The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (4 page)

 Andarion nodded. “My preparations are well under
way. I leave in a few weeks for the Westrin Mountains. We must deal with
Celedorn. He must be destroyed before the Turog attack because our army must
not be split. It is most likely that the Turog will attack in the spring, when
the weather improves, but we cannot rule out the possibility that they will
take advantage of the winter ice to cross the Harnor. The river is wide and
deep, and as we destroyed the only bridge across it some years ago, it
constitutes a formidable barrier. In spring they must construct their own
bridge - but we would soon get to hear about that. Sarrick left scouts posted
all along the southern banks of the river. The Turog are vulnerable while
trying to construct the bridge and we will do all we can to prevent its
completion, but they may deem the risks of a winter campaign worth it, in order
to be able to march across the river once it is frozen.”

 “We must pray for a mild winter,” Relisar remarked.

 “Indeed, but in the meantime, Celedorn must be dealt
with. Perhaps if we got rid of him, our old allies on the coast might change
their minds. After all, he has disrupted their trade as much as ours. If he
were gone, communications with  the coast would be much easier. At the
moment, any messenger sent to Serendar most likely falls into Celedorn’s net. A
victory over him just might bring them into this war on our side.”

   When they were walking back to the Ivy Tower,
Elorin, who had kept quiet in such exalted company, demanded enlightenment from
Relisar.

 “Tell me more about this Celedorn they were all
talking about? Why does he pose such a threat?”

 “No one really knows much about him. He’s a bit of a
mystery.” Relisar replied. “No one is certain who he is or where he came
from.....”

 “......a bit like me?” she interrupted a little
sadly.

 Relisar smiled kindly at her. “Not in the least like
you. He appeared out of the forest about ten years ago and took control of the
bandits who had infested the old fortress of Ravenshold.”

 “Had they captured it?”

 “No, it was empty, abandoned. Indeed, it had been
lying semi-derelict since the Lord of Westrin and his family had been massacred
by the Turog.” To her surprise the old man’s eyes misted with tears. “It was
long ago and yet I remember it well. I remember Lord Calordin and his noble
lady. As I recall, they had two young children - both slaughtered. They were
travelling to Addania, obeying King Tharin’s summons to take the yearly oath of
loyalty. It was in time of peace, so the whole family was travelling through
the forest. The Turogs’ attack was as dreadful as it was sudden. No one knew
that a party of them had crept across the borders into Eskendria. They
butchered everyone. Calordin and his family, his servants and guards, all
without mercy in their usual vile fashion. Over one hundred people died that
day. There were no survivors. After everyone was dead, they heaped the corpses
into a pile and set fire to them. They say the smoke hung over the forest for
weeks afterwards. By the time the King’s guards arrived, there was nothing left
but a pile of smoking ashes. The Turog, encouraged by their success, went on to
sack Ravenshold - left only lightly defended. They rampaged through it, killing
everyone, stealing and pillaging. They even tried to set fire to it, but it
wouldn’t burn. Then they disappeared into the forest again. The King sent his
best trackers to find them, but to no avail. Those vermin can disappear like
mist when they wish to.” He sighed. “For many years Ravenshold lay empty,
inhabited only by ghosts. Then Celedorn and his band of cut-throats emerged out
of the forest and took it over, using its position in the Westrin mountains to
raid the trade routes through the great valleys. They steal, pillage and
destroy, little better than the Turog. Their only redeeming feature is that
they hunt the Turog ruthlessly. It is almost sport with them. I believe Celedorn
has thought up ways of slaughtering captured Turog that I would not dare repeat
to you. But he has achieved what few men have done - he has made them afraid of
him. They even have their own name for him. In their barbarous tongue they call
him Zardes-kur - the Executioner, the Bringer of Death.”

 Despite the warmth of the autumn sun still falling
on the courtyard, Elorin shivered.

 However, on their arrival at Relisar’s tower, her
anxious mood vanished. When they had ascended the stairs to his study, he suddenly
halted in the doorway, giving vent to an exclamation of horror. She peered over
his shoulder to see what was the matter, to discover that his study was
immaculately tidy. The chaos had been replaced by order. Every book was back in
its appointed space on the shelves, all his jars and potions were arranged
neatly according to size or colour, and the huge oak table was polished until
it gleamed.

