Note: This 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.
Chapter Sixteen
Rangel was not present, for the moment he realized that the one he loved had seen a powerful vision he headed for the bell that summoned the townsfolk in times of emergency. By the time Belatrec and Trelaine went into the small courtyard that was the center of the hamlet, Rangel had arranged the people of Caern Arvis into work groups. Women were busy packing what food they could spare while children tore rags into bandages and old grandmothers brought out their precious healing herbs. The men hitched horses to wagons and began to fill them with the supplies the women were preparing.
"Blankets!" Rangel yelled. "Bring all the blankets we have for the next trading fair!"
Silence greeted him until one young man spoke. "What will we use to barter for food to see us through the next year?" he asked.
"If the valley is destroyed by flood and death there will not be anyone to barter with," Rangel replied, "or any food to trade. Three years back, when the winter storms left us freezing to death, did the valley folk not make a passage here and take us into their homes?"
Trelaine stood at the entry to Belatrec's cottage and watched the scene. Fanna touched his arm and nodded his head toward Rangel, indicating that he was also paying attention to the young man. Trelaine signaled Carip and the captain sent the guard to give their assistance.
When the wagons were full and the men ready, Trelaine entered the cottage one last time. Crossing the room he took Loricia's small hands in his and bid her gaze into his eyes. "My magic will not allow me to see into the future, little sister," he said, "but it does let me sense that you can. What does your sight tell you?"
She drew herself to her full height, the top of her head barely meeting the king's chest, and raised her head to look into his eyes. "The people might survive with our help," she replied, "but the land will be destroyed and many of the game animals will die. They will be too few for us to hunt for food. If we should do so, then they will cease to exist here. We will all starve this coming year."
"No, mistress," Trelaine replied. "You will not starve."
He strode out the door and into the now crowded courtyard. "My men and I will go with you," he told Rangel, for the disgraced son seemed to have matters under control. "We will help as we can. I cannot change the weather but I can cast my magic out to protect the most helpless, both people and animals. My guard will augment the number of your men, and Fanna has learned some healing arts."
"Thank you, Majesty," Rangel replied. "Your presence will give hope to all."
"And," Trelaine added, raising his voice so that all could hear, "many years ago I set aside a portion of Elanen's bounty for those in need. The kingdom will provide for all who suffer from this event."
With the knowledge that the King would lend his person to the present and his aid to the future, the men of Caern Arvis set out toward the valley below.
. . .
Two months passed and Trelaine and Fanna were back in the mountain hamlet. Banners and bright flags hung from windows and the eaves of buildings. The courtyard was filled with people who overflowed into the forest that surrounded the hamlet. Children ran gleefully around the tents that had been erected.
"So many people," Loricia said as she stood next to Rangel, his arm around her. The shy girl could not believe the number of people who had come to her wedding.
They had not been able to stop the floodwaters earlier, but the men of Caern Arvis had worked with the villagers of Blaenau Ffestin to save what they could. Their combined efforts had saved all of the livestock, food reserves, clothing, and essential household items. No lives had been lost, although many nearly were.
The destruction was so complete that there would be no planting or harvest and Trelaine had held to his word. When he and Fanna returned for the wedding they brought wagons loaded with food and supplies. With their homes lost, the valley residents found temporary refuge in Cairn Arvis while the men recruited by Lord Willen rebuilt the valley villages.
"I find it hard to believe the High King himself blessed our marriage," Rangel said to his beaming bride.
"Your wild youth is far behind you," Loricia replied. "You redeemed yourself in his eyes."
Rangel clasped her hand and led her quietly to the house that had been built for them as the sun slowly set in the west.
The moon rose and stars shone brightly in the night sky as mothers put their children down for the night. Small campfires burned as men, nerves finally relaxed after the long ordeal, drank tankards of ale and began to talk of things other than the wedding.
"I nearly drownt," one man said, "and would but one of t'king's men pulled me out of t' water."
"G'on wit ye," another replied. "Took three, ye be that portly."
"Did `e see young lord jump in and pull Temac's baby out afore the mite went under?" asked another.
"Yon Jorgen nearly got his skull smacked in by a tree stump. `Twas only the young lord who got to him afore the stump."
"I saw himsel' go under three times m'sel' and thought he was a goner."
"Aye," replied the youngest of the group, barely old enough to be allowed to stay awake. "But the King himself parted the water and pulled him out."
"And did `e see the fine pair of them horses the Consort gave as a bride gift?"
"Aye, them be real beauties."
