Col and Andri: The Vanna Stallions

Of Hunters and Prey

Col, Andri and their companions had left the High Plateau behind. Their new route took them up a mountain to a seldom-travelled pass. They found the climb challenging, but there was less likelihood of meeting brigands or the like than on the regular route, Col thought. They took the trail slowly, leading the horses in the steep places. As they climbed higher, the weather, which had been mild and sunny, turned. Ribbons of damp mist curled down the mountainside, and a cold wind blew, presaging rain.

But Col encouraged them. “The forester’s holding is not far from here. We must persevere a little longer, and there will be shelter.”

“But will they welcome us?”

“They should unless they have stopped being hospitable. But they took me in when I came to this route before,” replied Col.

“Let me and Gethen ride ahead, Horsemaster, and see what occurs,” said Aled, the senior guard.

“Very well,” Col replied. “But don’t show aggression unless you are challenged. And if you are challenged, run away!”

“You have quite the sense of humour, Horsemaster,” Aled said drily.

“Actually, there are times to fight and times to run. We are not on a heroic quest. I want to simply get to my people’s Spring Gathering, get the stallions, help Andri with his research, and return home.”

Andri, listening to this conversation, noted that the ArMor-ys Redoubt was ‘home’ for Col and not his Wanderer peoples’ land. He worried about that. Then the young bard felt a pang of homesickness inside him for Torrent Mountain, his own home, but Andri had several years of study left if he decided to stay at the Ruithin College. Then he reflected that his heart belonged to Col, wherever Col was.

However, Aled seemed to understand Col’s point of view, for he replied, “Very well. We will be circumspect and cautious. Look for us soon—before this weather really closes in.”

Both guards saluted Col, turned, and rode ahead at a rapid but collected pace.

“I hope they watch the footing,” muttered Col to Andri. “This stone can get really slippery when wet.”

Keven chimed in, “Gethen and Aled are competent horsemen.” But he looked wistfully after them. His sexual relationship with Gethen was becoming more intense, and Col suspected it was going beyond physical gratification.

“Kev, bring the other horses closer. Split the string of them, and I’ll lead the pack horses: you take care of our spare mounts.”

Keven hastened to comply.

*    *    *

The mist was thickening when Aled and Gethen came to a level part of the trail, and they suspected they were near the top of the pass. They rode quietly now, senses on the alert. Subsequently, they were not taken by surprise when a loud, gruff voice hailed them.

“You are in the range of my arrows. Come forward slowly, and keep your hands clear.”

The two guards stopped and lifted their hands from the reins and away from their weapons. Despite Col’s half-serious admonition to run, they knew it would only invite an arrow in the back. They did not doubt the unseen bowman.

“We come peaceably, seeking shelter from this weather,” Aled called in a firm voice.

“Then come closer, as I said,” the voice hailed them again.

Aled moved ahead, with Gethen following. Their own bows were already strung, a precaution in case of trouble, and they knew that if one of them was hit, the other might have a chance to respond.

“That’s close enough,” said the voice. “How many of you are there?”

“Not many. Do you know a young man named Col? With light brown skin and curling black hair? Good with horses?”

“I knew a Col of the Wanderers.”

“That is he,” responded Aled. “He leads our party.”

“How big is your party? Tell the truth, now!”

“Five people in total and twelve horses.”

“That’s a lot of horses. Keep still! I’m coming out.”

Aled and Gethen waited. A man walked through the mist towards them, an arrow nocked and half-drawn in his bow, but it pointed to the side. As he drew closer, they saw that he was not young: he sported cropped but shaggy brown hair liberally mixed with grey and a grey beard. His light blue eyes were shrewd, and his face seamed with lines of experience. He was tall and rangy in build but strong. He wore hunting garb, with a dark green hooded cloak thrown back from broad shoulders. He exuded confidence: not someone to mess with, Aled thought.

“I’m Aled, and he’s Gethen,” he announced to the man. “We are guards from the ArMor-ys Redoubt. Our companions are Col, whom you know, and Andri, a bard, along with our horse-groom, Keven. Now, who might you be? Are you the forester we’ve heard of?”

“No, I’m a hunter. I’m known as Jorge.”

There was a neighing sound behind him, and a tall bay horse stepped out of the trees.

“And this is Pyotr, who won’t stay where he’s told. Eh, lad!” Jorge addressed his horse without turning away from the two guards. “Now, do I trust you, or do I have to hold this damn bow on you all day?”

