Col and Andri: The Vanna Stallions

Silent Thunder

Despite the possible dangers, Andri could hardly suppress his excitement—most unseemly in a Ruithin bard apprentice. When would they find Geraint? He kept hoping to see a party of horsemen around each bend in the trail. His lover, Col, did not seem so outwardly affected, but then he had the responsibility of leadership in their small party; plus, two assassins were unaccounted for.

They had travelled four days since Col had contacted Geraint with a mind call. Col had estimated the time it should take for the old Warrior to come from Redstone Holding. He noticed the quick and eager glances in Andri’s eyes.

“Patience, ves’tacha,” he said. “He should arrive later today or tomorrow, but fretting about it will not help you. Summon your training and pretend a calm state of mind is an assignment for you from Master Daraou.”

“That’s not a bad idea. It’s just the kind of lesson my teaching master would set me. Very well, I’m taking deep breaths and centring myself now . . .”

Several minutes later, he exclaimed, “Oh, it’s useless! I can almost believe that shadow in the distance is Geraint and the Brotherhood!”

Col shaded his eyes with his hand, peering ahead. “I believe you are right, Andri! The shadow moves—and it’s horsemen! Aled, Gethen, come over here!”

The two guards rode up quickly and looked to where Col was pointing.

Aled turned to Keven. “Take the spare horses and pack-ponies back up the trail, and shelter yourself. We can’t assume they are our friends.”

Keven obeyed, even as Aled told his partner Gethen to take Andri to the shelter of the trees and guard him.

“You and I will stay here and meet them, Aled,” said Col.

The riders came closer, and Col counted seven individuals. Light glinted off the metal of weapons and light armour.

“They had better be the ones we seek,” muttered Aled.

But as the riders came closer still, Col spied a bare-headed warrior to the group’s left. He had cropped grey hair and a close-trimmed beard.

Geraint’s mind voice formed in Col’s consciousness. ‘It is me, lad. Your very own Geraint. Stand down. There’s no threat. Summon the rest of your party and that shy boy, Andri.’

There was a feeling of joy in the sending, and Col urged his horse forward in a canter.

“Get the others!” he called back to Aled.

As he closed with the riders, he could make out six members of the Brotherhood of Deieros; paired warriors, erastai and eromenoi, lovers and their beloved partners, pledged to fight and die for each other if necessary. The Brotherhood now occupied the holding of Redstone and was sworn to protect the Torrent Mountain city-state and Redoubt.

The Deieros saluted him, then removed their helmets. But after Col introduced himself and learned their names, he turned back to Geraint. With his old but still powerful body, the grizzled Warrior sat easily upon his horse. He wore a corselet of overlapping plates of toughened leather, and a brown cloak trimmed with bear fur flowed back from his broad shoulders.

Col brought his horse alongside Geraint’s mighty blue-roan mare. He reached across and stroked the mare’s neck. “You brought Shade!” Col exclaimed, then leaned across to embrace Geraint.

Geraint wrapped his arms around the young Horsemaster. It would have pulled other riders off their horses, but Col allowed his body to slide sideways, trusting Geraint and their two horses to keep him from falling.

Geraint’s kiss on his mouth was sincere and deep, and mental waves of affirmation flooded the young Horsemaster’s mind. Col’s mind-powers were hereditary, but Geraint had come by his late in life through the intervention of their friend and surgeon, the Guardian Nijal, who carried non-human blood. Out of dire necessity, Nijal had transferred some of that blood, containing a virus carrier, into Geraint, awakening powers of the mind within him, as well as conferring other qualities. The old Warrior was now a skilled practitioner who could cast his thoughts far.

Col sent back his own joy. Then he pulled himself upright on his horse. “Where’s Shade’s colt? He must be over two years old now. I’m dying to see him!”

