To Redeem His People

The Tomb Opens

It was a still night. The reflection of starlight shimmered in the pool below the waterfall. The Mound in the clearing, Brynnan’s tomb, glowed with greenish foxfire.

Geraint lay on his side in the tent, with Orion, the Warrior Kyros’ young lover, clasped in his arms, kissing him, while Kyros himself fucked his boy from behind.

Orion moaned in pleasure, feeling Geraint’s big cock pressed against his own, grinding into him. He grasped the powerful, hairy body, feeling its heat, even as Kyros tightly gripped his slim hips and pumped into him. Then he protested as he felt his erastês withdraw.

“Geraint: you take him!” Kyros grunted.

“Put your leg up, lad. Let me at you.”

Orion lifted his leg over the old Warrior’s body and moaned when he felt the thick cock pushing its way into his ass. He readily accepted it now as Geraint thrust slowly and deeply into him. Then he felt Kyros shift behind him, and to his shock and desire, his erastês began to introduce his cock into his ass.

He gasped, “I’ll tear!”

“You won’t, lad. Ass holes are marvellously forgiving. Relax!” Geraint whispered.

Both men took their time, with Kyros pouring extra lubricant on his cock as he pushed it in gently. At last, both cocks were inside the boy’s ass. The men kept still for some moments, letting Orion acclimatize. Then both began to fuck him slowly, thrusting in counterpoint.

“Oh, please, this is unbelievable. Please, don’t stop.”

Then, moments later, “Fuck me harder . . .”

Both men obliged. They kept up a steady rhythm until Orion moaned, “I’m going to cum, I’m cumming now! Aah!”

Geraint felt the warm flood of the boy’s semen on his stomach. He allowed himself to come to orgasm. As he ejaculated, he heard Kyros whisper, “I can feel it. I can feel you cumming, Geraint. Let me finish!”

Geraint obligingly withdrew his dripping cock, and Kyros took over, pumping hard and fast against Orion’s ass. The old Warrior could hear the wet, slapping noise Kyros’ thrusting made.

“Music to my ears,” he murmured as Kyros shot his load into his erômenos.

Orion sighed, “I am so well-fucked . . .”

After a time of resting together, Geraint announced, “I’m going outside for a wash-up. I’ve got cum drying on my furry gut.”

He exited the tent and walked into the clearing. He paused and looked at the glowing tomb, then raised his eyes to the myriad stars. He wondered where Brynnan’s soul was now.

The silhouette of a horseman rode into the glade with a shadowy animal at its side. Geraint froze. But then the shadow came up to him. It started to glow faintly, as did the Rider.

“M’Lord King Arawn!” exclaimed the old Warrior. “Ysbryd!”

The King bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Warrior Geraint. Hail and well-met.”

“Are you hunting, m’Lord?”

“I am always hunting,” he said. “Although, I was teaching Brynnan, my dear son, the ways of the hunt before he was Summoned.”

“I’d give anything to see him return,” Geraint sighed.

“Would you? Be careful of such requests around me. But actually, I have come with a message. I feel my son’s spirit becoming stronger. Keep watch still. You will be needed.”

“Yes, Lord King. Can Ysbryd—Ghost—stay with me? I wondered where he had gone.”

“Yes. He may stay with you. Ysbryd is your protection.”

As if in response to Arawn’s words, the great dog seemed to shift. The glow faded, and his monstrous size diminished to that of merely an exceptionally large dog. Geraint felt the warm breath on his hip, followed by a lick of the beast’s tongue. He roughed the fur on the dog’s head and scratched its ears.

“Thank you, Lord King. I will be keeping watch as you ask.”

“Good. I gather you now understand mind-speech. Do not attempt to contact Brynnan’s spirit yourself at this time. It may betray you. Farewell, Warrior!”

The glimmer around him died, and Rider and horse became shadow again. Then they simply faded, and Geraint and Ysbryd were alone in the clearing except for the Spirit-Ravens in the pine trees around them.

*    *    *

A meeting took place in the Mothership as it orbited high above the planet. Assembled were Warlord Samir, the Necromancer, Leader Ilchi, the two on-duty ship Captains—Belisarius and Narses, engineers, and the Troop Leader, Calvos. They discussed having Lord Samir spearhead arrangements with the other region’s city-states, assisting settlers from the ship. They spoke of mining operations for rare earths to help replenish the ship’s weapons-plant requirements.

When Troop Leader Calvos disclosed that they had already placed men on the ground near the various Redoubts, Samir was glad his emotions were curtailed. He knew what the Invaders were really up to. They wanted the Redoubts very badly.

“They are a peaceful presence,” insisted Calvos.

“A currently peaceful, but armed, presence,” corrected Samir.

