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 Sixteen
The next morning dawned bright and clear. Devlin woke early, surprised to find one of the older guardsmen sleeping on Pistach's pallet. His movements as he stirred about to locate his breeches and tunic wakened the man who sat, yawned, and stretched.
"Good morning, Ven," Devlin said, trying to keep the curiosity from his voice.
"And to you," the guardsman replied. "I hope you do not mind, but Shanklen and young Pistach were ... pre-occupied last night and I needed a place to sleep."
Devlin smiled, pleased for Pistach. "You will most likely have to share my tent for the rest of the journey," Devlin said, "since Shanklen declared his love for Pistach last night before the King."
"Did he now?" Ven asked. "High time he did, and that be the truth. Shanklen and I barrack together and naught have I heard this year past that was not of Pistach."
"I do not know him as well as you," Devlin remarked to the grey-haired old warrior. "Do you believe he truly loves Pistach?"
"Laddie," Ven said with a hearty laugh, "I knew he loved the boy long before he even admitted the lad's existence. Mark my word, within the next year Shanklen will ask His Majesty for a small cottage for himself and Pistach."
"There are no cottages available," Devlin responded.
"Mine is, lad," Ven told him. "It sits empty since my wife died. My only child, Ramma, lives in Endril with her husband and has no use for it. I would deem it a privilege to offer it to these two young lovers."
Devlin nodded his head in understanding and approval of the older man's suggestion.
The early morning air was filled with the aroma of their morning meal being prepared. Devlin was about to suggest that they join the others to break their fast when he suddenly dropped to the ground. Ven stared in horror as the young man's body went rigid and his eyes rolled back into his head. Devlin was gasping for breath.
Ven, as did all the guard, knew the High King's infatuation with the boy and ran from the tent calling for Dermont, Trelaine, and the guard's healer, Geronel. He had no idea if this were a common occurrence or if the lad had been suddenly stricken ill.
Geronel was already with Devlin when Trelaine entered the tent, his face gone bloodless from concern. The King put his hands to his face and threw his head back in absolute fear of losing one he loved and had never taken an opportunity to tell of that love.
Geronel had quickly grasped the situation and held a vial to Devlin's nostrils, speaking softly as he stroked the throat to force a swallow. "He is held in the midst of a sight, Majesty," the healer explained. "I have seen this before in others. Soon his body will relax, but I fear it will take several more moments before he becomes aware of his surroundings. I suggest there be as few as possible near him when he returns to himself," the healer said since the tent had suddenly filled with several men, Sondred, Gelemar, Ven, and Pistach among them.
Dermont, who had come rushing to the tent when he heard from a guard that Trelaine was highly agitated over something, cleared the tent of all save Geronel and the King and took his place outside the lowered flaps.
Devlin's body suddenly relaxed and Trelaine lifted the limp form from the ground to the pallet. Taking Devlin's left hand, Trelaine wove their fingers together and placed a kiss on the back of the still hand. With his right hand the King brushed the tawny hair back from the lad's forehead and placed a gentle kiss in the center.
Devlin stirred and opened his eyes. Dazed and recovering from shock, he failed to register that Trelaine was clinging tightly to one hand, worry and fear etched upon his face.
Geronel slipped a pungent leaf beneath Devlin's tongue and the young man gasped as the tangy leaf burned and brought him suddenly aware. He attempted to sit up but Trelaine's hand pressed against him and held him against the pallet.
"Not yet," the King told him. "Let your strength return before you attempt to rise."
Devlin looked into Trelaine's silver eyes, nearly a dull grey with worry, and realized that all he saw in them was love.
"Sire," he whispered, again trying to rise, "something beyond description is going to take place."
His amber eyes were wide with fear as he remembered his vision.
"Tell me," Trelaine said, still clasping Devlin's hand.
"The mountains, My Lord," Devlin replied, "are going to explode. The entire Chennai range is going to erupt."
Trelaine kissed Devlin's hand once again and left him in Geronel's care. Stepping from the tent he immediately summoned his guard. Giving each the name of a village or hamlet in the mountains and valley villages, he sent his guard ahead to warn the inhabitants and aid them in preparations for a massive evacuation of their homes.
