The Crystal Chalice (Book 1)

by R. J. Grieve

  Andarion too was dealing roughly with his opponents. He had killed two but was being somewhat overwhelmed by numbers. He was trying to keep his back to a tree to prevent them encircling him, but was not being entirely successful. Elorin had by this time expended all her arrows and seeing the Prince hard-pressed, picked up a curved sword from one of the fallen Turog and waded into the fray. Aware that she had not the strength to cleave a helmet, as Celedorn had done, she swung the sword sideways, back over her shoulder and with all her might brought it down on the exposed neck of a Turog intent, with single-minded dedication, on attacking Andarion. It paid the price of inattention and dark blood spurted from a severed artery as it dropped where it stood, leaving Elorin a little sickened by her success. Her foray into the fight had now attracted the attention of one of the sharp-toothed, slant-eyed creatures. It charged across the clearing on it sturdy, bowed legs and attacked her. She defended herself as best she could, but the creature was too strong for her and she retreated before its blows. With a stab of panic, she realised that she could not defeat it. Just as it struck down her guard under a heavy blow, a tall figure strode past her and engaged her assailant. Celedorn swept the Turog’s blade aside in a ruthless up-handed stroke and slashed the murderously sharp point of his sword across its throat.

  The glade was now full of tangled, dark bodies lying motionless on the ground. The two Turog left, were both attacking Andarion. He killed one with a skilful stroke and the other turned to be confronted with Celedorn. Faced with such an opponent, it dropped its weapon with a howl of fear and took off down the slope as fast as its legs would carry it. Celedorn, sword in hand, sprang after it.

  “Let it go, Celedorn,” Relisar called after him, but he paid no heed.

  The top of the slope where the others were standing, gave them a spectacular view of the chase along the valley. The Turog, being of the smaller variety, was quick on its feet, and terror lending it wings, it fairly flew along the valley floor. Celedorn increased his pace, and to those watching, it seemed that the tree-trunks flashed past him. He shot between them, slowing his pace for no obstacle. He crashed through undergrowth and leaped over fallen logs, his long stride gradually overhauling his quarry. Finally he came within sword’s length of it. The Turog in the act of casting a terrified glance over its shoulder, tripped on one of the tree roots and fell headlong. In a flash Celedorn was upon it. Driving the heel of his boot hard into the leaf-mould to check his speed, he swung round and drove his sword mercilessly into its chest impaling it to the ground.

  When he came back up the slope, still out of breath, he was met by an outraged Relisar.

  “Why did you kill it?” he demanded. “It was no threat. It was clearly terrified and had even thrown down it weapons. Why did you not let it go? That was an act of sheer cruelty.”

  Celedorn directed a long, dark look at him but surprisingly said nothing. Turning silently away, he began to clean the blood off his sword.

  It was left to Andarion to reply. “What Celedorn did was necessary. We cannot let even one of those creatures return to report our presence to its masters. It is only secrecy that protects us, and once our presence is known, the Turog will be sent in their hundreds to hunt us down. We cannot fight them all, Relisar, not even with a swordsman of Celedorn’s calibre in our company.” He turned to Celedorn, his expression very serious. “It was as well for me that the Turog appeared when they did, for I was in severe difficulties. I apologise for those things I said. I was being stupidly provocative. I also admit to being out-classed when it comes to mastery of the sword.” After a moment’s hesitation, he held out his hand. “I think that we should put our differences aside - at least until we reach Eskendria.”

  Celedorn stared at the hand, clearly astonished. Everyone waited, breath held tensely.

  “If you wish to finish what we started, I will accommodate you,” said the Prince, his hand still held out.

  Celedorn’s face was rigidly uncompromising for a moment, then suddenly something seemed to relax in him and he reached forward and gripped the proffered hand.

  A collective breath was released. The Prince grinned. “In future, if we are in a fight, I want you on my side.”

  Celedorn gave a twisted smile in response. “I noticed you were not doing so badly yourself.”

  “That’s praise of no mean order,” explained Elorin, but her intervention focused Celedorn’s attention upon her.

  “As for you,” he said acidly. “If you insist on getting involved in fights you would be better staying out of, I suppose I’ll have to teach you how to defend yourself.”

  “Will you?” she exclaimed with such childlike enthusiasm that everyone laughed.

  “Now to business,” Andarion said decisively. “We must hide these bodies. The longer they go undiscovered, the more distance we can put between this place and ourselves. Celedorn, I think you should go and dispose of the Turog you killed in the valley? We will deal with the ones up here - and,” he added with a glance at Triana, “that means everyone.”

  However, Elorin ignored instructions and went down the valley with Celedorn. He was a little subdued, saying nothing to her. When they reached the body, Elorin remarked: “He did not apologise to you because he is afraid of you. You know that, don’t you?”

  He did not immediately reply but pushed the body with his foot and watched it roll down to the foot of the slope.

  “Yes, I know. Your Prince has courage, he is also magnanimous. Perhaps Eskendria will finally get a king worthy of her when he ascends the throne. I was a fool not to see that he is as unlike his father as night from day.”

