Riders of the Storm
The Invader party from the Mothership attended the meeting in the Warlord’s chambers. One of the Ship’s Captains, Belisarius, the two Strategists, Soren and Adhiguna, and the Ambassador, Leader Ilchi, faced Lord Samir, Geraint and Nijal. Brynnan had just arrived, fresh from a journey to the Underworld.
He addressed the party. “Captain, gentlemen and Leader Ilchi. I greet you. Leader Ilchi, you gave me the opportunity to eliminate your Invasion. I must thank you for having me killed. If you had not done so, I would have merely caused a little trouble among your people, but opening the gates of death has taught me so much more.”
Leader Ilchi looked as if he had swallowed something nasty. There was a sense of defeat about him that was new.
Brynnan continued pleasantly, “I hope you have one more misdeed up your sleeve, Ilchi, because my Bardic training prevents me from harming you without cause. And you, Captain Belisarius: on your onboard conference, you were all for seizing my harp and even suggested that my captive soul could influence Necromancer Natan to play it. But you are safe from me—if you indeed value your people and their welfare. In any case, I will take directions from my Lord Samir.” Here he turned to the Warlord and bowed his head in acknowledgement.
Samir looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “I applaud your restraint, my Bard. What have you to report that these men may safely know?”
“The Invaders tried to detonate a device at ArMor-ys, at the Crag of Angels. I foiled their attempt. Doubtless, Leader Ilchi has already heard from the lone survivor.” Then he stood and placed his fists on the table before him.
“Must we play any more games, my Sojourner Lords? You only bring suffering on yourselves. Can we not truly negotiate with one another?” He looked at each one with a piercing gaze, and each dropped his eyes.
“My Bard makes a point you should all heed,” said the Warlord. “I intend to do a final sweep of our land to root out any of your troopers that you have accidentally forgotten to mention. Those who surrendered to us are held at various locations that I am sure have been communicated to you. You will have them picked up and returned to your Mothership, and there they will stay. If we do take any of your people as settlers, it will not be troopers! They have already shown their characters.”
Nijal offered his advice to Captain Belisarius, “I would look for a more humane ambassador to represent you than Leader Ilchi. His diplomacy skills are not to be trusted.”
Leader Ilchi protested. “I did as I was instructed to do!”
“And a true ambassador does not fall back on excuses,” Geraint commented.
Captain Belisarius said, “Your comments are noted, and your directives will be acted upon. I, for one, am willing to start afresh. We have travelled the Long Dark for generations: each of us taking our turn as sleepers for a time to conserve our resources. Our mission has always been to find a home for our people. I am willing to do what it takes to peacefully accomplish that if it can be done. I am sure Soren and Adhiguna agree with me. They have trained their whole life in planetary settlement strategies and will work with you. We would willingly discuss these options.”
Samir replied, “We propose a conference that will be held in Narib, at the Citadel. I have already contacted leaders of the major City-states. You will join us. Those who agree to help you should each have ambassadors from your ship to represent you. We will finalize the conference details shortly, but I suggest we break for a while. I have things that need my urgent attention. Guest quarters shall be shown to you.”
“One more thing—” added Nijal. He placed a small box on the table and slid it towards Leader Ilchi. “Open it!” he commanded.
Ilchi complied, and his eyes widened as he saw what was inside. “A Motus-clausa neural implant! From Lord Samir’s brain? But how did you—”
“It wasn’t difficult to remove. If we take your settlers, they will be free from any such devices that might control their emotions or behaviour. They will be screened. We have that technology,” said Nijal.
The Invaders—the Sojourners—stood. Ilchi stared at Nijal and Brynnan with an indecipherable glance. Perplexity still showed in his eyes.
* * *
When Brynnan and his Lord were finally alone, Samir led him into the sleeping room. Wordlessly, he turned and took the Bard in his arms. They stood for a while kissing, locked in a close embrace, although Brynnan was careful not to aggravate Samir’s healing wound.
