The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (37 page)

 “A tree,” said the Prince
laconically from over Celedorn’s shoulder.

 Celedorn gave vent to
his anxiety in his usual fashion. “Of all the stupid things to do! Walking
right on the edge like that!” he declared roundly, the tone of his voice at odd
variance with the look in his eyes.

 “Thank you for your
overwhelming concern,” replied Elorin acidly, in an almost perfect imitation of
his own manner.

 Andarion caught Triana
looking back and forth in perplexity between the two, a puzzled frown between
her brows.

 Celedorn, who was still
kneeling supporting Elorin in his arms, felt the Prince’s hand on his shoulder.

 “We will have to find
shelter. We are making very little progress in this rain and we don’t want one
of us falling ill.” He looked at Elorin. “Can you stand?”

 She nodded and let
Celedorn help her to her feet.

 “I’m fine - apart from
being wet, cold and having a headache - oh, and I forgot to add ‘dirty’ to my
list,” she added, looking with disgust at her muddy appearance.

 “I gather from the
amount of complaining she’s doing, that she’s all right,” remarked Celedorn
wryly to the Prince. “I agree that we need shelter. Probably our best bet is
one of these valleys.”

 “If we could find
somewhere well hidden, I think we should risk lighting a fire. Any Turog
determined enough to track us in this weather, almost deserves to find us.”

 “I’ll go down into this
valley and see what I can find,” volunteered Celedorn. “The rest of you wait
here.”

 He glanced at Elorin
but seemed reassured by her vigorous attempt to get the mud off herself, and
disappeared into the glen.

 He was back only a few
minutes later. “We’re in luck. There’s a cave in the valley below us, just
across the stream. The stream is swollen but fordable.”

 “It sounds like
paradise,” declared Relisar grandly, wringing the water out of his beard. “Lead
on, young man.”

 The cave looked
unpromising at first. A narrow, slit-like crack in the rock, festooned with
moss and dripping ferns, gave access to it, but it soon widened out to provide
a high-roofed chamber. Unfortunately it was damp. The walls glistened in the
meagre light creeping in from the entrance. Relisar, however, was not
discouraged.

 “A fire will set this
to rights,” he said cheerfully, a large raindrop running down his bony nose.
“At least a narrow entrance means the light from the fire will not easily be
seen.”

 However, actually
lighting a fire proved another matter. The wood that they collected was all
uniformly damp and stubbornly resisted all attempts to light it. Celedorn had
been struggling with flints and kindling for some time, and was quietly and
comprehensively cursing the recalcitrant wood under his breath.

 “Very well,” said
Relisar. “Dramatic measures are called for, if we are not all to take a chill.
Stand back.”

 Celedorn backed away
from the wood and folded his arms in the manner of one prepared to be
entertained.

 Relisar raised his
hand, fixed an eagle eye on the wood and in ringing tones said:

 “
Falethon d’goethe!”

 Absolutely nothing
happened.

 “Are you sure you have
the right spell?” the Prince asked helpfully. Relisar shot him a disgusted
look.

 “I’d stand well back,
if I were you, Celedorn,” the Prince advised. “Relisar’s spells tend to be of
the hit or miss variety. You could find yourself turned into something small
and furry.”

 Celedorn laughed, but
retreated nevertheless.

 Relisar repeated the
command and this time was rewarded with a small pop and a single puff of smoke.

 “Maybe I should try
good old-fashioned steel and flint again,” remarked Celedorn tactlessly.

 But even as he spoke, a
little tongue of flame began to lick around the damp wood.

 Relisar beamed at his
audience. “Your apologies will now be accepted.”

 Celedorn dumped his
pack down and headed for the entrance.

 “Where are you going?”
Elorin asked. “It’s still raining, after all.”

 “If the look of that
wood is anything to go by, you will all be smoked out of here soon. I’m going
down to the stream to see about the possibility of some trout. Want to come?”

 She shook her head. “I
want to get my clothes dried out.”

 He shrugged. “As you
wish.”

 Triana, watching him
closely, thought he looked a little disappointed but it was always difficult to
tell with Celedorn.

