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 actual 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 Three
Chapter Ten
The journey across Endril to Etamere's kingdom of Tilben lasted two days for Chamel was near that border. Another week passed as the Kings and their warriors traversed Tilben to the border threatened by the barbarians.
Missing his Consort, Trelaine was almost tempted to wish himself into Fanna's arms each night. He was delighted when Dilby reached into his travel pouch and produced the calico cat accidentally conjured years earlier. Magic, Trelaine named her. Through her and her twin who was Fanna's constant companion, Trelaine could link his mind with Fanna's as they slept. Sensing loneliness and fear in his love, he sent back what comforting thoughts he could.
As they neared the border, Etamere sent riders ahead to let his army know that the Kings were approaching. One of them, Actar, returned shortly riding his horse at full gallop. Reigning in as he neared his King he hurriedly said, "The enemy has engaged and they are at battle, Majesties! Our men are outnumbered and pulling back!"
The travelers were clad only in light armor and would be at a disadvantage if they rushed to the battlefield. Not wishing to lose any of the warriors, Trelaine cast his magic forward and called down a thunderstorm so strong that the very air around them was charged with the crackle of lightning. Fearing death should thunderbolts hit the metal weapons and armor, the warriors cast down their weapons and fled the battlefield.
"I fear it is too late for negotiation," Etamere said to Trelaine and Artilan. "The barbarians will be content with nothing less than war."
"Then we will give them war," Artilan responded. "They will have to face my army and that of Elanen as well as your own, Etamere. Their leaders might begin to have second thoughts when they realize that a Qell Lord stands with you."
"They are not from any land bordering the ten kingdoms," Etamere replied. "They have never heard of the Qell or the High King. They are ignorant of magic and believe only in their right to conquer, rape, and pillage."
"Then they must learn," Trelaine replied, his voice as cold as ice. "Honest battle for land I understand. Such is how it was with your ancestors, Etamere. The future of your people depended on it and Galvan was a reasonable man. But to rape and pillage for nothing more than sport is something that I will not allow!"
Before the sun finished lowering on the western horizon, the Kings and their armies had set up their encampment. They agreed to light as many campfires and torches as possible hoping that the show of strength would give the barbarians pause to reconsider their actions. To prevent scouts from approaching to report back on their numbers, Trelaine cast his magic around the area so that none could come near. As there was no high ground from which the enemy could look down into the camp, the armies were both visible and invisible.
While the allied warriors were still crossing Tilben, Fanna continued his routine. He rose each morning and sorted through the newest correspondence from Elanen, answering such as he deemed needed a response. That duty discharged, he rode either Filadon or Tilla each day for they needed the exercise as much as he needed the cool morning wind in his face. The rest of his time was spent in the castle archives with Buford searching out any scrolls he could find that made reference to the Qell Lords.
The fifth morning after Trelaine's departure, Fanna read a message from Egbert. "Majesty," Egbert had written. "I hesitate to bring this matter to you but it requires your earnest attention. Lord Willen's youngest son, Adelin, was accused of molesting the second daughter of Lord Brigante, Emiline. Both young people denied that it was Adelin who molested her although she was most surely attacked by someone. I believe their denial for it is well known that the two detest each other. Lord Brigante's oldest son, Rangel, swore that he had seen the deed done and took it upon himself to slay Adelin. It is my personal belief that Rangel had no small part in the entire situation as he has always hated Adelin for some reason. Now Lord Willen has sworn that there is a blood feud between the two houses and there is talk of sending their men against each other. Only your intervention can stop this and find the truth of the matter. It is my most earnest hope that you can bring about a hasty solution to the problems besetting King Etamere and return to Elanen before the land is torn by these two ambitious lords."
"Evander!" Fanna shouted. "I need clothing to travel and provisions for a week for myself and two horses. Have Tilla and Filadon saddled. I can ride them switch a back for I must get to our King with all due haste!"
Evander was very unsettled. "You cannot ride alone, M'Lord," he said. " `Tis not safe and His Majesty would be most displeased if you went without your personal guard."
Fanna knew that his servant was correct. "Very well then," he replied. "Have my guard make their preparations to join me. I ride within the hour."
