The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (42 page)

 “There’s nothing in
here, it’s just a cave,” said the Prince, a little unsettled by her words
despite himself.

 “It’s not a cave,”
contradicted Relisar, who had been holding up his glowing stone to examine the
wall. “These passages were shaped by the hand of man. Look!”

 Triana gasped and
shrank back. Carved into the stone wall and ceiling were endless serpents,
writhing and curling, linked through one another in a twisted seething mass,
their stone scales glistening in the light. Each head projected from the wall
with its fangs bared in a frozen, venomous hiss. Their eyes were set with some
green, slightly luminescent stone which made them seem alive, ready to strike.

 “They are just
carvings,” said the Prince reassuringly, observing Triana’s terrified
expression. “They can’t do you any harm.”

 “I don’t like this,”
she fretted, refusing to be comforted.

 Celedorn, losing
interest in the carvings, had borrowed the Prince’s glowing stone and retraced
his steps round a sharp bend in the passage. In a moment he came flying back to
them, his sword in his hand.

 “They’ve come into the
passage,” he said urgently. “I can hear them. Time to find out where this
leads.”

 Soon they could all
hear the sound of snarling and the heavy thump of weapons being banged against
shields - something which the Turog sometimes did to work themselves up into
battle frenzy. The passage took up the sound and magnified it, bouncing the
echoes off the walls and multiplying them until it seemed as if an entire
enraged Turog army was coming after them in the darkness.

 Relisar turned and sprinted
ahead up the passage, holding his stone aloft. Triana was close on his heels,
but Elorin retreated backwards, her bow poised to cover the two men.

 The snarling and
crashing increased in volume until the din was deafening, completely terrifying
in the darkness. Soon, glimmering faintly along the narrow tunnel, came the
flickering glow of many torches.

 Relisar and Triana
increased their pace, fleeing along the passage, the snake carvings flashing
past them, until suddenly upon rounding a bend, they were brought up short. The
passage ended abruptly and they were faced with yet another dead end.

 Triana whimpered with
fear. “We’re trapped again. This time there is no way out.”

 But Relisar was looking
at the wall with a slightly puzzled expression. “This does not seem right,” he
muttered and gently stretching out his hand, he touched the wall, then recoiled
with a gasp. “It is an illusion, a spell, something I have not seen in a long
time - it is a curtain of adamant!”

 Triana too touched the
wall but it felt like solid rock to her.

 “I must create a tear
in the curtain,” Relisar mused. He shook himself determinedly and spoke aloud,
giving himself some clear instructions: “Now stay calm and think! Ignore the
sound of those fiends, take a deep breath and
think
.” 

 When the Prince and his
companions rounded the corner, Triana explained what Relisar had said. The old
man was deep in thought, oblivious to his surroundings. They said nothing in
response.  Andarion crossed to the wall and placed his hand on its hard
surface, then turning to look at Celedorn, shook his head. They all stared at
each other in silence, a look of farewell in their eyes.

 “Remember your promise,
Elorin,” Celedorn reminded her softly. She nodded. There was no time to say
more, for the howling throng of pursuers came into sight round the bend. Their
torchlight flickered over the five companions trapped at the end of the tunnel.
It glistened on the eyes of the snake carvings and shot gleams of light off the
forest of swords and battle-axes poised, ready for use.

 Unexpectedly the
yelling ceased and a silence fell. The Prince and Celedorn stepped forward to
meet them, their shoulders almost touching in the narrow confines of the
corridor.

 Celedorn’s face was a
mask in which his eyes glittered. “Which one of you will be the first to die!”
he asked with such utter conviction that the leading Turog hung back. But the
power of his presence could not hold them for long. A guttural voice roared:
“It is Zardes-Kur who will die this day!”

 A howl of approval went
up and the tightly-packed, black mass surged forward.

 Elorin’s bow sang and
an arrow brought the leader down. Fast as a thought, another followed but there
were too many of them shoving from behind for their advance to be checked.

 The two men withstood
the shock of the impact as weapons met. They used the narrowness of the passage
to their advantage, blocking the way forward until one of them should tire or
fall. The Prince’s face was wild, his determination to go down only under a
heap of slain foes, all too evident. He slashed his sword across the belly of
an adversary, eviscerating him. Celedorn by his side, laid about him with such
effectiveness that the passage was starting to become choked with the dead -
yet still they came, driven by the weight of numbers behind.

 Relisar stood at the
end of the tunnel, leaning against the wall, still deep in thought, apparently
unaware of the battle.

