To Redeem His People

Flight to Narib

Brynnan and his companions looked over the chain of hills that stretched on either side. The long path was marked on each hill summit by stone cairns, visible in the clear air. Some distance along the hill trail, a turning would lead down through lower wooded slopes and eventually join the main road to the Narib Redoubt, their goal.

The Men of the Boar paused nearby, waiting. A horse neighed loudly, and a flock of birds started up from the grass. Dronnadh the Diviner watched them with care.

“It will be a late spring,” he announced to his new master, Bertholf Gatekeeper. Brynnan, beside them, watched as the birds settled just a short distance away.

“They have recently arrived and are too tired and hungry to fly far from us,” said the Diviner. “The flock of these tarn-birds are all males; the females have not yet arrived. That means Jehanadir the Prince still must wait for his Rite of the Spring Divination. That gives us some time.”

“I notice you don’t explain these details to our men.” Bertholf gave a short laugh. “They remain mystified by your magical interpretations of your auguries.”

Dronnadh shrugged, “It is all part of the great Pattern, and you, being Rune-Master, are familiar with patterns too. I recognize patterns in the totality of things. Brynnan, you see the patterns in the actions of ravens and in the behaviour of men. And you, my Master, read the patterns in the runes. It is all part of a whole.”

“It will soon be time we parted ways from your men, Rune-Master Bertholf. Will you come with us and bring Dronnadh to meet with Prince Jehanadir’s diviners?” asked Brynnan.

“Arne and I have discussed this thing. As a group, we will not be allowed inside the Narib Redoubt citadel, but there are villages at the outskirts of the main city where we may stay, and perhaps Arne may find employment for the warriors.”

“Then meet Nijal and Geraint and I tonight at our fire. Nijal wants to instruct us concerning the Red Prince.” Brynnan turned Rhiannon and moved to join his two friends.

* * *

A small lake nestled lower down in the hills made for a camping place. The weather seemed milder since travelling south from Brynnan’s land, and the lake was unfrozen, although a layer of snow coated the ground.

The men of the Boar established campfires in the space near the lake, but Geraint set their tent apart, as did Bertholf, who they invited to share their fire. Bertholf set his large cauldron upon the flames and boiled a substantial amount of water for washing, as he planned rune work for later.

After the evening meal, Brynnan brought out Mavrenn, his harp, and played for the warriors of the Boar. This night, he sang in the Shadow style, songs that predisposed men’s minds into a peaceful and contented state. “I don’t want them disturbing us and dragging Geraint into a dice game. We have things to discuss,” he told Nijal.

“We do indeed. Come now to the fire, and I will tell the tale of Prince Jehanadir,” the Guardian replied.

Those gathered consisted of Nijal, the old Warrior, Geraint, Brynnan, Dronnadh, Bertholf, and Ghost. Nijal began his tale.

* * *

“Every year, the Prince of the Narib Redoubt holds a rite known as the Spring Divination, where he and his Diviners 'read’ the land. The Prince drinks a special draught called the Water of Life. This puts him into a state of heightened awareness. He can tell the land’s health, the fertility of crops and beasts, and foretell if it will be disposed to drought, flood, plague, or invasion. He is supported by his Diviners.

Since the City State was founded, this custom has been passed down to the Princes. The ability is hereditary, and the scion is distinguished by having dark red hair and violet eyes. We do not know if the power was initially natural or engineered.

“Prince Jehanadir is the current holder of these qualities, but he was a ward of his uncle, Demir, who was black-haired. The uncle was supposed to rule until the Prince came of age just past sexual maturity, but Demir had ambitions. After the Prince came of age, the uncle had him blinded. Thus, according to their law, the Prince could not rule the people of Narib—only a fully healthy person can lead, but he was still able to perform the yearly Rite. Thus, Demir had him as his puppet.

“But Jehanadir acquired a lover, the boy Shahin. While Jehanadir was blind and unaware, the uncle raped or seduced Shahin. The boy confessed to the Prince, and Jehanadir developed a plan of revenge. Now, I warn you, this is a tale of despotic rule and certain sordid actions, but it is true in its details. You shall find out how I know all this.

“Jehanadir suggested a threesome to his uncle, who accepted. They came together, and it was a success, so much so that Demir eagerly agreed to a tryst in the forest. But as they fucked each other there, Jehanadir drove a fine metal needle into Demir’s heart and killed him without spilling his blood on the land, which might have tainted his gift. I was told it carried a certain justice to it, as Demir’s men had blinded the Prince using a similar tool. So, Jehanadir was rid of his uncle but would not be able to rule, except for one thing,” Nijal paused to drink from a horn.

“Go on,” urged Bertholf.

“That one thing was me. I visited the Prince–I had heard about his plight. It was not in the interests of us Guardians to have a destabilized city-state. As Brynnan knows, we have been aware of the Invaders for a long time. We, as a world, need to be united as much as possible.”