Trelaine and Fanna walked quietly among the revelers as the strain of the flood, followed by the joy of the wedding and copious amounts of ale, took their tole. One by one the men drifted off to sleep and the night air grew silent.
"I am pleased that you blessed this marriage," Fanna said as he curled against Trelaine in the privacy of their tent. "Rangel cast aside all thought of his own life during the flood. I was busy tending those who had broken bones or soothing frightened children, but still could see how he put himself in peril to save others." Fanna alone was privy to the knowledge that Trelaine had not extended his magic to protect Rangel.
"So am I," Trelaine replied, holding his lover close and kissing his brow. "He has proven that he is no longer the boy who committed murder. Lord Willen is proud of him and proclaims him a true son. Since Belatrec has no male issue, Rangel will one day become a fine headman for this hamlet."
There was silence for a moment while Fanna thought of Rangel and his bride in their marriage bed, and that brought back memories of the night Trelaine proclaimed him to be Consort. Reaching out with one hand, Fanna turned Trelaine's face toward him and kissed him.
Chapter Seventeen
Trelaine strode through the corridors of the great new archive. Fanna had been right; the old one had grown too small for his beloved's vision of possibilities. He passed room after room filled with archivists and assistants, apprentices and students, musicians and artists.
"Love?" Fanna had asked, "may I hire a master mason to design and build a new archive? I know just the place. We would have to move some of the fortress walls to accommodate the structure, but there is no room left in the castle."
Fanna had, through the years, restored the archive to the glory it had known under Ilafrain's careful hand. In time, he had surpassed even the ancient Qell Lord. This building, meticulously crafted, was the result of Fanna's love for both the High King and the sum of all possible knowledge.
Trelaine held back the tears that threatened to fall, for this was not the place to shed them. If he closed his eyes he could see Fanna's head leaning over the plans for the archive, silvering hair cascading forward. The sound of a harp from the music room Fanna had himself designed broke Trelaine's resolve and he hurried forward.
A cold winter wind greeted him as he stepped outside, and he was grateful for the stinging pain it brought. His long black hair blew around him, hiding his face and tears from those who scurried about their business. Trelaine turned into the wind and began to walk back toward the castle, passing the paddocks as he did.
Several Lippizi yearlings, their bodies covered with shaggy winter hair, were kicking up their heels and running around the paddock in what appeared to be a game of tag. Puffs of warm breath from their nostrils drifted away on the cold wind. Trelaine stopped for a moment to observe them, another of Fanna's passions that would keep his memory alive.
Servants greeted him as he entered the castle, removing his now damp cloak for it had begun to snow. The cloak was replaced with a gown of soft, thick Chennai wool, a gift years past from the hamlet of Caern Arvis.
Trelaine headed toward his now lonely apartment and sent a page to summon the newest of his household stewards, Gerron, who had held that position for the past twenty years.
"Lord Torgram is still here," Trelaine said as Gerron entered the apartment. "Send word to him that he is to winter here. He is an admirable administrator and I am leaving the kingdom in his hands until the spring."
"And you, Majesty?" Gerron asked.
"I cannot stay here, old friend," Trelaine said. "I will make my way to Caern Arvis and spend some time with Rangel's sons and daughters. I am going to the garden for a few moments. See that my horse is saddled and a pack pony laden with supplies. They are to be ready when I return.
"And your guard, Sire?" the steward asked.
"I ride alone this time, Gerron," the King replied. "None will harm me and I will travel more quickly. I must be through the mountain passes before the winter grows worse." With that he turned on his heel and left his steward to do his bidding.
The snow had begun to fall harder and the garden was covered with white when Trelaine stepped into it. He walked to a corner of the garden where three mounds of earth lay beneath the now bare limbs of a giant oak tree. He took a deep breath as he stood near them and allowed his tears to flow freely. Taking his knife from the sheath on his belt, he cut at his hair until it was once again shoulder length, placed the shorn black tresses across the graves and stood back.
After a moment of silence he said, "I will return to you in the spring when the grass is new and the trees begin to leaf again. The doves will have returned and I will sit here and we shall, all four of us, feed them and talk of the old days when you were here for me to love."
He touched each of the three stones and ran his fingers gently over the names engraved into them: Xoachin, Karandal, Fanna.
"I am the High King," he said to himself as he exited through a side gate, "and the only living Qell Lord. I will heal my wounded heart among the most humble of my people."
His horse and pack pony were waiting as he rounded the castle wall. "Take care," he said to Gerron. Mounting his great steed, he turned their faces into the wind and began his journey.
To be continued in Part 4: Devlin
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