The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (28 page)

 “There were times, my
dear child,” he said, his voice shaking a little, “when I thought I would never
see you again. My old tower seemed so empty without you.”

 She tightened her grip
on his hands reassuringly. “You are my family, Relisar,” she glanced towards
Andarion to include him in the statement. “You are all I have.”

 Seeing that he needed a
moment to recover himself, she led him to a chair by the blazing fire. The
curtains had been drawn against the encroaching darkness and the room was
filled with the golden light provided by a branch of candles.

 Andarion leaned back in
his chair and folded his arms.

 “Where is he?” he asked
abruptly.

 Elorin did not pretend
to misunderstand him. “He’ll join us later. I wanted some time alone with you
to tell my story.”

 She crossed to the
table and poured out three glasses of wine and handed them to her guests. When
she gave the Prince his glass, she asked: “How did you recognise him? Had you
seen him before?”

 “No, I had not,”
Andarion answered shortly, “but his description is difficult to mistake - tall,
dark haired, three severe scars running diagonally across the left cheek. I
cannot understand your present attitude towards him. I would have thought that
you of all people would have wanted to see him hanging from the highest
gallows.”

 She didn’t reply for a
moment, but resumed her seat and stared into the depths of the ruby wine in her
glass. “Perhaps you will understand when I tell you all that has happened to
me, from the moment I left you to be taken as hostage to Ravenshold, until I
met you in the street today.”

 She spoke for a long
time in a quiet, emotionless voice. Neither of her guests interrupted her or
asked her questions, but sat absorbed in her narrative, allowing her to tell
her story in her own way. When she finally stopped, there was silence broken
only by the crackling of the logs on the fire.

 At that moment the door
opened and Celedorn came in. Three pairs of eyes swung from the fire and
regarded him without speaking. He didn’t seem to be put out by the scrutiny but
advanced into the room with all his customary nonchalance.

 He looked at Andarion
and inclined his head. “My Lord Prince,” he said, his tone of voice an insult.
“And the old fool as well? Permit me to congratulate you,” he mocked Relisar,
“You set in train the events that led us all to this exotic spot just in time
for the Turog to trap us here.”

  Elorin already knew
that he was contemptuous of Relisar but she was surprised by the extent of his
hostility towards Andarion. The atmosphere in the room crackled with it. It was
an emotion that was apparently returned.

 Andarion disdainfully
watched Celedorn cast himself into a chair and sprawl at his ease there, one
leg hooked casually over the arm. He turned to Elorin.

 “I can understand now
why you feel grateful to him, but there are wider issues here. He may have
saved your life, but think how many Eskendrian lives he has taken. He must be
punished for his crimes under Eskendrian law.”

 Before she could reply,
a bored voice said: “We are not in Eskendria now, my Princeling, and I have
committed no crime in Sirkris.”

 Andarion cast a cold
glance at him. “I will take you back to Eskendria to stand trial.”

 The response was a
crack of rude laughter. “I fear that may be a feat beyond your capabilities.”

 Relisar unexpectedly
spoke up. “Celedorn is right. Whatever crimes he has committed in Eskendria are
irrelevant here.

 The Prince turned on
him. “
Irrelevant?
How can you say such a thing? For years he has preyed
on merchants passing through the valleys in the Westrin Mountains, choking our
trade with Serendar. Robbing, pillaging, ravishing......”

 He was interrupted at
this point by Celedorn. “If I might enter a caveat here,” he drawled coolly.
“Robbing and pillaging, I admit I took to with the greatest of ease, but I
never quite got the hang of ravishing. It has always seemed to me that there is
more pleasure to be had when a woman is willing.”

 The reaction was all he
could have desired. The Prince looked shocked, Relisar nonplussed, only Elorin
turned away, her shoulders shaking. She was rewarded for her levity by a pained
look from the Prince.

 Deeming that the
conversation needed urgent redirecting she said: “The Turog are terrified of
him. That’s a good point.”

 “I will grant you
that,” Andarion conceded. “But he hunts them not for the good of Eskendria, but
for his own selfish ends. They interfere with his activities in the mountains.
That is why he kills them.”

 Relisar sighed. “If
only the Lord of Westrin had not been killed, the region would never have
descended into lawlessness. I remember Ravenshold when he was alive, and it was
not a grim fortress then, but a home, filled with beauty and warmth. It grieves
me to think of it now as some grim bandits’ lair.”