Summoning two doves, he attached hastily written notes to their legs and sent them on their way. One was to go to Aolane and the Master Healer who would prepare the fortress city for an unexpected influx of people.
The other he sent west across the Chennai range to the neighboring kingdom of Pompeni. The Chennai range was a border between the two and King Narcedar needed to be warned of the imminent danger to his subjects. Pompeni was a narrow kingdom along the great salt water ocean. If the lava should flow down the western side of the mountains, or wind blow volcanic ash in that direction, the small kingdom would be completely destroyed. Forewarned, Narcedar could at least get his people out to sea and save his population if not his land.
Within moments the camp was emptied of all save Trelaine, Geronel, and Devlin. The lad was feeling strong enough to walk a little and the healer assisted him to the open tent-flap. They saw the High King standing in the center of the camp, completely consumed in the white fire of his magic as he cast strength and speed towards his guardsmen, the swift Lippize that bore them to their assigned destinations, and the doves to protect them from the birds of prey which were their natural predators.
As Trelaine's guardsmen raced toward the isolated pockets of humanity, dark clouds formed overhead and a torrential rain began to fall.
Chapter 17
Reaction of the citizenry of Aolane was immediate when Gueron explained the situation to a hastily assembled council of elders. Excess personal belongs were packed, labeled, and stored in the seldom used dungeons beneath the massive castle. The archive students currently lodging in the castle itself moved their pallets into the Archive, tripling the number of students housed in Fanna's Hall, as it had come to be known.
Frit, who knew first hand the uncertainty of a natural disaster, made room to house at least ten of the expected refugees. Belen decided she would be comfortable enough in her children's small nursery and announced that she could house a dozen with little discomfort. All through the fortress, people made room in their homes for those who were about to become displaced.
In the small villages within a day's ride of Aolane, those residents also searched about for ways to provide aid. An unexpected influx of people would mean more demand for basic necessities such as fuel, clothing, and food. Master Gueron inventoried medicinal supplies and sent his apprentices out to ask the forest grandmothers for their assistance.
"Did our King give any indication of how much warning the Chennai villages will have before the mountains erupt?" Frit asked the Master Healer as the craftmasters of the fortress met to determine what each needed to add by way of assistance.
"None," Master Gueron replied.
"Then the evacuations might begin too late," replied Tasken, the Horse Master.
"That could be," Gueron acknowledged. "We have to face the possibility of animals, as well as people, fleeing." The aging man sighed and buried his eyes in his left hand. "There may be many who are injured."
"Then send myself and other healers to the King," Frit said. "The journey to Aolane will be slow and they will need food and medical care along the way. There are wagons aplenty here that can be loaded with essential supplies."
A consensus was reached quickly. Frit, newly confirmed as a master of his craft, and five other healers were to leave within the hour.
. . .
Narcedar, tall and regal, read the note carried to him by his youngest brother, by tradition little more than a servant in the royal house of Pompeni. Smallest of the ten kingdoms, Pompeni was also one of the richest.
"I shall miss all of this," Narcedar said to Dari as he looked around his throne room at the massive displays of gold and silver the kingdom had accumulated through trade over hundreds of years.
He noticed the curiosity in twelve year old Dari's eyes. "Fetch my council," he told his child-brother. "Go to the Captain of the fleet and let him know that we need all of the kingdom's ships ready to sail within the hour. You are about to go on a great adventure, Dari."
Narcedar knew the limitations of the royal fleet, even if he included fishing boats. A great many of his people would not survive if the mountains sent their fury down the western side. He had no intention of leaving for, if some of his people would die ... so would he.
. . .
Pistach, although not a member of the Royal Guard, had been chosen by Trelaine to advise Caern Arvis of the impending catastrophe. By far the lightest of weight of all in the party, Pistach would have the greatest chance of reaching the remote hamlet in time to give warning. Trelaine chose the swiftest of the Lippize stallions to carry the boy.
"Devlin is my friend," were the first words out of his mouth as he brought the stallion to a halt and dismounted. It took only moments for him to advise Brunel of Devlin's vision and Trelaine's urgent message to evacuate Caern Arvis.
"Bring nothing with you that is not alive," Pistach said, relaying Trelaine's orders before he collapsed.
