The Crystal Chalice (Book 1)

by R. J. Grieve

  He swung round to face her, genuinely startled. “I have not lied to you.”

  “Perhaps not directly, but you conceal from me much about yourself. For instance, why did you not tell me the truth about what really happened at the Serpent’s Throat? You told me that you fell in, that the remnant of the bridge that you had been standing on had given way and you had no choice but to follow me into the Harnor, but that was not true, was it? “

  He stared back at her, saying nothing.

  “All these months,” she continued, “you let me believe that you followed me because you had no choice - but you did have a choice. The bridge did not collapse. Instead, you made the deliberate decision to leap in after me.”

  His eyes narrowed. “How did you know that?”

  But she did not answer his question, instead she posed one of her own. “Why did you do that? The drop into the Harnor is truly terrifying. There was a very strong chance that you would have been killed. So why did you do it?”

  “I.....I saw you surface in the Harnor after your fall and I knew that the current would sweep you to the northern side of the river, to the Forsaken Lands. I couldn’t leave you to face that alone. The only way to protect you was to.....to do what I did.”

  “You could have been killed.”

  He turned back to the window and said very quietly: “Better that, than living without you.”

  He felt her hand touch his sound shoulder. It felt cool and smooth against his skin.

  “Tell me, Celedorn.”

  “Must I say it?” he asked in an agonised voice. “Could you not have guessed? I swore to myself I would never tell you. Must I say it?”

  “You must.”

  He turned to her, his eyes dark and haunted. “I love you, Elorin. I have always loved you. Ever since that day at Ravenshold when you had a little too much wine and dared to say things to me that no one else had ever dared to say.” A slight smile of recollection briefly softened his face before fading again. “I didn’t want to love you. I knew from the beginning that you could never feel the same. I knew that it could never be, but I couldn’t help myself. The more I fought it, the stronger the feeling grew, until for the first time in my life I surrendered.”

  She reached up and gently touched his cheek with her hand, tenderly tracing the line of cheekbone and chin. The expression in her eyes was so gentle and loving that his heart almost stopped.

  The longing she evoked in him was so intense, that he felt he could hardly bear it. In a voice that broke with emotion, he said: “When you look at me like that, all my wildest dreams start to seem possible.”

  She moved still closer to him, knowing that the moment had finally arrived. “When I look at you like that, what I’m trying to tell you is that I love you.”

  She heard his sharp intake of breath. He was staring at her as if he could hardly believe what he was hearing.

  “But.....but the Prince?”

  “It was never the Prince. It was always you,” she told him, unwittingly repeating the words she had spoken in his dream. “When Relisar made me appear in the stone circle at Addania, I was lost and frightened. I had no past, no name, no friends. The Prince was kind to me, gentle and thoughtful. He is also brave, handsome and noble - a combination very hard to resist. What I felt for him was a kind of hero-worship which I mistook for love. Now I realise that I care for him just as he cares for me - as a friend. You see, I have only ever loved one man, and he isn’t a Prince but a stubborn mountain brigand.”

  “Elorin....” he started to say but could get no further and caught her into his arms, holding her so tightly that she could hardly breathe.

  “Your shoulder!” she protested.

  “Damn my shoulder,” was the dismissive response and he buried his face against her chestnut hair. “My beautiful Elorin,” he whispered. “I never thought you would ever say those words to me.”

  He leaned back from her, his grey eyes ardently scanning hers, and encouraged by what he saw, he took her face between his hands and kissed her with such passion that it made the kiss in the tavern seem tame in comparison.

  When at last he drew back, he said: “When did you know?”

  “That day in the Kingdom of Adamant, in the stables, when you held me to comfort me the first glimmerings of enlightenment began to dawn.”

  He groaned. “If only I’d known. I nearly told you the truth that day.”

  “I’m not sure how I would have reacted then. How could I have been so blind? I had to nearly lose you before my eyes were opened, but looking back it explains a lot of things. The day after I was rejected by the Prince, all I could think of was you, of how I had hurt you and must ask your forgiveness. That should have told me something, but instead, I had to wait until it was almost too late before I realised the truth.” Her voice sunk. “If anything had happened to you, I couldn’t have gone on. I couldn’t.”

  He tightened his arms around her and began to kiss her again. He felt one of her hands travel down the skin of his back, while the fingers of the other ran gently into his hair. He unmistakably sensed desire in her response, a need for him that grew like power between them. He sat down on the bed and drew her down beside him. Gently pushing her back, he began to press lingering kisses against the smooth skin of her neck. At the same time, he slowly started to unbutton her shirt. Her chin tilted backwards and she made a soft little sound of pleasure. Tenderly, his lips began to follow the path opened by his fingers.

  Then suddenly he stopped, and abruptly sat up.

  She opened her eyes. “What’s the matter?”

  He bowed his head in his hands. “All my life I have taken what I wanted, often by force, without thought for the consequences, without thought as to whether it was right or wrong. I have destroyed everything I have ever touched, ruined and tarnished it - but not this time. Not with you. If things were different, if I were not who I am and had not done the things that I have done, I would be on my knees before you, begging you to marry me, but....but it cannot be. What sort of love would I show you if I dragged you down into the mire with me? How could I ever ask you to become the wife of a brigand, a criminal, hunted in two countries? I would ruin your life, bringing you only unhappiness and shame. It would end by you having to watch me hang from a gallows - for that is how it will end, do not mistake the matter. I cannot give you a home, or a decent life, or a future worth having. I can give you nothing but pain.”