“So, you healed the Prince,” put in Geraint.

“Yes, I healed his blindness. The operation was not complicated.”

“For you, no doubt, my friend,” said Brynnan with a grim smile.

Nijal nodded to Brynnan. “The result is that Jehanadir holds the sole rule of the Narib redoubt. He has able counsellors to assist him, but his word holds the final sway. His power has been consolidated by his ability to perform the Spring Rite of Divination. The people rely on him.”

“Up till recently,” postulated Brynnan. “Now he no longer has a source for the Water used in the Divination. We stopped that.”

“What I don’t understand is how the Water from the Death Cult’s caves could have the power to read life,” said Geraint.

“It is rooted in the underworld and thus connects through the shadow realms, but it is not a healthy thing. We will have to meet with Jehanadir and find a new source for him,” said Brynnan.

“I see,” said Bertholf. “But is not this Prince more likely to want to put you to death?”

“That is where I come in,” said Dronnadh. “If I can but gain his ear, I can convince him to work with Brynnan, not against him. Besides, the Prince owes Nijal a debt.”

“I would not count on his gratitude,” said Nijal. “He was brought up in a hard school, learning deadly lessons. Besides, I too, influenced the trader, Hazrad, to discontinue supplying the Water for the Divination.”

“I will use rune work to determine my own course of action,” said Bertholf. “I would like to send a spirit guide into Prince Jehanadir’s holding to seek his mind’s disposition. Brynnan, you are the traveller to other realms, but I also need the Diviner’s powers. Dronnadh, I have need of your body tonight. Will you consent?”

“Yes, Master, I have given you my pledge.”

“And Brynnan—if you could engage with Dronnadh in your spirit form, the runes will show me a clearer path. What say you?”

Instinctively, Brynnan glanced at the old Warrior, Geraint. “My Keeper?” he queried.

But Geraint frowned, shaking his head. “Brynnan, enough of you running about being fucked by everyone. I’m concerned for your well-being.

“Rune-Master Bertholf, if you need Brynnan’s sexual energies, I suggest that I attend with him. I am not interested in spying out the secrets of your knowledge, but Brynnan’s body was put into my care.”

Bertholf stroked his white beard, considering Geraint’s sentiments. His blue eyes gleamed. “A dice game?” he said softly. “We wager Dronnadh and Brynnan both as prizes and as forfeits?”

Geraint grinned crookedly. “No games, Rune-Master. I’ll not be bribed by my own weaknesses. Not in this. I am under orders and, besides, I love the lad too well. If it’s about the Invaders, well, I make certain allowances. But against the machinations of a possibly mad Prince, I’ll not risk it.”

“Very well, old Warrior. You make your point. I will do my best to protect you from any stray spiritual forces if you attend us.”

“My pure heart will protect me,” Geraint responded, with a trace of his customary humour.

* * *

Later that night, Dronnadh, Brynnan, and Geraint gathered in a clearing with the Rune-Master. It was cold, but they made no fire. Instead, the light of three orbs illuminated their workspace. Geraint sat apart, wrapped in the fur-trimmed black cloak of the woman he had slain.

Brynnan lay on a cloak spread on the ground, with Dronnadh kneeling beside him. Both men were naked.

Bertholf held a long staff, carved with runes and bearing a cross-piece at the top. He looked a wild figure with his long white hair and the wolfskin cowl, the head of which lay on his own, and the wolf’s empty eye sockets peering out. His clothing was black, with a breastplate of rune-carved bones, and he seemed to merge into the darkness behind him.

Firstly, the Rune-Master shared the mead horn among them, each man adding three drops of blood from a pierced left thumb. Bertholf poured the remainder on a stone placed at Brynnan’s head. Then he began to chant.

The sounds he made were unearthly: deep, growling words of power filled the clearing like a miasmic fog, drawing the men’s conscious minds into the ritual. The steady thumping of the staff on the stone beneath his feet wove a counterpoint to the words. Then he whirled around, bones in the breastplate clattering together, and faced Brynnan.

Brynnan began to intone a chant that evolved into a song incorporating the ghost notes that existed only in the listeners’ minds.

The old Warrior, Geraint, watching, felt the hairs rise on his skin, and shivers rippled down his neck. On principle, he avoided any sort of supernatural workings, being firmly rooted in the physical world. He preferred an adversary he could see and strike at. Nevertheless, his bond to Brynnan and the Warlord, Samir, kept him firmly in place.

Brynnan fell silent. There was the whipsaw-sound of a flying raven, and a shadow-bird perched in the tree above them. It called three times in its rough, croaking voice. Then it fluttered down and perched on Brynnan’s naked chest and uttered a bell-like note. Brynnan closed his eyes and became still. The raven now flew to perch on the cross-piece of the Rune-Master ’s staff.