 When he returned, the
fire was crackling nicely and the cave was redolent with the smell of damp
wool. Andarion had tied a framework of branches together and all the cloaks
were draped over it to dry. Celedorn handed his catch to Elorin.

 “Half a dozen, already
gutted. You see, you’re not the only one who can catch fish.”

 “You’re soaking again.
Take off that shirt so that I can dry it.”

 He pulled his shirt off
over his head and extracted a dry one from his pack, then went and sat beside
the Prince.

 “How is your arm?”

  Andarion was
surprised. “A bit stiff.”

 “Let me see.”

 When Andarion exposed
the wound, Celedorn clicked his tongue in annoyance. “You have an infection in
it. I can feel the heat, however, I’ve seen worse. Keep it clean and keep the
bandage around it.”

 The Prince began to
fumble left-handedly with the bandage. Unable to stand his ineptness, Celedorn
took it from him and deftly began to wind it around his arm. Andarion could not
repress a soft laugh.

 Celedorn glanced up
from his task. “What’s so amusing?”

 “This whole situation.
From trying to annihilate me in the Westrin Mountains, you are now actually
taking care of my health.”

 The irony was far from
being lost on his companion, who found himself unable to suppress an
appreciative grin. “Enjoy it while you may. I assume we will be at each other’s
throats again, once we reach Eskendria.”

 The Prince’s smile
faded. “If there still
is
an Eskendria when we get back. I could not
form the old alliance, so there is no one to aid my country. No help from
either Serendar or the Isles. Every day, before I left, the Turog were
gathering in greater and greater numbers across the Harnor. Eskendria is not as
she once was; she has not the men to repulse such a horde. What if we reach the
Harnor only to discover a burning ruin that was once Eskendria? A
slaughterhouse instead of a kingdom? I cannot explain it, Celedorn, but a
terrible fear has been growing in me - the fear that we shall be too late.”

 Celedorn regarded him
silently for a moment. “If the attack is inevitable, what could we do that
would make the outcome any different?”

 The use of the word ‘we’
was not lost on the Prince. “I don’t know,” he replied, in something not far
from despair. “Sarrick is the soldier of the family, not me, and yet....... and
yet I feel somehow that our presence would make a difference. At the very
least, if Eskendria falls, I must be there to fall with her.”

 “You would throw your
life away in such a gesture?”

 “Yes, if I must. If
Eskendria is defeated, then it is the end of us all. Serendar sits there smugly
by the sea while King Orovin plays games with me, but it is inevitable that the
Turog will turn on him and one by one the great kingdoms will fall and all the
little principalities to the south will fall too.”

 “You paint a grim
picture.”

 “The Westrin Mountains
will provide no safety. If Eskendria falls, Ravenshold will too. There will be
no escape.”

 Celedorn bowed his
head. “I know.”

 “Then come to our aid.
You have a thousand men in those mountains, all fierce fighters.”

 “Nearly two thousand,
to be precise.”

 “Then help us. You were
born in Eskendria were you not?”

 “I was.”

 “Then how can you not
help the land of your birth?”

 Celedorn stood up. “You
are clutching at straws here. One thousand? Two thousand? It will make little
difference. Even with the full weight of Serendar behind you, the outcome would
still be in doubt.”

 The Prince looked up at
him with grief in his eyes. “Nevertheless, I will try with all means in my
power.”

 Celedorn returned the
look enigmatically. “You are a brave man, Andarion. It is a pity that courage
alone will not bring victory.”

  The next few days saw
no sign of the Turog. The others relaxed a little, assuming their trail had
been lost in the rain, but Celedorn, who knew how persistent the creatures
could be, did not abate his vigilance.

 The heather-covered
heath had been left behind them and they now entered an area of  jumbled
hills and valleys. Their route proved no easier than crossing the heath - but
for different reasons. The hills were a convoluted maze of sharp ridges,
intersected by valleys that looked at first to provide a promising path, only
to prove to be a dead-end. When they had been forced to retrace their route for
the fourth time, tempers were becoming a little frayed. Celedorn, never the
mildest of men, was looking positively wicked, and even the Prince’s face was
marred by a scowl.

 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.