Brynnan: The Alsar Imperative : Chapter 14

Redemption and ... Cheese

Brynnan took one last look at his friends in the mountaintop tent and simply faded. All too soon, the Shadow-ways surrounded his physical body once more. Portals branched all around him. The Bard pulled Jehanadir’s knowledge to the forefront of his mind and moved in the direction the Prince had revealed. He was almost relieved when the icy wind blew around him; this time, he let it pull him onward. Its force increased, roaring and moaning, originating from a portal wreathed in darkness. He let go and allowed it to suck him in. It took much of Brynnan’s energy to maintain a shield around himself, and it was fortunate he did so: all at once, he was surrounded by an alien landscape.

The Bard struggled to create a construct that his mind could understand. Although it appeared night, plains and distant mountains were clearly visible. He looked up but could see no moon or planets; only tiny, unknown stars glimmered. Endless plains of mauve flowers under the black sky filled his vision. Without his shield surrounding him like a glowing sphere, Brynnan would have been overcome by the scented, poisonous blooms.

The realm appeared deserted, and the Bard was initially unsure of which direction to travel. He focused on Jehanadir’s readings of the path that the spirit Akhlys had taken, and understanding came to him. Brynnan set off, listening and scanning for threats. He could see none but sensed a quiet menace on the land.

Brynnan moved swiftly but all of a sudden found himself stopped. A glittering cloud, like black diamonds, resolved into a man-like form that surged towards him. Arm raised, it held a phantom dagger and slashed at him. The Bard let the blade pass through him, and though it had stung briefly, like burning ice, he was unharmed. As he moved onward, he encountered more such forms that tried to attack him. One hurled a throwing star, yet another came at him with a garrotte. One even offered him a cup of dark red liquid. He realized they were souls: the souls of assassins! The shock-like impulses of their weapons were slight, but as more gathered, he felt his shield’s deflection weaken and knew that the danger was real.

“Away with you all!” he cried, sweeping his arm around. The souls rippled backward as if from a rock thrown into a pool, and their wails echoed in Brynnan’s consciousness. After a while, they returned, but the Bard knew that now was not the time for drastic actions. He needed to conserve his resources.

The scenery changed to meadows with tall columnar cypress-like trees dotting the landscape. Then a lake was before him. It stretched from a hazy, marshy shore a good distance across so that its far side was only a distant blur. An island rose up in the middle of the lake, with white cliffs, and Brynnan could discern a pale grey building upon it, nested in the same tall trees. He realized that his mind gave it the semblance of an old archetype—an Island of the Dead with its mausoleum. And just as certainly, he knew who he would find there.

‘This construct is for my benefit; accordingly, there should be a boat.’

He searched the shoreline amongst the reeds. Different flowers bloomed here: large white lilies, and again, the Bard was sure their scent would contain a nerve poison. The souls that had accosted him ranged alongside but kept their distance.

Presently, he found the dilapidated hull of a small sailboat half-sunk in the swampy vegetation, about thrice man-height in length. An unstepped mast lay across it, with a single dark red sail furled inside. Brynnan took hold of the gunwales and dragged it into the chill water. It was a simple matter to put up mast and sail, and hardly had he finished the task when the boat began to move, although there seemed to be no breeze. Brynnan was unsurprised: it was part of the mythos of such places. He could hear small wavelets lapping at the sides of the boat. He hardly needed to hold the tiller as the small vessel tracked straight toward its island destination.

When it touched the shoreline of white pebbles, the Bard stepped out. He faced the pale, domed building, listening and sensing for threats. The aggressive souls were absent here; all seemed deserted. Brynnan’s footsteps made a soft, crunching sound as he approached the central portico. The ambient light faded as he stepped inside.

A point of illumination drew him. A white orb rested on a pedestal inside the main chamber casting a pallid glow which did not reach the shadowed recesses. As he came into its circle of light, walls became evident but pulsed and re-formed into curved planes studded with white crystals. A sense of recognition struck him, and he suddenly remembered Nijal’s initial message. He had received an image of himself within a crystal cave, and now it made sense.

The light reflected off the facets, glittering as he moved. He stopped. Something else was forming: a female seated on a crystal throne regarded him with white eyes.

‘Mavrenn’s Servant: it pleases me that you have come. You will die here in Algos, and your soul will make a welcome addition to my realm. I will use your soul to feed my power.’

