The Road Less Travelled
After General Mirza dealt with the sea marauders in the Eastern Marches, he returned with most of his troops a week and a half later. Some he left behind as a garrison in case the invaders returned. He rested only a short time before he answered a summons to see the Warlord, Samir.
The Warlord presided in the main Council Chamber, a large, ancient room with a fine mosaic map of the Torrent Mountain region on one wall and stars and constellations on the adjacent wall. Lighting from a hidden source illuminated both the room.
The seats for the Council were currently empty except for Samir, two aides, Geraint the old Warrior — and close friend of the Warlord, and the Master Bard Brynnan.
When General Mirza entered, the Warlord stood, and they clasped arms.
“A successful foray, I hear,” Samir said by way of greeting.
“Fortunately, this campaign was brief. We caught the marauders in a raid on a border village. Part of their forces was drunk and disorganized - they were in the pillaging stage.” General Mirza curled his lip in disgust.
He was just slightly older than Samir and not quite as tall. He had short, curly black hair and a bronze skin tone. His eyes were dark under heavy black brows, and he wore his greying beard short and well-trimmed. A self-disciplined man who kept himself fit and in practice, he often sparred with Samir in the Redoubt.
They discussed the details of the campaign as one of the aides recorded notes.
Mirza said, “I think we will be clear of trouble for some time ahead. I hear you plan on making a journey?”
“Yes, I plan to go as far as Scarfell. I’ll stay two days at the Pass before I return. My Bard and Geraint will be travelling on.”
Mirza looked at Brynnan, “I, for one, am glad to see you restored to your previous status, Bard - I missed your music and your contributions to our Council.”
Samir turned and placed his hand on Brynnan’s arm, “I obtained new evidence. I admit I was overly hasty in the judgement of our Bard, and my unwarranted zeal nearly got him killed. But our relationship is restored now.”
“I thank you, General, and it’s good to see you have returned safely,” said Brynnan, “As for my Lord Samir, I am simply grateful for his mercy.”
They spent some time discussing action plans against future incursions before the meeting broke up. Samir invited Geraint to accompany them back to his apartments.
Geraint accepted but asked the Warlord, “You seem troubled, m’Lord. Why is that? Surely you should be relieved General Mirza solved the problem with the invaders so quickly.”
“Why do you think, old friend? I am unaccustomed to forebodings, but I fear for trouble on this journey we will embark on.”
“That’s not at all like you. You can trust me to look after Brynnan for you, and Nijal will be with us.”
They reached the doors to Samir’s chambers. No sooner had they entered when the Warlord suddenly stopped and embraced Brynnan before kissing him deeply.
“I want you now, Bard,” he growled, “And you too, Geraint. There is an urgency on me that I cannot deny.”
“Easy, m’Lord, we’re with you,” said Geraint.
Brynnan was already stripping his clothes off. Geraint started to undress Samir, who commented, “I trust you prepared yourself, Geraint?”
“Always, m’Lord. Knowing you and your ways . . . “
“Come,” Samir led them to the great bed.
By unspoken agreement, both older men turned to the Bard. He lay on his back, with Samir and Geraint either side of him, where they proceeded to touch, suck, and kiss his body.
Brynnan kissed and licked both men in return. He could smell their sweat - two different sensual musks that aroused the Bard as he licked and nuzzled each man’s armpit. Samir, then Geraint returned the favour. Brennan felt marked with their scent, like a female deer when the stag is in rut.
Their passions rose quickly, like a grass fire in the wind, burning hot and fierce. Geraint passed the bottle of lubricant to Samir, who poured some on his hand and began to finger Brynnan’s ass.
Brynnan moaned, even as he reached and found Geraint’s already stiff cock. The old Warrior moved to kneel beside Brynnan’s head, and the Bard turned and set his lips to the cock and started sucking.
“That’s my lad,” breathed Geraint, “Yeah, take it . . . take it all in and suck me off good.”
Brynnan complied, swallowing the big cock all the way. As his throat had healed over the past weeks, his ability to deep-throat cock had returned.
Samir knelt on the bed and hoisted Brynnan’s ass up on his knees. From there, he was easily able to penetrate the Bard, who shifted to accommodate him.
Geraint said between groans of pleasure, “This is a beautiful thing. Why don’t you write a song about it, lad?”
Brynnan laughed. Geraint’s irreverent comment relieved the tension perfectly.
“Did you know your throat feels amazing on my dick when you laugh?” added Geraint.
Brynnan’s mouth was too full of cock to reply, but he managed an affirmative grunt. Then he was further distracted as Samir’s thrusts became more forceful.
The Warlord gripped Brynnan’s ass tightly as he pumped his hips, increasing the tempo. He was intent on riding his lover. Brynnan had to relinquish Geraint’s cock as sensations overwhelmed him.
“I submit to you, my lover and Lord,” he cried, “I beg you cum in me.”
Brynnan’s plea seemed to set Samir over the edge. With a savage cry, he ejaculated forcefully before falling across his Bard and embracing him. Geraint bent down and shared kisses with them both.
Samir looked up at Geraint, “We interrupted you. Why don’t you let him finish sucking you, or you can take his ass also?”
“Are you up for another ass-fucking, lad?” Geraint asked.
“Yes, Geraint, if it brings you pleasure.”
“Stop that!” the old Warrior struck Brynnan’s thigh. “Is this how you use your bardic skills? By stating the obvious? Of course it ‘brings me pleasure’!
