The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (65 page)

 “The brigands from
Ravenshold,” the whisper went round the crowd, and the rumour spread like
flames in summer grasses. “They have come to fight the Turog.”

 At their head, rode a
man dressed entirely in black. His face, too, was concealed by a helmet but one
person watching intently from the wall, instantly knew without a doubt who he
was.

 Elorin leaned over the
wall, high above them, willing him to look up, and as if in response to her
wish, he briefly raised his eyes to hers and nodded.

 However, one of his
company, not inhibited by issues of dignity, caught sight of her and waved
enthusiastically.

 “Elorin! My dear child!
You have come back to me!”

 Elorin gave a cry and
nearly fell over the wall in surprise. “Dorgan! My old friend, how are you?”

 “Fat as ever,” he
chuckled. “As you see, I have inflicted my bulk on this noble animal, for there
was no possibility that I would be left at Ravenshold when I had the chance to
see you again.”

 He received a
repressive glance from Celedorn and subsided. “I will speak to you later,” he
mouthed theatrically at Elorin.

 The convoy had halted
before the palace gates, which were tightly shut, as if in refusal, but as they
watched, they slowly swung back to reveal the two princes standing in the
archway.

 Celedorn was the first
to speak. He fixed a stern eye on Andarion. “I keep my word, my lord Prince. I
have brought over two thousand men, willing to fight the Turog in exchange for
their pardon.”

 “And I keep mine, my lord,”
replied Andarion formally, not noticing how Sarrick started at that form of
address. “Your men have received their pardon.” He turned to the captain of the
guard. “Find quarters for these men and their horses - and remember, they come
to fight the Turog on our behalf. Their past is forgotten.”

 The captain saluted and
approached them, but the brigands would not move until they received a nod of
approval from Celedorn.

 They began to file
through the gateway, following the captain into a courtyard to the left.
Celedorn and Dorgan remained to one side, watching them until the last had
entered the palace compound. They then dismounted and gave their horses to a
servant. Celedorn removed his helmet and passed it to Dorgan.

 “Come, Celedorn,” said
Andarion. “My father will wish to hear of this in person.”

 Relisar was listening
intently from the top of the wall. “They are going to see the King,” he
whispered to Elorin. “We must be quick if we don’t want to miss anything.”

 Once more he made a
dive for the steps and he and his companions arrived at the rose-strewn archway
which led to the throne-room, just a few moments behind the Prince.

 The sun was shining
obliquely into the hall. The polished wooden floor reflected the light upwards,
lighting the rose-coloured pillars and filling the room with a subtle, yet
glorious, golden glow. Unlike the last time Elorin had seen the throne, this
time it was occupied. The King, regal with a golden circlet upon his brow, sat
beneath the sable canopy. He was flanked by his two tall and handsome sons,
with the full complement of barons to the right. Before the throne stood
Celedorn, with Dorgan a pace or two behind him.

 Relisar and his
companions slipped into the back of the hall unnoticed.

 Elorin was filled with
pride as she watched her husband. He stood tall, straight-backed, aristocratic,
a commanding figure in black from his dark hair to the tail of his jet-black
cloak just touching the polished floor. One side of his cloak had been flung
back over his shoulder to reveal the hilt of his sword projecting from its
scabbard. He raised his chin defiantly and looked directly at the King.

 “I have fulfilled my
part of the agreement. Over two thousand men, have I brought you. Men, who in
their time, have slain many Turog and will slay many more.”

 “Very well,” replied
the King in measured tones. “My part of the agreement I also fulfil - your men
are pardoned of their crimes.”

 Andarion stiffened and
turned to his father. “And Celedorn also,” he reminded.

 The King did not
immediately reply but remained staring at the man standing before him. For no
ascertainable reason, the atmosphere in the hall became a little tense.

 “I keep my word,” he
said at last, reluctance heavy in his voice. “You, Celedorn, I also pardon. You
are a free man.”

 Andarion, not sure
whether he was wise to press the issue or not, took a deep breath and said: “He
is then free to take up his rightful position as Lord of Westrin.”

 Celedorn’s brows came
down in a dark frown and his eyes bored into the Prince disapprovingly, but he
said nothing.

 The King was not
surprised. “You are all too predictable, my son,” he observed, a little sourly.
“I knew you would not rest until that issue had been confronted.” His cold blue
eyes came to rest on Celedorn. “You claim to be Berendore, son of Calordin,
last Lord of Westrin. Can you prove such a claim?”

  Celedorn’s back
stiffened haughtily and Andarion knew he was going to be difficult. “I have no
desire to prove it.”

 But an unexpected
intervention occurred. From behind Celedorn, a voice said: “I can prove it.”

 Every eye in the room
fastened on Dorgan. “I can prove it, Sire,” he said. “I have known Berendore
since his birth. I found him that day, twenty years ago, when he was only a lad
of fourteen, wandering injured in the forest. I have travelled with him to many
foreign lands and have remained with him during the last ten years when he has
been at Ravenshold, his identity hidden from all but me.” He paused. “Do you
not remember me, Sire? I am Dorgan, personal steward of Calordin, last Lord of
Westrin, and the man who came to you that day twenty years ago, to beg for help
that you never gave.”

 The King stared at him
as if turned to stone. When at last he spoke, it was as if he was awakening
from a dream. “You have changed.”

 “Alas, yes, Sire. I
have grown old and stout, but my loyalty to the House of Westrin has not
changed.”

 “You knew that day,
that even with the forces I had brought with me, we were still outnumbered.”

 “Yes, Sire.”

 “So you understood why
I could not come.”

 “No, Sire. Had the
positions been reversed, my master would have come for you.”

 “A king is not free
always to follow the promptings of his heart. Sometimes difficult choices have
to be made.”

