The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (31 page)

 The object of his
sympathy, gave a shout of laughter. “Your Prince begins to grow on me,” he
informed the discomfited Elorin.

 But as it turned out,
it was the Prince who was the first to see the ghost.

 He had agreed to take
the watch for the hours leading up to dawn. When he relieved Relisar, who had
been sitting on a rock with his head hanging forward, ripe for any passing
Turog to jump on, he took his vacated seat and immersed himself in the coolness
of the night air and the quiet whisper of the sea. The sky was lightly veiled
with cloud, but there was a brightness out to sea that rendered the darkness
less than stygian. He could distinguish thin lines of white, where the surf
gently unravelled on the sand, and the heavy black presence of the headland. As
his eyes travelled across the ragged outline of the ruins, their passage became
arrested by something. The Prince stiffened, straining his sight in the
darkness. A small, white light was travelling amongst the ruins. It swayed and
bobbed and sometimes disappeared entirely, but it always surfaced again, moving
steadily, if erratically, towards the point of the cliff where the decaying
walls stood directly over the sea.

 The Prince watched this
intently for some minutes before he became aware of a presence looming up
beside him in the darkness. He gasped and was reaching for his sword, when the
familiar sound of Celedorn’s voice arrested the action.

 “I can make out only
one light, I think,” Celedorn observed quietly, his voice little above a
whisper so as not to disturb the others. “I thought at first there were several
but I think it is just the same one appearing and disappearing.”

 “The light is not blue
as Pelgar described.”

 “No. Nor is it a
ghostly apparition. Someone is up there, moving amongst the ruins.”

 “Turog?”

 “Possibly. Pelgar was
of the opinion that the Turog would not go near the ruins because they are
haunted, but personally I never found them that imaginative. If whoever is up
there looked over the cliff before nightfall, they would have seen our fire. We
must face the possibility that they know we are here.”

 “Should we wake the
others?” Andarion asked.

 “No, not yet. There are
only two ways out of this bay - either back the way we came, or up the cliff
face towards Kerrian-tohr - neither of which I would care to attempt in the
darkness.”

 “So we wait until
dawn.”

 “Yes.”

 “And what then? If we
proceed, we must pass close to the Palace. Do we investigate?”

 “That’s a question that
can better be answered once daylight arrives. I’ll stay on watch with you until
then.”

 The Prince stiffened
haughtily. “You doubt my ability to stand watch alone?”

 Celedorn eyed him with
a certain cold humour. “If I intend to give offence, you will be left in no
doubt about the matter. Until then, you should avoid the emotion.”

 What Andarion might
have replied, Celedorn was never privileged to learn, for at that moment Elorin
sat up, sleepily demanding to know what was going on.

  The light had by that
time disappeared, so Andarion described to her what they had seen.

 “I’m glad I didn’t see
it,” she said. “All this talk about ghosts gives me the shivers.”

 A faint snore issued
from the pile of blankets behind them.

 “At least one of us
seems unperturbed,” Celedorn remarked.

 But the Prince, who had
experience of travelling with Relisar, declared exasperatedly: “Relisar would
not wake if you dropped a rock on him.”

 “Let him sleep. Dawn
will come soon enough now.”

 Daybreak was a cool,
grey affair. A bank of sea-mist obscured the horizon, blending the sea and sky
into one. It sat like a feather quilt on the milky surface of the sea,
mysterious and remote. The birds on the cliff awoke with their usual cackles
and squawks and began to drift off the ledges, disappearing confidently into
the mist. Celedorn stood staring out to sea, his grey eyes the same colour as
the water and just as cool.

 “The mist is moving
towards us,” he informed the others, “and quite quickly too. I think we should
try to find our way up the cliff before we are engulfed. Breakfast can wait
till later.”

 As they gathered up
their belongings, he crossed to the far end of the bay, to the cliffs below the
Palace and began to examine the rocks. When they joined him, he had obviously
found something interesting because his gaze was fixed on the cliff at a point
just above his head.

