To Redeem His People

Reader discretion is adviced, this story contain graphic content depicting violence and rape which may not be suitable to all readers. This is a fictional story and do not portray real events or real persons.

The Soul Stealer

Nijal, Brynnan and Geraint reached Hesperon’s Sunrise Gate and found the Trader’s Compound. The noise of animals and the shouts of men assailed their ears. Outside the Compound wall, a colourful collection of market stalls offered food and other camp goods to traders. Geraint paused at one booth, dismounted, and bought some fruit.

Inside the Compound, animal pens, rooms and compartments ranged around a wide-open space. Watering troughs surrounded a well located in the centre. Nijal and Brynnan took their horses to drink while Geraint talked with the Compound’s overseer, then they stabled and fed their beasts and unloaded their gear on his return.

“I have paid for a couple of lads to care for our horses while we are gone. Come to our room, and I will share news,” said Geraint.

They settled in the room and ate the fruit, drank fresh water, and discussed their next move.

“The Invaders are led by a man they call ‘Leader Tekram.’ They are in talks with the Hesperon Council, who appears to be listening to them. This leader tells of wonderful gifts that they will bestow on the people in exchange for settlement land,” Geraint informed them.

“What do you think, Brynnan?” asked Nijal.

“I think I will present myself as I am: a Ruithin Bard and emissary from Torrent Mountain. I will have a chance to judge these Invaders. Have the Watchers infected Pentayn Tyreth’s mind, or is it just his greed and the desire for superior military power? He would pose a distinct danger to my Lord Samir’s homeland.”

“They will forbid us our swords in the council chamber. What happens if they capture us?” said Geraint. “Do you dare risk your harp, as well?”

Brynnan paused before replying, “I don’t think they would attempt to destroy her, and she is not without protection. Part of her soul dwells in my Father’s realm. But if they capture me, do not attempt to fight them. Capture would only bring me closer to the source of their power. Besides, I do not go unarmed. I will take my Father’s bow and the deadly arrows—they will not even see them, as they are from the Shadow Realm. Ghost, too, can hide between worlds.”

Geraint still expressed his misgivings, but he ultimately agreed. “It’s no different from holding a breach during battle when your army is outnumbered. There’s fear of the odds, which you must set aside. Boldness and courage, and a bit of strategy, has magic in it.”

Brynnan bathed and dressed in his bardic robes. He took up Mavrenn, his harp, and the deadly bow, where the souls of those struck by an arrow were pursued by the Wild Hunt. Geraint and Nijal reluctantly stowed their swords.

Brynnan’s harp and status won them through the city gates without too much trouble. Gate officials admitted them almost eagerly when the companions explained that Brynnan was an emissary from Torrent Mountain. Two guards brought horses and provided escort so that they arrived at the Governing Hall in very little time.

They walked to the very doors of the Council Chamber, with Geraint noting the disposition of guards and exit routes. A herald went to inform the Council of their presence.

Brynnan, looking around, saw the semi-circular council table with its six members, not unlike Torrent Mountain’s Council of Seven. But in Hesperon, the Councillors were subject to the will of Pentayn Tyreth. He was an ageing, craggy-featured man with close-cropped grey hair and a beardless face. Thick gold rings hung from his ears. A once-powerful body showed the effects of good living without adequate fitness, but he still looked a man to be reckoned with. He displayed a distinct air of command—a man used to having his own way. His robes were brown silk, covered with a deep red tabard embroidered with dragons.

On one side of him sat a thin, armour-suited man who Brynnan guessed must be the Invader party’s leader, Tekram. Behind his mask, his features could not readily be discerned, but the Bard made out intense black eyes and skin with an unnatural tan. He stared at the companions with a piercing gaze.

Other Invaders sat at either end of the curved table, beside the Councillors.

An important-looking man stood before the table, addressing the council members and their alien guests.

“Can our guest guarantee that trade won’t be disrupted?” the man was saying.

Leader Tekram answered him. His voice was light and the accent strange, but his speech patterns were correct. “Our offerings will only enhance trade. Even in your agriculture, we have superior crop seeds that should be compatible with your soils.”

“And what could we offer you in return?” the man asked.

“We ask for volunteers that would come to our home base for a time. We would treat them well,” the leader said.

Nijal spoke softly to Brynnan and Geraint, “Read that as slaves—experimental subjects. And their seeds will destroy the balance of the land. I fear the worst.”

