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.
Dark Wishes
M.C. Gordon
Part Four: Devlin
Chapter One
A gentle spring breeze blew against his cheek and ruffled his tawny hair. He was five days journey from his home and on his way to the heart of the kingdom. Devlin was only too happy to fulfill both his and his father's wish that he would study at the great archive in Aolane, the fortress castle that was the capital of the kingdom of Elanen. Happy only after his father had convinced him that it was his destiny.
"A mind such as yours needs be in a better place than this," his father had told him.
"Nothing wrong with Caern Arvis, Da," he had answered.
Devlin was correct. Caern Arvis, a small hamlet in the Chennai Mountain range in the northwest corner of Elanen, was prosperous. Remote, it had escaped the wars that had sometimes ravaged the kingdom. And the three hundred years of peace that had existed since the return of a Qell had only served to increase the productivity and prosperity of the area. Scarcely more than a century earlier the High King himself, Trelaine, had visited the area with his consort. And the king had returned when Fanna died, spending a winter with the gentlefolk to renew his broken heart.
"I should be head of the village one day," Devlin pleaded, reluctant to leave his home and his aging father.
"Go on with you now, lad," Brunel said. "You will be of better service to His Majesty if you use your mind for the whole of the kingdom instead of this mite of a corner."
"But Aolane is many days travel, Da," Devlin said. "If you should fall sick, how would I know, and how would I return here?"
"The doves, lad," his father replied. "Doves are the king's familiars, as all know. They speaks to him, and he hears what they say. The village doves would fly to Aolane and tell them what they needs to tell King Trelaine. And he would send a message to you. He would know how to get you back to the village."
"Could I at least take my pony for the journey?" Devlin had asked.
"I am sorry, lad, but you cannot." Brunel answered. "Bindle is near old enough to be put to stud. You know he is the finest of the breeding. Besides, 'tis said that the Consort himself thought his feet good enough to carry him where he needed to go. Feet will have to serve you as well, my son."
And so it was that Devlin found himself on his way to study in Aolane, on foot for a journey of many days. With his father's assurance that the king would see to his return if needed, he tackled his journey with enthusiasm. The archives of the great fortress were legend throughout the ten kingdoms and it was said that the king had continued the work started by his beloved consort.
Devlin studied the sights and sounds of the lower mountains as he traveled. He had been through most of the high Chennai range, charged since childhood with following the long-haired sheep that were his people's main source of survival. The only outsiders he had ever met in his seventeen years were the residents of Blaenau Ffestin, the valley village with which the inhabitants of Caern Arvis traded for food and other things essential to their survival in an otherwise inhospitable landscape.
The weather was warm with no need for him to light a fire for his camp each evening. His pack contained sufficient provender to carry him to Aolane if he were frugal. Brunel had given him a map, carefully drawn on a piece of soft hide, which he used to follow the flow of streams from the mountains to the meadows, still a day's journey hence. The streams were home to a variety of fishes which he had been able to catch and smoke, adding to his food supply. As well, the stream banks were crowded with thorny bushes laden with berries. Devlin's hands and arms were criss-crossed with scratches for the bushes were reluctant to give up their yield, and his palms bore stains of orange, red, and black from the tender berries. Accustomed to them as a rare treat, Devlin was tempted to eat his fill of them, but took only a few from each bush each day lest the bushes have spirits he might offend.
While his days were filled with the delight of the world as it spread before him, his dreams at night were of Aolane. None from Caern Arvis had seen the great fortress in recent memory. The last whose eyes had seen it was Rangel, a distant ancestor. Devlin could not begin to imagine the number of people who lived and worked there. He wondered if he had the wit his father said he did to study at the archive among those who had lived their lives in the great court of the High King. And he knew that his father had sent him away for another reason. He would never find love among his own for there had been no others like him in the Chennai range for many years. Brunel had sent his son to Aolane in hopes that, among the men in the highly populated capital, one would find love with him.
The morning of the sixth day of his journey, lost deep in his own thoughts, he failed to see the dark storm clouds brewing and was surprised when the first drops of rain fell upon his head. The gentle drops soon became a torrent and he found himself in the middle of one of the sudden rainstorms that fell in mid-spring.
Looking around for some cover from the rain, Devlin did not hear the sound of hoofbeats as several riders came up behind him on the dirt path until a voice called out, "Halt"! He turned to see twelve men in hooded cloaks, riding the biggest horses he had ever seen. One of them urged his steed forward, leaned down, and asked, "Where are you bound?"
