by R. J. Grieve
When they were walking back to the Ivy Tower, Elorin, who had kept quiet in such exalted company, demanded enlightenment from Relisar.
“Tell me more about this Celedorn they were all talking about? Why does he pose such a threat?”
“No one really knows much about him. He’s a bit of a mystery.” Relisar replied. “No one is certain who he is or where he came from.....”
“......a bit like me?” she interrupted a little sadly.
Relisar smiled kindly at her. “Not in the least like you. He appeared out of the forest about ten years ago and took control of the bandits who had infested the old fortress of Ravenshold.”
“Had they captured it?”
“No, it was empty, abandoned. Indeed, it had been lying semi-derelict since the Lord of Westrin and his family had been massacred by the Turog.” To her surprise the old man’s eyes misted with tears. “It was long ago and yet I remember it well. I remember Lord Calordin and his noble lady. As I recall, they had two young children - both slaughtered. They were travelling to Addania, obeying King Tharin’s summons to take the yearly oath of loyalty. It was in time of peace, so the whole family was travelling through the forest. The Turogs’ attack was as dreadful as it was sudden. No one knew that a party of them had crept across the borders into Eskendria. They butchered everyone. Calordin and his family, his servants and guards, all without mercy in their usual vile fashion. Over one hundred people died that day. There were no survivors. After everyone was dead, they heaped the corpses into a pile and set fire to them. They say the smoke hung over the forest for weeks afterwards. By the time the King’s guards arrived, there was nothing left but a pile of smoking ashes. The Turog, encouraged by their success, went on to sack Ravenshold - left only lightly defended. They rampaged through it, killing everyone, stealing and pillaging. They even tried to set fire to it, but it wouldn’t burn. Then they disappeared into the forest again. The King sent his best trackers to find them, but to no avail. Those vermin can disappear like mist when they wish to.” He sighed. “For many years Ravenshold lay empty, inhabited only by ghosts. Then Celedorn and his band of cut-throats emerged out of the forest and took it over, using its position in the Westrin mountains to raid the trade routes through the great valleys. They steal, pillage and destroy, little better than the Turog. Their only redeeming feature is that they hunt the Turog ruthlessly. It is almost sport with them. I believe Celedorn has thought up ways of slaughtering captured Turog that I would not dare repeat to you. But he has achieved what few men have done - he has made them afraid of him. They even have their own name for him. In their barbarous tongue they call him Zardes-kur - the Executioner, the Bringer of Death.”
Despite the warmth of the autumn sun still falling on the courtyard, Elorin shivered.
However, on their arrival at Relisar’s tower, her anxious mood vanished. When they had ascended the stairs to his study, he suddenly halted in the doorway, giving vent to an exclamation of horror. She peered over his shoulder to see what was the matter, to discover that his study was immaculately tidy. The chaos had been replaced by order. Every book was back in its appointed space on the shelves, all his jars and potions were arranged neatly according to size or colour, and the huge oak table was polished until it gleamed.
“Oh, no!” he repeated in the voice of doom. “Keesha has been tidying!” He shook his head sadly. “I won’t be able to find a thing now.”
Chapter Four
The lynching Party
Over the next few weeks Relisar’s tower became home for Elorin. She found him generous, cheerful, forgetful and more than a little chaotic to live with. However, his unfailing kindness and sympathy won in response from her a firm liking and respect. Her partiality was such, that it hurt her, on the rare occasions when they met Prince Sarrick, that he held the old Sage in such open contempt. Fortunately it was otherwise with his brother. Andarion was all a prince should be - handsome, gracious and brave. Whatever his private opinion of Relisar’s incompetence, he was unfailingly courteous to him and went out of his way to be kind to Elorin. Only a few days after her arrival in Addania, a parcel arrived at the tower accompanied by a note addressed to her. It was from Andarion and explained that as her abrupt and unexpected arrival in the kingdom meant that she had no possessions, he had taken the liberty of asking his sister to obtain clothes and other necessities for her. As the clothes she had been wearing had been tunic and breeches, he had procured a similar style of dress for her and hoped that she would find this acceptable.