 “
Cas’thendia
en’ervens
? No, no that’s not it.
Castenda enorde
?  No, it’s
close but it’s still not quite right.”

 “Hurry!” wailed Triana.
“They can’t hold them much longer!”

 “Don’t interrupt,” said
Relisar tetchily, as if she were a minor annoyance. “Castendia......oh! I have
it!
Castendro ar’wythens
!”

 Triana looked at the
solid rock. “Nothing happened,” she wept.

 “Nonsense, of course it
did,” Relisar contradicted smugly. “Watch.” He reached forward and touched the
wall. This time his hand disappeared up to the wrist as if dipped in water. “Go
through quickly, my dear.”

 “Where does it lead?”
Triana asked fearfully.

 “I have no idea but
it’s bound to be better than here.” Catching her arm, he gave her a gentle push
and she vanished through the wall.

 Elorin came running
back, her arrows all gone. “I’ve nothing left to fire at them,” she gasped and
drew her knife from her belt. “Where is Triana?”

 “I’ve opened a tear in
the curtain,” Relisar explained rapidly. “She has gone through. Now you too
must go, Elorin.”

 “Go ahead of me,
Relisar,” she said quickly, looking back at the struggle continuing behind
them.

 “No, I must go last,
for I must hold the tear open for the rest of you.”

 She picked up her pack
and taking a deep breath, stepped out of sight.

 Relisar called to the
two men, still desperately battling the seething, shrieking mass in the tunnel.

 “There is a way
through! When I call, you must both turn and run as fast as you can. The wall
is no longer solid, so you can go straight through it. I will follow to close
the curtain behind you. Do you hear me?”

  Andarion turned his
head briefly. “We hear you,” he shouted.

 Relisar picked up his
pack with one hand, the other still touched the wall, pointing the way.

 “
Run!”
he
yelled.

 With a final lunge at
their enemies, the two men turned and fled, the clamouring pack snapping at
their heels. They launched themselves at what appeared to be solid rock and in
an instant were gone.

 The Turog halted with a
collective gasp. But just before Relisar stepped through, he saw something that
made his white hair begin to lift from his scalp. Behind the Turog, above and
beside them, the ceiling and walls began to move. Slowly, smoothly the stone
snakes started to uncoil. They slithered free of each other, unwinding,
untangling. Their green eyes glowed with a sickly, predatory light. In the
stunned silence following the men’s departure, a faint hiss like escaping air
could be heard.

 The Turog, unaware of
their peril, still gaped at Relisar standing tiny and alone before them, his
glowing stone held aloft like a miniature sun. Just as a tall fanged head
reared up behind the Turog, Relisar stepped quietly through the wall.

 The last thing he heard
was a haunted, echoing scream.

   The sudden blaze
of sunshine made Relisar blink and his pupils contracted painfully. By the time
his eyes adjusted, he made the discovery that he was standing on the edge of a
beautiful, level plain ringed by mountains. The plain was divided as far as the
eye could see, into neat fields dotted with farmhouses. In the distance, the
grey walls of a large city could be seen. He also discovered something else
closer at hand. He was surrounded by armed men, their swords drawn. Their
helmets mostly concealed their faces but their intentions were perfectly clear
from the way they were holding their weapons. To one side stood the rest of the
company, all disarmed, with their hands tied behind their backs. Celedorn’s
black brows were drawn down in a thunderous scowl, not improved by the lurid
bruise on his cheekbone. The Prince too was sullen, a graze on his chin bearing
evidence to the fact that their capture had been bought at a price. They had
tumbled through the tear in the curtain, going at full speed, and had landed
almost on top of their captors, totally unprepared for their reception, but
attempting, nonetheless, to put up what fight they could.

 “Is he armed?” their
captain asked in a language that closely resembled the old tongue.

 A man stepped forward
and patted Relisar’s gown. He shook his head.

 The Captain eyed them
coldly. “Are there any more of you?”

 No one replied.

 “It would seem not,” he
remarked, after the silence had dragged on uncomfortably. “A pretty haul to
drag before King Morthren. We will ride to the city immediately.”

 He turned towards the
horses but was checked by Andarion. “We cannot ride with our hands tied behind
us,” the Prince protested.

 The Captain’s eyes
narrowed. “You may appear on the surface to be human, but so, too, do many
things that are not. You also got through our defences - something that I find
most disturbing. The King will be able to discover the truth about you. You
will not be able to deceive him.” He appeared to come to a decision. “Your
hands will be bound in front of you, for I will not run the risk of letting you
go free - especially
him
,” he declared, jerking his head towards
Celedorn and rubbing a bruise on his jaw tenderly.

