Death’s Huntsman
The rich sounds of the harp filled the air. Brynnan’s playing was intricate and beautiful. The tune avoided sadness; instead, it evoked hope and peace. The muted sound of Torrent Mountain’s waterfall backed Mavrenn’s voice.
Cool mountain mist drifted on the terrace where Brynnan played. His thoughts were far-ranging; the almost-overwhelming task laid before him to rid the City-states of any Invaders that remained. By now, he hoped, the inhabitants of the various city-states had discovered that the Invader’s weapons were no longer functional and had themselves taken steps to reclaim their freedom.
He felt a stirring in his mind, unformed yet, but he knew whose touch it was. Nijal Silver-hand had transferred some of his blood into the Warlord Samir on the previous night. The virus carrier in the blood would affect a change in Samir’s cells, altering the hereditary material that nearly all organisms carried. It would enable Brynnan and his Lord to speak mind-to-mind, although the effects would take some days to manifest. Nijal had done the same to Geraint, and now the old Warrior’s mind communicated with Nijal and Brynnan when there was need.
Samir stepped onto the terrace, accompanied by the dog Ysbryd, or Ghost as he was commonly called. The dog lay down at Brynnan’s feet as Samir came forward bearing two tankards.
Brynnan stopped playing and accepted the cup of hot cha from his Lord. The intimate look Samir gave him pierced Brynnan’s heart with love and deep gratitude that he was alive this morning. It seemed now that every day was a precious gift since the Bard’s own death and recent resurrection.
Samir touched Brynnan’s face before sitting down beside him on the bench.
“How do you feel, my Lord? Does having the blood distress you in any way?” the Bard asked.
“I feel energized this morning as if life surged within me. Along with mind-speaking, are the other effects of our Guardian’s blood really true?”
“Sexual enhancement, certainly: your orgasms will be more intense. You will heal quicker—witness my own healings after I have been injured—resistance to poisons, enhanced strength and endurance and, hopefully, longer life, as Nijal explained.”
Samir had a faraway look in his eyes. He said, “May both our lives continue together. It is wondrous to me that my love for you lay dormant so long, even through the torture I inflicted on you, which was all the more savage as I felt then that you had betrayed me. I realize now what a fool I was to trust the words of others over yours.”
“It is over and done with my Lord. Your present love is what is important to me. But now, let me tell you of my plan.” Brynnan paused to sip his drink, his eyes on his lover.
“I expect you will disappear from me again?”
“Yes, my Lord—but only with your permission.”
“You have it. The Invaders must be defeated. But is there a danger you will not return?”
“There is always a risk. But I plan to take Rhiannon, who can travel the Shadow-realms with me and visit the Redoubts. Because of the way time moves differently there, we will not remain long in each place except for my interaction with the rulers.”
“When will you go? Don’t forget I demanded that Leader Ilchi and his commanders come to meet us outside the gates in . . . oh, four days from now. How can you accomplish your purpose in that small amount of time?”
“I will go this day. I intend to visit the main Redoubts and Holdings, but my Father, King Arawn, has also promised his aid, and his Hounds can visit many places in a single night.”
Samir shivered involuntarily. “It is a new way of warfare and still difficult for me to accept.”
“It will not replace your forces, my Lord. My own resources are not limitless, and the encounters can weary me beyond belief.”
“Actually, I am relieved to hear that. I would not have our battles regularly fought by the forces of Death. I realize, though, that these circumstances are extraordinary.”
“My Lord, would you make love with me before I go?” Brynnan said, almost hesitantly.
“I would not dream of letting you go without doing so. Come with me now.” He held out a hand.
* * *
Samir had Brynnan strip and lie on the bed, awaiting him. He returned bearing equipment: red-silk binding ropes, a black silk sash and the heavy flogger that Samir had used before on his Bard. He tied the black sash over Brynnan’s eyes, blindfolding him. Next, he bound his wrists with a length of rope, fastening them over his head to the top of the bed. He pushed a padded wedge under the Bard’s hips, raising his ass, then he bound each ankle and fastened his legs, bent at the knees, to each side of the bed. Brynnan submitted quietly to the bondage.
