by R. J. Grieve
Chapter Two
Elorin
The autumn mist began to swirl softly amongst the still trees. Silently, each golden leaf dropped like a tear to the ground. The gentle billows crept between the jagged grey stones standing like broken teeth around the rim of the ancient circle. The man in the centre of the circle was oblivious to the mist. He stood lost in thought, his gaze bent upon the weighty leather book he held in his hands. Occasionally he muttered to himself, softly repeating the ancient incantations. His long white beard and gown of grey would have proclaimed his calling even if his murmured spells had not.
His actions were being intently observed by two men standing within the shelter of the trees just outside the stone circle. They were enough alike for even the uninitiated to recognise that they were brothers. The elder of the two was fairer and taller than his sibling, but both wore cloaks of royal red and the elder had a circlet of gold upon his brow. However, their differences in temperament soon became apparent. While the elder remained patiently watching the process in the ring, leaning against the dark bole of a tree, the younger paced the autumn glade restlessly. Finally, as if no longer able to restrain himself, he declared:
“If that old fool doesn’t hurry up, I’m leaving. I knew all this was folly. Why should we rely on the old dotard when all he does goes awry? I need not cite his last debacle to you, brother, you were present, you saw his humiliation. He may once have been great enough to earn his title as the Keeper of the Book, but that was long ago and I’m inclined to think that senility has set in.”
His brother remained unmoved by the outburst. “Patience, Sarrick, we have nothing to lose but a few hours of our time.”
He was met with a snort of derision. “Waste your time if you wish. I have better things to do.”
As he spoke, he turned on his heel to leave but his brother reached out a hand and caught his sleeve.
“Look! Something is happening!”
The mist on the ground had begun to swirl. Slowly it revolved until dimly a shape began to form.
The old man’s incantation did not cease. He droned on, his words indistinguishable to the brothers. They stood tensed, staring mesmerised at the swirling form of mist. One moment it seemed like a great eagle with outstretched wings, the next like a predatory cat. Then slowly it sank to the ground, a concentrated white billow more dense and solid than the surrounding mist. As it did so, a soft growling rumble seemed to issue from the ground. The Keeper of the Book ceased his murmuring and froze into immobility. A tingle of apprehension crawled up Sarrick’s neck and he stood unaware that his brother still grasped his arm.
“What’s happening?” he whispered .
“I don’t know. Perhaps, against the odds, he has been successful. Perhaps what lies beneath the mist is the Champion he is trying to summon and not just another of his debacles.”
“Then why is he just standing there, Andarion? Mark my words, something is not right.”
Convulsively Andarion tightened his grip on his brother’s arm. “Look!”
The mist was beginning to dissipate. Slowly, strand by strand, it began to melt away until a shape lying on the ground was revealed. A human form. With a soft groan the form began to move. It rolled over onto its back.
Sarrick uttered a crack of derision. “Ha! A girl! It’s just a girl! Some Champion this has turned out to be!” He raised his voice to carry to the old man. “Well, Relisar? Another one of your farces, eh? One shabby-looking girl is all you can produce instead of the Champion of the Book of Light. Is she going to save us from the Turog?”
Relisar either did not hear, or did not choose to hear, for he remained in the circle staring at the ground. With a sound of disgust, Sarrick turned on his heel and left. The sound of thudding hooves a moment later signalled his departure.
Andarion briefly looked undecided, as if part of him wished to follow his brother’s example, but finally he left the shelter of the trees and crossed to the edge of the stone circle.
“You can come closer, there is nothing to fear,” the old man said as the Prince stepped to his side. “Did you hear it?”
“What?”
“The voice. The voice that said that every door requires a key.”
“I heard nothing except a slight rumbling sound that might just have been distant thunder.” He looked at the silent form on the ground. “Is she dead? She moved a moment ago? Is she all right?”
“Yes, yes, she is alive.”
“Who is she? Surely not the one we seek?”
“No, alas, I have no idea who she is or why she was sent. I have consulted the Book again and again and I am convinced that I performed the ritual correctly. Certainly there was power in it, for I felt it most strongly but......but this is not what I expected.”
They both stood in silence looking at the girl. She was tall, dark haired, dressed shabbily in stained leather trousers and a much-darned woollen tunic. Her skin was the golden colour of a fair skin that has been exposed to the sun. Her face, although not strictly beautiful, had a certain appeal. It was fine boned, a rather determined chin softened by a pretty mouth. Under the tan, her face was deathly pale and her breathing was shallow.
“Her dress is not dissimilar to the Marsh People of southern Serendar,” Andarion observed softly.
“Time to find out.” Relisar bent down and gently shook her shoulder. “It’s time to wake up, my dear. Come now, my child, open your eyes.”
With a soft groan the lids opened upon a pair of rather dazed blue eyes. “Where am I?”
“You are in the forest of Canthor near Addania.”
“Addania? But that’s the capital of Eskendria. How could I be here? Who are you?” She raised herself on her elbow, panic clearly setting in. “How did I get here? What have you done to me?”
“It’s a long story, my dear, but there is no need to be afraid. I am Relisar, the Keeper of the Book, and this is Andarion, Crown Prince of Eskendria. Now, we need you to tell us your name and where you come from.”