Geraint laughed. “Always horses . . .Your father’s stallion, Buino, did a fine job siring such a handsome colt on Shade.” Geraint pictured a robust and powerful colt with blue roan patches on a white coat, a dark mane and tail and white feathered hooves. “He’s at Redstone Holding. I took your advice and haven’t separated mother and foal—she’s teaching him her battle-sense. Now come, let’s find Andri!”

Andri was standing beside his horse when they arrived at Col’s group. As Geraint dismounted, Andri abandoned decorum and ran to meet him, throwing himself into the old Warrior’s embrace.

“I have missed you, my Master in the Sexual Arts!” Andri said as Geraint draped an arm around his shoulder.

“I‘ve got new things to teach you,” the old Warrior replied. “While you and I have been apart, I travelled to a distant realm—somewhat involuntarily, I admit—and you won’t believe what I did . . .but all in good time. The day is still young, and I assume Col wants to continue.”

“Col is full assistant to Horsemaster Gabrien at the College now,” said Andri proudly. “And you should see how developed his body is.”

Geraint laughed. “I fully intend to. And I want to see your body too. This afternoon, you can tell me about your adventures on the trail and the mysterious hunter you met, but tonight we will discuss—other things.” He winked at Andri.

“Yes, I wonder how our hunter friend Jorge is doing?” said Andri. “Col was concerned about him. He believes that Jorge narrowly escaped some harm.”

*    *    *

Jorge lay on a bed that his nephew, Eirik, had put out near the hearth to save him from navigating the steps to the loft. The hunter was naked. Eirik bathed him. The younger man had swept up his long brown hair and twisted it into a knot at the back of his head, as he often did when working. His hands were gentle as he applied the wet, soapy cloth to Jorge’s skin.

“I’m not helpless, Nephew,” Jorge growled. I have one good arm.”

“But you also have a fever. The arrow wound is slightly infected. It’s best if you just rest and let me look after you. The more you rest, the quicker you’ll heal.”

Jorge shifted his position, which caused him to cough painfully. He swore.

“See what I mean?” admonished Eirik. “Your lung is damaged. Try and relax; here, I’ve got an idea.”

Laying the wet cloth aside, Eirik, kneeling, bent over and licked Jorge’s cock. It twitched in response.

“Nephew—“

“Shhh! Don’t try and speak. Let me do this for you.”

Jorge grunted and lay back, closing his eyes. Meanwhile, Eirik began to lick more purposefully, and Jorge’s phallus responded, filling with blood that stiffened and distended it.

Eirik paused to judge his tongue’s effect. “You’re getting hard nicely.”

He bent down again and grasped the root of the cock with one hand, feeding it into his mouth. He sucked it most of the way in—Jorge’s cock was substantial, longer than average and quite thick—and held it in his throat before letting it slide almost all the way out. He did this repeatedly, his movements slow and thorough.

Jorge sighed and opened an eye. “Eh, lad. I’ll let you keep doing that. Feels good.”

Eirik knew his uncle was too weak to participate in any action, so he kept his sucking gentle and slow but intense enough to increase Jorge’s excitement, making his cock rigid and fully hard.

“Need to fuck you . . .” Jorge said.

Eirik himself was becoming aroused. He felt his erection pushing against the doeskin of his breeches, and he paused his sucking to strip down. The room wasn’t overly hot, but the low flames in the massive fireplace kept it comfortable.

Once naked, Eirik leaned down and resumed sucking his uncle’s cock, tasting pre-cum. Next, he reached into his basket of washing supplies and took a pot of homemade lubricant. He liked to use it when he masturbated, but now he had other ideas. He smoothed some on both of their cocks, poured more in his hand and slathered it on his ass, penetrating his own hole with two fingers.

“What are you—?“ Jorge questioned Eirik, but his nephew interrupted him.

“I thought about us fucking this morning, so I gave myself a light clean-out. I will let you fuck me, but I’ll do all the work, agreed?”

“Apparently, you’re in charge.”

“—for a change,” Eirik said and smiled at his uncle.