Fanna pushed himself and his guard as hard as he dared, allowing for the health of their mounts. They slept only long enough to rest the horses before Fanna pushed them on again. A small party of horsemen can travel faster than an army and they arrived at the battle camp in five days time.
The camp was a flurry of organized chaos as the warriors were being dressed in battle armor. "It seems we arrived in time for a good fight," one of Fanna's guards remarked.
A guard Fanna recognized as one of Trelaine's men stopped them at the perimeter. "I must see the High King on an urgent matter," Fanna said. The guard admitted them to the camp and gave directions to the tent where the Kings were giving out their final battle plans to their captains. Fanna urged Filadon forward with his knees and the mighty beat of the horse's hooves could be heard through the camp as Fanna sped forward.
Not all of the perimeter guards were as diligent as the one Fanna and his men encountered. On the other side of the encampment a distracted guard fell as a knife slid across his throat. Three men crept their way into the camp intent on discharging the duty placed upon them by their leader, to kill King Etamere and any others who were near at hand. That they would die as a result of their actions was of no consequence to the men for they feared their leader more than they feared death.
Trelaine felt Fanna's presence and stepped out of the command tent to greet his Consort, both pleased and concerned at the young man's sudden appearance. He was about to speak when a volley of arrows struck. Trelaine stared in shock as Filadon went down, an arrow deeply lodged in his heart. Fanna lay trapped beneath him on the ground, blood oozing from points where two arrows had penetrated his light armor.
Caught between an overwhelming desire to destroy those responsible and the need to rush to Fanna's side, Trelain flung his head back and shouted, "NO!" in so loud a voice that a hush descended across the area. His already pale skin now seemed devoid of all blood and his eyes began to glow. His limbs started to tremble and he was suddenly engulfed in a white flame that sprang from his body and instantly consumed the three assassins.
Chapter Eleven
In the stunned silence that followed Artilan and Etamere quickly took control. By the time Trelaine returned to his mortal being, orders had gone forth to tighten the perimeter and the camp was being combed thoroughly for more of the enemy.
It required the effort of several men to lift Feladon in order for the healers to see to Fanna. His body was quickly placed on a litter and carried to the healer's tent. The arrow that had lodged in his left shoulder was easily removed. The one in his left thigh concerned them more. The shaft had broken and the arrow shoved deeply into muscle when Feladon had fallen on him.
The healers worked quickly to remove both arrows before Fanna could regain consciousness. When the wounds had been dressed with healing mugwart poultices a runner was sent to the Kings.
Detmar ran to the Kings tent as quickly as he could, his path hindered by warriors who were now clad in full battle armor. Giant war-horses milled around, their keen scent catching the smell of a coming battle.
Short of breath when he burst into the tent unannounced, Detmar dropped to his knees and blurted out in ragged gasps, "Majesties. He lives! Lord Fanna lives!"
"Do you speak the truth?" Artilan demanded.
"Yes, My Lord," Detmar responded. Master Delan sent me to tell you that his wounds have been tended to."
A shadow rose from one corner of the tent. Detmar froze as he gazed upon the countenance of the High King. Trelaine had gone from pale to gray, his skin matching the color of his eyes. Taller than most men, he towered over Detmar. His normally well groomed hair seemed to move around him with a life of its own.
"Alive?" he whispered.
"Yes," Detmar repeated.
"Go to him," Artilan said, but Trelaine was gone before the words had been spoken.
Trelaine rushed through the camp, man and horse scurrying quickly from his path. Reaching the healer's tent he paused at the open flap. A course blanket covered the body of his love. Breathing deeply, Trelaine crossed to the cot where Fanna lay. He dropped to his knees and grasped the limp right hand.
Fanna smiled at him weakly. "What happened?" he asked. "I was ... and then. Filadon! What of Filadon?"
"Slowly, my love," Tris said. "You were wounded by enemy assassins." He brushed the auburn locks back from Fanna's face. "I thought I had lost you."
"He is a strong lad," a voice said and Trelaine looked up to see Artilan's healer. "He will recover with time, rest, and good care. No bones were broken.
He must stay off of his leg until the muscle begins to mend."
"Thank you," Trelaine told the healer. "I am in your debt."
