Chapter Fourteen
Quietly, and with great dignity, the residents of Aolane paid solemn homage as the remains of Xoachin entered the fortress on a wagon pulled by the great Phaedon. All knew that this was the murdered lover of the ancient Qell Lord, Miralen, whose spirit lived in the High King along with those of Ilafrain and Resnaron.
Trelaine himself held the reins of the mighty war-horse and guided him through the streets toward the final resting-place for the tragic lad. Fanna walked quietly beside, one hand on the newly carved wooden coffin in reverence.
They were escorted by a small honor guard seated upon perfectly matched Lippizi stallions. The graceful creatures had been bred and raised by Xoachin's family for generations. With no one to tend them when Miralen destroyed Lippize, they had run wild for centuries until King Artilan asked the High King for permission to capture some of them. That Artilan had gifted ten of the extremely rare black stallions of the breed to Xoachin's belated funeral touched Trelaine to the depths of his soul.
Trelaine had hoped for a quiet affair but nothing stayed a secret very long in Elanen. The word had spread and all wanted to pay their respects to a soul which had perished for nothing more than falling in love. The politics of kings set aside, the people of the ten kingdoms were simple folk. They worked hard; were home of an evening with family or friends. They reveled in the joy of a warm sun or the beauty of ice crystals in the winter. They rejoiced in the birth of a lamb or foal as much as they did the birth of a child. And they felt the loss of life deeply. So did they feel that loss now, as the honor guard of ten kings carried their guidons before Trelaine and Phaedon. Foremost were the white crested eagle that represented the kingdom of Endril, the white stallion on hind legs in silhouette against a blue background, the crest of Xoachin's family, and the golden phoenix rising that was the herald of the ancient Qell Lords.
Men lowered their heads in respect as the procession passed, and women dabbed at their eyes with their aprons. Even the normally playful and rowdy children were quiet, sensing the mood of their elders.
The people held hands and followed quietly until an old women, one of the countryside grandmothers, raised her voice in a song of bereavement, a song so old that Trelaine alone understood the words. Her voice was old and rough, but it carried the ache in her heart for one who had died so tragically and so young. As the procession continued, men began wiping their shirtsleeves across their eyes to staunch the flow of tears.
When they reached the castle garden, Trelaine stood aside and six men of Endril lifted Xoachin's coffin and carried it on their shoulders. Ever so gently, they lowered it into the final resting-place that had been prepared to Karandal's left.
Artilane spoke a few words for the memory of Xoachin, once only legend and now made real. When he was finished Fanna handed Trelaine a basket filled with rose petals. Trelaine took a handful of the petals and let them go, watching as they paused for a second before falling into the grave. Artilane and Fanna followed suit, their actions repeated by the members of the honor guard.
When they had finished, the mourners began to file by. Many held flowers from their own gardens which joined the rose petals. One by one the people of Aolane passed until the coffin could no longer be seen for the flowers.
. . .
Fanna watched from their apartment windows that evening as Trelaine sat in the garden. The Consort knew that his beloved needed to sit in silent vigil by himself. Gone was any fear or question Fanna had of the King's memories of lost lovers. Miralen had never grieved the loss of Xoachin. He had let his feelings turn to anger and a vengeance so complete that it had brought down the rule of the Qell. Trelaine was now mourning, as should have been down centuries before. Fanna knew that his love would come to him in time, when he could no longer grieve alone, when he would need to feel gentle arms embrace him and offer comfort and love.
Turning from the window, Fanna buried his face in his hands and mourned another, his own lost Sigil.
Chapter Fifteen
The evening was warm; the busy chirping of summer insects audible through the open windows of the royal apartments. Trelaine had finally relented and moved to a different part of Aolane. Another cold winter and his lover suffering from chilblains had finally convinced him that Fanna had been right. The old apartment was entirely too cold.
Trelaine looked up from the petitions in front of him and watched his Consort as Fanna sought to pick out a melody on his harp. "I recognize that," he said. "It is a very ancient tune."
