The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (18 page)

 The old Sage sat very
still, his eyes closed in rapt concentration. Andarion knew that he possessed
the gift of perception but unlike the Sages of old, he could not always bend it
to his will. Andarion waited as the seconds ticked by. The silk curtains
billowed restlessly in the breeze. Somewhere distant along the harbour, gulls
squabbled noisily over scraps. The Prince sat as still as stone, his eyes fixed
on the old man. Finally Relisar opened his eyes with a sigh.

 “In truth, Your
Highness, I don’t know. I think if she were gone, I would feel it, but I sense
nothing at the moment. That is perhaps reassuring, for it tends to suggest that
she is no longer in danger. But of course these things cannot be made to order
- or at least,” he amended, “I have never found it so.” His agitation
diminished into sadness. “It went right through me, just here,” he said,
placing his hand on his heart. “It was like being pierced by a cold blade.” He
shivered. “I know you blame yourself for what happened in the mountains but you
must not, for I am the one to blame. In my arrogance and pride I thought I
could summon the Champion but Elorin came instead and has ended up paying the
price of my folly.”

  The King entertained
his guests lavishly that evening. Everything, thought Andarion rather
cynically, had been done to impress. The magnificent banquet set out in the
main hall appeared to be attended by every noble in the Kingdom, all arrayed in
colourful finery. The huge hall was set with long rows of tables groaning under
the weight of silver plate and exotic delicacies. The gold leaf on the pillars
and roof reflected the light from thousands of candles and the jewels worn by
the women sparkled with such vivacity that the Prince felt his senses were
being overwhelmed by so much colour and glitter. Strangely, it made him a
little homesick for the simpler beauty of Addania. He remembered as a child sitting
in the throne- room when it was deserted, watching the sunlight glow golden on
the polished wooden floor, which in turn reflected the light upward,
illuminating the rose-coloured pillars with celestial light, gilding every
delicate detail of the carved chalice flowers. He thought of the old rose
growing across the doorway, its tumbling white and pink blooms cascading over
the portico until one had to stoop to get under it. The gardeners had wanted to
cut it back but he would not permit it.

 His reverie was
interrupted by the King leaning towards him.

 “How do you like our
City-by-the-Shore, Prince Andarion?” he asked, a certain self-satisfied smile
anticipating the Prince’s response.

 “Most magnificent,” the
Prince replied, knowing what was expected of him, “Its reputation for beauty is
justly deserved.”

 “Ah, but I was
forgetting, you have been here before when my father was alive. You and I did
not meet then, as I recall. I was visiting Kelendore at the time.”

 Andarion inclined his
head. “I had not the pleasure of meeting you then but your father was most kind
to me. I was deeply saddened to hear of his death a few years ago.”

 For some reason he
sensed that the King was not overly pleased by that speech but he merely said:
“And King Tharin? I trust he is well?”

 “Very well, I thank
you.”

 “But then he has always
enjoyed excellent health. His rule will be a long one, I think.”

  The Prince knew
exactly what was being said but refused to be baited. “I trust so, Your
Majesty. I still have much to learn from my father before I would consider
myself fit to ascend the throne.”

 The King laughed
knowingly. “Very proper,” he commented.

 The Prince decided to
turn an awkward situation to his advantage and broached a subject that was
proving difficult to raise. “However, in these troubled times, few of use dare
look too far into the future. Few of us dare plan too far ahead. It is on such
an issue that I have come to speak with you.” The King looked a little uneasy,
knowing what was coming next. “Perhaps tomorrow you would honour me with some
private conversation, so that we may discuss issues that are of mutual interest
to our two countries?”

 “Very well,” said the
King, giving in with what grace he could. “Join me in my apartments for
breakfast in the morning, oh, and bring you advisor with you,” he added,
nodding towards Relisar. Andarion followed his glance, and observed that the
Last of the Seers and Keeper of the Book of Light was sitting wool-gathering,
unaware that he had split wine on his gown and was trailing his sleeve in his
dinner. The King smiled tolerantly and Andarion inwardly ground his teeth.

 
‘He thinks I have
brought a fool with me
’,  he raged inwardly, ‘
and perhaps he may be
right
.’