 “Gethen,” said Aled. “Place your weapons on that fallen tree and sit down a distance from them, so Master Jorge can see you mean no harm.” He turned to the older man. “He’s your hostage. You two can get to know each other. Gethen is young, but he’s a decent lad. I’ll go back and fetch the rest of us.”

Jorge nodded without speaking as Gethen complied with his partner’s instructions, carefully handling his weapons in a non-aggressive manner.

“You’ll be alright?” Aled asked Gethen, at last betraying concern for his well-being.

*    *    *

The rain was falling steadily when Aled returned with Col in the lead. He spied Gethen and Jorge crouched side-by-side under a large spruce tree. Its spreading branches made a canopy over them, and there was a dry spot at the base.

Gethen was armed again, and the two men appeared deep in conversation but paused when Col dismounted to greet Jorge. Jorge stood, and the two men clasped wrists, then embraced.

“You’ve matured into a fine specimen,” the hunter said to Col. “With a crest on your coat, too. Looks like you have done well for yourself—a difference from the wild lad I met before.”

“Yes,” replied Col. “I’m Assistant Horsemaster at the ArMor-ys Redoubt. I am now very sober and serious. It’s great fun!”

“Apparently, you haven’t changed that much. I’m glad. My nephew Eirik sometimes accuses me of foolishness, but I can afford a little at my age.”

Col introduced the hunter to Kevan. But he took Andri’s hand and pulled him forward. “And this is Andri, my heart’s companion. He’s a bard-in-training. You should hear him sing,” Col stated proudly.

“I hope I will. But come, you need shelter? We had better move on before this rain soaks us all. Even though I only have my old horse, Pyotr, and there are three goats and a pregnant sow, our cabin isn’t small, and our lean-to is large enough to shelter most of your horses. Food for them will be a problem, though,“ Jorge said thoughtfully as they rode from the clearing.

“We have grain, especially for this mountain crossing,” said Col. “And the beasts can also forage. They are trained not to stray. And Pyotr should like them—they are all mares.”

They reached Jorge’s steading. The hunter’s nephew stood in the rain, bare to the waist, seemingly impervious to it, chopping wood. The thud of the large axe filled the clearing.

To Col, Eirik seemed even more muscular than before. His biceps flexed as he wielded the axe and his taught belly muscles contracted with each blow. Rain trickled down his chest, wetting the light thatch of hair and beading on his contracted nipples. He was as tall as his uncle, and a handsome man, with a short beard and dark brown hair tied back in a ponytail.

Eirik paused when the visitors arrived and dismounted. “You’ve brought guests, I see, Jorge. Plenty of them. Hold on—I’ll help with the horses. We have little food for them, but at least I can top up the water trough.”

“See who’s come, nephew,” said Jorge. “It’s the young Wanderer, Col.”

“Col! It’s good to see you again. Did you encounter any trouble?”

“No. Should we have?”

“There’s been—never mind, we’ll talk later.”

Col suppressed his curiosity for the time being and made introductions to Eirik. Jorge’s nephew looked appreciatively at Andri, and his wrist clasp took longer than necessary. Andri, however, was gracious about it.

Jorge’s steading consisted of a large cabin, with a shelter for animals attached to the side wall and enclosed on two sides. There was an open but roofed shed for wood, pens for the goats and the pig, a storage shed and an outdoor bread oven built of clay and covered by another roofed structure. There was also an outdoor fire pit with a grate, surrounded by tree trunks for seats. Andri surveyed it all with interest.

Eventually, the company’s tents were set up, horses tended to, and gear moved to the shed. By the time they trooped inside, shedding their muddy boots just inside the door, they were ready to change from their soaking clothes. They stripped, with little regard for modesty—getting warm was their greatest imperative—then changed into spare clothing. Their wet clothes were strung on a line.

Eirik put a pot onto a hook in the large stone fireplace that occupied the entire back wall and swung the bar over the glowing coals.

“We’ll have stew later,” he announced.

The long plank table had room enough for six men: three to a side on the benches. Keven opted to sit on a fleece by the broad hearth, basking in the heat. Col looked enviously at him.

Jorge served them ale from a barrel at one end of the table. “Now, you can relax and share any news you have and what brings you here, if it’s not a secret,”

“No secret,” said Col. “We intend to join my people and look for a couple of likely stallions to bring back with us. Gethen and Aled are our guards, Keven looks after the horses, and Andri is tasked with learning about our Wanderer music, tales and traditions. However—“ he added in a conspiratorial voice, “he’s really just along for the ride because I wouldn’t leave him behind. Isn’t that right, ves’tacha?” he asked, turning to his lover.