Acceptable was hardly the word. When Elorin opened the parcel, she found clothes that she was quite certain she had never possessed in her life. The tunics were of the richest materials and the most beautiful colours - deep blue, amethyst and forest-green - all colours except royal red. Moreover they were embroidered at the cuffs and collar with intricate designs in gold and silver thread. Silver hairbrushes, scent bottles of crystal and boots of the softest, finest leather were but few of the other treasures in the parcel. She sat on the floor of her little, round room surrounded by the bounty, feeling overwhelmed by such generosity.
When she read the note again she discovered a post scriptum that she had overlooked before, suggesting that she might like to accompany the Prince on a ride that afternoon. She realised that his generosity extended to his time as well as to material things. With so many more weighty matters on his mind, she fully appreciated the extent of his kindness.
Anxious to share her good fortune with someone, she lifted her favourite tunic - the blue one - and tumbled down the spiral stair in search of Relisar.
He was in his study as usual, and as usual he was bent over some weighty tome, holding it to the light at the tiny window, peering at it short-sightedly, his nose almost touching the page. Skah was perched on the back of a chair watching him with a bored expression. When Elorin burst into the room, the owl’s head revolved to look at her in that rather disconcerting way that owls do.
“Look Relisar!” she exclaimed, holding up the tunic. “Look what Prince Andarion has sent me! And there is more upstairs - clothes, hairbrushes, everything a person could wish for.”
Relisar looked up, clearly preoccupied. “Yes, yes, very nice. Go and put it on,” he suggested, in a not very sophisticated attempt to get rid of her.
“But wasn’t it kind?”
His attention had already returned to his book. “Yes, indeed, the Prince is most considerate........now, I wonder.....” he added in a musing tone, and crossing the room, lifted another book and stuck his nose in it.
“He’s asked me to go riding with him,” she persisted, but on receiving no response, gave it up as a bad job and returned to her room to find that Keesha had at least signified her approval by hanging up all the clothes and arranging the hairbrushes on the dressing-table.
Soon she stood waiting in the mild autumn sunshine by the door of the tower, her entire person clothed in sapphire blue, her long hair brushed with the silver brushes until it shone.
The sound of hooves from beyond the ivy-covered archway alerted her to the Prince’s presence. He rode a beautiful bay horse, its coat rippling glossily in the sunshine and led a rather fresh-looking chestnut. When he drew level with her, he swung his leg over the pommel and slid out of the saddle.
“Why, Elorin,” he declared mischievously, “you look almost presentable.”
She laughed. “How can I ever thank you.....” she began, but he brushed her gratitude aside with a characteristic gesture of his hand.
“You have nothing to thank me for. It is hardly adequate compensation for all you have gone through, for all you have lost.” He led the chestnut horse forward. “Come, let’s enjoy what might be the last of these golden afternoons. Winter is approaching fast - I can feel it. The first frost was on the lawn this morning and all the swallows have gone. It won’t be long before I, too, must be gone.”
He helped her to mount and led the way out of the palace, down through the steep, crowded streets. He had to
respond to so many greetings and smiles that he was unable to converse with her. People came out of their houses to see him, some leaning over the pretty, flower bedecked balconies that graced many of the houses at first floor level. The Prince had a smile or a pleasant word for all of them and Elorin was conscious of a proprietorial sense of pride in him. However, their descent might have been more pleasant if she had been regarded in the same way, but the smiles of the crowd became hard stares when they rested on her and the pleasant remarks became muttered imprecations. She guessed disappointment at Relisar’s mistake ran deep.
