. The Invader fell, though his soul stood still, transfixed by the deadly projectile. Then the hounds came. They surged over the man, and both hounds and soul disappeared.

Two more Invaders raised their fists with infinite slowness and were treated to the same fate, spitted with the otherworldly arrows. Again he heard the baying of hounds.

The others stood frozen, and Brynnan stepped out of the Shadow World again. To others, he did not appear to have done anything except that he was suddenly standing in a different spot.

The Invaders turned to each other, consternation on their faces.

“Does anyone else wish to strike at me? You will die,” the Bard called out to them.

“What did you do to Leader Tekram and our fellows?” one of the Invaders asked as he knelt beside a body.

But Brynnan told them, “Go back to your ship and leave here. Or you can stay and die.”

“What if we pledge to do no harm?” an Invader asked.

“Show me your wrists.”

The seven men obeyed, and Brynnan saw the thin bands on both wrists.

“Are those your weapons?”

“We pledge not to use them.”

“Remove them now if you want to live,” said Brynnan.

“But it is forbidden,” said one. “I shall not.”

Brynnan was implacable. He recalled how they had fired at his Raven-form without warning. He stepped into the Shadow World again. Nocking one more arrow, he shot the man. The hounds of the Wild Hunt bayed, leaping at the soul as that body, too, collapsed in slow motion.

He stepped back. The remaining invaders expressed panic, and they cast off their bracelets.

“Now leave here. Take your vessel and go back to your Mothership, if you can. As long as you come with weapons and attempt mind control, you will be killed.”

“What strange powers do you possess?” asked one, as they headed to the doors.

Guards stepped in front of them.

“Let them go!” Brynnan commanded. “Have men escort them to their ship.”

The doors opened, and they were met by Geraint and Nijal, both armed and ready to fight.

“They are leaving,” Brynnan called to them.

As the Invaders left, Brynnan’s two companions gathered at his side. “What do you need from us?” Nijal asked.

“Those bracelets on the tables: they are weapons. Get them, Nijal.”

Then he addressed the Council. “I regret to inform you that Pentayn Tyreth is dead. Now, you must settle things among yourselves, but I hope you heed my warning. The Invaders will destroy your way of life, but the decision is yours. Just know that if you ally with them, Torrent Mountain will stand against you, but if you seek our help, we will listen.”

“What can we do now? This fear overwhelms us,” asked another Councillor.

“Let my harp give you courage and hope while you decide. Will you hear her?”

Lord Jelek looked at his fellows and exchanged words with them. Then he turned back to the Bard.

“The harp’s power to soothe anxieties is well-known. Play for us, Marec Mavrenn, while we reflect on our path.”

Brynnan obliged. Taking his harp, he sang the songs in the Shadow style; of hope, strength and courage. The people in the hall could not resist the powerful harmonics between voice and harp-string, carrying as they did the ghost-notes that soothed peoples’ minds. They listened intently as Brynnan finished his last song. The assembled people felt their fear lifting.

He stayed a little time with Geraint and Nijal and sat with the Council. Brynnan explained how the Watchers had infected Lord Tyreth’s mind. He described what to look for when men’s minds were infected and how to combat it. Finally, they bid farewell to the Council.

Lord Jelek rose from his seat. “Go in peace, Brynnan Marec Mavrenn, Warrior Geraint and Nijal Silver-hand. We thank you for opening our eyes. Torrent Mountain will hear from us.”

Brynnan took up Mavrenn and left the hall with his friends with a sigh of relief.

*    *    *

They spoke little about the events until they gained the Trader’s Compound once more. Once inside their room, Geraint looked at Brynnan.

“Lad, you are as pale as moonlight. You were captured again, weren’t you? Nijal and I sought you in the citadel, but you must have been shielding your mind from our Guardian.”

Brynnan threw himself on the bed and lay there, one arm covering his eyes. “I was unconscious for a time while Tyreth tied me down in an interrogation room. Geraint, I have been raped again… or rather, I allowed it to happen because I saw a means to eliminate him and knew his loss would provoke Leader Tekram into action. I called Ghost from the Shadow-ways, and he took Lord Tyreth’s soul. In the Council Chamber, I killed four of the invaders. So, I killed five men. Mother-of-All help me, but I have broken my Ruithin vows! We can kill in self-defence when there is no other choice, but I sought to encourage them to act against me.”

Geraint said, “Yet you played your harp . . .”

“And?”

“You once told me that Mavrenn would not sound for her harpist if he betrayed his vows. So, which is it?” persisted the old Warrior.

“I do not know anymore. This is not who I am.”

“But it is, my lad. It’s precisely who you are now. You are changing . . . I remember when I was a young ‘un. I was all fire and glory and invincible. Then I went to war and woke up. It is the same for us now,” mused Geraint.