“Go ahead, then, Eirik.”

Eirik straddled his uncle’s body, crouching over him. He grasped Jorge’s slippery cock and carefully lowered himself onto the waiting phallus. He breathed deeply as the cock entered, holding himself still and lowering his hips more. Jorge’s cock slid inside. Eirik paused again until he felt ready. Then he moved up and down, causing his uncle’s cock to fuck his ass.

“Innovative boy,” Jorge said softly. “Part of my cure, along with willow bark tea and thyme wound wash?”

“Yes. Precisely,” Eirik gasped. His cock was now hard, and he moaned in pleasure when Jorge reached with his good hand and took hold of it in a surprisingly firm grip.

So Eirik fucked himself with his uncle’s cock and was jerked off simultaneously. He fought the urge to cum—it was his uncle’s pleasure he was seeking. So he concentrated on the fucking, clenching Jorge’s cock with his internal muscles, milking him.

“Nephew . . .you’re making me cum.”

“Cum in me, Uncle! I’m ready too.”

Eirik felt Jorge’s ejaculation, the cum surging up the penis shaft, and then the pumping of semen into his passage. He shivered and felt his own ejaculation taking place; he saw the cum spilling onto Jorge’s grey-haired chest.

Eirik allowed himself to tumble forward to lie beside his uncle, carefully avoiding the injured area, feeling cum painting both their bodies. He kissed Jorge’s mouth and felt his uncle’s response. Then they rested together.

Eventually, Jorge said, “You will need to wash us both again, Nephew. And I think I feel my fever coming down. Your medicine is effective.”

*    *    *

Geraint had words for Col and Andri. “We’ll travel on, but I’d rather we wait before you give me a full accounting. As you say, there are still two assassins, along with the horse of the rider your friend Jorge killed, and we have to pay attention to our surroundings.”

Col agreed. “But at least we will have time to talk tonight, what with the Deieros standing watch. Let’s look for a campsite with plenty of water and firewood: I want to wash tonight, like you taught me.”

Geraint grinned, “I see that as a leader, you put your skills to good use!”

*    *    *

They found their campsite: a river feeding a small lake in a mixed woodland. Flat rocks formed shelves in the sand beside the shore, making a good spot for a fire with places to sit. The camp was soon set up: the three couples of the Brotherhood were not averse to collecting firewood or preparing food.

Col and Geraint scouted around their location, looking for tracks from the remaining two assassins, but all they found were mushrooms—a welcome addition to their supper. The conversation turned to Andri and Col’s journey, with Andri telling their story, supported by Col, Keven and the two guards. But when Col mentioned the word, Swīgēnthonar, Geraint’s expression froze.

“What is it?” said Andri, puzzled.

“I’ll tell you later. I must think about this.”

“But not too much later: I believe we need to know,” added Col.

But eventually, Col called a halt to their discourse. “My brain is tired. There’s too much to think about. Let’s consider other things.”

‘Other things’ involved buckets of warm water and squeeze bottles, followed by a swim in the lake. Then Andri, Col and Geraint retired to their tent, leaving Aled to arrange watch duties with the Deieros.

“At last,” said Andri, who finished stripping off his clothing and couldn’t keep the grin off his face. His eyes devoured Geraint. For an old Warrior, he had the body of a younger man except for a slight paunch. He looked fit and muscular, sporting a pelt of hair covering his back, chest, limbs, and pendulous balls. Geraint’s cock was thick and outsized, with a broad mushroom head. He was a bear of a man; indeed, he bore the tattoo of a bear paw with raking claws on the left shoulder above his chest.

“That’s new,” said Andri, touching it with interest. “It becomes you.”

“A gift from Bertholf, an old wolf and a dear friend of mine. But you—“ Geraint held the orb close to Andri’s body, and its light illuminated the pale handprint on the young bard’s shoulder. “What in the Dark Spirits is that? I have never in all my years seen such a mark!”