“Come to the bed, my lover,” the Warlord eventually said. Brynnan stripped off his clothes before helping Samir disrobe. He gazed at the Warlord’s powerful body. A salt and pepper mix of gray and brown hairs covered his chest. His muscles were well-defined, and his abdominals were tight and contoured. His huge cock hung at half-mast, waiting for further arousal.
Samir was half a head taller than Brynnan, and as the Bard looked up at him, he noticed the small dressing on the side of his head.
“I am glad Nijal removed the implant that killed your emotions, my dear Lord. Ilchi might have reactivated it at any time.”
“Yes, my lover. It is gone. But let me express the emotions I feel for you now.”
He drew Brynnan onto the bed and lay beside him. They stroked each other’s bodies, exploring. Each occasion they did so, the Bard experienced new erotic discoveries; the light touch of Samir’s hand on his inner thigh that made him shiver, the kiss on the back of his neck . . .
“My Lord,” he groaned and moved down to kiss the Warlord’s body, teasing his erect nipples and licking his way down to the stiffening cock. Instead of taking Samir’s member in his mouth, he licked all around it then moved to his tightening ball sack. He took each testicle into his mouth and sucked on it, making the Warlord moan. Then he licked his way up the shaft of the massive cock that was becoming fully hard. Samir sighed and placed his hand in Brynnan’s dark hair that draped like a curtain over his genitals.
“Suck it now, my Bard,” he commanded in a tone that brooked no disobedience.
Brynnan obeyed. Concentrating at first on the glans, piss slit and frenum, he tongued it skillfully. Then the urge overtook him to deep-throat the cock, and he took it in his mouth, sucking in long, slow pulls. Samir’s grip in his hair tightened as then he growled, “On me!”
Brynnan moved up until he was astride his Lord. He poured lube on his hand and slicked it all over the erect cock before guiding it to his ass. He took it slowly, gasping a little as the phallus pushed into his rectal passage. His flesh constricted around the shaft. He moaned as Samir’s balls pressed against his ass. The penis was all the way inside. He moved his body to fuck the cock even as Samir’s hips rocked against him. Then his Lord half-sat and embraced Brynnan’s body with one arm. He rolled him over until he was on top and the Bard lay beneath him gazing up into the Warlord’s ice-grey eyes. But the look in them was warm, not cold, and the expression on his face spoke of ownership and love. Brynnan surrendered utterly to his lover.
But now Samir drove his cock in hard. He pumped with a robust and vigorous rhythm, not gentle.
“I am going to fuck you until you cum,” he said to Brynnan.
“Yes . . . fuck me, my Lord. Put your cum into me, please . . . I beg you for it!”
Samir obliged, stroking even harder and faster.
“Mmmh! Take me, my Lord and lover!”
Brynnan felt a flood of love and possession enter his mind. The Warlord’s mind-powers were now active, and Brynnan revelled in it. He opened his mind fully to his Lord, shielding nothing; every intimate inclination and thought laid bare. Their minds melded, even as did their bodies. Brynnan knew he was going to cum. He didn’t have to tell his Lord; Samir felt it, and his own orgasm was triggered.
Then orgasm took them both, and there was no separating it into mine or thine. The flood of ecstasy swept over them, an incredible intimacy, joining them into one complete being. The Bard dimly heard Samir’s tiger roar as the Warlord expressed the outpouring of whole-body sensation. Brynnan felt shattered.
Samir collapsed over him, breathing heavily. When he had caught his breath, he kissed Brynnan, and they lay for some time, floating down from that space that was uniquely their own.
“I will make a time when Geraint can help you do a deep clean-out,” the Warlord said. “I want to deep-fist you again. I want to seize your heart once more and feel its beat.”
