by R. J. Grieve
Relisar had been nodding wisely during her speech. “That seems sensible to me. No need to panic yet, but best to be prepared.”
The Prince bowed stiffly. “I apologise, Elorin, for my discourteous behaviour.” He looked at Celedorn, who merely leaned back in his chair and offered no apology. The Prince continued: “What you suggest makes sense. Besides, there are those in whose company I would not travel a yard.”
This appeared to touch Celedorn on the raw, for he rose to his feet and the Prince did likewise. As they faced each other, Elorin was struck by the difference between them. Although both were tall men, much of a height, all similarity ended there. They were like the epitome of light and darkness. One so fair, the other so dark. One so handsome, the other so disfigured. Yet in comparing them, she observed a certain aristocratic cast of countenance in Celedorn that she had not noticed before. The high cheekbones and hawk-like nose merely emphasised his arrogance. As usual, the air between the two men crackled like an electrical storm.
“If it comes to a journey across the Forsaken Lands,” Celedorn said icily, “remember this. Out there, is the Destroyer’s domain where there is no law, no civilisation. Your rank means nothing there. There is no army for you to command, no kingdom for you to rule. Out there, you are not a prince but just a man trying to survive. In the Forsaken Lands you are no better than me.”
Chapter Twenty
A Difficult Decision
The Prince’s blue eyes stared back levelly.
“Do you think it takes my title to make me a better man than you?” he asked softly.
An arrested look came over Celedorn’s face, then with a sudden change of mood he gave a twisted smile. “Probably not,” he replied, and turned on his heel and left the room.
When the door closed behind him, the tension in the room relaxed.
Relisar let out a pent-up breath. “Well! I didn’t expect that!”
Misunderstanding him, Andarion remarked: “Didn’t you? I must confess he is exactly what I expected.”
But Elorin disagreed. “When I first met him, I was surprised by him. I expected more of an uneducated thug, but he speaks with a cultured voice, he is widely read and travelled and most unexpectedly, has a keen sense of humour - a virtue in my book.” She pulled down her mouth and added: “He is also arrogant, provoking, quick-tempered, ruthless and sometimes cruel. Yet every time I think I have gained some understanding of him, he does something unpredictable - like he did just now. He can fly off the handle as quick as a thought, but equally, can suddenly show kindness and understanding - although he would strenuously deny it.”
The Prince smiled knowledgeably at her. “It is like you, Elorin, to try to see good in everyone, but your experiences with him are perhaps blinding you to the fact that he is a criminal with a shocking reputation for butchery. Don’t forget the circumstances under which you first encountered him. He struck you, imprisoned you, threatened and frightened you. Does the fact that he pulled you out of the sea make you forget all that?”
She stared at him for a moment, then slowly shook her head. “I do not pretend that he is a saint, but he is more complicated than your vision of undiluted evil. I know his reputation. I know what he has done, but I cannot rid myself of the picture in my mind of him standing poised on the very edge of that broken bridge, above that dreadful gulf, intent only on saving me, and although there are times he makes me so furious that I could hit him, I.....I don’t want to see him die.”
A silence fell and Relisar leaned forward and took her hands comfortingly in his own. “Don’t look so concerned, my dear, nothing in this life is inevitable. Fate can take some strange twists and turns that none of us can predict. The only thing I am glad of, is that I have found you again, and if Celedorn has had his part to play in that, why, then I am grateful to him.”
She managed an uncertain smile. “Thank you, Relisar.”
“And remember,” he admonished, wagging a gnarled finger at her, “there are two others back in Eskendria who will be overjoyed to hear that you are safe - Skah and Keesha. Keesha has kept your room in the tower neat and tidy against your return. She never gave up hope, you see. In fact, she and Skah had quite a disagreement over the little issue of dead mice left on the bed.”
Andarion laughed. “Keesha rules him with a rod of iron but even she has not induced him to be tidy! And as for sharing a cabin on a boat with him? I think that is best left to the imagination. Some tales are just too horrific to be repeated!”