  Unable to resist, Elorin ventured: “You know the King?”

  “Oh, I know him,” replied Celedorn at his driest. “But I’d be grateful if you didn’t tell Andarion that.”

  He descended the slope and began to kick leaves over the body. Elorin followed him consumed by curiosity.

  “Why?”

  He looked up from his task. “Some things are better left unsaid. I have knowledge of the King that the Prince lacks, and it would only do him harm to hear it. Besides, it all happened a long time ago.”

  “Clearly you have not forgotten it.”

  He directed his gaze down the valley, his eyes distant, as if he looked much further than the wooded glen. “No,” he replied quietly. “I have not forgotten.”

  When they returned, the others had hidden the remaining Turog bodies. Triana was standing to one side, looking pale and nauseous after such close contact with the gory remains, but she said nothing, aware that a complaint would bring down Celedorn’s biting sarcasm upon her.

  Although it was beginning to get dark, it was decided that they must continue travelling.

  As they left, Triana came up to Elorin and handed her back her arrows.

  “Relisar took them from the bodies but I cleaned them for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “When you picked up that sword and fought the Turog, I......well....I nearly died from fright.”

  “I nearly did the same myself, because I was completely out of my depth.”

  “You are very brave,” commented Triana wistfully.

  Elorin laughed. “Celedorn would have another word for it.”

  “You are not even afraid of him! The Prince told me about how you had been held hostage by him. How can you not fear him?”

  “Well, I did at first, but I’ve got to know him now.”

  “He terrifies me,” Triana confessed. “The way he looks at one with those cold eyes and the way he can cut one into ribbons with sarcasm, and yet I have seen you answer him back and you get away with it. I wouldn’t have the nerve.”

  “You should try to. Celedorn, for all his faults, is not a bully. He respects courage. That’s why he took the Prince’s hand after the fight, because he knows that even though the Prince was losing the fight, he was not afraid and would not have given in.”

  Their journey that night was slow and difficult in the inten
se darkness beneath the trees. They tried to travel as silently as possible, in case there were more Turog patrols in the vicinity. Celedorn brought up the rear, making sure they left no evidence of their passing, because as soon as the bodies were found, it was inevitable that the Turog would set out to follow their trail. Relisar tried his patience to the limits by blundering along, snapping branches and crowning his ineptness by tripping over one of the many twisting roots and bringing Triana down in his fall. Triana, the breath knocked out of her, came off with something unladylike which raised Celedorn’s opinion of her immensely.

  By dawn, the Prince led them down into a narrow ravine which cut through the trees like a tunnel. A brackish stream slid over exposed dark rocks, slippery with moss and scaly lichens. Hart’s tongue fern sprouted from crevices, thriving, despite the dim light created by the dense canopy up above.

  On Celedorn’s insistence, they waded upstream for about half a mile to throw any possible pursuers off the scent.

  After resting for an hour on the damp, uncomfortable rocks, they continued their journey upstream until the ravine began to broaden and the trees thinned to allow dappled sunshine to penetrate the green gloom. Soon the trees had thinned to the extent that sunny glades began to appear and larger open spaces resembling meadows occurred. Here, waist-high buttercups grew in such abundance amongst the lush grasses, that crossing them was like wading through a lake of gold. The afternoon grew warm and sultry, filled with the hypnotic hum of bees busy in the flowers. The breeze whispered softly across the treetops without descending to disturb the warm, still clearings. The stream was now broad and flat, rippling over shallow pebble beds, darting sparkles into the air and casting nets of shimmering, golden cobwebs onto the trunks of overhanging trees.

  Elorin caught up with the Prince. “Relisar and Triana are tired after getting no sleep last night. Could we make camp here for the evening?”

  Andarion, a little weary himself, readily agreed. They then made the amusing discovery that when each member of the company sat down amongst the buttercups they completely disappeared from view in a private, golden-walled chamber. It was Elorin’s misfortune to be on guard and to stop herself falling asleep, she stood up, arising above the sea of buttercups. Although the rest of the company was close by, the only one who was visible was Celedorn, asleep at her feet. He was basking in the sun, as warm and comfortable as a cat, but as always, he slept with his hand resting lightly on his sword-hilt and she knew that the tiniest sound out of the ordinary would have him instantly awake.

  She left her companions asleep in their flowery bowers and crossed to the stream. There she seated herself beneath a tree on a rising part of the bank that gave her a good view across the buttercup meadow to the denser forest beyond. The golden cobwebs flickered over her face, birds chirped sleepily in the branches of the tree and butterflies danced their foolish dances over the surface of the flowers. A great and ancient peace descended on her. Never had she dreamed the Forsaken Lands could be so beautiful or tranquil, and vaguely she began to suspect that the spirit of the Old Kingdom had not entirely died. It still lingered subtly in the fields and woods.