Brynnan remembered that night, moons ago, when the Warlord had made Brynnan, at that time still his captive, into his willing sex slave. That night he had finally recognized and allowed his deep-seated feelings for Samir to come to the fore. They had shared a physical intimacy so incredible that Brynnan thought it could never be repeated until this very occasion when their minds had melded. He thought of what such fisting would be like now and shivered in lust and longing. Both now shared Nijal’s blood, whose effects had changed them beyond the cellular level to include mind-speech and the benefit of increased sexuality. He was eternally grateful they had both survived to share this day.
Eventually, Brynnan stirred and said, “And now, my Lord—”
“—you must depart,” finished the Warlord. “Somehow, you will sweep the remnants of Invader aggression from this land.”
“Yes. This will be a difficult ride for me, but I intend to employ my Father’s help. I fear those who remain will be the hard core of the Invaders, the ones who are so dedicated to their mission to overcome us that they will defy their masters’ orders to withdraw. I am afraid I must show them no mercy. It burdens my soul.”
“My Lover, strive to accept who you truly are. You are more than Bard and Ruithin Priest. I am coming to see you as the Dread Huntsman’s son. I used to react against even the mention of witchcraft, as you well remember, but now my mind is opening to undreamed-of possibilities. I now know that you have escorted the souls of the dead in the battles you attended with me. I know you can journey in spirit, as you did when your Raven-form visited me. And I accept that your body can disappear from my arms and return to me. Be bold; seize the opportunities and responsibilities you are given!”
“I shall model my outlook on yours, my Lord. You are the one who makes the hard decisions others do not have to face, even though some accuse you of being ruthless; cruel even. But I know it is implacable courage in the face of what-must-be.”
* * *
Rhiannon emerged from the Shadow mists into storm clouds. Brynnan felt the shifting polarities within the cloud as lightning danced from one area to another, seeking equilibrium. Earth could not hold him or his horse. Ysbryd and three of the hounds of Annwn accompanied them.
They rose above the storm to where the red sprite lightning blossomed in the thin air at each ground lightning strike. Brynnan drank in its energy before sinking to the clouds again. Then he raised the Horn of Annwn to his lips and sounded three blasts. The baying of hounds filled his ears above the noise of wind and thunder. They appeared like a swirling white wind of moving bodies, red eyes glittering. Then lightning flashed close, and in the after-image, King Arawn, leader of the Wild Hunt, appeared. There were other Riders about him, his train of hunters from his court. He moved his horse, Llwydrew—Hoarfrost—beside Rhiannon.
“Hail my son! This day we hunt together. Ride with me, and we will sweep the land. My hunters shall assist us, scouring the wild places where only nomad tribes dwell. We give no quarter, do you understand this?”
“Yes, my Father, and I fully accept my duty.”
“Then ready your bow and let us ride!”
So saying, he turned his stallion, Rhiannon’s very sire. They outrode the storm itself, sweeping in the air, shredding the low cloud cover with their turbulence.
Observers below could not see them, but they heard the hounds. Some cowered, making signs of warding; others prayed they would not be victims this day. But the Hunt was targeted on one thing only, the hidden Invaders, the defiant ones.
Their prey was soon discovered. Brynnan had his bow ready and the quiver at his knee. Invaders scattered before him, but he picked them off with the deadly arrows. Ysbryd, the great dog, leapt among the falling men in his otherworldly aspect, seizing souls. The hounds joined him, and they snarled and squabbled over over the bodies, dragging out the hapless souls and disappearing with them.
Time was frozen as they travelled from place to place, and nowhere was forbidden to them, whether it was among mountains, over lakes or crossing parched deserts. They would cross in seeming instants to emerge into realtime when they found their quarry.
Events passed in a blur for Brynnan. He rode at his Father’s side, focussed wholly on his task. The touch of Arawn’s thoughts was his guide. He did not count the souls.
At last, there seemed to be an end. The silver mists of the Shadow-ways enveloped them once more, and they touched down in Arawn’s realm in front of Caer Annwn, the King’s fort.
