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 and would, I have been assured, be of the legal age of consent in some places.
Dark Wishes
M.C. Gordon
Part One: Xoachin
Chapter Thirteen:
Resnaron and Frayne, Ilafrain and Nels sat quietly in the great council chamber of Aolane as Miralen paced the floor.
"Again, Frayne," he said. "Tell us again what you heard."
"That some of the people are turning against you, Majesty," Frayne replied. "We heard talk of insurrection. There are many nobles who wish to make the ten kingdoms independent of each other and rise to the station of king."
"Petty mortals," Miralen scowled. "Do they think they can withstand the barbarians who come knocking at their doors? They will sing a different tune when their wives and daughters are raped and their sons slaughtered. Those so-called nobles are not ready to assume the responsibility for their people's lives. Can they not see that?"
"They see their own ambition," Ilafrain answered, "and the opportunity for power."
"Which they would not seek if you had not vented your wrath against an entire province!" Resonaron said in a raised voice.
"Majesties, please," Frayne pleaded, "this does no good. Quarreling among yourselves will only divide and weaken you." He left his place at Resnaron's side and strode quickly toward Miralen. Going down on one knee before the High King he said, "There are those who remain loyal, Sire. All of Glencoe Village will stand by the three of you, as well as Caern Arvis and Blaenau Ffestin."
"Bah!" Miralen said with a swat of his hand toward Frayne. "Those places are all small and isolate. They have no strength or power. Of what help would they be?"
Nels, who had never before spoken out in Miralen's presence, said, "They still love you, My Lords. It is true that they are small, poor, and isolate. But the people there have a strong devotion to you Qell. They would give up their lives for you. And so passionate is their loyalty that they will persuade others to remember who gave them knowledge and protection."
He left Ilafrain's side and went to stand beside Frayne. "Are we not of the same stock?" he asked. "We were born of common folk and lived simple lives before good fortune came to us and we became your lovers. Those we were raised with still feel the same as we do. We would lay down our lives for you. So would others. All of Elanen will support you as, we believe, will Endril."
Ilafrain felt a swell of pride as the lad he could not love stood before them. He was a great contrast to Resnaron's devoted love. Frayne was at least a head taller than Nels, large-boned and muscular. In anticipation of the fight that would surely come, Frayne had one of the castle servants pull his long blonde hair into a multitude of plaits laced with jagged shards of metal.
Nels was not so imposing a figure, but his determination was as evident. Although his black hair was not as long as Frayne's, it was done in the same manner. If not for the differences between them they could have passed as brothers. Or lovers, Ilafrain thought.
He watched them more closely and hoped that Resnaron had not seen what he had. The time the two had spent together had forged a bond between them. Ilafrain did not think they were lovers yet for Frayne was completely devoted to Resnaron, but he felt relief at the thought that Nels would have someone if the Qell fell ... when the Qell fell. For he knew, deep within the essence of his being, that their time was upon them.
Miralen surveyed his brother king's lovers, so alike and yet so different. "Very well," he finally said, "I believe you." He summoned a young page to send couriers to the hamlets Frayne had mentioned and summon their young men to Aolane.
"Some recompense must be sent to their wives and mothers," Resnaron added. "It is nearly time to harvest and the women will be hard pressed to do the work of men."
"Then open the royal storehouses," Ilafrain suggested. "Send them grain and salted meat for the future."
With this small plan of action set into place, the Kings departed company and set about their separate tasks. Miralen summoned his Master of Arms and Quartermaster and determined what would be needed to arm and train the farmers and shepherds Frayne promised would stand loyally by them along with his existing army. Resnaron and Frayne gathered together the great household staff of Aolane and set them the task of preparing wagon loads of goods that would aid the women and children of Glencoe Village, Caern Arvis, and Blaenau Ffestin while their men were away at war. Ilafrain put Nels and the apprentices to packing the most precious of the archive scrolls into saddlebags. He alone feared that the Qell would not survive the coming conflict and thought the best way to preserve the knowledge contained in the archive would be to distribute it to places of safety throughout the ten kingdoms. Two kingdoms among ten, and three remote hamlets among thousands, left small hope for survival.
. . .
"It must end!" Miralen shouted to Resnaron six months later. "This war has lasted too long! And if we must use magic to stop it, then so be it!"
"I will not take another mortal life for you," Resnaron responded. "We would not be at war if not for your actions. You have proven that you have an evilness about you. When this ends I will no longer rule with one such as you!"
Their quarrel, one of many through the months, could be heard by all in the war camp. Elanen and Endril remained supportive but the remaining remnants of Glencoe Village, Caern Arvis, and Blaenau Ffestin had been sent back to their homes. So few of them were still alive that the future of those hamlets was now in grave danger.
"My Lords," Frayne said, rushing into the tent, "all can hear your words! It does no good for men about to go into battle to hear you quarrel thus."
"This fool, this madman," Resnaron said, "will bring about our downfall over the death of that boy!"
"He was not just a boy!" Miralen shouted. "He was my love! Bellard knew, as did all the Dukes of Lippize before him, that their existence depended on their covenant with me! It was his decision to murder his son out of his own hatred for me. For me! It was his hand that caused the destruction of the Lippiz, not mine!"
Resnaron was about to answer when he suddenly grasped at his throat. Frayne rushed to his side and cushioned him as he fell. Miralen also staggered, as if he couldn't breathe, and fell to his knees.
"What is wrong?" Frayne asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
"Ilafrain has fallen," Resnaron managed to say. "He is dead."
"No," Frayne said. "Oh, no. How?"
"I know not," Resnaron whispered. "I only know that a part of us is gone."