 “Look,” he pointed
upwards. “At some time in the distant past, steps have been cut into the living
rock, probably to give the occupants of the palace access to the beach. The sea
has eroded away the lower steps entirely but the upper ones appear to be still
there - though much worn.”

 “Do they go all the way
up?” asked Relisar, leaning backwards to get a better view.

 “I can’t see from here.
I will go up first to make sure the way is open. Wait here until I signal to
you.”

 Andarion linked his
hands and gave him a leg up onto the first accessible step. Slowly and rather
precariously, he began to ascend the cliff face. The steps appeared to zigzag
and were very narrow in parts, for they could see him flatten himself against
the cliff face and proceed sideways for part of the way but he reached the top
without mishap and disappeared.

 When he didn’t
immediately reappear, Andarion became impatient.

 “Where is he?” he
muttered.

 “He will be checking
the top of the cliff to see that no danger threatens before he lets us come
up,” Elorin advised. Then reading Andarion’s thoughts, she added succinctly:
“You will soon learn to value such skills.”

 When Celedorn
reappeared, he didn’t signal to them to follow but instead began to descend the
stair. By the time he jumped down onto the sand beside them, the first tendrils
of mist were drifting around them like fine, grey cobwebs.

 “The top appears to be
safe,” he declared, “but the path is difficult. It has almost worn away in
places and requires much care. I came back down to help carry our belongings.”
He turned to the Prince. “You and Relisar go first. I will bring up the rear
with Elorin.”

 While Elorin watched,
he gave the others a leg up onto the step and watched as they began the slow
ascent. Then he picked up his own pack and also Elorin’s.

 “I will carry yours.”

 She said nothing but
continued to watch the others edge higher. When Celedorn turned to her, her
face was as white as parchment. “I can’t do this, Celedorn,” she said with
quiet desperation. “Ever since I fell from that bridge, I have nightmares about
falling.” She looked up at the towering cliff. “There is no handrail, nothing
between me and the sheer drop. I.....I can’t do this.”

 “I know,” he said
gently, “that’s why I came back down.” He took a length of rope from his pack
and tied one end around her waist and the other around his own, leaving some
slack in between. “This will keep you safe. You cannot fall while you are
anchored to me.”

 She groaned. “But I’ll
just pull you down with me.”

 “No you won’t. I’m much
heavier than you. I promise, I will not let you fall.”

 She stared at him in
trepidation, her face still pale. He reached out and gently gripped her
shoulders. “Look at me, Elorin,” he commanded. When she obeyed, he said with
utter conviction. “I swear to you by all that is holy, that I will not let you
fall. You must trust me.”

 The determination that
she saw in those grey eyes reassured her more than any words and she allowed
him to boost her up onto the first step. 

 For Elorin the passage
up the cliff face was a living nightmare. Afterwards, she remembered only
Celedorn’s voice telling her not to look down and his hand against her back
pressing her towards the rock face as they inched along. The mist assisted her
by cutting off her view of the gulf below. It swirled around them in thickening
drifts, until Relisar and Andarion above them were lost to view and all that
could be seen was the next few feet of rock. Their arrival at the top came
unexpectedly. The cliff wall gave way to open air with such suddenness, that
she was almost unbalanced. The Prince, anxiously awaiting their arrival,
reached out and grabbed her hand. She untied the rope from her waist and sank
down near Relisar, trembling in every limb, while Andarion relieved Celedorn of
his packs.

 “Any activity?”
Celedorn asked.

 “None,” replied the
Prince. “It’s as quiet as the grave.”

 The mist indeed seemed
to deaden all sound. The sea was as distant as an old memory. The birds were silent.
Not a sigh of wind disturbed the quiet grey veil that enveloped them.

 “Where’s Relisar?”
Elorin asked suddenly.

