Date: Mon, 28 Apr 2003 19:58:10 -0700 (PDT)
From: Corrinne S <quasito_cat@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dark Wishes Installment 6: Part Two Chapters 1-3

Note: This is a gay themed novel about kings and
magic, love and war.  Although I will often allude to
sexual encounters, there are no scenes of sexual acts
for this is, by and large, a love story.  This author
claims exclusive copyright to the characters,
settings, and plot.

Dark Wishes

M.C. Gordon

Part Two: Karandal

Chapter One

     LLewelyn, King of Endril, paced back and forth,
glancing out the window of his apartments from time to
time as he watched his army prepare to head toward yet
another battle.  He was sick and weary of war, this
war, any war.  From his father's time the entire ten
kingdoms had been tearing each other apart.  Duke
fought Duke or King.  Kings fought each other.  Fields
that should have been filled with grain ripe for
harvest were instead bloody battlefields.  And the
dead were everywhere.

     "The kingdoms are under the curse of the Qell,"
he heard his warriors repeat as the years drug by in
endless misery.  And Llewelyn was ready to believe
them.  He had spent his entire life listening to
rumors of the Qell, those ancient lords of magic who
had ruled with justice and compassion until the death
of a boy drove them insane and they destroyed
everything good and innocent.  Oh so the legends told.
 Llewelyn believed only part of what he heard for many
refugees from the starvation that existed in Elanen
told a different tale.

     The King passed one hand through his hair and
thought again of the offer he had received from one of
those refugees, a wizened little man who called
himself Menfred.  The man claimed to be the son of one
of Elanen's powerful forest grandmothers, a follower
of the ancient cult of Frayne and Nels whom legend
told were the only ones of the Qell lovers to survive
the bloodletting at the end of the first Qell War
against mankind.

     "Is this really a new Qell War?" Llewelyn asked
himself time and again.  History said that the ashes
of the Qell had been scattered far and wide, but
superstition suggested that they had some way reunited
in another search for vengeance.  Not so, according to
those from Elanen who had found surcease in Endril.
Llewelyn rubbed his fingertips into his aching
temples.  Whom should he believe and in what direction
was he to lead his kingdom?

     The army staggered home three days later, heavy
in spirit and lighter by nearly a thousand men.  That
he had suffered the least loss of warriors did little
to ease Llewelyn's aching spirit.  There had to be a
way to end the civil wars that swept through the
kingdoms like wildfires.

     The weary king stripped his bloody armor and
tunic from his body and sank into the mattress of his
own bed, seeking the warmth and comfort of his wife.
Bolyn drew him to her, embraced him, and gave him safe
harbor in which to sleep.

     Sleep was ripped away when the captain of his
guard woke him abruptly with news, carried through
picket lines by a ragged and emaciated boy from
Elanen.            "Beg pardon, Sire," Ivadal said
with all due apology to the King and Queen, "terrible
news from Elanen."

     Llewelyn sighed deeply, rubbed his left hand
across his eyes and unshaven face, shook his head as
if to dispel cobwebs, and got out of bed.  Aching with
the need for sleep, he kissed his wife and allowed his
servants to quickly wash away the blood from his face
and hair and dress him in a gown of soft wool.
Feeling as kingly as was possible at the moment, he
went to see the messenger from Elanen.

     A lad of perhaps twelve or thirteen years, brown
hair matted and wearing a shabby gray tunic too small
for his gangly limbs, threw himself down at Llewelyn's
feet.  "Mercy for Elanen," the boy pleaded.

     Llewelyn sent a servant for food and drink.
"Compose yourself, boy, and put something in your
stomach before you tell me what has gone wrong now."
The King nibbled at a piece of hard cheese and sipped
goat's milk while he watched the starving lad eat.
When the boy showed signs of his hunger being appeased
Llewelyn put down his cup and said, "Tell me your name
and give me your message."

     "Torin, Majesty, son of Elian the goat herder.
Only now there are no goats to herd.  A terrible
barbarian horde has swept through Elanen slaughtering
and raping.  Our herds are gone, our few grain fields
burned, young boys and girls tortured, raped, and
split like melons on their swords.  Alone of the
kingdoms, Endril has ever stood by Elanen and, My
Lord, we have need of you if any are to survive!"

     The maturity of the words, from one so young,
struck Llewelyn to his soul.  Was this all that
remained of the once proud kingdom of the Qell Lords?
Children thrust into adulthood when they should have
been playing?  "Is there reason to believe that the
Qell raised this horde?" he asked, hoping the boy
would deny the question.

     "Some fear so, Sire," Torin said.  "We have
always believed that the evil legends about the Qell
were false."

