Chapter Four
Robyn dar Tamarand, the profligate and prodigal son of the Baron Calipee dar Tamarand, was an adept at the arcane arts, though not always so. It seemed at one time that Robyn had come very close to getting lost in his power, and only when his father, the Baron, ostensibly forced him to choose between his life and his proclivity toward mischievous exhibitionism, did Robyn recognize how far astray he had wandered. Nevertheless, he maintained the cover he had inadvertently created during this dark period in his life, and he hoped to utilize even this to his benefit.
He and his father allowed everyone to believe what they would about Robyn, as they always had. They did not attempt to alter anyone’s perceptions. In fact, they subtly encouraged the negative reputation he had gained in order to provide him with an excuse to remain aloof from the prying eyes and minds of those who could ultimately endanger him. Only his father and a few chosen others knew the truth about this ruse. At a very early age, Robyn’s ample powers were acknowledged, and to protect himself, he continued to manifest a frivolous and carefree attitude so as not to be taken too seriously by anyone whose intentions toward him may not have been healthy.
He was a beautiful boy and an even more handsome adult. He needed no magic to enhance his appearance. Jet black hair hung in thick waves upon his broad shoulders. His dark brown eyes glinted with excitement at whatever task he took on. His skin was of a rich golden-tanned color that highlighted his piercing eyes. Perhaps six feet tall, he was average in height for his part of the world, yet his bearing made him appear to be much taller and broader than he actually was. He carried himself with majesty, as his father proudly recognized.
Robyn was the dream of every young girl in the province, and his aloofness and private ways only enhanced his desirability. His flippant personality masked a somber and serious side that few people witnessed. Even his father portrayed him as a carefree bon vivant, which was partially true. Yet Robyn was far deeper than he appeared to the outside world to be. No living being who had such a mastery of the arcane could be superficial without being extremely dangerous, and although Robyn was quite dangerous himself, he was by no means superficial.
Robyn’s instinctual understanding of magic and the ways of the supernatural far exceeded anyone’s expectations or surmising. He had a natural comprehension of the art, and there was little that he attempted that he could not accomplish. An avid reader, he made considerable use of the vast library at Triesma, the university city south of the capital of Concordia, where his father presided. He was constantly starved for knowledge, and the need to learn was so great in him that it kept him restless and striving. His instincts coupled with his intelligence and commitment to learning created a formidable character. Fortunately, he also sensed the alignment of sides and he incontrovertibly chose the side of the light.
His rapport with the tree who had chosen him was intimate and productive. Oddly, he never had a doubt in his own mind that he would be chosen by Promanthea, the name he appended to his bond-mate, though the circumstances surrounding the process in his case were unusual and unprecedented. As a young child, he communicated with it and felt closer to the tree than anything or anyone else. His tree was a central and essential part of his life for as long as he could remember. Even his father was excluded from the circle of intimacy that he closed with his tree. Such was the way with the Chosen, and families were often left out of what would be the most important relationship in their child’s life. Promanthea allowed him his diversions when he was young, and Robyn came to believe them as intentional. Had he not neared the precipice early in his impetuous life, he may neither have understood its compelling danger nor recognized its shameless threat.
Robyn received the summons with glee, as if he had been waiting all the while for just such a call. He was well prepared and more than ready to attend to the task at hand. Sitting in the soft and aromatic cleft of a large branch of Promanthea, Robyn lifted his head and gazed at the ceiling of leaves above him. As he did so, the softness of the cushion supporting his head solidified immediately into a rough branch, reacting to the absence of his body warmth. The canopy of branches and the foliage above him shivered in anxious anticipation of the travels in store for him, chiming and clacking melodiously.
Closing his eyes, he began the trance inducing humming that brought him into synchronization with his tree. Shortly, he was carried, like a leaf caught in the rapidly moving water of a rushing river, into the surging energy of Promanthea. Together they traveled for some time, as Robyn liked to describe his communication with his tree. Although he remained in a state of stasis during the process, it felt as if he was traveling, and traveling at mind-boggling speeds. When he finally came to rest, although no words were spoken, he was full of the knowledge that he needed and he had the answers to the questions that he never even consciously asked.