Grooms came out to take the hunters’ weary horses, whose eyes sparked red like the hounds, and servants came out with cups of the green, summer-tasting wine. The hunters dispersed, and the servants ushered the King and Brynnan inside towards the thrones. Competent hands took their hunt clothing from the two men and brought the amethyst robes. Brynnan felt himself begin to relax as the heavy silk touched his skin.
“Turn your mind to our realm, my son,” said Arawn. “You have taken place in your first Great Hunt, but it will not be your last. I am there, where battles rage and men’s hearts are filled with hatred. But those who fight to defend what they love are given a kinder fate, one you are also part of. You will continue to lead the souls of the dying. It was always part of the heritage that you share with me.”
“My Father, it seems we will allow some of these Invaders—no, I must call them Sojourners now—into our land. Will they be able to cross the Great Desert after their deaths also and seek out their own afterlives?”
“You speak of the deep mysteries, and there are parts of it even I am forbidden to disclose, but the short answer is ‘yes.’”
The King put down his cup. “And now, my son, my thoughts turn to the renewal of your Spirit.”
Arawn led him to a chamber in a part of the great halls he had never been. This chamber had a deep, wide pool filled with steaming water and stone steps leading down into it. The ceiling was tiled with deep blue lapis-lazuli stone inset with a pattern of golden stars.
The King and his son stripped off their robes and entered the waters. A gentle scent filled the air, like pine trees in sunlight on an open mountainside. Brynnan breathed deeply as he immersed himself and swam across the pool, diving down to a bottom formed of slabs of rose quartz. He felt his stiff muscles loosen and also the lessening of stress and a peculiar grief he had felt. Surfacing, he swam to the edge of the pool once more.
His Father embraced him in the water and kissed his mouth. “This pool has healing properties, but let me take your body now.”
Three servants, fair young men wearing only brief cloths about their waists, towelled them down, then led them to a wide table in an alcove off the pool area. The youths rubbed their skin with scented oils and massaged their limbs. At a nod from Arawn, they were allowed to rub the oil into Brynnan’s and the King’s cocks, which stiffened under their skilled ministrations.
Arawn bid his son lie back while he arose and knelt above him. “I am going to fuck you, my son. My seed shall give you the energy you need to return to the Material World. Arvid here shall attend us. He is a favourite of mine and very skilled.”
The servant Arvid was a handsome youth with golden skin and red-gold hair in many long braids tied back with a strip of blue leather. His body was smooth and free of hair, and his musculature was defined. He stripped the cloth from his waist, exposing a well-shaped erect penis. “It is my pleasure to serve you both, my Lords.”
Arawn bent forward and kissed the Bard. Then he straightened and pushed his hard, oiled cock into his son’s rectum, beginning to pump slowly.
Arvid stood at the side of the table and sucked Brynnan’s nipples. Excitement ran through the Bard in an erotic current, straight to his cock, and he moaned. The attendant youth then reached down and grasped Brynnan’s proud shaft, masturbating it.
“You may suck him if you wish, my son,” said Arawn, with a smile.
“Yes, give me your cock, Arvid.”
The table was at the right height that Arvid could stand with his cock over it, and Brynnan shifted his shoulders and head so he could reach it. He closed his mouth on the youth’s warm hardness, taking it in. He sucked hard on it as the young attendant pinched and played with his nipples.
King Arawn said, “It excites me to see you suck cock on Arvid. I myself have done it to my servant, and I know the pleasure he gives you.” The King now thrust harder and faster into his son’s ass.
Arvid reached again and manipulated Brynnan’s cock. “May I cum in your mouth, Lord?” he asked, and Brynnan made an assenting noise in his throat. The youth moaned in his lust and jerked faster on Brynnan’s cock.
“Come, both of you, and I will give you my semen,” Arawn commanded them.
Brynnan and Arvid came together, with the boy ejaculating into Brynnan’s mouth while the Bard himself spilled his cum over the attendant’s hand.
