Chapter Ten
Filaree swept through the castle gates with Cameron following not far behind and leapt from Nico’s back.
“Catha! Marne! Yovanda! Come, attend me!” she announced without breaking her stride. “Cameron; gather my weapons and your own as well,” Filaree said, as the castle staff burst into action. The urgency in her voice startled them all and they knew better than to question her instructions. “Make sure they are sharpened and polished. I will see you before the sun rises, ready to travel, in the courtyard.”
Cameron nodded and stood waiting for further orders.
“Well? What are you looking at me for? Begone! Scat! I have much work to do before we depart and I know you do too,” she said affectionately, while waving her hand at him as if she was shooing away a bothersome pet.
He smiled, understanding her humor by now, but hastened away regardless, not wishing to risk turning her excitement into anger by not taking her seriously.
“Yes my Lady, at once!” he responded, honored to be depended upon so thoroughly. Cameron recognized that his Lady’s reaction to this event was unlike any he had experienced from her before. He was flattered to be the one chosen to accompany her and he jumped to the task.
As she made her way hurriedly into the depths of the castle with the three other women following closely behind, Filaree continued to dispense directions, never hesitating for an instant.
“Ladies, I will be leaving for the southern reaches before dawn breaks. I must have provisions packed that will last Cameron and me for at least three weeks. Make certain that they are light in weight and economically packed. See to them after you do the things I am now asking. Yovanda! Go directly to my rooms and fetch my ebony cloak, you know which one I mean, and bring it to the library. Catha! Run and tell my mother that I will need to speak with her and Corvina in the library as well in thirty minutes.”
They both burst into action at her words.
“Marne, would you fetch me some parchment and a pen and ink and meet me in the library as soon as you can?”
“Yes, my Lady,” she answered and scurried off.
Glancing straightaway from side to side to make sure that her orders were being carried out by all, she stopped briefly at a large alabaster table set against the wall in the corridor leading to the great hall. After the others were out of her sight, Filaree ran her hand down the leftmost side, hurriedly searching for something. Upon finding what she sought, she sprang the latch and a panel slid down while a drawer popped open on the opposite side of the table over to which she moved with studied determination. Reaching her long and graceful fingers into the opening, she removed a brilliant dagger, the hilt of which was studded with fine gems, black sapphires and amethysts, and capped by a large ruby.
After slipping the blade into the silk sash securing her frock, she reached once more into the drawer. This time, she retracted a small ornament, black as night, carved in the shape of a tree hanging on a thin chain of spun gold. Filaree examined it quickly, nodded to herself, and maneuvered it gingerly over her head until it was quickly out of sight, inside the soft suede of her tunic. Never hesitating for an instant, she continued down the long hallway.
Upon entering the library, Filaree Par D’Avalain went directly to the wall of scrolled maps. Pushing those in the front out of the way, knocking others off the shelves in the process and completely unconcerned with the mess she was creating, she searched for what she now needed. Upon finding it, she grabbed the scroll tied with rawhide strings, dashed to the reading table in the center of the vaulted room and with both arms outstretched, swept all of the articles covering it onto the floor. Pulling the dagger from her belt, Filaree furiously slashed the rawhide bindings, spread the map out from end to end, using the dagger as a weight for one side and an inkwell to anchor the other end, and began to examine it. She had to find the fastest and best route to Baladar and the boy.
With two swift horses, her mount, Nico and Cameron’s Trojan, she anticipated a week’s travel time at most. But, the weather was changing rapidly now and many areas would be icy and treacherous. She would need to plot her course carefully if she wanted to keep to her plans. Some of the areas they would have to traverse were barren and forsaken, no Lalas had grown in the vicinity for tiels, and they were inhabited by wood Trolls and other scavengers even more dangerous and gruesome than the dreaded Trolls.
She realized after a cursory inspection of the terrain on the map, that there was no avoiding this pathway though, as the western route was blocked by ice floes damning the Lake of Tears and prohibiting any crossing to the south, while the eastern passes through the mountains would take too many weeks just to ascend to on horseback, let alone pass across to the other side. No. The only viable route was directly south, across the bare plains of Chilmark, through the Winding Woods, then over the Tammell hills.