When they emerged from the city walls and crossed the elegant, arching bridge over the river, Andarion took the eastern road, a long, white, dusty scar that stretched its pale finger towards some gently wooded hills in the distance. After a short distance he left the road and ascended a grassy knoll. The top provided a magnificent view of Addania, now about a mile away. The sun illuminated its silver-grey walls, the slender towers and proud battlements. The blue flags emblazoned with the chalice flower flew bravely in the autumn breeze. He sat on his horse for a long time, staring at it, saying nothing, his profile clear-cut against the sky, almost unaware of his companion.
“It’s beautiful,” Elorin finally said. “You must be so proud of it.”
He started slightly as if she had broken the spell. “Every time I leave the eastern gate, I come to this hill to look at it. For me it is more than a city, it is a symbol. It represents all we fight for, all we defend. It stands for order against chaos, civilisation against barbarity and light against darkness. Tissro described it as the silver city on the hill and when the sun catches it, one can see why he used those words.”
“You love it dearly.” It was a statement, not a question.
“All Eskendrians do. There is not one of us who would not give our lives for it.” He sighed and turned away. “It looks as if it will soon come to that.”
“Do you mean Celedorn?”
“Partly. My plans are nearly ready. I leave for the mountains in under two weeks. The snow can come early in those mountains and I have no wish to conduct a campaign on the fox’s home territory up to my eyes in snow. It’s going to be difficult enough to flush him out of there, without the weather coming to his assistance. He will soon realise what our intentions are, of course, but my hope is that he will retreat to Ravenshold, trusting in the strength of its walls to defeat us. Hoping that the cold will freeze us, before we can starve him.”
“Will he not know that time is on his side?”
“Of course he will, but hopefully what he won’t know, is that dismantled into sections in our baggage train, are siege engines which I trust will make short work of Ravenshold’s defences.”
“Is it an easy castle to attack?”
“No, far from it. In fact, in all the centuries that it has stood there, it has never been taken by force - only by treachery.”
“I thought that the Turog stormed it after killing the Lord of Westrin.”
“Not quite,” he amended. “It was a time of peace, you see, so they found the gates open and the castle only lightly defended.” His face darkened. “There was no time to close the gates. No time to put up an effective defence. It wasn’t battle, it was just a massacre.”
“Celedorn will be prepared,”
“Oh yes,” said the Prince, his face grim. “He will be prepared. The task will not be easy but it must be done. We cannot have him harassing us while we attempt to fight the biggest Turog army that has ever been thrown at us. We never thought they could field such an army against us again, after their defeat at the hands of my great-grandfather. He led the last great alliance of the civilised nations, including soldiers from as far away as the Isles of Kelendore. They crossed the river Harnor, over the old bridge of the twelve arches which has now been destroyed, and pursued them into the forest, into the territory that they had taken from mankind before even the Chronicles of the Old Kingdom were written. But the Turog ran before him and would not fight. They relied on the forest to disorientate his army so that they could be picked off in small groups. It was then that the King called the third great Counsel of the Sages. They used one of the old spells of adamant from the Book of Incantations. An invisible wall sprang up around the forest, a wall that a human being could walk through without knowing that it was there, but that the Turog could not penetrate. The Turog were trapped and turned to fight. We slew them all, every last one. But we were too few in number to reclaim the land beyond the Harnor that we had lost so long ago. The victorious allies returned home, hoping that the forest would remain empty.” He shook his head sadly. “It was not to be. They crept back, one by one, like some horrible, invasive weed that had seeded itself, they sprang up from nowhere. Now we face them again, but this time there is no alliance. I do not know what Celedorn has done to poison our allies on the coast against us, but this time we stand alone.”
“Perhaps what your father hopes will come true. If you defeat Celedorn, the alliance will be reborn.”
They were walking their horses along a pleasant country lane set deep between banks topped by hawthorn hedges. The sunken lane was warm and somnolent, dozing in the gentle sunshine, the quiet broken only by a disturbed blackbird clucking in the hedge. But Elorin knew he saw none of it. His gaze had that distant, unfocused look of someone who looks inward towards their thoughts.