“Yes, swallow it, my son,” said the King. “I am cumming inside you now!” Arawn spilled his load inside Brynnan’s ass with a few final hard thrusts. Brynnan cried out at feeling his Father’s spasms, and he instinctively squeezed the cock hard with his rectal muscles. The King threw back his head, his long hair flowing down his back, an expression of ecstasy on his handsome, bearded face.
“You have my love, son,” he said as he recovered himself.
* * *
When Brynnan returned to the Material World, he felt a desire to be alone to process his thoughts. Instinctively he took his harp to the terrace in the Warlord’s apartments and seated himself on a stone bench. He listened to the waterfall for a while before gently touching Mavrenn’s strings. He played melancholy and introspective tunes. Then he lifted his voice in song, singing ancient ballads from his own country. Time passed in a calm that soothed his soul. He reminded himself that he was Bard as well as Huntsman.
A voice entered into his calm. “Can I disturb you, lad?”
Brynnan looked up but did not cease playing. “Come, Geraint, and sit with me.”
Geraint sat. He was silent for a time. “I cannot imagine the day you have had, but I am glad to see you back safe. I hope there comes a time when your wanderings are fewer. M’Lord Samir does not express it to me, but I see the worry in his eyes, and it’s not like him. I suppose losing you will do that.”
“But I am found again. Life demands daily sacrifices, but there is also joy. My Lord and I experienced it deeply this morning before I left.”
Brynnan touched Geraint’s mind and briefly let him into his time of lovemaking he had shared with the Warlord.
“I had no idea this mind-stuff could make such feelings possible; I hope you will touch my mind when we share our bodies together,” said Geraint with a sigh.
Brynnan laughed, “Count on it, friend. Although I think I will keep some thoughts to myself.”
“You told me about Andri and Col at ArMor-ys. When we have this conference, I hope we can come together as a group again, like when we travelled together. I have more things to teach young Col.”
“So he said when we talked. But there is also a certain warrior-woman, named Catlin Cryf, asking after you. She asked me to remind you of your promise.”
Geraint actually blushed. “Yes, well . . . I like a little variety in my life.”
“In this conference, we may meet others we have shared our bodies with. Will that be enough variety for you?”
“Perhaps the Trader’s son, Fahd, and also Bertholf will be there.”
“You perhaps can reach Bertholf with your mind, now. He is a Runemaster and has connections with the spirit world. Why don’t you try later?”
“All this thought of sex is making me hungry,” Geraint laughed.
“We will share a meal this evening,” said Brynnan.
At that moment, Nijal and Samir appeared on the terrace, accompanied by Captain Belisarius. Brynnan stood up and embraced his Lord. Then he looked at Belisarius and did not spare him the news.
“Your Invaders have been destroyed. Let this be an end to it.”
Belisarius nodded heavily. “I know. I received some distress calls.”
Samir said. “Are you prepared to start over, Belisarius?”
“Yes, Warlord Samir. We will be at this meeting of leaders. Rest assured, we will attempt to do no more harm. The cost to us has proved too high.”
Nijal said, tomorrow, we will enter the Redoubt. I will need you, Brynnan. And no, Belisarius and his group will not go with us. Without a resolution, there will be no access.”
“What are you looking for,” asked Geraint curiously.
“I will tell you later.”
Brynnan took up his harp again and began to play softly. Captain Belisarius turned away to leave, but the harp notes caught him. “May I stay awhile and listen? We talked about this wondrous artifact of yours, but I did not imagine this rich sound.”
Brynnan glanced at Samir, who nodded. “Then stay, Captain.”
“But will it not affect my mind? Brynnan’s soul itself told us it could.”
Samir smiled. “It always affects our minds and hearts, Belisarius. It is part of the magic Brynnan and his harp possesses. Stay or go, depending on your courage.”
The harp notes turned into an intricate tune that caught Belisarius’s emotions.
“The Powers know that my mind and heart have been affected this day. I will risk this wondrous power.”
Captain Belisarius stayed to listen.
‘It is not only the hunt that captures souls,’ Brynnan reflected and was comforted.
* * *
