The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (35 page)

 Relisar drew a patient
breath and raised his bushy eyebrows significantly.

 Enlightenment dawned on
Andarion. “You mean, with Elorin?”

 “Is it not obvious?”

 “Certainly not! They
are frequently at each other’s throats.”

 “Ah, but Celedorn is
not the man to surrender his independence easily.”

  The Prince digested
that. “Does Elorin know?”

  Relisar, who knew well
Elorin’s feelings for the Prince, said repressively: “I think not.”

  “I mean, she would
not.......she
could
not return the regard of such a man. He is not
perhaps just as black as rumour would paint him, but if even half the things he
is supposed to have done are true, he is a blackguard of no mean order. For ten
years he had terrorised the Westrin Mountains, murdering and robbing. She could
not love such a man.”

 “That is exactly
Celedorn’s view of the situation, if I do not mistake the matter. He loves her
without hope.”

 “When did you suspect
this?” demanded the Prince.

 “Almost as soon as I
met him in Sirkris.”

 “He loved her then?”

 “Oh, he loved her long
before that, I think. It is the only solution I can find to a riddle that has
been puzzling me - why he didn’t kill her when he discovered the deception at
Ravenshold.”

  His words made
Andarion thoughtful. “You may have a point,” he reluctantly conceded. “From
Elorin’s story, it appears that he didn’t even seriously maltreat her. Hardly
consistent with his reputation.”

 Relisar looked down at
his book sadly. “I find it in my heart to pity him. I sensed long ago that he
carries a great burden of pain with him and has done so for a long time. Now to
that burden, he adds the grief of a love not returned.”

 The Prince sat silently
looking at Celedorn who, unaware of being the object of speculation, was
engaged in lighting a fire.

 “You are basing all
this on your instinct, Relisar. You have nothing concrete to go on. Perhaps it
is just your imagination. You are an incurable romantic, after all. I find it
hard to believe that such a ruthless man is capable of love.”

 Relisar just shook his
head and said nothing.

 But it was only the
following evening that the Prince was forced to admit that perhaps Relisar’s
instincts had proved true.

 He had begun to observe
Celedorn more closely, especially when he spoke to Elorin, but during their
travels the following day, saw nothing unusual. However, when they stopped to
rest that afternoon, Elorin settled herself at the foot of a spreading tree and
took out needle and thread to mend a tear in one of her shirts. Her head was
bent in concentration over her work. Her chestnut hair was free of its usual
plait and fell in gentle waves over her shoulders. The sun drifting down to
earth between the branches of the tree, lit up her hair, lifting lights of
copper and gold from it. Gently, like a benediction, it illuminated the soft
tendrils around her forehead which floated in the light breeze. Yet she was
concentrating so much upon her work that she was unaware of someone’s gaze upon
her.

 Celedorn was seated a
short distance away, watching her with an intensity that excluded all else. But
just as she was unaware of his eyes upon her, so he too was oblivious to the
fact that he was being narrowly observed. The Prince had seen the direction of
Celedorn’s gaze and was so taken aback by the look of tender longing on his
face that he scarcely recognised him.

 He nudged Relisar who
was sitting beside him. “It appears that you were right, old friend,” he
murmured.

 Relisar looked up at
Celedorn and looked quickly away again, as if ashamed of having intruded on so
intimate a moment.

 “I fear it is true,” he
mumbled into his beard. “I had hoped, somehow, that I was wrong.”

     They
soon left behind the forest with its open, sunny glades, and emerged once more
upon the grassy downs. The sun still shone out of a forget-me-not sky but the
wind had arisen, sending a fresh breeze rippling across the grass, playfully
tugging strands of Elorin’s hair free from its plait and tossing Triana’s loose
curls into golden disorder. Relisar’s long beard kept blowing into his eyes,
giving rise to much mutterings and growls of discontent.

 Andarion and Celedorn
stood together on the crest of one of the downs which arose like a great
unbroken green wave, and surveyed the land southwards. As far as the eye could
see, the great undulating sea of grass continued until it met some darker
object on the horizon, which might have been hills or a forest. Even Celedorn’s
acute eyesight could not distinguish the feature at such a distance.

 “More open downland,”
sighed the Prince.

 “It reminds me of the
Meadowlands, but on a much larger scale. However, it can’t be avoided without
an extensive detour and time is pressing. It is now almost mid-summer and if it
is our aim is to be back in Eskendria by early autumn, we will have to trust to
luck once again.”

 “At least nothing else
seems to be out there,”

 “Not at the moment, but
we must make what speed we can. I suggest that if we get a clear night, we
should continue during the hours of darkness.”

 Andarion nodded. “It
will be hard on Triana but it must be done.”

 “I notice that you did
not say that it would be hard on Elorin.”

 “Elorin is enjoying
herself. Anyone can see that.”

