To Redeem His People

A Swift Response

Brynnan lay in the tent beside his Lord, Samir. He had something momentous on his mind that he hoped the Warlord would be able to understand. He awakened Lord Samir, who quickly came to full alertness as was his habit.

“My Lord,” began the Bard, “I must go on a brief journey this night. I would consult with my Father, King Arawn. I cannot call him here—not with the men surrounding us, but I will go to him.”

“This is in the Spirit-Raven form that you used when you contacted me some time ago?”

Brynnan sighed. He did not relish explaining. “No, my Lord. I have discovered my Father’s physical nature within me. Especially since my death, my form has become mutable: corporeal and incorporeal. I do not want to divide my spirit from my body so soon after the forced separation of my soul.”

“What are you saying, Brynnan? Your body will leave my arms?”

“Precisely, my dear Lord. I will not be gone for long: time is different in the Shadow-Realm, where Annwn exists.”

“But where is this place?”

“We exist in only one of countless parallel worlds. Annwn is but a step away. I can’t explain fully. There are beings which inhabit these other realms, like my Father, or the souls I escort from the battlefield to the Desert of Souls.

“It is difficult for me to accept what I cannot understand, but I trust you. Go, then, if you must.”

Brynnan kissed his Lord with loving intensity. Then he turned to mist, and Samir’s arms closed on empty space.

*    *    *

Focusing on his need, Brynnan found himself in the Kingdom of Annwn by the stone of Seren. The stone contained the runes branded on his chest.

“My Son,” said King Arawn.

The Bard turned to see his Father standing under a blossoming tree. Instead of his green and silver hunting gear, he wore a dark amethyst robe and a grey cloak. His hair, like a raven’s wing, hung long and loose. Three of his white hunting hounds lay at his feet.

Brennan felt a surge of gratitude and love. He walked into Arawn’s embrace.

“You have discovered the great secret of our world, Brynnan. This place will always be open to you.”

The Bard found himself lost in his Father’s kiss. After the separation of body, soul and spirit, he was hungry for more sensation. The lovemaking with the Warlord and his other friends had validated that he was indeed alive, and he craved more.

“My Father . . .” he began.

“Hush, my son; I know what you need. Let us lie among these fallen blossoms.”

As if hearing the King’s words, a breeze swirled through the trees, liberating a cloud of petals that blew among the two men, like white veils.

Arawn cast off his robes and pulled Brynnan down beside him. Without thinking, the Bard had left Samir’s arms naked, and he was naked now. The King ran his hands over his son’s chest and stomach, smoothing the dark, silky body hair and bringing his hand down to Brynnan’s stiffening cock.

“Since my death, I understand so much more of the nature of our beings. The life force in me feels so vital, my Father. I want to share my body with you. Please, let me suck you.”

“Yes, my son. Suck my cock, then I will take you.”

Brynnan’s hands stroked and massaged his Father’s cock and balls. The long shaft was stiff and full, the shapely head dripping with pre-cum. Brynnan took it in his mouth, feeling its heat and tasting the salty moistness.

Arawn stroked his son’s hair, pushing him down deeper on his cock. He moved his hips, gently fucking his son’s mouth. When he withdrew, Brynnan felt loss, but it didn’t last. The King turned his son’s body face-down in the purple grass.

Spreading Brynnan’s ass-cheeks, he then pushed three steepled fingers into the ass, making the Bard moan. Brynnan’s cock was now very stiff. Arawn gripped it in one hand while using the other hand to guide his erection into his son’s willing ass.

The sensations were intense for Brynnan, the feelings of heat and fullness; an incredible sexual excitement as his Father’s cock penetrated his ass, stimulating the prostate gland.

‘This is the cock that made me,’ Brynnan thought with wonder as he pushed himself against Arawn’s moving hips.

His father continued to fuck him, and his hand stroked his son’s cock in time to his thrusting. Brynnan felt his excitement rising to an unbearable pitch.

“Please, Father, make me cum!”

The King’s motions increased until Brynnan gasped, “Yes, my Father, I’m cumming in your hand. Fuck me, cum in me!”

His orgasm exploded on him, and he felt the pulsing in his cock as the eruption of semen shot forth, coating Arawn’s hand. Then Brynnan felt his Father cumming in his ass.

