The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (2 page)

  There was only the faintest gleam of daylight left
to enable her to see her surroundings. Dimly she could perceive a large bed in
the centre of the room. Once it had been an ostentatious piece of furniture,
but now it was reduced to a sad frame and several slatted boards. There was no
mattress or blankets. The only other item she could distinguish in the gloom
was a damaged wooden chair. Some of the little diamond panes of the window were
broken, letting in gusts of freezing air, but her heart leapt a little when she
saw that the window had no bars. She struggled to her feet, and trying to
ignore the thumping pain in her cheek and in the wrist that had been injured in
her collision with the wall, crossed to the window. But only disappointment
awaited. The window might as well have had bars for all the possibility of
escape that it offered. The room was set high in the tower overlooking the
courtyard. Its walls were glassy smooth, offering not the slightest possibility
of a handhold. Far below her, too far for any hope, the square was a hive of
activity. Torches flared, orders were shouted, horses saddled and led out,
weapons clashed as they were slung into place. Men were pouring from side doors
and through the archway she had seen earlier - far more men than she knew the
fortress contained. In their hundreds they streamed into the square, and still
they came. She saw Celedorn mount his horse. The torchlight flickered briefly
on the cruel scars before he donned his helmet. The mounted men appeared to be
milling around in chaos, but when Celedorn guided his horse out under the
portcullis at a brisk trot, rank after rank of riders fell into place behind
him, four abreast, with military precision.

  She watched them until they had all left, until the
square was empty and silent again. The portcullis rumbled down into position.
Then slowly she slid down the wall in despair, feeling that she no longer had
the strength to stand. 

 She tried to gather her thoughts, to consider her
future, but her mind refused to contemplate so bleak a picture and instead
began to drift back in time, back to an autumn day a few months previously that
would remain graven for ever on her memory.

 
The autumn mist began to swirl softly
amongst the still trees.  Silently, each golden leaf dropped like a tear
to the ground
.
The gentle billows crept between the jagged grey stones
standing like broken teeth around the rim of the ancient circle. The man in the
centre of the circle was oblivious to the mist. He stood lost in thought, his
gaze bent upon the weighty leather book he held in his hands. Occasionally he
muttered to himself, softly repeating the ancient incantations. His long white
beard and gown of grey would have proclaimed his calling even if his murmured
spells had not.

 His actions were being intently observed by two men
standing within the shelter of the trees just outside the stone circle. They
were enough alike for even the uninitiated to recognise that they were
brothers.  The elder of the two was fairer and taller than his sibling,
but both wore cloaks of royal red and the elder had a circlet of gold upon his
brow. However, their differences in temperament soon became apparent. While the
elder remained patiently watching the process in the ring, leaning against the
dark bole of a tree, the younger paced the autumn glade restlessly. Finally, as
if no longer able to restrain himself, he declared:

 “If that old fool doesn’t hurry up, I’m leaving. I
knew all this was folly. Why should we rely on the old dotard when all he does
goes awry? I need not cite his last debacle to you, brother, you were present,
you saw his humiliation. He may once have been great enough to earn his title
as the Keeper of the Book, but that was long ago and I’m inclined to think that
senility has set in.”

 His brother remained unmoved by the outburst.
“Patience, Sarrick, we have nothing to lose but a few hours of our time.”

 He was met with a snort of derision. “Waste your
time if you wish. I have better things to do.”

 As he spoke, he turned on his heel to leave but his
brother reached out a hand and caught his sleeve.

 “Look! Something is happening!”

 The mist on the ground had begun to swirl. Slowly it
revolved until dimly a shape began to form.

 The old man’s incantation did not cease. He droned
on, his words indistinguishable to the brothers. They stood tensed, staring
mesmerised at the swirling form of mist. One moment it seemed like a great
eagle with outstretched wings, the next like a predatory cat. Then slowly it
sank to the ground, a concentrated white billow more dense and solid than the
surrounding mist. As it did so, a soft growling rumble seemed to issue from the
ground. The Keeper of the Book ceased his murmuring and froze into immobility.
A tingle of apprehension crawled up Sarrick’s neck and he stood unaware that
his brother still grasped his arm.

 “What’s happening?” he whispered .

 “I don’t know. Perhaps, against the odds, he has
been successful. Perhaps what lies beneath the mist is the Champion he is
trying to summon and not just another of his debacles.”

 “Then why is he just standing there, Andarion? Mark
my words, something is not right.”

 Convulsively Andarion tightened his grip on his
brother’s arm. “Look!”

 The mist was beginning to dissipate. Slowly, strand
by strand, it began to melt away until a shape lying on the ground was
revealed. A human form. With a soft groan the form began to move. It rolled
over onto its back.