“Now, we must send him forth,” the Rune-Master uttered.

Dronnadh took Brynnan’s semi-erect cock in his hand and began to stroke it with one hand while stroking himself with his other hand. He kept both hands in a synchronized rhythm again as Bertholf resumed chanting. Head thrown back, Dronnadh jerked both cocks faster as the chant, too, speeded up. Brynnan’s cock was now fully hard, and precum beaded the tip like a shining jewel in the light of the orbs. Dronnadh cried out and started to ejaculate, just as Brynnan’s cock spurted its cum. His body was splashed by the semen of both men. Simultaneously the raven croaked loudly and launched swiftly into the air. It flew away down the slope.

Dronnadh shivered and took Brynnan’s wind-silk cloak, covering the Bard’s still body before wrapping his own cloak about his shoulders. “He is gone on his journey,” he said.

The raven flew swift as an arrow, faster than naturally possible. Brynnan peered through its eyes, his travelling spirit filling the bird’s form. His vision ranged over the wooded hills, magnified beyond normal human ability, discerning each tree and rock despite the darkness. Then a low mountain came into view. Its top was primarily flat, and a high cliff surrounded it before blending into the lower forested slopes. Brynnan knew he was seeing the Narib Redoubt.

Not far from it lay a city with occasional winking lights like fireflies. The citadel in its centre sported a tower, and the raven headed there. It perched on an open windowsill, then fluttered inside.

He viewed the sleeping chamber of Jehanadir, the Prince. Looking about, he spied a large bed, low to the floor. Two figures lay on it, engaged in a sexual act. One man had shoulder-length, dark red hair. Brynnan did not need the orb light to see that his skin had a faint tint of blue, reminding him of the cave-dwelling cult in the Broken Hills. He was fucking a young man who lay back on the bed. The youth had long pale hair that flowed over his chest, and Brynnan knew that this was Shahin, the Prince’s boy.

Brynnan waited still and silent in Raven form, watching the act until the Prince ejaculated, cumming into the boy’s ass. He began to lean over the boy to rest, but suddenly he froze. He got up from the bed and faced the window.

Brynnan knew that Jehanadir was aware of him, not just in raven form but also as a Mind. He wasn’t surprised when Jehanadir sent a strong thought-probe at him, ‘Who are you, spirit that is not a bird?’

‘A friend who will arrive soon, with companions, one of whom you know.’ He sent an image of Nijal into the Prince’s mind. ‘We have news of the Water that you seek. We will be accompanied by a Diviner who may aid you. Be ready.’

“Where is the Water?” the Prince demanded aloud. “The trader has not come.”

‘Nor will he. There will be another source for the Water. Together we will seek it.’

A flare of alarm, mixed with anger, thrust itself at Brynnan’s mind like a spear. The Bard easily deflected it.

‘Anger will not serve you. Be rational. Be calm,’ he replied, sending a wash of peace like a wave over the Prince. ‘I leave you now. Ponder your actions. Expect us soon.’ The raven called loudly, turned, and flew into the night.

* * *

Jehanadir staggered back towards the bed, consternation filling his mind. His boy, Shahin, sat up and gripped Jehanadir’s thigh.

“Who were you talking to, my Lord?” he asked.

“Did you not see the raven? Did you not hear?”

“I heard and saw nothing, Lord.”

“But indeed, it was here, bearing alarming news. Dress, Shahin, and go yourself to wake my counsellors. Speak to no one else.”

“At once, Lord.”

The youth dressed hurriedly and left, leaving Jehanadir to his thoughts.

* * *

Dronnadh heard the Raven calling in the clearing and knew that it was Brynnan’s spirit carrier. He looked at Bertholf and nodded. “He returns, but now we must wake him.”

“Bring yourself to arousal and take him anally. Your sexual energy will assuredly draw the spirit into the body.”

But as Dronnadh reached for his cock, Geraint’s voice interrupted from the shadows. “Nijal and I have brought Brynnan back from his wanderings many times now. I will fuck him myself.”

The Rune-Master looked disturbed. “The spirits may object. You endanger yourself.”

“All I care about is Brynnan’s well-being. Whatever shape the spirits take, they will not withstand the force of my love for this man.”

Dronnadh said, “He speaks the truth, Master. Surely you feel no threat to this Warrior. I sense the Bard’s spirit hovering. Let him proceed.”

Bertholf said, “Go to, Warrior. Your Bear-Spirit is strong and challenges my Wolf. But the results are what counts.”

Geraint moved to Brynnan, stripping off boots, breeches, and coat. The cold assailed him, but he did not care. He settled between Brynnan’s legs and stroked himself, and his big, girthy cock sprang to life. Dronnadh gave him a bottle of anointing oil, which he used on his cock, rubbing it in until it gleamed in the orb-light. He lifted Brynnan’s ass up to meet his cock and then pushed the big mushroom head inside, barely pausing. Then he went further in, dripping more oil on his cock where it penetrated the Bard’s anal passage until the whole cock was buried to the hilt. He began to fuck him.

