The Crystal Chalice (Book 1)

by R. J. Grieve

  When she awoke the sun was shedding its last rays into the glade before dipping behind the trees. Her clothes were almost dry - although her boots were still damp, and she dressed quickly wondering what she was going to do next. She was still tired and more hungry than ever and it was obvious that a cold night in the forest awaited her. She peered into its shadowy depths from the open glade and baulked at the idea of creeping into the gloom just as darkness was about to descend. It would be better to stay in the glade, close to the illusory friendliness of the old stone, until morning came. She had nothing with which to light a fire and indeed was reluctant to do so. Some instinct warned her that her only safety lay in the fact that her presence was undetected. Celedorn had said that the woods crawled with Turog and that even when the forest appeared to be empty, it was rarely so. He had not been specific about what else might live in the woods other than the Turog but her imagination, activated by the brooding silence, supplied all that he had not.

  As the daylight diminished into darkness, she sat with her back against the stone, trying to ignore the now insistent pangs of hunger. It became colder and what little warmth the stone had absorbed from the sun soon dissipated. She heard the bark of a dog-fox and the eerie scream of a vixen. Some creature, that common-sense told her was a badger, snuffled and grunted at the edge of the glade and somewhere distant amongst the trees an owl hooted, reminding her nostalgically of Skah. She wondered if he still brought mice back to the little round room in the ivy-covered tower. She thought of Relisar and his bumbling kindness and of Andarion, tall and fair. She thought of Dorgan and his last advice - which she had not heeded. If she had stayed close to Celedorn, as both he and Dorgan had commanded, all this would not have happened. She remembered Celedorn’s valiant attempt to save her. She saw him in her mind’s eye, leaning out precariously, concentrating on throwing the rope to her. She remembered her fear, the horrible, sickening stab of undiluted terror as the spar gave way. Then that long, long fall that had been like death in its finality.

  Celedorn’s voice echoed in her memory. “Elorin! Elorin!”

  Suddenly she awoke with a start. It was still dark but the moon had risen above the trees. Now almost full, it shed its metallic light into the glade. She tried to remember what it was that had awoken her. The night was still, silently painted with silver. Then she heard it again - the crack of a twig under a foot. Slowly she turned her head in the direction of the sound, at the same time shrinking down behind the stone, hoping that she was invisible amongst the tall grass.

  She thought she saw a movement amongst the trees but it could have been the product of an overwrought imagination playing tricks in the darkness. The moonlight did not penetrate the dark ranks of trees, but as she watched, her eyes straining against the darkness, she thought for an instant that she saw a dark shadow cross a shaft of moonlight at the edge of the glade. She couldn’t make out what it was but it was moving swiftly northwards, skirting the glade. She held her breath, every sense straining but she saw and heard nothing more. However, sleep was effectively banished. She stayed awake and alert hour after hour in the darkness, while the moon sank lower and the stars faded.

  When finally it was light, she arose stiff and cold from her cramped position, half wondering if she had dreamed the incident. She crossed to the edge of the glade where the shadow had been, but found nothing. Rapidly her most pressing need was to find something to eat, but the forest proved to be surprisingly barren at that time of year. Autumn would have yielded berries and nuts but late spring produced only wild garlic which had a strong, pungent taste, impossible to eat in quantity. She consumed a few that were growing amongst the trees, signalling their presence by their white flowers and rank smell but they did little to assuage her hunger. A tiny brook that danced and leapt its way down some mossy stones on its way to join the Harnor, provided some relief and she drank until she could hold no more.

  All through the long, wakeful night, her mind had been revolving around the problem of how to get back. Her main difficulty was that she lacked knowledge of the region. She had tried to recall in detail everything that Celedorn had told her and remembered that he had said that the cliffs resumed again to the west until the river reached the sea. Between them the Harnor ran strong and deep and uncrossable. To the east, a Turog army was encamped in the forest facing Eskendria, only momentarily disrupted by its encounter with the two princes. She had decided that her best option was to head west through the Forsaken Lands until she reached the coast. Perhaps there would be some way of crossing the Harnor where it emptied itself into the sea - the cliffs must surely end there.

  She left the little brook and climbed higher through the trees. Then taking her bearings from the sun and occasional glimpses of the distantly gleaming Harnor, she set off westwards. For the rest of that morning she followed a kind of ridge upon which the trees grew more thinly. It appeared to run roughly westward and was easier travelling than the dense forest below. It provided panoramic views over the surrounding forest to the south, towards the Harnor and the snow-tipped Westrin Mountains rising beyond, and in all other directions over the dense, unbroken green canopy of the forest. She wondered how far it was to the sea - it certainly, and rather discouragingly, wasn’t visible from her vantage-point. Perhaps what she was doing was madness, but she saw no alternative other than to wait by the Harnor until she was caught by the Turog. In a strange way, all her instincts urged her to turn towards the sea. In her head she heard the waves breaking and hissing on a sandy beach and the haunting call of the gulls. It was not the first time she had noticed a longing for the coast, for the smell of salt in the air. A strange affinity that might have been the ghost of a memory.

