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.
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