 “What is this place?”
Relisar asked when they were mounted.

 “It is the Kingdom of
Adamant.”

 “You mean, like the
curtain?”

  But the Captain
refused to be drawn. “I know nothing of such things.”

 “Oh....er.....yes, very
proper, but how does such a place exist in the middle of the Forsaken Lands?”

 “The King will answer
your questions if he chooses. In the meantime, ask nothing of me.”

 Relisar gave up and
looked around him instead.

 The others, too, were
looking around them with a sense of wonder. The road they were following, shot
straight as an arrow in the direction of the city and passed through many miles
of well-tended farmland interspersed with neat villages. The pine-clad mountains
arose like natural defences behind them, but all that lay within their circle
was the epitome of civilisation. The neatly thatched farmhouses stood amidst
orchards, vineyards and fields of grain. A network of irrigation ditches
supplied water to the fields, ensuring that each crop was rich and abundant. As
they passed through the villages, with their quaint shutters and pointed
gables, many of the residents came out to stare at them.

 “Strangers appear to be
a novelty,” remarked Celedorn dryly to Elorin riding beside him.

 She noticed that he had
been discreetly struggling with his bonds until his wrists were raw.

 “There’s no point doing
that,” she advised softly. “We have an escort of nearly a hundred armed guards
and they have taken away your sword. Best wait to see what happens. After all,
the hostility we initially encountered in the Hidden Valley was just a
precaution and it may be the same here.” Her attention was caught by an orchard
of pear trees. “Have you ever seen such beautiful, well-tilled countryside?
Those farmhouses look so comfortable.” She sighed regretfully. “I would have
liked to have lived in a house like that someday, with an orchard and a garden
for flowers.”

 He looked away and did
not reply. The contrast between the grim fortress of Ravenshold and the pretty
farmhouses was so stark that he recoiled from the comparison. Finally he said:
“Your Prince does not live in a farmhouse. Would a palace do instead?”

 But she refused to be
beguiled and shrugged resignedly. “I’m not likely to get either.”

 “Stranger things have
happened. At least you have chosen well.” He looked at the straight-backed
figure of the Prince riding ahead of them. “Such men as your Prince are rare.”

  “I’m glad you and he
have become friends. You have more in common than you realise.”

 A little demon of
mischief danced unexpectedly into his eyes. “Not at all,” he disagreed. “He is
not as charming as me.”

 Caught by surprise, she
gave a little choke of laughter which attracted the attention of one of their guards
who ordered them to stop talking.

 They had by now drawn
near to the city and could see that its outer wall was a nominal affair, not
high enough to be truly defensive. Elorin remembered the high, thick walls of
Addania, encircled by the river, and knew that those who dwelt in the city felt
safe for reasons other than their walls.

 They passed beneath a
deep, unguarded archway and entered a broad, straight avenue, lined with poplar
trees. The buildings were different to the countryside, grander and more
ornamental, with many pillared facades and ornate windows. At intervals the
road was flanked by huge bronze dragons on plinths, their outspread wings
slightly blackened by fire, suggesting that they were torches of some kind. At
the end of the broad avenue, another set of walls was encountered. Higher this
time, and crenellated, looking somehow much older than the city walls. The
gateway through them was like nothing that any of them had ever seen before. It
was utterly immense. Its pillars, wide as a house, soared upwards, dwarfing
them by their height. Each pillar was carved with a pattern in bold relief of
dragons, sea monsters and serpents. It exuded power and ancientness, its very
size intended to intimidate all those who passed through it. Before the pillars
stood two more of the bronze dragons, this time alight.

  However, what lay
beyond such primeval power was most unexpected. The day was fading as they
followed the Captain under the arch, but the diminishing light did not detract
from what met their eyes. A large and beautiful parkland dotted with many
stands of regal trees spread out before them, in the midst of  which lay a
large, impressive building with many delicate towers decorated with ornamental
stonework. Lofty, many-paned windows flashed in the setting sun as if the
palace were ablaze. The windows opened onto broad, flagged terraces dotted with
stone urns from which spilled colourful flowers. Flowering creepers cascaded
over the stone walls, covering them in white blooms like fallen stars. The
building had several wings and courtyards set with fountains where water
spouted from fishes’ mouths into wide basins. The Captain halted in one such
courtyard and gestured to them to dismount. Several of their escort came with
them, swords drawn. The others disappeared leading their horses.

