Date: Sun, 27 Apr 2003 16:30:45 -0700 (PDT)
From: Corrinne S <mdaigle@prodigy.net>
Subject: Dark Wishes:Installment 5 Part One Chapters 13-14

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.  The first part includes some
characters approximately sixteen years of age and
would, I have been assured, be of the legal age of
consent in some places.

Dark Wishes

M.C. Gordon

Part One: Xoachin

Chapter Thirteen:

     Resnaron and Frayne, Ilafrain and Nels sat
quietly in the great council chamber of Aolane as
Miralen paced the floor.

     "Again, Frayne," he said.  "Tell us again what
you heard."

     "That some of the people are turning against you,
Majesty," Frayne replied.  "We heard talk of
insurrection.  There are many nobles who wish to make
the ten kingdoms independent of each other and rise to
the station of king."

     "Petty mortals," Miralen scowled.  "Do they think
they can withstand the barbarians who come knocking at
their doors?  They will sing a different tune when
their wives and daughters are raped and their sons
slaughtered.  Those so-called nobles are not ready to
assume the responsibility for their people's lives.
Can they not see that?"

     "They see their own ambition," Ilafrain answered,
"and the opportunity for power."

     "Which they would not seek if you had not vented
your wrath against an entire province!" Resonaron said
in a raised voice.

     "Majesties, please," Frayne pleaded, "this does
no good.  Quarreling among yourselves will only divide
and weaken you."  He left his place at Resnaron's side
and strode quickly toward Miralen.  Going down on one
knee before the High King he said, "There are those
who remain loyal, Sire.  All of Glencoe Village will
stand by the three of you, as well as Caern Arvis and
Blaenau Ffestin."


     "Bah!" Miralen said with a swat of his hand
toward Frayne.  "Those places are all small and
isolate.  They have no strength or power.  Of what
help would they be?"

     Nels, who had never before spoken out in
Miralen's presence, said, "They still love you, My
Lords.  It is true that they are small, poor, and
isolate.  But the people there have a strong devotion
to you Qell.  They would give up their lives for you.
And so passionate is their loyalty that they will
persuade others to remember who gave them knowledge
and protection."

     He left Ilafrain's side and went to stand beside
Frayne.  "Are we not of the same stock?" he asked.
"We were born of common folk and lived simple lives
before good fortune came to us and we became your
lovers.  Those we were raised with still feel the same
as we do.  We would lay down our lives for you.  So
would others.  All of Elanen will support you as, we
believe, will Endril."

     Ilafrain felt a swell of pride as the lad he
could not love stood before them.  He was a great
contrast to Resnaron's devoted love.  Frayne was at
least a head taller than Nels, large-boned and
muscular.  In anticipation of the fight that would
surely come, Frayne had one of the castle servants
pull his long blonde hair into a multitude of plaits
laced with jagged shards of metal.

     Nels was not so imposing a figure, but his
determination was as evident.  Although his black hair
was not as long as Frayne's, it was done in the same
manner.  If not for the differences between them they
could have passed as brothers.  Or lovers, Ilafrain
thought.

     He watched them more closely and hoped that
Resnaron had not seen what he had.  The time the two
had spent together had forged a bond between them.
Ilafrain did not think they were lovers yet for Frayne
was completely devoted to Resnaron, but he felt relief
at the thought that Nels would have someone if the
Qell fell ... when the Qell fell.  For he knew, deep
within the essence of his being, that their time was
upon them.

     Miralen surveyed his brother king's lovers, so
alike and yet so different.  "Very well," he finally
said, "I believe you."  He summoned a young page to
send couriers to the hamlets Frayne had mentioned and
summon their young men to Aolane.

     "Some recompense must be sent to their wives and
mothers," Resnaron added.  "It is nearly time to
harvest and the women will be hard pressed to do the
work of men."

     "Then open the royal storehouses," Ilafrain
suggested.  "Send them grain and salted meat for the
future."

