The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (12 page)

 “It’s nothing,” said the Prince and quietly fainted.

  Every day after her return to Ravenshold, Elorin
had waited for retribution to descend, but the days passed and no punishment
was visited upon her other than being confined to her room. She was surprised
just how much she missed her visits to Dorgan’s kitchen. She even, in her
loneliness, began to miss her occasional meals with Celedorn. She saw no one
and spoke to no one - other than her guard. In him she had the misfortune to
have acquired a taciturn individual who delivered her meals to her in silence,
resisting all attempts to lure him into conversation. She began to wonder if
Celedorn was tormenting her again, delaying punishment in order to heighten her
fear and apprehension. But as she paced her room day after day, it occurred to
her that he had perhaps forgotten her existence entirely. She resumed her old
post by the window, watching the only sign of life she had access to - the
comings and goings in the square below. It seemed to her that there was more
than the usual activity. Large parties of armed men were despatched, only to
return hours later weary and sometimes wounded. Occasionally she saw Celedorn’s
dark form down in the courtyard, mounting his horse or giving last minute
instructions to a band that was to leave without him. Only once did he glance
up at the window in the tower. For a moment she imagined their eyes met but he
gave no indication that he had seen her.

 After some weeks of this solitude, she had reached
the stage that she felt she would go completely insane if she didn’t talk to
someone. She decided to swallow her pride and beg Celedorn to allow her a
little freedom. She suspected that this was probably what he wanted - to see
her beg and then have the pleasure of refusing her, but she had become so
desperate that she scarcely cared any more.

 When her guard brusquely thrust her evening meal at
her with all his usual charm, she decided to seize her chance.

 “Tell Celedorn that I wish to speak to him,” she
said quickly before he could close the door.

 The man raised his brows. “You do not
tell
Celedorn anything - you ask. Or perhaps in your case, you beg.”

 She tensed, fearing a refusal. “Please. Ask him if
he would see me.”

 He shrugged. “I’ll deliver your message but I doubt
that he has any time to waste on you.”

 She hoped he might return that evening but he
didn’t. The daylight faded in loneliness and despair and at last she sought
refuge in sleep. She awoke late the following morning and did what she always
did - crossed to the window to look at the sky. It was the most beautiful
spring day. The sky was cerulean blue with tiny white clouds sailing across its
expanse, driven by a gentle south-westerly breeze. She knew that a breeze from
that direction came from Serendar, from the coast. In her imagination she tried
to picture the sea. The whiteness of waves breaking on the shore, the call of
gulls wheeling high above. It was too much for her. Tears started to well from
her eyes at the thought that she might never see such things again, at the
thought that she was condemned to crumble into dust in her forgotten prison.
Just then, she heard a key rasping in the lock. Quickly she dashed away her
tears and turned to face the sound. Her guard flung open the door.

 “Celedorn will see you now,” he announced
disapprovingly. “Consider yourself privileged.”

She followed him down the stairs, aware that her
heart-rate had gone up. She had not spoken to Celedorn since he had brought her
back from the mountains and as always with him, one never knew what to expect.

 However, when she arrived in his quarters she
discovered he wasn’t there. She looked questioningly at the guard.

 “Wait here. He’ll be along shortly.”

 When he didn’t come immediately, she began to prowl
around the room. It hadn’t changed since the day she remembered searching it in
frantic haste. She remembered riffling the cabinet in the corner and hiding
under the bed in the adjoining room. The long table was bare except for two
candlesticks which had dripped wax onto its surface and his sword lying flat in
its scabbard. She remembered taking it out of its sheath that day in his
bedchamber. How easily it had slid from its scabbard. How heavy it had felt in
her hand. Drawn to it irresistibly, she lifted it, feeling its weight once
again. She tilted it a little and it began to slide of its own volition from
its housing.

 “Be careful, it’s very sharp.”

 She started so much she almost dropped it and spun
round to discover Celedorn standing in the doorway. He crossed to her and took
the sword from her, setting it back in its place on the table.

 He glanced keenly at her face, noting her pallor and
the telltale streak that revealed that she had been crying.

 “You wanted to see me?”