The girl stared at them for a moment, then sank her face in her hands. “I don’t know, I simply don’t know,” she groaned. “I can remember nothing before waking up in this forest. I can’t remember my home. I can’t remember my name.” She looked up at them, clearly terrified. “I can’t remember my own name! Help me! Please! I can’t remember my name!”
“We cannot help you,” said the Prince gently. “We have no idea who you are. Relisar was conducting a summoning spell intended to obtain the Champion referred to in the Book of Light but something must have gone wrong because you appeared instead. We were hoping that you could shed some light on where you came from, something to indicate whether your appearance has some meaning or is merely another.....em.....mishap.”
“A mishap?” the girl repeated incredulously.
The old man and the Prince looked at one another helplessly.
“Come, my dear,” said Relisar, “you will catch cold sitting on that damp ground.” He reached down and helped her to her feet. “Come back with us to Addania and we will see what can be done. I must consult the ancient scrolls to see if I can discover the reason for your appearance. In the meantime you will be my guest. Now, until you get your memory back, we cannot simply go on referring to you as ‘the girl’. That would be impolite.” He smiled slightly. “No, we must give you a name. Any suggestions, Your Highness?”
Andarion looked at her kindly. “How about Elorin? It means ‘autumn’ in the ancient tongue and we did find you on an autumn day.”
Elorin smiled a little uncertainly at him, grateful for his kindness but clearly still disorientated and confused.
The Prince stretched out his hand to her. “Come. You may ride before me.”
She took the proffered hand and he led her through the trees to where his horse was tethered. Relisar followed, muttering to himself and occasionally stopping to leaf through the book he carried.
The Prince looked over his shoulder with the first hint of impatience.
“Will that not wait until we are back?” he remarked a shade tartly. “It is getting dark and it looks like rain. Elorin has suffered enough for one day, without getting a soaking as well.”
Startled out of his abstraction, Relisar picked up the tail of his grey robe and trotted after them.
Elorin never afterwards forgot her first sight of Addania. It was built on a hill rising out of the centre of a wide plain, ringed by a shining river. Its grey walls gleamed like silver in the last rays of the setting sun. Slender towers and battlements stabbed the sky like needles, and from each pinnacle fluttered a sky-blue flag emblazoned with a golden flower.
They entered the city over the single span of a graceful bridge and through a tunnel-like gate that led to a narrow, cobbled street which twisted its way up the hill between overhanging houses. The streets were a hive of activity, but the people seemed to recognise the Prince and stood back respectfully. His grey-robed companion, in contrast, received scowls and a few muttered remarks, which from the tone, appeared to be uncomplimentary.
The Prince realised that the girl on his saddlebow had stiffened with anxiety.
“Don’t worry,” he said reassuringly. “It’s not far now. Relisar has quarters inside the royal compound.” He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the object of his remarks was out of earshot. “Mind you, it will be no treat sharing accommodation with him, for he is the most untidy, disorganised creature created since first light.” He smiled slightly to rob his words of criticism. “However, he has a kind heart and is always full of good intentions. It’s just that somehow something always seems to go wrong.”
“Like today, you mean?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. Perhaps that was tactless.”
She shook her head. “No, you’ve been very kind. I just can’t rid myself of the feeling that this is all some horrible dream and I’ll wake up safe in my bed at home.....wherever that is.”
“It’s becoming no clearer?”
“No. I feel as if memory is just tantalisingly beyond my reach. The more I strain to capture it, the more it eludes me.”
They passed through another set of crennellated walls which encircled the brow of the hill. The guards by the gate saluted the Prince as he passed. To Elorin’s relief, the crowds of curious people were left behind.
Andarion reined in his horse. “This is where we stop.” He slid from the saddle and turned to help her down but she had already alighted nimbly beside him. Relisar fell out of the saddle, still tightly clutching his heavy book. His horse, glad to be rid of him, took off in the direction of the stables.
They had stopped before a high, round tower built of the light-grey stone that seemed to characterise the city. Higher up, it was pierced by many tiny, pointed windows but at the ground floor the only aperture was a small, iron-bound wooden door. A shaggy ivy had wound itself around the tower as far as the second floor and was exhibiting the effrontery of trying to reach the third.
Relisar pushed open the door “Come, come, this way.”
They wound their way up a narrow spiral staircase until they arrived at the first floor. Another heavy wooden door lead to a curious apartment. The light filtering in from the tiny, pointed windows was dim and rendered even dimmer by the fact that the ivy had crept across the glass. But even the poor light did not conceal the chaos. Books were piled everywhere on every available flat surface, including the floor. Glass jars containing powder of every conceivable colour from sapphire blue to flaming ruby, from amber to emerald green, were stacked everywhere, apparently without reference to their contents. Trays, pots, lotions and potions, spoons, quills, scrolls, all jostled together in hopeless confusion. Only the bookshelves which lined the walls of the room were tidy by virtue of the fact that they were empty. All the books were stacked higgeldy-piggledy on the floor. From amongst the debris, Relisar extracted the stump of a candle and lit it.