Arawn lay over his back for a time before turning Brynnan around and holding him tightly. He opened Brynnan’s mouth with his tongue and kissed him slowly, exploring, and Brynnan tongued him back, feeling a fullness of love. They remained in this way until the King sighed and said.

“Now, my son, tell me what you need from me.”

“My Father, I need to clear the Invaders’ troopers from the land. If they were innocent settlers, that would be one thing, but these men are here and intended to overcome and rule my people by force of arms. I want them gone.

“My Lord Samir and his army can sweep them from Torrent Mountain and from Hesperon, but there are the other City-states and their Redoubts: my friend Jehanadir in the Narib Redoubt, my own ArMor-ys, King Cyndyllan’s seat of power, Yrys, King Rhydian’s holding of Redmark, the Northern Fastness, the Kingdom of Od iyesi in the Eastern Steppe and the rest. There is no time to raise armies in each of these places.”

Brynnan drew breath before he continued, “My Father, I want to take the Hunt and root out these Invaders. That means travelling from your kingdom to each of the Redoubts with your hounds. But I also wonder if you will aid me directly?”

King Arawn was silent awhile. Then he smiled. “You led a hunt here and crossed into the Material World with my horse and hounds. If I hunt with you, you will need your own horse that is able to cross the realms. So I have news for you. Many turns ago in the Material World, my stallion, Llwydrew, mated with a grey mare of the ArMorican mountain breed. Over the years, I have watched you, and when you journeyed from your homeland to Torrent Mountain, I made sure you took the young mare Rhiannon. She will be able to cross the Veils that separate the realms.”

He continued, “We will hunt together, my son. It is especially vital now that I have revealed myself to these Invaders. But you have visited a terrible justice on the Necromancer who took your soul.”

“Yes, Father, I put him into a state of deep despair that he will not recover from unless he comes to the realization that stealing souls will bring him doom. In his current condition, he is unable to work his evil magic. And now, I must return to my Lord Samir. I pray that not much time will have passed. It is a great burden I lay on my Lord.”

“Nevertheless, he accepts you in his trust and love. It is well. And now, I have another gift for you.”

Arawn reached under the cloak that lay on the ground with his robe. He brought out an animal horn with a silver mouthpiece and a braided leather strap. The horn was engraved with knot-work designs, enhanced by its polished sheen.

He handed it to Brynnan. “I know you will be careful how you summon my hounds or me.”

“I am grateful, my Father.”

The King stood tall and proudly naked. “Go in peace; I will be here. When this affliction upon our world is resolved, come to me, and we will explore our land of Annwn. It has many wonders I would show you. I am a King of the Shadow World and Lord of the Hunt, the Cynnydd Llwyd. My province may be death, but there is beauty here.”

“Until then, my Father. Hold me!”

Arawn touched the rune-brands on Brynnan’s chest, then held him in a close embrace. The Bard’s form turned to mist, and he was gone.

*    *    *

There was pain in the transformation: the wounds on his chest burned. He felt a wetness on his face. The great dog, Ysbryd—or Ghost, as he was called, had intruded into the tent and licked him.

“Gorffwys—lie down, Ysbryd. Yes, I am back. Soon you will hunt with me, my Ci Annwn.”

“You return to me, my lover,” murmured Samir’s deep voice.

“Was I gone long, my Lord?” asked the Bard.

“Not long. I am relieved you are safe. Did you accomplish your purpose?”

“Yes, my Lord. Let me tell you what happened . . .”

*    *    *

Two days later, the party of the Brotherhood and the companions reached the gates of the mountain Citadel, which fronted the Torrent Mountain Redoubt. The gates were closed, but the group observed a strange gathering: the Invaders’ force and the Citadel’s own people.

The Invaders knew that their distance weapons were now useless, so they had assembled a group of hostages. Women, old men and children were held with an invader behind each one, knives held at their throats. In front of them was a line of archers from the city, kneeling, with bows at the ready.

The Warlord pulled up, and there was suppressed fury in his voice. He growled to Nijal. “ ’Technologically advanced,’ they told me on the ship. But this is barbarism of the worst sort. They have no concept of honour, mercy or all the truly civilized concepts.”

“They would have your own archers fire at us, under threat of death of their loved ones,” said Arcturus. “What would you have us do, Lord Samir?”

Geraint’s face was red with anger. “We do not allow hostages to be used, Arcturus. They will be killed in any case. Let us summon our own archers. The first man over there who draws his bowstring should be cut down. Then let us annihilate these creatures, m’Lord Samir!”