Andri couldn’t help blushing and resisted the urge to kick Col under the table.

“I’m sure your friend will learn much. I’ve met Ruithin bards before, and I’ve respect for them,”  Jorge said. There was a subtle admonition in his words.

“I’m still an apprentice,” Andri explained. “And Col supports me every way he can. We’re lovers and partners.”

*    *    *

After supper of stew, goat cheese and a loaf of coarse barley bread, Jorge invited Col to go outside with him, for the rain had stopped. Wrapped in cloaks, they walked up a short trail that led to a stone-ringed well. Sitting on its edge, Col waited for the hunter to speak.

“This route is fairly quiet,” Jorge began. “Eirik and I seldom see travellers, and I’m quite happy with that. But about three days ago, men came. They were on the road to Hesperon, they said. I didn’t like them one bit. Their swords were of curious design, with a wavy pattern beaten into the blades. I know because they asked to use my grinding wheel. They weren’t soldiers, but they carried too many weapons. And they looked wealthy—their clothing was of good workmanship and fairly new condition. But it was dark in colour and had no ornamentation, nothing that glittered or gleamed. What does that tell you?”

Col considered. He harkened back to Master Gabrien’s teachings, and one answer resolved itself in his mind. “They could have been men who deal in death with stealth—assassins,” Col answered.

“Those were my thoughts. I think they were looking for someone, but they didn’t find him.”

Jorge plainly meant to warn him, but there was almost satisfaction in his tone, which Col thought odd. Apparently, this route was not as quiet as he had deemed. Then a chilling thought came to the young Horsemaster: King Arawn had mentioned Geraint would find trouble in Hesperon.

“I’ll have to tell Aled and Gethen of this. Where there’s one group of possibly hostile men, there may be others.”

“Can you fight?” asked Jorge frankly.

Col smiled grimly. “I have gained some skill with a sword. I have a good teacher. I train hard every day, but things are different in  actual combat, although I have quite a few dirty tricks up my sleeve.”

“Always handy,” agreed Jorge. “Anyway, We will just have to see what occurs.” He changed the subject. “I think I’ll hunt early tomorrow morning—deer, not men.”

“Forgive me, but doesn’t Eirik hunt? He seems fit and keen.”

Jorge chuckled. “You mean he’s younger than I am. My nephew is a homebody. He keeps our place running smoothly. He can hunt—and fight—but I prefer not to let him get in the way.”

“Then would you mind if Aled goes with you? He hunts for us and is quiet and steady. He could work upwind on a deer track and drive any down to you.”

“It’s a thought. Yes, your guard can come. I’ll see if he lives up to your words.”

*    *    *

Back in the forest house, the men made their sleeping arrangements. Gethen and Keven used the tent, and Gethen was on the first watch. Jorge invited Aled, Col and Andri to sleep inside near the hearth. He and Eirik had the loft.

“I’ll just pile up fleeces and bedding on the floor, and you three can curl up however you like,” Eirik addressed the men who would be staying indoors. “Your young guard and the groom are welcome to squeeze in as well,” he added.

“They need their privacy, and we want to sleep undisturbed by them. Col winked at Eirik.

“Ah, I see,” said Jorge. “But if you and Andri want to make a noise yourselves, don’t mind us. Noise doesn’t bother us. We pen off one end of the room in winter when we have a bitterly cold spell and bring the goats inside. They help heat up the room but bleat at each other all through the night.”

“Must be cozy for all of you,” remarked Col. “I’m picturing it in my head. You must bring in the horse and that black pig, too.” The mental image made him smile.

*    *    *

Late in the night, Col awakened to a sound: low, murmuring voices. The large, burning log in the hearth cast a red glow over the room, and nearby, Col made out Jorge and Aled, who had apparently just returned from a watch, for he was removing his cloak with Jorge’s help. Col caught Aled saying something about ‘cold enough to shrivel your balls,’ and Jorge mentioned he had a remedy for that.

Then, to Col’s surprise, the two men began kissing each other. Jorge continued to help Aled undress until he stood naked. Jorge had only a towel wrapped around his waist, for it was warm inside, and Col could make out his tented erection pushing against the cloth. Stiffly, the hunter got down on his knees and licked Aled’s contracted ball sack.

Col could feel himself become aroused. He lay against Andri, and his right hand slid over his lover’s warm body to his cock. As he watched the two men, he stroked his hand over Andri’s penis, feeling it stirring, and started jerking it off.