Andri glanced at his shoulder. “It is the mark of King Arawn, the Huntsman of the Dead. He visited us and touched me. We said nothing out there.”

“I well know that Lord. And you suffered no ill effects? Any idea why he did that?”

“No, but he said something about his touch not necessarily bringing death. And he mentioned you.”

“Did you really suck the cock of the Shadow Lord?” interrupted Col.

“He told you that? Yes, I did. It was . . .necessary. Lives were at stake, but that’s a tale for tomorrow, in the daylight. It has too much of darkness in it. We have much catching up to do, but now, I want us to love each other. It’s been far too long.”

“It has,” said Col. “Your last gift to me, when you taught me to fuck ass, has brought Andri and me much joy, and we have passed your teachings to others. But now, allow us to give you pleasure. Lie back, and let us show you what your two students can do.”

“I can’t refuse an offer like that, lad,” Geraint replied, grinning. He lay back on the bedding, his eyes admiring the bodies of his two young friends.

“Col, working with horses seems to agree with you. Your body has matured into a fine specimen. And you, Andri—“

“I have grown taller,” offered Andri, hopefully.

“You are beautiful, my boy,” Geraint replied simply.

Both young men lay over their friend. They started by touching his furry body, reacquainting themselves with the feel of him. Col kissed the bear paw tattoo, then moved to suck on Geraint’s prominent nipples, the nubs set in darker areolas.

Geraint reached out and ruffled Col’s loose, damp hair. Meanwhile, Andri, on the other side of the old Warrior’s body, kissed his abdomen, running his tongue down to the twitching cock. He licked the broad mushroom head and was rewarded by the cock stirring and stiffening. Andri slid his tongue down its length, following the contours. He finished at Geraint’s hairy ball sack, pushing the testicles around with his tongue before sucking one into his mouth. That made Geraint groan with lust. Col was still sucking his nipples, but Andri sucked harder on the balls, reading Geraint’s responses and noticing the tightening of his scrotum. Then he moved back to the now-erect penis. He slid his tongue up it and then took it into his mouth.

Andri was a little out of practice with such a huge cock, but the techniques Geraint had taught him returned, and he relaxed his throat muscles to accept more of the hot, meaty shaft. Geraint raised his hips, meeting the young bard’s deep sucking with his own thrusts. Then Col moved up and kissed the old Warrior, plunging his tongue between the teeth, mouth-fucking him in time to the motion of Geraint’s hips.

Andri could sense that Geraint was close to cumming from the signals that passed along the Warrior’s cock; he felt the pulse of the first ejaculation travel up the shaft. The young bard maintained his steady sucking rhythm, knowing it would allow Geraint to focus on the sensations. Geraint came. He cried out as he shot his load into Andri’s mouth, his cock pulsing and bucking. But it remained hard when the old Warrior’s orgasm subsided, and Andri withdrew the cock from his mouth.

“Plenty of that left for you both,” said Geraint. “Now, kneel beside my head. It’s my turn to play!”

Andri and Col obeyed his instructions, facing each other closely. Meanwhile, Geraint took their cocks in hand and jerked them off. Col reached beside him for the bottle of lubricant. He poured some over his and Andri’s cocks, making Geraint’s hand job more sensual. The two young men kissed each other deeply, their hands roaming over each other’s nipples. Then they felt the old Warrior’s mouth sucking on their cocks: one, then the other.

It just made Andri hungrier for more. “Please, Geraint, fuck me. I have missed you so much.”

“And me,” Col chimed in. “But you can do Andri first. I’ll bow to my noble instincts.”

Geraint laughed. “Then both of you kneel on all fours.”

The young men hurried to comply. Geraint picked up the lubricant and applied it to their asses and his cock. His big fingers probed their rectal passages. “Nice and tight,” he said. “Don’t worry: I’ll soon stretch them.”