     With this small plan of action set into place,
the Kings departed company and set about their
separate tasks.  Miralen summoned his Master of Arms
and Quartermaster and determined what would be needed
to arm and train the farmers and shepherds Frayne
promised would stand loyally by them along with his
existing army.  Resnaron and Frayne gathered together
the great household staff of Aolane and set them the
task of preparing wagon loads of goods that would aid
the women and children of Glencoe Village, Caern
Arvis, and Blaenau Ffestin while their men were away
at war.  Ilafrain put Nels and the apprentices to
packing the most precious of the archive scrolls into
saddlebags.  He alone feared that the Qell would not
survive the coming conflict and thought the best way
to preserve the knowledge contained in the archive
would be to distribute it to places of safety
throughout the ten kingdoms.  Two kingdoms among ten,
and three remote hamlets among thousands, left small
hope for survival.

 . . .

     "It must end!" Miralen shouted to Resnaron six
months later.  "This war has lasted too long!  And if
we must use magic to stop it, then so be it!"

     "I will not take another mortal life for you,"
Resnaron responded.  "We would not be at war if not
for your actions.  You have proven that you have an
evilness about you.  When this ends I will no longer
rule with one such as you!"

     Their quarrel, one of many through the months,
could be heard by all in the war camp.  Elanen and
Endril remained supportive but the remaining remnants
of Glencoe Village, Caern Arvis, and Blaenau Ffestin
had been sent back to their homes.  So few of them
were still alive that the future of those hamlets was
now in grave danger.

     "My Lords," Frayne said, rushing into the tent,
"all can hear your words!  It does no good for men
about to go into battle to hear you quarrel thus."

     "This fool, this madman," Resnaron said, "will
bring about our downfall over the death of that boy!"

     "He was not just a boy!" Miralen shouted.  "He
was my love!  Bellard knew, as did all the Dukes of
Lippize before him, that their existence depended on
their covenant with me!  It was his decision to murder
his son out of his own hatred for me.  For me!  It was
his hand that caused the destruction of the Lippiz,
not mine!"

     Resnaron was about to answer when he suddenly
grasped at his throat.  Frayne rushed to his side and
cushioned him as he fell.  Miralen also staggered, as
if he couldn't breathe, and fell to his knees.

     "What is wrong?" Frayne asked, almost afraid to
hear the answer.

     "Ilafrain has fallen," Resnaron managed to say.
"He is dead."

     "No," Frayne said.  "Oh, no.  How?"

     "I know not," Resnaron whispered.  "I only know
that a part of us is gone."

     Frayne eased his lover into a more comfortable
position and held him until breathing became easier.
Miralen was left alone for none would approach him.

     Sensing that something was wrong, men began to
gather about the tent.  Their worried whispering soon
became calls for explanation and Frayne sent one of
the guards to tell them to hold their peace and wait.

     "What can I do?" Frayne asked as he cradled
Resnaron's head in his lap.

     "Nothing," was Resnaron's reply.  "None of us can
live if one of us dies; we are bound in life and death
by the magic that created us."  He glanced toward his
fallen brother.  "Take me to him," he pleaded.

     Frayne lifted his love in his arms and carried
him to where Miralen lay writhing on the ground as if
in great pain.  Gently lowering Resnaron to the
ground, he reached out to touch Miralen.  The great
warlord recoiled from his touch.

     "Put his hand in mine," Resnaron whispered.

     Frayne grappled with the dying Qell until he
managed to grasp one hand and link it with Resnaron's.
 For a brief instant the two seemed to glow.

     "Frayne," Resnaron whispered, "I know that you
have come to love young Nels and he you.  He will need
you with him now.  Together Miralen and I have enough
magic left to send you to him."

     "My love," Frayne cried, tears running freely
down his face, "I would rather stay with you."

     "And watch me die?  No.  Some good must come of
this.  Young Nels needs you; I can sense it.  I have
lived a good life for four hundred years.  Your life
remains ahead of you.  Go.  Let us die the way we came
into this world, with none but ourselves."

     Frayne started to protest but found himself
standing in the entryway to the archive at Aolane.
Nels sat in the center of the room, the body of
Ilafrain in his arms.  The young man was weeping
hysterically, rocking back and forth.  He was drenched
in his lover's blood and beside then lay one of the
students, also dead.

     "What happened?" Frayne asked, recovering from
his shock.  He crossed the room and shook Nels by the
shoulders.