 Celedorn cast him a
slit-eyed look that was difficult to interpret. “It appears to me,” he said,
“that instead of raking over the coals, we would be better employed in finding
a way of getting off this damned rock. There are no boats to be had, and it’s
looking increasingly likely that Sirkris will soon be under siege.”

 The Prince raised his
eyebrows sardonically. “Are you suggesting we run away?”

 But he found himself
outmatched at that game. “Even your august presence, oh mighty Prince, is not
going to make any difference to the outcome of the siege. With Kelendore’s navy
so badly mauled, relief is going to be a long time coming, and I had thought,
if my memory serves me correctly, that Eskendria was facing the type of threat
that might conceivably require your presence there.”

 The Prince sank slowly
back in his chair, clearly disturbed by the words.

 “He’s right, you know,”
Elorin advised. “He has an unpleasant habit of being right. If there is a siege
and we are trapped here, it could be for a long time, and goodness only knows
what will happen in Eskendria in the meantime.” She looked enquiringly at
Andarion. “What was the situation when you left?”

 “The Turog army was
still massing on the far side of the Harnor but it hadn’t yet crossed. I left
our army under the command of Sarrick, watching their every move. I went to
Serendar to forge the old alliance of the three kingdoms but King Orovin would
not commit himself until Kelendore signalled its agreement, so I was on my way
there to persuade them, when the storm struck.”

 Celedorn had tilted his
head back against the chair and was looking down his nose at the Prince, the
personification of arrogance. “King Orovin making you dance to his tune?” he
suggested.

 His needling began to
tell on Andarion. “Be careful, brigand,” he said softly but with an edge to his
voice. “You escaped the edge of my sword earlier today because of Elorin’s
intervention, but it will not always be so.”

 His tormentor’s lip
curled in the sneer Elorin knew so well. “Forgive me if I forget to tremble.”

 Relisar, who had been
fidgeting restlessly in his chair during this episode, suddenly leaned forward.
“I think we are apt to forget the point, in this exchange of civilities. If you
two would put your dislike of each other to one side for a moment, you might
realise that there is a decision to be made here - and not an easy one either.
Do we stay here and probably stand siege, or do we try to find a ship to take
us back to Serendar?”
 “I have tried all morning to find a ship,” Celedorn replied. “All the
larger ships were destroyed when they broke loose from their moorings. There is
nothing left bigger than a rowing boat.”

 “Then it looks like we
are stuck here,” Elorin said in a resigned voice.

 “Not necessarily,”
Celedorn contradicted. “There is another option.”

 They all looked at him
expectantly. He paused for a moment, then raising his eyes and looking
challengingly at the Prince, he said:  “We could cross the Forsaken Lands
and head south until we reach the Harnor.”

 Uproar greeted this
pronouncement, with everyone talking at once. Finally the Prince made his voice
heard.

 “Are you mad?” he asked
incredulously. “Have you completely taken leave of your senses? No one has ever
crossed the Forsaken Lands and lived to tell the tale. There are no maps, no
roads. The place crawls with the creatures of the Destroyer and even if by some
miracle we were not detected, the journey could take months.”

 Celedorn shrugged. “I
didn’t say it would be easy, but Elorin and I will try it, you may do as you
please.”

 Elorin sat up abruptly.
“Excuse me but.....”

 “Nonsense, you’d never
make it,” the Prince interrupted, ignoring her. “Besides Elorin is not going
anywhere with you.”

 Elorin tried again. “I
hate to interrupt but......”

 “Elorin will come with
me,” Celedorn declared flatly. “We have a better chance than staying here to be
overrun by the Turog, caught like rats in a trap.”

 “That is only your
opinion. Sirkris is provisioned to stand siege for years if necessary. Elorin
will certainly not.....”

 “.......Elorin will
certainly not allow either of you to dictate her actions,” the subject of their
argument interrupted with some asperity. “I’ll thank you two gentlemen to stop
discussing me as if I wasn’t here.” She glared at them both. The Prince looked
a bit abashed but a little devil of mischief danced in Celedorn’s eyes.

 “Now,” she said
decisively, “I will tell you what I’m going to do. The siege is as yet no more
than a rumour and may never come to pass. Until we have more concrete evidence
that Sirkris is about to be surrounded, I, for one, am not going to rush off
into the Forsaken Lands. I have already had a taste of them and I’m not keen to
repeat the experience. In the meantime, just in case, I think we should
accumulate supplies that would be useful to us if we are forced to make such a
journey. That is my opinion,” she concluded grandiosely, then somewhat
undermined the effect by grumbling. “Not that anyone had the good manners to
ask for it.”

