Note: This is 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. The first part includes some characters approximately sixteen years of age who would, I have been assured, be of the legal age of consent in some places.
Dark Wishes
M.C. Gordon
Part One: Xoachin
Chapter One
Any joy the servants may have known from the bright, late spring day was gone. The pleasant sounds of birds and crickets were overwhelmed by muffled cries behind the heavy oak doors to the Duke's apartment in the castle. One by one the maids made the sign against evil and covered their ears.
"Where were you!?" Lord Bellard screamed again as he brought the slender willow branch down against his son's back.
"I was in the garden, Father," the boy said. "I told you. I was there with my friends."
"Do not lie to me, Xoachin!" the older man roared. "Admit that you were whoring with one of the servants!"
"Father," the boy gasped out, the pain from the beating bringing tears to his eyes, "I swear to you by the name of the High King. I have not been with any of the serving women."
Exhausted, both by his anger and the beating he had been administering to his only son, Bellard cast the stick of willow across the room and grabbed Xoachin by the hair. "I will find out. And when I do, she will die. I will not have you casting bastards who will try to claim title to this land."
Throwing Xoachin against a wall, Bellard turned and stormed from the room.
When Bellard's echoing footsteps told that he had descended the stairs to the first floor of the castle, the captain of the household guard, Huton, slipped quietly into the room.
"Do you wish me to call a healer?" he asked the boy as he helped him from the floor to a chair.
"No," Xoachin replied. "My father would learn of it and punish both the healer and yourself."
"Young lord," Huton said, "word could be sent to the High King at Aolane. A beast in battle he may be, but he looks unkindly on ill treatment of any of his subjects. I have met him many times and know that he would not countenance the way your father beats you."
Xoachin's breath caught in his throat. Of all the people in the ten kingdoms ruled by the Qell Lords, the High King was the one who should most assuredly never know. Kind and gentle by nature, loving and tender in stolen embraces, Miralen was fierce when angered.
"No, Captain Huton," Xoachin replied. "This is a matter between my lord father and myself. I have survived his ill use of me for many years. Leave me now and summon my servants. They will tend to me as they have in the past."
Huton watched the slender lad as he made his way slowly to his own sleeping area. He had to grant that the boy had courage. Ugly red welts were rising on the golden-hued back, still he stood straight and tall. There were no tears now in the violet eyes set below soft, silvery brows.
Xoachin moved his chair aside from the table he had been using, replacing it with a stool. He sat, took up his quill, dipped it in the inkwell, and went back to the study assigned him by his tutor.
The captain waited while Xoachin's personal servants tended to the lad's raw and bleeding back. He marveled at the courage shown by a boy barely past his sixteenth year, for the lad never cried out in pain as his back was cleansed and bound with soft linen wraps. He had been asked not to tell the High King, but Xoachin had said nothing about the King's brother lords.
Huton made a decision and quickly descended the massive castle stairway. His objective was the stables and he crossed the distance in record time. He caught the attention of Perilan, a junior member of the household guard, and nodded his head to one side to summon him.
"Quickly!" he said as the two entered the stables, "saddle the fastest beast here and take a message to Aolane for me."
"A message, Captain?" the young man asked.
"Yes," Huton replied. "You must speak directly to King Ilafrain and no one else. Do you understand? Not to his servants, nor any of the household guard, most especially not to King Miralen. Only Ilafrain's ears must hear hear what I send you to say." While they talked, the captain sent a servant boy to the castle kitchen with orders for field rations.
"Yes, Captain," Perilan replied. "I understand. What is the message?"
"Tell him that the future duke of Lippize might not live long enough to assume that rank. Let him know that the willow trees are tired of tasting innocent blood. He knows Lord Bellard; he will understand."
Perilan quickly saddled and mounted a three-year old stallion, the swiftest in the stable. The horse pulled against his bit at the tension that filled the air.
"The journey will take several days. What if our lord should wonder at my absence?"
"When you have left I will go to your wife. I believe her mother is ill and the two of you are needed to care for the good woman for a time. Your wife will leave before sundown. Hurry boy!" he shouted to the lad running across the open courtyard. The servant was laden with rations and a blanket.
