The Crystal Chalice (Book 1)

by R. J. Grieve

  The weather was as dry now as it had been wet before. The sun’s reappearance after the rain was welcome at first, enabling damp cloaks to dry and bringing with it a sense of well-being, but the maze of valleys were parched and barren wastes without a stream to be seen. The heat shimmered in waves off the bare rocks. The fact that they were running low on water merely aggravated their frustration and sense of urgency.

  Even at night the heat only abated slightly and they lay restlessly on their blankets, wearing only the lightest of clothes and providing a banquet for the local mosquitoes.

  “First one extreme, now the other,” grumbled Relisar. “Nearly drowned, now cooked alive.” He absently mopped his brow with the tail of his beard and struck out irritably at a passing mosquito.

  “I don’t know what he’s complaining about,” remarked the Prince to Triana. “The mosquitoes have too much discrimination to touch him.”

  Celedorn lay on his back, his hands clasped behind his head, silently watching the moon rise above the proud heads of the distant mountains; a weak new moon like a fingernail, not strong enough to diminish the bright scattering of stars. He was aware of Elorin who was on watch, moving restlessly. He wanted to go to her and sit beside her in the warm night air, sharing the stillness of the night with her, but instead he stayed where he was, conscious that he had no such right and sore at heart because of it.

  He had another cause for wakefulness. He had noticed that the Prince and Triana often walked together now, and to his mingled dismay and amusement, he realised that this had attracted Elorin’s disapproving attention. He caught her casting some black looks in their direction, which thankfully they appeared to be unaware of.

  The very next day, when they resumed their journey, his surmise that she was a little jealous, was proved correct. Once again Triana walked beside the Prince. They seemed naturally to gravitate towards each other. Celedorn instantly intercepted a sharp look aimed at them by Elorin. Falling prey to his own particular demon, he fell into step beside her.

  “Do I detect a certain rather destructive emotion in the air?” he asked blandly.

  Elorin, accustomed to his acuity, did not attempt to deny it and walked beside him in black-browed silence.

  Eventually, as if she could resist it no longer, she asked him if he thought Triana was pretty.

  “Very,” promptly replied her tormentor, to whom Triana’s blonde daintiness did not appeal in the least.

  Her scowl deepened, then suddenly catching sight of the spark of mischief in his eyes, her expression altered ludicrously.

  “You aggravating, provoking fiend!” she exclaimed.

  Unable to contain himself, Celedorn started to laugh.

  Triana, hearing the sound, observed to the Prince that their two companions seemed to be getting along well together.

  “Only until the next fight,” the Prince qualified.

  “I still find him intimidating, but Elorin does not seem to find it so.”

  “No. Elorin gives as good as she gets, but I think that Celedorn would not have it otherwise.”

  “Do you think,” ventured Triana cautiously, aware of encroaching onto delicate ground, “that Elorin knows how he feels about her?”

  Andarion was taken by surprise. “You know?”

  “I have eyes,” she replied demurely.

  “I have never observed anything in her manner towards him but friendship. Probably just as well,” he added with a sigh, “because such a relationship is impossible.”

  “Why so?”

  “Because it can have no future. What would he do? Take her back to that bleak fortress at Ravenshold to preside over a band of rabble and cut-throats? He holds control there only for as long as he defeats all challengers. What happens if some day he fails? And if that were not enough, he is a criminal, hunted in both Eskendria and Serendar. If King Orovin catches him, he will hang him. It’s only a matter of time before he ends his life either on the scaffold or by the sword. Such men as Celedorn do not live to old age.”

  Triana detected regret in the Prince’s voice. “You sound sad to say such things.”