  She sat up and gently laid her hand on his dark hair. “Celedorn, you can give me the only thing in life I really want - and that is your love.”

  He shook his head, but said softly and somehow finally: “Bless you for saying that. I will remember it always.”

  “I don’t care about what you have done. The person you describe is not the man I know. I love you and I know you and that is all that matters.”

  He stood up and began to pace the room. “You don’t know me, Elorin. I have told you that many times and I don’t think you believed me. You don’t know some of the things I have done. You don’t really know who I am.” He stopped pacing and halted abruptly before her, his face pale but set. “You don’t even know my real name.”

  She stared at him. “But I do,” she contradicted. “It is Berendore.”

  “What!” he gasped. “How did you know that?”

  “I have it on very good authority.”

  “Who told you?” he demanded.

  “You did.”

  He looked thunderstruck. “Me?”

  “Yes, when you were in the grip of the fever, you became delirious and began to talk. That is how I learnt your real name. That is how I know about the Serpent’s Throat.”

  “What else did I say?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Nothing coherent. There was a lot about Ravenshold and the Turog but it was so mixed up that I couldn’t make any sense of it.”

  A silence fell between them, and she knew he was thinking deeply about what she had discovered.

  After a moment sh
e said: “I think it is time to stop concealing your past. The Prince once said to me that there was nothing I could do that you would not forgive.”

  “He said that?” asked Celedorn, touched by the Prince’s perception

  “Yes, but more importantly, the reverse is also true. Nothing you have ever done, or ever could do, would make me stop loving you. You must not be afraid to tell me the truth.”

  He relapsed into thought again for a moment, before giving a soft sigh. She knew by the sound that he had come to a difficult decision.

  “Perhaps you are right,” he conceded. “I have not deliberately lied to you, but there is much about myself that I have concealed. Perhaps it is time to face my past. Perhaps it is time to do away with all pretence, and confront the truth. But if I tell my story, I feel I owe it to the others to tell them as well. Over these last few days, I have come to realise what good friends I have - something I have never possessed before in my life. I also know that unless I am honest with them, then I do not deserve their friendship.” He picked up his shirt and began to put it on. “It is time to face what I have avoided for so very long.”

  They found the others in the large room set aside for their use by the brothers. It was another pleasant room, with white walls and windows open to the gardens. Seated in the sunlight by the window were Andarion and Triana, engaged in playing chess. From the number of Andarion’s pieces sitting by Triana’s elbow, it appeared the he was being comprehensively routed. Relisar was surrounded by piles of books and manuscripts that he had shamelessly purloined from Master Galendar’s library. They all looked up when the door opened and everyone exclaimed to see Celedorn up and about again, but they soon sensed something important in the atmosphere and conversation began to falter. Elorin seated herself by the table and rather unnecessarily, given the look on Celedorn’s face, informed them that he had something important to tell them. A hush fell on the room, the air was suddenly a little tense, and every face turned expectantly to Celedorn.

  Looking somewhat pale and worn, he sat down opposite them, but he seemed, once the point had actually arrived, to be at a loss to know how to begin.

  Relisar, observing his troubled expression, leaned forward kindly and said: “I know this is very difficult for you, Celedorn, but perhaps you should begin by telling Andarion and Triana who you really are.”

  Celedorn, who had been studying his hands clasped between his knees, straightened up abruptly and stared at him in astonishment. “You know?”

  “Yes, I have known for a long time that you are Berendore.”

  “How?”

  “The day before we reached Kerrian-tohr, you were sitting on the beach cleaning your sword and I asked to see it.”

  “I remember.”

  “You told me your father had given you that sword, and it was that which revealed your true identity to me.” He paused. “You see, I was the one who gave that sword to your father in the first place. He was a very dear friend of mine, in fact, I valued him so highly that I gave to him one of the very few remaining swords of the Old Kingdom. It was unmistakable - the three chalice flowers engraved on the blade are unique. You and I have met before, you know, long before Sirkris. You will not remember, but I held you in my arms when you were only a few months old, and already your father’s pride and joy. Then the scales fell from my eyes, and I suddenly realised what it was about you that intrigued me so much - it was the resemblance to your father. You are like him, you know, as dark as he was, but with your mother’s grey eyes.”

  The Prince interrupted at this point. “Would someone please tell me what is going on? Who is Berendore?”

  It was Relisar who answered. “Berendore is the only son of Calordin, last Lord of Westrin and his wife, the Princess Ressinia. Celedorn and Berendore are one and the same, and he is thus the rightful lord of Ravenshold and of all the Westrin Mountains.”

  All faces round the table went blank with shock.

  “But.....but the last Lord of Westrin and all his family were killed by the Turog twenty years ago,” objected the Prince.

  Celedorn looked him in the eyes, and Andarion read such desolation there that he almost recoiled.