He felt the tails of the leather flogger drift lightly over his body, the thongs caressing his cock and thighs. Brynnan was under no illusion: pain was to come, a particular indulgence of the Warlord’s, but it would not be savage like he had once endured. The drifting of the leather falls turned into gentle strokes, which gradually increased in intensity. Samir would pause to run his hands over Brynnan’s taut muscles and caress his cock and balls. Then the flogger thudded over his thighs with a heavy impact.
Brynnan was whipped, but so skillfully, he felt the endorphin wash of heightened pleasure mixed with the pain, which was Samir’s intent. His genitals were not spared either, but he had no desire to escape this loving punishment. He became aroused, and his cock stiffened under the flogger’s impact.
“My Lord . . .” he moaned, “please, fuck me.”
“In my own time, my Bard,” Samir murmured in response.
Brynnan thought of how he could shift himself into the Shadow-realm if he so desired; that mere bonds could no longer hold him, and the thought distressed him. Indeed, by this act of bondage and the flogging, perhaps Samir thought to keep him here, and Brynnan understood his lover’s subconscious impulse. Therefore he accepted everything the Warlord gave him.
Just as the pain threatened to become overriding, Samir ceased the flogging, but he did not release Brynnan from his bonds. Instead, Brynnan felt the Warlord position himself between his legs. Samir poured lubricant onto the Bard’s ass and penetrated it with his steepled fingers. Then he pushed his hard cock inside,
Brynnan moaned. “You are my heart’s love, Lord. I surrender to you.”
The words incited the Warlord to shove his cock in deeper. He started to pound his lover without mercy. Brynnan felt helpless in the restraints. Being blindfolded concentrated his attention on the erotic sensations of having his ass fucked hard. His own stiff cock was responding, and he felt a growing urge to cum.
Samir must have sensed it because he gripped Brynnan’s cock in one hand and commanded his lover, “Cum now for me, Brynnan, as I cum inside of you.” With several final thrusts, Samir ejaculated, even as he watched the Bard’s semen spill over his body.
Samir lay down beside his lover, resting there for a time until he released him: first Brynnan’s ankles were unbound, then his wrists and finally the blindfold.
Brynnan blinked against the unaccustomed light, then rolled to his side and kissed the Warlord. Samir responded, taking his mouth fiercely. “You are mine, Brynnan. I wish I could keep you in my bonds always.
“You already do, my Lord. I am chained to your soul.”
* * *
Horse, rider and dog entered through the liminal mists into the realm of Annwn, in front of Caer Arawn, the King’s Hall and Holding. Servants took the horse, Rhiannon, as Brynnan strode into the hall. The King was expecting him. After they had embraced and kissed, Arawn said, “Go to my quarters, Brynnan. I have laid out Huntsman’s clothing for you. If you are to travel to the realms as my Huntsman, you must look the part.”
The Bard complied. In Arawn’s quarters, two servants helped him dress in a light amethyst-coloured tunic, dark grey breeches, high riding boots of dark brown leather, and a wide leather belt. Matching wrist guards and a leather baldric holding a long sheathed knife completed the attire. He slung the hunting horn strap over the opposite shoulder from the baldric and wore his own grey wind-silk cloak over all.
Back in the Hall, he sat beside the King, who looked him over in approval, then passed him a cup of wine. “Let us discuss your strategy, my son,” he said. “Take my three companion Hounds. Focus on the realm of your destination, and the Hounds shall lead you. The Pack will be summoned when you call them with a single blast of the horn. When you need my aid, blow three blasts. Now, where will you go first?”
“To the Narib redoubt, my Father, I know the Invaders would be invested in wresting the secret of the Spring Divination from Jehanadir in hopes of controlling the land itself. I understand how their minds work now.”
“And you carry the bow with you?”
“It is behind Rhiannon’s saddle.”
“Do not worry about the number of arrows you have. They will not fail you as they are formed from my own mind’s intent. As long as you need one, it will be there. Now you may go, my son.”
The King leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. Then he accompanied the Bard to the courtyard where faithful Rhiannon stood, Ysbryd at her side.
Brynnan mounted his horse. He closed his eyes, and all his mind was bent on the Narib Redoubt and on Jehanadir, the Red Prince. The now-familiar mist shimmered around him, and he took to the Shadow-ways, following the three white Hounds.