     "Then fools you were and fools you remain!" a
voice shouted from the door and Menfred, leaning on a
gnarled staff, entered: unbidden and uninvited.  His
presence dominated the room.  His white hair flew
around his face and he looked like a fanatical prophet
to some unknown god.

     "There was always an evil about the Qell, deep,
dark, buried.  It was that evil that finally defeated
them."  He looked directly at Llewelyn.  "The ancient
kings of Endril knew them well, understood that there
was a duality to their nature.  They both loved and
feared those lords of magic.  I tell you again,
Llewelyn King of Endril and friend to Elanen, I know a
way to stop this madness.  The dark side of the Qell
that now invades Elanen in the form of barbarians can
be overcome."

     The King's guards, momentarily stunned, regained
their senses and made as if to seize the old man and
remove him.  "Touch me not!" Menfred shouted and
banged his staff against the stone floor, causing a
bit of flame to burst forth.  The guards made the sign
against evil and withdrew, looking to their King for
guidance.

   "Look around you, Llewelyn!" Menfred said to the
King with a raised voice.  "The land is dying, rotting
from beneath.  Fields are no longer fertile.  Your
livestock no longer produce young.  The people are
beginning to turn against each other.  This is the
evil of the Qell.  Defeated and separated centuries
ago, they have returned to exact their vengeance on
all mankind for their deaths."

     "And you know how to defeat them?" Llewelyn
asked.

     "Another of their kind must be brought forth into
mortal form.  One who possesses all that was once good
and pure of their spirits.  It is my belief that the
only way to defeat their evil is to overcome it with
their good."

     "And you can do this?" Llewelyn asked, not quite
sure that he believed the crazed old man.

     "I can, My Lord," Menfred replied.

     "Then do so."

     Menfred stuck his staff against the floor again --
once, twice, thrice.  In a language none understood
but the old man himself, he summoned the elements.
"Earth, for the dust to form a man, I call upon you.
Air, for that man to breathe, I summon you.  Water,
for you are essential to all life, I require you.
Fire, that which we fear the most but which purifies
us, I beckon you.  Hear me, Magic, who formed the
world and created the Qell before Man was a thought,
come to me."

     The room was filled with a whirlwind that blinded
all.  When the wind stopped and the dust settled, a
tall creature -- long black hair reaching over his
shoulders, glanced about the room with silver eyes.
Oblivious of his nakedness he asked, "Master?  Who am
I?"

Chapter Two

     Llewelyn removed his cloak and wrapped it about
the naked body standing in the center of the room.
Glancing into the odd silver eyes, the King shuddered:
not because he sensed evil, but because he sensed
tremendous power behind the blank stare.

     Menfred took the apparition by one hand and led
him to a chair in front of the fireplace.  "Sit," he
commanded and the figure obeyed.  "Look deeply into
the fire for it will show you the shadows of who you
once were."

     Dazed, lost, and confused, the new creation gazed
into the fire.  He saw shapes, shadows, images of tall
men.  The vision of those men caused him to touch
gingerly at the hair that fell over his face covering
his left eye and draping over his shoulders. He seemed
to be more like them than any of the strangers in the
room.  The windows were suddenly blown open by a
strong wind that carried names to his ears.  He
wrinkled his brow and closed his eyes, letting what he
had seen in the fire and heard in the wind settle into
his mind.  Memories teased and beckoned him.

     "You know who you are," Menfred said.  "Listen,
and the elements will tell you."

     He listened carefully to the whispers that seemed
to bounce from one wall to another.  A mouse scurried
down the corridor beyond the closed door, its tiny
feet making minute scratching sounds.  He wished it
would stop the noise, and the mouse disappeared.

     Menfred remained standing, leaning on his staff.
Llewelyn and his guards held their breath, unsure what
to think.  Torin dropped to his knees and whispered
one word, barely audible, "Qell."

     He stood, letting the cloak fall to the ground.
His body was magnificent in the firelight with
well-formed muscles and flat stomach.  The red and
orange flames from the fireplace cast a ruddy glow on
skin that was whiter than snow and nearly translucent.
 Another strong wind blew through the room sending
strands of long raven hair whipping about his face and
body.  He lifted one arm and the wind subsided.

     Taking his first tentative steps on his own, he
slowly crossed the room toward Torin.  Llewelyn made
to stop him but Menfred signaled for the King to
remain in place.  Torin started to tremble as the
apparition approached him and tears of fear ran down
his cheeks.

     One hand with long, graceful fingers reached down
and lifted the boy's chin.  A puzzled look passed
through the silver eyes.  The boy gasped as both hands
clasped his own and raised him to his feet.

     "My name is Trelaine," he said.  "What is yours?"