 “Perhaps,” replied
Celedorn noncommittally, unwilling to discuss Elorin with the Prince.

 Andarion tactfully let
the matter go and followed him down to join the others.

 For two days and nights
they travelled across the plain. The immensity of the landscape, the impression
of a never-ending green ocean looking up at an infinite blue sky, made the
company seem tiny and insignificant in comparison, crawling across the face of
the earth like minute ants. The lack of landmarks made the journey seem slow
and there were times when they began to wonder if they were making any progress
at all. Travelling at night made the feeling worse, for the dark plain and the
starlit sky vaulting above it, merged into one endless immensity. However, just
as dawn was breaking on the third day, a feature that had not been visible to
them during the hours of darkness came into view. A strange little round hill
arose from the plain, clothed in the ubiquitous grass, but its uneven crown
suggested it bore some sort of structure. The clear light made it seem close
but it took several hours of walking to reach it. Closer inspection revealed
the ruins of a small fort or tower. Little was now left standing, except low
fragments of grey walls, their once jagged edges worn smooth by centuries of
rain, frost and sun. Standing incongruously by itself, was one beautiful,
pointed arch. At its base, protected from the elements by a jutting ledge, was
carved lettering in the old language: very old but still legible.

 
‘Tarlin
Cor’merendel
’ ran the legend.

 Relisar translated:
“The hill of the skylarks,” he cried excitedly. “Merendel means ‘lark’ in the
old language. Don’t you see what this means? We are travelling in the footsteps
of Tissro the Wanderer. On his last journey, before he disappeared, he
described crossing a great plain of grass covered with streaming herds of 
the High King’s horses. He reached the watchtower of Tarlin Cor’merendel, where
the horse-guardians gave him food and a bed for the night. He was on his way to
the royal city of Korem, which must lie somewhere to the south of here.”

 Elorin, who had been
standing with her head cocked to one side, obviously only half listening to
him, held up her hand for silence. “Listen.”

 As Relisar’s voice died
away, they all heard it: the throaty, joyful sound of tiny skylarks singing so
high in the blue air that they were out of sight.

 “They are still here,”
concluded Relisar with satisfaction. “The birds that gave this place its name.”

  Andarion was more
prosaic. “These broken walls at least give us some cover, and we have a fine
view over the plains so that we cannot be taken unawares. Perhaps we should
rest here for a while.”

 They settled themselves
amongst the grey stones, now touched by the warmth of the sun as it climbed
steadily higher into a flawless sky. Triana curled up beside Andarion, who was
already asleep with his back propped against the base of the arch, but Elorin,
ever curious, sat down beside Relisar and asked what had become of Tissro.

 “No one knows, my dear.
He set out on his last journey into the north, through the province ruled by
the House of Parth and simply vanished never to return. The High King sent out
men to search for him, for his writings were revered even then, but no trace of
him was ever found. Then war broke out with the Destroyer and in the chaos and
death, and passing of many things, Tissro’s fate was forgotten.” He paused,
musing for a moment. “The old man that Tissro encountered by the gates of the
city of Korem, told Tissro that through him the key would be found.”

 “The key?”

 “I think he meant the
key that will unlock the riddle of the Champion’s names. You see, he has four
names and we know only one - Erren-dar, the one bestowed upon him in the Book
of Light. I must discover the other names if ever I am to attempt the summoning
spell again. It occurs to me, that perhaps by travelling in Tissro’s footsteps,
the answer to the riddle may be found.”

 Celedorn, who had been
listening to the conversation while sharpening his knife, gave something
perilously close to a snort of derision. Tender-hearted Triana looked anxiously
at Relisar to see if he had been offended, but he was staring absently into
space and gave no indication that he had even heard the sound.

 Seeing that Relisar had
mentally, if not physically, left her, Elorin lay back, enjoying the warmth of
the sun on her face, listening to the soft whisper of the tall fronds of grass
brushing the ancient stone and the joyous sound of the larks.

 “Celedorn?” she
murmured sleepily, without opening her eyes. “Are you standing watch?”

 “Looks like it,” came
the dry response. “Everyone is asleep except Relisar, who is off in some world
of his own. A whole battalion of Turog could pass before his eyes and he
wouldn’t see them.”

 Elorin smiled drowsily.
“Yes, but the advantage is that you get the chance to play the martyr.”

 She heard his soft
chuckle and the resumption of the rhythmic, strangely comforting sound of his
hunting knife against the whetstone, before she sank into sleep.

 When she awoke, the
afternoon was old, the light growing mellow as the exhausted sun sank towards
its rest. The others were still asleep, but Celedorn was standing by the stone
arch with his back turned towards her, looking intently across the plain in the
direction from which they had come. She didn’t need to see his face to tell
that he was uneasy about something. Arising silently, she crossed to him and
lightly touched his arm.

 “What do you
see?”  she whispered.

 “Nothing. It’s just a
feeling. I think it would be better if we left this place very soon.”