“Do it, Strategos Arcturus. Have your warriors form up. We cannot allow their tactic to work,” said the Warlord.

The men of Deieros ranged out in a line facing the people at the gates. A row of shieldmen ranged in front of their own archers to protect them from enemy arrows. They were currently out of bowshot range of the Invaders’ hostage bowmen, but now, the line slowly began to advance at Samir’s signal.

They heard the shouted command from the Invaders’ Leader to shoot. Only three of the captive archers drew their bowstrings.

Strategos Arcturus gave the command for his men to fire. They took aim and drew their bowstrings even as arrows from the three men sped towards them. At the same time, one of the Invaders was shouting, then he abruptly cut the throat of the woman in his grip.

Brynnan urged Rhiannon into a leap towards the Invaders. To the watching men, he blurred into a mist and disappeared momentarily. They had entered the Shadow-ways. Time froze. The men at the gates seemed to move in stop-motion for a few beats, then they ceased. Knives were being plunged towards the captives’ necks.

The Bard took the Shadow-bow, Arawn’s earlier gift to his son, from Rhiannon’s back and strung it. He was in no hurry now. “Ysbryd, dynesu—come closer!” Brynnan called, and the great dog appeared in his otherworldly aspect: huge, with unnaturally long teeth and fiery red eyes. He stood beside Brynnan, hackles raised.

First, Brynnan took aim at the Invaders who were in the act of killing their hostages. The deadly arrows flew, piercing their victim’s throats. Immediately, the souls separated from the body. Then the Bard directed Ysbryd to herd and hold the souls. He raised the horn of Annwn given to him by his father and blew a blast. The frozen scene rippled like a mirage, and the Hounds of Annwn appeared, swarming over the unfortunate souls. Then Hounds and prey disappeared.

He morphed back into the Material World, close to the group at the gates. Behind him, he was aware of the thunder of hooves as his own people swept up behind him. The archers at the gates threw down their bows and prostrated themselves.

Arcturus’ men attacked the invaders still standing. Geraint, Nijal and the Warlord heading their charge. Brynnan dismounted and leapt among the fighting, pulling the hostages clear of the carnage. The Invaders, armed only with long knives, were dispatched without too much trouble for the skilled warriors that faced them.

At last, the situation stabilized. Lord Samir allowed Geraint to conduct clean-up operations. The old Warrior directed the remaining hostage archers to gather and separate the bodies.

One woman lay dying, and Brynnan knelt beside her. He clasped her hand and, closing his eyes, let time go still once more.

He was in the Shadow Ways, leading the soul to the Portal. He shivered as he remembered journeying here after his death. But the Portal opened, and the Desert of Souls lay before him. Fortunately, the soul did not balk but stepped straight across the threshold and started walking towards the horizon. Brynnan performed that sad duty six more times before returning to the Living World.

Torrent Mountain soldiers on top of the walls replaced the Invaders who had stood there. The great gates opened, and the Gate Captain came out looking somewhat the worst for wear.

“My Lord Samir!” he exclaimed. “Thank the Powers, you are back. The Invaders took captives and hostages outside the gates while others stayed inside to guard us. We freed ourselves and took care of them. Although many remain loose in the Citadel, the Redoubt is still secure.”

“Where are my warriors, Captain?”

“The last we heard, many were pinned at the eastern garrison. The Invaders set up a perimeter with large weapons mounted and pointed all around. I can only assume the other garrisons suffered the same fate. General Mirza took citizens into the Redoubt when the Invaders showed up in force.”

“We will go to the garrisons now and free our warriors,” said Samir.

“My Lord,” said Brynnan, “While you attend to freeing our warriors, I ask leave to search within the Citadel to clear it of those who would harm us. I would use the Shadow-ways.”

“Go, and do what you can, my Bard.”

*    *    *

Brynnan rode Rhiannon into the street, waiting until they were clear of observers before slipping into the liminal zone that separated the Shadow Realms. Ghost joined him. Then, focusing his mind on the summoning, Brynnan raised the Horn of Annwn to his lips and called. The Hounds bayed in response and flooded around him in a great pack. Then he commanded the beasts to seek out the enemy.