 “Er.....yes.....I....” Suddenly, to her horror, all
the bottled-up emotions threatened to overwhelm her. All her fear, frustration,
anger, depression rose up like a wave approaching the shore and she knew when
it broke she would sob without reserve. It must not happen in front of him. He
would despise it as weakness. Why, oh why, did he have to startle her like
that? She turned from him, unable to speak, desperately trying to hide her
feelings from him. She crossed to the window and stared out, seeing nothing,
aware only that she was behaving like a fool. She expected him to demand an
explanation, to tell her to stop wasting his time but strangely he said
nothing. Grimly she battled her emotions as the silence stretched behind her.
At last she risked a glance over her shoulder. He was sitting on the edge of
the table with his arms folded, watching her with uncharacteristic patience.

 Finally she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry,” she
said, all pretence gone. Surprisingly, he made no comment.

 “You wanted to see me?” he repeated.

 “I....I was wondering if it might be possible for me
to leave my room occasionally.”

 “It might be possible,” he conceded. “In fact I had
something in mind before you spoke to me.”

 She looked up in astonishment. He was still watching
her, his arms crossed, his expression inscrutable. “The Turog have found some
means of penetrating these mountains in large numbers and it must be stopped. I
have a suspicion that they have found some way of crossing the Serpent’s Throat
and intend to take a large party of men to investigate.” He smiled slightly.
“As obviously you cannot be left in Dorgan’s charge without taking an
unauthorised tour of the countryside, I intend to take you with me. I
underestimated your resourcefulness once before and I do not make the same
mistake twice. You will come with me where I can keep an eye on you.”

 “Is it far?”

 “About three days ride to get there. I am uncertain
how long our investigation will take, perhaps three or four days.”

 “Almost two weeks away from Ravenshold,” she
breathed, her spirits lifting.

 “Unfortunately you will be taking the worst of Ravenshold
with you, for you will be stuck with my company. If I remember what you told me
correctly, your main aim and object in your bid for freedom was to get away
from me.”

 She looked at him doubtfully. “That wasn’t very
tactful of me.”

  A look of amusement crossed his face. “No, but
entirely understandable.”

 Then with one of his sudden changes of mood, his
humour faded and grey eyes grew cold and hard. A mountain glacier would have
seemed more humane. When he continued, his tone of voice brooked no argument.

 “However, before you stir a foot from Ravenshold, I
wish to make a few things plain to you. You will not attempt to use this as an
opportunity to escape. You will do as you are told at all times and will obey
my orders instantly and without question. Apart from curtailing your freedom,
you got off very lightly following your last excursion. Such leniency is not at
all usual with me and you cannot expect the same again. If you break any of the
rules I have just mentioned, in even the smallest degree, I will punish you in
a way that makes your present solitude seem like paradise. Is that clear?”

 She nodded. His manner was so implacable that
disobedience was out of the question and all her old fear of him returned,
redoubled. To her disgust she dropped her eyes before that piercing gaze and
looked at the floor. But he wasn’t satisfied with her response.

 “I did not hear your reply,” he said coldly.

 She cleared her throat but before she could speak,
he crossed to her and caught her roughly by the arm.

 “Twice you have made a fool of me,” he hissed. “You
are the only person on the face of this earth that can say as much. A third
time will be the last thing you ever do. Now give me your word.”

 He was so close to her now that she was forced to
look at him. His scars were flushed a revealing purple, a sure indication of
strong emotion. Yet even now she sensed that she saw but a tiny portion of his
anger, the rest he held under terrifying restraint.

 “I promise,” she whispered.

 Abruptly he let her go and equally abruptly his
flash of anger appeared to vanish.

 She sank into a chair.

 “The exercise will do you good,” he remarked in a
more normal tone of voice. “Your guard tells me that you have not been eating.
Disabuse yourself of any idea you might have of starving yourself to death.”

 “I....I didn’t. I just wasn’t hungry.”

 “You may stay and eat with me this evening.” He saw
her draw breath to speak and forestalled her. “No, you may not return to your
room. You will dine with me and eat a proper meal. We embark on a long ride to
the Serpent’s Throat tomorrow and you will need your strength.”

 “
Tomorrow
!”