Such was his relationship with his bond-mate. But, this time there was a subtle difference. Robyn was not sure exactly what that difference was, but he was certain that he sensed that something was being kept from him. Never before in all of his communications with Promanthea did he ever walk away with such a feeling. It was neither fearful nor joyful, but his bond-mate was keeping things from him, the awareness of which even Promanthea could not fully suppress.
Normally, Robyn returned to the physical world after merging in thought with his tree, relaxed, infinitely calmer than before the experience and prepared for whatever lay ahead. In this case, he was rather anxious even though there was no sense of foreboding or danger, simply one of mystery. Try as he might, Robyn could not merge with the flow of thoughts that generated this feeling. He was purposefully being excluded for the first time ever!
He sent to Promanthea barbs of protest, only to have them gently rebuffed without any sense of explanation, as his frustration mounted unbearably.
“Have I committed some grave misdeed that you should treat me so?” he finally and piteously said aloud, knowing full well that verbal communication would gain him nothing.
Robyn was immediately overwhelmed with the calm and comforting caress of Promanthea’s mind-touch, and he understood without further regret that yes, there was something uncommunicated, something so monumental and far beyond his understanding at this point that knowledge of it would only serve to prejudice the future. His tree felt similar remorse at the need to conceal anything from Robyn, yet he remained steadfast and determined, and Robyn resigned himself to that fact, relinquishing his feelings of hurt and abandonment in favor of his greater trust and respect for Promanthea. Yet, the nagging presentiment would not wholly disappear, and Robyn knew it had something to do with the calling.
“Aha! The boy!” he gasped. “You know more than you are telling me!” he said, but just as quickly as he formed the words around this thought, Promanthea retreated to an incommunicable state. The conversation was over.
Robyn knew that the task to which he was just recently called upon to lend his aid and knowledge was one of primary importance, and his role was a crucial one. With his strength and Promanthea’s, he began the preparations for his journey eastward to join Baladar and the others at the side of the boy.
Chapter Five
She turned abruptly, parrying his thrust. With the flat side of her broadsword, using all of her body weight, she slammed into the exposed portion of his arm above his gauntlet and knocked him off balance. Before he could recover, she grabbed the staff lying on the ground nearby and swept him off his feet with one circular motion. As he fell heavily to the hard, dry earth within the circle of combat, Filaree Par D’Avalain stood over him triumphantly with the staff across his throat.
“You fool!” she exclaimed gleefully. “You should never have come at me so quickly when you thought my back was turned. It was just what I expected and hoped for. Next time, do not be so predictable.”
Cameron pushed her to one side frowning, then stood and brushed the dirt off of his clothing, concealing his reddened face from view.
“Everything is predictable to you, my Lady. I don’t think that I could ever surprise you with my attack,” he responded rather sheepishly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.
“Well, nevertheless Cameron, try and be more creative, and never expose your sword arm to the enemy. It will eventually spell your downfall no matter how inept the opponent might be,” she replied in a motherly tone. “If you always come upon your enemy square, you present to him your broadest surface. It is not unmanly to be discreet.”
She hoped that she had not admonished Cameron too sternly with her harsh response. He was, after all, the best swordsman in the kingdom, next to herself of course. Her fondness for him was immeasurable, and if she could embarrass him into being just a tiny bit more careful or more aware of the subtleties of battle, it might just save his life one day. He was too good a man to die unnecessarily because she failed to properly reproach him in fear of insulting his masculinity.
Filaree smoothed out her green, suede tunic, straightened the silk belt which held it in place, and began walking back to the horses lolling nearby. As she approached her silver grey mare Nico, she nickered affectionately and knelt on her front two legs to allow her to climb on easily. She required no saddle or bridle when she rode upon her back. She gladly carried her wherever she wished to go and responded to her needs as if she could read her thoughts.