 Sarrick uttered a crack of derision. “Ha! A girl!
It’s just a girl! Some Champion this has turned out to be!” He raised his voice
to carry to the old man.  “Well, Relisar? Another one of your farces, eh?
One shabby-looking girl is all you can produce instead of the Champion of the
Book of Light. Is
she
going to save us from the Turog?”

 Relisar either did not hear, or did not choose to
hear, for he remained in the circle staring at the ground. With a sound of
disgust, Sarrick turned on his heel and left. The sound of thudding hooves a
moment later signalled his departure.

 Andarion briefly looked undecided, as if part of him
wished to follow his brother’s example, but finally he left the shelter of the
trees and crossed to the edge of the stone circle.

 “You can come closer, there is nothing to fear,” the
old man said as the Prince stepped to his side. “Did you hear it?”

 “What?”

 “The voice. The voice that said that every door
requires a key.”

 “I heard nothing except a slight rumbling sound that
might just have been distant thunder.”  He looked at the silent form on
the ground. “Is she dead? She moved a moment ago? Is she all right?”

 “Yes, yes, she is alive.”

 “Who is she? Surely not the one we seek?”

 “No, alas, I have no idea who she is or why she was
sent. I have consulted the Book again and again and I am convinced that I
performed the ritual correctly. Certainly there was power in it, for I felt it
most strongly but......but this is not what I expected.”

 They both stood in silence looking at the girl. She
was tall, dark haired, dressed shabbily in stained leather trousers and a
much-darned woollen tunic. Her skin was the golden colour of a fair skin that
has been exposed to the sun. Her face, although not strictly beautiful, had a
certain appeal. It was fine boned, a rather determined chin softened by a
pretty mouth. Under the tan, her face was deathly pale and her breathing was
shallow.

 “Her dress is not dissimilar to the Marsh People of
southern Serendar,” Andarion observed softly.

 “Time to find out.” Relisar bent down and gently
shook her shoulder. “It’s time to wake up, my dear. Come now, my child, open
your eyes.”

 With a soft groan the lids opened upon a pair of
rather dazed blue eyes. “Where am I?”

 “You are in the forest of Canthor near Addania.”

 “Addania? But that’s the capital of  Eskendria.
How could I be here? Who are you?” She raised herself on her elbow, panic
clearly setting in. “How did I get here? What have you done to me?”

 “It’s a long story, my dear, but there is no need to
be afraid. I am Relisar, the Keeper of the Book, and this is Andarion, Crown
Prince of Eskendria. Now, we need you to tell us your name and where you come
from.”

 The girl stared at them for a moment, then sank her
face in her hands. “I don’t know, I simply don’t know,” she groaned. “I can
remember nothing before waking up in this forest. I can’t remember my home. I
can’t remember my name.” She looked up at them, clearly terrified. “I can’t
remember my own name! Help me! Please!
I can’t remember my name
!”

 “We cannot help you,” said the Prince gently. “We
have no idea who you are. Relisar was conducting a summoning spell intended to
obtain the Champion referred to in the Book of Light but something must have
gone wrong because you appeared instead. We were hoping that you could shed
some light on where you came from, something to indicate whether your
appearance has some meaning or is merely another.....em.....mishap.”

 “A mishap?” the girl repeated incredulously.

 The old man and the Prince looked at one another
helplessly.

 “Come, my dear,” said Relisar, “you will catch cold
sitting on that damp ground.” He reached down and helped her to her feet. “Come
back with us to Addania and we will see what can be done. I must consult the
ancient scrolls to see if I can discover the reason for your appearance. In the
meantime you will be my guest. Now, until you get your memory back, we cannot
simply go on referring to you as ‘the girl’. That would be impolite.” He smiled
slightly. “No, we must give you a name. Any suggestions, Your Highness?”

 Andarion looked at her kindly. “How about
Elorin?  It means ‘autumn’ in the ancient tongue and we did find you on an
autumn day.”

 Elorin smiled a little uncertainly at him, grateful
for his kindness but clearly still disorientated and confused. 

 The Prince stretched out his hand to her. “Come. You
may ride before me.”

 She took the proffered hand and he led her through
the trees to where his horse was tethered.  Relisar followed, muttering to
himself and occasionally stopping to leaf through the book he carried.

 The Prince looked over his shoulder with the first
hint of impatience.

 “Will that not wait until we are back?” he remarked
a shade tartly. “It is getting dark and it looks like rain.  Elorin has
suffered enough for one day, without getting a soaking as well.”

 Startled out of his abstraction, Relisar picked up
the tail of his grey robe and trotted after them.