“Ah, that’s better. Now, my dear, sit down....er....I’ll find a space, don’t worry.” He began pushing things around and managed to extract a wooden chair from underneath the chaos. He dusted it ineffectually with the tail of his robe.
“There now. That’s better, isn’t it? Now, let me see. Your memory has not come back has it?”
Elorin shook her head.
“Then we must see what we can deduce about you.” He looked at the Prince. “You thought her dress was like the Marsh People?”
“Yes, I have only visited their land once because it is outside our domain, and although they have never shown particular hostility towards Eskendrians, they do not welcome strangers. They wear leather breeches and woollen tunics such as Elorin’s. They also favour colours such as she is wearing - beige, brown, dun - as these colours camouflage them when they go hunting amongst the reeds.” He looked speculatively at Elorin. “Also, when I took your hand, I felt a slight roughness on the first two fingers, which suggests you frequently use the bow. Marsh People are without exception skilful hunters with the bow.”
Relisar looked over Elorin’s head at the Prince. “You note that her clothes are poor, indicating a peasant family, but her speech is cultured and she appears to have learning - an apparent contradiction.” He lifted the heavy book he had been carrying and showed her the title page. “Can you read that, my dear?”
She looked at the line of curling symbols. “Yes, it is the Book of Incantations.”
Relisar was triumphant. “You see? She can read the old language. Poorly dressed but educated. I make my point.”
“There is another contradiction,” the Prince added. “She has neither the looks nor the build of the Marsh People. They are short and sturdy but she is tall and slightly built. They have swarthy complexions and black eyes, but she is fair skinned and blue eyed.”
Elorin interrupted him, a little tired of being talked about as if she were not there. “I think it’s time you explained how I got here. What were you doing out there in the forest? You mentioned a summoning spell. Who is this Champion you were trying to summon?”
Andarion sighed and pushing some books aside, sat down on the edge of a table. “Two years ago, the Turog began encroaching on our borders from those deserted wastes they call home. They began to appear in such numbers that Eskendria was hard-pushed to resist them. Always, no matter how often we defeated them, there seemed to be more of them, driven along relentlessly by the will of the Destroyer. About six months ago we won a decisive victory over them to the north of our border, driving them back beyond the River Harnor - although at heavy cost to ourselves. Nonetheless, we felt that perhaps their offensive had come to an end.”
He lifted his head and she read the despair in his eyes. “But no, we were wrong, they have started to push southwards through the Forsaken Lands and are fast approaching our borders. Our traditional allies from Serendar on the coast, refuse to come to our aid. We can only guess that the Turog have offered them immunity from attack. Or perhaps they were offered nothing. Perhaps they are just afraid. At any rate, not only do we have no allies to help but we are beset on all sides, for that blackguard, Celedorn, has used the opportunity for some privateering on his own account. He has harried and harassed our lines of communications, raiding and pillaging anything that comes within range of his mountain stronghold. The only thing that can be said for him is that he also attacks the Turog if they are foolish enough to come within his reach.”
“Who is he?”
“No one really knows. He came out of the forest with his brigands about ten years ago and took over the old castle of Ravenshold. He kills without mercy, even when the very existence of his own kind may be at stake.”
“His own kind?”
The Prince stared at her in astonishment. “Yes. Us. Mankind. Do you not remember what the Turog are?”
She shook her head. “The name strikes fear and loathing into me but I can’t remember why.”
Relisar, who had been quietly listening, leaned forward and lifted the heavy leather book he had been clutching all day. “Let
me read you the relevant passage from the Book of Light.” He thumbed through the pages. “Ah, yes, here it is.”
‘.....and the Destroyer, the Terrible one, was consumed with envy when he saw the handiwork of Yervenar, he who is the Creator, and rage took hold of him more powerful than any anger seen since first light and he smote the ground in his wrath and it split open in a great ravine, a fissure so deep that it penetrated to the glowing heart of the earth. Then he took thought as to how he could destroy the first fruits of creation and twist that which was beautiful and pure to his own evil ends. He lured two of the children, the innocent, first- born, to a great cavern in the ravine and for many dark years they were seen no more. At the end of the first age, evil twisted forms began to emerge from the caverns and spread across the land. Foul mockery of the children of light. Bent and bow legged, powerful with demonic strength, dark of visage with slanted eyes, teeth and claws of animals, the Turog began to multiply’.”
“I remember now,” Elorin interrupted and continued his quotation. ‘.......and enmity was between them and the descendants of the children. And there shall be no rest amongst the dark multitude until the Creator’s handiwork is wiped from the face of the earth and they are no more’.” She halted, pleased that she had remembered something. “But who is this Champion you refer to?”
Relisar thumbed through the Book. “Later on, it says that in the time of greatest darkness, when the children are sore beset, a champion will come - one who has the power to defeat the enemy and turn back the evil tide. He will come unexpectedly, but he must be bidden to come before he will appear. It then goes on to give the summoning spell I used this afternoon.” He looked at the Prince apologetically. “I followed it exactly, you know. I realise that you are more polite than your brother and would never call me an incompetent old fool to my face but I sense that is exactly what you are thinking.”