"Aolane!" he shouted as a thunderclap roared across the sky.
"As are we!" the man shouted in return and offered his hand. Devlin found himself pulled into the saddle in front of the stranger and the cloak pulled forward to offer him protection from the rain.
His sudden benefactor kicked his mount into action and the others followed. They sped off the road, through ever thickening forest, until they entered a large cavern. Safe from the fury of the storm, the men began to dismount. The stranger held up his arms to assist Devlin from the great steed, as if he were aware that he had never been on so large a beast before.
One of the men found dry tinder and lit a fire. One by one the band removed their cloaks and gathered around the fire for the air had turned cool. Devlin searched their faces, suddenly unsure of his situation. He knew that the king tolerated no crime against any of his subjects, but if these men intended him harm they would be long gone before anyone would know, if ever.
The last to remove his cloak was Devlin's stranger and the lad stood transfixed by the sight of the man. He was very tall, fair, with long black hair that fell across his shoulders to his waist. But the face was kind and he smiled as he approached the fire and said, "We will stay here until the morning. Tend to the horses and see if there are provisions here."
"Yes, Your Majesty," one of the men answered and Devlin realized that he had been rescued by none other than Trelaine, the High King.
Chapter Two
The king's guards sorted through their packs and retrieved what small provisions they carried for they had intended to be in Aolane by nightfall.
Devlin found his own pack and produced what remained of his supplies. "Majesty, I have some smoked meat and fish," he said, adding to the meager supper. The food that would have lasted him for the remainder of his journey would not go far to appease twelve hungry men. He supposed that he could forage for the rest of his journey to Aolane.
"Many thanks to you, young stranger," he heard Trelaine say.
" 'Tis the least I can do, My Lord, after you saved me from the storm."
"It should break during the night and we will be off in the morning. You will travel with us since we have the same destination in mind. We may miss a morning and noon meal but will be in Aolane in time for a hot bath and change of clothing before the evening meal is served."
Trelaine studied the young man intently. The tawny curls lay plastered to his head. Long pale eyelashes blinked across golden eyes. "Do I know you?" he asked.
"Oh, no!" Devlin replied. "We have never met, My Lord. My father sends me to study at Aolane. My home lies high atop Mount Tolanaro, Sire. A small and insignificant hamlet called Caern Arvis. You were there many years ago, or so my Da told me."
Trelaine looked more carefully at the drenched traveler. "I remember Caern Arvis," he said. And then, "do you have a name, boy?"
"Devlin," the lad replied, "son of Brunel, son of Landalor, many times son of Rangel."
Devlin was startled when the High King burst into a mighty laugh.
"Of course!" Trelaine said. "Except for the color of hair and eyes, you greatly resemble that many times distant ancestor of yours. Well come to this small group, Devlin of Caern Arvis. And well come to Aolane." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and said, "I know the master archivist. I believe he will accept you as a student on my recommendation."
The group, now numbered thirteen, broke bits of fish, smoked meat, and hard biscuits and each took an equal share. Devlin hesitated for he was younger and smaller than the king or his guard. "You must take your proper share," Trelaine said. "The young always have more of an appetite than myself or any of these old reprobates who guard my life."
Devlin was taken aback at the laughter from Trelaine's guard but soon came to realize that these were men who had served together for many years and viewed the High King and themselves as a band of brothers.
They ate in easy silence and, when finished, one opened a flask of ale and passed it around the circle.
The mood became relaxed, even as flashes of lightning filled the dark sky and the rain continued to fall. Talked turned to thoughts of home, wives and children, and warm beds.
"So," the King said, turning his attention to Devlin, "you claim distant kinship with Rangel. He well pleased me in Caern Arvis. From a troublesome boy he became an impressive man. You are the first of his descendants to leave that isolated hamlet. Prove yourself to me, lad, and you will not be the last."
Devlin blushed under Trelaine's praise of his ancestor. He had scarcely dared dream that he would actually meet the High King. Yet, here he sat, in close company, as Trelaine's voice filled his ears with stories of Rangel. The sound of the falling rain coupled with the friendly sound of voices around him soon lulled Devlin to sleep.
Trelaine smiled as Devlin sat, his head drooping downward. The boy suddenly woke, jerked his head up, and opened his eyes in round innocence. Within seconds, the eyes closed and the head drooped again. Trelaine propped his back against a wall of the cavern and touched Devlin gently on one shoulder. "Lie down and sleep," he said when Devlin opened his golden eyes again.
