The Crystal Chalice (Book 1)

by R. J. Grieve

“Indeed, brother,” responded another voice in supercilious tones. “It appears to cherish affection for the dark-haired female.”

  “Turog do not feel affection,” observed the first voice dispassionately.

  “Neither do demons. See how it struggles with its bonds?”

  Celedorn, enraged both by being bound, and by being talked about as if he were an inanimate object, replied sharply in the old language: “I am neither Turog nor demon and kindly do not refer to me as ‘it’.”

  There was a shocked silence. Then the first voice said: “You could be a demon in human form. You look like the sort of form a demon would take.”

  Celedorn was much moved by this tribute. “Thank you,” he replied with feeling, “but if I were a demon, I’d hardly be lying on this floor trussed up like a chicken.”

  “It has a point, brother.”

  Celedorn was not mollified. “If you wish to speak to me, then kindly do me the courtesy of showing yourselves.”

  There was a moment’s silence as his interlocutors digested that statement.

  “It wants to see us.”

  “Do you think it advisable?”

  “I think we should risk it, brother. It seems rational enough - if not exactly charming.”

  Slowly, by the doorway, two men appeared as if they had just emerged from the wall. They were both exactly alike - slender and fair - except that one was slightly taller than the other. They were dressed in breeches and silver-grey tunics that blended well with the grey stone of the wall. But it was their eyes that caught Celedorn’s attention. They had no pupils or whites but were of a uniform deep sapphire-blue, like looking into the sky on a summer’s evening.

  “It appears to be disconcerted,” observed the taller.

  “Perhaps it is the eyes. We never seem to get the eyes right. We should study its eyes and learn to do better.”

  The other one wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Its eyes are grey. Such an unremarkable colour.”

  “Who are you? “ Celedorn demanded. “And where is this place?”

  “It is curiously abrupt.”

  “Should we answer it?”

  “No. We must satisfy ourselves that it poses no danger.” Two pairs of blue eyes were turned on Celedorn. “What are you? What nature of being? And how did you find the Hidden Valley?”

  “As I told you before,” replied Celedorn in some exasperation. “I am neither Turog nor demon. I am a human being - a mere mortal man. I and my companions came to the valley by chance.”

  The taller one turned to his brother. “It claims to be one of the Children of Light.”

  “That is just what a demon would say.”

  Enlightenment was beginning to dawn on Celedorn. “Do you have my sword?”

  “Yes, we have it,” they replied in unison.

  “Fetch it please. There is something I want to show you.”

  “It might be a trick?”

  “It is bound. What can it do?”

  The taller brother left and soon returned bearing Celedorn’s sword in its scabbard. Celedorn had by this time managed to sit up, but his companions slept on, oblivious to events around them.

  “Now,” he said, “withdraw the blade a few inches from the scabbard and tell me what you see on it.”

  His instructions were followed and the two brothers gave a soft gasp of astonishment.

  “Three intertwined chalice flowers! No demon would carry such an emblem.”

  They stared at each other, unsure what to do next. Celedorn cleared his throat to get their attention. “When will my companions awake?”

  “Only when we release them from the spell.”

  “Then how come I am awake?” he asked dulcetly.

  The two brothers looked at each other in consternation. “We don’t know,” they chorused together.

  They returned their attention to the sword. “We must show this to Varinia,” they announced decisively and immediately disappeared.

  When they had gone, Celedorn once more began to struggle against the ropes that held him, bunching up the muscles of his arms and straining against them, but to no avail. He had just come to the conclusion that there must be a binding spell on the ropes, when the door opened and the brothers returned.

  “The Lady Varinia wishes to see you,” they informed him.

  One of the brothers turned towards the sleeping figures and bending his gaze upon them, slowly lifted his hand. Instantly, the ropes fell from them like autumn leaves and they began to stir and stretch. Celedorn, also released, stood up flexing his wrists and helped Elorin to her feet.

  “Where are we?” she asked. “I was in the willows by the river and I think......well, something seemed to fall on me. Then I woke up here. What has happened?”