At that moment, the herald reached Lord Tyreth and spoke in his ear. The Lord turned a dark gaze on the companions. He held up a hand, silencing the man who had been presenting his issues.

“Rodris, we will take up this matter again shortly. But now I would hear from our newest supplicants.”

As Brynnan and his friends moved forward into the plaintiff’s area, Lord Tyreth leaned forward in his chair, gazing intently at the Bard.

“Wait . . . I recognize you. Well, well, I thought for a while that you were dead. Yet here you are.”

“Yes, Lord Tyreth, my name is Brynnan Marec Mavrenn, Ruithin Bard to Torrent Mountain’s court. You hunted me several years ago when I came seeking the traitor from our Council. But now I come as an emissary from Lord Samir, member of the Council of Seven and Warlord of the Torrent Mountain City-State.”

“Ah, yes. As I said, I thought for a time we had successfully hunted you, but then later I heard of you again, rumours that you have become the Warlord’s bitch.”

Brynnan ignored the taunt, and Lord Tyreth seemed disappointed: he rallied. “But please, do introduce your companions and explain your purpose and mission.”

Brynnan bowed with exacting courtesy. “I introduce Nijal Silver-hand, battle surgeon, who has treated your men in conflict, as well as ours. As a Healer, he is impartial and thus provides witness. And this,”—he gestured to Geraint— “is the Warrior Geraint, appointed as my guard.”

“An old Warrior, I see. He cannot be an effective guardian, however, as he permits you to come into my presence,” said the Lord with dry satisfaction.

To his credit, Geraint did not react, accustomed as he was to the taunts and boasting of his enemies.

“As for you, Nijal Silver-hand, you are welcome here. We always need good surgeons.”

But seeing his words did not have their desired effect, Pentayn Tyreth frowned impatiently, saying, “But, come, here is your chance to explain your mission. What does Torrent Mountain have to offer us that we do not have?”

“A military alliance between Torrent Mountain and Hesperon, if you will join us in defending against these Invaders that you currently treat with. You should know that they do not offer their largesse freely.”

Tekram stared at Brynnan with new eyes, but Lord Tyreth laughed.

“The position of cowards,” he said. “I should have known. You are afraid to grasp what our guests from beyond have to give in exchange for so little.”

“I had heard you were wise, Pentayn Tyreth,” replied the Bard. “Do you swallow the promises of these people without gaining more knowledge of them? You will bargain away your freedom.”

“And I suppose you are more knowledgeable?”

“Yes, Lord Tyreth. We have been investigating these people for some time. If you are willing to listen and consider our offer, we will share our knowledge with you. Then you and your Council can better judge for yourselves.”

“And why does Torrent Mountain show this friendship suddenly? A voice within me tells me that it is wisdom to hear what our visitor guests have to offer.” Lord Tyreth said with suspicion.

Brynnan’s heart sank when he heard about the ‘voice.’ The Watchers already infected Pentayn’s mind! But he responded, “I think you will find that your bargain will be to your deep disadvantage. What these Invaders have to offer will be incredibly destructive to our land and our peoples.”

At this point, one of the Invaders stood to address his leader. “Let me take out this voice of disharmony. We do not need his comments.”

“You see, Lord Tyreth? This offered violence is the courtesy of your guest. They show you so little respect that they would usurp your privilege and kill a guest in your own hall. They show their self-professed superiority.”

Brynnan’s comment struck a mark, for Lord Tyreth scowled and looked at Leader Tekram, then at his minion. “It seems to me that the Bard may have a point. Do you indeed intend me this disrespect?”

Leader Tekram waved his man to be seated again and turned to Lord Tyreth. “If my man offends you, I will eliminate him.”

“Yes, he offends me!” Tyreth spoke.

Tekram turned again to his minion. “Stand up,” he said. The man obeyed. Tekram pointed a closed fist towards the man, and a wide beam of blue light engulfed him. He disappeared. There wasn’t even a trace of ash or other material.

The chamber erupted into disarray. Men shouted and pointed at where the unfortunate Invader had stood. The others of his kind seemed undisturbed.

“I regret I disturbed your Hall, but we do not tolerate disrespect within our culture. Especially towards leaders.”

Inside, Brynnan exulted. He had hardly needed to do anything, and already the invaders had betrayed themselves to the people present. Their arrogance surprised him, but then he began to suspect Tyreth. He felt Geraint’s wariness behind him and Nijal’s vindication of their suspicions but was relieved they did not react. Ghost was not visible, but he sensed a canine presence and suspected the dog followed him in the Shadow Realm. He waited for the uproar to die down.