     Menfred, Llewelyn, the guards ... all finally
remembered to breathe.  They started to move,
cautiously, around the room.  Menfred retrieved the
cloak and placed it once again around Trelaine's
shoulders.

     The corridor was suddenly filled with the sound
of men approaching and the doors were thrust open as
Egraine, a Lord of Elanen entered the room.  His
mission was vital, for he had come to entreat Endril's
help for Elanen, unaware that the son of a goat herder
had already made that same request.  Egraine stopped.
Stared.  He was unsure how to feel or what to think
when he saw the scene before him.  He knew he was
seeing one of the Qell Lords, but which and why?

     Trelaine, exhausted from the strain of his
summoning, was near to collapsing when Menfred reached
out and took his arm.  "Come," he said.  "You need
rest.  If His Majesty would be so kind as to allow a
place for us?" he queried of Llewelyn.

     The King forced his mind to think.  "The tower
room is empty," he said, "if that is sufficient."

     "Perfect," Menfred responded.  "Trelaine will
need time and silence in which to remember what he
used to be, what he now is."

     As Menfred led Trelaine from the room, behind the
household guard who would escort them to the tower,
Egraine turned his attention to Llewelyn.  He was
almost afraid to ask what had transpired.

     "I know your question before you ask," the King
said.  "That unkempt countryman of yours believes the
only way to defeat the evil that has invaded us was to
summon one of the Qell.  Just do not ask me what good
this ... this Trelaine will serve.  He does not even
realize that he is a lord of magic.  According to
Menfred, this creation contains none of their
darkness.  Until Menfred can prove different to me, I
believe he has conjured a half-wit."

     "But his eyes, Majesty, did you see into his
eyes?" Egraine asked.

     "Let us say that he saw into mine.  Oh, I don't
know what to think.  Menfred has either brought forth
our savior or our destruction.  Until we know which,"
he said, "we must make our own plans to save what we
can of Endril and Elanen.  This boy, Torin, informs me
that Elanen is now threatened by barbarians."  Turning
his attention to the awe-struck child Llewelyn said,
"Go and tell Cook that she is to find a place for you
to sleep and feed you all you can eat.  The hounds
will benefit from a few less table scraps."

     When Torin left, happy to be beyond the King's
attention, Llewellyn retrieved his maps of Elanen and
set about with Egraine to plan battle strategies.

Chapter Three

     Llewelyn despaired of Trelaine ever showing more
than a child-like curiosity when Menfred died suddenly
and the quasi-Qell turned to the king as his mentor.
Trelaine's endless questions set his nerves on edge
and he wondered how Menfred had maintained such
uncommon patience with the creature.  The battlefield
was almost preferable to dealing with Trelaine.

     His household staff was reluctant to spend much
time with Menfred's summoning for the legends of the
Qell were a mixture of awe and fear.  Trelaine himself
did little to ease their qualms in the first days of
his existence, casting wishes about carelessly.  If he
wished to see rain, it rained.  When he wished to see
a newborn babe, every woman who was with child gave
birth and the healers scurried about trying to save
the lives of many who were born before their time.
Menfred had chided him time and again about the power
of his wishing.

     Llewelyn had no choice but to take Trelaine with
him when he went to battle with Egraine against the
horde that threatened Elanen, a horde believed by many
to be an evil legion raised by the spirits of the long
dead Qell.  Hoping against hope, Llewelyn had Trelaine
hold each weapon thinking Miralen's memories would
manifest themselves.  And each time he was sorely
disappointed.

     When the horde had reached as far into Elanen as
the ancient capitol of Aolane, Llewelyn and Egraine
knew it was their final chance at victory.  If the
horde was indeed the Qell, and if they occupied their
ancient fortress, the kingdoms would fall, one by one.
 As the decisive battle neared, the King of Endril and
Lord of Elanen called their captains together for one
last time to discuss their plan of battle.

     Trelaine understood little, but he did understand
that it was of utmost importance to protect Aolane.
He listened as Llewelyn and Egraine made their final
plans.  When the captains left he walked to Llewelyn
and faced him.

     "Give me armor and a sword," he said.

     "You know nothing of fighting," Llewelyn replied
scornfully.

     "I have watched your warriors practice for
battle," Trelaine responded.  "Menfred told me that I
would remember what I need to, when I need to.  I will
try very hard to remember what I am supposed to know.
Place me in the front line with your men.  Perhaps I
will remember in the heat of battle.  If not, and I am
killed, then you lose nothing."

     "I have no armor for you," Llewelyn said.  "Go to
bed and do not bother me again with such a foolish
offer."  His unspoken thought was that Trelaine had
just offered a way to rid himself of the bothersome
creature.  But Llewelyn had been raised to believe
that all life was to be valued, even a half-wit
summoning.