Andri moaned and woke up. He blinked sleepily at Col, glanced over to the other two men and back again, and whispered, “That feels nice, what you’re doing to me.”

Jorge paused in his sucking of Aled’s balls and turned his head, but Col said, “Please, don’t let us stop you, and don’t mind us. It’s just turning us on.”

Jorge’s eyes crinkled, and he smiled knowingly before resuming his ministrations. He seemed unselfconscious as he took the guard’s cock in his mouth, lapping at it with his tongue and pulling on it with his lips.

Col pulled the covers off Andri, exposing his naked body to the firelight’s glow. Lying alongside his lover, he positioned himself to view the other two men. He stroked Andri’s stiff cock and put it in his mouth, sucking it in time with Jorge’s oral play on Aled’s stiff shaft.

Andri whispered to him, “You’re so good . . .”

As Col’s sucking intensified, Aled turned his gaze to him and Andri, watching them. “Don’t stop: I’m about to cum," the guard gasped.

Jorge’s response was to thrust a finger inside the guard’s rectum until he stroked the prostate. Aled muffled his cry as he ejaculated, reaching down to push the hunter’s head tight against his groin.

Seeing this, Col doubled down on Andri’s cock, sucking deeply, moving his head, pressing himself against his lover as if he couldn’t get enough of him. He was dimly aware that Aled and Jorge had traded places so Aled could satisfy the old hunter. But Col was lost in pleasuring his beloved, and after Andri cried out softly, ejaculating in Col’s mouth, Col seized his own cock, beating it off rapidly until semen spurted from its tip at the same time that Jorge was shooting his load into Aled's mouth. Satiated, Col tightly embraced and kissed the young man in his arms before pulling the covers around them again.

As Aled lay down near the hearth and Jorge climbed up to the loft, the log settled in the fireplace with a soft thump, sending a shower of sparks. Silence resumed once more.

*    *    *

Early in the morning, as the sky lightened, Aled and Jorge set out to hunt game. Both men were armed with bows and broad-bladed hunting points on their arrows, but they also carried swords. At first, they talked together in low voices. Aled was curious about his sexual engagement with Jorge during the night.

“And Eirik didn’t mind that you and I had sex?” Aled ventured.

“Why should he?”

“I presumed that you and he partner with each other. Forgive me if I’m wrong.”

“Eirik and I don’t share with each other sexually. Any number of conventional reasons: he’s too young; he’s my nephew; we don’t suit each other . . .take your pick. But he’s good around the holding. He keeps it up, and I do—other things.”

Aled didn’t pry into what the “other things” were, but he did ask Jorge an equally sensitive question. “But physical loneliness isn’t a good state of being. I share my body now and then with Gethen. Have you had a long-term sexual partner in the past?”

Jorge was silent for some moments, and Aled didn’t think he would answer. But eventually, he replied to the guard’s query. “Yes. I had a partner. He meant a lot to me.”

Aled thought there was a wealth of emotion in the old hunter’s unsaid words. “What happened to him?”

“He . . .died.”

No other detail was forthcoming, and the guard was wise enough not to push. “Anyway,” he said, changing the subject, “I thank you for last night.”

“Some skills are never lost,” Jorge said with grim humour. “And I would gladly repeat our lovemaking if you are willing.”

Aled reached across from his horse and clasped the old hunter’s hand in affirmation.

After some time riding, they left their horses in a clearing and set off on a deer trail, walking a little distance beside it to avoid leaving their scent on the track. Jorge used hand signals to direct Aled to circle downwind on the course while he climbed somewhat stiffly into a nearby tree, his green and brown clothing rendering him mostly unseen. The man did not note the passage of time. He relaxed into a hunter’s frame of mind: passive, waiting, yet ready for instant action.

They were in luck, for presently, two deer came leaping up the trail, a mature doe and a younger one. Jorge took the shot, and the arrow sped true, striking the smaller deer in the side behind the shoulder blade. The deer ran on, but before it left Jorge’s sight, it stumbled and fell dead. The arrow had pierced its heart.

“Saves me a walk,” Jorge commented to himself. Then he took his horn and blew a blast, signalling Aled to return.

The two men prepared the carcass, and Aled rigged up a crude sled—two long, springy poles strapped one on each side of Pyotr’s saddle. The deer’s body was lashed across the poles and would allow the horse to drag its burden home. They set out, with Jorge leading his horse.

They remained in companionable silence until they neared the steading, but voices ahead alerted them that others were present: strangers!

*    *    *

The darkly-clad strangers at the cabin confronted Eirik. “Where’s the old man? He was here before,“ one of them demanded.