Brunel immediately lit the bonfires that were used to summon men and women down from the mountain in times of emergency. He cast a green powder into the fires that was a signal to gather together what they could of the mountain goats.
As he waited for his people to return to the hamlet, Brunel had the sturdy mountain ponies hitched to wagons. Not waiting for parents to be reunited with their children, Brunel sent each wagon down the eastern ridge of Mount Tolanaro as soon as it was filled.
"Return to King Trelaine and let him know that we are moving with all haste," he told Pistach when the boy had caught his breath and rested a moment. "I do not wish to impose on His Majesty, for I know he is doing all he can, but ask if he can use his magic to grant us time. Go, and quickly, for this stallion is Appizi, swift and strong. Tell my son that I send Katya and Brindle to him," he added as he lifted his young daughter to the saddle in front of Pistach.
Before they had gone more than an hour's hard ride the ground beneath Brindle's feet began to tremble. Pistach cast a quick glance behind him, covered Katya's eyes, and urged Brindle ever faster down the treacherous path from Caern Arvis.
. . .
Shanklen, a child of Blaneau Ffestein, had been sent to warn his people. He rode as he never had before, blessed by the High King's wish for speed and endurance. His own kin meant little to him for they had rejected him because of his nature, but he still cared for their continued existence.
. . .
Two days later Trelaine, Gerenol, and Devlin stared in dismay toward the west where a huge plume of lava and ash spewed from Mount Tolanaro. The foothills of the mountain range and plains extending eastward were already a muddy mire from the torrential rains that had fallen.
Devlin shouted in joy as he saw Pistach racing toward the dampened camp, Katya before him on Brindle.
He took his young sister from Pistach's arms and held her, crushing her in his embrace.
The ground around them thundered as close to a hundred of the Appizzi steeds followed closely behind Brindle.
"Brunel is gathering his people as quickly as he can," Pistach told Trelaine. "Most of the adults were about on the mountain. The children are not far behind me in wagons. Brunel begs that you use what magic you can to give them time to escape."
Trelaine gathered as much strength about himself as he could and looked deep into his mind to summon his magic. Controlling the natural evolution of the world was beyond him as he was well aware, but he would do what he could to save as many lives as possible. He was soon enveloped in a deep red fire that quickly turned to blue and then the whitest white that ever his magic and formed. He reached out and grasped Devlin's hands, for one who had the gift of sight held a portion of magic himself.
He cast his magic hard toward the great Chennai Mountains and felt the earth fight against him. Harder and harder he pushed with his mind and magic until he lost consciousness and fell to the ground.
Geronel rushed to him and felt for a pulse. It was barely noticeable beneath the pale skin. The healer looked at Devlin and Pistach, fear evident on his face. "I believe he might be dying," the healer whispered.
Chapter 18
The eruptions continued for three days and the sky was black with ash and smoke as the Chennai Mountains spewed death and destruction. Refugees in wagons, on horseback, and on foot slowly made their way to the King's camp filled with stories of horror and despair.
Frit and the other healers had ridden five days and nights, pushing themselves and their mounts and pack-ponies to exhaustion. The food supplies from Aolane were following at a slightly slower pace.
Frit reigned in his horse as he reached the center of the camp, his eyes seeking out Gelemar. He dismounted quickly when he saw his beloved approaching and cast himself into his lover's arms, love and fear mingling equally in his eyes.
"How bad?" he finally asked.
"Not all of the villages are accounted for, but many of the people may have sought a different path to flee. Gerenol will be pleased for assistance; he is ready to collapse from tending to the injured ... and the King."
Frit felt a new fear grip his heart. "The King?" he asked.
"He tried to control the mountains as long as he could to give the people more time to escape. Gerenol fears he exhausted his magic and may be dying."
Frit and the rest of the healers quickly walked to Trelaine's tent and entered. Candles were lit and the King lay on his pallet, head cradled on Devlin's lap, a light blanket covering him.
"How is he?" Frit asked Gerenol.
"He is unchanged these five days past," Gerenol replied. "There are others who need our help just now more than our King."