 He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Does that
inconvenience you? Perhaps you have to rearrange your social appointments to
fit it in?”

 Suddenly she began to laugh, unable to hold it back,
unable to resist the incongruous. He smiled reluctantly in response, not
entirely proof against such genuine amusement. Finally she halted, precariously
balanced between laughter and fear.

 “Has anyone ever dared to tell you just how
disconcerting you can be? You have put me through the full gamut of emotions in
the space of half an hour.”

 But he raised a caveat. “Not the full range by any
means.”

  
 Andarion opened a pair of dazed
blue eyes to find Relisar’s face anxiously suspended above him.

 “He’s coming round,” Sarrick’s voice remarked.

 The Prince tried to sit up, only to discover that
his left arm was in a splint. Carefully, he raised himself on his right elbow
to find that he was still lying on the forest floor where he had fallen.

  “What happened?” he asked, with all the confusion
of someone who feels that he has just misplaced a portion of his life.

 “You fought a Great-turog using an arm broken so
badly that you should not have been using it at all, that’s what happened,”
Sarrick remarked dryly. “Relisar set the arm while you were unconscious and has
said a healing spell over it. Your luck is in today, brother, for he appears to
have got the spell right, at least your arm didn’t turn into something
unexpected.”

 Relisar, who was secretly proud that the spell had
worked so well, cast him a reproachful glance.

 Sarrick ignored him. “I sent some men in pursuit of
your slit-eyed adversary but he escaped. I’m afraid they have just returned
empty-handed. The rest of the Turog have scattered into the forest, but I have
not given the order for a general chase as it is an old tactic of theirs to
allow themselves to be pursued into the forest and then turn on their pursuers
when they have them fragmented and scattered. No, we will be satisfied with
what we have. Given the fact that we were ambushed, I think we did well to
triumph over them. Well over half of them are dead, whereas we took
surprisingly few fatalities. Quite a few men were wounded by arrows but most
should recover. All in all, it could have been a lot worse.”

 “Prince Andarion should rest now,” said Relisar. “We
must get him back to the camp.” But to his consternation this announcement
appeared to have the opposite effect on the Prince, because he rose a little
unsteadily to his feet.

 “I’m fine now.”

 For once Sarrick and Relisar were in complete
agreement. “Go back to the camp, Andarion, you need to get well again as
quickly as possible because our victory here means that you have an important
diplomatic mission to undertake in the near future. I can finish here, this
sort of thing I can do well, but diplomacy is beyond me; I have neither the
tact nor the patience for it. So you must prepare yourself to go to Serendar
and find out just how amenable King Orovin is prepared to be.”

 “You will not be coming with me?” Andarion asked,
clearly surprised. “Come, brother, surely two princes are better than one.”

 Sarrick grinned. “A tempting invitation but I think
I should stay where I can do the most good. Relisar can go with you to tend to
your arm and I will send an escort of five hundred men so that you can arrive
in proper style. King Orovin must not think we beg. However, it will be a long
journey for you, as you cannot go the most direct route through the mountains
thanks to that black devil Celedorn.”

 “Skirting the mountains to the south would take days
longer, surely I could risk it.....”

 Sarrick cut him short. “Father knew you would say
such a thing and gave me a direct order to prevent you. We have learnt to our
cost that Celedorn is not to be trifled with, moreover, he knows every time a
mouse stirs in those mountains much less the presence of five hundred men. No,
I’m afraid it is the longer route for you, but look on the bright side, it will
give your arm a chance to heal. I am sure you are not keen to appear before the
King of Serendar with your arm in a splint. Relisar assures me that his spell
has greatly accelerated the healing process and all should be well by the time
you arrive.”

 Andarion nodded, unable to argue with the sense in
his brother’s words.

 “I’ll leave tomorrow, if the escort can be made
ready in time.”

 “It will be ready. Just prepare your speeches well
for the King, for what we have achieved here today is a mere drop in the ocean.
I only hope it is enough to convince the King that those infernal creatures can
be beaten. I leave the rest to your powers of persuasion. If anyone can
convince him to re-forge to old alliance, you will.”

 Andarion drew a difficult breath. “A heavy burden.”

