To Redeem His People

Crag of Angels

Lord Samir’s upper chest was stiff and painful from its recent wound, but he did not let it distract him from his work. Currently, that work was watching his Bard, Brynnan, suck Geraint’s cock. Samir sat by a table, stacked with papers and scrolls, in his chambers, detailing a plan to present to the Council of Seven regarding a resolution to the recent invasion. But he took this time to appreciate his lover.

The old Warrior stood and stroked Brynnan’s long dark hair. “That’s it, lad, make me cum,” said Geraint. He pulled Brynnan’s head tighter onto his cock and ejaculated with a bear-like groan.

After they had finished, the Bard came to his Lord and crouched at his feet, laying his head in Samir’s lap.

“My Lord, it’s good to see you up but don’t overwork yourself.”

“I could say the same for you, my Bard. Where do you go on this day? The ArMor-ys Redoubt, you said?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Samir reached to the table beside him and picked up a scroll. “Here is a message for your Grand Master. Memorize it and pass it to the Master’s mind.”

Brynnan took the scroll and, seated cross-legged on the floor, read and instantly memorized its contents.

“I doubt if he will travel to Narib for the conference, but he can link his mind to mine or Nijal’s,” he said and passed the scroll back. He looked up into Samir’s face. “My Lord, let me suck you also before I leave. I would have the taste of your seed on my lips.”

“I will allow you that,” Samir replied, stroking Brynnan’s face.

It was an easy task for the Bard to open the simple robe Samir wore in deference to his injury. Brynnan stroked the huge cock, watching it stiffen. He adored it: bringer of pleasure and pain, as the Warlord tended towards rough lovemaking. But their lovemaking the previous night had been slow and gentle.

Brynnan sucked his Lord’s cock thoroughly until he felt Samir about to cum. The Warlord breathed heavily and ejaculated, filling the Bard’s mouth with semen. Brynnan swallowed gratefully. Samir bent down somewhat stiffly and kissed him.

Geraint approached Brynnan and pulled him to his feet. “Don’t worry, lad. I will look after our Lord while you are gone. If you, by any chance, see Andri and Col at ArMor-ys—“

“—I will give them your love,” the Bard finished.

At this, the old Warrior raised an eyebrow. “See that you do,” he replied.

* * *

The liminal mists of the Shadow-ways thickened about Brynnan and his horse. Ysbryd, the great dog, kept close alongside them. When purple grass appeared beneath Rhiannon’s hooves, the Bard knew that they had reached his Father’s Kingdom of Annwn.

King Arawn waited to greet them on the steps of Caer Annwn, his seat and holding. Servants held Rhiannon as the Bard dismounted and walked into his Father’s embrace. They kissed each other warmly, and Brynnan felt both relief and surrender. After his death, his soul had dwelt in Annwn before being summoned by the Necromancer, and he knew now this was his spirit’s home.

Time was not an urgent issue in Arawn’s kingdom, so when they sat together, Brynnan told him of Lord Samir’s wounding and how he had pulled him to safety through the Shadow-ways.

“I felt the disturbance, my son. You are now aware of the consequences, but I realize it was a matter of life and death.”

“I hope it was the last time, my Father, but you know I am vulnerable when it comes to my heart’s love.”

“Beware your heart! So far, you have not shirked the difficult choices, but your time of decisions is not yet done.”

“I have always strived to do my duty, Father, but I heed your counsel.”

“After his body’s natural death, your lover’s soul will be my subject. Although your souls will be together, who knows what perhaps more suitable realm might have drawn him? But for your sake, be not troubled now. It is done.”

* * *

The time for subterfuge was over. Brynnan arrived, dressed in huntsman’s garb, in front of the outer Redoubt gates at ArMor-ys. The Ruithin College buildings surrounding him seemed peaceful enough, and neither he nor the dog, Ysbryd, detected any disturbance.

Men were reluctant to approach him, though, and he realized the otherworldly aura surrounding himself must intimidate the servants. There was one young man who did come to him, however.

“Let me take your horse, my Lord,” he said. White teeth flashed in a smile against his light brown skin, and he tossed his unruly black curls. He showed no fear of Ysbryd either and held out his hand for the dog to sniff.

“Col! It indeed warms my heart to see you,” Brynnan said, tossing his leg over Rhiannon’s shoulders and leaping down lightly. He embraced the young man and kissed each cheek.

“There’s a feeling about you: like lightning about to strike,” Col said. His mind then brushed Brynnan’s and made itself known.

“Your mind-powers are increasing,” remarked the Bard.

“It’s my Grandmother’s heritage, and they are training me to develop it here. But come, you aren’t here to chat with me. Let me care for Rhiannon while you attend your business. If you can see Andri and me after you are finished, I will ask leave of our Masters. You may touch my mind to let us know.”

“I will do that.”