"And I despair of ever learning it," Fanna replied laying the harp aside. "Too much of the ancient music and literature has been lost through the ages." He crossed the room and perched himself on one buttock on the table that was spread with several scrolls. "Anything of interest?" he asked.
"Everyday things that do not require a council," Trelaine replied. "A petition requesting an increase in land holding for a favored younger son, one request for more acreage to sow with barley. There are several petitions for marriage, including one from Rangel. Emiline writes that she is pleased with her marriage and asks that I name the child now growing in her womb. I believe this is the most unusual," he said as he pulled one scroll from the pile. "Would I please make it an act of treason to trespass and pilfer wild mushrooms?"
"Stop," Fanna laughed. "Your kingly duties overwhelm me." He stood and added, "I am off the paddocks. The yearling sale is a month hence and I must begin to choose which to sell and which to keep."
Trelaine smiled as Fanna sauntered into the corridor. He was well pleased that his love had taken to breeding the Lipizzi. King Artilan had given them several mares from the herds that roamed the now sacred province of Lipizze. Fanna had carefully overseen the growth of his small herd for several years and sought to keep them as true to the original Lippizi as possible. As their numbers grew he broke them into smaller herds, always keeping at least one stallion who remained pure black with maturity in each herd. Aolane became famous for the magnificent horses and each yearling sale provided Fanna with an income of his own.
Trelaine read through the petitions again, granting those which seemed reasonable and would cause no harm to anyone. He saved the marriage petitions until the last and finally signed all but one. Summoning a young page, he gave the boy a message for Fanna and took himself off to the kitchen.
Cook had retired to a small cottage near the walls of the fortress. She could spend her final year drowsing peacefully in her flower garden if she chose.
Instead, she usually spent her days in the castle kitchen overseeing her daughter, Young Cook.
The kitchen staff bowed or curtsied as Trelaine entered the huge room. "Not you, old Mother," Trelaine said as he crossed the room to stop Cook from rising from her chair. "You are granted permission to sit in my presence for the rest of your life. You served this household long and well. It is little enough I can do for you."
"And what brings you to the kitchen, My Lord?" she asked. "There are no pies in danger of being stolen by your Consort."
Trelaine laughed at the memory of Fanna, caught that first time with his mouth and hands stained with berries. "I need provisions for myself, Consort, and our guard. I should think a seven day supply would be sufficient."
Even as he spoke, Young Cook set her staff into motion. By the time Fanna returned from the paddocks, the entire household was astir with packing clothing and provisions for a journey.
"I had the horses saddled as you requested," Fanna said as he greeted his love. "Where are we going?"
"To the hamlet of Caern Arvis."
Fanna stopped. "That is where Willen sent Rangel when he turned twenty years," he said.
"And now Rangel puts before me a petition for marriage. I am familiar with the father of the girl Rangel desires to wed. Belatrec is the headman of the hamlet. I fear the boy is reaching beyond the station assigned to him. If he thinks to come to power through this marriage, he must be shown that it will not be allowed."
"Then this is not a journey for pleasure," Fanna remarked.
"The journey will be a time for peace and relaxation, my love," Trelaine replied. "We shall see what happens in Caern Arvis."
The next five days were filled with wonder as Trelaine and his entourage passed beyond the close borders they normally traveled on their journey toward the isolated mountains at the northwest edge of Elanen. They passed by peaceful pastures and fields filled with barley and wheat. Keeping to an easy pace, they watched as white-tailed doe jumped gracefully across their path, diverting attention from small fauns hidden in clumps of bushes. Hummingbirds and honeybees zipped in and around them as they wandered through fields of bright red wildflowers filled with sweet nectar.
Trelaine pointed out warrens inhabited by wild hares as the horses hooves trampled fields of clover in the gently rolling hills that presaged the mountains in the distance. The giant oaks and stately poplar they had seen thus far gave way to birch and evergreens: fir, pine, and spruce. The distant landscape was peppered with shades of lavender, and hare and deer gave way to packs of wolves and the solitary bear and mountain cat.