     "Danee was talking with Ilafrain when he suddenly
pulled a dagger from his shirt and plunged it into his
heart," Nels managed between sobs.  "I do not know
why.  But I pulled my own dagger and killed him for
it."

     Frayne thought for a few seconds.  "Danee's
father is the Duke of Elvandor and a man of high
ambition.  The boy probably killed Ilafrain for his
father."

     He eased the body of the fallen King from Nels'
arms and pulled the lad to his feet.  "Come," he said,
"the land will be over run now that they are all dead
and we must find safety.""

     Nels stopped and looked up at Frayne.  "All are
dead?" he asked.

     "Resnaron and Miralen could not live without
Ilafrain," Frayne responded.  "I will tell you later.
Now we must leave."

     "I cannot leave Ilafrain here like this," Nels
said.

     "You must," Frayne replied.  "Resnaron would not
let me remain with him.  You and I are all that
remain, Nels.  We must get ourselves away from here.
It was Resnaron's wish that we do so and I know
Ilafrain would have wanted the same."

     "What will we do?" Nels asked, uncertain and
unsure.

     "We will find ourselves a hut near a meadow where
we can fish, hunt, and farm.  We will love each other
for the love we had for them.  And we will keep their
memories alive in Elanen."

Chapter Fourteen:

     Lester, newly crowned king of Endril, wept silent
tears as he touched his torch to the bier that held
the bodies of the Qell Kings.  "When the fire has
cooled," he said to his oldest son, Jarael, "see that
their ashes are scattered far and wide."

     "Why, Father?" the boy asked.

     "Because," Lester replied, "I loved them and
would have served them until my death, but they were
magic and that never dies.  Their deaths were wrong,
as was the destruction Miralen caused.  I fear they
will rise again."

     Fire and wind, rain and flood are strange allies
with time.  They shape and re-shape as the centuries
pass.  Fire, with its never-ending hunger, can destroy
life and burn away the great forests and grasslands
that hold the soil of the world in place.  Rain will
fall and wash away that unprotected soil, forming and
re-forming great torrential rivers that change the
landscape forever.

     Each thing in life and death knows its place.
Time is patient.  And perhaps the most patient aspect
of time is magic.  For magic can lie hidden, dormant,
sleeping, until it knows when to waken.

     Jarael had done his father's bidding.  When the
funeral bier of the Qell Kings had cooled the ashes
were gathered and put into saddlebags and carried by
the swiftest riders to the four-corners of the ten
kingdoms.  They were not scattered to the wind, but
gently laid to rest in remote nooks and crannies.

     Time, in her own way, let pass the years until
Lester and Jarael were no more, nor were Jarael's
issue.  Another king, Bosand, arose in Endril.
Steeped in the legend of the Qell, Bosand strove to
protect his kingdom for the memory of those ancient
lords who had long since died.  By his own strength,
he held the nomadic barbarians away from his own
kingdom as first one and then another of the ten
kingdoms fell, all save Endril and Elanen.

     Deep within the forests of Elanen there survived
a determination that the Qell would return.  To that
end, and with a distant memory of Frayne and Nels, the
inhabitants of Elanen fought as best they could to
preserve that kingdom for the return of the Qell.
Aolane, once a shining point of knowledge and power,
had fallen, another of time's victims.  The massive
fortress castle was in disrepair; the archive deserted
and scrolls crumbled into bits of dust.

     In the years since the demise of the Qell the
elements had worked their changes on the land.  Earth,
air, fire, and water had combined to obliterate all
that the Qell had accomplished and mortal man lapsed
into ignorance and distrust.

     Slowly, for time sets her own pace, rain fell and
the rivers converged into lakes and ponds within the
ten kingdoms of the world.  Centuries passed and the
ashes of the Qell drifted down the currents of those
rivers, fell victim to their white rapids, touched
briefly and drifted apart again.

     From the southern, dry kingdoms, the wind blew
northward carrying with it bits of dust and ash.
Motes would briefly meet and part.  Time held them in
her hand and held to her own agenda.

     Llewelyn was a newborn child when Passand, his
father, heard the call to war.  Something evil had
drifted into the world.  Unknown to mortal men, the
ashes of the Qell had finally reunited after countless
centuries.  And they cried out for vengeance.

To be continued in Part Two: Karandal

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