“Akhlys, my Lady Mavrenn called you a spirit of violent death with no compassion. You have stolen the souls I encountered, denying them any chance of redemption in the Desert beyond the Dread Portal. Such acts strain the Balance. Something must surely break.”

‘Yes, you will break and then King Arawn’s realm. You will be my key.’

“I think not. I have met power-mad tyrants before. Although you are incorporeal, you are no different,” replied the Shadow Lord’s son.

Akhlys’ attempt at a smile was a grimace on her hideous countenance. ‘I suspected you would follow me: I have prepared a surprise for you. Behold!’

A disturbance in the air resolved into forms. The souls of Adelchis and Devana hovered to either side of her in human form. Blank, clouded eyes were set in their expressionless faces, yet Brynnan sensed anguish beneath their quiet exteriors. His own spirit felt abhorrence for their plight.

“You are not the first thief I have encountered. To capture a soul is the worst evil!” the Bard responded.

‘But that is not all,” sent the daemon. “Here comes one I have summoned. I took the soul as your companion breathed his last, agonal breath.’

Then indeed, Brynnan felt a frisson of sheer horror. The soul of Jorge, the old hunter, formed beside the others. “No! This shall not be!” he exclaimed.

‘And how will you stop me? You are in my realm now, and King Arawn cannot help you here. Prepare to die and join your friend.’ Akhlys’ look was one of sheer malignant triumph. She raised her arm to point at him.

The Bard experienced an overwhelming wave of grief and pain. With an effort, he shrugged it off. “What you send me is nothing I haven’t experienced before. They are old companions and will not harm me now.”

Akhlys scowled, and Brynnan felt her gathering her powers. Before she could commit her worst act, a white blur shot between her and the Bard. Without warning, the great dog of Annwn formed. Ysbryd displayed his deathly aspect: larger than a mortal dog, he floated off the ground, and his black-brindled hair stood out from his body. His jaws gaped, revealing fangs longer than any dog’s teeth had a right to be, and his red eyes glowed like pits of fire. He growled, and the sound thundered and echoed, causing crystal shards to fall and shatter around them.

Brynnan stood before the daemon and tore open the purple robe, exposing his breast. He dared not summon his harp here, but there was no need as he traced the branded sigils on his flesh. He named each one.

“Eternity ...”

“Wind ...”

“Night ...”

A different wind filled the chamber: the wind from the Abyss. It blew, and the surrounding walls exploded into spears of light. The daemon threw up its arms and became a cloud of darkness, filled with a smouldering red glow. Briefly, it expanded, then just as suddenly contracted into a critical point and vanished. The surrounding construct disappeared, and Brynnan found himself hovering over the waters of the daemon’s lake.

“Ysbryd, Ci Annwn, dod yma!”

Ysbryd came on command, herding the three souls ahead of him: Jorge, Devana and Adelchis. Brynnan travelled swiftly, drifting over the waters with great speed and onto the plains filled with flowers. The Abyssal wind blew: a wave of death swept behind him, and the poisonous flowers withered as it passed.

In the air before them, a portal pulsed with blue light. The barrier resisted Brynnan, and it seemed he would be trapped. However, he sought the frequency of the vibrational patterns and matched them with his mind, merging with, then through it. Ysbryd and the souls followed. But when Brynnan turned to check, not only were the three captive souls of Akhlys present, but a stream of other souls followed behind: the assassins. Then the Bard turned and faced the Shadow-ways.

Passing countless portals in the blink of an eye, Brynnan and his ghostly followers reached the final gate; the Dread Portal. As he had done numerous times before when leading the souls of the dead, the Bard bent his thought on it, and the great gate swung open, revealing white trees bordering a glittering plain of silver sand. The Desert of Souls lay before them.

“Ysbryd, dod â nhw adref! Bring them home ...”

Brynnan stood aside as the souls poured through. Now they would face the real consequences of their life choices, but the Bard understood from personal experience there was also the chance for redemption—he had made that journey himself. Each soul would find the realm to which its true essence was drawn.

Last through the portal were the souls he had come to rescue. Devana and Adelchis looked at him, and now their eyes were clear and shining, as in life. The Bard sensed their acknowledgement, and he wished them well. Then they passed through the gate, disappearing as they walked forward. But as Jorge’s soul went to cross the threshold, Ysbryd stood before it, barring its way. The Portal closed, leaving the soul in the Shadow-ways with Brynnan.