 He forced himself to
say lightly. “It’s strange how often I have observed that men of great gifts
are often immune to life’s trivia.”

 The King’s smile
broadened. “Just so.”

 Someone else’s face
also wore a smile. When Andarion’s glance transferred to Goradis, he knew every
word of his conversation with the King had been overheard. For some reason, he
found this disturbing.

 Relisar arrived early
at the Prince’s apartment the following morning, complete with clean gown,
neatly combed beard and a contrite expression. He was still mindful of the
dressing- down the Prince had given him the night before and was clearly
anxious to be on his best behaviour. Andarion, usually no stickler for
protocol, had on this occasion dressed mindful of his rank, in the royal colour
of Eskendria. His deep red cloak was richly embroidered along the hem with
silver thread. He ran his eye critically over Relisar’s customary grey habit
and was relieved to see an absence of the usual stains.

 “Any advice, Relisar?”
he asked, his sternness melting a little.

 The old man raised his
bushy eyebrows a little, surprised by the question. “Watch Goradis,” he said
consideringly. “He is a fox if ever I saw one.”

 “Goradis will not be
present.

 Relisar held the
Prince’s gaze. “He will be,” was the flat reply. “Consider carefully who you
are addressing when you wish to speak to the ruler of Serendar.”

 Andarion understood him
perfectly but observed: “King Orovin is no weakling.”

 “Appearances can be
deceptive. A strong chin and decided manner does not always mean a strong
character. I sense hostility from Goradis, I’m not sure why, but his influence
with the King is great.”

 “Is it a personal
dislike of me?”

 “I don’t know. I cannot
tell whether it is personal or whether there are wider issues involved. All I
do know is that your visit is not welcome.”

 The King had chosen one
of the palace’s many wide terraces as the venue for their meeting. A circular
table set with four chairs sat on the white stone terrace overlooking the sea.
The morning was clear and fair with the softest of breezes. The sea lapped
languidly at the rocks below. It was still early and the heat of the day had
not yet commenced. The sun, not far above the horizon, cast a long, clear
channel of light across the water.

 As Relisar had
predicted, Goradis was seated beside the King. The King’s Chamberlain escorted
the Prince and Relisar to their seats. While servants were placing food on the
table, the conversation was confined to pleasant trivialities but once they had
withdrawn, the King directed a sharp glance at Andarion.

 “You have travelled
long and far to reach the City-by-the-Shore, Crown Prince. Perhaps the moment
is now appropriate for you to tell me the reason for your journey.”

 Goradis looked up
attentively, his eyes as cold as a wintry sea, waiting for the Prince’s reply.

  “As Your Majesty is
aware, a Turog army of a magnitude not seen since the fall of the Old Kingdom
is encamped in the forest to the north of the Harnor facing Eskendria. Some
time ago my brother, Prince Sarrick, and I led a raid across the river and
inflicted damage to that army, but still it grows. My scouts report that bands
of Turog are coming out of the Forsaken Lands in huge numbers, swelling the
ranks of the army to massive proportions. My brother guards the Harnor with all
the forces we can muster, determined to prevent their crossing, but still their
preparations continue. Day and night the forest rings with hammering as they
forge ever more weapons. In short, Eskendria cannot face such a horde alone. I have
come to you to ask you to re-establish the old alliance of the three kingdoms.
I ask this not for the sake of Eskendria but for the sake of all mankind. If
the three great kingdoms of Eskendria, Serendar and Kelendore cannot defeat
this army, then all the petty kingdoms to the south will fall and the Destroyer
will have achieved his aim of sweeping mankind from the face of the earth. We
must stand together as brothers against this darkness which threatens to
overwhelm us all.”

 Relisar thought that
the Prince had spoken well but a discouraging silence was all he received in
response. Andarion was tempted to say more but he held his peace, knowing that
he had not told them anything that they were not already aware of.

Finally, Goradis spoke: “The
Turog have not threatened Serendar,” he remarked softly.

 “The Serpent’s Throat
protects Serendar to the north, the sea to the west and Eskendria protects your
eastern frontier. If Eskendria falls, the Turog will sweep around the Westrin
Mountains like an evil tide and Serendar will not be able to prevent them.”

 “We need no protection
from Eskendria,” the King snapped.