The eyes closed again and Trelaine reached out and took the boy by his shoulders, lowering him until his head was cradled in his lap. At a signal, one of his guards brought a cloak and settled it across Devlin like a blanket.
"An attractive lad," Dermont said. "What think you, M'Lord? Will he please the hearts of the male or female residents of Aolane?"
"I think he will capture the hearts of both," Trelaine replied. "But if my judgment of character still holds, then I believe he will look upon the females as friends. He will give his heart to a fortunate man."
Noticing the way the king looked fairly upon the head asleep in his lap, and with many years service that proved friendship as well as loyalty Dermont added, "You look upon him most kindly, my King."
"I remember Rangel," Trelaine responded. "I gave him to a man of mercy for murder when he was about the same age as this boy. He proved himself to be loyal and repentant of that crime. There is a warm spot in my memory for him. It is good that one of his children should return to Aolane. Devlin seems a quick and honest lad. If he does well, he will redeem Rangel's name throughout the kingdoms and once again bring honor to a house that fell in disgrace."
"Take care, my friend," Dermont said, "that you do not hold a viper to your breast. My sword will not hesitate to separate it from you."
"I sense no ill in this one," Trelaine replied. "There is goodness in him, and a yearning to learn and serve. Rest assured; should he prove to be a changeling and intend me harm, my own hand will end the line of Rangel forever."
So firm and cold was that last statement that Dermont bowed and returned to the guard around the dwindling fire. Memories had long since lost the cause or happenstance of the destruction of Lippiz and were replaced by dark tales told by night to frighten children. Dermont swore to himself that he would do away with the boy in silence and stealth before he would allow things to become such that his king would have to invoke the spirit of Miralen.
'Are you friend or foe?' Trelaine asked silently of the lad whose head he cradled. The tawny locks had dried and Trelaine ran his fingers through the tousled curls, resting finally across the narrow forehead. He let his magic probe, just a little, and found no enemy.
He probed deeper and found visions of a young child running wild and free through a village, scampering up and down high mountain crags. There was a sudden picture of a stolen kiss, quickly rebuffed by a dark headed boy, and sadness. No, this was no threat.
"Sleep," he whispered. "One day you shall find the love you seek. "This boy is under my personal protection," he said aloud so that all of his guard could hear. "I hold each of you responsible for him. Should any harm befall him, you will answer for it."
Dermont bent his head and remained silent. The thoughts he carried, he buried deep within his heart. He loved his wife and his children, but he also loved his king and was determined to protect that which he loved even if he lost his life in that service.
Chapter Three
Trelaine finally removed himself as Devlin's pillow, exchanging for the lad's right arm. He took his own now dry cloak and used it to cover the sleeping figure. He watched a few moments as Devlin settled himself in sleep, the long, fair lashes brushing gently across the tanned face. Convinced that the lad would sleep through the night, he joined his guard around the small fire.
"He still sleeps?" Dermont asked.
"Yes," Trelaine replied to all his guard, "and in full innocence. Caern Arvis has always been a staunch ally, small though it may be. Rangel was a wild and reckless boy when he was exiled there. His father was a jealous, evil man who misused both his wife and children. Therein lay the flaw in Rangel, that he strove to please the man who sired him. Before he died that troubled boy became a good man, respected and loved by those who knew him. He led the hamlet well for many years."
Turning directly to Dermont he said, "I know you have a distrust of this stranger, and it is for your love of me. You have been the captain of my guard for twenty years, and my friend even longer. Watch the boy if you will. You will see that he goes to Aolane to study with Master Gueran. I touched his sleeping mind and found a quiet, curious lad with no expectation of ever meeting his king. He sorts through the things he has seen on his long journey, and worries that Gueran will find him lacking. He is more anxious to see the Lippizi stallions than he is to spend more time with me. Search for harm in him, old friend. You will not find it."
Accepting Trelaine's advice to judge the boy fairly, and maintaining his resolve to strike if necessary, Dermont bowed and sought a quiet place to sleep. The rest of the guard soon followed suit, hoping that the weather would improve during the night. Trelaine stayed by the fire until he was overcome with sleepiness himself. Choosing a place among the guard, he made himself as comfortable as he could and fell asleep.
The rain ceased to fall during the night and the wind changed. It blew steadily from the most southern parts of the ten kingdoms, through deep rain forests and across broad plains. Ever northward it continued, across land that remained inhabited by nomadic brigands, through southern mountain passes. And as the wind traveled it whispered a soft song that enticed and seduced.