* * *

Brynnan, accompanied by the dog, Ysbryd and escorted by two Ruithin priests, came into the presence of the Ruithin Grand-Master Neven-Tanet. He was seated in the inner meditation chamber with six priests who sat in the adjacent alcoves. The Grand Master himself occupied a dais, where he sat cross-legged on a thick silk rug. A shallow reflecting pool in the middle of the floor showed the wall hangings and the tiled ceiling.

“Come sit by me, servant of Mavrenn, or should I say servant of Annwn?”

“Master, I am also your servant. Command me,” Brynnan replied.

“Let me touch your brow. I will take what thoughts you choose to share.”

“Yes, Master,” the Bard said and complied.

Neven-Tanet’s touch was cool, and Brynnan relaxed, letting his thoughts and memories flow, holding nothing back. But the Master was circumspect in his probing, choosing in his wisdom to avoid Brynnan’s soul’s death journey.

He did explore the Hunt, though, and the Bard’s pursuit of the Invaders’ souls.

“A dread and terrible duty for one with your gentle nature. How do you reconcile it with your natural sense of empathy?”

“The Hunts are reserved for those who commit crimes against nature. To take by force is a terrible rationale.”

“Yet you take their souls. Is there no room for mercy in you?”

“Master!” Brynnan protested. “You are testing me! I can no longer deny my heritage as my Father’s son. I suspect I will be scarred by my actions, but I have accepted the duty to rescue our people however I may. And yes, I also choose to do this.”

The Master’s smile was sympathetic. “I know the burden on you, Brynnan. I felt your death, you know, and I grieved, knowing the soul would have to walk the Shadows-ways. That King Arawn stretched out his hand and intervened amazes me. He, too, is normally implacable in his duty.”

Brynnan spent some moments in introspection before he asked, “My Master, have you contained all the invaders? Did they do any harm?”

“We simply let them walk among us, making their threats and demands. Our bards and priests heeded them not. It infuriated them, and they stooped to killing a Priest: Garron, the Elder. You may have known him. But it did not sway us. Then next time they tried, their weapons failed, and our fighters overwhelmed them. We did not show them mercy, either. So I understand your actions.”

“What happened to them?”

“We mustered the survivors on the high plateau at the Pass of the Sun. A ship came and took them. I let them go—we have no interest in keeping hostages.”

“So the Redoubt is safe. Is your problem resolved now?”

“There is a remnant left: a group of Invaders have taken refuge on the Crag of Angels. I do not know how they reached there, but I fear some final mischief from them.”

“I will go there. If I have to, I will summon the Hunt.” Brynnan sighed. “But now let us discuss a resolution to this great Mothership that orbits our world, seeking room for settlers, many of whom are in frozen sleep. They are the innocent ones. My Lord Samir suggests a conference at Narib, with Invaders attending—the Ship’s Captains and Strategists.”

“Let us discuss this, Brynnan, Son of Arawn . . .”

* * *

Brynnan had one last duty to perform before he could seek out Andri and Col. Mounted on Rhiannon, he shifted into the Shadow-ways, seeing in his mind the Crag of Angels. He emerged there on a narrow ledge, high up. The clinging shreds of cloud around the peak were no obstacle to his vision, and he discerned several silver dome structures on a broader shelf lower down. There was also a white capsule: a small transport vehicle that could somehow fly. He spotted some of the invaders below.

He made himself visible to them and blew a single blast on the horn of Annwn. The hounds appeared and seemed to pour in slow motion, like a white mist, down the sheer mountainside. They clustered on the Invaders’ encampment, and Brynnan joined them.

Several men cowered back against the rocks. The Bard recognized four of them: the Summoners who had attended the Necromancer at Brynnan’s own tomb when his soul had been captured.

They had not known what Brynnan looked like in death, but they recognized him now, sensing his soul. Two were abject, and the other two, defiant. Four more Invaders gathered: troopers, now armed only with long knives.

“What evil do you plan?” Brynnan demanded. He used the Voice of Power, the Voice of Death that his current role conferred on him. It was irresistible: they had to answer.

“We wait for your Ruithin priests to travel the Pass.”

“And?” Brynnan pressed the man, who spoke as if each word was dragged from his throat.

“We have explosive material—when we detonate it, the pass will be blocked. Then we will fall on, and take hostage, any left alive.” The man looked as if he were being tortured.

Wearily, Brynnan shook his head. “Some of you don’t give up, do you? What purpose do you hope to achieve with this ill-advised attempt?”

“Our Leaders have said the Ruithin have great powers of the mind. Our leader, the Necromancer Ruh-çağıran Natan, has had his mind damaged. We will force his healing as our own medical technologists cannot do it.”

“By the heart of the Mother! Has any of you sought to simply ask? Do you know why the Necromancer stays in despair? When he changes his ways, his suffering may lift. But I have had enough of you!

