Col and Andri: The Vanna Stallions

Danger by the River

On their second day on the trail of the stolen Vanna stallion and Geraint’s colt, Col had to admit that there were no clear traces to follow. “Too many horses have passed this way,” he said in frustration. “Other than that, it’s open grassland and hills. The main trail will take us to Hesperon, but that is a large place: an entire city-state with outlying holdings and farms.”

Geraint reined up alongside him. His horse, Shade, acted restlessly, tossing and shaking her head. “Easy, m’girl,” Geraint muttered as he stroked her neck soothingly.

Aled looked around them. “They could be anywhere. We don’t even know who we follow, let alone where.”

Col considered his next question, then asked Geraint, “Can’t you sense where Shade’s colt, Brishind, is?”

“Not really. I do sense the colt, but he’s young and confused.”

Col regarded Geraint’s horse, who still restlessly pawed the ground. “I have an idea, Geraint. Do you think Shade knows where her colt is? You said that they have a powerful bond.”

The old Warrior pondered the matter, stroking his close-trimmed grey beard. “I don’t know. I suppose we could try.”

“See if you can form a mental picture of Brishind and place it in her head, just as you would with me,” suggested Col.

Aled said, “I have some prescience of my own, and I agree with Col’s suggestion. We won’t know if your horse’s instincts are true, and we would have to commit. We could try it for a day . . .”

Geraint concentrated, picturing the colt from when he was a newborn foal to the present. After a short time, he dropped the reins across his horse’s neck and urged her on. Shade lifted her head and looked around, snorting, ears swivelling. Then with a swish of her tail, she broke into a trot, heading not on the Hesperon road but slightly to the southwest. She moved in a straight line and did not deviate from the direction.

Col and Aled urged their horses to follow but let Shade lead the way. “I think we’re onto something,” Aled said hopefully.

As the day lengthened, Shade continued on course. Occasionally, she stopped and sniffed the air, then would move on again. Geraint encouraged her with his voice and his mind. Eventually, they saw birds circling in the distance, large black birds.

“Something is there, something dead, I’ll bet,” the old Warrior said, who had seen all too many carrion birds after a battle.

“Could just be an animal,” Aled mused before he caught himself. “Gods, sorry, Col,” he added, noticing a stricken look on the young Wanderer’s face.

The three companions approached cautiously. As they neared the spot, the birds—ravens and buzzards, flew into the air with raucous cries and circled above them. Then Geraint saw what it was.

“There’s a man,” he said shortly.

Aled dismounted first and approached close, followed by Geraint. Col’s black stallion balked, not liking what he sensed.

Col felt reluctant to dismount. There were protocols for handling the dead, in his people’s beliefs. Improperly done, it was mahrime—forbidden and could make the living person unclean.

“He hasn’t been dead long. There's no smell, and the birds have not overly damaged him. Col, you’d better come look,” Geraint urged.

“If I touch that mullo, I will become tainted.”

“You train to fight on horseback. Death happens. Get used to it,” the old Warrior said shortly.

Col sighed and dismounted. He approached the body and saw that it was one dressed as a Wanderer but different from his kumpania.

“I think it’s one of the Traders. The Çerge wear traditional green diklos—scarves around their necks. How did he die?”

Aled examined the body closer, then grabbed a sleeve and the breeches at the knee, turning the corpse over. There was a relatively small bloodstain on the back of the jerkin high on the left side.

“Blade,” said Geraint. “Would have to be long and thin to reach the heart. A stealth stroke, I’d guess, and death was unexpected and swift. Our man’s weapons are still sheathed. That speaks to me of a person tricked; no longer useful.”

“Assassin?” asked Col.

“Quite possibly. It is their style,” said Aled. “It shows that we are likely on the correct trail.”

“We must bury him. The spirit cannot rest while the mullo remains above the ground. Not to bury him will be prikaza—bad luck.” Col made a warding sign with his hand. He half expected the others to object.

“We have no shovels. It’ll have to be a rough cairn. Will that do, Col?” Geraint’s glance was surprisingly understanding.