  By midday her hunger pains were so intense that she could think of nothing else. More water and allium did little to help. She trudged on determinedly but by late afternoon the ridge had disappointingly petered out and she was forced to descend into the claustrophobic density of the forest. However, not far into it, she unexpectedly came across what appeared to be a well-used trail. She stood looking at it, undecided. The track went in roughly the right direction but it had recently been trodden by many feet which she must assume were Turog. She glanced around her uneasily, wondering if the speed the track would lend her was worth the risk. The maze of trees on either side seemed confusing compared to the simplicity of the track. Finally, it was hunger that decided her. She needed to leave this barren forest as quickly as possible if she was not to starve. She would risk following the trail until nightfall. Proceeding along it, every sense alert, she was aware once again of the watchfulness of the forest. The sense of security that the height of the ridge had given her was gone and now, once more, she looked anxiously over her shoulder.

  It was looking over her shoulder that nearly caused her undoing. A deep pit, dug directly in her path, suddenly yawned at her feet and she teetered on the brink, flapping her arms wildly until she regained her balance. The pit already had an occupant. A little fawn stood on the earth at the bottom of the pit its spindly legs trembling. She had seen no deer in the forest and for a moment stared at it in surprise. The earthen sides of the pit were scraped where it had scrabbled with its hooves trying to get out. But whoever had dug the trap clearly knew his business and its sides were too steep for the little creature to escape.

  Elorin glanced around her warily, wondering if the fawn was bait to catch larger game, wondering if some minion of the Destroyer would leap upon her from the trees.

  But when nothing moved, she remarked to the fawn: “I like this path less than ever now, but I can’t leave you to be eaten by the Turog.”

  She hunted around for a sharp, flat stone and then jumped down into the pit. The fawn backed away in alarm.

  “Don’t be frightened. I’m going to use this stone to cut footholds in the side of the pit and then I’ll lift you out.”

  She wondered if the animal would struggle with her, making it impossible to perform her task but in fact it put up very li
ttle fight. It must have been trapped a long time for it appeared to be exhausted and allowed her to put it over her shoulder with very little resistance.

  When she got it on to firm ground, its legs promptly collapsed beneath it.

  Elorin stared at it in perplexity. “What am I going to do with you? You can’t lie there because whoever built this pit will be back to see what he has caught.” The fawn looked at her, blinking its large eyes. “We must get away from this track before nightfall and find somewhere deeper in the forest where we can hide. Try to walk.”

  She attempted to set it on its feet but it sank to the ground again.

  “All right,” she announced in exasperation, “I’ll carry you, but not very far because you are heavy for something so small.”

  Once more she lifted in onto her shoulder and moved quickly westwards into the forest away from the track. By dusk she could go no further. The weight of the fawn, combined with her own hunger and tiredness, was too much. She stopped near a stream and brought the fawn some water in her cupped hands, but it would touch nothing.

  “If I were on my own, I think I would climb into the branches of that large oak to spend the night,” she told it. “I don’t feel safe on the ground. However the cover of these bushes will have to do, as I can’t carry you another step tonight. Maybe I’ll be able to work out what to do in the morning, but at the moment I’m so tired and hungry that I can think of nothing but sleep and food.”

  She lay down against the fawn appreciating its warmth as night descended and the air grew chill. It lay quietly without moving, its soft ears flicking at every sound.

  “I’m glad I don’t have to spend another night alone but I honestly don’t know what to do with you.” After a pause she added: “I’ll never sleep tonight I’m so hungry.”

  The brilliance of the sunlight shining directly onto her face awoke her the next morning. She sat up abruptly, realising that it was late. The next thing that struck her was that the fawn had gone. It must have recovered and wandered off during the night. A stab of pain in her stomach reminded her of her predicament. She went down to the stream again and splashed her face with cold water. Then she sat down on a boulder overtaken by despair.

  “This is never going to work,” she whispered. “I’m going to die of starvation in this accursed forest.”

  “I will not let you die of hunger,” a voice said.

  Elorin leapt to her feet. Standing at the edge of the forest were two figures - a tall woman and a little girl. They wore long robes that were not green, nor brown, nor yet grey but blended so well with the trees, that but for their hands and faces they would have been invisible. Both had long nut-brown hair and the woman wore a wreath of ivy twined through her tresses.

  “Who.....who are you?” Elorin managed to gasp.

  “I am Kerrea, a spirit of these woods.” the woman replied, “and this is my daughter, Calya. Your help saved her life yesterday and we have come to repay the debt.”

  “But....but I don’t....” Elorin stammered, then realisation struck her. “The fawn!” she exclaimed.

  The woman inclined her head. “We seldom take corporeal form, especially now that the Turog infest these lands. Long ago in the days of the Old Kingdom it was different, when the High King still reigned and came to hunt the white hart in these woods. But now all is fallen and there are few of us left in the mortal sphere. My daughter was told not to take bodily form without supervision as she is inexperienced at it.” The little girl looked sheepish at that pronouncement. “However children must sometimes learn by their mistakes. She was fortunate that one of the Children of Light found her and not a creature of the Destroyer. She told me you were lost and hungry.” She held out the basket she had been carrying. “I will do all I can to help you - though that is little enough, I fear.”