“Come with us, my friend. It seems your time has not come yet,” he told it.

The three turned away from the gate, seeking the other portal that led into the Material World.

* * *

In the mountaintop tent, Nijal, Dronnadh, and Azander knelt around the body of the old hunter. Behind them stood Jehanadir with a silently weeping Shahin in his arms.

“They tried their best, Shahin; it was all they could do,” the Prince murmured to the young dancer.

But Dronnadh suddenly lifted his head even as the Warlord moved towards the entrance to the tent. “There is a change in the Patterns!” the Diviner exclaimed. “They point towards—“

But before he could finish, the body of Jorge stirred, taking a long, indrawn breath. His throat made a sound as he attempted to say a word. Then he shuddered deeply and quieted.

“What was that?” Jehanadir’s voice vibrated with apprehension. “I have sometimes heard that corpses expel air after death.”

“He breathed in,” answered Azander. “Nijal?”

Nijal had his hand against Jorge’s neck and bent his head, listening. “He breathes. Jorge is alive.” He looked up at the Prince and Eren, the priest. “It is not unknown.”

But Samir stared outwards into the fading night. The companions in the tent heard the Alsar outside exclaim in shock, and Azander got up and joined the Warlord.

Samir called out to the Guardians, “Don’t be afraid, friends. It is Ysbryd, the dog of Annwn.” He stepped through the guards and called to the beast.

Ysbryd’s deathly aspect faded to display a huge, but not unnatural, dog. He wagged his tail and approached the Warlord, who rubbed behind the beast’s ears. Ysbryd licked his hand.

“Where’s Brynnan? Can you bring him?”

The dog remained silent but reared up, placing his great paws on Samir’s shoulders.

“Eistedd i lawr, Ysbryd,”

The very familiar voice caused the Warlord’s heart to beat faster. Then Brynnan stood beside him. He looked strange. His drawn features reflected recent pain, and his eyes looked like blue fire in surrounding black pits, but as Samir watched, they transformed into his natural deep brown ones. He embraced the Warlord as Ysbryd pushed between them, claiming attention from both men.

“You look—terrible,” Samir finished. “Come into the tent.”

“Yes, but first, I need cheese.”

One of the Guardians was quicker to understand. “I have some. I’ll fetch it.”

“How is Jorge?” Brynnan asked, leaning against his Lord.

“You just missed his coming to life: a gift from the gods,” Azander said, joining them with the priest, Eren, beside him.

The Guardian arrived with a lump of cheese, and the Bard took it. He passed it to the eager dog, who took it gently from his hand. “If the gods gave us a gift, then we must pay them their due,” said Brynnan.

Eren looked scandalized.

* * *

Brynnan sent Ysbryd back to the Shadow-ways to guard his harp in its secret location. Then Samir led him into the tent, where the Bard sank gratefully to his knees. Samir turned to Nijal, “Master Surgeon, Brynnan is nearly overcome. I don’t know what has happened, but we must act now to restore him.”

“We will help him, but you must start the process. Of all of us, it is you he loves and trusts most. Then the rest of us will take him, one after the other,” Nijal replied.

Samir knew what his lover needed: naked, they lay on the grass, with Shahin and the Prince close on either side. Samir had wanted to put Brynnan on his cloak, but Jehanadir insisted that the bare earth would donate its energy as Brynnan was still under the influence of the Water of Life. Samir lay on Brynnan, giving him his body heat and whispering encouragement. His erect stallion’s cock rubbed against the Bard's, even as Jehanadir and Shahin took turns kissing him. To the Warlord, his lover’s body felt unnaturally cold, a condition wrought by more than a journey in the Shadow-ways. Despite the priest’s protests, Jehanadir had offered the sacred oil used in the Rites to lubricate Brynnan’s ass and cock, and it stiffened as the Prince massaged it in. Presently the Warlord slid down between his lover’s thighs and raised his ass with his hands. Jehanadir added more oil to Samir’s rigid phallus, smoothing it into the flesh.

Brynnan sighed as he felt the massive cock penetrate him. The pain quickly transformed to passion, and the Bard pushed back against the pumping cock. His own cock responded as Jehanadir jerked him off, and Shahin sucked his nipples. That connection with the land was still present, and Brynnan felt its energy flow into him, binding him in its rhythm. Samir’s thrusting cock amplified the sensations, and now he moaned. “Cum in me, my heart’s love.”

