Date: Thu, 12 Jun 2003 22:02:32 -0700 (PDT)
From: Corrinne S <mdaigle@prodigy.net>
Subject: Dark Wishes Installment 19: Part Three Chapters 16-17

Note: This a gay themed fantasy 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.

Chapter Sixteen

     Rangel was not present, for the moment he
realized that the one he loved had seen a powerful
vision he headed for the bell that summoned the
townsfolk in times of emergency.  By the time Belatrec
and Trelaine went into the small courtyard that was
the center of the hamlet, Rangel had arranged the
people of Caern Arvis into work groups.  Women were
busy packing what food they could spare while children
tore rags into bandages and old grandmothers brought
out their precious healing herbs.  The men hitched
horses to wagons and began to fill them with the
supplies the women were preparing.

     "Blankets!" Rangel yelled.  "Bring all the
blankets we have for the next trading fair!"

     Silence greeted him until one young man spoke.
"What will we use to barter for food to see us through
the next year?" he asked.

     "If the valley is destroyed by flood and death
there will not be anyone to barter with," Rangel
replied, "or any food to trade.  Three years back,
when the winter storms left us freezing to death, did
the valley folk not make a passage here and take us
into their homes?"

     Trelaine stood at the entry to Belatrec's cottage
and watched the scene.  Fanna touched his arm and
nodded his head toward Rangel, indicating that he was
also paying attention to the young man.  Trelaine
signaled Carip and the captain sent the guard to give
their assistance.

     When the wagons were full and the men ready,
Trelaine entered the cottage one last time.  Crossing
the room he took Loricia's small hands in his and bid
her gaze into his eyes.  "My magic will not allow me
to see into the future, little sister," he said, "but
it does let me sense that you can.  What does your
sight tell you?"

     She drew herself to her full height, the top of
her head barely meeting the king's chest, and raised
her head to look into his eyes.  "The people might
survive with our help," she replied, "but the land
will be destroyed and many of the game animals will
die.  They will be too few for us to hunt for food.
If we should do so, then they will cease to exist
here.  We will all starve this coming year."

    "No, mistress," Trelaine replied.  "You will not
starve."

     He strode out the door and into the now crowded
courtyard.  "My men and I will go with you," he told
Rangel, for the disgraced son seemed to have matters
under control.  "We will help as we can.  I cannot
change the weather but I can cast my magic out to
protect the most helpless, both people and animals.
My guard will augment the number of your men, and
Fanna has learned some healing arts."

     "Thank you, Majesty," Rangel replied.  "Your
presence will give hope to all."

     "And," Trelaine added, raising his voice so that
all could hear, "many years ago I set aside a portion
of Elanen's bounty for those in need.  The kingdom
will provide for all who suffer from this event."

     With the knowledge that the King would lend his
person to the present and his aid to the future, the
men of Caern Arvis set out toward the valley below.

 . . .

     Two months passed and Trelaine and Fanna were
back in the mountain hamlet.  Banners and bright flags
hung from windows and the eaves of buildings.  The
courtyard was filled with people who overflowed into
the forest that surrounded the hamlet.  Children ran
gleefully around the tents that had been erected.

     "So many people," Loricia said as she stood next
to Rangel, his arm around her.  The shy girl could not
believe the number of people who had come to her
wedding.


     They had not been able to stop the floodwaters
earlier, but the men of Caern Arvis had worked with
the villagers of Blaenau Ffestin to save what they
could.  Their combined efforts had saved all of the
livestock, food reserves, clothing, and essential
household items.  No lives had been lost, although
many nearly were.

     The destruction was so complete that there would
be no planting or harvest and Trelaine had held to his
word.  When he and Fanna returned for the wedding they
brought wagons loaded with food and supplies.  With
their homes lost, the valley residents found temporary
refuge in Cairn Arvis while the men recruited by Lord
Willen rebuilt the valley villages.

     "I find it hard to believe the High King himself
blessed our marriage," Rangel said to his beaming
bride.

     "Your wild youth is far behind you," Loricia
replied.  "You redeemed yourself in his eyes."

     Rangel clasped her hand and led her quietly to
the house that had been built for them as the sun
slowly set in the west.

     The moon rose and stars shone brightly in the
night sky as mothers put their children down for the
night.  Small campfires burned as men, nerves finally
relaxed after the long ordeal, drank tankards of ale
and began to talk of things other than the wedding.

     "I nearly drownt," one man said, "and would but
one of t'king's men pulled me out of t' water."

     "G'on wit ye," another replied.  "Took three, ye
be that portly."

     "Did `e see young lord jump in and pull Temac's
baby out afore the mite went under?" asked another.

     "Yon Jorgen nearly got his skull smacked in by a
tree stump.  `Twas only the young lord who got to him
afore the stump."

     "I saw himsel' go under three times m'sel' and
thought he was a goner."

     "Aye," replied the youngest of the group, barely
old enough to be allowed to stay awake.  "But the King
himself parted the water and pulled him out."

     "And did `e see the fine pair of them horses the
Consort gave as a bride gift?"