  “We are being held prisoner by these people,” he replied, indicating the brothers.

  Andarion looked at them speculatively. “They are not armed,” he mused but Relisar nipped any thoughts of escape in the bud. “They don’t need to be. They could turn you to stone with no more than a glance. Do nothing for the moment.”

  The brothers indicated that they were to leave the cell and they emerged into a long, lofty passage lit by rank after rank of burning torches.

  “Where is this place?” asked Triana fearfully.

  “I don’t know,” the Prince responded, “but it appears to be underground. Look at the ceiling.”

  She looked up and saw that although the walls were of dressed blocks of stone, the roof was unfashioned and rough like a cave.

  They were escorted up a flight of stairs and through a tall archway into a great hall. The walls were lined with polished stones in subtle greens and blues that gleamed in the torchlight like water. The roof was so high that in the dim light it had disappeared, leaving the impression of an empty, black void above them. At the far end of the chamber, the wall was hung with a huge tapestry embroidered in gold and silver thread, depicting a waterfall surrounded by trees and flowers. They instantly recognised the scene as the Hidden Valley. Placed in front of this, was a carved chair cushioned in blue velvet, beside which stood a tall golden harp. Occupying the centre of the hall was a long refectory table of polished oak, flanked by rows of chairs. The table bore nothing except a tall, silver candelabra lit with many pure white candles. The hall appeared to be completely devoid of life.

  Their escort indicated that they were to stand in front of the chair and as they did so, a side door opened and a tall, regal woman, with golden hair held by a silver circlet, emerged. She wore a flowing gown of the same grey fabric as the brothers and bore the same blue eyes. Around her neck she wore a collar of the finest sapphires that glowed with icy fire, but her eyes put them to shame. She carried Celedorn’s sword in her hands.

  When she had seated herself on the great carved chair, with the sword resting across her knees, she scrutinised each face before her in turn. Her glance was brief, but each of them was left with the impression that it was not as casual as it seemed.

  “I am Varinia, a spirit of the waters of Sirindria Myreth. These are my twin brothers, Elro and Thandian.” Her voice was low and musical, reminding Celedorn of something which he could not immediately identify. “Tell me, strangers, how do you come to be in the Hidden Valley?”

  Relisar stepped forward and bowed slightly. “My Lady, I am Relisar of the Brotherhood of the Book. My companions and I are crossing the Forsaken Lands, attempting to return to Eskendria. We lost our way amongst the maze of hills and came to Sirindria Myreth by accident.”

  “It is believed by my people that none of the Brotherhood of the Book survived the fall of the Golden Kingdom. How can this be?”

  “Some did survive. My Order alone survived by crossing the Harnor into Eskendria, but alas, I am the last. No new apprentices have been found. There will be no more after me.”

  “And who are these others?”

  Relisar named each in turn. Varinia looked thoughtfully at Prince Andarion. “When I was last in the world, Eskendria ha
d a governor, not a king. There was no king other than the High King at Korem.”

  “That was a thousand years ago, My Lady. After the fall of the Old Kingdom, the only fragment to survive was the province of Eskendria. Those who governed her eventually took the title of king, the line of the High Kings being destroyed.”

  “You have something of the look of your forefathers. A noble race of men, strong and true.”

  She had a pleasant word for each in turn, until she came to Celedorn. She stared at him a long time and he found it difficult to meet the intensity of those sapphire eyes but he forced himself to stand his ground.

  “You puzzle me, stranger,” she said softly. “You are an enigma. Your mind is closed to me, your past and future dark, and yet.....and yet I do not sense evil from you.” She arose and handed his sword to him. “I return to you this noble weapon, this blade of the Old Kingdom. Use it well.”

  Andarion leaned towards Relisar and whispered: “Just as well she cannot read his past.”