In a short while, Brynnan’s eyes opened.

“Call his name,” urged Dronnadh.

“Brynnan, lad, stop this wandering about and stay in your body. Talk to me.”

The Bard stared blankly up at him for a moment, then awareness and life flooded his eyes and animated his expression. “I am Brynnan; I am myself,” then he added, “Geraint, my Keeper. Fuck me, give me your hot cum. I am so cold inside.”

“No wonder. I don’t know what you did or where you went, but I want you back. Now, Brynnan, stay!” the old Warrior said, in a voice of command, like one would tell a hound.

He pumped harder, running his hands over Brynnan’s torso and smoothing the swirling dark hair that contoured Brynnan’s chest and stomach. Brynnan moaned.

Geraint did not delay his orgasm. He strained and pushed deep as he came, and his body jerked. After the spasms subsided, he pulled the Bard forward into an embrace and kissed him thoroughly.

“There, Rune-Master Bertholf, is his spirit now anchored in his body? Do we need more fucking?”

“No, I think you have performed commendably. I can see why you are Brynnan’s trainer.”

When they left the clearing in the wood, they encountered the dog, Ghost, lying in their path. When the dog saw the Bard, his master in this earthly realm, he arose and went to meet him. Bertholf walked at Brynnan’s shoulder, but when Ghost reached them, he reared up between the two men, his head topping Bertholf’s, and pushed the man away from Brynnan with his paws. Then he settled down to walk between them. To his credit, the Rune-Master did not react but said, “Your hundr is very protective. He does not like me too close to you.”

“That is his way of a friendly reminder,” replied Brynnan. “You did not see his teeth or hear him growl.”

Bertholf laughed. “It is pack behaviour. I suppose I should be honoured that his response was so mild, but you must school him to accept me while we are working.”

“At least he did not react to the Raven before Brynnan claimed it,” said Dronnadh.

“What Raven?” Geraint asked.

“Did you not see or hear it? It perched on Brynnan’s chest.”

Geraint frowned, “I saw no bird or living creature, but I saw a shadow hovering over your chest, Brynnan. It was hard for me to keep still and not react.”

“It was a spirit bird, designed to carry a part of my soul as a familiar animal. I flew to the Narib Redoubt. I saw Jehanadir the Prince and conversed with him, mind-to-mind. I warned him of our coming and told him there would be no sacred Water brought by the trader, Hazrad.”

“He can’t have been happy at that. Mayhap we will be arrested when we approach,” grumbled Geraint.

“He threw a spear of thought at me, designed to take over my power. I evaded it,” replied the Bard.

Bertholf said, “It is fortunate you did so. However, my people will be with us when we arrive at the citadel gates. We will see how they receive us.”

“I don’t want any fighting. That would not help our purpose,” said Brynnan.

“But our showing up will let them know we are not without resources or a backup if need be,” Bertholf replied.

Dronnadh said, “In the morning, I will cast the bones and see how they lie. The birds I observed did not indicate conflict, but we shall find out.”

* * *

As Brynnan and Geraint were met and welcomed by Nijal, Bertholf took Dronnadh to his tent. They stripped and lay beneath the furs.

“I would take you, Diviner,” said the Rune-Master, running his hand down Dronnadh’s body as they lay on their sides facing one another.

“Well, I did prepare earlier for either fucking or being fucked, except that old Warrior took my part.”

“Yes, I had my misgivings, letting him attend, but he fucks well. Have you experienced his big cock inside you? It is quite the beast.”

“Yes, Master. While I was still under Ardith’s hand before you took over. Geraint fucked me well.”

Bertholf leaned in and kissed Dronnadh before pinning his arm above his head, exposing the Diviner’s armpit. He licked it slowly then kissed his way down to the nipples, proceeding to suck them. Dronnadh felt his arousal increasing and the response in his stiffening cock. He stroked Bertholf’s long, white hair and touched the man’s muscled shoulders.

The Rune-Master paused and murmured, “I have a mind to couple with Geraint myself. How do you see it, Diviner?”

Dronnadh was distracted as Bertholf rolled him over so that his back was to the man and his ass exposed. Bertholf rubbed lubricant on his substantial and stiff prick and pushed it into the Diviner’s ass.

“Everything aligns,” he replied, breathing heavily and raising a leg to open himself more to the man fucking him. “It is within the Pattern.”

In the darkness, the Rune-Master thrust deep and hard but managed to say, “In the daytime, I will ask him. Perhaps you also will join us.”

“I foresee such an event. Now, fuck me harder, Master, if you would, and let me feel the magic of your cum.”

* * *