Frayne eased his lover into a more comfortable position and held him until breathing became easier. Miralen was left alone for none would approach him.
Sensing that something was wrong, men began to gather about the tent. Their worried whispering soon became calls for explanation and Frayne sent one of the guards to tell them to hold their peace and wait.
"What can I do?" Frayne asked as he cradled Resnaron's head in his lap.
"Nothing," was Resnaron's reply. "None of us can live if one of us dies; we are bound in life and death by the magic that created us." He glanced toward his fallen brother. "Take me to him," he pleaded.
Frayne lifted his love in his arms and carried him to where Miralen lay writhing on the ground as if in great pain. Gently lowering Resnaron to the ground, he reached out to touch Miralen. The great warlord recoiled from his touch.
"Put his hand in mine," Resnaron whispered.
Frayne grappled with the dying Qell until he managed to grasp one hand and link it with Resnaron's.
For a brief instant the two seemed to glow.
"Frayne," Resnaron whispered, "I know that you have come to love young Nels and he you. He will need you with him now. Together Miralen and I have enough magic left to send you to him."
"My love," Frayne cried, tears running freely down his face, "I would rather stay with you."
"And watch me die? No. Some good must come of this. Young Nels needs you; I can sense it. I have lived a good life for four hundred years. Your life remains ahead of you. Go. Let us die the way we came into this world, with none but ourselves."
Frayne started to protest but found himself standing in the entryway to the archive at Aolane. Nels sat in the center of the room, the body of Ilafrain in his arms. The young man was weeping hysterically, rocking back and forth. He was drenched in his lover's blood and beside then lay one of the students, also dead.
"What happened?" Frayne asked, recovering from his shock. He crossed the room and shook Nels by the shoulders.
"Danee was talking with Ilafrain when he suddenly pulled a dagger from his shirt and plunged it into his heart," Nels managed between sobs. "I do not know why. But I pulled my own dagger and killed him for it."
Frayne thought for a few seconds. "Danee's father is the Duke of Elvandor and a man of high ambition. The boy probably killed Ilafrain for his father."
He eased the body of the fallen King from Nels' arms and pulled the lad to his feet. "Come," he said, "the land will be over run now that they are all dead and we must find safety.""
Nels stopped and looked up at Frayne. "All are dead?" he asked.
"Resnaron and Miralen could not live without Ilafrain," Frayne responded. "I will tell you later. Now we must leave."
"I cannot leave Ilafrain here like this," Nels said.
"You must," Frayne replied. "Resnaron would not let me remain with him. You and I are all that remain, Nels. We must get ourselves away from here. It was Resnaron's wish that we do so and I know Ilafrain would have wanted the same."
"What will we do?" Nels asked, uncertain and unsure.
"We will find ourselves a hut near a meadow where we can fish, hunt, and farm. We will love each other for the love we had for them. And we will keep their memories alive in Elanen."
Chapter Fourteen:
Lester, newly crowned king of Endril, wept silent tears as he touched his torch to the bier that held the bodies of the Qell Kings. "When the fire has cooled," he said to his oldest son, Jarael, "see that their ashes are scattered far and wide."
"Why, Father?" the boy asked.
"Because," Lester replied, "I loved them and would have served them until my death, but they were magic and that never dies. Their deaths were wrong, as was the destruction Miralen caused. I fear they will rise again."
Fire and wind, rain and flood are strange allies with time. They shape and re-shape as the centuries pass. Fire, with its never-ending hunger, can destroy life and burn away the great forests and grasslands that hold the soil of the world in place. Rain will fall and wash away that unprotected soil, forming and re-forming great torrential rivers that change the landscape forever.
Each thing in life and death knows its place. Time is patient. And perhaps the most patient aspect of time is magic. For magic can lie hidden, dormant, sleeping, until it knows when to waken.
Jarael had done his father's bidding. When the funeral bier of the Qell Kings had cooled the ashes were gathered and put into saddlebags and carried by the swiftest riders to the four-corners of the ten kingdoms. They were not scattered to the wind, but gently laid to rest in remote nooks and crannies.
Time, in her own way, let pass the years until Lester and Jarael were no more, nor were Jarael's issue. Another king, Bosand, arose in Endril. Steeped in the legend of the Qell, Bosand strove to protect his kingdom for the memory of those ancient lords who had long since died. By his own strength, he held the nomadic barbarians away from his own kingdom as first one and then another of the ten kingdoms fell, all save Endril and Elanen.
Deep within the forests of Elanen there survived a determination that the Qell would return. To that end, and with a distant memory of Frayne and Nels, the inhabitants of Elanen fought as best they could to preserve that kingdom for the return of the Qell. Aolane, once a shining point of knowledge and power, had fallen, another of time's victims. The massive fortress castle was in disrepair; the archive deserted and scrolls crumbled into bits of dust.
In the years since the demise of the Qell the elements had worked their changes on the land. Earth, air, fire, and water had combined to obliterate all that the Qell had accomplished and mortal man lapsed into ignorance and distrust.
Slowly, for time sets her own pace, rain fell and the rivers converged into lakes and ponds within the ten kingdoms of the world. Centuries passed and the ashes of the Qell drifted down the currents of those rivers, fell victim to their white rapids, touched briefly and drifted apart again.
From the southern, dry kingdoms, the wind blew northward carrying with it bits of dust and ash. Motes would briefly meet and part. Time held them in her hand and held to her own agenda.
Llewelyn was a newborn child when Passand, his father, heard the call to war. Something evil had drifted into the world. Unknown to mortal men, the ashes of the Qell had finally reunited after countless centuries. And they cried out for vengeance.
To be continued in Part Two: Karandal
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