The Warlord ejaculated forcefully as he gripped his lover’s buttocks, pinning him inescapably. As the waves of lust subsided, he spoke.

“Azander, take my place. We must keep up the pace: Brynnan needs our cum.”

The Alsar Guardian moved over, stripping off his garments. Jehanadir again moved in with the sacred oil, but this time he poured it over Azander’s cock, jerking it back and forth to hardness. Azander knelt, watching Jehanadir’s hand at its work and leaned over to kiss the Prince. Their tongues entwined and lingered before the Guardian broke free and pushed his cock against Brynnan’s ass. After the Warlord, the rigid tool slid inside without difficulty, and Azander immediately began to thrust. He found his grief subsumed by the urge to give his seed to the Bard, who had led his son’s soul to freedom, and he was touched with gratitude. Consequently, he performed with all the love he could muster.

Now Dronnadh joined them. The Diviner fell to kissing Brynnan and stroked his cock as Shahin licked his nipples. Azander was close to his climax, and Dronnadh urged him not to delay. “The more of our essence he receives, the quicker he will recover.”

“I’ll not contest that,” Azander gasped. “he’s getting it now ....” He thrust rapidly and stiffened as his cum pulsed into Brynnan’s rectal passage.

Dronnadh’s mating with the Bard was relatively brief but intense. In the rhythm of their fucking, the Patterns absorbed them, making them part of an integral whole, and Brynnan gained a new understanding.

When Jehanadir took his turn, he told the Bard, “The Water’s effect is still within us. As I enter you, let your consciousness sink beneath you. Find the energy lines in the land and follow them.”

Brynnan let himself go. As the Prince plunged into him, the Bard again felt the sap rising in the trees as they exhaled their life-giving gasses into the air. He heard the passage of tiny insects and large animals. Then the Bard found the electromagnetic currents in the earth and listened to their frequency. He matched the cycles in his mind and resonated with them. The earth’s own energy poured into him along with Jehanadir’s seed. He drank of it until it seemed to overflow, then withdrew reluctantly.

Brynnan stared at Jehanadir, then spoke in a low voice. “No wonder Adelchis, Vieri, and Lady Alessa plotted to steal your life and heritage. I had no idea that the land could do that to you. You read your land and heal it where you can, but if enemies took your place, they would drink of its lifeblood.”

Jehanadir simply nodded. “Now you know, my friend.”

Brynnan paused to catch his breath. He was dizzy and disoriented as he lay on his back. Samir’s face peered over him anxiously.

“Your chest is burned, dear one, where the brands are,” he said with concern.

“I used their power, but I am well my Lord,” the Bard reassured him.

The Prince’s place was taken by Nijal, who did not rush. Nijal’s friendship with Brynnan had deepened on their long journey to the Bard’s home country when the Star Invaders arrived to threaten the land. With the Warlord’s permission, he had taken on Samir’s role as lover and protector, along with the old Warrior, Geraint. He knew Brynnan’s body intimately and did his utmost to elicit pleasure in his partner. Brynnan raised his arms and held him tightly as Nijal ejaculated. The Bard felt himself cum in response, and his semen flooded over his belly.

Next, Shahin was encouraged to do his part. His handsome and straight young cock, with its smooth flesh, was already hard from watching the others fuck, and he mounted Brynnan. There was no need to lubricate the Bard’s ass as cum filled him, so Shahin’s cock entered easily.

“Take me, young falcon,” Brynnan said and managed an encouraging smile.

Shahin’s moves were sinuous as he exercised his dancer’s muscles, reading the Bard’s body language and responding creatively in his loving. He held off cumming too quickly and knew he was loved as Brynnan kissed him. When he did come, he shot a copious amount into the Bard’s anal chute, his cum mixing with what was already there. Shahin would have stayed happily cuddling Brynnan, but the Warlord’s voice interrupted his reverie.

“There is one more in here that can attend. We must ask our priest to give his blessing also,” he said.

Surprisingly, Eren, the priest, accepted without protest. “This work will give life to our friend, who gives so much of his to help others. I will be honoured to comply.”

The white-haired priest’s body was lean and wiry, and his straight cock handsome. Dronnadh did the honours with the oil, jerking it to hardness. When Eren entered Brynnan, his proficient and smooth moves caused Shahin to wonder about his experiences. Surely priests didn’t indulge? Did Eren have a lover? But then he reminded himself that Brynnan was a priest as well as a Bard.