The hours seemed to be endless, yet they passed swiftly as Elanen's healers set about their work. Many of the refugees suffered burns or scorched throats and lungs. Broken bones had to be set. People needed to be fed and the fit among them prepared whatever was at hand, grateful of Frit's promise that more food supplies were on the way.
Dermont, acting in the King's stead, was organizing the refugees so that children could be reunited with parents and husbands with wives or lovers. With their immediate needs tended, the people turned their thoughts to the High King. Dermont had told them the truth and, although grateful that Trelaine had sacrificed himself to save them, their hearts ached at the thought that the Qell might die because of them.
"Is he dying because his magic in gone?" Devlin asked that night as the small group of friends assembled in Trelaine's tent.
"So I believe," Gerenol replied. "He is made of magic and exhausted himself of it."
"I am not a healer," Devlin said, grief evident in his voice, "but may I suggest an idea?"
"There is nothing we can do for him," Gerenol said. "We would be grateful for any suggestion."
Devlin formed his thoughts carefully. "I am, apparently, gifted with a sight much like the one my ancestress had. Sondred and Gelemar are distantly of the same line and may possess some small portion of that same gift. My people have always believed that life and magic are interwoven, each a part of the other. There may be more among us here who can summon magic, if we attempt to do so together. Is it not worthwhile to try and draw the magic of the world toward the King?"
Frit, Sondred, and Gelemar, who knew Devlin well, understood that the boy believed it could be done and agreed.
Word spread swiftly through the camp and the people assembled as night stars were visible for the first time in almost a week. The citizens of Elanen had always held the memory of the Qell dear and were prepared to do whatever they could to aid Trelaine. Deep into the night they stood and concentrated their thoughts on the magic of the world, the old stories of the first three Qell handed down through the generations, and their love for the High King.
There appeared to be no change by the morning and Geronel sent the assembled folk to seek food and rest.
Trelaine remained wherever his mind had vanished to and Devlin's heart sank.
The rain had finally stopped but the world seemed made of mud and the humidity rose with the sun. Moving about the camp had become difficult and the more severely injured were moved away from the camp into tents that were erected when the supply wagons arrived. The healers had decided to begin moving everyone toward Aolane within the next day or two.
Pistach was sitting quietly with Devlin and the King glancing toward the open tent-flap when he suddenly emitted a loud squeal and dashed out. Devlin moved to the opening long enough to see Shanklen jump from his horse and grasp his love to him in a tight embrace. Devlin knew Pistach had been worried about the fate of his beloved.
"We had to leave the paths and travel through the trees," Shanklen told Pistach. "The roads from Blaneau Ffestein were so thick with mud from the rain that they were impassable. We had to leave the wagons behind and walk with only the very young on horseback.
Were many others saved?" he asked.
"More than expected," Pistach replied. "But only the children of Caern Arvis have arrived and Devlin is worried for the adults should have been here by now. The King is very ill," he added and explained the situation.
"I can do nothing to help the King but that which is my duty," Shanklen replied. "I will eat, rest a bit, and make love to you. Then I will ask Dermont if he will let me take the trail toward Caern Arvis and hasten the village folk."
Pistach blushed. "We will not be able to be intimate," he said. "Devlin's sister, Katya, shares our tent until Brunel arrives.
. . .
Dermont granted Shanklen permission to search for the survivors of Caern Arvis but the guardsman returned empty-handed. "I am sorry," he told Devlin. "The entire side of Mount Tolanaro is gone and lava completely covers the foothill. If any of your people survived they sought refuge in another direction, but it is probable that you and the children are all that remain."
Devlin left Trelaine's tent for the first time that night and gathered the children of his hamlet to him. They cried as he told them that their parents were most likely gone forever and Devlin felt as if his own life had come crashing down around him.
"Why are you crying?" a voice asked later that same night as Devlin sat on a stone outside of Shanklen's and Pistach's tent.
"Too many lives were lost," Devlin asked without looking up.
"But many were saved because of your vision."
Devlin didn't recognize the voice, deeper than any he had heard before, and wondered who would intrude on his silent mourning. He glanced up and caught his breath, raising his right hand to his chest for he was looking up at the High King.
"Majesty," he said as he rose, "you have returned to us."
"Yes," Trelaine responded, "we have."
To be continued.
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