“Surely you understand our need for self-protection, Samir,” offered Leader Ilchi. “Your societies suffer armed conflict. You, yourself, are a Warlord and have seen many battles and engagements. If we move our settlers onto your world, they would otherwise be defenceless. We are not as physically strong as your people are. It will take several generations for us to fully adapt to the increased gravity and the denser air on the planet.”

“You have a valid point,” Samir made himself say in a reasoned tone. “Our own fighters can assist you.”

“We appreciate the offer.”

One engineer asked, “What about access to your Redoubts? We are particularly interested in the one you call ArMor-ys. The Redoubts must contain records that would help explain the past and how the earliest settlers coped. ArMor-ys was the first Redoubt, according to information our Summoner has from the captive soul. Will the people of ArMor-ys treat with us?”

“Frankly, I would be surprised if they do,” said the Warlord. “You have killed their most important Bard, the Servant of Mavrenn, and they have also lost a treasured artifact.

“How could we convince them?”

“Since you cannot offer them their Bard, you could at least offer them the artifact, the harp known as Mavrenn.”

“What is so special about one musical instrument?” a strategist asked in puzzled tones.

“It is not simply an instrument. It has properties I don’t understand. You would have to ask the Bard—but he is dead. I don’t know if the soul would have the ability to tell you,” said Samir. He already knew the answer. It remained to see if the Invaders—the Sojourners, he reminded himself—would take the bait.

Lord Ilchi looked pensive. “Summoner Natan, can you call forth the entity you control? Will he speak?”

Ruh-çağıran Natan responded, “I will speak to the soul now. I would request your silence and calm, and please dim the light level. It helps me concentrate.”

The light dimmed, and the meeting fell into a respectful silence.

The Summoner closed his eyes. His features relaxed and seemed to shift slightly, becoming gentler as if he was asleep, but his eyes opened. Brynnan’s voice spoke.

“My master, Ruh-çağıran Natan, bids me speak to you. You will ask, and I must answer.”

Several of the people at the table looked uncomfortable, but Leader Ilchi asked, “Marec Mavrenn, you had an artifact—a harp, Lord Samir tells us. Does it have special properties? What is its value to your people?”

The soul replied, “It is a key. It contains tonal sequences that can affect men’s minds, opening the door to their unconscious selves.”

“How is that a key?”

“It can open the Redoubts in the right hands. An activated mind recalls the manner of operating the inner gates in the Deep Redoubt.”

“Would your people negotiate for the return of this ‘harp,’ this key?”

“It is one of our most treasured possessions and belongs to the people of ArMorica, under the care of its Servant. They would negotiate.”

“And who is its Servant?”

“I was Mavrenn’s Servant,” said the soul, and the body sighed.

“So the harp’s working is lost to your people?” persisted Ilchi.

“Mavrenn chooses a new Servant on the death of her previous one.”

“Soul of Brynnan, where is the harp now?”

“It is in my tomb. Let me rest now. I crave only eternal sleep, not servitude.”

Leader Ilchi was silent.

The Necromancer’s face lost its look of repose. It became sharper, more focused. Then Ruh-çağıran Natan spoke again in his own voice.

“I heard what the soul told you. My Summoners and I indeed found the tomb, but we had no knowledge the harp was inside. One would have thought that Lord Samir’s men would have taken steps to return it.” He turned and looked at the Warlord.

“I would have thought so, too. But recall that you took me before my men built the tomb.”

Troop Leader Calvos thumped his fist on the table. “It must be retrieved.”

Leader Ilchi spoke up. “Would you come down with us, Necromancer? Or do we simply go and break open this ‘tomb.’”

“There is no simple about it, Leader Ilchi. Spirits guard this structure in the form of black-feathered creatures. Birds called ‘ravens.’ We had to leave quickly after I captured the Bard’s soul, and if we encounter them, we cannot discharge our band-weapons at them. Incredibly, the energy will feed these creatures.

 “What do you propose, Necromancer?” Troop Leader Calvos asked.

“Several of you are taking Lord Samir to Torrent Mountain. I will accompany you with four of my Summoners. There is a Rite we may perform to banish the spirit guards.”

“But what of the soul of Brynnan Marec Mavrenn?” asked Ilchi shrewdly.

“To be safe, I will transfer it to a soulless one, a sleeper whose pod suffered a malfunction. I will then imprison it here.”

Captain Belisarius spoke for the first time. “It seems to me that this Bard-Soul is the only one who could play the harp, exploiting its tonalities, as he said. I think the harp itself may be a means of banishing these Raven-Spirits if we cannot fire upon them. Could the Bard play the harp as you desire him to do, through your own hands, Natan?”