* * *
Prince Jehanadir was distraught. Anger, tinged with despair, gripped him. His warriors had rejoiced when it was found that the Invaders’ weapons could no longer harm them, and they had killed or driven their enemies from the Citadel. But for Jehanadir, his defeat was personal. The Invaders had taken his young lover, Shahin. Even now, the Invader, Leader Tarakan, made his demands.
“Call off this purge, and your boy will live. You have until sunset,” he said harshly.
Jehanadir knew his responsibility as a ruler. One boy’s life balanced against the well-being of his people: he had little choice and even less trust in Tarakan’s promise that the boy would live. He could not submit to the Invaders, but even so, he sought to delay.
Before he could speak an answer, a cold gust of wind blew in through the open terrace doors. Jehanadir felt the air pressure dropping rapidly, sensitive to his land as he was. He walked outside and lifted his eyes to the peak of Mount Narib that housed the Redoubt. It was covered in clouds. A storm was coming. Even as he watched, lightning flashed and struck somewhere close by. There was a deafening crash of thunder, and something in Jehanadir exulted. Then he heard the baying of Hounds. Lightning flashed again, and the wind blew even stronger. A curtain of heavy rain swept across the terrace, obliterating the mountain view.
There was a sudden noise within the chamber, a hissing sound. Jehanadir’s long, dark red hair flowed around him in a static aura. “Lightning is coming,” he cried out. The Invader, Leader Tarakan, cowered back. Then, in the centre of the chamber, a man stood there who had not been visible a moment before.
“Brynnan Marec Mavrenn!” the Prince cried out.
The Invader lifted his wrist, then seemed to recall his weapon no longer worked. He looked around frantically then touched the communicator behind his ear.
But Jehanadir shouted to Brynnan, “They have taken Shahin!”
Brynnan called out, “Ysbryd, dynesu!”
The dog Ghost appeared in his otherworldly aspect, terrifying to behold. He snarled, and the sound of thunder echoed in the chamber. Tarakan dropped to his knees, his arm raised over his eyes.
“Where is the boy, Shahin?”
“Outside the gates! In the ship. But you will be too late. Spare me!” Tarakan cried out in fear.
“Ysbryd, ymaflyd—seize him.” The great beast instantly obeyed, holding Tarakan by his shoulder.
“Now, picture your ship in your mind if you value your life!” Brynnan commanded.
To Jehanadir’s amazement, the two men and the great dog disappeared. He stood dumbfounded.
Inside the Invaders’ troopship, pandemonium reigned when Brynnan materialized with Ghost, still gripping the hapless Tarakan, who had fainted. Brynnan slapped him, and he came awake. Men rushed at them, but when Ysbryd unceremoniously dropped Taraken and stood guard, they backed up in terror.
“Make them bring the boy—and he better be unharmed, or death will take you all,” Brynnan said.
“Do as he says, bring the captive!” cried the terrified Leader.
There was a commotion, but then an iris door opened in a wall, and two of the Invaders came through, pushing young Shahin with them.
“Step away from him!” Brynnan called. Then: “Shahin, to me! Ghost will not harm you!”
Shahin, his long blond hair tangled and loose, bruises on the golden skin of his face, stumbled forward. Even in Ysbryd’s preternatural aspect, Shahin dared to put his arms around the beast, who suffered the embrace.
But one of the Invaders drew forth an object and hurled it towards the boy, a throwing star. Quick as lightning, Brynnan’s hand was there, and the star embedded itself in his flesh. He plucked it out and hurled it back into the man’s throat. At the same time, Ysbryd leapt forward and seized the soul as the body collapsed. The outer door of the ship opened, and the dog dragged the soul through it, even as Brynnan guided Shahin out. The storm whipped around them, but Rhiannon stood there with the three Hounds of Annwn. The rain did not touch her.
Brynnan leapt to her back. “Up!” he said to Shahin, extending an arm, and the boy obeyed.
Just as they faded into the Shadow-ways, the ship was struck by a tremendous bolt of lightning. The afterimage followed them into the Shadow-realm, and Brynnan blinked to clear his vision.
“Boy, I can take you back, or you can hunt with me if your courage allows you.”
“Let us hunt these evil creatures, Brynnan; I trust you!”