 Relisar had been
nodding wisely during her speech. “That seems sensible to me. No need to panic
yet, but best to be prepared.”

 The Prince bowed
stiffly. “I apologise, Elorin, for my discourteous behaviour.” He looked at
Celedorn, who merely leaned back in his chair and offered no apology. The
Prince continued: “What you suggest makes sense. Besides, there are those in
whose company I would not travel a yard.”

 This appeared to touch
Celedorn on the raw, for he rose to his feet and the Prince did likewise. As
they faced each other, Elorin was struck by the difference between them.
Although both were tall men, much of a height, all similarity ended there. They
were like the epitome of light and darkness. One so fair, the other so dark. One
so handsome, the other so disfigured. Yet in comparing them, she observed a
certain aristocratic cast of countenance in Celedorn that she had not noticed
before. The high cheekbones and hawk-like nose merely emphasised his arrogance.
As usual, the air between the two men crackled like an electrical storm.

 “If it comes to a
journey across the Forsaken Lands,” Celedorn said icily, “remember this. Out
there, is the Destroyer’s domain where there is no law, no civilisation. Your
rank means nothing there. There is no army for you to command, no kingdom for
you to rule. Out there, you are not a prince but just a man trying to survive.
In the Forsaken Lands you are no better than me.” 

  The Prince’s blue eyes
stared back levelly.

 “Do you think it takes
my title to make me a better man than you?” he asked softly.

 An arrested look came
over Celedorn’s face, then with a sudden change of mood he gave a twisted
smile. “Probably not,” he replied, and turned on his heel and left the room.

 When the door closed
behind him, the tension in the room relaxed.

 Relisar let out a
pent-up breath. “Well! I didn’t expect that!”

 Misunderstanding him,
Andarion remarked: “Didn’t you? I must confess he is exactly what I expected.”

 But Elorin disagreed.
“When I first met him, I was surprised by him. I expected more of an uneducated
thug, but he speaks with a cultured voice, he is widely read and travelled and
most unexpectedly, has a keen sense of humour - a virtue in my book.” She
pulled down her mouth and added: “He is also arrogant, provoking,
quick-tempered, ruthless and sometimes cruel. Yet every time I think I have
gained some understanding of him, he does something unpredictable - like he did
just now. He can fly off the handle as quick as a thought, but equally, can
suddenly show kindness and understanding - although he would strenuously deny
it.”

 The Prince smiled knowledgeably
at her. “It is like you, Elorin, to try to see good in everyone, but your
experiences with him are perhaps blinding you to the fact that he is a criminal
with a shocking reputation for butchery. Don’t forget the circumstances under
which you first encountered him. He struck you, imprisoned you, threatened and
frightened you. Does the fact that he pulled you out of the sea make you forget
all that?”

 She stared at him for a
moment, then slowly shook her head. “I do not pretend that he is a saint, but
he is more complicated than your vision of undiluted evil. I know his
reputation. I know what he has done, but I cannot rid myself of the picture in
my mind of him standing poised on the very edge of that broken bridge, above
that dreadful gulf, intent only on saving me, and although there are times he
makes me so furious that I could hit him, I.....I don’t want to see him die.”

  A silence fell and
Relisar leaned forward and took her hands comfortingly in his own. “Don’t look
so concerned, my dear, nothing in this life is inevitable. Fate can take some
strange twists and turns that none of us can predict. The only thing I am glad
of, is that I have found you again, and if Celedorn has had his part to play in
that, why, then I am grateful to him.”

 She managed an
uncertain smile. “Thank you, Relisar.”

 “And remember,” he
admonished, wagging a gnarled finger at her, “there are two others back in
Eskendria who will be overjoyed to hear that you are safe - Skah and Keesha.
Keesha has kept your room in the tower neat and tidy against your return. She
never gave up hope, you see. In fact, she and Skah had quite a disagreement
over the little issue of dead mice left on the bed.”

  Andarion laughed.
“Keesha rules him with a rod of iron but even
she
has not induced him to
be tidy! And as for sharing a cabin on a boat with him? I think that is best
left to the imagination. Some tales are just too horrific to be repeated!”

