Date: Fri, 30 May 2003 16:50:19 -0700 (PDT)
From: Corrinne S <quasito_cat@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dark Wishes Installment 14: Part 3 Chapters 4-6

Note: This is a gay themed novel about kings and
magic, love and war.  Although I will often allude to
sexual encounters, there are no actual scenes of
sexual acts for this is, by and large, a love story.
This author claims exclusive copyright to all
characters, plots, and settings.

Dark Wishes

M.C. Gordon

Part Three: Fanna

Chapter Four

     Trelaine rode his war-horse into the melee around
him.  The blade of his sword sang through the air as
he raised and lowered it.  It clanged against shields
and brought a sickening sound to his ears as it hewed
the body of yet another man.  He hated war.  That he
was exceptionally good at taking lives in battle did
nothing to ease his hatred.

     He had fought the warlords and petty chieftains
in the rugged lands on his southern border throughout
his reign in Elanen.  They would accept defeat, sign a
treaty of peace, and slip away into their mountainous
strongholds for a decade or two, only to threaten his
kingdom again and again.

     The battle slowly drew to an end with a few
living enemy warriors retreating back across the river
boundary.  Trelaine guided his steed to the river's
edge and called out, "Will you discuss terms of
surrender?" as he had done after each battle for the
past three days.  He received no answer.

     He wheeled the huge horse about and galloped back
to his encampment.  "Brush him down," he growled,
tossing the reins to a waiting warrior.  "See that he
does not take a chill!"

     In his tent his aide took his blood soaked woolen
cloak and assisted in removing the blood-spattered
armor, tunic, and breeches.  The aid, Carip by name,
left for his own tent to tend the King's clothing as
Dilby, the body servant arrived.

     Dilby chattered aimlessly about the bad turn to
the weather as he assisted the King into a warm bath
and scrubbed away the sweat and grime of the battle.
"There be some w'at says this be a bad one, M'Lord,"
he prattled.  "Be sayin' this is a hundred year
winter, an' a bad storm movin' in.  I feels it in me
bones, I do.  The bunion on the sixth toe of me right
foot be hurtin' fierce, it be."  He knew from his
years of service that his voice would help soothe the
sour mood of his king.

     "Me blest mother, rest `er soul, could always
tell by me sixth toe if a storm be'd comin'.  T'
village folk always took stock of w'at she said.  The
to be'd swolled afore I put my boot on.  Care to see?"
 The minor deformity that he bore was one of the few
things in his life that set him truly apart from
others and he used it as a badge of pride.

     "Trelaine could not help but chuckle at his
servant.  Dilby had been a good and faithful servant
for many years and the king could relax in his
company.  He had seen the short stub that could be
considered a toe many times and knew the pain it
caused.  He did not want Dilby to have to remove and
then replace the boot, a difficult process that often
brought tears to the man's eyes, and shook his head.

     "I believe you and your toe, Dilby.  No need to
expose it to the cold.  If the toe says a storm
approaches, then I shall not question."

     Trelaine had not been able to rid himself of a
certain feline since the night two years earlier when
she had slipped into his room.  He had given her to
Cook' she reappeared on his bed.  He sent her to one
of the dairy farms where she would have bowls of milk
to drink and fat mice to catch; she returned to him.
He had sent her to the farthest reaches of his
kingdom; she always found her way back.  "She be
magical," Dilby had told him.

     "It had taken Trelaine several months to realize
that the letters he received from King Artilan kept
him abreast of Fanna's progress while he felt the full
impact of the lad's emotions when the cat was around.
She was, apparently, something he had summoned when he
had made a simple wish.

     "Yes, Trelaine finally said."  "A storm is coming
and I am tired of this endless war.  I am sick in my
soul for the innocent men who die.  I have lost many
good men and do not desire to lose more.  The petty,
greedy fools across the river care not for their men
or their animals to wage war against Elanen in winter.
 Fetch me warm clothing," he said rising from his
bath.  "It is time to put an end to this once and for
all."

     The storm was moving in rapidly from the west.
Snow fell so thickly that it was becoming hard to see.
 Freezing rain fell like daggers in the snow.  Thunder
roared in the distance.  The breath of man and beast
appeared in short quick puffs, so painful was it
becoming to breathe.

     The warriors in his encampment huddled around
their fires and watched as Trelaine strode through
them and down to the river's edge.  It was already
frozen.  The High King threw his heavy cloak back and
stood with his feet braced firmly apart.  Placing his
hands on hips he called out, "I give y ou one last
chance!  Surrender or die!"

     There was no response.

     Trelaine took in a deep breath of the cold air.
He held it for a few seconds before blowing outward
across the river, releasing but a portion of the magic
that was himself and the fury that was Miralen.