Eirik looked calm as he replied. “I told you. He’s off in the woods gathering wild food.”

The five strangers had not yet drawn their swords, but Col, standing beside Eirik with his own sword in his belt, felt it was only a matter of time.

“Search the house,” directed the leader to his fellows, but Gethen and Andri blocked their access as they moved to obey. Gethen’s sword was drawn but held low.

“Eirik told you: he is not here,” Gethen said, suppressed anger in his tone.

“Then call him,” the leader demanded, turning back to Eirik. 

Jorge’s nephew raised his hands and held them around his mouth. “Grandfather!” he shouted in a loud and ringing voice.

In the forest, Jorge and Aled heard.

“He’s calling you “Grandfather”?” Aled asked.

But Jorge was already dismounting and drawing his sword. “That’s a signal for danger!” he explained.

Aled quickly dismounted, grabbed his bow and the hunting arrows and ran after Jorge. As the clearing became visible to them, they kept to the shelter of tree trunks as they moved forward. No bows were drawn among the strangers, but hands went to sword hilts as Jorge strode into the clearing.

“You’ve come back, have you?” Jorge growled. “What, your swords aren’t sharp enough? State your business!”

“You would be wise to keep a civil tongue,” the leader said, “As to our business: it’s with you only. Come with us, and no harm will come to your friends.”

“I think not,” said Jorge. “there are seven of us and five of you. Let us risk a little harm.”

“You should know better than to challenge us, Swīgēnthonar. Indeed, you were once a silent strike on your enemies, but now you are old and feeble.”

Jorge wasted no further words. He strode up to the leader, sword in one hand, dagger in the other. His blades moved so fast that it was hard for the eye to follow. Blood sprayed from the leader’s throat, and he fell, dying at Jorge’s feet.

The remaining four strangers drew their swords, but Col and Gethen stepped forward, and Eirik seized his wood-cutting axe from a stump. Andri took up the long fire iron.

The darkly clad strangers looked around at the defenders, then one cried, “Guard your back, Swīgēnthonar! We will strike when you are least ready.”

Jorge and Col converged on the man, but another brought his horse alongside his companion. The man climbed quickly into the saddle. Wheeling the mount, he galloped up the track towards the main trail after his retreating fellows. But Col whistled, and his horse came up to him. The young Horsemaster leaped from the ground onto the animal’s bare back and rode after the strangers.

“Col, no!” yelled Andri.

Gethen was just retrieving his own horse when Col returned. “They have turned up the trail towards the head of the pass,” Col told them. He dismounted and put an arm around Andri’s neck.

“You’re nearly in tears, ves’tacha. What? Did you think I’d fight them? I just wanted to see where they headed.”

“Jorge,” said Aled quietly. “What was all that about? They seemed to know you.”

Col put in, “He’ll explain later . . .” just as Jorge began to speak, saying, “I’ll explain later.”

The others gave Col a Look.

“Yes, I’m dying to know, too. But I am sure Jorge will tell us when he’s ready. Or not,” Col replied.

Eirik said, “It’s done, is all.” He headed to the cabin.

“Not so fast, nephew,” Jorge said. “First, let’s tie the body of their leader onto his horse and send it on its way. It will find them.”

“How do you know that? I would not like to think of a horse lost and wandering with a body fastened on it,” said Col, frowning.

“I know who they are now, and our visitors’ horses are trained for that eventuality,” said Jorge.

Gethen and Aled took hold of the body and tied it across his horse’s saddle. The beast stamped its feet nervously, ears laid back. Then Gethen swatted it on its rump, and it cantered away with its deceased rider.

Jorge watched it go, then said, “I need to wash the blood off me. My horse and Aled’s are just in the forest edge. We have taken a deer, and we could use a hand. Aled and I prepared the carcass as best we could, but it must be hoisted on the frame as soon as possible before the meat toughens.”

“Your horses can wait another minute while I fetch my gear,” Eirik responded.

“No, I’ll look after them,” said Keven.

Gethen said, “I’ll come and help, too. Aled, why don’t you stay here? Keven, Eirik and I can take care of the deer. You keep an eye out in case our visitors return.

Col was silent, repeatedly going over the unexpected and savage encounter in his mind, wondering what he could learn from it. Where had Jorge learned such deadly skills? Their visitors had been armed and aggressive but reluctant to risk their lives. And who, or what, was Swīgēnthonar? The safety of their journey was at stake, and he resolved to find out.

*    *    *

To be continued . . .