Eren’s groan of lust interrupted Shahin’s speculations. The priest ejaculated, then knelt upright and ran his hands over Brynnan’s torso, stroking it in a pattern that suggested writing, although he stayed away from touching the reddened brand marks.

Dronnadh asked Brynnan, “How do you feel? I still sense a lack in you.”

“I am recovering,” the Bard said, but his body was now shivering.

Dronnadh looked at Samir.

“Let us do what we must. Our Guardians outside will serve. I know that Alsar semen holds healing and renewing properties. Let it be done to him as needs must be,” the Warlord said.

“I will ask them to enter the tent one at a time,” Dronnadh replied, sending a mental summons.

The first Guardian entered. He spoke directly to the Bard’s mind. ‘Brynnan Marec Mavrenn, it is I, Jaaved. Let me help you.’

‘I am grateful,’ Brynnan responded.

Thus, Brynnan was taken by Jaaved, followed by Azhar, Berat, and Afzal: all gave their seed to him. After Afzal, Dronnadh checked again and pronounced that it was enough and that the others could remain on guard.

By this time, the new dawn flushed the sky with shades of rose and gold, promising a clear day. Jorge was stable and had been briefly awake and able to speak. Samir took Brynnan outside to a mountain stream and helped him bathe, showing exceptional care and gentleness in his ministrations. As the party prepared to leave, the Alsar Guardians made a litter using long spears as carrying poles, crossed by cloaks, to transport Jorge. The priests and some of Jehanadir’s bodyguards would remain behind to pack and return the site to its sacred purity, but only time and the rains would wash away the blood where Adelchis had died.

As they mounted their horses, Shahin asked Jehanadir, “Is it over yet?”

“You keep asking that, my young love. I believe we will not be troubled by this daemon’s threats again. Brynnan explained to us that she used Adelchis as her instrument to attempt to slay me, and I think her time is done: the Abyss subsumed her. But there are one or two more issues to deal with: Lady Alessa and the report from Lord Vieri’s escort. And I think Lord Samir and Brynnan are eager to welcome Geraint again.”

* * *

“I missed all the action!” Geraint complained. “Lord Vieri was surprisingly docile and uncomplaining. Our escort had nothing to do.”

“Ah, but you were with your friend from the Men of the Boar, that old wolf, Bertholf,” noted Brynnan.

“Yes; well, there is that,” muttered the old Warrior, but he couldn’t help grinning.

Several days had passed since the events on Mount Narib. Jorge’s health improved, and Nijal pronounced he would recover with the now enhanced Alsar blood in his veins. His body had accepted the substance, and already, changes were apparent. Jorge could now mind-speak, albeit weakly, and Nijal planned to coach him. There were no signs of wound infections as the old hunter’s immune system was boosted to a considerable degree.

“You will have to wait a while to see how much extra sexual stamina and enjoyment you will develop,” Geraint had told him with a wink.

“Yes, my friend. I will try it out with you and Eirik,” Jorge responded.

Eirik now stayed in the same room with Jorge, supporting and encouraging him.

“I am glad I left you behind when we went up the mountain, nephew,” said Jorge.

“So am I after I heard Brynnan’s tale. I am no hero. I am more suited to looking after farm animals and mending carts.”

“I don’t know. You have been willing and able when the occasion demanded it, sometimes too much. You have to resist women who plot to take you to their bed. And men, come to think of it.”

“I have learned that lesson, Uncle. The next time a powerful and beautiful lady asks me to serve her sexually for a fortune’s worth in gems, I’ll simply refuse. Do you still have the gems?” Eirik added.

“Indeed I do. The Senaricans at least owed us that much. With them, we can do many repairs at the steading and build a bigger pen for Ceri’s piglets.”

“Don’t you want to live in a palace again?” Eirik persisted.

“I’ve had my fill of palaces. Places of unending intrigue, a fit environment, indeed, for an assassin. They have left a bitter taste in my mouth. I like our way of life just fine, although Prince Jehanadir and Lord Samir have invited us to visit their domains. I think we might do that occasionally to allow you to meet some decent women—and men.”

“Will you continue to help others?”

“We’ll see. This wound should have crippled me for my remaining years, but now the Alsar have given me their blood; anything is possible.”