 “It’s not that old
feeling of being watched, is it?” she asked in some alarm.

 “No, this is different.
Sometimes in the Westrin Mountains, when we were hunting Turog who had crossed
the river, I would get this feeling - call it an instinct - that they were
somewhere close. It was seldom wrong.”

 “That’s good enough for
me,” she declared. “I’ll wake the others.”

 Their companions had by
this time learned to heed Celedorn’s instincts and packed up quickly. Relisar
contributed only a token grumble or two about not being fed.

 “We’ll eat later, old
friend,” said the Prince. “If Celedorn wishes to leave this hill, then I for
one have no wish to delay.”

 They reached the bottom
of the hill just as the sun disappeared and a purple twilight drew like a dim
veil across the grassland. Celedorn, who had lingered for a moment on the
summit, came bounding down after them.

 “It’s as I thought,” he
said shortly. “From the top of the hill I can see torches in the distance. The
twilight makes it difficult to assess how far away they are, but what is
certain is that they are coming this way. We will have to put on great speed to
be out of sight on this open plain.”

 “The darkness will
help,” suggested Andarion.

 “Yes, if it had been
daylight, escape would have been impossible.”

  They hurried forward
into the gathering night. Without the vantage-point of the hill, the torches
could not be seen but their very invisibility magnified the threat behind them,
making it seem relentlessly menacing.

 They moved so swiftly
that Triana, so much shorter than the rest, found herself forced to run to keep
up. Even Relisar, for all his age, trotted along quickly, daydreams forgotten.

 At last, looking back
through the darkness, they caught sight of the torches - lights like fireflies,
moving strangely high above the horizon.

 Andarion accounted for
this phenomenon. “They are on top of the hill. They have found the place where
we rested.”

 Triana watched the
pinpricks of light fearfully. “But we left no trace. I mean, we didn’t light a
fire or leave any sign of our presence.”

 “The grass will be
flattened where we lay down,” replied Celedorn grimly, “and also they will
smell us.”

 “
Smell us
!”
repeated Triana disbelievingly.

 The Prince explained:
“They have a more acute sense of smell than humans. They may very well pick up
our scent. Do you think they will be able to track us, Celedorn?”

 “It’s possible. We have
the advantage of the wind being behind us, but these long grasses will have
been pressed down by our passage. It may be enough for them to read. We must
gain as much distance as we can during the night, for daylight will not prove
our friend.”

 Dawn unfortunately
proved him correct. After an exhausting night travelling virtually without a
break, they crested one of the gentle, rolling grass hills and looked back just
as the first gleams of light began to creep stealthily across the plain behind
them. At first there was no sign of life. The tower was long out of sight and
nothing appeared to mar the uniform emptiness of the scene. Triana and Relisar
both sighed with relief and sank down on the earth. Triana had been running all
night to keep up with the others and was pale and exhausted. But Andarion and
Celedorn stood silently for a long time looking back, neither entirely easy in
his mind. Finally, Celedorn turned to look to the south and was amazed by what
he saw. The indistinct feature which he had been unable to identify a few days
before, was now startlingly clear in the pale morning light. A huge escarpment
of brown stone rose out of the plain like the ramparts of a gigantic fortress.
It ran like a mighty wall as far as the eye could see, both to east and west,
rising sheer from the plain below up to a flat-topped plateau far above.
Buzzards whirled and circled across its face, their ragged wing-tips making
them easily identifiable. The feature was still too distant to be able to
distinguish if there was any way of scaling its face, but if not, it
effectively barred their way south.

 Andarion had turned by
this time, and was surveying the wall disapprovingly. He noticed that the plain
washed up to the foot of the cliffs like a green tide, with no cover other than
the gentle hollows behind the rolling crests.

 “How far, do you
think?” he asked Celedorn.

 “Ten, maybe twelve
miles.” He looked at Triana sitting on the ground, her head hanging forward.
“She’ll never make it without a rest.”

 “There will be no rest,
my friend,” Andarion replied gravely. “Look!”

 Celedorn glanced behind
him, in the direction of Andarion’s pointing finger. Across the previously
empty plain, a band of black dots could be seen rapidly moving down the slope
of one of the grassy crests. They were travelling slightly to the west of the
company and some considerable distance behind. Suddenly their progress halted
and their path turned abruptly eastward.

 “They have seen us,”
Celedorn said urgently. “We must move on.”

 “Will we reach the
escarpment before them?”

 Celedorn glanced
towards Triana and lowered his voice. “If it were just you, Elorin and myself,
I would unhesitatingly say yes, but with the other two, especially Triana who
is already tired, well......” his voice trailed off expressively.

 The Prince screwed up
his eyes against the brightening light. “The escarpment may not be our
salvation, it is more likely to prove a trap if there is no way of climbing it,
but as there appears to be no way around it, we must take our chances.”