The Warlord thought to himself, ‘Thank you, Captain, for bringing that topic up. Better you than me.’

But Leader Ilchi protested, “Captain, this sounds dangerous to me! What is to stop him from taking control and using this instrument’s power?”

The Necromancer looked stung. “I would stop him, of course. Brynnan Marec Mavrenn’s soul is completely under my control. Witness how he disclosed the harp’s powers to you: a summoned soul cannot lie.”

‘No,’ thought Samir, ‘but he can choose the truth.’

*    *    *

The Warlord rested in his room two days later when the Necromancer visited him. Natan had a strange expression on his face, almost a trace of anguish as he sat down and faced Lord Samir.

“Is something wrong, Natan?”

In response,  Ruh-çağıran Natan’s face relaxed into the expression Samir was coming to associate with his Bard.

Brynnan’s voice spoke through the Necromancer, “I am in control, and this Necromancer is now aware of the fact. I had to do this, my lover, as I needed to contact Nijal. You must know that Nijal is already on his way to Scarfell. Be very careful now, my Lord. Nijal and the Alsar will act, but only when we are on our world again. There will be a window of time when you especially will be in danger from their weapons. Stay very close to this Summoner’s body, lest he directs fire at you. We are about to take ship for the surface, and I will not be able to speak to you until we resolve the matter of Mavrenn, or I fail. If I fail, my soul will be irretrievably exiled this time.”

Samir stood and reached the Summoner. “What are you saying? Am I to lose you a second time and forever?”

“We have no other options, my Lord. Or rather, I do not think you would accept the ones we do have. I could stay a prisoner of this Necromancer, put into the body of a soulless one, and you could attempt to fight alone against these Invaders with their weapons or submit to them, forever deprived of your emotions. But our people would lose their very identities and be absorbed into an alien and destructive culture. The Mother-of-All’s gifts would be lost to us.”

The Warlord sighed, “I know it, my beloved Bard. Let’s steel ourselves and do this thing. There will be no looking back. You will always remain in my heart until my last breath.” He leaned in and kissed the Necromancer softly on the lips, then stood back. He watched as Natan’s face assumed its customary severe expression.

The Necromancer seemed to be trying to say something but could not get the words out. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “I came to fetch you, Warlord, to the ship’s dock. We are ready to depart.” But there was a suppressed fury in his eyes.

“By all means, Necromancer Natan. Let us go.”

*    *    *

Geraint feinted with his sword and before going on the attack. His opponent took the proffered opening and made a slash that would have cut across the old Warrior’s arm. He responded by closing the distance and sweeping up his blade to hit his attacker under his upper arm, making the blade fly in the air.

“Ouch!” Orion yelled. “Gods, that stings!”

“Good thing I hit you with the flat of my blade. If I hadn’t, it would be your arm lying over there and not your sword.”

“What did I do wrong?” Orion asked ruefully.

“Balance, lad. When you lunged, you overreached yourself. You need stability to deflect or turn a blow. Pick up your sword, and we’ll try it again,” said Geraint.

Kyros, watching them, smiled. “He will get the hang of it. He has promise. Already in several days, I see an improvement.”

“When he’s mastered this move, we will go on to Dirty Tricks. Sand kicked in the face, pretending to stumble . . . stuff like that.”

“Kyros sighed. “It’s not an honourable way to fight, though.”

Geraint looked at him with one eyebrow raised. “Sometimes honourable swordplay gets you dead. A duel is one thing. In war, I prefer to stay alive and win.”

“Yes, I know. I have some dirty tricks I could show my erômenos myself.”

Orion came running back to them, holding up a hand for silence, and the two men immediately fell quiet.

“Rider, coming up the trail,” the boy hissed.

“Too late to take cover now,” said Geraint in a low voice. “I wonder why the Ravens, or Ghost didn’t warn us?”

But Ghost just stood wagging his tail. The Rider came into view.

“Nijal!” exclaimed Geraint, still keeping his voice low.

“No need to whisper; I could hear your swordplay all the way down the trail.” The Guardian pulled up and dismounted from his horse, Myst. Then he patted Ghost before embracing Geraint, then Kyros and the boy. He looked up at the sky.

“Actually, we had better seek cover shortly. I expect there will be a ship.”

They retreated to the deep shade under the trees.

“I am finally in contact with Brynnan’s spirit. The ship is coming to seize his harp from the tomb, and they will bring enough men to attempt to open it. They will be armed, but that won’t last if my Alsar brothers and I have our way. Brynnan has let us know of the machines in the Mothership that generate power for the weapons they carry. I must wait for the landing ship to discharge its passengers before my Brothers and I disable the power source, so you will be vulnerable until then.”

“What of Brynnan and m’Lord Samir,” said Geraint with concern.

