The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (64 page)

 The King sat for a long
time deep in thought. Andarion resisted the temptation to say more and held his
peace, relying on his belief that his father would put the interests of
Eskendria before every other consideration. At last, with a deep sigh, King
Tharin rose to his feet. “Very well,” he said reluctantly. “I have little
choice. If you bring help from Ravenshold, I will pardon you and any man who
comes with you.”

 But Celedorn remained
frozen, a rigid look on his face that Andarion interpreted with deadly
accuracy.

 He crossed to his intractable
cousin and speaking so softly that none but Celedorn could hear, said: “Accept
this, my friend.”

 Celedorn’s look was
stony. “I do not wish to receive a pardon from him, instead he should be
begging one from me. I will offer my men the chance of a pardon, but I will
accept none for myself.”

 “This is no time for
misplaced pride. You once told me that you would give ten years off your life
for things to be different. Now is your chance. If you will not do this for
yourself, then do it for Elorin. Think! You will no longer be hunted as a
criminal. You will be a free man - free to live whatever life you choose.” A
rueful smile crept into his eyes. “Provided, that is, we can defeat the Turog.”
He looked into those storm-grey eyes. “I owe you my life, Celedorn and I have
not forgotten that debt. Allow me to repay it a little.”

 “There is no debt
between us,” Celedorn replied a little stiffly.

 “Then accept this as a
gift. Not as a gift from my father, but from me.”

 Andarion, who by now
knew his friend well, could clearly see the inner struggle taking place. At
last, with a great effort, Celedorn said: “Very well, as a gift from you, I
accept these terms.”

 Andarion turned back to
his father. “Celedorn will leave for Ravenshold in the morning.”

 Sarrick flung away,
still angry and dissatisfied. “Two thousand men will make little difference.”

 “Every extra man could
make a difference,” retorted his brother sharply. “Besides, these men are tough
fighters - you will recall that we have reason to know that, Sarrick.”

 “What I recall is that
he made a fool of you when you took our troops into the mountains to destroy
him. He outmanoeuvred you, brother, and perhaps he is doing so again.”

 But to Sarrick’s
surprise, Andarion was not provoked, in fact, he even began to look faintly
amused. “Has it ever occurred to you that his talents in that direction could
be a very useful asset to us in our struggle against the Turog? His
unconventional tactics will keep them guessing. Has it also occurred to you,
that they fear his name as they fear no other? He terrifies them and that in
itself is worth a thousand men. We are hard pressed, Sarrick, we need every
advantage we can muster.”

 The King, who had been
deep in thought, lifted his head and looked at his son, as if seeing him
clearly for the first time, as if seeing in his decisiveness the unmistakable
ability to rule.  In turn, it appeared to Andarion that grief and the
cares of government had aged his father. There was grey in his fair hair and
beard and he exuded a sense that he carried a heavy burden - something that the
Prince had not been aware of before.

 “My son, I am forced to
concede that what you say makes sense. We are in such straits that we cannot
afford to be choosy. If Celedorn brings us help, he will receive my pardon for
his crimes - my word upon it.” Then he added tiredly, “I suppose that once he
is a free man, he will wish to take his place as Lord of Westrin.”

 Andarion, foreseeing
difficulties with that issue, hastily leaped to reply before his incorrigible
cousin could inform the King that he had no intention of taking the oath of
loyalty.

 “That is a matter for
another day. My companions are tired and must rest. I am afraid that our
customary hospitality in Addania has been somewhat lacking today.”

 Sarrick sheathed his
sword in resignation and signalled to one of the servants. “Find bedchambers
suitable for these ladies.”

 “Perhaps I should have
mentioned,” said Andarion belatedly, “that during the course of our journey,
Elorin became Celedorn’s wife.”

 Sarrick raised a
sardonic eyebrow at Elorin. “I see you have now acquired a name.”

 Quick as a flash,
Relisar replied. “Yes, and an ancient and noble one at that, for she is now the
Lady of Westrin.”

 With that, he bowed to
the King, and turning to Elorin, said: “Come with me to my old tower. You
cannot retire to bed without seeing Skah and Keesha. You too, Triana. The men
wish to discuss the war and such discussions may very well continue to
daybreak.”

 As Elorin passed
Celedorn, she murmured: “You do not have to do this for my sake. I loved you
when you were a mountain brigand and I ask no more.”

 “I know. Don’t worry,
all will be well.”

 She glanced anxiously
at Andarion who nodded reassuringly. “My father has given his word. You need
not fear for his safety.”

 She tried to smile back
but didn’t quite manage it. “It is Ravenshold that I now fear.”

 “Come, my dear,” said
Relisar taking her arm, and they followed Triana from the room.

 The hour was late by
the time Celedorn finally made his way to their bedchamber. Elorin was fast
asleep, one arm flung across the bed, but she awoke when she felt him carefully
slide in beside her. Instantly she nestled against him, pillowing her head on
his shoulder.

 “I didn’t mean to fall
asleep,” she murmured drowsily, “but you were such a long time. What did you
talk about?”

 “The war - mainly
making provision for the defence of Addania. The army is to try to hold off the
Turog for another three days, to allow me time to get reinforcements from
Ravenshold.”

 Her eyes opened wide in
the darkness. “Do you think they’ll come?”

 “I have no idea. A
pardon is worth little if you die in battle without the chance to enjoy it.”

 “Will you have to fight
their leader?”

 “Undoubtedly. I must
re-establish my authority and such men respect only one thing.”

 Her arms tightened
around him. “You are telling me I cannot come.”

 He turned his head to
brush his lips against her hair. “Not this time. This will need very careful
handling and I stand a better chance alone.”

 “Then I must stay here
and worry about you.”