  She set the basket by Elorin. It contained many round, flat cakes that looked and tasted like oatmeal but were astonishingly good. Despite her hunger, Elorin tried to eat with restraint. While she ate, at Kerrea’s request, she told her story.

  “Relisar is the last of his kind,” Kerrea remarked. “He may appear to bungle but that is often just because the full import of what he does is not understood. It is many long years since I have seen Keesha. In the days of the Old Kingdom she would often come here but now she never leaves her tower. I think she has forgotten how to take corporeal form. If Eskendria falls, the last remnant of the old ways will be gone. The last glimmer of order and civilisation will be extinguished. When that light is put out, we will leave too, for there will be nothing left to keep us here. These woods, once beautiful, have become polluted. A power that is too strong for us grows each year, smothering our joy in the brooks and new leaves and our pleasure in the sunlit glades. All that once was healthy and joyous descends into sickness and death. There will be no spring after the winter that is coming. For many years our power held the shadows at bay but there are too few of us now. Relisar is correct - it is now that the Champion is needed. The Wielder of the Sword of Flame must drive back the Turog and restore all the Destroyer has spoiled. It is our only hope.”

  Elorin shook her head sadly. “I’m so sorry that his attempt to summon the Champion failed. All he got was me and I appear to be of no use to anyone.”

  For the first time Kerrea smiled. “Have faith, Elorin, the path that reaches its goal is not always straight.”

  “Perhaps, but no one even knows where I am. In fact, it is probably assumed that I am dead. I don’t know how I survived that fall into the Serpent’s Throat.”

  “You must return to Eskendria,” Kerrea replied firmly. “These woods crawl with those foul creatures of the Destroyer. Your instinct to head towards the sea was correct but do not follow the Harnor, for it plunges into the sea over a mighty fall, straight into deep water where the waves of the sea crash against the cliffs. No, you must go northwards to the edge of this forest, across the Meadowlands, which in the old days were golden with wheat, and into the wood of Uldor until you meet the river Skerris-morl - which in the modern tongue is called the River of the Pearl Seekers. Follow it down to the sea and there you are likely to find fishermen from Serendar. They are often there at this time of year.

  “Why do they risk coming to fish at the edge of the Forsaken Lands?”

  “They fish for oysters which carry the famous silver pearls. The crown of Serendar in made entirely of silver pearls. One of the moonpearls is worth a king’s ransom - many times more than the white ones, so the risk of coming to the Forsaken Lands is deemed to be worth it.”

  She stood up. “You have more than enough food in the basket to see you to the coast and there will be no shortage of streams to provide water on the way. But before you go, there is something I must tell you.......” She hesitated. “I do not wish to alarm you, but you are being hunted. Something black, some dark shadow pursues you. I do not know what it is but it has killed in this forest. It has blood on its hands. It has followed you relentlessly from the Harnor. It lost your trail in the darkness two nights ago but it has found it again.”

  “Something passed me the night before last,” said Elorin slowly. “Some shadow skirted the glade where I was resting.”

  “Travel swiftly, Elorin, and stay off any tracks you find. Go directly northwards until you reach the Meadowlands. Perhaps it is a creature of the shade and will not follow you onto the sunlit plains. We have tried to confuse and mislead it, but it has woodcraft and is not easily deceived.” She turned to go. “Travel safely and may the Father of Light guide your path.”

  The little girl shyly smiled her thanks, and with that, they withdrew their hands into their sleeves, pulled their hoods over their heads and instantly disappeared.

  “Goodbye and thank you,” Elorin called into the empty forest.

  Although she tried not to show it, Kerrea’s warning had frightened Elorin. She lost no time in picking up the basket and heading undeviatingly northwards, trying all the time to rid herself of the feeling that whatever was
following her was gaining. As if to heighten her sense of apprehension, the sun disappeared behind a thin veil of silvery clouds, depriving her of the brightness and cheerfulness of the sunshine. Once more the forest became dreary, its very silence a threat. Her old sense of being followed redoubled, aggravated by the information that her instincts had proved correct. She quickened her pace, convinced that the shadow that was pursuing her was drawing closer.

  Just as dusk was beginning to fall, her acute hearing alerted her to the faint sound of voices coming from amongst the trees to her right. She stood still, in the shelter of an elder tree whose branches grew low to the ground, and listened. The voices were coming closer; harsh guttural voices speaking a language she didn’t understand. She shrank into the dense foliage, realising that it was too late to run. Into view came a troop of Turog, about twenty in all, plodding along in their usual disorderly fashion. They were all armed with axes, weighty round shields, and their customary curved swords. They wore steel-studded leather tunics and round, visorless helmets. Two were obviously arguing with each other. They snarled what appeared to be insults in their barbaric language, their deep, throaty voices raised in fury. Suddenly one dropped the bundles he had been carrying and drew his sword. The other swung his axe and battle was joined. The others formed a circle around the embattled pair, shouting and yelling with demonic glee, enjoying the sport.