Before he could raise the horn of Annwn to his lips, one man broke free and dashed towards a device mounted on a tripod. Brynnan suspected it had something to do with their ‘explosives.’

The man reached the device and activated it. A low rumble seemed to start within the rocks below, and the ground began to shake.

Brynnan stepped out of time. Everything froze, except for the Hounds, Rhiannon and Ghost/Ysbryd. The silver mists of the Shadow realm surrounded them, and the Bard exerted his powers to contain the blast. Then Brynnan stepped back into time as the explosion continued its deadly chain reaction. But instead of pulverized rock and gasses blowing out the mountainside, the blast force emptied into the limitless territory of the Shadow-realm, where it dissipated. Brynnan scarce knew what he had done; he had acted on instinct alone. But the feat had depleted his own energy. Unable to hunt the Invaders, he lifted the horn and winded it three times. There was a pause in which silence reigned, but then he heard more hounds baying, and his own answered. Lightning flickered, and King Arawn himself appeared astride his stallion, Llwydrew. His long hair swirled around him, and his horse danced and curvetted above the ground.

“My Father, pursue these men into the Shadow-Realms where dark things dream! Do not spare them!”

“Leave them to me! I sense your strength fading, my son. You have drained yourself in your redirection of the explosive power.”

“I know it, my Father.”

“Come to me when I am finished my task or find someone close to you who can renew you with their seed.”

The King raised his hand in farewell and disappeared with all the Hounds. Coming out into the Material World, Brynnan found the Invaders’ camp deserted of life, except for one man, and the Bard shivered when he thought of the fate of the others.

“You have been spared to carry the message,” he told the survivor. “There will be no mercy for any that remain who raise their hands against us. Tell your masters! Now, clear up this place, and go!”

* * *

Andri and Col were in the room they shared together, in the Ruithin College’s Hall of Music. Andri was both excited and nervous.

“Will he come to us?” he asked his young lover.

“Let me seek.” Col closed his eyes and concentrated.

‘I come to you.’ He heard a voice in his mind.

The air shivered like a heat haze, and Brynnan’s form appeared. Then it seemed to fade out again. Col increased the concentration of his mind-call. The Bard’s body again materialized, this time fully, and Brynnan knelt there looking utterly weary. The two young men rushed to him. But instead of asking for explanations, they instinctively undressed him, then themselves. They led him through the door to the bathing area and half-dragged him under the waterfall shower. Hot water poured over them.

Andri and Col supported Brynnan until he could stand on his own, then they proceeded to wash him, scrubbing his body with a balsam-scented cleansing lotion. The Bard leaned into their touch, feeling strong, young hands stroking his body. At last, after a thorough cleansing, they took Brynnan to the bed. He sat on its edge, accepting a cup of wine, which he drained.

“Brynnan, Master; it is truly marvellous to see you again, but you look like you have been in a battle!” said Andri.

“I suppose I have, dear lad,” murmured the Bard.

Andri shook his mop of blond-streaked hair, his grey-blue eyes expressing concern.

But Brynnan said, in a lighter tone, “When you two reunited, did you like the gift we sent with Col for you?”

Andri’s smile was now genuinely warm. “Geraint taught him how to take my ass. Yes, we have enjoyed the gift exceedingly. As a matter of fact,”—here he bent his head and almost shyly laid it against Brynnan’s chest—“we would like to do it with you.”

Brynnan put his arm around the young man and laughed, “So I gathered with all that thorough washing. Yes. I have missed both of you. And so has Geraint. He sends his love.”

He put a hand behind Andri’s neck and pulled him close, kissing him deeply. Then he turned to Col and also kissed the young horsemaster-in-training. He looked at Col’s body with appreciation. Working with the ArMor-ys horses had developed his muscles, and his skin was smooth and tight. Andri’s fair-skinned body was more slender, but he too had a muscular definition from the martial arts training included in his bardic studies. These two young lovers were precious to Brynnan.

The Bard lay back on the bed. Andri and Col remained standing, but both bent over and took turns sucking Brynnan’s cock. He shivered as Col’s tongue ran the length of his shaft while Andri sucked his nipples. After he had become hard, the two young men had him turn over onto all fours.

Andri was the first one to penetrate Brynnan. His well-lubricated cock slid inside to its whole length. Gone was the hesitancy Andri had shown when he had first been taught to fuck the Bard: now practice had given him self-assurance. Brynnan sighed deeply. This was a haven for him in the ongoing trials he endured, a drink for a thirsting soul.

“Take me, both of you,” he urged. Andri thrust swiftly into him with youthful vigour, his cock amazingly hard.