Fortunately, there were plenty of rocks lying around. They were soon gathered and laid over the unfortunate man. It was not a permanent structure, but it would protect the body from beasts of prey. Privately, Geraint believed in allowing the ravens of battle to do their cleanup job, but he wasn’t about to tell Col this.

Col approached the cairn and spoke the traditional words, “Akana mukav tut le Devlesa—I now leave you to God.”

There did not seem much else to say except Geraint mused that if Brynnan had been with them, he would have personally led the soul. But he spoke aloud. “I will send a message to Eleni, Col. Unless you would rather do it.”

“No, please contact Púridaia Eleni. This is becoming bengalol, a thing of devils.”

“Except our devils are human,” Aled said grimly.

*    *    *

Andri sat by Eleni’s wagon with Gethen. The young bard had come up with an idea involving some risk.

“If we let Soli’s friends find out that I go to the river to practice my harp, hopefully, they will seek me out. We need to talk to them and find out where Soli has gone and their involvement in the theft of our horses.”

Gethen frowned. “It might put you in danger; besides, what makes you think they will tell you anything?”

“I sincerely doubt they would kill me: the consequences would be too severe if they were caught. They might try and beat me up, or—“

“Rape you,” finished Gethen.

 “It would not be the end of the world. Both Brynnan and Geraint can deep-read their sexual partners when they cum. My mind-powers are increasing through the training I’m getting, and I could attempt it also. Besides, you would be nearby,” said Andri, but he looked reluctant even as he spoke.

“Madness! Think of the pain it would cause Col! And we are here to keep a low profile. Col’s tribe has extended such an open welcome to us. I hate the thought of causing them any more trouble. You saw how it affected headman Silvanus when Kyan told him what had happened. Silvanus has put his own trusted men to investigate it, and they can be much more effective than we can be.”

Andri sighed. “There must be another way. I still think luring Soli’s friends to the river is a possible plan. I just have to use the right words to encourage them to speak.”

“What if we were to enlist one of Silvanus’ men to hide nearby with me? That’s the kind of witness we need,” said Gethen.

“Yes, and Keven can help you lure the companions of Soli. You and he could talk near them and mention where I will be.”

“Very well. I think that’s doable. And I think we should also involve your new father-in-law, Kyan,”

Andri was relieved that Gethen finally agreed. They gripped each other’s wrists, formally sealing their plan.

*    *    *

Kyan listened patiently. He was not a man to rush to judgment or make quick decisions.

“Andri, my son, the Devlesa blessed us when you joined our familia. I would not risk you in this venture, but the theft of one of our stallions and an honoured guest’s young horse at a Gathering cannot be countenanced. We have no proof that Soli is involved, but it seems a strong possibility. Come with me, and we will talk to Daia Eleni.

Andri and Gethen followed Kyan to his vardo. At the top of the wagon’s steps, a string of red-enamelled copper bells hung outside the half-door. Kyan shook these to alert his mother. Her voice answered.

“Bring in Andri and Gethen. The timing is good, and I will speak.”

Inside, the two young men seated themselves on one side of the wagon, facing Púridaia Eleni. She smiled as she saw the wonder in Gethen’s eyes as he looked around at the intricately carved and painted wood surfaces and furnishings.

“Your dwelling is beautiful, Púridaia,” he said. “I had no idea.”

“It is our indulgence to enrich our lives where others do not see. We own no land, but our vardos are our land, carrying the memories of all the places we visit. Now, tell me what brings you.”

They explained their plan to her, and she listened silently, not interrupting. But when they had finished, Eleni suddenly swayed back, putting a hand to her forehead.

Concerned, Andri was about to speak, but Kyan waved him to silence. They waited, and presently Eleni straightened and responded.  

“It seems circumstances would encourage your meeting with Soli’s friends. Geraint has just spoken to my mind. He, Col, and Aled have come across a dead man—may his soul be at peace—a trader of the Çerge people, Col surmises. He has given me the man’s image, although the ravens have already made their mark upon him.”

Kyan’s expression became grim. “You must meet with the rombaro, the headman without delay, my mother and Phuridaia of our people. There are ruthless outside forces at work and maybe dark spirits.”

“I will inform him now, then you and I shall see him in person.”