   Elorin never afterwards forgot her first
sight of  Addania. It was built on a hill rising out of the centre of a
wide plain, ringed by a shining river. Its grey walls gleamed like silver in
the last rays of the setting sun. Slender towers and battlements stabbed the
sky like needles, and from each pinnacle fluttered a sky-blue flag emblazoned
with a golden flower.

 They entered the city over the single span of a
graceful bridge and through a tunnel-like gate that led to a narrow, cobbled
street which twisted its way up the hill between overhanging houses. The
streets were a hive of activity, but the people seemed to recognise the Prince
and stood back respectfully. His grey-robed companion, in contrast, received
scowls and a few muttered remarks, which from the tone, appeared to be
uncomplimentary.

 The Prince realised that the girl on his saddlebow
had stiffened with anxiety.

 “Don’t worry,” he said reassuringly. “It’s not far
now. Relisar has quarters inside the royal compound.” He glanced over his
shoulder to make sure the object of his remarks was out of earshot. “Mind you,
it will be no treat sharing accommodation with him, for he is the most untidy,
disorganised creature created since first light.” He smiled slightly to rob his
words of criticism. “However, he has a kind heart and is always full of good
intentions. It’s just that somehow something always seems to go wrong.”

 “Like today, you mean?”

 “Yes. I’m sorry. Perhaps that was tactless.”

 She shook her head. “No, you’ve been very kind. I
just can’t rid myself of the feeling that this is all some horrible dream and
I’ll wake up safe in my bed at home.....wherever that is.”

 “It’s becoming no clearer?”

 “No. I feel as if memory is just tantalisingly
beyond my reach. The more I strain to capture it, the more it eludes me.”

 They passed through another set of crennellated
walls which encircled the brow of the hill. The guards by the gate saluted the
Prince as he passed. To Elorin’s relief, the crowds of curious people were left
behind.

  Andarion reined in his horse. “This is where we
stop.” He slid from the saddle and turned to help her down but she had already
alighted nimbly beside him. Relisar fell out of the saddle, still tightly
clutching his heavy book. His horse, glad to be rid of him, took off in the
direction of the stables.

 They had stopped before a high, round tower built of
the light-grey stone that seemed to characterise the city. Higher up, it was
pierced by many tiny, pointed windows but at the ground floor the only aperture
was a small, iron-bound wooden door. A shaggy ivy had wound itself around the
tower as far as the second floor and was exhibiting the effrontery of trying to
reach the third.

  Relisar pushed open the door “Come, come, this
way.”

 They wound their way up a narrow spiral staircase
until they arrived at the first floor. Another heavy wooden door lead to a
curious apartment. The light filtering in from the tiny, pointed windows was
dim and rendered even dimmer by the fact that the ivy had crept across the
glass. But even the poor light did not conceal the chaos. Books were piled
everywhere on every available flat surface, including the floor. Glass jars
containing powder of every conceivable colour from sapphire blue to flaming
ruby, from amber to emerald green, were stacked everywhere, apparently without
reference to their contents. Trays, pots, lotions and potions, spoons, quills,
scrolls, all jostled together in hopeless confusion. Only the bookshelves which
lined the walls of the room were tidy by virtue of the fact that they were
empty. All the books were stacked higgeldy-piggledy on the floor. From amongst
the debris, Relisar extracted the stump of a candle and lit it.

 “Ah, that’s better. Now, my dear, sit
down....er....I’ll find a space, don’t worry.” He began pushing things around
and managed to extract a wooden chair from underneath the chaos. He dusted it
ineffectually with the tail of his robe.

 “There now. That’s better, isn’t it? Now, let me
see. Your memory has not come back has it?”

 Elorin shook her head.

 “Then we must see what we can deduce about you.” He
looked at the Prince. “You thought her dress was like the Marsh People?”

 “Yes, I have only visited their land once because it
is outside our domain, and although they have never shown particular hostility
towards Eskendrians, they do not welcome strangers. They wear leather breeches
and woollen tunics such as Elorin’s. They also favour colours such as she is
wearing - beige, brown, dun - as these colours camouflage them when they go
hunting amongst the reeds.” He looked speculatively at Elorin. “Also, when I
took your hand, I felt a slight roughness on the first two fingers, which
suggests you frequently use the bow. Marsh People are without exception skilful
hunters with the bow.”

 Relisar looked over Elorin’s head at the Prince.
“You note that her clothes are poor, indicating a peasant family, but her
speech is cultured and she appears to have learning  -  an apparent
contradiction.” He lifted the heavy book he had been carrying and showed her
the title page. “Can you read that, my dear?”

 She looked at the line of curling symbols. “Yes, it
is the Book of Incantations.”