     "Aye, them be real beauties."

     Trelaine and Fanna walked quietly among the
revelers as the strain of the flood, followed by the
joy of the wedding and copious amounts of ale, took
their tole.  One by one the men drifted off to sleep
and the night air grew silent.

     "I am pleased that you blessed this marriage,"
Fanna said as he curled against Trelaine in the
privacy of their tent.  "Rangel cast aside all thought
of his own life during the flood.  I was busy tending
those who had broken bones or soothing frightened
children, but still could see how he put himself in
peril to save others."  Fanna alone was privy to the
knowledge that Trelaine had not extended his magic to
protect Rangel.

     "So am I," Trelaine replied, holding his lover
close and kissing his brow.  "He has proven that he is
no longer the boy who committed murder.  Lord Willen
is proud of him and proclaims him a true son.  Since
Belatrec has no male issue, Rangel will one day become
a fine headman for this hamlet."

     There was silence for a moment while Fanna
thought of Rangel and his bride in their marriage bed,
and that brought back memories of the night Trelaine
proclaimed him to be Consort.  Reaching out with one
hand, Fanna turned Trelaine's face toward him and
kissed him.

Chapter Seventeen

     Trelaine strode through the corridors of the
great new archive.  Fanna had been right; the old one
had grown too small for his beloved's vision of
possibilities.  He passed room after room filled with
archivists and assistants, apprentices and students,
musicians and artists.

     "Love?" Fanna had asked, "may I hire a master
mason to design and build a new archive?  I know just
the place.  We would have to move some of the fortress
walls to accommodate the structure, but there is no
room left in the castle."

     Fanna had, through the years, restored the
archive to the glory it had known under Ilafrain's
careful hand.  In time, he had surpassed even the
ancient Qell Lord.  This building, meticulously
crafted, was the result of Fanna's love for both the
High King and the sum of all possible knowledge.

     Trelaine held back the tears that threatened to
fall, for this was not the place to shed them.  If he
closed his eyes he could see Fanna's head leaning over
the plans for the archive, silvering hair cascading
forward.  The sound of a harp from the music room
Fanna had himself designed broke Trelaine's resolve
and he hurried forward.

     A cold winter wind greeted him as he stepped
outside, and he was grateful for the stinging pain it
brought.  His long black hair blew around him, hiding
his face and tears from those who scurried about their
business.  Trelaine turned into the wind and began to
walk back toward the castle, passing the paddocks as
he did.

     Several Lippizi yearlings, their bodies covered
with shaggy winter hair, were kicking up their heels
and running around the paddock in what appeared to be
a game of tag.  Puffs of warm breath from their
nostrils drifted away on the cold wind.  Trelaine
stopped for a moment to observe them, another of
Fanna's passions that would keep his memory alive.

     Servants greeted him as he entered the castle,
removing his now damp cloak for it had begun to snow.
The cloak was replaced with a gown of soft, thick
Chennai wool, a gift years past from the hamlet of
Caern Arvis.

     Trelaine headed toward his now lonely apartment
and sent a page to summon the newest of his household
stewards, Gerron, who had held that position for the
past twenty years.

     "Lord Torgram is still here," Trelaine said as
Gerron entered the apartment.  "Send word to him that
he is to winter here.  He is an admirable
administrator and I am leaving the kingdom in his
hands until the spring."

     "And you, Majesty?" Gerron asked.

     "I cannot stay here, old friend," Trelaine said.
"I will make my way to Caern Arvis and spend some time
with Rangel's sons and daughters.  I am going to the
garden for a few moments.  See that my horse is
saddled and a pack pony laden with supplies.  They are
to be ready when I return.

     "And your guard, Sire?" the steward asked.

     "I ride alone this time, Gerron," the King
replied.  "None will harm me and I will travel more
quickly.  I must be through the mountain passes before
the winter grows worse."  With that he turned on his
heel and left his steward to do his bidding.

     The snow had begun to fall harder and the garden
was covered with white when Trelaine stepped into it.
He walked to a corner of the garden where three mounds
of earth lay beneath the now bare limbs of a giant oak
tree.  He took a deep breath as he stood near them and
allowed his tears to flow freely.  Taking his knife
from the sheath on his belt, he cut at his hair until
it was once again shoulder length, placed the shorn
black tresses across the graves and stood back.

     After a moment of silence he said, "I will return
to you in the spring when the grass is new and the
trees begin to leaf again.  The doves will have
returned and I will sit here and we shall, all four of
us, feed them and talk of the old days when you were
here for me to love."

     He touched each of the three stones and ran his
fingers gently over the names engraved into them:
Xoachin, Karandal, Fanna.

     "I am the High King," he said to himself as he
exited through a side gate, "and the only living Qell
Lord.  I will heal my wounded heart among the most
humble of my people."

     His horse and pack pony were waiting as he
rounded the castle wall.  "Take care," he said to
Gerron.  Mounting his great steed, he turned their
faces into the wind and began his journey.

To be continued in Part 4: Devlin

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