 When they had left,
Elorin returned to her room and found Celedorn sitting in one of the armchairs
by the fire, his legs stretched out in front of him, one booted ankle crossed
negligently over the other. He had been staring moodily into the fire but he
raised his head when she came in.

 She sat down facing
him. “I remember you sitting by the fire like this in your quarters in
Ravenshold,” she remarked reflectively. “All that’s missing is the glass of
wine in your hand.”

 He didn’t smile but
returned his gaze to the depths of the fire. “Unhappy memories for you?” he
asked quietly.

 She tilted her head to
one side, considering the question. “If you had asked me that question some
time ago, I would have said yes - but perhaps it wasn’t so bad. I enjoyed the
time I spent with Dorgan; he was very kind to me, and some of the evenings
spent with you were not so bad. When I first came to Ravenshold, I expected
very rough treatment - given the extent to which I had deceived you. Indeed, I
didn’t really expect to survive the encounter.”

 He raised his gaze from
contemplating the flames and looked at her seriously, all trace of his habitual
mockery gone. “I did treat you roughly. The first time I set eyes on you, I
struck you so hard I felled you to the ground.”

 “You keep bringing that
up,” she said mischievously. “Is it possible at this late stage that you are
actually developing a conscience?”

 A faint smile hovered
on his lips. “At this late stage, as you put it, I would think it exceedingly
unlikely. Besides, what need have I of a conscience, when your noble Prince is
liberally endowed with enough for both of us.”

 “Just as well,” she
snorted derisively, “because your behaviour towards him was appalling. You were
rude, arrogant, insulting and just spoiling for a fight. What’s the matter with
you? I thought you had never met the Prince before? So why are you positively
bristling with dislike?”

 “I have not met the
Prince before, but do you think it odd that I should dislike a man whose
ambition is to take me back to Eskendria and execute me?”

 Her eyes narrowed
shrewdly. “That’s not the reason. Strangely, I don’t think you hold that
against him at all. No, it’s something else.” She read the look on his face and
added irritably:

 “No, I’m not going to
question you further because I can see it would be a waste of time. No doubt
you’ll tell me the truth when the notion takes you. In the meantime you could
at least
try
to be civil to the Prince.”

 “You seem very glad to
have found your Prince,” he remarked, without committing himself to good
behaviour. “You once told me that he was the epitome of what a prince should be
- handsome, noble, kind - not only is he that, but he is also the heir to the
throne of Eskendria.” He let out a soft whistle. “I admire your effrontery, my
girl, you certainly aim high.”

 She smiled mistily,
ignoring the second part of his speech. “He
is
handsome, isn’t he?”

 “Very,” was the sour
response. “If you admire such insipid looks.”

 She laughed. “Be
careful, Celedorn, that sounded remarkably like jealousy.”

 He grinned but said
seriously: “You may as well aim at the moon, you know. He must marry someone of
his own rank not......”

 “Not a nobody without a
past and without even a name,” she finished for him, adding sadly: “I know
that. I’m not a fool, but we don’t choose these things for ourselves. Love
chooses us, and there’s not a thing we can do about it. Do you understand?”

  To her surprise, when
she looked up she found that his face was wearing his most bitterly mocking
expression. “No, I don’t. I have no acquaintance with the emotion you describe.
Love is for fools and weaklings.”

 “Do you think I am a
fool?”

 “Yes,” he relied dryly.
“This will only end one way - you’ll get hurt, and badly by the looks of it.”

 She set her elbow on
the arm of the chair and leaned her cheek on her hand. “When you were a little
boy, did your mother ever read you stories from the Chronicles?”

 “I forget,” he said
abruptly.

 “If she had, you would
know that in all the most romantic stories, the Prince falls in love with the
unknown beggar-maid and they live happily ever after.”

 A gleam came into his
eyes. “Really? And what happens to the wicked mountain brigand?”

 “Oh, he develops a
conscience and goes around making a nuisance of himself doing good works.”

 He burst out laughing
and the bitterness vanished from his face. “I almost pity your Prince,” he
said, his voice shaking. “He has no idea what he’s dealing with.”

   The next day
Celedorn disappeared off on some expedition of his own and Elorin crossed the
town to the inn where the Prince and Relisar were staying. After so much time
spent in Celedorn’s difficult company, she found it pleasant to converse with
people who did not change mood unpredictably or make biting remarks. Andarion
was a sympathetic and charming companion, who treated her as tenderly as if she
were made of glass. She enjoyed herself so much that it was getting dark by the
time she returned to the Grey Dolphin. Andarion had wished to escort her, but
she refused, not wanting to mediate in another skirmish with Celedorn. But
Celedorn was not to be found when she returned and she went to the taproom in
search of him.