"No," Delan replied. "My brethren and I have dedicated our lives to healing. Saving this young lord's life is but a small payment of the debt we healers owe the two of you for your efforts to save the ancient scrolls of our craft."
"May I stay with him?" Trelaine asked.
"More than that, Majesty," Delan responded. "He may be taken to your tent. I fear we may need the room here, and more, for there is still a battle to be fought."
"Not today," Trelaine said. "There will be no battle today or any other day. These barbarians must know that treachery will not continue."
He gave Fanna a kiss and rose. "See that he is carried to my tent. I have business to tend to."
The Qell Lord, for that was what he must be, withdrew and sought a place of solitude. Finding a small copse of trees just outside the perimeter of the camp, he knelt down and drew his cloak across his head. He forced himself to concentrate on the enemy, seeking out each evil soul.
He passed, unseen in the form he had taken, through the enemy camp. The youngest of the warriors he discounted because of their youth. They would be spared. The barbarians traveled with their women and children. Trelaine paid little heed to him. He touched on souls weary of fighting; there was hope for them.
One by one the rest of the barbarians fell where they stood or sat. It was done quietly, deliberately, individually, until there was no army. The Qell Lord returned once again to his mortal body, rose, and returned to his own encampment. "See to the women and children," he said to Artilan and Etamere. "The enemy is no more."
Fanna was sleeping when Trelaine entered his tent. He called his aid Carip to remove his armor and slid carefully onto the pallet where his Consort lay. Fanna felt his presence and moved closer, moaning slightly from the painful wounds.
Trelaine gathered his love to him and finally found peace when Fanna's head sought its familiar place on his shoulder. A small moan when his love's arm reached across his chest was quieted when the King placed his hand on the wound and wished the pain to ease. Fanna tried to slide his knee across the King's legs but the wound in his leg was too painful. Trelaine reached down and gently grasped the leg, drawing it across himself and touching that wound also, wishing the pain to subside.
Their journey home was, of necessity, slow. Trelaine carried Fanna before him on his great mount, Phaedra. It would have been easier going with Sethen for he was more sure of foot, but had not the strength to carry both of them on the long trek. Trelain let his magic flow out from himself to his love in a comforting embrace, easing the pain of the wounds.
Trelaine called his warriors to an early camp each evening and the apprentice healer, Detmar, changed Fanna's dressing, placing fresh mugwart poultices on the wounds. And each evening Trelaine gazed at them with great concern.
"They heal," Detmar told him one such evening. "The angry red is easing. There is bruising still, but there are no signs of poison from the body turning the wounds black. I see no festering. Lord Fanna is young and possessed of great strength. He will recover, Majesty."
"I am here, you know," Fanna said. "You might ask me how I feel. You speak around me as if I am a simpleton."
"Therein, Majesty," Detmar said, "lies the proof that he improves." Turning to look at Fanna he added, "You have reached the point, young lord, where your temper is worse than your wounds. It will be interesting to see which becomes easier to bear first, your wounds for yourself or you temper from those around you who must suffer from it."
The passing days did show Fanna's moods change hourly. One moment he would express frustration at the slowness of their journey, the next would express anger at the men who had taken the life of his beloved Filadon.
Spring had settled into the valleys and lowlands but the mountain passes remained cold. Utmost care was taken by all who attended the King and Consort to prepare a comfortable pallet for Fanna each night. And Trelaine held Fanna in his arms, willing away the pain and healing itch.
One such night, as Fanna lay with his head on Trelaine's shoulder, the King could feel the hot sting of his Consort's tears as they dropped on to his skin.
"Are you in pain, my love?" he asked tenderly.
"No," Fanna replied. "I am disturbed by heartache and guilt. I am the reason Filadon is dead."
"It was not you who shot the arrow into his heart," Trelaine replied.
"No, but it was I who rode him into a war camp, into danger."
"No one knew that there were assassins in the camp, Fanna," Trelaine said, concerned that his young consort felt himself responsible for the death of his steed. "You were earnestly attempting to bring a message to your sovereign lord, as well you should have been. The men who took Filadon from you, and almost took you from me, have paid for their deed with their lives and their souls, for I took those from them before they died."
Fanna levered himself onto his good arm and gazed into Trelaine's silver eyes. "What did you do with their souls?" he asked in a hushed whisper.
