Brynnan: An Evil in Siginak

Dancing in the Dark

The head of the Chimaera sat in a darkened chamber and bent his thought on Brynnan. ‘You will not escape me again. Your soul is mine, and I will have my revenge. Even now, you approach closer. Tonight, prepare to meet your death . . .’

*    *    *

After they arrived in Siginak, Nijal and Brynnan joined the Sojourners, Soren and four other administrators, for an impromptu meeting. Belisarius, one of the Mothership’s former captains, presided in his capacity of Chief Administrator. He listened as Brynnan spoke to the gathering.

“Gentes, this is an informal visit. I am not sent by the Council of Seven or the Alliance, but by the Warlord, Samir, of Torrent Mountain.” Brynnan looked at each of the five men, weighing their demeanour and attitudes. Two men seemed uncertain, but Soren, Belisarius and his adjutant, Cassini, projected calm, even though Brynnan detected an underlying apprehension in Soren and Cassini. They had no reason to love him as he had been instrumental in ending their attempted invasion of Brynnan’s homeworld.

“You will be welcomed,” said Belisarius, although the expression in his eyes did not quite match his words. “As you will see, we have nothing to hide. There is no need to come armed; we have no weapons.”

Nijal was wearing his curved sword, slung in an over-the-shoulder baldric, and Brynnan carried the harp, Mavrenn, which could influence minds or key open specific installations in the Bard’s hands. Belisarius was aware of Mavrenn’s power.

But Belisarius and Soren could not know that it was Nijal and his Guardian brothers who, acting on Brynnan’s information, had destroyed the weapons power plant on the Mothership; they just knew some force from the planet had been responsible. It made them nervous.

“Anything may become a weapon,” responded Nijal with a winter-cold smile. “We are concerned less with objects and more with intent, and our intentions currently are peaceful. If there is no threat to us, then you have no worries.”

The two other administrators looked affronted, and one began to protest, but Soren waved them quiet. “Let Nijal be armed. After all, he has no overt reason to trust us. And neither does the Master Bard.” Then he directed a query to the two guests, “Will you at least trust us enough to accept our hospitality while you are here?”

“We will be glad of it,” Brynnan replied in a conciliatory tone.

“When we are done here, my Adjutant, Assistant Leader Cassini, will personally escort you,” said Captain Belisarius.”

“Thank you,” said the Bard simply, bowing his head to the Captain.

“I assume since there is no threat, we are free to explore the streets after the evening meal?” Nijal asked, tag-teaming Brynnan’s milder responses and queries.

“Of course,” said Belisarius, looking slightly pained. “Will you at least dine with us?”

“Tomorrow night,” said Nijal. “We did not expect your welcome so soon and made other arrangements.”

“0h? May we know where?”

“The Street of Night Lanterns, off the Produce Market, where there are eating establishments. Master Trader Tajinder gave us directions,” said Brynnan.

“Speaking of Master Trader Tajinder, how is his assistant, Kuruntu? We heard he had suffered some malaise,” said Soren.

“A thoughtful and considerate young man. Actually, he was visiting us when he became unwell. He had brought Brynnan a gift and was in the act of giving it to him when he developed faintness. I found he had a sudden fever. I blame the inclement weather the day before. It rained and was cold, and Kuruntu was inadequately dressed for it, being preoccupied with his tasks. These summer fevers are not uncommon,” Nijal explained.

“Being planetside does present challenges we never faced on ship,” said Assistant Leader Cassini, “including illnesses, even though we take regular immune-response boosters. Now, if you are ready, I can show you your quarters. I am sure you would like to settle in.”

*    *    *

The needle spray of multiple shower heads sluiced the two men’s bare skin. “There is an interesting mix of technology here, new and old,” Nijal commented to Brynnan. “The water and power systems use solar technology imported from the Mothership. The aqueduct that delivers water from the high falls upstream on the river and provides the water pressure was built in record time.”

“Mmm . . .” Brynnan relaxed and closed his eyes. Whatever its source, he enjoyed the shower of warm water, especially through the touch of Nijal’s capable hands on his flesh.

“But do they retain the technology to monitor us, I wonder,” Brynnan mused as Nijal soaped the Bard’s body.