  “I must beg your forgiveness for our discourteous treatment of you,” Varinia continued, “but I ask you to understand that we are surrounded by enemies and have not seen any Children of Light for many centuries. In these sad times, we have grown to be cautious, for the Destroyer has power in all realms - not just the physical. He has demons that fight in the spiritual regions, and can cross from one realm to the other in many forms and disguises. Once many of my people lived in this valley, but most have now gone and only a few of us remain. Perhaps we too must soon leave, for only our strength of will holds this place intact and we grow weaker as all around us grows stronger. Yet it gives us joy to see you here, where once the kings and queens of old came. You are our guests and must permit us to make amends for our previous suspicion by allowing us to treat you hospitably. Our home is at your disposal.”

  “Thank you,” said Relisar. “Em.......where exactly is this?”

  “These caverns stretch for many miles under the Hidden Valley. The entrance is under the floor of the shrine, but that is a secret you must swear never to reveal, for it is secrecy alone that enables us to remain here.”

  As she spoke, several of her people, dressed in the grey robes, appeared and began to set dishes of food on the table. Elro returned carrying crystal flagons of wine and silver goblets set with beryl.

  “I thought spirits didn’t need to eat?” whispered Elorin to Celedorn.

  “They don’t. I think this is all for our benefit.”

  About a dozen men and women joined Varinia at the table with her guests. She asked them to tell her the story of their journey and they all listened intently as the Prince, occasionally interrupted by Relisar, told their tale. When he had finished, Varinia sighed.

  “We know nothing of the outside world, except that we are surrounded by evil. This King Orovin of whom you speak sounds like a fool. He is like a child standing on a sandcastle as the tide comes in. The aim of the Destroyer has always been the annihilation of mankind and he will not stop at Eskendria. He will not rest till all that is good has gone. Your instincts to return to your county are correct - I feel it most strongly in my heart. The last remnant of the Old Kingdom must not fall. It saddens me that you bear so little news that is good. The three Orders have gone and along with them a power that held much wickedness at bay. Alas, there are many things in this world that cannot be defeated by the sword and the spiritual strength of the Orders will be sadly missed.”

  There was silence for a moment, then Andarion spoke: “We must soon resume our journey south and would be grateful if you would tell us anything you know of what lies ahead of us.”

  “My knowledge in that respect is limited by the fact that we seldom leave this valley, and then never in corporeal from. Beyond the headwaters of the valley there are many dry hills which eventually become volcanic, with hot vents, ash and springs of boiling water. The water in that region is tainted and is not fit to drink. You must not touch it or it will make you ill. Beyond that, lies the chain of mountains known in the old days as the Torst Range and my knowledge ceases there. Except.....”

  “Except?”

  “I sense a power beyond the mountains, hidden, indistinct but strong. It is not the Destroyer but neither is it a thing of light. When you pass through the mountains, beware of it. I wish I could be more specific, but all I can tell you is that things are not always what they seem. Trust nothing. This power deliberately hides itself from my gaze.” She shook off her pensive mood. “We can at least provide you with food, and for you, my dear,” she said, turning to Elorin, “fresh arrows for your bow.”

  “You have been so kind, I wish there was something we could do for you in return.”

  “Well perhaps there is. We have a great love of song but it has been many years since we heard music that is new to us. Perhaps you would sing something that is typical of the region of Eskendria?”

  Elorin instantly wished she had kept her mouth shut and looked in panic around the table at all the expectant faces. “I.....I have not a good singing voice,” she demurred, “and besides I have no accompaniment.”

  “I’ll accompany you on the harp,” offered Triana helpfully, catching sight of the harp standing by the tapestry.

  She was blissfully unaware that Elorin cast her a look normally reserved for those who commit the most base acts of treachery.

  Nervously, she chose a beautiful, haunting love song that she had learned during her stay in Addania. Her voice was pleasant, low-pitched and clear against the gentle strumming of the harp. Unfortunately, half way through the piece, she suddenly remembered that one of the verses had responses that should be sung by a man. Beads of perspiration broke on her forehead as she wondered if she should leave out the verse, or try to sing the male part herself. But help came from an unexpected source. Celedorn, accurately interpreting the look on her face, realised what had happened. When she reached the part of the song for the male responses, his clear, strong baritone took up the part. She cast a startled but grateful look in his direction. His voice blended beautifully with hers and a moment later the Prince’s fine tenor joined them.

