The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (27 page)

 “Not so far, if you
please,” he declared. “I’m damned if I’m going in after you again.”

 “If you are referring
to the Serpent’s Throat, you only went in after me because you couldn’t help
it.” She pointed down to the harbour. “How does one get down to it? I can’t see
any steps.”

 “That’s because there
aren’t any. The only way up or down, for goods or people, is by way of those
hoists situated further along the cliff-top. In times of peril, the harbour is
abandoned as being indefensible. It’s the only part of this island at sea
level.”

 “How do you know this?”

 “I’ve been here before
- a long time ago. You’ll notice that there are no boats in the harbour, other
than rowing boats. All vessels of any size that were moored here during the
storm broke loose and were smashed in the Devil’s Dyke.”

 “I’d like to see the
Dyke - and this famous rope-bridge.”

 “We crossed the
rope-bridge last night but it was dark and you were in no condition to admire
the scenery. Actually,” he began, as one making another confession. “I was glad
it was dark because I’m.....well....not overly fond of crossing it. If we climb
the hill we can cross the fields behind the town and drop down at the bridge.
It’s market day today and the town is crowded. It would take all morning to
fight our way through the streets.”

 As they ascended the
grassy slope, the sun at last got the better of its sulks and burst from
beneath the dark clouds, lighting up with crystal clarity the view before them.
Headland after mighty headland, fading into the misty gold distance, thrust out
in succession from the Forsaken Lands. Their dark, craggy brows were adorned
with crowns of short, emerald grass that gave way to trees about a mile inland.
Between the tall headlands, sheltered, sandy bays could be glimpsed. The
ubiquitous gulls, raucous and white as a hailstorm, swirled and circled against
the precipitous black rocks.

 Sirkris was so close to
the mainland that from the position they were standing in, it seemed to be part
of it, but as they descended the far side of the hill, a thin crack appeared
that gradually opened as they approached it.

 The Devil’s Dyke
dropped sheer to a narrow passage of dark blue sea that heaved restlessly,
bursting now and then against the foot of the black cliffs in explosions of
white spray that filled the air with a fine salt mist. The bridge spanning the
void looked fragile as gossamer, swaying alarmingly with the wind as if too
fine to bear weight. It dipped dauntingly in the middle, and Elorin, looking at
it with misgiving, was glad that she had known nothing about their passage
across it.

 She looked at Celedorn,
a new respect in her eyes. “You
carried
me across that?”

 He nodded.

 She blew out her
cheeks. “You don’t lack for nerve. Why, that chasm is even worse than the
Serpent’s Throat!” She stepped abruptly back from the edge, looking a little
pale. “I don’t think I like it.”

 He understood
perfectly. “Don’t worry, I am now aware of your predilection for throwing
yourself off heights. I won’t let you fall in this time.”

 She smiled wryly. “How
come you can always tell what I’m thinking and I never have a clue what’s going
on in your head? I think you cultivate unpredictability just to make life
difficult for other people.”

 He laughed and shook
his head enigmatically as they made their way towards the town.

 As he had predicted,
the narrow streets were seething with people, obviously glad to be out and
about again after being confined to their homes by the storm. The shops had
opened their shutters, and wooden stalls, festooned with all manner of goods,
cluttered the already congested streets. Vegetables, fruit, game, rugs, furs,
fabrics, clothes, jewellery, pottery, weapons and baskets all hung in
fascinating profusion from the stalls and shops. Their progress was slow, not
so much because of the cheerful crowds thronging the streets, all intent on the
business of buying and selling, but because Elorin stopped at every stall
exclaiming at the range of goods, running her hands over soft furs or holding
glassware up to catch the light. Celedorn watched her delight with
uncharacteristic tolerance, patiently allowing her to look her fill. But when
they came to a shop that sold weapons, he was in for a surprise.

 They entered the
low-pitched, rather dark shop in search of a hunting knife to replace the one
he had lost in the Harnor. While he negotiated with the owner, Elorin prowled
round the shop, inspecting gleaming racks of swords and trying the weight of a
rather fearsome double-headed battle axe; but when she came to a stand of bows,
her interest sharpened. She lifted a slender longbow down from the rack and
bracing her left arm against it, drew back the string to her shoulder in the
wholly professional manner of someone accustomed to doing such a thing. When the
shopkeeper saw that Celedorn’s attention was no longer on the knife, he crossed
to Elorin, scenting another sale.

 “A nice hunting bow
that, light but strong, made from the finest willow. Normally a trifle long for
a lady but you are tall enough to handle it. Would you like to try it out? I
have a target set up in the yard at the back.”

 Elorin cast a doubtful
look at Celedorn. “It....it seems so familiar in my hands. Prince Andarion
thought that I had at one time handled a bow. Would you mind if I try it, just
to satisfy my curiosity?”

 Celedorn’s casual shrug
did not betray the intense interest he felt.

 The shopkeeper lifted
some steel-tipped arrows and led them through the dark recesses of the shop out
into a little enclosed yard. At one end, a target had been set up against a
wooden fence.

  Elorin took an arrow
and fitted it to the bow. Taking an archer’s stance with one foot forward and
body turned sideways to the target, with the minimum of aim-taking, she fired.
The arrow pierced the target to the right of the bull’s-eye.

 “It veers to the
right,” she murmured almost to herself. The shopkeeper smiled tolerantly and
offered her another arrow.

 This time, to his
astonishment, the arrow hit the centre of the target, so also without exception
did the next three.

 Reluctantly she handed
the bow back to him. “Once you know its character, it is a fine weapon.”

 She looked
questioningly at Celedorn. “What can this mean?”

 He pulled his mouth
down wryly. “It means that I’m not ever going to provoke you if you have a bow
in your hands.” He turned to the shopkeeper. “We’ll take it and the hunting
knife too. You can throw in a quiver and a sheath for the knife.”