“I hope you stay in good health, Uncle; I’d miss your curmudgeonly ways.”

Jorge just smiled. It hurt too much to laugh.

* * *

The problem of the imprisoned Lady Alessa of Senarica was solved when Prince Jehanadir decided to send her back to Senarica under escort. The Prince now realized she had been indirectly under the daemon Akhlys’s influence through Adelchis. Azander volunteered to be her primary guard.

“The reaction of the Senarican council will tell us much, and with you as my ambassador, we will be able to negotiate with them through mind communications,” Jehanadir said.

Azander answered, “Ruah is coming with me. He has a better sense of Lady Alessa, without the burden I carry, that she plotted against you with her husband and my son. I will coordinate Senarica’s initial responses, but Ruah will stay there as their mind-link to Dronnadh.”

“That heartens me. I felt grief for you when I discovered your true relationship with Adelchis,” said the Prince.

“I thank you, but my burden has eased. Brynnan freed the souls of my son and my once-mate, Devana. Her I feel sorry for: she was caught at a young age, I think, by the daemon Akhlys when she sought out spirits. She was a lovely young woman when I first met her in the forest, worshipping the spirits of nature and the moon, but she did one too many summonings. She changed over time until I could no longer trust her. I hope her soul finds a place of peace, along with my son’s.”

“What does my Diviner say?” asked Jehanadir.

“Dronnadh says that the Patterns show completion and resolution, with no element of darkness within them,” Azander answered.

“Well, then.”

* * *

One night, the Prince held a feast where the companions and the Alsar Guardians gathered, along with the Captain of the Samir’s Guard, Alanus, and Asirin of the Deieros Brotherhood. Shahin danced for them. Brynnan smiled as he beheld the boy’s beauty and skilled, sensual moves. Despite his experiences, the lad had a tender heart, but its core was strong and filled with resolve. Brynnan hoped Shahin and Jehanadir’s bond would grow as the young dancer matured.

“He is an asset to your life, Jehanadir,” he said.

“My decision not to shelter him from harsh facts seems necessary after past and recent events. Yet he is resilient and filled with a bright grace. He is indeed my golden boy.” Jehanadir’s feelings were evident in his words and his loving gaze.

“Have you given up your hopes concerning Mavrenn?” the Bard asked in a low voice.

“Of a physical relationship, yes. But I will keep a place for her in my heart. Before we left Annwn, Mavrenn stole a moment out of time, and we spoke together in private,” the Prince confessed. “She is like a lady in an ancient tale to whom a courtly warrior knight pledges his fealty and serves her by his actions towards others. It pleases me to regard myself as such. My courtiers clamour for me to take a mate. Our succession will continue through a child that will inherit my abilities, but I am still reluctant. Mavrenn is easy to love as she is beyond my reach; meanwhile, Shahin is with me, real and alive. But I know that eventually, I will have to do what is required. I just can’t imagine who I would choose for the role.”

“One will come at the right time. I feel this,” said Brynnan.

Shahin finished his dance and came happily to sit at Jehanadir’s feet. “Brynnan, may we hear Mavrenn’s voice?” he asked, all innocence.

Brynnan looked at the Prince, who nodded assent.

Brynnan focused, then paused, hesitant to summon her. Samir, sitting beside him, read his lover’s mind.

‘Brynnan, you are accustomed to facing fear. Nothing will happen. Bring out your harp and give us all the joy of listening to her voice. Play songs of peace, and tonight I will demonstrate my love.’

‘My Lord, I am happy to obey you.’ He focused again, summoning his harp from the Shadow-ways. Mavrenn materialized in his arms.

So did something else: a great dog appeared and sat beside them. Before Brynnan could play, Ysbryd placed a paw on his knee, and his mighty jaws moved in a silent bark.

Brynnan sighed and set the harp aside, reaching towards a dish on the table. He addressed the dog of Annwn. “Thou hast been a good lad; thou shalt have cheese.”

As he fed the dog, he heard Nijal laugh. “Brynnan, I had heard those very words before when you and I journeyed together, and you summoned Ysbryd.”

Brynnan smiled as the dog again pawed at his knee. “I know of no one more deserving of cheese. Ysbryd is the real hero in this tale.”

* * *

End

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Note: This story is dedicated to Thoth Athen Ra, fan and sub extraordinaire