"I sent them to join others of their kind, in a place from which there is neither redress nor escape. That place is bound by magic, created by Miralen when one he loved was taken from us."
"Such a place, created by one of the three Qell Lords, must be truly terrifying," Fanna said.
Trelaine's eyes turned nearly black, a sign of deeply hidden anger. "It was intended to be," he said, his voice suddenly turned cold.
Sensing Fanna begin to withdraw from at the depth of his emotion he turned their conversation. "We will breed you another war-horse, Fanna," he said. "You can care for Dradera until the foal is born."
"I would like that," Fanna replied. "But I will never again ride another horse into a war camp." He eased his head once again to his lover's shoulder and closed his eyes. Pretending to fall asleep, he opened his eyes on occasion and noted with sadness the look of loss on the High King's face.
apter Twelve
Aolane was set astir as couriers brought news of the High King's return. Down filled mattresses left to air in the fortress windows were quickly put back into place. The castle pennants and banners were set on the ramparts and in cottage windows, waving and snapping in the sharp spring breezes.
Trelaine dismounted and walked to the top of the steps that led into the castle, taking Fanna by the hand as he did.
"My people," he said in so loud a voice that all could hear, "you may have heard, but I wanted to tell you myself that I have asked, and Lord Fanna has agreed to be my Consort."
Those present raised their voices in a cheerful noise, true in the affection they had for their King and his lover. Fanna could hear mutterings of preparation for a great celebration.
"Remember this day," he heard an old woman tell the grandchild she held in her arms. "This is a great day for Aolane and all of Elanen."
"Glory be," Egbert whispered to Cook, "not even Lord Karandal was ever made Consort."
"I know," she replied as she wiped a tear from one eye with the corner of her apron. "I remember when Fanna was a filthy little rascal who stole bread from the kitchen."
"Don't forget the pies," Egbert teased.
"Pies! I need to send the young ones out to search for early spring berries for pies! And the fishers must be told to provide salmon for tonight's feast. And, oh dear, I wonder if we have enough of the last summer harvest of vegetables. And I don't know if there are enough herbs!" She set off toward the kitchen in great haste, her mind concerned with setting in place a banquet sufficient for the return of their King and his great announcement.
None of the Lords of the realm were in attendance at the celebration that followed for they had not expected the King's return and were busy with affairs in their own provinces. The banquet was shared with the household staff and those who made their homes in and around the great fortress.
To ease the burden on the King's kitchen, each household brought a portion of what was available in their own homes. There was an assortment of breads and cheeses. Sausages were taken from smokehouses and added to the potatoes and carrots retrieved from root cellars.
Trelaine and Fanna were touched to the depths of their hearts by the genuine joy and happiness the people showed for them. Fanna knew that the King had been right; the knowledge of their union would best be celebrated in each village and hamlet in Elanen.
Aided by the tasty treats Cook provided for him and the constant care of Detmar, Fanna began to improve at a rapid pace. Detmar had been charged by King Artilan to stay until Fanna was completely healed before returning to Endril. Able to move about more easily, Fanna showed Detmar the archives of Aolane.
While Fanna and Detmar delved into the healer scrolls, Trelaine tended to such business of his kingdom as he dared. The time was not yet right for him to confront his recalcitrant lords, Willen and Brigante. Egbert had started an investigation into the situation during his absence and Trelaine wanted to read through all that Egbert had found before he summoned the Lords to hold a High Court.
As the weather improved, Trelaine sat more and more in the garden, as if seeking guidance and counsel from one who was so near, and yet so far away. He read through Egbert's report, fed his beloved doves, and sent pages scurrying to summon this witness or that.
It was not lost on Fanna that Trelaine seemed distant since their return to Elanen. He knew that he was still greatly loved but the King seemed to have withdrawn from him some subtle way. Their loving was remained a mixture of the same tenderness and passion as before, but Trelaine seemed to be filled with a great sadness. Or fear, Fanna was not sure which.
One warm morning in the late spring Detmar proclaimed Fanna fully recovered. "You are as fit as ever you were," he said.
"And you must return to Endril," Fanna responded.
He would miss the apprentice healer for they had formed a deep friendship.
