Date: Mon, 16 Jun 2003 21:44:49 -0700 (PDT)
From: Corrinne S <quasito_cat@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dark Wishes Installment 20: Part 4 Chapters 1-3

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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