He continued to finger-fuck them until Andri was begging him. Geraint then took hold of Andri’s slim hips and pushed his cock against the enticing rosebud. He took it slow, mindful of his own size, but Andri skillfully relaxed his muscles, and Geraint’s large mushroom head popped in, making Andri gasp. The old Warrior paused initially, but Andri urged him on, so he pushed in deeper and stroked smoothly. As he fucked the young bard, Geraint’s left hand played with Col’s ass and balls, using his fingers to penetrate him. Just as Andri was close to cumming, Geraint, sensing it, laughed and switched his attention entirely to Col.

He pushed his cock into Col’s ready ass, hardly pausing before thrusting deep. This time, he rode the young man’s ass until Col, taken by surprise, suddenly ejaculated.

As he withdrew his cock, Geraint told Andri to lie on his back, facing him. Then, holding the lad’s raised hips, he plunged into his ass again. Andri bent his knees as he opened fully to the old Warrior, who did not spare him. This time it was Geraint’s turn to cum, and he did so inside Andri’s passage, making him cry out in longing as they came together. Then the three curled into a close embrace and lost themselves in kissing.

Eventually, Geraint lay back. “Lacked finesse, I did. Sorry about that,” he smirked, sounding not one bit apologetic.

“We will let you make it up to us,” said Col. “I am thinking of both Andri and myself fucking you simultaneously, with both our cocks inside you.”

“Yes, I can agree to that, you devious rascals: trying to get me all hot. But later tonight. First, I want us to catch some sleep. We need to reach Redstone without delay, and then we can have a really long, thorough, passionate session, and I will disclose to you how the gods fuck.”

*    *    *

Travelling was now more stress-free, with the Brotherhood guarding them in addition to Aled and Gethen. Andri had not met these particular warriors before, which relieved him. Despite telling Col he was fine about the Deieros, his previous encounter with them had nearly cost him his freedom. But he had matured since then and could take things in their stride.

They made love each night with Geraint, enjoying his skill and inventiveness, but looked forward to arriving at Redstone Holding. Geraint’s comment on “how the gods fuck” intrigued Col, and with his boundless curiosity, he couldn’t wait to find out.

Keven and Gethen seemed to be falling in love. They could spend more time together at night now that the guard’s watch schedule was more relaxed. The threat of assassins seemed minimal, and Col recalled that they were possibly headed for Hesperon. He hoped his grandmother, the Seer, Eleni, was mistaken about Geraint finding trouble there.

And so they rode three more days, joining the main trail until they approached Redstone. As the land fell away to disclose the river valley, Col questioned Geraint.

“You said you would explain that word I told you, and I told you not to wait too long. Well, are you ready to tell Andri and me?”

Geraint looked directly at him, his expression unusually sober. “The problem is, lad, that the name encloses a sinister secret. The fewer people who know of it, the safer they are. It could have cost your friend Jorge’s life. Do you even know he’s alive?”

“You are being very mysterious,” said Col. “Yes, I know Jorge is alive. I can feel his life force in the—” he searched for the word.

“The aether, as Brynnan and Nijal call it? Eleni says you are developing her powers.”

“Yes, that!”

The old Warrior sighed. “Very well, but I won’t tell you here. I promise that when we reach Redstone, the first thing I will do is tell you and Andri.

“Even before sex?”

Geraint nodded solemnly. “Even before sex.”

“It’s a deal!”

At that moment, a horn call sounded clearly. Markos, one of the erastoi, answered it with his own horn, varying the sound. This action was shortly followed by riders approaching on the trail: other members of the Brotherhood coming to meet them. One rider was maybe a few years older than Col, young and handsome. The planes of his face looked sculpted. He had long, dark hair in fine braids, half pulled back and fastened at the back of his head, and he was clean-shaven except for a shadow of a new beard.

Andri exclaimed to Geraint, “It’s Asirin, Arcturus’ eromenos!” He shivered. “I’m glad he’s not accompanied by his lover and leader.”