“Good.” Brynnan took the horn and winded it. The resounding cry seemed to surround them, coming from everywhere, echoing back at them. Hounds bayed, and suddenly they flooded around Rhiannon. The mare leaped forward with her two riders. Brynnan was amazed that he could carry a living body with him, protected by his own aura, but he did not stop to ponder the risk or the possible consequences: the urge in him to hunt was overriding. They flickered into the Material Realm inside the Citadel. The Hounds coursed through the streets and Brynnan followed. Nothing could stop them, not barriers or gates. Brynnan used his arrows, and the Hounds sought out and seized any Invaders they found. A Hound gripping a captive soul would disappear, only to be replaced by another.
Shahin clung tightly to Brynnan’s back, but he uttered cries of encouragement to the Pack, caught up in the excitement of the chase. When the Citadel was cleared, they ranged into the countryside, with the Hounds unerringly seeking out pockets of the resisting Invaders, and the beasts did their dread work. At last, they were done. Brynnan told Shahin to close his eyes as they transitioned again into the Shadow-ways, then the light changed, and Rhiannon stood on the terrace of the Prince’s apartments. The Hounds were gone, except for King Arawn’s three and, of course, Ghost.
Jehanadir came running onto the terrace. He expressed no surprise at seeing a horse there but instead reached up for Shahin, who fell into his arms.
“My golden boy, you are safe,” he said and wept.
But there was a faraway look in Shahin’s eyes and a strange smile on his face. “I have seen terrible and wondrous things, my Prince—”
Brynnan stepped forward, laying a hand on Shahin’s head. “Sleep now, Shahin, I bid you.”
Shahin started to sag in Jehanadir’s arms, and Brynnan swept him up, carrying him to the Prince’s bed. As he laid the boy down, he remembered their lovemaking, fucking the lad’s fresh ass. An unexpected pang of longing suffused him.
He addressed Jehanadir, “I took him where I should not have. I hope it will not affect him unduly, but for now, it is best that he sleeps.”
“But how are you here, my friend? What strange powers are these? And the Hounds of Death accompany you!”
“Just remember when our spirit forms travelled the Shadow-ways together, my friend. My body can now do the same. Unfortunately, in my enthusiasm for the hunt, I took Shahin. If anything untoward happens, get Dronnadh, your Guardian Diviner, to send me a mind message. After this is over, I swear I will return and explain things to you. Now I must leave you. I have other Redoubts to visit.”
Jehanadir said, “I will hold you to your promise, Brynnan.” He put his arms around the Bard and kissed him gratefully. “Thank you for bringing back my lover, my golden boy.”
* * *
The storm still raged outside and Brynnan, feeling weakened, re-energized through the power of the luminous red fountains that appeared high above the clouds with every flash of ground lightning below. Rhiannon also seemed strengthened by the cool red plasma that bathed them. Sky or ground seemed no obstacle to her flashing hooves, and the Hounds ranged with them.
Brynnan focused his mind on the kingdom of Redmark. He fed the image to the three white Hounds, his guides. They materialized not far from King Rhydian’s hall, by the Sacred Grove that contained the great oak tree, where Brynnan had been hung upside down. He recalled the Lord of the Wood’s visitation and their strange mating. And he remembered King Arawn’s visit, where he had first called Brynnan “My Son.” King Arawn had appeared riding Brynnan’s own horse, and now he understood how she could endure it. She was part of Annwn, just as Brynnan was. He left Rhiannon at the Grove and turned to King Rhydian’s Hall.
The King stared in disbelief when Brynnan appeared in front of him. His shock could have been more intense, especially for an ordinary man, but Rhydian’s seasonal rituals with the Deities of the Forest helped break the tide of denial.
Brynnan hastened to reassure him. “I am here, King, in the flesh. It is really me. I travel through the agency of the Cynydd Llwyd, the grey Huntsman. Be comforted! I come not for your soul but for these Invaders who have sought to attack us. How fare you with them?”
“It is strange to see you, my friend. I remember well our mating at the Winter Solstice. We have all but eliminated these creatures. They had occupied my court, but lately, we discovered that their weapons suddenly failed them, and they were overcome. A group attempted to take over the Grove, threatening to cut the sacred oak, but in the night, they were taken. The Lord of the Wood, in his aspect of Summer King, came for them. My priests at the Grove witnessed it. If any Invaders are left, they have hidden, or they seek egress back to their ship.”
“It is good to hear, King Rhydian. Nevertheless, I will summon my Father’s hounds and rout the remainder from your land.”