When they had left, Elorin returned to her room and found Celedorn sitting in one of the armchairs by the fire, his legs stretched out in front of him, one booted ankle crossed negligently over the other. He had been staring moodily into the fire but he raised his head when she came in.
She sat down facing him. “I remember you sitting by the fire like this in your quarters in Ravenshold,” she remarked reflectively. “All that’s missing is the glass of wine in your hand.”
He didn’t smile but returned his gaze to the depths of the fire. “Unhappy memories for you?” he asked quietly.
She tilted her head to one side, considering the question. “If you had asked me that question some time ago, I would have said yes - but perhaps it wasn’t so bad. I enjoyed the time I spent with Dorgan; he was very kind to me, and some of the evenings spent with you were not so bad. When I first came to Ravenshold, I expected very rough treatment - given the extent to which I had deceived you. Indeed, I didn’t really expect to survive the encounter.”
He raised his gaze from contemplating the flames and looked at her seriously, all trace of his habitual mockery gone. “I did treat you roughly. The first time I set eyes on you, I struck you so hard I felled you to the ground.”
“You keep bringing that up,” she said mischievously. “Is it possible at this late stage that you are actually developing a conscience?”
A faint smile hovered on his lips. “At this late stage, as you put it, I would think it exceedingly unlikely. Besides, what need have I of a conscience, when your noble Prince is liberally endowed with enough for both of us.”
“Just as well,” she snorted derisively, “because your behaviour towards him was appalling. You were rude, arrogant, insulting and just spoiling for a fight. What’s the matter with you? I thought you had never met the Prince before? So why are you positively bristling with dislike?”
“I have not met the Prince before, but do you think it odd that I should dislike a man whose ambition is to take me back to Eskendria and execute me?”
Her eyes narrowed shrewdly. “That’s not the reason. Strangely, I don’t think you hold that against him at all. No, it’s something else.” She read the look on his face and added irritably:
“No, I’m not going to question you further because I can see it would be a waste of time. No doubt you’ll tell me the truth when the notion takes you. In the meantime you could at least try to be civil to the Prince.”
“You seem very glad to have found your Prince,” he remarked, without committing himself to good behaviour. “You once told me that he was the epitome of what a prince should be - handsome, noble, kind - not only is he that, but he is also the heir to the throne of Eskendria.” He let out a soft whistle. “I admire your effrontery, my girl, you certainly aim high.”
She smiled mistily, ignoring the second part of his speech. “He is handsome, isn’t he?”
“Very,” was the sour response. “If you admire such insipid looks.”
She laughed. “Be careful, Celedorn, that sounded remarkably like jealousy.”
He grinned but said seriously: “You may as well aim at the moon, you know. He must marry someone of his own rank not......”
“Not a nobody without a past and without even a name,” she finished for him, adding sadly: “I know that. I’m not a fool, but we don’t choose these things for ourselves. Love chooses us, and there’s not a thing we can do about it. Do you understand?”
To her surprise, when she looked up she fou
nd that his face was wearing his most bitterly mocking expression. “No, I don’t. I have no acquaintance with the emotion you describe. Love is for fools and weaklings.”
“Do you think I am a fool?”
“Yes,” he relied dryly. “This will only end one way - you’ll get hurt, and badly by the looks of it.”
She set her elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned her cheek on her hand. “When you were a little boy, did your mother ever read you stories from the Chronicles?”
“I forget,” he said abruptly.
“If she had, you would know that in all the most romantic stories, the Prince falls in love with the unknown beggar-maid and they live happily ever after.”
A gleam came into his eyes. “Really? And what happens to the wicked mountain brigand?”
“Oh, he develops a conscience and goes around making a nuisance of himself doing good works.”
He burst out laughing and the bitterness vanished from his face. “I almost pity your Prince,” he said, his voice shaking. “He has no idea what he’s dealing with.”