"Yes, Cap'n," the lad managed between heavy breaths as he reached the two men. "Cook says she's sorry there is not more food. And she says to tell you that food will not be enough so she sent the blanket. And, she says to say that she hopes Perilan returns quickly with King Ilafrain."
The supplies were quickly lashed into place and Perilan dug his heels into his mount. As they disappeared beyond the town walls Michalen turned to Huton and asked, "do you really think the King will come?"
"Indeed I do," the aging shoulder replied, one hand resting on the
child's shoulder.
Chapter Two:
Since before the time when man had recollection of himself, three Qell Lords had ruled ten kingdoms of mortal men. They were tall and fair, their skin as white as alabaster. Intense silver eyes beheld their kingdoms and raven black hair cascaded over their shoulders, reaching their waists.
They were the only three of their kind in the world. King, they were called by their subjects.
They took no wives and begat no heirs for they chose the companionship and love of men. Few looked askance at their choice for the lords ruled wisely and well, caring deeply for their subjects.
They were mighty lords of magic. Not wizards or conjurers who sought to use magic, but pure magic itself. It flowed from them as water does from a spring. They controlled it as best they could for men, while accepting their uniqueness, had little understanding of it.
The inhabitants of the province of Lippize were the oldest known race of mortal men. Favorites of the Qell Lords, it was said that they had been raised by magic. They were a race of stunning beauty and had married between their small hamlets and villages for generations to keep their bloodlines pure. They were the color of gold in the distant mountains that shone in the late afternoon sun. Their hair was thick and luxurious, worn long and falling across their shoulders in bright silver glory.
Their cheekbones, set high in round faces, were but stepping stones to the magnificent violet of their oval eyes. They were a proud race of men -- loyal to their families, their kings, and the hidden spirits who shared their world.
Such as these was Xoachin -- son of Bellard, the son of Caldoan, who was the son of Jusef. Their line stretched back in time to when the first of their kind had stood before Miralen and heard, "You and your people are mine for I find you worthy. I will protect all that is yours or ever shall be until we are no more".
That distant ancestor, whose name had long since been forgotten, knelt before the young Qell Lord and proclaimed, "King, I and my people will serve you always. This will be our covenant with you -- all our lives are forfeit should this vow be broken."
The years passed and the people prospered under the protection of Miralen, whom they called High King to distinguish him from his brother lords Ilafrain and Resnaron. They sent their sons and daughters to the Qell capitol of Aolane in the kingdom of Elanen to study with Ilafrain. When Miralen called for their young men to aid him in protecting the kingdoms, they responded willingly. In gratitude for their loyalty, Miralen traveled to the edge of the world and returned with four great horses, two male and two female, which he presented as a gift. Resnaron taught the people to care for them and, in time, their numbers increased until the gentle creatures dotted the landscape as they fed upon the sweet grasses of Lippize.
There came a day when one of the Lippiz dukes, Caldoan, decided to seek a wife outside the province. "I grow tired of silver hair," he explained to his family. "I want a bride who will stand out among our people and be easily recognized."
His mother disapproved but he was headstrong and, with his father dead, she could not stop him. He brought home a high-spirited girl from the neighboring kingdom of Endril, Acantha. Her merry laughter and boisterous spirit were soon accepted and the people loved her.
She fell ill one spring with a mysterious fever that left her weak and near to death. King Ilafrain was summoned and he arrived quickly, laden down with all the healing knowledge he had been able to amass through the years. Side by side at massive oak tables, healers and king delved into the scrolls in search of a cure for the failing lady. When none could be found Caldoan cried out for King Miralen.
"What would you have of me? Miralen asked when the entered the castle of Lippize.
"You promised us your protection, Majesty," Caldoan said on bended knee. "Can you save Acantha by your magic?"
"My protection was promised to your people," Miralen replied. "She is of Endril. I will not save her for you."
"But the child she bears is mine and therefore yours," Caldoan entreated.
"Then I will save the child," Miralen answered.
He crossed the room and sat on the side of the bed where Acantha lay and touched one hand to her fevered brow, another to her swollen belly. "I will not help you live," he whispered to her, "but I can ease your passing."
A bright glow enveloped them and the lady looked into Miralen's eyes. She could not speak, but gave the King a look of understanding as she drew her final breath. When her spirit was gone, Miralen gave one mighty shove on her abdomen and a tiny babe made its way into the world.