When the Guardian washed Brynnan’s cock, he did so with a slow thoroughness and began manipulating it to an erection, stroking it up and down with one hand while soaping the Bard’s testicles and ass with the other. He slipped a finger inside the rectal passage, fucking it. Brynnan grunted, surrendering to Nijal’s ministrations.

The Guardian smiled suggestively at his friend, water dripping down his face and his golden mane of hair, making him look like a lion in a heavy rainfall. “If they monitor us, they’ll get an eyeful,” he said.

“I hope you are not going to stop now,” Brynnan murmured, engrossed in waves of pleasure.

“Is that you asking me? Shall I keep going?”

“You know I want you to.”

“Like this?” Nijal, letting the spray rinse away the soap, knelt on the floor of the bathing area. He put his hands on Brynnan’s hips and took his cock in his mouth, pulling him in tight. Then his hands moved to grip his friend’s ass cheeks so that Brynnan could not escape the insistent mouth and tongue that sucked his cock so effectively.

Brynnan groaned and stroked Nijal’s head. The Guardian did not stop, and his sucking gained an intensity that quickly brought the Bard to orgasm, making him utter a soft cry as he ejaculated and felt the heat of Nijal’s mouth as his cum was swallowed.

Nijal stood once more and kissed his friend. “You don’t have to repay me now. I’ll claim your ass later tonight when we return from our explorations.”

*    *    *

“Are you bringing Mavrenn along with you?” Nijal asked, referring to the harp as they dressed and prepared to go out onto the street.

’No. But she will be safe. Watch this!’ Brynnan placed the harp in its case on the floor and concentrated. The harp shimmered in a silver mist and disappeared.

‘I just figured I can put her in the Shadow-ways, in a shielded place. I cannot take her to my father’s realm; to Annwn, because her soul dwells there. But she will be safe where she is,’ Brynnan sent to Nijal, using mind-speech in case of surveillance.

‘That is a tidy trick, but you know I disapprove of how your harp came to be. And her soul residing in Annwn is part of it.’

‘I accept your disapproval, Nijal, my friend, but I am still the Marec Mavrenn, the Servant of Mavrenn and of Ravens. It is an ancient and honourable position among my people in Armorica.’

“And I accept your admonition. Come on, Brynnan Marec Mavrenn, then. Let’s go see what we can find out.

*    *    *

After checking that their horses, Rhiannon and Myst, were comfortably stabled, Brynnan and Nijal set out on foot. They found the Street of Lanterns, which, in the fading twilight, was a thoroughfare crisscrossed with strings of solar lights. Some varied in intensity and others changed colours. The eating establishments they checked out seemed to have plenty of customers, but most people ate in silence: conversation was lacking, and Brynnan was sure this was not the normal state of affairs. Some people just sat at tables, staring into their drinks.

In one such establishment, Nijal found a server who seemed willing to talk to them.

“You are visitors from Outside?” the woman asked, stressing the last word.

“Yes, we are, Genita,” Nijal replied, using the correct Sojourner address for a mature female of breeding age.

“You must find us quiet. It was not always thus,” the woman commented, handing them pottery cups of an orange-flavoured nutrient drink.

“How long since this quietness took hold?” Brynnan asked.

“Three ‘moons,’ as you Outsiders say. It is frowned on to talk about, but may those who think such be consigned to a spacetime anomaly.”

“You mean a Worm Hole to another Dimension?” said Nijal smiling grimly.

“Why, yes! I didn’t think you folks knew of such things!”

“We retain our history, and we teach it,” said Brynnan.

The woman nodded thoughtfully. “It’s not just the silence,” she continued. “Some people are falling into despair, and worse. I think it’s a pathogen, but who’s to say? We are exposed to so much that is new. Our medical researchers look for a cure. I hope one comes soon.”

From the doorway, a man entered, heavily cloaked with a pale beard and blue hood, and began walking towards them. The woman glanced up, gave Brynnan and Nijal a conspiratorial look and hurried away.

Brynnan briefly touched Nijal’s arm in warning. For some reason, the man’s simple action triggered the Bard’s defences. Nijal, in response, gave the approaching man a level and challenging stare, and the stranger hesitated, then changed direction, heading towards an empty table.

“Well, speaking with that woman was fortuitous. But we are not likely to meet many like her. Shall we go see who else we can find?” asked Nijal.