They flickered in and out of areas of the Citadel, wherever Invaders could be found. The Bard was an implacable foe. Many were the invaders who fell to the otherworldly arrows, whose souls were seized by the Hounds. Brynnan would materialize, stepping back into time to the startled shock of Invaders he encountered. He gave them a choice to fight or surrender and exit the Citadel and gather outside the gates. Many of his enemies had armed themselves with swords taken from the Armoury. These Brynnan shot with the bow and summoned Hounds hunted their souls. Eventually, an equilibrium was reached. The Citadel was finally clear.

*    *    *

Outside the gates, The occupation had crumbled. Once the soldiers of the Citadel had been freed, they joined the Brotherhood of Deieros in rounding up the remaining Invaders who surrendered. Those who resisted were killed—no quarter was given to them. Freed soldiers restrained their anger against the prisoners, their professionalism holding. 

At last, the long day was over. The Warlord left his men to take care of the remaining logistics. Along with Geraint and Nijal, Samir proceeded to the Redoubt, accompanied by Strategos Arcturus and his erômenos, Asirin, and picked members of the Brotherhood. They approached the tunnel into the mountain until they faced the great doors. One of the doors opened, and Arcturus’ men took defensive positions, bows at the ready, prepared for anything.

Brynnan stepped out, accompanied by General Mirza. “Welcome, my Lords,” he said.

*    *    *

The hot water felt wonderful. Brynnan stood under the waterfall shower in the Warlord’s apartments and washed Samir’s back. Geraint, already showered, sat outside the washing area with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Come, you two, hurry up before my delicate skin gets cold,” Geraint complained.

Samir laughed, “Your pelt will protect you. You just want my body.”

“That too, m’Lord.”

“Come, Brynnan, let’s go satisfy this hairy brute’s appetite.”

Beside the expansive bed, Geraint dropped his towel, exposing his thick, semi-erect cock. He knelt behind Samir and gripped his Lord’s ass-cheeks, his tongue probing in to rim him lustily. Brynnan stood close and kissed the Warlord, who pushed him down on the bed.

“Come, old Warrior and lie with Brynnan. I would take your ass first.”

“I obey your orders, my Commander.”

Geraint laid himself on the bed, his head over Brynnan’s hips. He licked the Bard’s testicles, sucking each ball into his mouth while Samir positioned himself at the old Warrior’s rear end and stroked his own huge cock into hardness. He poured lubricant on it, slicking it with his hand. Then he pushed his cock into Geraint’s ass.

Geraint groaned like a bear while taking Brynnan’s cock into his mouth, swallowing its length. He paused to say, “That’s it, Samir, m’Lord, fuck me good.”

“It’s been a long time, my friend. I’m going to fuck you so hard . . .”

Samir’s stroke rapidly increased until he pounded into Geraint’s muscular, hairy ass.

Brynnan moaned and bucked as his cock was sucked deeply. “My Lord,” he cried to Samir, “Allow me to cum!”

“Hold, Brynnan. I am cumming now, then Geraint will take you!”

Brynnan obeyed as the Warlord gave a final hard thrust. Samir shot his load with a suppressed roar, gripping Geraint’s ass fiercely.

Brynnan could no longer hold on and ejaculated helplessly into the old Warrior’s mouth. As Samir stepped back, Geraint slapped the Bard’s thigh. “Open your legs, lad. Let me at you.”

Brynnan obeyed. Geraint mounted him while Samir lay down beside them to kiss his Bard.

“Stay here, my lover. Do not leave our arms,” Samir teased.

“I will stay, my Lord. I wish I could always stay.”

“Tonight, you will. You need to rest.”

Geraint said, “He can rest shortly: I am about to cum.”

“Take me, my friend, cum now!” gasped the Bard.

Geraint obliged him.

Later, as they rested together, the old Warrior lifted his head. “M’Lord? Nijal is outside the door and requests entrance.”

“Bid him enter, my mind-reading friend.”

Nijal walked in, holding a bag in his hands. He stopped and observed the three on the bed. “I missed the feast, it seems,” he smiled.

“There is plenty left, Silver-Hand. Join us,” said Geraint.

“What news?” asked Samir.

Nijal was opening his bag. “As by your orders, General Mirza is reintroducing our citizens to their homes. Arcturus and his men are assisting.” Then he looked straight at Samir. “Geraint can hear my mind now, and Brynnan’s. It came to me that you are isolated from us, Lord Samir, and I have a proposal for you.”

“Oh?”

“In the past, I have shared my love with you. How would you feel about me sharing my blood?”

*    *    *