  “Strangely, I am. At first I detested him, loathing his reputation for cruelty and irritated by his arrogance. Then I was forced reluctantly to respect his courage and ability with the sword; but strangest of all, lately, since I have got to know him and become accustomed to his ways, I have begun to like him. If only it were not for his damnable past. Sometimes out here in the wilds, I can forget what he has done, but if ever we return to Eskendria it will be my duty to remember it, for the administration of justice is the duty of the Crown Prince. Do you not realise that if he is captured, it is I who must order his execution? Someday it may fall to my unhappy lot to sign his death warrant. Yet he is no hypocrite and would not argue for a moment that he does not deserve such a fate.”

  “Could you do such a thing?”

  The Prince drew a difficult breath. “I have no choice. It is the law - and he knows it.”

  Triana looked sadly at the two figures walking ahead of them. “I never thought to hear myself say this, but I pity him.”

  “Relisar thinks he loves her without hope and I’m inclined to agree. I do not think he will ever speak to her of this matter, because he knows he can bring her nothing but heartache. To do him justice, the emotion he feels is not a selfish one. He prefers to carry the pain of a love unacknowledged and unreturned, than cause her the slightest hurt. I had not thought such a thing to be possible with him, but if I have learned anything, it is not to make assumptions with Celedorn. He is nothing if not surprising.”

  At this point, the subject of their conversation turned and waited for them to catch up.

  “At the risk of pointing out the obvious,” he remarked chattily, “has anyone noticed that we appear to have lost something?”

  Elorin looked around puzzled before realisation struck. “Relisar!”

  “Where has the old fool got to now?” demanded Andarion, with uncharacteristic acerbity. On receiving no immediate answer to that question, he released an irritable breath. “I suppose we’ll have to go back and look for him. When I find him, I’m going to tie a rope around him to stop him wandering off.”

  They retraced their path back along the rocky floor of the valley. The sun beat down relentlessly, filling the bare walls with heat like an oven. Although both men wore loose linen shirts with the sleeves rolled up and open at the neck, they were clearly feeling the heat. Celedorn’s forehead was beaded with perspiration. Elorin noticed that his deep tan had the unfortunate effect of throwing his white scars into contrast, making them more noticeable than ever. He wiped his forehead with his forearm.

  “I see no sign of him. How could he disappear so completely in this bare valley?”

  Andarion’s fair hair was darkened with sweat, his normally even temper rapidly disintegrating. “If he doesn’t appear soon, I’m strongly tempted to leave him,” he snapped.

  At that opportune moment, Relisar suddenly appeared as if by magic in the valley some distance below them.

  Elorin blinked in astonishment. “Where on earth did he spring from?”

  Relisar, as usual blissfully unaware of having offended, signalled excitedly for them to come.

  Andarion reached him first. “Why can’t you stay with the rest of us?” demanded the incensed Prince. “We’ve been trailing up and down this hell of a valley searching for you. I swear, Relisar, if you disappear again, I’ll.......”

  “Yes, yes. Apologies offered, but never mind all that, come and see what I’ve discovered.”

  He led them to the spot where he had suddenly appeared and they found a narrow crack in the rock wall, into which Relisar instantly squeezed himself.

  “This way. You’ll have to take your packs off because it’s a tight fit, but it’s worth it, I assure you.”

  The two younger men exchanged exasperated glances but followed him nonetheless into the dark crack. Both of them, being larger than Relisar, found the
passage somewhat of a struggle to fit through but eventually, after a particularly narrow section, it broadened out to the extent that they no longer had to edge sideways. The dim passage ended as suddenly as it had begun and the brilliant sunshine flooded down upon them again.

  “There!” announced Relisar, grandly gesturing with his hand like a conjurer.

  Before them, lay the most beautiful little hidden valley. Tucked between high rock walls, it was filled with delicate, lacy trees such as birches and rowans, all casting trembling violet shade on the lush grasses. Down the centre of the valley, tumbled a gushing stream, whose crystal-clear waters fell into a series of deep pools. As they moved forward into the dappled shade, it became clear that the pools were not the work of nature but of man. Each descending pool was confined by a perfectly elliptical stone rim, intricately carved with water lilies, fish and frogs. The water spilled over each mossy rim in a silver curtain to the pool below, down finally to a very large pool set at the lowest part of the valley in the shade of some overhanging willows. The edge of the pool was partly screened by ranks of tall arum lilies, their stately creamy-white blossoms borne proudly on long stems.