"I shall leave on the morrow," Detmar replied equally sad at his imminent departure. "I want to thank you, Lord Fanna, for allowing me freedom to spend time in the healer archives. The copies you provided of the scrolls I wanted will be greatly appreciated by Delmar."
"It has ever been the intent of the High King and myself that knowledge stored here will be available to all, Detmar," Fanna replied. "And now, if you will excuse me, there is something I must do." Fanna turned and left his apprentices to pack the scrolls Detmar had chosen.
He sent a page ahead of him to the stables to request that his light horse, Tilla be saddled. Of a sudden he felt the need to ride out of the fortress and seek a place of solitude for his thoughts.
He gingerly tested his left thigh as he slipped his foot into the stirrup and lifted himself to Tilla's back. There was a vague twinge of pain but very little weakness. He could not ride alone, such was not to be for the Consort. A small contingent of his guard would ride with him. He did not resent their presence for he knew he could find the solitude he desired for the answers he sought.
They rode for an hour before Fanna found a place that suited his mood. He called his guard to a halt and dismounted. The twinge was still in his thigh but nothing to cause great discomfort. Signaling the guard to stay with the horses, he walked toward a meadow.
Knee length grass drifted back and forth in a gentle breeze. Wildflowers showed their colorful heads in scattered patches. A brook flowed nearby and the water could be heard as it fell across a tiny waterfall. The world smelt fresh and new. Hawks circled lazily as they searched for an unwary titmouse. Fanna could hear the buzzing of bees as they sought the nectar that they would carry to their hives to nourish the queen. Other tiny insects filled the meadow as the breeze pulled at Fanna's shoulder length hair and fanned it about his face.
He found an ash tree and sat beneath it; plucked a piece of fragrant grass and sucked the sweet moisture from it. He reveled in this place, this meadow with its singing brook. He knew that he could have died when Filadon fell on him, yet here he was surrounded by life.
His thoughts turned to his lover, the High King of ten kingdoms and King only of Elanen by his own desire. Fanna closed his eyes and leaned against the ash. In his mind he could see another field, a lonely and neglected one. The grasses grew high over ancient ruins and abandoned courtyards. He had never been there but of a sudden he knew the place. Its name had long been lost, its memory forgotten. But not forgotten by one. There was one living who had deep memories of that place: memories of love and tenderness, of carnage and destruction. Fanna felt his tears begin to flow as those memories washed over him. He had no idea what had driven him to this place or why those thoughts were so vivid in his mind, but he knew what he had to do.
Fanna gathered himself and returned to the guard.
Their journey back to Aolane was much swifter, the twinge in his leg forgotten in his need to be with Trelaine.
Trelaine was in their apartment when Fanna returned, sipping hot tea in front of the fireplace. "You've returned," he said. "Egbert told me you had taken Tilla for a ride." Confused by the look on Fanna's face he asked, "Are you well?"
Dropping to one knee, Fanna reached out and took Trelaine's right hand. Planting a kiss on the knuckles he said, "My Lord King, I come before you with a petition that I beg you to consider."
This was not the action of a Consort before his lover, nor had Fanna ever behaved in such a manner. Trelaine became greatly concerned. "Anything," he said. "You know that I would grant you anything you desire, Fanna."
"Perhaps not, Majesty, when you hear my petition."
Trelaine understood that Fanna came to him not as a lover, but as a subject of his kingdom, perhaps the entire ten kingdoms. "Very well, what is your petition?"
"There is, near the kingdom of Endril, a place where one is buried that I would ask you to bring to Aolane and bury next to Lord Karandal."
Trelaine was suddenly filled with anger. "Why?" he asked. "Why would have me desecrate that resting place?"
"Because," Fanna replied, "Xoachin came to me as I sat in a meadow this day. My Lord," he begged, "please. Just as you have sent some souls to that place of perdition, so do you need the souls of those you love near to you. Lord Karandal lies close to you. Perhaps one day I shall, if you do not banish me this day. The spirit of another wishes to lie near you also."
Trelaine's anger vanished as he realized that Fanna spoke from the depths of his heart. The tears that fell from his lover's eyes melted his heart and he knelt and took Fanna in his arms. "If it is your wish, then I will grant it," he said.