 The taproom was usually
busy at that time of day, with customers having meals or stopping in for a
tankard of Mother Sorna’s home brewed ale. However, when Elorin opened the door
and went in, she discovered that the only occupants were half a dozen
Serendarian sailors sprawled around a wooden table laden with bottles. They
were noisily arguing with one another when she entered and had clearly been
drinking. When they saw her, they abandoned their quarrel and eyed her up and down
in a manner she didn’t care for.

 “I’m sorry,” she said.
“I was looking for someone.” Disliking the atmosphere, she turned to retreat,
only to find a sailor she hadn’t noticed before, barring the door.

 “Excuse me,” she said
politely. “I wish to leave.”

 He put his shoulders
against the door. “What’s the hurry,” he asked silkily. “Come and share a
tankard of ale with us poor lonely sailors. We’ve been at sea a long time and
could use some feminine company.”

 Elorin smiled uneasily.
“Another time, perhaps. I have to join my husband.”

 A bearded man rose a
little unsteadily to his feet and approached her. “Husbands are boring
creatures,” he declared thickly. “You’re too young and pretty to be bothered
with a husband.” He laughed and turned towards his companions. “At least, not
when you have such handsome fellows as us to choose from.”

 “My husband is very bad
tempered,” she excused. “I mustn’t keep him waiting.”

 “Stay with us,
sweetheart, and we’ll treat you kindly,” called a voice, to a loud chorus of
agreement from the others. They all rose and began to close in on her. Elorin
noticed that the first man had moved away from the door. Seizing the chance,
she darted past him and had just got a grip on the door handle when a strong
pair of hands grabbed her by the shoulders and flung her across the room.

 One of the other
sailors caught her. The rest formed a rough circle and began pushing her from
one to the other, all laughing and taunting her as they did so. The burly
sailor by the door tried to grab her, but was severely bitten for his pains.
Another got a kick on the ankle that made his eyes water.

 “What a wildcat!” he
exclaimed angrily. “This one needs taming, lads!”

 So intent were they on
their sport, that they had failed to see the door of the taproom open and
another presence enter the room, until a voice as cutting as a steel blade
sliced across them.

 “Touch her again and
you are a dead man.”

 Elorin wrenched herself
free of her tormentor’s slackened grasp.

 “Celedorn!” she gasped
with relief.

 The burly sailor’s eyes
narrowed.

 Her rescuer, whose face
had been hidden in the shadow cast by one of the oak beams that criss-crossed
the ceiling, stepped forward into the lamplight and the sailors saw his face
clearly.

 They were obviously
unimpressed by being confronted by only one man. “What happened to you,
friend?” one scoffed. “Fall under a plough, did you?”

 But the burly sailor
had not taken his eyes off Celedorn. “That’s a face you don’t forget,” he
mused. “She called you Celedorn. Now, there can’t be two men with that name and
that face.” He turned to his friends. “Pay your respects to the Robber King,
lads. Don’t you know that you are facing the scourge of the Westrin Mountains?”
His tone was pure vinegar as he addressed Celedorn again. “You robbed my
brother of all he possessed, you thieving blackguard. Left him for dead in some
God-forsaken mountain pass, but he didn’t die, he made it home to me and gave
me a description of you which I never forgot. It’s time for repayment - and
with interest accrued.”

 It was then that Elorin
noticed that Celedorn was not armed. She rarely saw him without his sword at
his side, but it was missing now at the very time he had most need of it. The
sailors were not armed either, but had a decided advantage in numbers. The
burly sailor began to close with Celedorn, murder in his eye.

 “Get out of here,
Elorin,” Celedorn ordered, but although she retreated to a corner, she didn’t
obey.

 The two opponents
circled each other warily, with the others shouting encouragement to their
comrade.

 The sailor was first to
attack. He threw a heavy punch at Celedorn’s jaw. With his usual lightning
reflexes, Celedorn ducked under it and using his semi-crouching position,
slammed his fist into his opponent’s stomach. The breath exploded out of him
and he doubled up, purple in the face and whooping for air. A fast, left-handed
punch connected with his jaw with a crack that made Elorin wince and he fell
like a log to the floor.