  In a clearing by the large pool, stood the ruins of a tiny building. A circle of slender pillars stood on a stone floor, each richly carved with chalice flowers in raised relief. The roof the pillars had been designed to support had disappeared and it stood open to the blue skies like a prayer. Wild roses had wound themselves around the pillars in exuberant pink-tipped profusion.

  They stood silently in awe, absorbing the beauty of the valley. The Prince finally found his voice. “I take it all back, Relisar, you are forgiven.”

  The old Sage smiled delightedly. “A lovely secret is it not?”

  “It is the most wonderful place I have ever seen,” Elorin declared fervently. “The air is so pure and cool. The contrast with the arid valley outside is so acute that it makes one feel that this must be a dream.”

  Celedorn walked forward and set his pack on the stone floor of the little building.

  “I think in the days of the Old Kingdom this must have been a temple or shrine. Every available surface is carved with the chalice flower.” He bent and examined the base of a pillar. A soft breeze shook the wild roses and a shower of pink petals drifted down upon him.

  “There is an inscription but it has partly worn away.” He lifted a strand of ivy and drew it back. “I can only distinguish one word and part of another - Sirindria Myr. Sirindria means ‘spring’ in the old language.”

  Relisar’s eyes had gone misty. “It is the Spring of Myreth,” he said softly. “Tissro still guides us in his path. Queen Myreth was the greatest ruling queen of the third dynasty. In summertime she often came here with her maidens to bathe. This valley was sacred and forbidden to all who were not of royal blood. Tissro was allowed to visit here because he himself came of the royal line. He describes in the Lay of Myreth how he came at night, when the valley was deserted and watched as the moon shone on the white water lilies until they glowed like pearls. How the spirit of the water soothed him to sleep and took his dreams up to the stars from whence he had no desire to return.”

  “It still has a wonderful, enchanted atmosphere,” Elorin breathed.

  Celedorn’s attention was focused on the deep pool. “That water looks invitingly cool,” he observed and began to pull off his shirt.

  Triana hastily lifted her pack. “Elorin and I will bathe further upstream,” she said hurriedly, and dragged Elorin off through the trees.

  Andarion and Celedorn threw off their clothes and dived into the pool, showering water over Relisar who was seated on the rim, his feet in the water, his gown tucked up around his bony knees. For once they were as carefree as boys, laughing and splashing each other and then splashing Relisar who showed signs of getting huffy.

  “You could do with a bath, Relisar!” called the Prince. “Come and join us!”

  “Certainly not!” exclaimed the old Sage primly and turned his back. This unwise move caused the two swimmers to exchange significant glances. They silently swam across the pool to Relisar, caught hold of the tail of his robe and with a mighty tug, pulled him in.

  “I can’t swim! I can’t swim!” choked the old man, frantically struggling in the water.

  Celedorn laughed. “Then put your feet down, you old fraud. The water is only waist-deep at the edge.”

  “Oh!” said Relisar, ludicrously deprived of his dramatic drowning scene. He climbed out, his grey gown and beard streaming water. “You two have no respect for my age,” he announced sulkily and took himself off to procure a dry robe.

  Celedorn got out shortly after him, leaving Andarion to enjoy the pool by himself. When he had dressed, he headed up the valley, past Relisar sitting cross-legged, his nose stuck in a book, his sense of injury apparently forgotten. Following the pools in ascending order up the valley, he came across Triana seated on the bank, fully dressed but with her hair still damp. She gave a start when she saw him.

  “Where is Elorin?” he asked.

  “She went further up the valley to see the waterfall.”

  He frowned. “She is another one who is always wandering off on her own.”