Eleni then turned to Andri. “My new grandson, you must follow your plan now. Send your friends to look. They will find those you seek where the Traders gather. You will be in danger when you meet them tomorrow by the river, but you have a protection that others cannot know. Do not be afraid to invoke it. The far side of this particular shadow is the Eternal Light.”

*    *    *

Outside Eleni’s vardo, the three friends prepared to act. “Keven and I will seek out the Traders, and if we see Soli or his friends, we will let them overhear us,” Gethen explained.

“Fine,” Andri replied. “It’s best that no one sees me just now. I’m going to my tent.”

Once there, however, he sat and bowed his head on his knees. He felt distressed and, he admitted to himself, somewhat afraid. He tried to chant the Triads to distract his mind, but it wasn’t working. The time for the evening meal passed, and still he sat, sending out a mental warding that Geraint had taught him, warning others not to intrude.

Then something passed his barrier, slipping as easily through it as rainwater into forest moss. A gentle touch seemed to stroke him, and it was familiar.

‘Col, beloved husband. I am here,’ Andri sent, lifting his head.

The inquiring mind blossomed into his new spouse’s presence. ‘Ves’tacha, you are troubled.’

‘I worry about you. You found a body.’

‘Yes. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but we sent his soul on its journey as best we could. Brynnan should have been with us—leading the souls of the dead is his talent.’

The mind images Col sent were strong, hinting at the depth of his distress.

‘Geraint has just come to the fire. He has an idea.’

The old Warrior’s mind voice seeped into Andri’s consciousness, ‘Andri, dear lad. Lie back. Open your mind, your heart and your breeches. We are going to come together and have sex. Will you follow my instructions?’

Andri sent an affirmative thought, feeling curious despite his anxiety.

‘Good. I will be doing things to Col. We will send you images and feelings. Do your best to respond.’

*    *    *

Out on the grassy plains, as twilight fell, Geraint and Col embraced each other’s bodies by the light of a low fire kindled in a hollow. There was hardly any trace of it on the land, perhaps only the faint scent of smoke. Aled ranged nearby, standing guard.

Geraint and Col joined mouths and tongues, kissing each other with a deep hunger. Col was surprised at the intense sensation, even as he fed his experiences to Andri’s mind.

‘Touch yourself, Andri; squeeze your nipples. Put some lubricant on your cock, and let me know when you’ve made it hard.’

‘I have my hand around my cock . . .I’m jerking off. It feels so slippery. I’m getting hard for you, lover,’ Andri responded.

Geraint and Col stripped off each other’s clothes. Embracing his friend, Col felt the old Warrior’s furry body and still-firm and bulky muscles. He ran his hands down the hairy back, feeding each touch to Andri, who felt that he stroked Geraint himself.

Geraint licked his way down Col’s tight abdominals, then, before reaching the erect penis, he turned so that his own heavy meat hung over Col’s face. He felt the young Wanderer take the thick cock in his mouth. In response, he swallowed Col’s rigid shaft and moved his head up and down, fucking him with his mouth. All the time, he sent images to Andri’s mind.

Andri had never experienced anything like this. He received the experiences of both Geraint and Col, immersing him in their lust even as they fed off his own. He beat his meat faster and groaned.

‘How I want to suck you both,’ he thought, impassioned.

Back by the fire, Geraint turned around again and urged Col onto all fours. He slicked lubricant on Col’s anus and on both their cocks.

‘Yes, fuck me, Geraint. Picture Andri beside me; fuck us both. He’s ready for you, too. I can feel it.’

In his tent, Andri applied the lubricant to his rectal area. Reaching behind himself, he pushed two fingers into his asshole and began to shove them in and out, in time to his other hand that masturbated his cock. He gasped as he felt Geraint sink his big cock into Col’s ass: Col fed him every feeling, every thought, his mind now fully open to his lover.

As Geraint thrust vigorously into Col’s rectal passage, he sent his sensations to Andri. The young Bard was lost in a sea of them: he really felt hands jerking his cock and his ass being pounded. The feelings were so intense and real that he thought he would pass out.