“Come, Cameron. Ride with me back to the castle. The sun will soon set and I am ravished with hunger. Tonight the moon will be full and the lake sprites may be out and about. You know how they love to find a handsome, young man alone after dark,” she teased. “Or perhaps you would like to be seduced by the ladies of the lake, for all I know,” she said, smiling into her sleeve.
Cameron grimaced and hastily called to his mount so that he could accompany his Lady back and not be left here alone. There was little he feared in life, but the lake sprites made his blood run cold. He knew that Filaree did not share his concern, but, then again, what did really frighten her? He had yet to see her waver in the face of any obstacle. Neither did she ever express anything but sheer confidence whenever she was presented with what would have been insurmountable to most other warriors. Cameron shook his head back and forth. This Lady never ceased to amaze him.
Filaree Par D’Avalain was surely a warrior, in every sense of the word. Perhaps the finest at single combat in the kingdom, Filaree was never beaten. Her prowess with the broadsword and the staff was well renowned. Few had been privileged to witness her ability on horseback with a lance or crossbow. Nevertheless, it was extraordinary. Her opponents never walked away unscathed unless she chose to let them. If the enemy were real, they rarely walked away at all.
Cameron served his Lady for the past two tiels by now, and his respect for her as a leader and teacher, as well as his awe with regard to her continually astounding success against great odds, increased and compounded itself. He knew that he would do anything for her, including laying down his own life if need be. Such was his feeling for the Lady Filaree, and such feeling was mirrored a thousand times over by the men and women who served her.
As soon as he was mounted, Filaree clicked Nico onward and the two leapt forth at lightning speed in the direction of the castle. Cameron did all that he could to keep up with her and not be left in her dust once again. The sun would soon be setting, and it got rather cold and windy in the kingdom of Altair this time of year due to its proximity to the ice lakes. They were directly in the path of the breezes blowing southward across the vast expanses of ice, carrying with them a damp, cold air that settled on the city in the evening hours. Filaree, like usual, was too quick and was shortly out of his sight and into the forest ahead, and he spurred his mount on to regain her side.
As Cameron burst forth from the dense, pine, stockade-like forest surrounding the castle walls, prepared to gallop the fifty or so yard open expanse to the gates of the fortress, his mount suddenly reared up as he almost came crashing into Filaree and Nico. At first, his senses reeled with what he interpreted to be danger signals. With his broadsword already in his hand, he stared intently at Filaree, wanting desperately to know why she was seemingly frozen in stride directly in front of him. She neither moved nor reacted to his abrupt approach in any way. Nico pranced in place, her handsome head bobbing up and down.
He turned his horse so as to face the forest and give himself the ability to back toward Filaree. After scanning the space between her and the castle gate and seeing no sign of trouble, he focused his eyes on the sharp edge of pine trees, fully expecting that whatever had stopped his mistress in place to shortly pounce upon them as well. He slowly retreated to her side, glancing left and right.
“My Lady, can you hear me?” he asked while never taking his eyes off of the perimeter of trees in front of him. “Mistress? Try to break away from whatever is holding you while I guard your back.”
Cameron was slowly backing up next to her so that he could just about grab Filaree from her saddle and flee to the gates, when she turned her face to him and simply said, “We must go quickly, Cameron. Please assist me to the castle. We have work to do before we leave here.”
Shocked, he could barely respond. “Yes, my Lady, at once,” was all he could manage, as he turned and grabbed Nico’s mane and led them to the entrance.
“Do not fear, dear Cameron,” Filaree said rather sweetly, sensing his concern. “I am quite well. I have only just received a long awaited message. The means of its conveyance was rather unorthodox, and I was momentarily unable to move. It has merely caused a bit of fatigue, that is all. I am fine now, truly I am,” she continued, eyes half closed. “We must prepare though and with as much speed as we can muster. We have been ‘called’.”
By the way she said ‘called’ at the beginning and the end, Cameron recognized the auspiciousness of the event, although he had no inkling as to the why or the wherefore of the call. His first concern was to get his mistress safely behind the castle walls. There would be time for explanations later.