Filaree traced this path with her finger down the map to the southernmost base of the hills, carefully calculating how long each leg of the journey should take. Everclear lake formed the final obstacle they would need to surmount. The lake would be the least of their worries. If they could get to that point in six days or less, then she was sure that they could reach Baladar on the desired date.
Filaree carefully rolled the parchment up, bound and tied it once again, and placed it on the side of the table. As she was straightening up the mess she made, a tall, stately woman in a gown of crimson lace, re-embroidered with dozens of white roses, high-necked with a train of white satin trailing behind her, stepped into the room. Queen Esta was a striking woman whose age no one could ever guess. She had porcelain-like skin, the color of fresh cream, with lips as shapely and red as a young girl’s. Her long black hair was piled high on her head, bound with pins of silver, each intricately inlaid with ivory. She walked with dignity and grace, evoking an atmosphere of calmness and a sense of well-being whenever she entered a room.
Glancing around the library, noticing the mess that her daughter had created, she smiled and said, “Filaree, what has become of your need for order? For one to whom everything has its proper place, you have surely strayed from your usual path.”
“Mother, I am in no mood for humor right now. I have been ‘called.’ I must go to Baladar and the boy!” Her eyes were wide and anxious.
The Queen barely moved, but a close observer who knew her well would have noticed a slight stagger as she quickly righted herself
“So, the time has arrived. I have hoped and prayed that it would,” she said as she bent her head thoughtfully to the side. “Honestly though, my daughter, I have also dreaded this day,” the Queen continued as a single tear made its way slowly down her cheek. “But, our lives have never been our own to control and our destinies are yet to be written. When must you go? How soon? What can I do to aid your preparations?”
“I must leave before dawn. I cannot wait any longer than that. I have only just mapped my path and it will take all of my skill to get to Baladar in a reasonable amount of time as it is. The trip will not be easy this time of year. There is nothing you can do to help me now, mother. Just pray for me, and for all of us.”
“You will need an escort. I will call Lord Markel and have him ready a guard for you,” she said as she turned to summon her chief of staff.
“No, mother! I will travel only with Cameron to assist me. The fewer people who know where I am going and why, the better. We cannot afford to be waylaid.”
“Will you be safe my dear? Just the two of you?”
“I will be as safe with Cameron at my side as with an entire army. Together, we will travel more quickly and more stealthily than any other pair I know of. He is the most loyal soldier in the castle. No harm will come to me if he is nearby.”
“Must you go, my darling Filaree?” she said, knowing the answer fully well, but needing to ask the question nonetheless.
“You know I must. I have waited for this moment almost my entire life. You would have gone yourself, mother, had you been called ten years ago instead of me.”
“Yes, I would have, I know. I would have welcomed the opportunity. But you are my daughter and I am your mother! I fear for you, and I will miss you more than you will ever know, more than you could even imagine,” she said, moving to Filaree’s side.
The Lady Filaree and Queen Esta embraced, the Queen patting her daughter’s hair like she did when she was a child.
“I will be safe, mother, I promise. Nothing will keep me from my path, and nothing will prevent me from doing my duty and training the boy. You have raised me well.”
“Your father would have been proud of you, my dear. He would have told me not to worry, not to fear; that the fabric weaves of its own will. He would have embraced this moment. But he too would have been sad, and he too would have secretly wept. Did you know he cried when you were born? He so wanted a girl, unlike so many other men. But, do not ask me to play the stoic. In your presence, I will weep openly if I choose,” she said, smiling for the first time.
“I love you mother. I will always love you,” Filaree responded, turning her face away for just an instance in order to brush the tears from her own eyes.
“I will get news of my progress to you if I am able. But fear not, mother. Remain steadfast. I will reach Pardatha! But, now I must prepare. I have much to do before dawn.”
“Yes, I know. I will do my part and put on a good face for the people. Fear not, my child. These secrets are safe with me. Now, let me fetch Corvina so that she may help with the preparations. I have been thoughtless to leave her for so long in the hallway. The good woman must be out of her mind with worry by now.”
With that, Queen Esta turned and exited the room, putting on the face of power and leadership, no hint of sadness remaining on her porcelain-like countenance.