“I have the feeling that few want to approach us. The rest of our time out here tonight will be uneventful,” replied the Bard.

As it happened, he was dead wrong.

*    *    *

They were walking down a side street to the main thoroughfare when the overhead lights in their section faded into darkness. The dim forms of men slipped out from hidden entrances and quickly surrounded them. Their arms were raised, and Brynnan realized they were holding swords.

He knew that Nijal had superb night vision. But for himself, it would take more time for his night vision to establish itself. Brynnan could not wait, so he half-slipped into the spirit world, just enough to augment his sight and see the intruders’ incorporeal forms. He kept in mind the Warlord’s prohibition that he not journey the Shadow-ways unless he intended to visit his father.

As he looked upon the men with his spirit-aware eyes, he noticed that they wore goggles, possibly enabling them to see their targets. There were seven men.

Nijal’s sword was out in an instant. Brynnan was unarmed. “Back-to-back!” Nijal hissed.

Brynnan complied, even as the first attackers rushed upon them. As the one man closed with Brynnan, he stepped directly into the man’s guard so that he was hit by his sword arm instead of the blade. A stiff-fingered thrust to the throat had the man down and choking. The Bard followed through by sweeping up his opponent’s sword and dispatching him with it. He heard the man’s soul wail as it fled.

“I’m armed!” he cried to Nijal.

The Guardian began to call out the responses in rapid succession to each attacker’s moves. Trusting Nijal without question, Brynnan simply obeyed Nijal’s calls, moving almost automatically in a dance of cuts. Their antagonists ranged around them, circling Brynnan and Nijal, attempting to keep them off-balance and confused. Still moving back-to-back, the two companions faced their adversaries, each lashing out swiftly when the swordsmen tried to close.

Three of the attackers were down, with four remaining. Two of them lunged simultaneously at Brynnan. He seemed to take only a single step forward as he called the move to Nijal, positioning his sword. Almost unbelievably, the two attackers fell, screaming in pain. A bystander would not have seen the cuts so fast were they made. Two follow-through sweeps put the attackers down permanently, and Brynnan saw their souls flee.

‘Arawn, O my Father, bring your Hunt and pursue these unruly souls,’  he sent into the aether. ‘They will not escape thee.’

Two more antagonists to go. But even while Brynnan faced them as they swept in fearlessly towards him, Nijal leapt before him, shielding him, making the call, and engaging them with his curved blade. These last ones fought ferociously in a flurry of blade strokes, and Brynnan knew better than to step in. Nijal needed some room; sure enough, his arms flashed in a broad, two-handed stroke, and the last two souls fled with unearthly howls. But even as they did so, Brynnan heard the baying of hunting hounds resounding in the night air.

The encounter had happened so fast. Brynnan stood, momentarily disoriented as his awareness wholly re-entered the material realm of the senses, and the sounds of the hunt faded with the last echo of a horn call.

Nijal was already searching the bodies, unpleasant as that task was, and Brynnan joined him.

The Bard knelt beside the body of a blond-bearded man, exclaiming, “Well. Here’s no surprise! This is our stranger from the eating establishment we were visiting.”

Nijal turned another corpse to face him. “Other than Blue-Hood you just found, there are no identifying marks on them, no obvious tattoos . . .”

“No large medallions with inscriptions saying, ‘the Chimaera sent me,’” added the Bard.

“No, there isn’t,” agreed Nijal, “But I think we can assume that is indeed the case. These men are not Sojourners but, by their fighting style, elite mercenaries from outside. They may not wear medallions, but I recognize their swords as Yanar Dağ make. The blade’s wave pattern and the blue carbonized edge of the forged steel are unmistakable.”

“I think our Chimaera tried in a very crude and direct way to seize my soul and silence you,” said Brynnan tiredly.

“It lacks sophistication, but the plot would have been effective against people who do not have our own enhancements and training. You did well, my friend. You focused on your responses in our ‘Dance,’” Nijal replied.

The sound of running feet announced the arrival of the City Patrol and some bystanders. The Patrol wore headlamps that lit up the carnage scene: the spilled blood and sliced flesh. Two of the bystanders turned away, apparently sickened.

“Time for us to give some explanations,” said Nijal.

“Or to demand them!” Brynnan’s expression was implacable.