  He turned on his heel and headed upstream. The valley was getting steeper and the carved basins were giving way to a series of stone steps down which the water tumbled. On rounding a large tree, Celedorn saw the waterfall some distance ahead. What he saw next caused him to stop dead, then swiftly step back behind the tree. He had caught a fleeting, tantalising glimpse of a lithe figure standing in the waterfall. He jammed his back hard against the tree, his desire for Elorin surging up, almost overcoming him. A dilemma now presented itself - should he heed his better nature and walk quietly away, knowing that it was wrong to spy on her, or should he satisfy the demands of his lower nature and look round the tree? After a brief struggle, his baser nature won, and feeling surprisingly guilty, he stepped silently within sight of the waterfall again. However, his moral dilemma had resolved itself because she was no longer there. Feeling a little shaken, he guessed she had descended to a dense thicket of young willows on the far side of the river to change.

  Elorin, unaware that she had been observed, was indeed amongst the willows. While Celedorn retraced his steps to the shrine, she quickly dressed and was beginning to plait her hair, when a slight rustle at the edge of the dense screen of trees attracted her attention. The long, slender green leaves of the willows were very thick around her, cutting off her view of the river. She remained silent for a moment, listening intently, but could distinguish nothing above the sound of the waterfall. She lifted her towel and was about to leave, when the rustling sound came again and the leaves began to quiver slightly. Instinctively, she reached for her bow and setting to the notch the only arrow she had retrieved from the battle of the cleft, she moved stealthily forward.

  When Celedorn returned to the glade where he had left Triana, he found it empty, apart from her pack which was sitting all by itself where she had left it. He picked it up and looked around amongst the trees. A thrush was singing unconcernedly, its clear trill arising above the sound of the river. He called her name but there was no reply and vaguely he began to feel uneasy.

  “Perhaps she returned to the shrine and forgot her pack,” he muttered to himself, but on his return to the shrine, the mystery deepened. All their possessions sat on the stone floor of the shrine but there was absolutely no sign of anyone. The blanket on which Relisar had been sitting, was still folded beneath the tree, his book beside it. The large pool was empty. The breeze rustled restlessly through the leaves of the trees, the birds sang and the water spilled merrily over the edge of the basin, but all these very normal sounds failed to lessen the nebulous feeling of disquiet growing in his mind.

  He set down Triana’s pack and his hand strayed to his sword. Just then, he heard a soft whistle overhead. He looked up into the branches of the tree above him, just in time to see a net of some soft green material like m
oss descend upon him. Instantly, his grip on his senses began to fade. Sounds became muffled and distant, his vision blurred and he sank to his knees. His attempts to get free of the net seemed clumsy and slow. He fell on his side, unconsciousness overcoming him like a suffocating fog. Just before he descended into blackness, he thought he heard a voice say in the old language: “This one is strong - see how he resists? We must treat him with great care.”

  When Celedorn awoke, he felt as if he had been travelling through a long dark tunnel for many hours and consequently he was dizzy and disorientated. Cautiously, he opened his eyes to discover that he was lying on a stone floor facing a wall. His next discovery was that his hands were tied uncomfortably behind his back and his ankles, too, were tightly bound. With a struggle he managed to roll over and found his four companions lying on the floor in similar state. Each looked as if they were peacefully asleep. The room they were held in was not large and had no windows or furniture of any kind. The only relief to the stone walls was provided by a heavy wooden door.

  Elorin was nearest to him, her eyes closed, her face a little pale. He wriggled across the floor to her, anxiously scanning her face in the dim light afforded by a single torch burning in a bracket on the wall.

  “Elorin,” he called softly. “Elorin, wake up.” She made no response. He leaned over and managed to nudge her with his shoulder. Still she did not stir. His face was close to hers and unable to resist, he leaned towards her and gently kissed her forehead. He was relieved to find that her skin was warm beneath his lips.

  He had just begun to test the strength of his bonds, when a disembodied voice remarked in the old language: “The dark one has awoken.”

  Frantically he looked around but could perceive no one. Yet he was certain the voice had come from within the room.