     The armies assembled the next morning.  The
cavalry of Llewelyn and Egrain would be the first to
charge the enemy, followed by the infantry.  The
magnificent war-horses were covered with armor.  Their
manes and tails had been trimmed to prevent the enemy
from grasping at them and distracting the steeds from
their primary responsibility.  All save one, black as
a starless night and larger than the others.  Trelaine
called the stallion Kamekas and fed him apples, the
only one who could approach the steed.

      He had appeared one day before a battle.  He
would let no man ride him or place a saddle on his
back.  But, riderless, he had been at the forefront of
a cavalry charge.  He had bitten and kicked at man and
horse and caused the death of many of the enemy.
Egraine believed that he had belonged to a warrior who
must be dead.

     In their preparation for the coming fight,
Llewelyn and Egraine forgot about Trelaine.  But the
summoning had not forgotten.  He knew that he must
take part in the coming battle.  His senses tingled
and his memory begged to be released.  He slipped
quietly from his tent, found a sword, and joined the
infantry as they formed behind the cavalry.  Some of
the men made the sign against evil when they saw him.
One, from Elanen, left his place in line and returned
with a battered shield for Trelaine.  The
battle-hardened veteran nodded his head one time as he
handed him the shield.

     The armies met.  The sound of lances smashing
into shields echoed through the small valley, mixed
with the scream of horses as they fell.  The infantry
rushed forward, carrying Trelaine with them.

     Confused, dazed, overwhelmed by what was
happening around him Trelaine suddenly wished that he
knew what he was supposed to do.  The thought barely
crossed his mind when Kamekas charged toward him.
Trelaine grasped a handful of mane and quickly pulled
himself to the stallion's back.  He kneed the giant
horse forward, swinging his sword, and cut a path for
the infantry to follow.  His arm moved with lightning
speed as he hewed and hacked his way forward, Kamekas
dancing his way over and around the dead that fell in
ever increasing numbers.

     Rallied by the sight of the pale figure on the
fearsome stallion, long black hair of both flying
loose in the wind, the men of Elanen found hope and
courage.  To them, superstitious as are all from that
kingdom, Trelaine represented that part of the Qell
that Frayne and Nels had fought so hard to keep alive.
 The men fought with renewed zeal and heightened
spirits as they followed him forward into the fray.

     The world was silent when the final battle of the
long war was over.  Llewelyn looked at the carnage
that had been a battlefield.  He was weary and wished
only to return to his castle, his wife, and his son.
But he knew he had one final thing to do.  Elanen
needed a king.

     "Well, Egraine?" he asked, "will you assume the
kingship?  I can grant you that."

     "Not I," Egraine replied.  "The true king of
Elanen is Trelaine."

     Llewelyn looked at Egraine in shock.  "Are you
sure?  I know he surprised us today on the
battlefield, but do you think he is ready to assume
the mantle and responsibilities?  Elanen is starving.
The land needs a good administrator to lead the people
back into prosperity.  Do really believe Trelaine can
do that?"

     "Majesty," the lord replied, "long have my
countrymen and I sought the return of the Qell.
Before the tragedy that caused their fall, they were
benevolent rulers and all of the ten kingdoms
prospered.  I know, only in Elanen is this believed,
with good reason.  The legends of their fall are also
true.  But Trelaine will not be alone in caring for
the kingdom.  My brother Lords and I will be his
advisors.  There will be no covenants made, only
homage of a people to their King."

     Llewelyn considered the idea, nodded his head,
and crossed the battlefield to where one of his own
men, Karandal, was aiding the weary Trelaine from
Kamekas.  The look on Karandal's face was not lost on
Llewelyn.  He had long known that Karandal would never
take a wife, but he had not considered that the Duke
of Enworthy would find his heart's desire in Menfred's
summoning.

     "Trelaine," the King said as he approached them,
"Elanen is free of the recent threat.  The kingdom
needs a gentle hand now to make the transition into
peace and prosperity.  Egraine has suggested, and I
agree, that you would make the most fitting king, for
Qell you once were and Qell you are again."

     "I?" Trelaine asked.  "I know nothing of being a
king."

     "As you knew nothing of battle before today?
Your kind ruled here once and should rule again.  Your
memories will return as they are needed.  Egraine and
the other Lords will be your council."

     Llewelyn removed the circlet of gold from his
head and centered it on Trelaine's head.  "Hear me!"
he shouted, his voice echoing across the quiet
battlefield.  "Trelaine is crowned King of Elanen!"

     The first to go on bended knee was Egraine.
"Welcome home, My Lord," he said.  "Long have we
waited for your return."


To be continued.

Comments to quasito_cat@hotmail.com