Date: Tue, 8 Jul 2003 22:46:55 -0700 (PDT)
From: Corrinne S <quasito_cat@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dark Wishes Installment 25: Part 4 Chapters 16-18

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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