"You will ride change-about with myself and the guards," Trelaine said to Devlin as they prepared to leave the next morning. "We will ride hard toward Aolane."
Devlin found himself behind Dermont as the journey began. He was forced to wrap his arms around Dermont's waist and felt Dermont's muscles tighten as if in revulsion. But this was the King's decision and Devlin knew that he must do whatever the High King bid him.
The deluge of the day before had left the road to Aolane muddy and treacherous. Trelaine was dismayed because it would slow their return to the castle. The great horses became weighed down in the mud, their weight a hindrance against their plate sized hooves. Trelaine refused to take them off the road for they were now deep into farmland and the neatly plowed fields had been sewn with wheat and barley. Hoping that the road would improve, he led them from the main road to the grass covered edges and dismounted.
"We walk for a while," he said.
Devlin was only too happy to be released from his position behind Dermont. The man, friendly enough with the others, was cold and distant toward him.
Another of the guardsmen, Sondred, called to Devlin. "Walk with me," he said. Sondred was the youngest of the guard. Tall and handsome, he flashed a winning smile at Devlin and said, "Pay no mind to the Captain. He has guarded our lord's back most of his life. Truth be told, he probably distrusts His Majesty's horse." Sondred swept off his cap, letting long golden hair fall down his back.
The look he received from Devlin was not lost on him and he laughed gently. "I am quite content with my wife, lad."
Sondred stopped suddenly and brought his mount to a halt. "Look," he whispered to Devlin. Perched atop Annwyn was an exquisite butterfly. Its wingspan was broad, nearly the width of a man's hand. The fragile wings were bright red and gold outlined in black.
"There are more!" Devlin exclaimed as they were suddenly assaulted by dozens, then thousands of the brightly colored creatures. "I've never seen so many!" Devlin said, his excitement building. "They're beautiful!"
Trelaine heard Devlin's exclamation and stopped. He remembered the first time he had seen the magical beauty of butterflies and waited to hear more of Devlin's reaction. Rangel's wife, Loricia, had been gifted with a sight, and Trelaine was curious about everything Devlin saw or thought. If that gentle lady had passed that sight to her descendants, Trelaine wanted to know.
In Devlin's awe of the majesty of color and form, the other guardsmen stopped and looked at the fragile yet sturdy creatures that flurried around them. Red and gold blended with blue, green, and yellow. Some were single colored; others were many. The deep black that made their wings into stained-glass windows was a startling contrast that linked them together as a species.
One, deep blue and green, flew against Annwyn and fell to the ground. Devlin gently picked it up, its wings broken. He carried it to the edge of the wheat field and laid it on the ground. The guards watched as he gathered a few pebbles and stacked them near the dying creature.
"Why do you do this?" Dermont asked.
"Its spirit will need a place to launch itself into flight," Devlin replied.
"And do you believe in spirits?" Trelaine asked solemnly.
"Oh, I do, Majesty," Devlin answered. "All of life is bound together, and not alone by magic. This gentle thing is bound to the grass upon which it lies, to Sondred's steed, Annwyn, and to each of us. At least," he added hesitantly, "that is what we believe in Caern Arvis."
He almost expected to hear muffled laughter from the citified guardsmen at the simple belief of his people. But the guard had been with their king too long, and knew his own beliefs too well, to scoff at the boy's innocence.
"Well said, lad. Well said," Trelaine replied. "We are all bound to one another, and magic plays no part in that. Come," he beckoned. "We will ride again and you will ride with me. I would hear more of what you were taught in that not-so backward hamlet of yours."
Unlike his ride with Dermont, Devlin found himself seated before the king. "You have ridden the Lippizi?" Trelaine asked.
"Not one purebred," Devlin answered. "My ancestors bred Lord Fanna's gift with the rugged mountain ponies for a breed more likely to thrive in the mountains. The Lippizi were too fragile to survive in that harsh environment. I begged my father to let me ride my own pony to Aolane but he reminded me that Bindle will soon be put to stud. He is the finest in the line from the pair that was gifted to Rangel."
Trelaine smiled and laughed gently. "It is my belief that you have never ridden one of Slidell's breed before. Would you like to take the reins for a while?"
"Oh, could I truly?" Devlin asked.
"Of course you may. I would not have asked otherwise." Trelaine's one regret was that he could not see the lad's eyes as he took the reins to hand and felt the power of the gigantic horse.
To be continued.
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