Suddenly the urge to cum gripped Andri, and he signalled his lovers. He received nothing but a tide of ecstasy from them and joined in their ejaculations. The triple-intensity orgasm was too much for him. He had only time to send a wave of love and affirmation before he fainted.

*    *    *

In the morning, Geraint, Col and Aled pushed on. They stopped at a river, where they watered their horses and bathed. This inspired Col to wade in the swirling current alongside the bank. Many animals and birds had left tracks in the sandy mud, and Col scanned them keenly. In a short time, his vigilance was rewarded: horse tracks, quite distinctive. He searched the bank and found more prints: both horse and human. He sent a mind-call to Geraint, who, along with Aled, joined him.

“I believe these are from our missing horses and the thieves,” Col explained, pointing to the tracks. “You will notice that no attempt has been made to disguise them. I think that’s deliberate. They are luring us.”

“But to where?” put in Aled.

“We are not far from Hesperon but not on a direct course for it,” Geraint mused. “Look out for a road that will lead us to a holding, a fairly large one. Whoever has done this has resources. Perhaps this is where our assassins were based.”

“But what of the Council in Hesperon?” inquired Col. “It’s up to them to check the Lords. Is the headman in league with our thieves?”

Geraint rubbed a hand over his grey beard, considering. “Personally, I doubt it. During the Invasion, Lord Pentayn Tyreth had long assumed control of the council. Brynnan had a couple of run-ins with him and eventually killed him by employing your favourite underworld dog, Ysbryd. Now Lord Amrin Jelek leads the Hesperon council and firmly supports the Alliance that gave the conquered Invaders a place to live.”

“Yes, in Siginak,” said Col. “Didn’t you go there last year?”

“No, that was Brynnan and Nijal. M’Lord Samir had me stay with him in Torrent Mountain.” For a moment, Geraint looked chagrined before he rallied and said, “Good thing I stayed, it turned out. There were three assassination attempts on our Warlord, and I helped foil two of them. Hmmm . . . I wonder. Hired killers are not uncommon, but organized groups of assassins are extremely rare.”

Col looked puzzled, but Aled jumped on the connection. “You think the assassins we encountered at Jorge’s steading may be connected to the ones that threatened your Lord Samir?”

“It’s starting to look that way,” Geraint replied. “All this means is that more than simple horse theft is at stake. Whoever organized it is aware of our friendship, Col. This whole thing stinks. What was that word you used? Bengalol?”

“Yes. Designed by devils.”

“I’m beginning to think there’s one particular devil, and he has a name.”

*    *    *

Andri walked by the river, ostensibly alone. He had debated with himself and finally decided to leave his harp in Eleni’s safekeeping. The young bard did not want to risk its injury, especially if the encounter turned hostile. Instead, he practiced a Wanderer song, or djilia, that Eleni was teaching him.

It worked. Andri was on the fifth verse when four men walked into the clearing carrying heavy sticks. Three of them he recognized as Soli’s friends, and he named them out loud.

“You are Zoltan, Bengo and Alif. I recognize you, except for your tall friend.”

The fourth man looked both physically powerful and also decidedly unfriendly. The newcomers paused and looked around before approaching Andri.

“It’s Col’s gadje wife!” the thin one, Zoltan, said. “Out here alone, eh?

“As you see. Where’s Soli? Is he too afraid to face me?”

“Soli has . . .work to do,” the strong-looking man said.

“You mean, you have work to do while Soli hides,” replied Andri.

“If only you knew, gadje jook.”

“Why don’t you enlighten me? Make my vision clear.”

“Your precious husband has run after his horse,” said Bengo, the oldest man. “He should have stayed home and protected you. As it is, he will soon find himself in deep water, and his hands will be tied.”

“You threaten me and my beloved. Will you risk exile when you are caught? Is that worth your petty plots?” Andri tried to stay calm, but any threat against Col roused a deep anger.

But the group merely approached him, swinging their clubs. The strong man said, “What is it about you, I wonder, that appeals to your so-called husband?” He looked around at the others. “Shall we find out, ćhave,?”

Looking at their hostile faces, Andri wondered if he had underestimated the situation and realized he was in deep trouble.

*    *    *

To be continued . . .