     His men, most of whom had never seen their liege
lord work his magic, stared in wonder.  Across the
river, everything began to freeze.  Warriors and
animals alike were slowly encased in ice.  The trees
became so heavily laden with ice and snow that they
snapped and fell crashing to the earth.

     Trelaine slowly raised his arms and the clouds in
the sky began to take shape and form.  They turned
from blue, to white, to red.  And the shape they took
was that of dragons of myth.  Two of the huge,
writhing beasts formed and slowly made their way from
the heights of heaven to the land across the river.
They twisted and hissed, their forked tongues flicking
outward, tasting the air and the ice.  They suddenly
let loose their fiery breath and the warlords and
petty chieftains were no more.

     It ended as quickly as it had begun.  The skies
cleared and Trelaine's men stared in shock.  The trees
were no longer broken.  Horses, birds, and woodland
creatures moved about.  Men checked themselves and
their comrades, surprised that they were living.  All
that remained of the storm and the magic were puddles
of molten ice.

     Exhausted, spent almost beyond belief, Trelaine
managed to sign a peace treaty with those chosen by
the survivors to be their new leaders.  He had struck
such terror into their hearts and minds that he had no
fear of further trouble from them for many years to
come.

     Dilby helped the worn king to his small cot,
checked to be sure there were sufficient candles
burning in the tent, and went to his own pallet.

     Trelaine had enough strength remaining to cast
his magic out across his encampment and that across
the river, to give protection and peaceful rest to the
warriors.

     He woke with a start, a familiar touch on his
mind that spread through his body.  He felt warm lips
touch, gentle hands caress, bodies and souls give and
receive.  The cat lay curled against him, purring
softly.

Chapter Five

     Winter set its heavy hand across the ten kingdoms
with cold so bitter that the rivers froze.  Days of
endless snow and blowing winds saw the roads and
passages through the mountains closed.  Herdsmen
brought their animals from the fields into shelters
where fires could be carefully tended.  Woodland
creatures sought refuge in caves or burrows.  Men,
unable to go about their work, were shuttered in their
homes with fretting children and harried wives.

     And an illness settled across the land.  It
manifested itself in burning fevers followed by
freezing chills.  Muscles ached; stomachs revolted
against food.  Breathing became an exercise in agony.
The master healers busied themselves in caring for the
sick while archivists searched ancient scrolls for any
mention of a previous outbreak of the illness.

     Then the deaths began.

     Trelaine fumed through his castle sending all in
his path scurrying away.  Anger came seldom to him and
while his people loved him and had no fear of him,
they were cautious in his presence.  They knew that
his anger was because he could do nothing to stop the
illness or the deaths.  There are some things that
even magic cannot accomplish and Trelaine felt
helpless in the face of this unseen enemy.

     Weeks passed and still the snows continued.
Snowdrifts formed against houses and barns.  Trelaine
lent his master healer one of the massive war-horses
for his visits to the ill.  Then the snow became so
deep that it reached the chest of the massive steed
and travel became impossible.  Correspondence between
Elanen and Endril stopped.

     Trelaine was drowsing by the fireplace in his
drafty apartment one evening when a feeling hit him -
one of strong, intense emotion.  Puzzled because he
felt only Fanna's joy or passion, he let this odd
feeling pass through him.  There was no joy this time.
 This was sickening fear and heartbreak.  Trelaine
sensed images of illness; could hear the
chest-rattling cough he now recognized as preceding
death.

     "Dilby!" he shouted as he rose from his chair, "I
need you!"

     Dilby was instantly at his King's side.  "Yes,
M'lord?"

     "Fetch my warmest cloak.  I must go to Endril.
The illness is within the castle walls."

     "Ye'll never get there," Dilby responded.  "The
passes all be closed by snow an' ice."

     "I intend to wish myself there," the King said.

     "M'lord!  Ye never wishes!"

     "This time I must, old friend.  There is death in
Endril and I must be with the boy.  I cannot stop
death but I will try to ease its pain."

     The guards were surprised when the High King
appeared outside the door to Grislen's apartments but
admitted him without question.  The scene inside was
one now familiar to Trelaine.  A small cot sat near
the fireplace, an ailing lad lying uneasily upon it.
The smell of medicinal herbs simmering in pots filled
the air.

     Trelaine crossed to the fireplace and stood
looking down at the dying boy.  Another lad sat on the
edge of the cot, wiping his lover's brow.  Noticing
Trelaine standing there he looked up and said, "Your
Majesty.  I had hoped that you would come.  Can you
help him?"  The bottom lip quivered and unshed tears
caused his eyes to glisten in the firelight.

     "I can help him, Fanna, but not as you would
desire.  I cannot prevent his death.  I can only ease
his breathing and take away his pain."  Trelaine
reached down and took the hand Fanna was not holding
and placed a gentle kiss on the fevered brow.