“I don’t know if that is the answer. It is true that at the time of the last alliance, Ravenshold was under the rule of the Lord of Westrin and the passes afforded safe passage to the coast, but somehow I think there is more to it than that. Celedorn is an opportunist, a man who exploits a situation rather than creating it. His band of cut-throats has grown large and bold but I do not think that it could resist an army. The Serendarians could have rid themselves of him if they chose - although he would make them pay dearly.”
“You almost sound as if you have a grudging respect for him.”
“I do not respect him,” Andarion almost snapped. “He betrays his own kind. He preys on our trade with the coast to make himself richer. He kills those sent against him, and all the while the old order falls to pieces around him.”
“Relisar said he hunts the Turog.”
“Yes. I think he finds in them an outlet for his cruelty. His savagery has made even them afraid of him. I do not think, however, he does this to help Eskendria. Celedorn helps no one but himself.”
Suddenly, as if becoming aware that he was not fulfilling his role as a host, with an effort he shook off his gloomy mood.
“Look what I’m doing!” he exclaimed. “Burdening you with all this talk of doom and disaster when my purpose in asking you to come for a ride was to cheer you up.”
She smiled. “Do you think I need cheering up?”
“You make light of it, but your situation is very difficult. To lose one’s past as you have done, must be devastating. The past is all we have as a reference point for the present and a guide for the future.”
She nodded, appreciating his perception. “I tend to drift these days,” she observed. “Like Tissro the Wanderer, I lack purpose. It makes me feel rather detached, as if I merely observe everything happening around me from a great distance.”
“Only the passage of time will cure that problem. After all, each day that passes gives you a little more history. I will help you in any way I can. My sister will too. Illiana has great sympathy for you.”
Somehow, remembering those cool emerald eyes, Elorin doubted that, but she said nothing for she knew the Prince was devoted to his sister.
Life for Elorin soon began to settle into a recognisable pattern. In the mornings she had breakfast with Relisar - a meal fraught with peril, as he had the habit of setting whatever potion he was working with on the breakfast tray. Several times when he had his nose stuck in a book, she had seen him reach absent-mindedly for a glass of wine and lift up some vile-smelling brew instead.
Skah usually observed proceedings, occasionally exhibiting his
regard for her by bringing her a dead mouse, which she quietly disposed of when he wasn’t looking. Keesha made her invisible presence felt by indulging in occasional bouts of tidying, interspersed by the disconcerting habit of moving objects to places they hadn’t been before. She moved Relisar’s favourite chair - with disastrous results for someone who never looked where he was sitting before he did so. Occasionally she lost her temper with the old Sage’s slovenly habits and threw books and any other easily portable object at him. Elorin entered his study one day to find him hiding under the table while books and glass phials whizzed across the room, apparently of their own volition.
“I spilt red dye on the table she had just polished,” wailed Relisar from beneath the table. He clapped his hands over his ears as a jar hit the wall with a deafening crash. “It’s only lucky for me she is such a terrible shot.”
“Keesha!” Elorin cried. “Keesha, don’t be angry with him. He doesn’t mean to provoke you, you know. Indeed he holds you in the highest regard, as do we all. I will clean up the dye he spilt.”
Silence fell. Relisar cautiously eased his head up above the table.
“Do you think that’s done it?” he asked.
A small book flew across the room and hit him on the nose.
After such enlivening sessions, Elorin enjoyed escaping for her daily ride in the country. Sometimes, to her delight, the Prince accompanied her, but as the date for his departure drew nearer, she more often went alone. She grew to know and love the rich countryside around the capital. The quiet lanes edged by golden trees, their leaves falling like an unclaimed fortune to the ground. The hedgerows still laden with glowing red berries and the well-tended fields, sometimes dusted with ground-mist as ephemeral as spiders’ webs, from which the farmhouses arose as if enchanted. The only thing that marred her pleasure in these lovely afternoons was the hostile looks and muttering that followed her passage through the city. Each day it seemed to get worse, although she tried her best to be discreet. It finally came to a head the day before the Prince’s departure.