  “Oh, no!” he repeated in the voice of doom. “Keesha
has been tidying!” He shook his head sadly. “I won’t be able to find a thing
now.”

  Over the next few weeks Relisar’s tower became home
for Elorin. She found him generous, cheerful, forgetful and more than a little
chaotic to live with. However, his unfailing kindness and sympathy won in
response from her a firm liking and respect. Her partiality was such, that it
hurt her, on the rare occasions when they met Prince Sarrick, that he held the
old Sage in such open contempt. Fortunately it was otherwise with his brother.
Andarion was all a prince should be - handsome, gracious and brave. Whatever
his private opinion of Relisar’s incompetence, he was unfailingly courteous to
him and went out of his way to be kind to Elorin. Only a few days after her
arrival in Addania, a parcel arrived at the tower accompanied by a note
addressed to her. It was from Andarion and explained that as her abrupt and
unexpected arrival in the kingdom meant that she had no possessions, he had
taken the liberty of asking his sister to obtain clothes and other necessities
for her. As the clothes she had been wearing had been tunic and breeches, he
had procured a similar style of dress for her and hoped that she would find
this acceptable.

 Acceptable was hardly the word. When Elorin opened
the parcel, she found clothes that she was quite certain she had never
possessed in her life. The tunics were of the richest materials and the most
beautiful colours - deep blue, amethyst and forest-green - all colours except
royal red. Moreover they were embroidered at the cuffs and collar with
intricate designs in gold and silver thread. Silver hairbrushes, scent bottles
of crystal and boots of the softest, finest leather were but few of the other
treasures in the parcel. She sat on the floor of her little, round room
surrounded by the bounty, feeling overwhelmed by such generosity.

 When she read the note again she discovered a post
scriptum that she had overlooked before, suggesting that she might like to
accompany the Prince on a ride that afternoon. She realised that his generosity
extended to his time as well as to material things. With so many more weighty
matters on his mind, she fully appreciated the extent of his kindness.

 
Anxious to share her good fortune with
someone, she lifted her favourite tunic - the blue one - and tumbled down the
spiral stair in search of Relisar.

 He was in his study as usual, and as usual he was
bent over some weighty tome, holding it to the light at the tiny window, peering
at it short-sightedly, his nose almost touching the page. Skah was perched on
the back of a chair watching him with a bored expression. When Elorin burst
into the room, the owl’s head revolved to look at her in that rather
disconcerting way that owls do.

 “Look Relisar!” she exclaimed, holding up the tunic.
“Look what Prince Andarion has sent me! And there is more upstairs - clothes,
hairbrushes, everything a person could wish for.”

 Relisar looked up, clearly preoccupied. “Yes, yes,
very nice. Go and put it on,” he suggested, in a not very sophisticated attempt
to get rid of her.

 “But wasn’t it kind?”

 His attention had already returned to his book.
“Yes, indeed, the Prince is most considerate........now, I wonder.....” he
added in a musing tone, and crossing the room, lifted another book and stuck
his nose in it.

 “He’s asked me to go riding with him,” she
persisted, but on receiving no response, gave it up as a bad job and returned
to her room to find that Keesha had at least signified her approval by hanging
up all the clothes and arranging the hairbrushes on the dressing-table.

  Soon she stood waiting in the mild autumn sunshine
by the door of the tower, her entire person clothed in sapphire blue, her long
hair brushed with the silver brushes until it shone.

  The sound of hooves from beyond the ivy-covered
archway alerted her to the Prince’s presence. He rode a beautiful bay horse,
its coat rippling glossily in the sunshine and led a rather fresh-looking
chestnut. When he drew level with her, he swung his leg over the pommel and
slid out of the saddle.

  “Why, Elorin,” he declared mischievously, “you look
almost presentable.”

 She laughed. “How can I ever thank you.....” she
began, but he brushed her gratitude aside with a characteristic gesture of his
hand.