     Sigil's breathing became more even and his body
relaxed as the pain subsided.  He briefly opened his
eyes and, with the little strength he had, tried to
squeeze Fanna's hand.  And he was gone.

     Fanna's cry echoed through the castle.  He flung
himself across the emaciated body of his love,
clinging to the lifeless hand, and cried.

     Hours later they sat in the King's apartment:
Trelaine, Artilan, Grislen, and Fanna.  The boy's
grief was so great, and his vigil with his dying lover
had lasted so long, that he succumbed to exhaustion.
That Trelaine had aided by willing him to sleep, Fanna
was unaware.  The master healer had given Grislen's
wife and daughters a potion to help them sleep.  The
three men had no such surcease.

     "What plans have you for Fanna?" Grislen asked
Trelaine.  "He has become dear to all of us."

     "His future is his to decide," Trelaine replied.
"I will ask him to return to Aolane.  I would not have
asked it of him while Sigil was alive, but the
memories here will be painful for him.  I know for I
am haunted still by the memories of your kinsman.  If
he wishes to remain here, then I will hand his
allegiance to you, Artilan, and he will become your
countryman instead of mine.

     For now, I will remain here until Sigil is laid
to rest.  Beyond that, it depends on Fanna's decision.
 Should he decide to stay they I will immediately
return to Aolane.  If he will go with me, we must
remain here until the mountain passes are safe.  I
cannot wish him there as I can myself.  Whether I am
here or in Aolane, I can act as a conduit for the
healers.  They cannot meet to pool their knowledge of
this illness so I will touch their minds and serve as
a courier between them.  Too many are sick and dying."

     "I will have the servants prepare a room for
you," Artilan said.  "You need to rest."

     "A blanket by this fireplace will suit me,"
Trelaine replied.  "And I will keep Fanna near me.  I
know his suffering for I have felt it tenfold.  I will
see that he sleeps through the night so that he might
have the strength he will need for what he must face."

     "You love him," Artilan said.

     "Since the day I decided to send him to you," was
Trelaine's whispered response.

Chapter Six

     Fanna had been devastated at the loss of Sigil
and Trelaine understood how the boy felt.  He had
brought him home to Aolane and set him to work with
the master archivist, seeking out any reference in the
ancient scrolls to the illness that was decimating the
population of several kingdoms.  Fanna had taken to
the work with eagerness.  It filled his mind for many
hours of the day, and he was good enough at heart to
want to save others from the fate of his lover.

     The illness began to ease as fewer succumbed each
day.  The master healers and archivists failed in
their quest and it merely ran its course.  But they
learned one frightening fact.  The ancient scrolls
were in sad disrepair, in some places even lost,
having been nibbled at by mice through the centuries.

     Fanna was so distressed over their condition that
he had gone to the High King with a suggestion.
Within a month, all of the scrolls over fifty years of
age in Elanen were in Aolane and Fanna was in charge
of a legion of apprentices.  One by one, over time,
the scrolls were meticulously copied and sealed in
protective coverings.

     One bright spring day the master archivist missed
his footing on a staircase and broke his neck in the
fall.  Trelaine summoned Fanna to him.

     "How long have you been back in Aolane?" he
queried.

     "Two years."

     "Do you like working in the archives?" the King
asked.

     "Yes, My Lord," Fanna replied.

     "I need a new master for the archives.  I want
you to accept the position."

     "Me?  Sire, I do not think I have the age or
experience."

     "You have the desire and the inspiration, boy,
but the decision is yours to make."

     Fanna thought for a few moments then raised his
eyes to his King.  "I will do as you ask of me, Lord,"
he said.

     Trelaine was saddened by the resignation and loss
of the saucy attitude the lad had shown only four
years earlier.  "Are you sorry that you returned here,
Fanna?"

     "Oh, no, My Lord," Fanna was quick to reply.  "I
do not think that I would have lived had I stayed in
Endril.  I would have seen Sigil everywhere."

     "I understand the loss of a beloved," Trelaine
said.  "Go now.  Sleep.  Tomorrow will see the
beginning of your new duties."

     Fanna bowed slightly, turned, and left the room.

     Fanna had his own small apartment on the same
floor as the King's massive quarters in the castle.
Trelaine had ordered that he have privacy when he
brought the boy back from Endril.  Still resisting his
love for the young man, he saw that Fanna's personal
staff consisted of men who would not be averse to
offering him comfort and pleasure.  But in the two
years that passed, Fanna had not taken any as a lover.

     Accustomed to a nightly round of the castle,
Trelaine set out with Dilby at his side.  The sun was
just beginning its journey to the western skies.
Trelaine lingered for a few moments in the garden.

     "What must I do, beloved?" he asked as he stood
by the grave of one he had loved so well.  And he
heard the answer.