Filaree glanced out the large, leaded window at the snowcapped hills beyond. The castle turrets gleamed like diamonds from the sun reflecting off of the sheets of ice coating them. The brilliant, bright orb was low in the western sky, preparing to conceal its beauty from this part of the world until the next day. Staring intently at the sky outside, she raised her chin high, thrust a clenched right fist into the air, took a deep breath and uttered a solemn vow.
“For you father and for you mother, I swear that I will fulfill my destiny. I will teach the boy all that I know and all that I can, and he will lead us out of the darkness into the light! I know it. I feel it deep within my soul, stronger than anything else I have ever felt before. He will save
our
world!”
Chapter Eleven
The light from the full moon was glinting off of the polished surface in front of which the tired, old woman sat motionless. Her tattered shawl hung in shreds from her arms, concealing an even more worn and soiled tunic that had, at one time, been of the finest quality. Now, the silk was threadbare and the once beautiful colors had faded, leaving it sickly and light-brownish in hue. Her black hair was a tangled mess of mats, hanging in corded ringlets over her wrinkled and dirt smeared face. The once bright eyes were watery and pale, and where there was formerly white one could only now see a tired red.
She stared with wearied eyes into the stone before her. Motioning over and over again with her hands, attempting to conjure up an image in the stone, she finally let her arms go limp, hung her head with a sigh of resignation and stood erect.
Staring up at the moon, Trialla spoke silently to herself.
How could this have happened to me? I was to be a Queen! I was to have riches beyond measure and servants and lands of my own. How could that miserable woman have escaped with the boy? She has ruined my life!
She spat into the corner, and rubbed a tattered sleeve across her cracked lips.
Well, she got what she deserved in the end! I only wish I had been there to see it for myself.
She pushed a string of hair away from her eyes with a gnarled finger.
Where is he now? I will find him! I must find him!
The old woman stood up and walked to the open window across the filthy room. She hoisted the chamber pot with her and dumped it out the opening, listening to it cascade down the sheer wall of the turret in which she was imprisoned. She counted slowly to eight before she heard it splash into the water below.
What has gone wrong? How could he treat me this way? He promised me so much. I do not deserve this. I will find that spoiled little brat, and I will be redeemed! He will respect me and honor me. I will be beautiful again.
She remembered vividly the exact moment when King Garold died. In her captivity she relived it over and over, never tiring of the pleasure it gave her. Like the fool that he was, he stood in front of his daughter until the end thinking that would save her. Trialla watched it all. She relished those minutes, the last gasps of breath, the passing of their lives.
Garold was a noble idiot! Well, he did save Lara from the indignities she would have had to endure had he not thrust the knife into her when he did.
The Queen was already gone by that time. She died first from a wound in the back, inflicted by Trialla herself. She did not get to see her husband and daughter die.
What a wonderful feeling that was, to humble that arrogant woman once and for all
, she thought gleefully.
I wish she had seen my face. I wish she knew it was I who took her life from her. She should have died with that thought on her mind. Too bad, though, that none of them survived.
Had she ever expected the boy to escape, she would have kept the mother alive. She could have used her to find the child.
They were always so unsuspecting. Those fools!
Granted, Trialla had woven strong and powerful spells with which she seduced the kingdom. And, it was not without its cost to herself! She aged years in a matter of months and she grew hoary and broken-down from her efforts. He had promised that all that would be rectified, that she would regain her youth, that she would gain eternal beauty. But, alas, here she was, imprisoned in a forsaken cell with no means of escape, living in her own filth, old and decrepit, all due to Mira, the fool who sacrificed her own life for the boy.
He is probably dead by now anyway.
But he could not be, or she would not be forced to sit here and search for him all day and all night long.
Why is he doing this to me? Of what importance could this boy be anyway? He was only a child. His kingdom lies in ruins, and his family is dead. He was a weak, pathetic boy! I hate them all, those fools. They deserved their fate.
She cried in fits and spurts, the tears welling up in the corners of her wrinkled eyes.
I am losing my mind! I am going crazy. I must concentrate and hold myself together. I will succeed if I do. I will find him
, she promised herself as she moved toward the stone once again.
Before she even had a chance to lift her head and glance toward the sound, he was in the middle of the room. He was so beautiful, it hurt her physically to gaze upon him. The smile, the hair, the eyes, the skin—everything about him was perfect. Trialla covered her face in shame at her ugliness and backed into the corner.