The next day Celedorn disappeared off on some expedition of his own and Elorin crossed the town to the inn where the Prince and Relisar were staying. After so much time spent in Celedorn’s difficult company, she found it pleasant to converse with people who did not change mood unpredictably or make biting remarks. Andarion was a sympathetic and charming companion, who treated her as tenderly as if she were made of glass. She enjoyed herself so much that it was getting dark by the time she returned to the Grey Dolphin. Andarion had wished to escort her, but she refused, not wanting to mediate in another skirmish with Celedorn. But Celedorn was not to be found when she returned and she went to the taproom in search of him.
The taproom was usually busy at that time of day, with customers having meals or stopping in for a tankard of Mother Sorna’s home brewed ale. However, when Elorin opened the door and went in, she discovered that the only occupants were half a dozen Serendarian sailors sprawled around a wooden table laden with bottles. They were noisily arguing with one another when she entered and had clearly been drinking. When they saw her, they abandoned their quarrel and eyed her up and down in a manner she didn’t care for.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was looking for someone.” Disliking the atmosphere, she turned to retreat, only to find a sailor she hadn’t noticed before, barring the door.
“Excuse me,” she said politely. “I wish to leave.”
He put his shoulders against the door. “What’s the hurry,” he asked silkily. “Come and share a tankard of ale with us poor lonely sailors. We’ve been at sea a long time and could use some feminine company.”
Elorin smiled uneasily. “Another time, perhaps. I have to join my husband.”
A bearded man rose a little unsteadily to his feet and approached her. “Husbands are boring creatures,” he declared thickly. “You’re too young and pretty to be bothered with a husband.” He laughed and turned towards his companions. “At least, not when you have such handsome fellows as us to choose from.”
“My husband is very bad tempered,” she excused. “I mustn’t keep him waiting.”
“Stay with us, sweetheart, and we’ll treat you kindly,” called a voice, to a loud chorus of agreement from the others. They all rose and began to close in on her. Elorin noticed that the first man had moved away from the door. Seizing the chance, she darted past him and had just got a grip on the door handle when a strong pair of hands grabbed her by the shoulders and flung her across the room.
One of the other sailors caught her. The rest formed a rough circle and began pushing her from one to the other, all laughing and taunting her as they did so. The burly sailor by the door tried to grab her, but was severely bitten for his pains. Another got a kick on the ankle that made his eyes water.
“What a wildcat!” he exclaimed angrily. “This one needs taming, lads!”
So intent were they on their sport, that they had failed to see the door of the taproom open and another presence enter the room, until a voice as cutting as a steel blade sliced across them.
“Touch her again and you are a dead man.”
Elorin wrenched herself free of her tormentor’s slackened grasp.
“Celedorn!” she gasped with relief.
The burly sailor’s eyes narrowed.
Her rescuer, whose face had been hidden in the shadow cast by one of the oak beams that criss-crossed the ceiling, stepped forward into the lamplight and the sailors saw his face clearly.
They were obviously unimpressed by being confronted by only one man. “What happened to you, friend?” one scoffed. “Fall under a plough, did you?”
But the burly sailor had not taken his eyes off Celedorn. “That’s a face you don’t forget,” he mused. “She called you Celedorn. Now, there can’t be two men with that name and that face.” He turned to his friends. “Pay your respects to the Robber King, lads. Don’t you know that you are facing the scourge of the Westrin Mountains?” His tone was pure vinegar as he addressed Celedorn again. “You robbed my brother of all he possessed, you thieving blackguard. Left him for dead in some God-forsaken mountain pass, but he didn’t die, he made it home to me and gave me a description of you which I never forgot. It’s time for repayment - and with interest accrued.”
It was then that Elorin noticed that Celedorn was not armed. She rarely saw him without his sword at his side, but it was missing now at the very time he had most need of it. The sailors were not armed either, but had a decided advantage in numbers. The burly sailor began to close with Celedorn, murder in his eye.