As they made their camp each night, Trelaine spread his magic to protect the animals as well as those who traveled with him for he would not see the balance of nature disturbed by his passage. They ate cold rations and each man slept in a warm blanket, for the mountain nights were growing cool.
Caern Arvis, their destination, was a small hamlet set high atop Mount Tolanaro in the rugged Chennai Mountain range. The area was impossible to farm, rocks and constant winter being the bane of its inhabitants. For food they bartered the highly prized thick wool of mountain goats with the valley villages surrounding them. Life was difficult at best.
"I pity those who live here," Fanna remarked to Trelaine as the horses made their way along the narrow paths that wound along the mountainside.
"The strongest survive," Trelaine replied, and Fanna thought he could hear Miralen's hard bite in his lover's voice.
The standard bearers unfurled the Phoenix banners that proclaimed the High King and Qell Lord as the group approached the hamlet of Caern Arvis. The townsfolk gathered along the narrow trail that led through the center of the village and Trelaine was amazed at the size of the population. He had not expected so many in this isolated hamlet and grew even more concerned at Rangel's bid to marry Belatrec's daughter.
Trelaine had not intended to play the part of the Qell Lord, but when he saw Rangel emerge from a cottage in front of Belatrec he knew the time had come to put the impudent lad in his place. Instead, he was surprised when Rangel bowed low before him and, rising, took the hand of a young woman and presented her to him.
"Majesty," Rangel said, "allow me to present Loricia, my Lord Belatrec's daughter."
The petite, raven-haired girl blushed and smiled shyly at Trelaine and Fanna. "Honored, Sire," she managed to say.
"Honored indeed, Majesty," Belatrec added. "Welcome to our humble hamlet. Come, my home awaits."
He sent Loricia ahead to let her mother know that they had very unexpected company.
Neither Trelaine nor Fanna missed the look of adoration she bestowed on Rangel before turning to do her father's bidding. Nor did they miss the loving smile Rangel returned to her.
Belatrec's good wife, Ticid, curtsied to the floor as the group entered her home. "Tea, Majesty?" she asked, "or perhaps a nice cup of ale?"
"Tea," Trelaine replied, for the weather had turned colder and Fanna's fair skin had begun to take on a tinge of blue.
"Will you stay the night?" Belatrec asked as the men made themselves comfortable in front of the warm fireplace in the cozy room.
"Tonight and perhaps one or two more," Trelaine replied. "I fear I have neglected the welfare of my subjects in the Chennai area far too long."
Their talk turned to subjects of weather, food and other supplies, and the general health and welfare of the people. Ticid and Loricia passed quietly among them, keeping their cups filled with warm tea sweetened by wild honey. The women returned to the kitchen and Loricia soon entered the room bearing a platter heaped high with biscuits and meat pies still hot from the oven.
She turned to take the platter back to her mother to be refilled when she suddenly stopped, the platter slipping from her hands and crashing to the floor. Rangel was instantly beside her, grasping her small hands in his and holding her tenderly. The rest of the men were on their feet mere seconds later. He gently led Loricia to a chair and eased her into it as her mother joined them.
"What happened?" Ticid asked, flapping her apron as if to bring air to her daughter.
"A storm," Loricia answered softly, her voice quivering and sounding very far away. Suddenly, and without warning, she cast herself at Trelaine's feet. "Majesty!" she cried, "can your magic stop a storm?"
"No, child," Trelaine replied. "That magic only works on a battlefield." He knelt down and raised Loricia from the floor. "What do you see?" he asked her, sensing that she possessed a weather gift, rare but not unknown.
A look of anticipated horror filled her eyes. "I see flooding and landslides, destruction and death -- so much death!" She pulled away from Trelaine, searching with her eyes for Rangel. Not finding him she threw herself into her mother's arms.
To be continued...
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