 Goradis frowned a
little but said: “Indeed. Few Turog get past Celedorn in his mountain
stronghold. He may be a nuisance but he has his uses. The Turog are terrified
of him. Perhaps the irony is this - that it is Celedorn, not Eskendria, who
protects our eastern border.”

 The Prince began to
have an inkling why the King had been so reluctant to join in the attack on
Celedorn.

 “Celedorn is a bandit with
perhaps a thousand men under his command. He may excel at surprise tactics but
he has not the military might to repel a concerted attack. If the Turog direct
their power against him, Ravenshold will fall and your eastern flank will be
exposed. But if you combine your forces with ours, the Turog will be defeated
without ever setting foot on Serendarian soil.”

 “Even if we combined
our armies, the Turog outnumber us three to one. Victory is by no means
certain.” remarked the King, betraying his knowledge of events beyond the
mountains.

 Goradis leaned forward,
his eyes hard. “Why do you assume that it is inevitable that the Turog will
attack Serendar? Perhaps they will be satisfied with Eskendria.”

 A stab of anger shot
through Andarion, so intense that for a moment he could not reply. Before he
could gain command of himself, Relisar had intervened.

 “The Turog are not
capable of independent thought. Their actions are governed by the will of the
Destroyer acting though his captains, the Great-turog. It has always been his
avowed aim to annihilate the Children of Light. All of them. He draws no
distinction between nationalities. We are all to him a festering wound that he
will cauterise by sword, or fire.....” he paused, then added softly, “or
cunning.” The old man’s eyes held those of the Lord High Counsellor steadily
and without blinking. It was a battle of wills, a contest of strength.
Strangely, it was Goradis who looked away first. Relisar continued as if
unaware. “The Destroyer will not rest until he has achieved this aim, for it is
so written in the Book of Light.”

 Goradis smiled
mockingly, clearly keen for revenge. “Legends, myths, bedtime stories for
children. Does Eskendria allow her future to be directed by such things?”

  The Prince looked
shocked. “You must not say such things!” he exclaimed. “The Book of Light
contains the words of Yervenar, the Creator. It is blasphemy to speak of it
with such derision.”

 “Perhaps, or perhaps it
is just a fable like the Chronicles of the Old Kingdom or the Lays of Tissro.”

 “It is no less than the
truth,” said Relisar.

 Goradis shot him a
pitying glance. “It is not difficult to deceive a fool.”

 Andarion leaned towards
him, a dangerous look in his eyes. “Relisar is the last of his kind, the last
with the gift of discernment. You will treat him with respect.”

 “Indeed? No doubt the
Champion will vouch for his abilities. Oh, but I had forgotten, there
is
no Champion, only one insignificant girl who has now probably been fed to the
ravens by Celedorn. You tolerate failure too easily, my lord Prince.”

  Andarion was by now
furiously angry. A crushing reply rose to his lips only to be checked by
Relisar who gripped his knee warningly under the table.

 In a calm voice, the
old man brought the discussion back to the point. “You say, Lord Goradis, that
you have no reason to think that the Turog will attack Serendar if Eskendria
falls but have you any reason to believe that they won’t? Or is that just
wishful thinking?”

 It was Goradis’s turn
to look nettled.  He and the King exchanged a glance loaded with
significance. Andarion observed it with disquiet.

 Finally the King said:
“The old alliance of the three kingdoms included more than just Eskendria and
Serendar. The Isles of Kelendore were a significant part of that alliance. If
you can convince the Lord Protector of Kelendore to sign such a treaty, then
you may return to me and I will consider your request again, in a - shall we
say - more favourable light. However, if the Lord Protector refuses, then so
too will I refuse. I do not wish to alienate Eskendria, for our two countries
have been traditionally friends, but I must put Serendar’s interests above all
other considerations. I would fail in my duty as King if I did not. I’m sure
your father would understand what I say. I do not think that it is in her best
interests to stand beside Eskendria to be annihilated by the Turog. If we send
our army to you, Kelendore’s powerful navy must protect our coasts. Do not
forget that the Turog are masters of the art of ambush. Indeed, I know of only
one man who can beat them at that game.”

 “Celedorn,” replied
Andarion between his teeth. “You appear to have a great regard for him.”