  She watched as the sun sank in the sky, leaving the stream within the cool shadows of its banks and lighting the tall grasses on the far bank from behind, with shades of dusky cinnamon and honey. A slight movement from the meadow attracted her attention. She stiffened but it was only Andarion arisen from sleep and approaching her, wending his way between the buttercups. He sat down beside her with a contented sigh. The peace that lay on the world around them, also lay on the souls of the two companions and they sat in silence watching the sun, reluctant to disturb the stillness with words.

  At last when the sun had almost gone and the midges began to dance like feathery motes of light, twirling back and forth, around and around, the Prince finally broke the silence.

  “This is not my image of the Forsaken Lands,” he said softly. “One feels that danger is a million miles away. The events of yesterday seem only like a bad dream.”

  “It would not seem so if you had not defeated the Turog.”

  “The victory was not mine, it was Celedorn’s. I have never seen his equal with the sword. Having seen him fight the Turog, I now know that he could have killed me at any time - and yet I am not accounted without skill with the sword. If he had not been with us, we would all have ended up lying on the cold earth with our throats cut.”

  “Does this mean you have changed your opinion of him?”

  “To some extent. He is still a brigand who has preyed on my country and that I cannot forgive. He is arrogant, provocative and difficult to understand but he is no coward and.......well, strangely, I feel that if he is on one’s side he can be trusted. He has his own strange, erratic code that means that if he gives a commitment he will not break it.”

  Elorin agreed. “You are right. He would not abandon me at a moment when we could both have died, even though I begged him to do so.” She smiled whimsically. “Or perhaps the explanation is that he is just stubborn.”

  “Perhaps.” The Prince sighed. “But he and I both know that this truce between us lasts only as far as the Harnor.”

  The object of their conversation had awoken and was standing up to stretch, when he noticed the two figures by the river sitting close together in the mellow light. He stood watching them for a long time, his expression inscrutable, but made no move to join them.

  When the Prince left Elorin and returned to the camp, he walked past Celedorn who said nothing but directed a long, hard stare at him. The Prince did not betray the fact that he had noticed the look, but crossed to Relisar and sat down beside him. The old Sage was sitting cross-legged with his nose stuck in a book and did not immediately acknowledge the Prince’s presence.

  “What’s the matter with our friend?” Andarion asked softly, nodding discreetly towards Celedorn.

  Relisar looked up and stared across the camp to where Celedorn was unpacking things from one of the bags. “You must make allowances for him,” he replied quietly.

  “Why?”

  The old man hesitated, then said reluctantly: “He is in love and is finding the emotion difficult to deal with.”

  “In love!” repeated the Prince incredulously. “With whom?”

  Relisar drew a patient breath and raised his bushy eyebrows significantly.

  Enlightenment dawned on Andarion. “You mean, with Elorin?”

  “Is it not obvious?”

  “Certainly not! They are frequently at each other’s throats.”

  “Ah, but Celedorn is not the man to surrender his independence easily.”

  The Prince digested that. “Does Elorin know?”

  Relisar, who knew well Elorin’s feelings for the Prince, said repressively: “I think not.”

  “I mean, she would not.......she could not return the regard of such a man. He is not perhaps just as black as rumour would paint him, but if even half the things he is supposed to have done are true, he is a blackguard of no mean order. For ten years he had terrorised the Westrin Mountains, murdering and robbing. She could not love such a man.”

  “That is exactly Celedorn’s view of the situation, if I do not mistake the matter. He loves her without hope.”

  “When did you suspect this?” demanded the Prince.

  “Almost as soon as I met him in Sirkris.”

  “He loved her then?”

  “Oh, he loved her long before that, I think. It is the only solution I can find to a riddle that has been puzzling me - why he didn’t kill her when he discovered the deception at Ravenshold.”

  His words made Andarion thoughtful. “You may have a point,” he reluctantly conceded. “From Elorin’s story, it appears that he didn’t even seriously maltreat her. Hardly consistent with his reputation.”

  Relisar looked down at his book sadly. “I find it in my heart to pity him. I sensed long ago that he carries a great burden of pain with him and has done so for a long time. Now to that burden,
he adds the grief of a love not returned.”

  The Prince sat silently looking at Celedorn who, unaware of being the object of speculation, was engaged in lighting a fire.

  “You are basing all this on your instinct, Relisar. You have nothing concrete to go on. Perhaps it is just your imagination. You are an incurable romantic, after all. I find it hard to believe that such a ruthless man is capable of love.”

  Relisar just shook his head and said nothing.

  But it was only the following evening that the Prince was forced to admit that perhaps Relisar’s instincts had proved true.

  He had begun to observe Celedorn more closely, especially when he spoke to Elorin, but during their travels the following day, saw nothing unusual. However, when they stopped to rest that afternoon, Elorin settled herself at the foot of a spreading tree and took out needle and thread to mend a tear in one of her shirts. Her head was bent in concentration over her work. Her chestnut hair was free of its usual plait and fell in gentle waves over her shoulders. The sun drifting down to earth between the branches of the tree, lit up her hair, lifting lights of copper and gold from it. Gently, like a benediction, it illuminated the soft tendrils around her forehead which floated in the light breeze. Yet she was concentrating so much upon her work that she was unaware of someone’s gaze upon her.