Date: Tue, 10 Jun 2003 21:08:09 -0700 (PDT)
From: Corrinne S <mdaigle@prodigy.net>
Subject: Dark Wishes Installment 18: Part 3 Chapters 14-15

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...

Comments to quasito_cat@hotmail.com