“Why, lad? Does it still bother you?” asked Geraint.

“Arcturus, as the leader of the Brotherhood, was the first to take Brynnan when he was raped. Do you recall? Sorry—I thought I’d gotten over it,” Andri said in a low voice.

“It’s natural, Andri. You’re doing fine. Come and meet them. See if he remembers you.”

The two parties merged and clasped wrists. The other man stared at him when it became Andri’s turn to greet Asirin. “You are Andri, the eromenos of Geraint! You gave Kyros a great gift, and we are in your debt.”

This was not what Andri expected, but he managed to dip his head in gracious acknowledgement.

“Kyros heads our division at Torrent Mountain now and has a fine eromenos, you will be pleased to know.”

The parties set out again. Around a curve, the trail descended to the Ironstrike River, its water foaming wildly over the shallows that made a ford, but they would not have to traverse that yet. Halfway down the slope, Redstone Holding stood on a granite promontory: a large, walled Keep with outbuildings and stables. Andri remembered it well.

More horns sounded as they approached the open gates. Stable boys ran to take their horses as they arrived in the inner courtyard. Keven dismounted and gave them instructions on the care of their own horses. He looked questioningly at Geraint.

“It’s alright, Keven. The boys are well-trained and will take good care of our beasts. See? Even Shade will go with them,” the old Warrior reassured him.

They went inside the Holding proper. An entry opened into the Great Hall, and another led up a broad stone stairway.

“First, we go to my room, wash, and drink some decent ale. Then we will see what happens. There will be food in the Great Hall, and Arcturus will want to see you, but we needn’t stay long,” Geraint informed Andri and Col.

“Remember your promise!” Col reminded him.

“Patience! I intend to discuss it with you when we have done what’s necessary. Now come this way . . .”

*    *    *

The hour had arrived. After returning from the feasting hall to Geraint’s spacious room, Col and Andri settled themselves on the bed while Geraint took a chair. He poured them ale.

“You must understand: this is dangerous knowledge. I only consider telling you because you are involved, whether you like it or not.”

“Yes, yes,” said Col, betraying some impatience. “We know we must keep silent about it and that what you’re going to tell us could endanger our lives. But if the Time-To-Be warns me, I will stop you.”

Andri looked at him with a question in his eyes, and Col continued, “It’s hard to talk about. I don’t have all the right words. Foreshadowing, prescience, visions or warnings . . .you get the idea, I hope.”

“You are doing fine, young Seer,” said Geraint. “I will go slow.” Then, in a quiet voice, he said, “’ Swīgēn Thonar.’ It means Silent Thunder.”

“And?” Col inquired when Geraint was silent.

“It was the name of a small group—maybe just a handful—of highly skilled political assassins. They were active many years ago. One kill known to a very few of us was Lord Garron Trey, head of the council in Hesperon. His seat was taken over by Pentayn Tyreth, a tyrant who hunted our friend Brynnan. But it was Brynnan who eventually killed him during the Invasion. Now a certain Lord Jelek leads Hesperon’s council and supports the Alliance.” [1]

 “Hold up!” said Col. “All these names are unknown to me, except for our dear friend Brynnan: I’ll take your word, but it is confusing. If Jelek runs the council, and he’s half decent, what’s the problem?”

Geraint continued his tale. “There is another man in Hesperon called Garth Mellea. M’Lord Samir believes that he’s responsible for hiring assassins. Last summer, Brynnan and Nijal were attacked by these assassins, and so was the Warlord. They nearly overcame Samir—but that’s a story for another day.[2] As for Swīgēn Thonar, it appears that they were hunted and wiped out. But there may be one left whose death is required at all costs.”

“Do you know who it might be?” Andri said, frowning.

Geraint looked at him with something like pity. “I am afraid it might be your friend, Jorge, the hunter.”

*    *    *

To be continued . . .