 “That is the price of
power, but with respect, Sire, I suggest that you have a choice today which
will allow you to follow your heart and restore your friend’s son to his
rightful position.”

 The two princes watched
their father closely. Although he did not look directly at them, he was acutely
aware of their scrutiny.

 “You are right,
Dorgan,” the King replied softly. Then directing a sharper glance at the tall,
silent man before him, he said: “Berendore, your lineage has been established
beyond doubt. I will therefore restore you to all your father’s land, power and
titles. You may assume the position of Lord of Westrin upon taking the oath of
loyalty.”

 The room was utterly
silent. Every single person held their breath awaiting Celedorn’s reply. When
it came, it was delivered quietly but with devastating effect.

 “I will not swear
loyalty to you.”

 Pandemonium broke out,
with everyone except the King and Celedorn talking at once. A still
watchfulness prevailed between the two men. A silent battle of wills. The King
read accusation in every line of Celedorn’s body.

 Andarion intervened.
“You must take the oath in order to assume your title, Celedorn,” he said
urgently.

 “I have told you many
times that I will not swear loyalty to your father. You would have done well to
have heeded me.”

 Relisar, unnoticed
until that point, hurried up the hall to address Andarion. “My Lord Prince, I
have perhaps the solution to the impasse. The law requires the oath to be to
the
crown
of Eskendria, not necessarily the person of the king.”

 An arrested expression
stole over Andarion’s features as he realised the import of the old man’s
words.

 Relisar bowed to the
King. “Would an oath to the crown be acceptable, Sire?”

 “I do not see how that
is to be accomplished.”

 “I do,” said Celedorn
unexpectedly. He turned slowly and looked Andarion full in the eyes. In that
moment, the Prince read his intention.

 Celedorn reached his
hand across to the hilt of his sword and drew it. The barons tensed and reached
for their own swords, but their hands fell back to their sides when they saw
what he did next.

 Slowly, he sank on one
knee before the Prince and offered him the sword, hilt first, laid across his
left forearm.

 Deeply touched,
Andarion said in a low murmur: “You do not have to do this, Celedorn. Your
friendship is enough for me.”

 “I know,” was the low
reply. “That is why I do it.” Then in a loud, clear voice that carried around
the hall, he said: “Crown Prince Andarion of Eskendria, I, Celedorn of Westrin,
swear to you my loyalty and pledge to you my sword. To you I bind in
faithfulness the Barony of Westrin and all her people. Your enemies from this
day are henceforth mine. Before all those assembled here, I give my sacred
oath. Accept, I beg you, this my bond.”

 Andarion leaned forward
and lightly laid his hand on the sword-hilt to signify that he had accepted the
oath. “Sheathe your sword, Lord of Westrin.”

 When Celedorn arose to
his feet and obeyed him, Andarion signalled to Elorin to come forward and
placed her hand in her husband’s. Then turning to the assembled company he
announced: “I present to you the Lord and Lady of Westrin.”

 There was a moment’s
stunned silence. No one moved. No one spoke. Then Veldor stepped forward, a
little hesitantly, and held out his hand to Celedorn.

 “I knew your father, my
lord, a fine man whose death grieved me greatly. I think now his soul will be
at peace.”

 The other barons,
reluctantly following Veldor’s example, came forward also.

 Finally, Celedorn found
himself confronted by Sarrick, who conspicuously did not offer his hand.

 “We will soon see if we
have bought ourselves a bad bargain or not. It will be interesting to see your
performance in battle.”

 A look of slightly
wicked humour crossed Celedorn’s face and he merely bowed slightly in reply.

 Despite himself, like
many before him, Sarrick felt the first twinge of respect.

 But the King was in the
grip of a hard, tight anger, all the sharper for being concealed. He was astute
enough to know that if he now showed that the unusual oath-taking met with less
than his total approval, he would appear foolish and petulant before the
assembled barons. Nonetheless, he was angry with Andarion for outflanking him.
At the same time, a remote corner of his mind was pleased to recognise that his
son’s experiences in the Forsaken Lands had changed him, bringing a promising
personality to maturity and banishing the last lingering traces of the boy. He
would have liked to have condemned Celedorn’s influence on his son as a bad
one, but in all honesty, he was forced to admit that he had uncovered the steel
in the Prince that even his own father had begun to think was lacking. However,
he now faced the new Lord of Westrin a little stiffly, unable to control his
resentment enough to appear affable, unable to acknowledge his need for forgiveness
and well aware that Celedorn was not prepared to offer it.

 “You are welcome in my
court, Lord and Lady of Westrin,” he said in a dry voice.

 Celedorn knew well what
value to place on the words and merely inclined his head slightly in reply.
Elorin, taking her lead from him, dropped a curtsey, glad that for once she was
appropriately dressed.

 “A council of all the
barons in Eskendria is about to take place in the adjoining chamber,” continued
the King. “It will be the last before Addania is besieged. You must attend,
Lord of Westrin, and fill the chair that has stood empty since your father’s
death.”

 When the King had led
the princes and barons from the room, Dorgan heaved a great sigh of relief and
turned to Elorin.

 “So you are now Lady of
Westrin. I told you that you would not always be a prisoner, in fact, it
appears that if anyone was held captive at Ravenshold, it was not you.”

 “I have not forgotten
how kind you were to me.”

 “I could not help but
be kind to you, my dear, but there was an added reason. You see, even then, I
knew that he loved you. You cannot watch over someone from their birth without
getting to know them pretty well - even someone as good at disguising their
feelings as Celedorn. Almost from the moment you arrived, I detected a change
in him, nothing I could quite put my finger on, but something different. Then
one day I caught him looking at you when he thought he was unobserved and I
knew you were the one for him.”