Nijal said, “I agree you have not betrayed your vows because you took an oath to protect this world, and that is what you endeavour to do.”

“Nevertheless, my spirit is sickened. I would walk through fire to redeem myself,” Brynnan sighed deeply.

But Geraint said, “Never mind redeeming yourself. You were appointed to redeem your people. And as I recall, haven’t you already walked through fire? Or what was that when you lay gravely ill and burned in Narib, before your Father came and healed you?”

Nijal raised his head from where he sat in contemplation. “I think you have hit on it, friend Geraint.” He turned to the Bard, “Brynnan, where’s Ghost?”

Brynnan removed his arm from his eyes and looked at Nijal. “Poor beast, I must call him.” He closed his eyes and whispered, “Ysbryd . . .”

There was quiet, and then a deep chill enveloped the room. A shadow in the corner developed into a mist, which resolved into the dog from Annwn. Ghost walked over to Brynnan and licked his face, all trace of monstrousness gone.

“Brynnan, call on your Father,” suggested Nijal.

“What, here? In the Trader’s Compound?” said the Bard.

“Yes. Right here. It is said that no door can bar itself against the Huntsman, and he can squeeze in through the sliver of a shadow or the opening of a dream.”

“Aye. It is so.” Brynnan sat on the side of the bed and touched his torc with his left hand. “Come, my Father.” Then he turned to Ghost, “Ysbryd, fetch Arawn!”

The dog de-materialized again and almost immediately returned, bringing a shadow-form with him.

King Arawn’s form solidified, and he stood in the centre of the room. Tall, clad in green and silver hunting clothes and a black cloak. He greeted Nijal and Geraint then looked at his son.

“You and Ysbryd sent sport for my hounds.”

“Yes, my Father, and it tries my spirit sorely.”

“Lord King,” ventured Geraint boldly, “Our Bard blames himself.”

“My son?” Arawn queried.

“Father, each time I send someone to the Hunt, I feel as if I lose a part of my own soul and that eventually, I will give myself wholly into death.”

“It is not your soul that suffers, but the spirit in you that cares for your land and people.

Geraint spoke again, “Can you put him at ease on this, Dread Lord?”

The King replied, “I will do more than that. I know what they did to you, my son. Let me heal you again.”

“Let us leave,” suggested Nijal to Geraint.

“No, I bid you both stay,” said Arawn, and there was a tone of command in it. “You are his friends. How would you start with him?”

Geraint responded by guiding Brynnan to his feet. First he, then Nijal, kissed Brynnan. At first, the Bard was quiet, but he responded to his friends in a very short time. They undressed him and then themselves in practiced choreography, continuing to kiss but also touching and stroking his body. Geraint knelt and took the Bard’s cock in his mouth while Nijal stood behind, arms wrapped around Brynnan’s chest as he pinched and squeezed his erect nipples.

Beside them, King Arawn was suddenly naked. “The advantages of being semi-corporeal in this place,” he commented, catching Geraint’s eye.

“We dare not touch you, Lord King, or be touched by you, no offence meant,” said Geraint.

“Nor shall I ask you to,” replied the pale King. “But if you now engage with each other, Brynnan and I, who can touch each other, shall watch. Seeing your love, my son may be comforted as I fuck him and also give him my love.”

Geraint and Nijal took to the bed, where Geraint pushed Nijal to his back and began to suck his golden cock.

Brynnan watched then turned to the King. “Let me suck you, my Father, as Geraint does to Nijal.”

King Arawn nodded, and Brynnan slipped to his knees. Before taking it in his mouth, he reverently ran his hands over the black pubic hair surrounding the King’s cock.

“Suck me, my son. Pull me deeper into this world where you dwell.”

Brynnan did so, taking the cock all the way in. Arawn looked down in paternal affection, watching as his cock slid in and out of his son’s mouth.

Nijal, glancing over, was struck by the similarity between father and son. Although Arawn was taller, their bodies reflected one another’s, and both faces were grave and handsome. The King’s hair was slightly blacker than Brynnan’s and a little longer. It flowed past his shoulders and down his back. Both had the same winged brows and close-trimmed beards. Arawn’s face was unlined, but it bore a gravitas and an otherworldly nobility. It spoke of ages uncounted as Leader of the Wild Hunt in multiple realms.

But now, King Arawn made Brynnan stand and turn.

“Lean your hands on the bed, and I shall fuck you, my son.”

Brynnan obeyed. The King stood behind him. Copious pre-cum drenched Arawn’s cock as he introduced it into the Bard’s rectal passage.

Brynnan murmured, “My Father! Put your cock in me, deep; deeper.”