*    *    *

“And how did the patrols of Siginak miss seven men with swords?” asked Brynnan. “I know you have screens that can detect them: it was part of the Settlement Agreement. This attack on myself and Nijal constitutes a violation of the Pact. There is a zero tolerance clause,” said Brynnan.

The Chief Administrator, Captain Belisarius, looking pale, answered him. “I agree on the gravity of this incident. We are making this our utmost priority to find out how this happened.”

Brynnan spoke to Belisarius, but his eyes roved the others who attended, “May I suggest that someone inside your administration with knowledge of your systems and resources planned or assisted in this? The failure of the screens, the knowledge of our whereabouts, which I disclosed to you in the presence of others, then the dimming of the street lights in our location argues that someone close to you, possibly in attendance earlier, was involved.”

“But there are others, not of the Administration, who could have obtained the knowledge and acted on it,” protested Soren.

“I don’t believe so, Strategist Soren. Not for the execution of this plot. The timeframe argues against it: the attack came too quickly. Who here has the capability to perform these actions?” Brynnan insisted.

Belisarius frowned and said, “I happen to agree with you. It must be an inside operation. Several of us here are quite capable: myself, Soren, Cassini . . .then there’s Mandel or Firelli, both of whom escorted you to our Centre. Mandel oversees city control logistics . . .” The Captain’s words trailed off as he paused before adding, “But how do we find out?”

“What is this?” Soren demanded. “I also agree there are possibilities but do we devolve to physical torture like I hear is sometimes practiced on this world?”

“You had the capacity on your Mothership for mental interrogation. There were all your mnemotechs, for instance. They attempted to control my mind, among others,” Brynnan pointed out. “And I will not forget the implant put in Lord Samir’s head when he was imprisoned on your ship.”

“As you said, the Pact forbids such mental interference or controlling devices. Is there another way?” sighed Belisarius.

Brynnan was somewhat skeptical of Captain Belisarius’ support, but it was entirely in the Chief Administrator’s best interests to co-operate. The future of the Settlement was at risk, and Belisarius knew it.

Nijal, who had been silent, added his evaluation. “We must also not forget, Gentes, that this attack is probably part of a larger plot. No matter who facilitated tonight’s events, the use of highly skilled Outside mercenaries argues that there may be a group involved with significant resources. Mercenaries do not work for free.”

Belisarius breathed deeply and put his hand over his face. “I cannot even offer guards to protect you. You would not trust them. But I know you, Brynnan Marec Mavrenn, have your own resources. By means that we do not fully understand, you were instrumental in destroying the remaining troopers in what you term ‘the Invasion.’ And tonight, you and Nijal Silverhand dispatched seven skilled fighters without incurring injury.”

Brynnan bowed in unspoken acknowledgement to Belisarius. Soren looked as if he had swallowed something unpalatable.

“Then we will look to our own safety. We may employ our own guard, and your people will be safer if they do not approach our chamber without prior notice,” said Brynnan. “And I trust there is no provision for surveillance of us. That would be contrary to the Pact.”

“There will be no surveillance. You have my word,” Adjutant Cassini confirmed.

Brynnan let slide the contradictions in Cassini’s statement that did not mention previous surveillance. He and Nijal had their own countermeasures available. However, he threw them a metaphorical bone.

“If you wish, Captain Belisarius, Nijal and I can visit you in your chambers before we retire. I also have private words for you from my Lord, Samir.”

Belisarius seized at the reprieve. “That would be useful. Shall we meet at, say, the tenth bell?”

“Let it be so,” said Brynnan.

Soren half stood up to protest, but the Chief Administrator quelled him with a look as Brynnan and Nijal took their leave.

*    *    *

“I need to bathe again,” Brynnan said to Nijal. There is blood on me—and some has splashed on you over your face and chest!”

Nijal laughed shortly. “We must have looked terrible, what with the blood. But effective at that. Most of these Sojourners have never seen blood from combat. It must have scared some of them to their senses.”

“Let’s hope so,” replied Brynnan as he stripped off the last of his clothes.

They kept their shower brief and changed into fresh clothes before leaving their chamber again to visit Belisarius.

Belisarius, although cautious, seemed more relaxed in a one-on-one situation. He welcomed them into his chambers and served wine, informing them it was from the summer’s early green grape crop. It was aged only a short time, but that was the nature of the tart and refreshing vintage.