     Sighing deeply, he turned and entered the castle
with Dilby following quietly.  As he passed by the
door to Fanna's apartment he stopped and reached out
with his mind, just a little.  And he felt and heard
heartache.  He knocked on the door and allowed time
for the youth to gain composure before he opened the
door.

     "Fanna," he said to the lad who was wiping tears
from his eyes, "I know your suffering.  But there will
come a day when the pain will ease.  You will always
love Sigil, but you must allow yourself to love again.

     "You did not, Majesty," the boy replied.

     "But I did, and I do," Trelaine said as he
crossed the room and took Fanna into his arms and
kissed him.

 . . .

     Fanna knew that as long as he lived he would
never forget the memory of the night that the King
confessed love for him.  The kiss had been long and
sweet before Trelaine picked him up in his arms and
carried him to the royal apartments.

     Trelaine had not pushed or demanded love from
Fanna.  He had held him close and said, "You still
miss him."

     "Yes," Fanna replied, tears glistening in his
eyes.  "I sometimes wish I could forget Sigil for it
causes me great pain."

     Trelaine touched one finger to Fanna's lips.
"Never make such a wish.  Keep the memory of that love
within your heart.  I can remember two loves:
Karandal, of whom you have heard, and Xoachin who was
part of another life, in the time before your
grandfather's great-grandfather was born.  I hold
their love close to me.  You may love again one day
and Sigil would grant you freedom for that love.

     The fault is mine that you now suffer so.  I
thought it best to let you work through your sorrow,
but I see that I was wrong.  I should have offered you
more comfort and understanding."

     He led Fanna to the bed and sat him down.  "Sleep
beside me tonight.  Let me ease the burden of your
sorrow."

     Trelaine lay on the bed and Fanna eased close to
him.  The High King opened his arms and Fanna went
willingly into them.  Wrapping his arms about the neck
of his lord, Fanna let loose his tears and poured out
his heartache.

     Trelaine held him through the night and, toward
the early morning hours, Fanna finally slept.  When
Dilby entered to light fresh candles, Trelaine
signaled to him and they removed Fanna's tunic and
breeches.  Trelaine eased a coverlet over the lad and
sat silent vigil over him until the early morning sun
sent tendrils of light through the windows.

     With business to conduct, Trelaine sent for
Fanna's body servant, Evander, and set him the task of
watching over the sleeping lad.  "Send word to me if
he wakens he said.  "Tell my guards and they will send
a page to summon me."

     There was no summons as Trelaine held court and
heard minor grievances throughout the day.  The
problems were easy to settle, usually caused by petty
jealousies.  Trelaine never rendered a decision to
such petitions.  It had become his custom to simply
allow himself to begin to glow with his white fire and
the petitioners would agree to discuss their
differences and find an agreeable solution.  He never
showed anger, only that who should receive the black
lamb and who the white was something that could be
decided without his intervention.

     Serious accusations, such as murder or rape, were
heard before his entire council with no others present
but the accused, the accuser, and witnesses.  Few such
crimes were committed within the kingdom for, once
proven guilty, Trelaine was swift and terrible in his
justice.  With a kind yet stern hand to lead them, the
people of Elanen were reluctant to commit a heinous
crime.  It was said that just before death, the King
would look into a criminal's eyes and fill the soul
with the misery that had been caused.


     Fanna was sleeping when Trelaine returned to his
apartment at the end of the day.  The King looked at
Evander and asked, "Anything?"

     "No, Majesty," Evander replied.  "He slept
peacefully."

     "Very well," the King said.  "Go and fetch clean
clothing for when he wakens.  Stay close at hand for
he will need to bathe and eat."

     Fanna slept the rest of the day and through the
night.  When he woke he was momentarily unsure of his
surroundings.  Slowly his mind registered that he was
in the King's apartment, the King's bed, and that the
King was lying next to him.  Moving carefully so as to
not waken Trelaine, Fanna eased out of the bed and
went to the water closet to relieve himself.  Trelain
was awake and waiting for him when he returned.

     "You may continue to sleep here unless it
displeases you," the King said.  "I will offer you but
my own sorrow to comfort yours, the warmth of my
nearness should you be chilled, and my arms to hold
you if it will help ease your heartache.  I will not
ask you to share my bed in any other way, Fanna, for I
have never asked it of anyone."

     Fanna looked across the room at his King.  "I
have been remiss in my duties, My Lord.  I beg pardon
for my weakness and will return to the archives which
you have left under my hand."

     "As you choose," Trelaine responded.  "Evander
should be waiting to bring your bath and food.  Clean
clothing is near the fireplace.  I will go and fetch
myself a bite to eat in the kitchen.  I have a mare
near her birthing time and promised that I would tend
her."
To be continued.

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