 The man opened his
mouth to argue, caught Celedorn’s eye and wisely capitulated.

 Elorin stepped closer
and said quietly: “Is this not an unnecessary extravagance? After all, what do
we need a bow for? When we find a ship willing to take us back to Serendar, we
will no longer be in any danger.”

 “Possibly, but if all
does not go well, it may prove to be a sound investment.”

 They left the armourer
and resumed their slow progress along the street. Elorin stopped at a stall
displaying brightly-painted pottery that had caught her eye. She was holding up
a cup for Celedorn to admire, when suddenly she uttered a gasp and dropped it.
With his usual catlike reflexes, Celedorn deftly caught it and looked up to see
what had startled her. She was gazing down the street, her face white, her eyes
wide open with shock. Following the direction of her gaze, Celedorn realised
that she was staring at a tall, fair-haired man threading his way between the
crowds. Suddenly the man’s glance fell on Elorin. He stopped dead, his face
even more shocked than Elorin’s. Without a word Elorin leaped forward and began
to fight her way through the crowds towards him. She accomplished the last few
yards at a run and flung herself into his open arms. He snatched her up in so
tight an embrace that he lifted her clean off her feet and swung her round, his
face transformed from shock to the most overwhelming joy.

 Celedorn, still holding
the cup, stared astonished. He moved close enough to hear what they were saying
without intruding upon them.

 The man had set Elorin
on her feet again but held both her hands tightly in his own, his eyes devouring
her as if he could not believe the signals they were sending him. Words tumbled
out of him in a disjointed torrent.

 “Is it really you? My
dearest Elorin, surely it can’t true. All these months I’ve been driven nearly
insane with worry. All I could think of was you - trapped at Ravenshold, hurt
perhaps dead. I.....I just can’t take it in. How did you get here? You look
well!” His hands gripped her shoulders, turning her to the light. “Yes, you
do
look well! Not hurt! Not imprisoned! This is a miracle! How do you come to be
here? How did you escape from Ravenshold?”

 “Stop, stop! You are
asking too many questions for me to answer all at once. Perhaps it would be
easier if you told me how
you
come to be here.”

 Celedorn, sourly
watching this exchange, had by now gathered that Elorin had at last found her prince.

 “My story is simple,”
the Prince replied. “I was on my way to Kelendore when my ship was caught in
the storm and we were shipwrecked right at the very mouth of the harbour. Very
few survived - just three Serendarian sailors, myself and Relisar.”

 “
Relisar is here?”

 He nodded. “Yes, I left
him at the inn where we are staying. I swear that since you went to Ravenshold,
his beard has grown even whiter with worry. You see, he had one of his dreams
that you were in danger.”

 “I was for a while, but
all is well now.”

 At that point Celedorn
stepped forward, his brow black, his expression stern. Elorin caught the
movement out of the tail of her eye and turned to him, realising that she had a
problem on her hands.

 “Prince Andarion,” she
began hesitantly, “I......”

 She got no further
because the Prince gave vent to a growl of anger.

 “
Celedorn!”
he
snarled and in a flash had drawn his sword.

 Celedorn’s response was
just as fast and the two men confronted each other, bristling with hostility,
oblivious to the crowd scattering with alarm all around them. Elorin knew she
had to act. She had never seen Andarion fight, but she had seen Celedorn, and
it was enough to make her fear for the Prince.

 Before they could close
with one another, she quickly stepped between them.

 “Both of you, sheathe
your weapons,” she ordered calmly. Neither of them paid the least heed to her.
She turned to the Prince, as the one most likely to be reasonable.

 “I know what you think,
but you are wrong. Celedorn has saved my life many times and I owe him a great
debt. I know his reputation and I also know that you have cause to do what you
are now doing, but believe me when I tell you that you must not fight him. If
you have any regard for me, you will heed my words. Much has happened since I
last saw you and you must listen to my story before you judge him. Please,” she
begged, “for my sake, if for no other reason, please sheathe your sword.”

 Celedorn remained
tense, ready to fight, but when the Prince encountered the beseeching look in
Elorin’s eyes, he was not proof against it. Silently her eyes pleaded with him
and reluctantly he lowered his sword.

 She turned to Celedorn,
knowing her task would be more difficult. “To fight the Prince would be
madness. If you killed him, the authorities in Sirkris would hang you from the
highest tree.”

 Celedorn looked at her
coldly. “I’ll take my chance.”

 Realising that reason
would not work, she turned to the one approach that he usually respected - and
that was to boldly confront him. She stepped closer, until the point of his
sword almost touched her breast.

 “If you wish to kill
the Prince, you will have to kill me first.”

 “I suppose you think
that will stop me.”

 “With any other man I
would say “yes” but with you, one can never tell.”

 The point lowered a
fraction. “There was a time when you were afraid of me.”

 She looked him full in
the eyes. “Sometimes I am still afraid of you.”

 The black look lifted a
little. “If only that were true,” he remarked, his mouth twisting slightly.
“Very well,” he said, and sheathed his sword.

 She turned to the
Prince. “We are staying at the Inn of the Grey Dolphin. Come this evening and
bring Relisar with you. I’ll tell you everything that has happened to me.” The
ghost of a smile touched her lips. “It will also allow time for tempers to
cool.”

 “You should not stay a
moment longer in the company of that villain,” said the Prince in an urgent
undertone.

 “Nonsense. I’m
perfectly safe with Celedorn - as you will better understand when I explain
everything to you this evening.”

  When Andarion and
Relisar repaired to the Inn of the Grey Dolphin that evening, they found Elorin
by herself in a cosy downstairs parlour. When Relisar saw her, he went to her
and quietly took her hands in his.