Lord Tyreth was on his feet, while his Council seemed struck dumb. Tyreth said, “In our country, one does not slaughter the wolves openly among the sheep lest the entire flock is panicked and flees.”

Leader Tekram looked puzzled. “I am not sure I understand of what you speak, Lord Tyreth. What is this “sheep?”

Brynnan could hear Geraint’s very quiet subvocalization, “You stupid bastard,” he murmured.

One of the invaders looked sharply towards him, and Brynnan hushed his friend. “They may hear you.”

Brynnan was thinking of the cultural disconnect when Lord Tyreth spoke, “I think we shall take a rest in this meeting. There are things I must resolve. Indeed,” he turned to Brynnan, “I think I will hear what this Bard has to say after all. Brynnan Marec Mavrenn, I wish you to attend me privately. Your two men may stay here, or they may await you elsewhere. We shall be some time. Tell them.”

“No way are we leaving you!” swore Geraint.

“I can reach Nijal’s mind. If I need you, I will summon you,” said Brynnan quietly, below Tyreth’s hearing.

But Nijal said, “Where’s Ghost?”

“He awaits in the Shadow-Ways. He will come if I call him. But let me see what Pentayn’s purposes are. I may be uncomfortable for a time but do not let it distress you unduly.”

“You’re at it again,” hissed Geraint hotly. “But this time, we will come and get you!”

“I am counting on it, my friends,” the Bard replied.

*    *    *

Escorted by guards, Brynnan followed Pentayn Tyreth through several corridors to a stairway where they reached large black double doors. The Guards opened them, and Tyreth stepped inside, with Brynnan following him into an expansive meeting room.

“Do take off your cloak and sit, Bard,” said Tyreth.

Brynnan placed Mavrenn on the floor and hung his cloak on a wall hook, carefully placing his bow under it. Tyreth could not see it.

“Don’t think to engage me in combat. I know you Ruithin are fighters. Now, tell me what the Warlord Samir desires.”

“I think we should make no more pretence of parlay, my Lord Tyreth,” said Brynnan. “Your Masters hear every word I say. I know one is in your mind.”

“And how would you know this?” asked Lord Tyreth.

“They tried to enter my mind also.”

Tyreth scoffed, “You lie. They are irresistible.”

“No, you can beat these Invaders. But you want to believe their promises, don’t you? That was a pretty ruse in the Council Chamber. Now you have put the fear of the Invaders into your Council and your own folk. You and Tekram so clearly set it up between you.”

“You are clever, but it will get you nowhere. In fact—” Tyreth closed his eyes and called. Moments later, a door within the chamber opened, and Tekram entered the room.

“I am afraid he has guessed our little plan, Tekram.”

Leader Tekram raised a fist; he pointed it at Brynnan. Blue light in a wide beam flooded out and hit him. Everything went dark.

*    *    *

Brynnan became aware he was in the Shadow Ways. He wasn’t dead. Ghost nuzzled at his incorporeal form and whined. The noise sounded like a strong wind blowing through pinnacles of rock on a stormy night. Brynnan gripped the dog’s beard on either side of the strong jaw. “I want you to stay here until I summon you, Ysbryd. You will get to hunt yet, my friend, Ci Annwn.”

Brynnan was pulled back into the Material Realm. He was in a different room. The walls, illuminated by orbs, were of plain white stone. He found himself stretched out on a long table. Brynnan’s hands were tied above his head, and his legs were spread open with his ankles shackled to the table, but there was enough slack so that his knees were bent. Of course, he was naked. He sighed. Then he aimed his thoughts and briefly flashed a message to Nijal. ‘Do not fear; I am alive but captive. Make no move yet.’

Lord Tyreth appeared in his vision. “You have some interesting marks on your body, Bard. Whip scars, scars on your throat, brandings and knotted ropes. My servants tried to remove your torc, but it holds some power, and they were struck to the ground. We will leave it for now, but I will ask Tekram how it may be removed.”

Tyreth walked around the table. “So, you are said to be Lord Samir’s bitch. I rather like that idea. I wonder how it feels to have a powerful man like yourself as a sexual subject. You must give Samir good service. How long has it been since he fucked your ass? Do you yearn for it? Tell me how much you need it.”