The healers quickly tended to the newborn. Ilafrain drew himself to his full height and, with a heavy heart, crossed to stand near Caldoan. "The child should not be allowed to live," he said, the most difficult thing he had ever had to say in all his years.
"What?" Caldoan asked. "Why?"
"Miralen saved the child with great reluctance, and only because of the covenant. Its soul is tainted with a magic such as you have never seen before. Its mind will be ... affected."
"I'll kill him for that," Caldoan replied. "He had no cause to harm the babe."
"Quiet, man!" Ilafrain said. "You are about to break the covenant! Do you wish to see all of your people cease to exist?"
Caldoan quickly stopped his thoughts. "Thank you, my King," he said as he crossed to where Miralen stood near the foot of the bed, "for the life of my child."
"The child is yours alone," Miralen replied. "He has neither my protection nor my love until he earns it. The Lippiz alone were found worthy. You have changed the bloodline by marrying this Endril girl."
"The lords of Endril are steadfast and loyal," Ilafrain said as the two kings departed.
"I know," Miralen replied. "I hold nothing against them. But the Lippiz were my chosen and that was changed by Caldoan's marriage and the birth of this child."
Caldoan took his cleansed and swaddled son in his arms. "I shall name you Bellard," he whispered to the child.
Chapter Three:
Several days later, a weary and bedraggled Perilan was led into the private chamber of Ilafrain. The King was sitting in a chair near the fireplace in the large room, a dark-haired companion on his lap, and a scroll held carelessly in one hand. Perilan waited near the entrance to the chamber as one of the guards crossed the room and informed Ilafrain that he had a visitor who seemed in great haste.
"Fetch us ale," Ilafrain said, dislodging his intimate guest.
"Yes, M'Lord," the lad, who appeared no older than Xoachin, said as he made his way toward the door.
The lad darted quickly past Perilan and went in search of someone who could direct him to the ale cellar, smiling coyly at Perilan as he passed him.
Ilafrain dismissed his guard and motioned for Perilan to join him near the fireplace. "Arvad informs me that you are here on a matter of great urgency," he said as Perilan sat in a massive oak chair.
"Yes, Majesty," he said. "I come on behalf of the Duke of Lippize."
"Do you now?" Ilafrain asked. "I sense some untruth in your words."
"In part, a small untruth," Perilan replied. "I am sent by Captain Huton of the Duke's household guard with a message for your ears only regarding Lord Bellard's son."
"Go on," Ilafrain said, suddenly very interested.
"I am to tell you that the willows are tired of tasting young Xoachin's blood. My captain said that you would understand."
Ilafrain retrieved a heavy iron poker from its stand on the limestone hearth and stirred the dying embers of the fire. He was deep in thought and seemed to have forgotten the young Lippiz guard who sat silently waiting.
Finally he turned to Perilan and said, "I understand only too well. Come, your journey has been long and you should rest. He led the young man to a small room. "Rest here," he said. "It would bode ill if Miralen should see one of the Lippiz guard at Aolane since we have no students from Lippize in residence now."
Perilan surveyed the small room and glanced back to see the smile on Ilafrain's face. "I have a wife," he said.
"I know," Ilafrain replied. "And that, young man, is a pity."
The king cast magic around his chambers so that none could enter save Nels, his current dalliance, and went to the castle archives. Using the same magic, he sealed the archives against any entrance and cast himself toward Lippize and Xoachin.
A soft light shone in one corner of Xoachin's small room and Ilafrain stepped from it. He crossed the room and gazed at the sleeping form on the small cot.
Xoachin stirred, shifted in his bed and Ilafrain leaned over and whispered, "Sleep". He lowered the rough covers and drew up the nightshirt the young man wore. The ragged cuts left by the unwilling willow branch had begun to heal.
"It is fortunate," the king whispered, "that the Lippiz heal without scarring."
Xoachin stirred again and stretched. Ilafrain watched the ripple of muscle beneath the golden skin. He would have greatly desired Xoachin did the boy not already possess Miralen's heart.