“As far as I know, they travel within the ship. We must be ready to aid them. I will give you the signal when,” replied the Guardian.

Orion slipped away and then returned with two water bottles. He passed them around, and they drank their fill. Then he sat back on the pine needles, looking nervous.

“Calm down, boy,” said Kyros. “Your raw emotions can reveal us to those who are sensitive.”

“I hate waiting,” Orion replied.

“Get used to it, lad. Conflicts are all about waiting. Nine parts boredom, one part sheer terror,” said Geraint.

“How do you handle the boredom, my Lord?” Orion asked his erastês.

Kyros smiled at his erômenos and patted his crotch.

“Now?” said Orion, eyes widening.

Kyros beckoned Orion with a finger. The boy scuttled over to him and parted Kyros’s clothing as the man leaned back against a tree. Nijal and Geraint exchanged a knowing look.

Kyros seized Orion’s hair, bringing him close. He kissed him slowly for a while before pushing his head down. Orion brought out his erastês’ cock, and starting at his balls, gave it a thorough licking. When his mouth closed over Kyros’ cock head, the man sighed in satisfaction and pushed his hips up, feeding the shaft into the boy’s throat. Orion moved his head up and down, giving his erastês a thorough sucking.

It did not take long before Kyros gasped, held his lover’s head down and ejaculated into his mouth. After Orion had swallowed, he simply lay there for a while until Kyros urged him up, then he straightened his clothes and came to full alertness.

It was timely, as they heard the full thunder of a descending ship just then.

“I will shield your minds until I am called on,” Nijal told them. The men waited.  

*    *    *

Men from the ship gathered around the tomb: the Necromancer, with four Summoners, six troopers, Troop Leader Calvos, Lord Samir and Leader Ilchi.

The Necromancer stationed his four summoners at the cardinal points.

Leader Ilchi remarked, “The spirit-birds: they are not attacking!”

Ruh-çağıran Natan replied, “They are aware of the captive soul I hold.” Then to his Summoners, “Raise the Cone of Power over the tomb. That will further protect us.”

The four Summoners began to chant and moved in a circle about the tomb four times until they had regained their original positions.

Natan turned to the others, “The Cone of Power is completed.”

Then he gestured for the troopers to move in. One of them held a rod-like device. He pointed it at the east end of the Mound and bathed a red beam over it. Stones and earth were vaporized, making a loud hissing noise, until the boulder blocking the entrance stood revealed.

The troopers moved in with pry bars and worked at levering the boulder until it shifted incrementally. Then the man with the power-rod fired it at the boulder itself, and the stone crumbled. Men swept the debris away, all the while glancing at the black opening. They waited as evening fell, and the Mound began to glow with foxfire. Even the tomb opening glimmered.

Leader Ilchi said, “If it’s safe to go in, please enter and retrieve the harp. Can you destroy what remains of the body?”

“There is no smell of corruption, only the cold earth and the tree scent. Nevertheless, I shall destroy it if doing so is safe.”

The Warlord protested, “Have you not done enough desecration? This is the body of one dear to me whom you killed! You would do this and still want my cooperation?”

Leader Ilchi said, “Relax, my friend. The Necromancer told me that an unclean spirit could possess the body, animating it. Surely you would not want that?”

Samir subsided and seemed to capitulate.

“Do what you have to do. But let’s not tarry here. The Ravens may avenge my Bard yet!”

Ruh-çağıran Natan faced the glowing portal and prepared to enter.

*    *    *

In the shelter of the trees, in the deepening twilight, Nijal watched intently. ‘It is time to act,’ he sent to Geraint’s mind. ‘I join with the minds of my Alsar brothers. We will attempt to disable the Mothership’s weapons power source.’

Geraint squeezed Nijal’s shoulder as the Guardian lay prone on the forest floor. He lightly touched Kyros and Orion, and they nodded in understanding.

Nijal’s mind sped forth to join with his Guardian brothers. He spearheaded a force that penetrated the Mothership and raced along the traces Brynnan’s spirit had left for them. The force reached the weapons plant, piercing it with devastating force. An explosion started, but the Alsar minds contained the gas cloud, vaporized debris and noise. They shifted the energy outside the ship, allowing it to dissipate harmlessly into the sub-zero cold of space. But in the compartment, alarms sounded, and lights flashed. The attack had been detected, but the power plant was damaged beyond repair.

Back in the glade, Nijal shuddered and was still. Geraint took his limp hand and was relieved when it squeezed slightly back.

Nijal’s mind-voice said, ‘It is done. Be ready.’

The Necromancer turned to Lord Samir in the clearing and gave him a long, meaningful look. Then he stepped inside the tomb.

*    *    *