Brynnan, naturally, remained silent. He knew where this was headed. Tyreth was curious, jealous and aroused. His suspicions were born out when the man began to undress. Tyreth was still a powerfully built man, though he had a paunch. While not as hairy as Geraint, his body bore a liberal sprinkling of grey hair. He had a few scars, but not as many as one would expect of a combat veteran. His cock, however, wasn’t small. It was quite sizeable with a distinct upcurve. It wasn’t a pretty cock, but erect; it looked serviceable.

Tyreth continued his monologue. “Why should the Warlord have you when I could, too? What would he say should I decide to return you to him after I’ve fucked you myself? Yes, I think that would be the only reason I would spare your life. I may send my men to kill your companions—a pity about the Surgeon. We can always use good ones, but I don’t think he would like what I’m about to do to you.”

‘You threaten my friends. You have doomed yourself,’ thought the Bard.

Abruptly, Tyreth strode forward and seized Brynnan by his hair. Tilting the Bard’s head back, he kissed him soundly on the mouth, and Brynnan resisted the urge to spit, knowing that was the reaction Tyreth wanted. Then the Lord stood beside him and began to jerk himself off while uttering the most degrading comments he could dredge up. Brynnan considered it a sign of weakness but knew that Tyreth was feeding his sexual excitement with his fantasies about Samir and himself.

When pre-cum oozed from the cock’s tip, Tyreth used it as a lubricant. He rubbed it all over his cock as he approached and knelt between Brynnan’s bent knees.

“If you call me by the Warlord Samir’s name during this and beg him for it, I will spare you the whipping I plan to give you after you take my cum. Or I can blindfold you so you can imagine you are being fucked by your master. No? Prepare for pain, then, after I finish in you.”

Lord Tyreth rubbed his cock against Brynnan’s ass and pushed against his rectum. Brynnan did not fight it; he wanted Tyreth helpless in his orgasm.

As his cock forced its way inside, Tyreth grinned, “You are a slut. I bet the Warlord has trained you to take it like a bitch,”

‘Yes, he has,’ thought the Bard to himself. ‘And I beg for it. You will never know what it is like; what ecstasy I feel when my Lord Samir and I make love.’

But to Lord Tyreth, he was silent.

But Tyreth was now fucking him hard, his eyes devouring Brynnan’s body, taking in every curve of muscle, every taut sinew, and his dark, swirling hair. “I am going to cum inside you. You are helpless. You can’t stop me, bitch,” gasped the Lord.

‘Yes, I can. Very easily,’ thought Brynnan again. ‘But you will find out momentarily.’ By Tyreth’s expression, Brynnan could tell he was close to ejaculation.

The Lord gripped his hips tightly and groaned, “Take it, Ruithin bitch. I’m cumming inside you, now!”

Brynnan could feel Tyreth’s cock spasming and watched as the man groaned in ecstasy.

The Bard whispered one word: ‘Ysbryd’ . . .“

The dog, Ghost, appeared. He was not fully manifest in the Material Realm, but he didn’t need to be. Huge, grey, with bared canine teeth much longer than was natural. He reached up and seized Lord Tyreth’s throat, dragging out his soul. The soul thrashed violently but couldn’t escape the grip. The body collapsed on the ground as Ghost disappeared, taking the soul with him.

Despite himself, Brynnan shivered at the horror of it.

His wrist bonds were just rope, not chain. The Bard bent his mind to unravelling it, strand by strand. Eventually, the rope snapped. Brynnan sat upright, reached down to his feet, and untied those bonds.

He arose and looked around the chamber. A whip hung on a hook on the wall, made of wire with sharp barbs along each strand. It would have torn his flesh fiercely. The room was equipped solely for interrogation. He saw a drain in the floor and a hose in the wall. The water was frigid, but Brynnan washed himself thoroughly, rinsing out the cum.

He unbolted the door. He found his clothes in the anteroom and dressed, feeling almost human again.

There were two guards outside the chamber door. Before they could react, he dispatched each one with a blow to the side of their necks, rendering them unconscious. Then he sensed in the aether for Mavrenn, his harp.

He knew where she was. Threading the corridors, he found the room. Thankfully, Mavrenn was untouched, as was his cloak. He armed himself with the bow and arrows that his Father, King Arawn of the Shadow Realm, had gifted him. Then he sent a mind-call to Nijal: ‘Come.’

He headed downstairs towards the council chamber. A reckoning was coming to the Invaders.

*    *    *