“Now, we’ll make this easy,” Geraint continued, “Lie on your side and face m’Lord.”
Brynnan complied. He raised a leg, hooking the Warlord’s thighs, which exposed his ass to Geraint, who moved in closer. The old Warrior applied lubricant to his cock, and pushed it in.
“I forgive you,” Geraint said to Brynnan, “It does indeed give me pleasure.” He sighed and started slowly fucking the Bard’s ass.
Samir shifted to face Brynnan. He put a hand at the back of his lover’s head and drew him forward, then kissed him fiercely.
The Bard used his leg to pull Samir into his body more tightly, drawing their cocks together. The two continued to kiss and embrace each other while Geraint fucked Brynnan with increasing passion. Then the old Warrior began to pound him hard as Samir rubbed his hardening cock against his lover’s.
Being between the two men he loved was too much for Brynnan to contain emotionally. He barely managed to hold off long enough for Geraint to cum, and when he found himself spasming in the throes of a helpless orgasm, he shot his cum all over his lover’s cock. Samir, in return, ground his hips and cock into Brynnan’s, feeling it sliding in cum.
Geraint lay down behind Brynnan with his arm around him and lifted his leg over the Bard. Thus connected, they rested, and the twice-fucked Bard fell asleep.
They spent the next few days planning the departure and its logistics. They decided to avoid the City State of Hesperon until the return journey when they could have information to present about the future invaders from beyond the sun. But there were many more settlements, fortresses and holdings along their route; some potentially hostile, some not.
There were other hazards, as well: Wolf’s Heads - deserters and thieves who lived in the wilds and preyed on anyone they could get their hands on.
Brynnan, Nijal and Geraint intended to travel light. They selected gear for compactness, high efficiency and low weight. Two well-trained packhorses of a sturdy mountain breed carried the load.
They planned to travel without guards after Scarfell Pass. Nijal knew the country intimately from his constant travels, and they would choose routes that avoided human habitation as much as possible.
An unexpected complication was Andri, who begged Samir to allow him to go with them. Brynnan could tell he was heartbroken but trying manfully to adapt to the situation. With Samir’s permission, Geraint and the Bard spent extra time with the young singer.
As well as having intense lovemaking sessions, Brynnan used harp and voice, coaching Andri with song forms Their duets attracted the interest of Samir’s close friends, who came to listen. The Bard enjoyed interacting with an audience again. Although he did some Shadow singing - he was teaching Andri the method - Brynnan stayed away from the dark songs like the one he’d composed for Samir.
At last, the day of departure arrived and the company assembled in the Redoubt’s Agora - an ample open staging area.
Brynnan stood beside his horse, a dapple grey mare named Rhiannon. He had his harp, Mavrenn, strapped to one side behind his horse’s saddle and a smaller pack and a water-skin on the other side to balance the weight. Brynnan insisted on carrying the harp himself; the rest of his gear was on a packhorse.
Geraint came over, carrying two large, steaming tankards.
“Hot wine for you, Master Bard, and mulled ale for me. It’s a chilly morning.”
“Hot soup would have suited my taste more, but I thank you.”
Brynnan was not too concerned about the cold. Travelling clothes of wool, leather and silk, covered by his wind-silk cloak, kept him warm.
They were interrupted by the arrival of a breathless Andri, clad in the black cassock of the conservatory and a matching cloak.
“I could not let you go without being here. Master Geraint, will you not reconsider and allow me to travel with you and Brynnan?”
Geraint set his empty tankard on a ledge. He sighed. “Andri, my boy, it’s too dangerous. We would not dare risk you. You have a beautiful voice but no fighting skills. And frankly, if we encounter unfriendlies or wolf- heads, you would be a tempting bait,” Geraint put an arm around the youth’s neck and pulled him close, “The Gods know, you tempt me something fierce.”
Andri raised his eyes to Brynnan in an unspoken plea. The Bard reached out and stroked Andri’s hair.
“I am of the same mind as Geraint in this. It’s because you have our love that we would see no harm come to you.”
Andri broke away and embraced Brynnan fiercely. Then he turned and did the same to Geraint.
“And it’s because I love you both that I cannot watch you go. May the Mother-of-All keep you safe!”
He turned and walked rapidly through the gathering to the entrance into the Redoubt. Geraint started forward, but Brynnan laid a restraining hand on his arm.
“Let him go, old Warrior. If you bring him back now, there will be tears. He has kept his dignity, to his credit,” he moved his hand to Geraint’s shoulder, “The months will pass. You endure it day by day - this I know too well.”
“I expect you do, lad. I wish . . . "
“MOUNT UP!” a deep voice cried, and the Warlord strode into the Agora with General Mirza at his side. The General was to assume command in the Warlord’s absence.
A groom held Samir’s mount, named Malpaisan, a polished, bronze-bay war-horse that scraped a front hoof impatiently on the ground and shook his black mane. When Samir went to mount, the horse turned his head and lipped at his sleeve. Samir paused and scratched the horse’s ears affectionately.
Geraint mounted his blue roan mare and moved up beside the Warlord - Malpaisan would not tolerate another stallion near him. He watched as Brynnan lightly vaulted into the saddle of his horse. He reflected that the Bard’s gymnastic training was paying off.
The gathered company left the great gateway of the Redoubt in the dim morning light. Brynnan was not looking far ahead. “Only let us reach Scarfell Pass,” he prayed, but he wondered if trouble was on the way. Dismissing his worries, he pulled his horse alongside Nijal’s and looked to the road ahead.