 “Heavy indeed. A fracas like today bears no
comparison with it. If you fail, Eskendria must stand alone, but she will not
fall alone, for once she is gone all the other kingdoms will fall like little
trees brought down by a mighty one.” Andarion turned to go but his brother’s
voice called him back. “By the way, accept my compliments on the fact that you
managed to hold off that creature notwithstanding your broken arm. I must
remember to be more civil to you in future.”

  After longing so much for company, Elorin did not
in fact enjoy her meal with Celedorn. He was in one of his provoking moods,
sometimes humorous, sometimes mocking, constantly needling her and throwing her
off balance. The strain of trying to defend herself against such tactics left
her tired and glad to escape to the solitude she had before found so
oppressive.

 In the quiet of her room that night, her eyes wide
open in the darkness, she reviewed her conversation with him. His anger at her
attempted escape had been all the more daunting for being restrained. His
ruthless extraction from her of a promise not to attempt to escape again,
unexpectedly brutal. She wondered if a promise given under duress was binding,
and ignoring a slight pricking of conscience, decided that it wasn’t. Out in
the open forest and glens surely some opportunity would present itself. Surely
even Celedorn must turn his attention elsewhere. It was rumoured that he was
human after all, although personally there were times she doubted it. On that
promising thought she fell asleep.

 The next morning the courtyard was a hive of
activity as the men prepared for departure. Her guard thrust her breakfast at
her with all his usual charm and tossed some clothes onto the bed.

 “Celedorn sent those for you to wear.”

 She looked at them. They were finely made, breeches
and tunic of dark blue in just the right size.

 “Where did he get those from?” she asked
suspiciously. “Are they stolen? Did he take them from some merchant’s caravan
foolish enough to try its luck through the mountains?” When he didn’t reply,
she declared: “I’m not wearing something that has been stolen!”

 “Celedorn thought you would say that and told me to
inform you that if you didn’t wear them he would come and put them on you
himself.”

 The man laughed at her crestfallen look and slammed
the door shut. She had scarcely eaten her breakfast and changed into the
clothes when the door opened again. She whirled around, wondering if it was
Celedorn come to carry out his threat, but to her surprise and joy it was
Dorgan. She hadn’t seen him since her escape attempt. She took an impulsive
step towards him and found herself enveloped in a bear-hug. She hugged him
back, surprised to find just how much she had missed him.

 “I’m sorry, Dorgan” she murmured, squashed against
his ample bulk. “Please forgive me.”

 He leaned back from her, smiling. “What heinous
crime have you committed lately?”

 “I deceived you and I got you into trouble with
Celedorn.”

 “Never mind, my dear. I’m only sorry that your
attempt to return to your Prince, failed. The worst part was not being allowed
to see you any more. I so much missed your company. My kitchen has seemed
strangely empty without you. And now you are off on your travels again - this time
with authorisation. I’m afraid our reunion will be brief, for I do not ride
with the men. I’m getting too old and too fat for such jaunts.”

 “I’ll miss you, Dorgan.”

 “And I you, my dear. I almost wish I was coming with
you, but I’m no use in a fight and fighting there may well be on this trip. The
Turog are coming into this area in alarming numbers. Celedorn thinks they have
bridged the Serpent’s Throat and is determined to put a stop to their
incursions, but you may well run into a large party of them before you even
reach the gorge. If there is any fighting, stay close to Celedorn. You will be
safest with him. He is the only man the Turog fear and only the boldest of them
dare to tackle him in a fight.”

 “They know him by sight?”

 Dorgan looked a little sad. “You forget, my dear,
that he carries his identity stamped on his face. One glimpse of those scars
and every Turog knows he is faced with the Executioner.”

 “It’s strange to hear someone say I will be safe
with Celedorn.”

  “Perhaps, but it is the case. He can protect you
better than anyone. He never loses what he regards as his.”

 She looked at the floor. “
His
prisoner.
His
property. Is that all I am?”

 He gently gripped her shoulders. “Listen to me,
Elorin, you must not give in to such thoughts, you must not despair. You are
young and in good health and there is always hope. Enjoy your time in the open
air. You will not always be a prisoner, I feel it in my heart.”