 “You have nothing to thank me for. It is hardly
adequate compensation for all you have gone through, for all you have lost.” He
led the chestnut horse forward. “Come, let’s enjoy what might be the last of
these golden afternoons. Winter is approaching fast - I can feel it. The 
first frost was on the lawn this morning and all the swallows have gone. It
won’t be long before I, too, must be gone.”

 He helped her to mount and led the way out of the
palace, down through the steep, crowded streets. He had to respond to so many
greetings and smiles that he was unable to converse with her. People came out
of their houses to see him, some leaning over the pretty, flower bedecked
balconies that graced many of the houses at first floor level. The Prince had a
smile or a pleasant word for all of them and Elorin was conscious of a
proprietorial sense of pride in him. However, their descent might have been
more pleasant if she had been regarded in the same way, but the smiles of the
crowd became hard stares when they rested on her and the pleasant remarks
became muttered imprecations. She guessed disappointment at Relisar’s mistake
ran deep.

 When they emerged from the city walls and crossed
the elegant, arching bridge over the river, Andarion took the eastern road, a
long, white, dusty scar that stretched its pale finger towards some gently
wooded hills in the distance. After a short distance he left the road and
ascended a grassy knoll. The top provided a magnificent view of Addania, now
about a mile away. The sun illuminated its silver-grey walls, the slender
towers and proud battlements. The blue flags emblazoned with the chalice flower
flew bravely in the autumn breeze. He sat on his horse for a long time, staring
at it, saying nothing, his profile clear-cut against the sky, almost unaware of
his companion.

 “It’s beautiful,” Elorin finally said. “You must be
so proud of it.”

  He started slightly as if she had broken the spell.
“Every time I leave the eastern gate, I come to this hill to look at it. For me
it is more than a city, it is a symbol. It represents all we fight for, all we
defend. It stands for order against chaos, civilisation against barbarity and
light against darkness. Tissro described it as the silver city on the hill and
when the sun catches it, one can see why he used those words.”

 “You love it dearly.”  It was a statement, not
a question.

 “All Eskendrians do. There is not one of us who
would not give our lives for it.” He sighed and turned away. “It looks as if it
will soon come to that.”

 “Do you mean Celedorn?”

 “Partly. My plans are nearly ready. I leave for the
mountains in under two weeks. The snow can come early in those mountains and I
have no wish to conduct a campaign on the fox’s home territory up to my eyes in
snow. It’s going to be difficult enough to flush him out of there, without the
weather coming to his assistance. He will soon realise what our intentions are,
of course, but my hope is that he will retreat to Ravenshold, trusting in the
strength of its walls to defeat us. Hoping that the cold will freeze
us
,
before we can starve
him
.”

 “Will he not know that time is on his side?”

 “Of course he will, but hopefully what he won’t
know, is that dismantled into sections in our baggage train, are siege engines
which I trust will make short work of Ravenshold’s defences.”

 “Is it an easy castle to attack?”

 “No, far from it. In fact, in all the centuries that
it has stood there, it has never been taken by force - only by treachery.”

 “I thought that the Turog stormed it after killing
the Lord of Westrin.”

 “Not quite,” he amended. “It was a time of peace,
you see, so they found the gates open and the castle only lightly defended.”
His face darkened. “There was no time to close the gates. No time to put up an
effective defence. It wasn’t battle, it was just a massacre.”

 “Celedorn will be prepared,”