He floated across the empty space, slightly above the ground, and hovered directly in front of her. His skin was almost translucent. She could see the blood flowing through his veins, his heart pumping with power. Colton dar Agonthea had many faces, of this Trialla had suspected, but to her at this moment in time, he appeared to be the essence of loveliness, the most perfect of men, what dreams are made of. His smile seduced, his touch burned her with passion, his voice shamed her with the feelings it evoked. She would do anything for him, suffer anything for him, even take her own life if he asked her to.
He made her feel embarrassed to appear to him so, unkempt and unattractive. She wanted to hide, to crawl into a hole and peer out at him, unseen. She had been unsuccessful in her efforts to locate the boy and she knew that Colton would be unhappy with her. All her exertions were for naught. She could not even conjure the faintest image of him, no matter how hard she tried.
Colton gazed upon Trialla with eyes, black as pitch, no color whatsoever permeating the emptiness therein. He lifted his arm, his perfect fingers pointing at her, and she felt her body stand erect. Like a puppet, she walked over to the window. Unable to control her limbs, she climbed the sill and stood gazing at the water far below. Her heart was pounding uncontrollably as her leg bent at the knee and she began to lean forward. As she commenced to fall, a force pulled her sharply inward and she crumbled onto the stone floor in a miserable heap at Colton’s feet.
He laughed beautifully. It made her so happy to cause him joy that she would have gladly fallen if he wanted her to, if it would bring him more happiness even if only for a second in time. Her emotions were turned upside down. She could not think straight and she wanted only to please him. It hurt her so that she was unable to locate the boy; for his sake! Everything was for his sake!
“I am disappointed in you, Trialla.”
Just to hear his voice made her tremble.
“You know how much I want you to find the boy, why are you doing this to me, causing me such pain and misery?”
Anguish swept through her body. She cried out, suffering for him, feeling his loss, reeling from his dissatisfaction.
“Speak to me, woman. Tell me what I must do to make you understand my need,” he implored.
Trialla crawled to his feet, grasping his ankle, kissing his toes. Gathering the courage to speak, she took a deep breath and said, “I will find him, my Lord. I just need some more time. It is not easy. Mira cast him well. The trail has faded and I have been unable to pick it up again.”
“Time is running out!” he thundered, his liquid features changing even as she stared at them. “I am losing patience with you, woman.”
She backed into the corner, tears pouring from her eyes now, lips quivering with fear. He rose a little higher off the ground, turned so gracefully, so magnificently, that she was awestruck, and her fear faded momentarily.
“I swear, master, I will locate him. Soon, very soon, another day at most. Please do not be angry with me. I cannot bear it.”
She was blubbering by then, sloppy as a child, wanting nothing other than to please him.
“Be still!” he bellowed. “Cease your prattle and get to work. I must leave on a short trip and when I return I expect that you will have succeeded in locating the boy. You have power, Trialla. Use it now, or it may depart you unexpectedly altogether,” he warned.
“Yes, your Lordship. Thank you, thank you your Lordship. I will not disappoint you. I can find him. It will be soon, very soon.”
He narrowed his gaze, staring so hard at Trialla that she could barely remain conscious. She was totally filled with the desire to please him; she wanted to accomplish nothing more in life. Nothing else mattered at all.
“Beware, witch, should you fail!” he said through his teeth, his features turning sharp and venomous.
Her emotions were ragged, ascending, only to topple from the heights of expectation to the depths of despair.
“Beware!” he said again as he turned to go.
Trialla could have sworn that for an instant she saw a long claw where his finger should have been. She shivered in response.
No, my eyes must be playing tricks upon me
, she dismissed the thought quickly.
The hours of strain and the poor light were taking their toll upon her. Colton dar Agonthea exited as he entered, silently and without a backward glance. She watched him depart, her heart breaking at the thought of his absence, pain rushing through her limbs, emptiness filling her soul.
Once he was gone, she collapsed with exhaustion. She could not control the shaking and she needed to wrap her arms tightly around herself in order not to do bodily harm. The nausea returned and her body wretched, the bile flowing, bitter and vile. Fear consumed her very being as she rocked herself in the corner of the putrid room, crying and crying, shrieking like a madwoman until she fell into a semi-coma, wasted and worn out, a wretched shell of the woman she once was.