 The Prince looked
round, unavailingly trying to distinguish the grey robe in the grey mist. “The
old fool!” he exclaimed. “I know where he is. He’s gone off to explore the
ruins.”

 Celedorn came off with
an expletive that for once Andarion agreed with. They gathered up their things
and cautiously made their way through the ghostly tendrils towards
Kerrian-tohr. As they approached it, the mist swirled apart for a moment and
gave them a glimpse of the ruins. A tall unbroken archway stood before them.
Its gates were long gone, but the delicate carvings on the grey stone were
still intact, apart from a fine, silver crusting of sea-lichen. On either side
of it stood tall, slender, cylindrical towers, much embellished with flying
buttresses supported on the backs of writhing stone dragons. Window embrasures
stared blankly down at them, hinting at hidden depths within. Sea pinks and
campion made neat green cushions on the stones and the ragged tops of the
towers were splashed white by nesting seabirds. Its air of ruined antiquity was
vaguely undermined by a certain atmosphere of brooding watchfulness, a sense of
dormancy rather than death.

 Without a word being
spoken, Celedorn and Andarion hid the packs behind some bushes and drew their
swords. Silently, side by side, they stepped beneath the archway, followed by
Elorin, her bow at the ready. They entered what had once been a vast and
imposing hall. Bare ribs of vaulted stone rose emptily into the sky, wreathed
in garlands of mist, the roof they had been designed to support gone without
trace. At the far end, in the wall facing out to sea, was a huge window shaped
like a many-pointed star. Its delicate tracery of embellished stone stood empty
of glass, allowing the drifting vapour phantoms to trespass into the hall. The
flagged floor, once polished and smooth, was cracked and pitted by rainwater.
Weeds, limp and grey, grew dismally in every crevice. Here and there, water had
pooled to coldly mirror the ribs of stone. Along each side of the hall a row of
mighty pillars stood like sentries on guard, around which serpents twined and
curled, their scales picked out with lifelike detail, their fangs bared in
frozen menace. Behind the line of pillars many smaller arches gave access to
side rooms and corridors, dark and uninviting. The only sounds in the deathly
silence were the echoing plop of water dripping into a pool and the soft fall
of the intruders’ footsteps.

 Relisar suddenly
appeared through a side door, causing both of the younger men to whirl round,
their swords levelled aggressively.

 Apparently unaware of
his transgression, he signalled excitedly to them to follow him. 

  “Come. You must see
what I have found.”

 Celedorn was about to
deliver one of his scathing denunciations but Andarion beat him to it, and
began to berate the errant Sage. His diatribe was cut short by Celedorn.

 “Keep your voice down,”
Celedorn hissed. “We have not yet established that this place is empty. And as
for you,” he said, turning to Relisar. “I agree with every word Andarion has
said, except that he put it in a more restrained manner than I would. If you
have no sense yourself, at least try to listen to those who have.”

 “I know, I know. I’m
sorry I got a little carried away, but think of it, this place has not been seen
in hundreds of years. The temptation was just too much. You must come and see
what I have discovered.”

 The Prince looked at
Celedorn and shrugged. “You’re wasting your breath,” he murmured.

 They followed the old
man through a side arch into another chamber. In the centre was a long table
made of grey stone. Around it were about a dozen high-backed chairs, also made
of stone and seated on the chairs were life-size figures of lords and ladies,
made of clear, transparent glass. The courtiers, dressed in flowing glass
robes, sat like ice sculptures, frozen in an instant as they sat around the
banqueting table. Some were leaning back in their chairs, others stretched
forwards across the table, as if reaching for some delicacy. Two bearded lords
sat with their heads inclined towards one another, obviously deeply absorbed in
serious conversation. At the head of the table sat a tall woman in flowing
robes, wearing a pointed crown upon her head. Her sightless eyes were turned
towards the door through which they had just entered. One long glass hand was
raised palm-outwards, as if to fend off some danger.