 She smiled at him gratefully.

 “Come,” he said, “that’s better. You have a lovely smile
and should use it more often.” He bowed with a flourish to her, and still
grinning, held out his hand towards the door. “My lady, your escort awaits your
pleasure.”

  Celedorn and his men were already mounted by the
time she emerged with Dorgan from the great door. They were all armed to the
teeth and many, including Celedorn, wore the helmets with the long nose and
cheek guards. Celedorn twisted in the saddle when he saw her, clearly impatient
to be gone. He held by the reins a magnificent grey horse which swished its
long tail and pricked its ears, obviously keen for a gallop. She ducked under
its head and took the reins from his black-gloved hand.

 “He’s beautiful,” she looked up at him. “Thank you.”

 He merely nodded in reply. Dorgan cupped his hands
for her and threw her up into the saddle.

 “Remember what I told you, my child” he said,
glancing significantly at Celedorn. “These mountains are more dangerous than
ever at the moment and I want to see you back safe and sound.”

 She smiled at him, secretly hoping that she would
never have to cross beneath the portcullis of Ravenshold ever again.

 Celedorn wheeled his horse towards the gateway and
she fell into line behind him. The men, without any order being given, formed
into a long column four abreast and followed them. She caught some curious
glances cast in her direction but no one spoke to her. Each hard face exhibited
no more emotion than a certain ruthless determination.

 They journeyed long and fast that day, passing
rapidly along the Ravenshold valley bathed in spring sunshine. The snow had
retreated on the peaks above, but the uppermost tips were still virgin white,
sailing serenely amongst fine white clouds.  They skirted the forest that
she had entered on her escape attempt and turned west towards the Kelgor pass.
The trees were now clothed in new leaves. The chestnuts spread yellow-green
fingers and the beech trees were decked in so many tiny, fluttering leaves that
they looked like shimmering clouds of green lace. The sun-warmed grassy banks
of the valley revealed primroses turning up their creamy faces to the sky and
in the edges of the woods, anemones scattered the dark ground like lingering
drifts of snow.

 Elorin missed nothing, breathing in the scented air,
her eye delighting in each new scene. As they began to ascend towards the pass,
the air became colder and crisper but the sky seemed an even more impossibly
beautiful shade of blue. Eagles and falcons glided on stiff wings, wheeling
around the snowy pinnacles, sharp eyes noting the passage of the men far below
them. Here, tiny white and yellow saxifrages and stonecrops hugged the bare
hillside and a stream bounced and tumbled down the gradient to the valley
below, its waters a deep, peaty bronze.

 The men rode largely in silence, like their leader,
every sense alert. She noticed that Celedorn’s keen grey eyes never ceased
scanning the hillside, never failed in their alertness. He scarcely spoke to
her, but it was not the silence of awkwardness. Although he sometimes used
silence as a weapon, when he chose he had a peculiar way of withdrawing into
himself which was solitary without being either aloof or haughty. It was a
quietness not full of tension and discomfort but was in a strange way
companionable.

 She was grateful for this, as conversation would
have taken her attention away from her surroundings and she was determined,
after such close confinement, to extract every drop of pleasure from them. As
the morning advanced they climbed higher and higher up the pass, 
following the cheerful chatter of the stream. The grass became short and sparse
and soon failed altogether, surrendering to grey stone and crumbling patches of
shale. The wind keened softly over the rocks and the lonely cry of a bird of
prey could be heard echoing between the peaks. Yet high as they climbed, the
majestic peaks rose still higher, more and more appearing as the perspective
changed. They peered and clambered over each other’s shoulders until the snowy
towers filled the blue sky.

 “This is so beautiful,” Elorin breathed. She was
speaking to herself but Celedorn heard her and turned his head sharply.

 “Beautiful? Undoubtedly, but cold and harsh, home to
only wolves and other predators. You would not wish to spend a night alone on
the open mountainside - as you were once proposing to do. One cannot live on
beauty, after all.”

 “No,” she agreed, but looking up at the nearest
peak, the knife-edge of its summit slicing the intensely blue sky, she said: “Beauty
is a feast only for the soul.”