“I give you my love, son.”

On the bed, Nijal turned over so that Geraint could fuck him from behind. As he plunged his cock in Nijal’s rectal passage, Geraint leaned over to Brynnan and kissed his mouth, twining his tongue with the Bard’s as King Arawn continued to thrust in his son’s ass.

In a short while, Geraint announced his intention to cum. Withdrawing his cock at the final moments, he stroked it with his hand until cum spurted over Nijal’s butt cheeks. The sight aroused Brynnan intensely.

“Cum in me, my Father,” he groaned.

Arawn gripped Brynnan’s hips fiercely and pumped hard. “Take my seed, my dear son,” he cried out as he ejaculated. He held tight as he gave a few final thrusts. Brynnan was only moments behind him. “I am cumming, Father: take it in your hand!”

King Arawn’s shaft was still inside his son’s ass as he reached around and grasped the spasming cock, and Brynnan’s cum covered his hand.

Brynnan turned and put his arms around Arawn’s neck and kissed his Father deeply, pushing his tongue inside his mouth.

“I thank you with all my heart. I don’t care if I am entering your realm—at least I know I am loved, by you, my Father, as I know I am loved by my friends.” He buried his face in Arawn’s shoulder.

*    *    *

Early in the morning, the companions left Hesperon. Nijal made some last-minute purchases of food, medical supplies and more lubricant from the booths outside the walls. An incoming trader’s caravan was just arriving, and Geraint reined up and briefly chatted with the overseer. The Invaders’ ship was gone: only burnt earth remained.

Brynnan did not know if he was relieved—if the unwelcome visitors had returned to the Mothership or if they had headed elsewhere. He had to assume that some of the Invaders had remained in the ship and possibly had more weapons. Nijal still had the bands he had confiscated from the Council Chamber, and he planned to destroy them when they were far away from Hesperon in case of unplanned energy discharges.

They turned off the main road and headed across the country through wooded hills, travelling until the sun reached its zenith. Then they called a halt.

“It feels good to be away from that city,” remarked Geraint. “Things were touch and go for a while when we could not find you, Brynnan, and you nearly perished once more.”

“The only thing that took me by surprise was Leader Tekram’s energy beam when I was rendered unconscious and made captive for Lord Tyreth. The Invaders fired on me when I flew before in Raven-seeming, and I absorbed the beam. It seems as though my physical body is vulnerable to it, though.”

“You had best be more careful, lad,” said Geraint, as he loosened the horses’ girths and set them to grazing.

Nijal said, “How do you feel now that Lord Tyreth is dead? Hesperon has been a destination of risk for you for so long.”

“As long as he was alive, true peace with Torrent Mountain was impossible. Now I have hopes that they will send heralds with offers of alliance. I wish I could reach my Lord Samir and find out where he is.”

“My Alsar brethren can help. I will contact them mind-to-mind.”

“I think the Raven needs to venture forth once again,” mused Brynnan.

Geraint sighed. “I can’t protect you in that form. But if you can find us the information we seek, I can at least stand guard over your body.”

Brynnan stood looking at the sky. “A storm is coming. Can you not feel it in the air? There will be lightning.”

“Let’s get a move on. There is a more sheltered forest ahead. We can string up the tarps if we are in the storm’s path.”

They gathered the horses and moved out. The sky was still clear, but a dark bank of clouds headed towards them as they travelled, and a breeze kicked up. They called a stop in a stand of dense evergreens away from the higher ground. As the wind became more robust, Nijal and Geraint strung two tarps: one overhead and one on the side of the prevailing wind direction. Bringing the horses in close, they took shelter just as a rumble of thunder reached them.

Brynnan was sensitized to the electrical charges in the air. An idea occurred to him.

“I am going journeying, my friends,” he announced.

“Now?” said Geraint incredulously.

“Yes. In the Raven-spirit form, I will attempt to use the storm. Fear not! Lightning will not harm it.”

“Nijal looked concerned, but he said, “Come lie down between the two of us. Let Ghost guard you also.”

Brynnan complied. Nijal and Geraint wrapped their cloaks about them and settled either side of the Bard. The dog, Ghost, curled at his feet but stayed alert. The air cooled, and the thunder sounded closer. Large raindrops started to penetrate the overhead branches, wrapping the companions in rain-sound. A raven called nearby, then flew into the branches above them. Brynnan’s body was already still and quiet, and he seemed asleep. Geraint shivered and suspected that the bird was Brynnan’s summoned Spirit carrier. He did not look at it.

Lightning struck nearby, and the thunder was immediate. The Raven cried out loudly and flew away.

“We wait,” said Nijal. “His journey has begun.”

*    *    *