  “Wonderful, wonderful,” cried Varinia when the song ended. “I had forgotten the beauty of the human voice.”

  Elorin, sighing with relief that she was no longer the focus of attention, settled back comfortably in her chair and observed those around her.

  Relisar, to her right, was engaged in an animated discussion with Elro, unaware that the end of his beard was wagging in his dinner. The Prince and Triana were sitting side by side, their golden heads shining in the torchlight. Elorin sighed inwardly. She liked Triana for her kindness and gentleness, but in some ungracious corner of her heart that she had hitherto not known she possessed, she wished she was not so beautiful and appealing. Her eyes travelled round to Celedorn, sitting on the other side of the Prince. Once more she was struck by the contrast between them; lightness and darkness. Yet it happened that Celedorn had his undamaged profile turned towards her, and for the first time it struck her that if it hadn’t been for his disfigurement, he could have been quite a handsome man - in a rather dark and brooding way. Light and dark the two men might be, but she no longer felt that one represented good and the other evil. Her increasing knowledge of them blurred such stark distinctions. She had seen the Prince behave provocatively; she had seen Celedorn act with kindness. It occurred to her that he had mellowed since leaving Ravenshold. Although still occasionally blistering, his habitual sarcasm had largely gone. His animosity towards the Prince had subsided, as he grew to respect his courage and integrity. She remembered Varinia’s words about Andarion’s noble ancestry and wondered sadly if Princes only married beggar-maids in fairy stories.

  Later that night, someone else wondered the same thing. Celedorn lay in the chamber he shared with the Prince, listening to his companion’s even breathing coming from across the room and staring into the darkness. He reflected that from a worldly point of view an alliance between the Crown Prince
of Eskendria and the daughter of the Lord Protector of Kelendore was a much more acceptable match than a girl with no name. Yet he had caught Elorin looking across the table at the Prince with her feelings written on her face, and despite his own pain, almost wished that the Prince had returned the look. But increasingly Andarion seemed to be drawn to Triana - something that Celedorn found incomprehensible. His own tastes were so different. He liked a woman with fire, who was not afraid of him and would not hesitate to answer him back. He admired Elorin’s quick-wittedness, and the way she never ran away from danger. But the Prince seemed to want someone he could protect, and Celedorn feared that the words he had spoken long ago would prove prophetic - that it all could only end with Elorin being hurt.

  As for himself, he had fought his growing feelings for Elorin every inch of the way, unwilling to surrender to the dependency that love creates. But the more he struggled, the stronger the emotion had become, until he was forced to admit that he was its unwilling prisoner. That day on the cliff-top near Sirkris, with the rain falling around them, when she had told him she hated him, he had been cut to the heart - even though he had not betrayed the fact by so much as the flicker of an eyelid. He realised now that she no longer hated him, perhaps had not done so even then, but to be merely her friend irked him. Sometimes, when the conflicting feelings became too much for him, he would flare up at her, letting his biting tongue say things he didn’t mean. All he knew for certain was that the daydreams he occasionally indulged in could never become reality. He had nothing to offer her except the fact that he loved her desperately. He would not drag her down into the black mire that was his life - a life that would most probably end, in the not too distant future, on some cold gallows.

  Yet even as he viewed this bleak scenario, a line from the Song of Myreth sprang into his mind: words that he thought he had long ago forgotten.

  ‘Hope is a flower which blossoms in the snow’.

  “It cannot be,” he groaned softly. “It can never be. There is no hope.”

  They spent the following day in the caverns under the hidden valley. The twins, who were rarely seen apart, chose to be their guides and showed them halls, chambers, stores and stairways that were grand, beautiful, but somehow sad. Not one of the companions would have exchanged a day spent in the sunshine for such gloomy grandeur. As evening approached and their departure drew near, they found themselves showered with gifts of clothing and food.