  “I did not die that day, but there have been many times since then that I wish I had.”

  The Prince made to speak but Relisar silently held up his hand to check him. They waited patiently as Celedorn arose and crossed to the open window.

  “Twenty years ago,” he began, “my father had to travel to Addania on his yearly journey to take the oath of loyalty to the King. Normally he went alone, but a victory had recently been won over the Turog and they were thought to have retired across the Harnor. So that year, by way of celebration, his family was to travel with him - my mother, younger sister and myself.

  We also were accompanied by about a hundred servants and guards, less than we would normally have travelled with, because the King,” he flicked a glance over his shoulder at Andarion, “your father, was coming to meet us half way, along with a strong detachment of cavalry. When the Turog ambushed us, we were unprepared and outnumbered. They dropped out of the trees in their hundreds all around us. We had not yet reached the rendezvous point but it was not far, less than a mile, and when he saw how heavily outnumbered we were, my father dispatched his personal servant to fetch the King to help us.” He leaned forward, his hands gripping the windowsill. “I remember that day very clearly. I remember how the Turog arrows rained down on us like black hail. Men fell in their dozens around me. Some fell silently, others, less fortunate, screamed in agony. It was the first battle I had ever seen, except it wasn’t battle, it was slaughter. My father gathered the last remnant of his men in a circle around his family, and told them to lock shields to protect us, desperately hoping that the King would arrive in time. But no one came. The arrows ceased and the Turog closed in to attack us with swords and battle-axes. The men fought with terrible courage to save us. My father killed many of the Turog with the very sword that now stands propped against the wall in my room, but there were too many of them and one by one, the men protecting us fell. Little by little the shield wall dwindled and grew smaller, until only my father was left to defend us. But us they would not kill, not at first. Through the snarling, seething horde that surrounded us, a Great-turog strode. The lesser ones stood aside for it, falling back like a black tide. It strode up to my father and stood facing him, looking down from its greater height. It said nothing at first, but just stared at my father with eyes slitted like a goat’s. I remember that it wore a metal wristband emblazoned with a snarling wolf and carried a curved sword of tremendous weight. Finally it said in a deep voice: ‘You, Lord of Westrin, you I challenge. Fight for your life and the lives of your family.’

  Celedorn drew a deep breath and sat down on the windowsill as if he no longer had the strength to stand. The room was so silent and tense that the faint sound of a scythe being plied in the garden could be heard. The homely sound rendered worse by comparison the dreadful tale they were being told.

  “My father fought him with every ounce of courage and skill he possessed, but it was no use. No man has ever defeated a Great-turog in single combat and the creature knew it. When my father was exhausted and at the end of his strength, it knocked the sword from his hand. I remember how it flashed in the light as it flew amongst the trees.” His voice was a little jerky, the knuckles of his hands gripping the ledge were white. No one dared to interrupt him. “It drove its sword into my father’s unprotected chest with such force that the point came out his back. He fell to his knees, but even as he did so, his eyes sought mine in a look I will never forget to my dying day. The creature pushed him forward onto his face with its foot and he lay still and moved no more. The Great-turog had seen that look, and it came to me, mockery on its ugly face. “I give you a chance, whelp,” it said, “to save your mother and sister.” It tossed me a curved Turog sword. “Fight me and win, and they will live.”

  Celedorn halted again, as if unable to continu
e.

  “What age were you?” asked Triana in a voice that trembled.

  “I was fourteen years old,” he replied constrictedly. “I had just begun to learn the sword. It was merely playing some sadistic game with me. I.....I did my best, but if a powerful man like my father could not defeat it, what chance had a fourteen year old boy? It toyed with me, spinning things out a little, but suddenly it seemed to tire of its game. It struck the sword from my hand and threw me back on the earth, pinning me down with its foot on my chest. ‘Now see the price of your failure,’ it said. ‘Watch your mother and sister die.’

  They bound me to a tree and then.....and then, made me watch as they tortured my mother and sister to death. I tried not to look, but if I closed my eyes I could hear their screams. I cannot speak of what they did to them, not even now twenty years later, not even to Elorin.” He bowed his head, in terrible distress. “I can never speak of it, yet it haunts my dreams.”

  The tears were flowing down Triana’s face and Elorin looked deathly white. Relisar, the tears standing in his own eyes, leaned forward: “My dear boy, this is too much for you. You have just arisen from your sickbed and this is by far too much for you.”

  Celedorn lifted his head and his storm-grey eyes were full of a kind of fierce sorrow. “No, Relisar. I must continue. I cannot go back now. I am telling you what I have not told another living soul and I cannot go back.”

  Relisar nodded in understanding and sat back, wiping his eyes with his beard.

  “At last when only I was left alive, the Great-turog came to me, to where I was still bound to the tree. ‘Remember,’ it said, ‘it was your failure that killed them, always remember that. But do not think that you are going to die. Are you longing to die, whelp? Do you think you will escape your memories in death? No, such will not be your fate. But if ever you think that the passage of time will make you forget, I will leave you with a reminder. Every time you see your own face in a mirror, you will remember this day.’ With those words, it drew back its hand and raked its claws across my face.”