Silently, Ilafrain passed through the castle walls and found Bellard. The man had drunk himself into a stupor and sat asleep in a chair near the cold fireplace, his right hand holding a tankard of ale that had spilled onto the floor, his lower jaw hanging slack against his chest.
"I should have wrenched you from your father's arms and smothered you, he thought.
Returning to Xoachin's small room, the Qell cast magic to seal the room for the night and sat a silent vigil over the sleeping lad.
The household staff was amazed the next morning when they awoke to see one of the Qell Lords in the enormous castle kitchen eating a hearty meal. Captain Huton was summoned to advise Duke Bellard of the unexpected guest.
As he escorted the king to the duke's chambers Huton whispered, "Thank you. You arrived more quickly than I expected. The journey between borders is long."
"Long by your terms, Captain. Not by mine."
"Majesty!" Bellard exclaimed as Ilafrain pushed open the great doors and entered the private sitting room of the Duke of Lippize. "Welcome. We were not expecting a visit from you." His dislike did not go unnoticed.
"I have come to check on the progress of your son. His tutor writes that he does well, but it has been too long since I observed his work myself. Summon him to me, and bid that he bring his lessons."
"He most likely still sleeps," Bellard replied, unwilling for the Qell Lord to see his son. He was not sure that all of the wounds had healed.
"Then wake him!" Ilafrain commanded. He turned to Huton. "Go, Captain, and bring the boy before me."
Huton cast an uncertain glance toward Bellard but left straight away on his errand. He hurried toward Xoachin's room and roused the sleeping lad.
"Quickly!" he said. "King Ilafrain is here and seeks your attendance. Gather your scrolls together."
Xoachin's tutor, Carvel, sat in stunned silence under the tongue-lashing Ilafrain rendered. "Do you call this progress!? Is this the work expected of a future Duke?" Ilafrain's face was red with anger. "This - this I expect from the son of a common shepherd!" He cast Xoachin's scrolls into the now raging fire in the fireplace. "This is completely unacceptable!" he bellowed.
"You are fit to teach only women!" he yelled as he pointed a finger in Carvel's face. He disliked what he was forced to do for Carvel was a former lover and did not deserve what he was doing. He hoped that his eyes conveyed his sorrow for his actions.
"As for you, young lordling," he said as he turned to Xoachin, "you need a disciplined hand. No more of this mollycoddling that you receive under your father's roof!"
He turned and said to Huton, "Captain, send word to saddle two strong horses, with another two as reserve mounts. I am taking this dullard lad with me to Aolane. He requires more intense tutelage than this excuse for a tutor can provide. He shot another quick look at Carvel, once so beloved.
`Forgive me,' the look said. "I shall have him reassigned to a backward province, perhaps Caern Arvis."
Bellard sat in silent shock as the Qell King took command of his household, his son, his children's tutor. Finally he managed to open his mouth and speak. "You would take my only son away?" he asked. He still feared what the king might find should be curious about the boy's body.
"Bellard," Ilafrain replied, "when have you ever cared about your children? They are but property to you. And rest assured that I have no interest in this son of yours. I prefer quick wit and intelligence. Your son lacks both. But he is your heir, and as such must have reason beaten into him. I care not for you, as you well know, but I do care for the future of your kind."
Bellard could not question the reasoning and had himself questioned his son's ability to lead Lippize after him. "Very well," he said. "Take the boy. I have not been able to beat reason into him. Perhaps you can."
Xoachin was in tears as he mounted the gelding provided for him. He had studied so hard, and Carvel had never found fault with his work. He tried to search his mind for where he had failed. It was difficult for him to believe that the king's scathing words came so close to the beating his father had delivered for a thing he had not done and would never do.
The journey to Aolane began silently. Xoachin rode near Carvel, each lost in his own thoughts until Ilafrain motioned Xoachin to his side.
"I am sorry," the King said, "for the words I had to say to your father. It was imperative that I remove you from his presence.
You are not a dullard, lad. You are very bright and will be a great leader of your people."
Xoachin barely grasped what he heard, so deep in sorrow he was. "Yes, Majesty," he meekly replied.
Ilafrain looked at the lad and suddenly started to laugh. "Do you not see?" he asked. I am taking you to Aolane ... to Miralen! You shall indeed be my student, but you will also be near the one you love."
To be continued ...
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