 “Oh yes,” said the Prince, his face grim. “He will
be prepared. The task will not be easy but it must be done. We cannot have him
harassing us while we attempt to fight the biggest Turog army that has ever
been thrown at us. We never thought they could field such an army against us
again, after their defeat at the hands of my great-grandfather. He led the last
great alliance of  the civilised nations, including soldiers from as far away
as the Isles of Kelendore. They crossed the river Harnor, over the old bridge
of the twelve arches which has now been destroyed, and pursued them into the
forest, into the territory that they had taken from mankind before even the
Chronicles of the Old Kingdom were written. But the Turog ran before him and
would not fight. They relied on the forest to disorientate his army so that
they could be picked off in small groups. It was then that the King called the
third great Counsel of the Sages. They used one of the old spells of adamant
from the Book of Incantations. An invisible wall sprang up around the forest, a
wall that a human being could walk through without knowing that it was there,
but that the Turog could not penetrate. The Turog were trapped and turned to
fight. We slew them all, every last one. But we were too few in number to
reclaim the land beyond the Harnor that we had lost so long ago. The victorious
allies returned home, hoping that the forest would remain empty.” He shook his
head sadly. “It was not to be. They crept back, one by one, like some horrible,
invasive weed that had seeded itself, they sprang up from nowhere. Now we face
them again, but this time there is no alliance. I do not know what Celedorn has
done to poison our allies on the coast against us, but this time we stand
alone.”

 “Perhaps what your father hopes will come true. If
you defeat Celedorn, the alliance will be reborn.”

 They were walking their horses along a pleasant
country lane set deep between banks topped by hawthorn hedges. The sunken lane
was warm and somnolent, dozing in the gentle sunshine, the quiet broken only by
a disturbed blackbird clucking in the hedge. But Elorin knew he saw none of it.
His gaze had that distant, unfocused look of someone who looks inward towards
their thoughts.

 “I don’t know if that is the answer. It is true that
at the time of the last alliance, Ravenshold was under the rule of the Lord of
Westrin and the passes afforded safe passage to the coast, but somehow I think
there is more to it than that. Celedorn is an opportunist, a man who exploits a
situation rather than creating it. His band of cut-throats has grown large and
bold but I do not think that it could resist an army. The Serendarians could
have rid themselves of him if they chose - although he would make them pay
dearly.”

 “You almost sound as if you have a grudging respect
for him.”

 “I do not respect him,” Andarion almost snapped. “He
betrays his own kind. He preys on our trade with the coast to make himself
richer. He kills those sent against him, and all the while the old order falls
to pieces around him.”

 “Relisar said he hunts the Turog.”

 “Yes. I think he finds in them an outlet for his
cruelty. His savagery has made even
them
afraid of him. I do not think,
however, he does this to help Eskendria. Celedorn helps no one but himself.”

 Suddenly, as if becoming aware that he was not
fulfilling his role as a host, with an effort he shook off his gloomy mood.

 “Look what I’m doing!” he exclaimed. “Burdening you
with all this talk of doom and disaster when my purpose in asking you to come
for a ride was to cheer you up.”

 She smiled. “Do you think I need cheering up?”

 “You make light of it, but your situation is very
difficult. To lose one’s past as you have done, must be devastating. The past
is all we have as a reference point for the present and a guide for the
future.”

 She nodded, appreciating his perception. “I tend to
drift these days,” she observed. “Like Tissro the Wanderer, I lack purpose. It
makes me feel rather detached, as if I merely observe everything happening
around me from a great distance.”

 “Only the passage of time will cure that problem.
After all, each day that passes gives you a little more history. I will help
you in any way I can. My sister will too. Illiana has great sympathy for you.”

 Somehow, remembering those cool emerald eyes, Elorin
doubted that, but she said nothing for she knew the Prince was devoted to his
sister.

 Life for Elorin soon began to settle into a
recognisable pattern. In the mornings she had breakfast with Relisar - a meal
fraught with peril, as he had the habit of setting whatever potion he was
working with on the breakfast tray. Several times when he had his nose stuck in
a book, she had seen him reach absent-mindedly for a glass of wine and lift up
some vile-smelling brew instead.

 Skah usually observed proceedings, occasionally
exhibiting his regard for her by bringing her a dead mouse, which she quietly
disposed of when he wasn’t looking. Keesha made her invisible presence felt by
indulging in occasional bouts of tidying, interspersed by the disconcerting
habit of moving objects to places they hadn’t been before. She moved Relisar’s
favourite chair - with disastrous results for someone who never looked where he
was sitting before he did so. Occasionally she lost her temper with the old
Sage’s slovenly habits and threw books and any other easily portable object at
him. Elorin entered his study one day to find him hiding under the table while
books and glass phials whizzed across the room, apparently of their own
volition.