As they sipped the wine, he held up his cup and added. “This is one of our early successes. I would hate to see all our hard work jeopardized due to the actions of a malicious few.”

“I agree,” Brynnan replied. “So let us be frank with each other. The time for evasion is over.”

Nijal asked the Captain, “Has there been any visually recorded surveillance of us since we arrived?”

Belisarius looked the Guardian straight in the eyes. “Yes.”

“Who has access to the visual material, and who has seen it?”

“Only myself, in both cases,” Belisarius admitted.

Nijal’s lips quirked in a half-smile. “And did you see anything of interest?”

The Captain lowered his gaze, then resolutely brought it back to meet Nijal’s. “I saw both of you in the room. You put the harp somewhere; I couldn’t quite tell where. You also bathed together, and I saw . . .I saw you sucking the Marec Mavrenn’s phallus; his penis.”

Brynnan sent to Nijal’s mind, ‘Nijal, you seem pleased. Where are you going with this?’

‘Patience, dear friend. I think another golden opportunity comes our way. Do you object to me taking the lead?’

‘No. Go right ahead.’

Nijal continued, “Brynnan and I frequently share each other’s bodies and take great pleasure in doing such. Have you experienced such pleasure, Belisarius?”

“I have not. But I recall you saying ‘take your ass’ to Brynnan. What did you mean?”

“It means to copulate, breed, have sexual intercourse with another man, putting your penis, or ‘cock’, as we term it, in his rectal passage. It’s a considered act among most partners and requires that you clean yourself first. Surely such practices are not uncommon on your Mothership?”

Brynnan, observing Nijal’s engagement of the Captain’s interest, sensed that the Sojourner was not only interested but aroused. He saw where Nijal was going. He stood up and approached the man.

“Captain Belisarius, Nijal and I are not angered at your surveillance because we see an opportunity for a partial resolution. Of course, we will not countenance you continuing to capture images and sounds of us—but, if you are willing, not only shall we show you the act, but ask that you participate.”

The Chief Administrator looked intrigued but also slightly puzzled.

Brynnan explained, “Nijal Silverhand and I have the ability to deep-read people when we have sexual intercourse with them. It would be an easy way for you to demonstrate your non-involvement in the plot to kill us. What are your thoughts?”

“I am amazed, quite frankly. But if it would indeed prove my innocence, then not only will I comply, but also gain enjoyment and a greater understanding of interactions among our peoples.”

Nijal said, then I will show you how to prepare yourself. Brynnan and I always do a simple ‘clean out,’ as we term it, before having anal sex. May we proceed?”

“Yes. I do think it is a good idea.” He turned to the Bard, “Meanwhile, Brynnan, I will comply with your surveillance wishes and erase the data I obtained. Please be comfortable—have more wine—while Silverhand and I go prepare.”

“But first . . .” Brynann put his hands on Belisarius’ shoulders, looking deeply into the Captain’s eyes, and kissed him.

He didn’t find it difficult; Belisarius was a handsome, fit man of seeming middle age, with light brown hair worn cropped and greying at the temples. His blue eyes contrasted with his tanned skin, radiating his strong personality. His air of quiet authority was born of his long experience commanding a starship, sharing the post in shifts with three other captains. Brynnan responded to the man’s genuine dominance.

Belisarius returned the kiss. He held back slightly at first but on the next kiss, took command and framed Brynnan’s face with his hands, pushing his tongue into the Bard’s mouth. Then he stepped back and turned to Nijal.

“I think I shall enjoy showing you my sincerity in the matter. Let us go prepare.”

Brynnan touched Nijal’s mind, ‘I must congratulate you, my dear friend, on your reading of the situation and your plan. I feel we are getting closer to the heart of the Chimaera’s designs. When we have sex with the Captain, I wonder what other secrets we will uncover?’

Nijal replied, ‘I look forward to finding out.’ 

*    *    *

To be continued . . .

Note: To my readers who want to learn more about Brynnan’s world and events mentioned in this Chapter. You can read of his journey and of the Invasion in the first three full-length novelettes, “To Take Away His Voice,” “To Discover His Truth,” and “To Redeem His People.” Look for them on my Author page, Voron Forest, in GayDemon.