“Don’t cum yet, but let me take a turn,” said an eager Col. Andri obligingly withdrew, and Col took his place. His play was more teasing, as was his nature. He pushed into Brynnan’s ass slowly and held his cock there until the Bard was forced to murmur in protest at the inaction. Brynnan’s hips urged Col into movement, and he began to slide his cock in and out in long, slow strokes. Andri sat on the bed next to Brynnan, reached under him and grasped his cock, masturbating it.

“Don’t make me cum,” Brynnan gasped. I want to fuck both your sweet asses.”

These words incited Col, who enthusiastically increased his strokes until he cried out, spilling his semen inside the Bard. “Take my cum, my Teacher!’

Andri, in turn, moved back in to finish fucking the Bard until he, too, ejaculated. Brynnan felt Andri’s proud young cock spasm as he shot his load, then collapsed over the Bard’s back, embracing him.

“I have missed you, my Master,” he whispered.

“Now, both of you boys, get on the bed. I will take you.”

Brynnan’s cock dripped precum as he moved in on Andri first, fucking him hard, and then Col. Both young men, side-by-side, on all fours, kissed each other as they were fucked. Brynnan felt renewed and energized, even when he spilled his load inside of Col. He groaned in ecstasy.

The three collapsed on the bed together, embracing and kissing before resting in a tangled mix of limbs draped over one another.

“My lovers, I thank you. I feel like a new man,” Brynnan said.

Afterwards, they sat on the side of the bed and shared some oatcakes and cheese. “This food reminds me of our travels together,” mused Andri, biting into the sharp cheese. “You are changed, Brynnan, but your heart is still the same. Do not forget us!”

“I will not. My Lord Samir is arranging a conference with the Invaders’ leaders at the Narib Redoubt. I will speak with Grand Master Neven-Tanet mind-to-mind and ask if you both may attend. The Master himself will not go but will be there in spirit, however others of our Ruithin brotherhood will attend—such as the Priest Cadwyr, who accompanied you when you returned to the College, Andri. He would be good company for you. King Cyndyllan of Yrys will also be with you, and he remembers you fondly. What do you say?”

“May we?” said Andri, his eyes shining. “Will Geraint and Nijal be there?”

“Yes, they will. And you can renew your acquaintance with them.”

“I will ask that old Warrior to teach me more skills that I may share with Andri,” said Col. “Geraint’s horse, Myst, is still in foal, I hope. She will be due soon. I think she will bear a fine, strong colt from our stallion, Buino.

“Then prepare to leave soon. And now, my dear ones, I must go. But first, Andri, I want to introduce you to my companion. Col has met him. And don’t be alarmed.”

Brynnan concentrated, sending out his mind call. The room’s light dimmed, and a wash of cold air came over them. In the middle of the room, a mist coalesced into the form of Ysbryd, the great dog.

Andri gasped, his body stiffening in shock, but Col smiled and called the beast over to him, holding out a hand. The dog sniffed it and wagged his tail.

“He is enormous!” said Andri, holding out a hand also at Col’s urging. “A war dog?”

“Yes. His name is Ghost, or Ysbryd in my tongue. Though he is a fierce hunter, he is protective of me and those I love. He is a gift from my true Father, King Arawn of Annwn.”

“Ysbryd could sire some amazing pups!” said Col, naked longing in his eyes. “If ever he does, remember me. Andri and I would love to have one.”

Brynnan laughed. “After our current trials are resolved, anything is possible. And now Ysbryd and I really must go. Rhiannon is waiting. As for you, Col, now you know my mind-voice, practice your calling skills. Call me if you are in need.”

The two young men stood and embraced the Bard. Col ruffled the hair around Ghost’s neck, and the great beast accepted his touch. Then Bard and dog faded.

* * *

He took to the Shadow-ways with care and came to Torrent Mountain. The head groom in the stable yard at the Redoubt hardly showed surprise—he had encountered the phenomena several times now. The groom led Rhiannon to her stall, and Brynnan took the time to walk the ramps and levels until he came to the Warlord’s chambers. He could sense a visitor and suspected who it might be when Ysbryd bared his teeth in a silent snarl. He suppressed the unruly emotions that threatened to rise and composed himself before entering the apartment.

The Warlord sat in his private meeting room with his guests. Brynnan wordlessly touched his mind, sending that sense of bonding: of connection that they shared. He also sent his acknowledgement to Geraint and Nijal’s minds. Then he looked to the guests.

Captain Belisarius and two other Invaders unknown to the Bard turned to him, but the fourth, Leader Ilchi, stared at him in shock.

“May I present to you Brynnan Marec Mavrenn, who is bringing your Invasion to an end,” said Lord Samir. “I am sure by now that you have the reports of his actions. Don’t even think about harming him again: for one, you would destroy any chance you have left to help the inhabitants of your Mothership, and secondly, you would die.”

Brynnan bowed with deep courtesy. “I am pleased to be re-acquainted with you. I am at your service.”

* * *