 She sensed him smile in
the darkness. “Not at all. If you think you will be rid of me so easily, you
are quite mistaken.”

 But she did not smile
in response. “Andarion has great respect for your abilities with the sword, but
you are not immortal.”

 He drew a deep breath,
remembering the commitment he had given on the Hill of the Seven Crowns. “No, I
am not immortal,” he sighed.

 Their parting in the
morning was subdued. Elorin awoke in the dim light of dawn to find him already up
and getting dressed. She had determined the night before not to let him see how
troubled she was, and therefore sat up in bed, hugging her knees, her
expression carefully neutral. She watched him pull his shirt over his head and
tuck it into his belt before donning his customary leather waistcoat and long
black cloak. Neither of them spoke. When he was almost ready, she slid out of
bed and handed him his scabbard and leather gauntlets.

 He took them from her,
looking down at her with understanding, not deceived for a moment by her
expression.

 “I will be gone only
three days,” he said. “Expect me on the evening of the third day. If I am not
successful in persuading them to come, then I will return alone.”

 “Do you still get a
pardon under those circumstances?”

 “No.”

 “Then you must not
return.”

 “I have done with the
life I led before. My fate must be faced, one way or another. Besides,” he
added, a faint smile like winter’s sunshine creeping into his eyes, “there is
something precious in Addania that I would not leave behind.”

 “I will come with you
to the gate.”

 He shook his head. “I
think it is better that we part here.” He leaned towards her and touched his
lips to hers as gently as thistledown.

 “The evening of the
third day,” he reaffirmed and tearing his hands from her grasp, swiftly left
the room.

 Elorin spent the next
couple of days with Relisar and Triana, putting the ivy-covered tower in the
courtyard back into order again. She returned to her little round room with the
ivy climbing across the ceiling, and discovered that Keesha had kept it clean
and neat in her absence. The blue counterpane on the bed was no longer dusty,
and the silver brushes that Prince Andarion had given her, gleamed on the
dressing table. A cupboard contained all her clothes, neatly folded and ready
to be worn - a fact of which she was glad, as her own clothes, bought in
Sirkris, were showing signs of wear and tear. The chair still stood by the open
window and to her amusement, still contained a scattering of tiny mice bones.
Skah was in his usual roost, perched on the back of the chair, his head sunk
into his shoulders in sleep. However, when she entered the room, the huge
golden eyes opened and stared unblinkingly at her.

 “I hope you are pleased
to see me again, Skah,” she said.

 He continued to stare
at her, then gave one long blink.

 Keesha celebrated their
return by indulging in a bout of tidying. Relisar’s study was her first victim,
as she hadn’t had the heart to clean it since he had been reported drowned. To
Triana’s alarm, books and phials began to travel, apparently of their own
accord, back and forth across the room. Relisar was in his element, hopping
about amongst all his scrolls and potions again, lifting things at random,
peering into dusty books, and generally frustrating all Keesha’s attempts to
restore order.

 On the morning of the
third day, if he and Triana needed any reminding of the significance of the
day, they got it when they saw Elorin. She was dressed in the lavender-blue
dress she had worn on the day of her wedding and the pearl of Skerris-morl hung
round her throat.

 “He is not expected
until evening,” she explained, “but I have put on the dress, just in case he is
early.”

 “Do you think he will
have been successful?” asked Triana, gently stroking Skah’s head with one
finger - a process that reduced him to a state of idiotic bliss.

 “I hardly care, just as
long as he returns safely.”

 Relisar looked up from
the revolting-looking brew he was stirring. “Have confidence, my dear, Celedorn
can be very persuasive.”

 Triana laughed. “I
think he’ll probably persuade them with the edge of his sword.”

 Elorin turned away with
a rustle of silken skirts and crossed to the tiny window, peering out between
the ivy leaves, wondering why neither of them seemed to realise how much it had
cost her to try to appear calm during the last two days. She was not privileged
to see the concerned glance exchanged between her two friends behind her back.

 As she stared down into
the bright courtyard through the meagre space left between the luxuriant
leaves, she suddenly heard the faint sound of trumpets echoing up the narrow
streets from the city’s gate.

 “Did you hear that?”
she asked abruptly. “What does it mean?”

 Relisar dropped his
spoon. “It means someone of importance has arrived. They will be coming up
through the city to the palace. Quick, follow me. I know a section of the wall
where one can get an excellent view of the approach to the palace.”

 Quick as a startled
hare, he hoisted up the tail of his robe and darted down the winding staircase.
He burst out of the pointed doorway at the bottom, and charged, with a speed
quite remarkable in one of his age, across the sunlit courtyard, hotly pursued
by Elorin, her lavender skirts billowing behind her. Triana, always a little
slower than the others, was left to bring up the rear, wondering what fiend had
possessed him. By the time she caught up with them, they had ascended several
sets of steps that climbed up the inside of the palace walls, and were now
positioned high on the battlements, leaning over the parapet to get a better
view down to the gate below and the narrow city streets beyond. A crowd was
beginning to gather, lining the edges of the streets, all craning their necks
to see who was coming. They were not to be disappointed, for into view came a
long cavalcade of mounted men. The buzz of conversation in the crowd fell
silent, as the long convoy, three abreast, wound up the street towards the
palace at the top of the hill. The riders all wore heavy armour and were laden
with weapons - swords, battle-axes and maces. The long nose and cheek guards of
their helmets left little of their harsh faces visible, but did not conceal
their air of savage competence. Everyone was a powerful, formidable warrior.
The men looked neither to right nor left, and paid no heed at all to the
crowds, but rode with an aura of restrained aggression, as if they might
explode into violence at any moment. All down the length of the street the
convoy streamed, until a distant bend cut off the view.