“Get out of here, Elorin,” Celedorn ordered, but although she retreated to a corner, she didn’t obey.
The two opponents circled each other warily, with the others shouting encouragement to their comrade.
The sailor was first to attack. He threw a heavy punch at Celedorn’s jaw. With his usual lightning reflexes, Celedorn ducked under it and using his semi-crouching position, slammed his fist into his opponent’s stomach. The breath exploded out of him and he doubled up, purple in the face and whooping for air. A fast, left-handed punch connected with his jaw with a crack that made Elorin wince and he fell like a log to the floor.
The others, however, seeing that things were not going as planned, piled onto Celedorn in a pack. A confused flurry of punches was exchanged but it was soon evident that Celedorn, though fighting still, was being overborne.
Elorin, conscious that it was her indiscretion that had perpetrated the situation, flew to his aid. She picked up a bottle from the table and waded into the fight. The bottle came down with such force on the head of one of the sailors that it burst apart and her victim crumpled without a sound to the floor. Unfortunately, her second victim was quicker, and abandoning Celedorn, caught her wrist and began to twist it unmercifully. With a cry of pain she dropped the bottle and promptly bit the hand that was hurting her. Celedorn, in the meantime, had made good use of the respite and had tripped one of his assailants and thrown another with a smart twist of his hip. Just as the man fell crashing into a table, the remaining sailor landed such a terrific blow on Celedorn’s jaw that it threw him backwards onto the floor. He fell sprawling by the door, just as it opened to admit Prince Andarion.
The Prince was not thrown out of his stride by the event, but looked down at Celedorn with a touch of contempt. One quick glance around the room told him all he needed to know. Two strides brought him to the man who was struggling with Elorin. He caught the sailor by the shoulder, and spinning him around, landed such a solid blow that it hurled him against the wall. Celedorn’s erstwhile victims had by this time arisen from the floor, still full of fight, and he and the Prince turned as of one accord to face them. Now that the odds had evened, Elorin was leaping up and down with excitement, calling out encouragement and advice. Furniture broke, thuds and cries could be heard as blows were exchanged, but the sailors were losing enthusiasm for the fight and eventually backed away. Finally, after picking up the
ir unconscious companions from the floor, they beat a strategic retreat.
Everyone looked in silence at each other when the door closed behind them. The Prince had emerged from the fight dishevelled but unhurt, but Celedorn was dripping blood from a cut on his lip and had a red mark on his jaw that was rapidly swelling.
Andarion paid no heed to him but crossed to Elorin, his face a mask of concern.
“Elorin, are you all right? Did they hurt you?”
“No, I’m fine. I’m not hurt.”
“It’s just typical of that barbarian to start a brawl when you are present, paying no heed to the fact that you might have been hurt.” He jerked his head at Celedorn, who had sat down on a chair and was wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand.
“Well, actually it was my fault,” Elorin confessed hastily, aware of Celedorn’s eye upon her. “He only got embroiled because he came to my rescue - then to make matters worse, I let out his identity.”
The Prince looked sharply at Celedorn. “Is this true?”
The mountain brigand sadly shook his head. “You have no idea the amount of trouble she has dragged me into. I thought you were sending her to me as a hostage, but in reality I think she was some sort of secret weapon.”
The Prince looked a little startled, as if he didn’t know how to take that statement, but Elorin was shaking with laughter. She pulled out her handkerchief from her pocket and kneeling before Celedorn, gently pressed it to his lip.
“I’m sorry, Celedorn. Once again, it was my fault.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied sotto voce. “I was spoiling for a fight, and you wouldn’t let me touch him.” He nodded to Andarion, who was picking up a broken chair. “I think it’s probably done me good.”
“You are incorrigible,” she declared, torn between exasperation and amusement. She carefully removed the handkerchief and inspected the damage. “Your lip is swelling but at least your teeth are all intact.”