“You are the Huntsman’s son?” Rhydian gasped, “That explains much. I wish we had time to fully talk with one another.”
“When all is over, I will return. We must make sure this invasion never happens again. The aliens have their Mothership, a vessel great beyond normal comprehension that circles our planet. The Invaders we encountered were armed forces that sought to impose their will. But they have harmless folk that wish only a home. We will have to face that eventuality and gather a council of leaders to determine our course as a whole, whether we give refuge to some of them under our own terms or deny them.”
“Yes, I can see your points, my friend. Are their force weapons permanently disabled?”
“The Alsar Guardians destroyed the power source. They need rare minerals and earths to produce power, and we will deny them.”
“But what good are these new settlers if we take them? Surely they will seek to impose their own ways.”
Brynnan paused before answering. “You breed fine horses for the patrols of the Marches, my King. Do you not occasionally bring in new blood to keep the herd strong? There is a possibility that new blood could strengthen our own people, but that is not for me to decide. The Alsar have much more knowledge of this field than I do, but it is something that we should discuss in council. These invaders are here. We could destroy their ship, but to me, that would be a great mark against our own humanity.”
“These indeed are complex matters.” Rhydian sighed. “But for now, as you say, we will concentrate on clearing this land of enemies. I will await a summons to this council of yours after we succeed in securing the land.”
“Expect Alsar Guardians to be assigned to you," said the Bard. "They are on their way. They have mind powers to communicate with one another and with me and a select few. They will be your liaison.”
“Very well.” Rhydian stepped closer to Brynnan and ran his hand down the Bard’s body. “You are indeed real and solid. It reminds me of our Solstice Ritual when you took over my role as King. We mated with each other. At first, it was merely duty, but then I found we had an intimate connection. Perhaps in the future?”
Brynnan smiled. “Perhaps, with my own Lord’s permission . . .”
“The Summer Solstice will come,” said Rhydian with a suggestive look in his eyes.
Brynnan laughed. “Anything is possible, my Lord. We must find hopes for the future, and life continues in its rhythms. But for now, I must leave.”
They embraced, and Brynnan stepped back. He fixed his gaze on the King’s grey eyes and faded.
* * *
They scoured the land, finding only a few pockets of Invader resistance. Some surrendered, and others died, struck by the deadly arrows of Annwn, and the Hounds took their souls. At last, it was done and Brynnan, feeling unutterably weary again, returned to Annwn.
He sat beside his Father, discussing his accomplishments. He confessed how he had taken Shahin on the deadly ride with the Hounds.
“I think you will understand that it is forbidden to bring a living person’s body into the Shadow ways. But for this case, I will not extract the doom of Death on this young man. I know your heart and that you shared your love with him and with the Prince. But realize that you have limited his soul’s access to the various Worlds when his body finally dies. His soul will be drawn to this realm to become one of my subjects.”
Brynnan bowed his head. “I submit to your judgement and to your mercy, my King and Father. I only hope the soul of Jehanadir can choose the same path when his time comes to an end in the Mortal realm. Seldom have I seen two who love each other so deeply.”
“We will see,” said Arawn. “And now, come to my chambers and receive my comfort. Let me take your body and renew in you your soul’s energy by my seed. Afterwards, I bid you return to your own Lord Samir to take his love also. You need to restore yourself before your next venture. Where do you plan to go?”
“To Yrys, to King Cyndyllan’s Hall. And after that, I will finally visit the Ruithin Grand-Master, Neven Tanet.” He paused a moment, then added almost as an afterthought. “My apprentice Andri and his lover, Col, are there.”
“Your heart shows its need,” the King laughed. “But come now, and let me give you strength and comfort.”
Rising, Brynnan followed his Father from the hall.
Afterwards, Brynnan felt strengthened enough to return to the Material Realm. It was easy for him to focus on his own Lord Samir. He concentrated.
* * *
Samir lay on his bed, Geraint beside him. A long day had passed in consultation with the Council of Seven. The Warlord and the old Warrior were deep in conversation when suddenly, a silver mist enveloped them. Brynnan’s naked form materialized between the two men. With a glad cry, Samir embraced him.
“Am I too late to join you both?” Brynnan asked.
“My lover, said Samir, “we were just beginning.”
* * *