 “This way,” said the
Captain curtly, and led them along a cloistered corridor, through an oak
doorway richly embellished with patterns of pure gold. The corridor beyond was
flagged with tiles of grey and white granite and the cool walls were set with
murals of gold and semiprecious stones. A pair of immensely tall double doors
loomed up at the end of the corridor and opened silently, as if by magic, when
they approached.

 “It appears we are
expected,” murmured Relisar.

 The Captain heard him.
“I sent a messenger ahead. The King will see you now. He will decide whether
you are all that you seem.”

 They entered an airy
hall, one wall of which was made up entirely of windows whose crystal panes let
in the last of the sun’s sinking rays, lighting up the opposite wall with
patterns of honeyed gold. The floor was of black marble, so highly polished
that it faithfully mirrored the five dusty companions and their escort. It also
reflected a large desk resting on two coiled golden dragons. Seated imperiously
at the desk, cloaked in the aura of regality that only power can bestow, was a
dark-haired man, richly dressed. He did not immediately look up when they
entered, but continued with his writing, his even characters travelling
smoothly and unhurriedly across the page.

 The guards halted
behind them. No one spoke.

 Finally with a sigh,
the man put down his quill and looked up. He was middle-aged but powerful and
vigorous. His strong face bore a neat beard sculpted around his full, rather
sensuous lips. His eyes were very dark, almost black, hooded and watchful. He
arose from his chair and stood before them, surveying each in turn, silently
scrutinising each face with a long intimidating stare.

 He turned to the
Captain, suddenly releasing them from his gaze. “They are definitely human. You
may untie their hands.”

 The Captain drew his
knife and cut the ropes. The King’s eyes rested for a moment on Celedorn’s
chafed wrists but he passed no comment.

 “It is rare for us to
have strangers in our midst,” he said. “Since the fall of the Old Kingdom we
have been isolated from the rest of humanity, surrounded, as we are, on all
sides by the domain of the Destroyer. How shall I address those I now welcome
to my kingdom?”

 Andarion bowed
slightly. “I am Crown Prince Andarion of Eskendria. This is Relisar the Keeper
of the Book.....”

 The King appeared
startled and interrupted. “So, Eskendria survived and so it seemed did the
Order of the Book.” A long, dark look was directed at Relisar.

 The Prince bowed again
and continued. “May I present Triana, the daughter of the Lord Protector of
Kelendore.”

 The King ran his eyes
over Triana, a certain warmth in them. “Ah! The Isles of Kelendore, famous for
their rubies - yet here is a jewel of much greater beauty.”

 Triana blushed and
looked away, made uncomfortable more by the look in the King’s eyes than his
compliment.

 “And these other two,” the
King resumed, “I assume must be your servants.”

 Celedorn stiffened
haughtily. Andarion by this time had a fairly accurate idea of his companion’s
character and knew that he was about to deliver the sort of scathing reply that
would probably land them all in the darkest dungeon. He leaped into the breach.

 “Not at all,” he
replied, a little more sharply than he had intended. “Celedorn and Elorin are
both my friends whom I value highly.”

 To his annoyance a look
of deep amusement crossed Celedorn’s features at that pronouncement.

 “But they are not of
noble birth,” persisted the King.

 Andarion, caught off balance,
merely looked embarrassed and didn’t know what to reply.

 The look of amusement
deepened in Celedorn’s eyes and he folded his arms implacably, refusing to come
to the Prince’s rescue. It was left to Relisar to retrieve the situation. “What
part of the Old Kingdom was this originally, Your Majesty?”

 “It was Haleb-lor, the
Ring of Haleb. Now it is known as the Kingdom of Adamant. When the Old Kingdom
fell, three seers raised a curtain of adamant around this plain that shielded
this place even from the eyes of the Destroyer and protects it from those evil
creatures that crawl the land around us. Alas, the curtain took such power to
raise, that the seers paid for it with their lives. No sooner was it in place
than they died. Their sacrifice, however, was not in vain, for their work still
protects us to this very day. Strangely, you are the first to ever find a way
through the curtain. The Turog have never done so and as the curtain does not
distinguish between Turog and human, I am at a loss to understand how you got
through.”

 “We were extremely
fortunate to find a way through, as we were in dire peril, trapped at the end
of those tunnels by the Turog,” Relisar replied, some instinct telling him to
avoid the question.

  The King regarded him
steadily for a moment as if he would have liked to have persisted, but then
suddenly decided to let the matter go.

 “You are my guests,” he
said grandly. “Quarters will be found for you in the palace and this evening
you must dine with me and tell me the story of how you come to be here. You
must have had many adventures and I’m sure it is a tale worth hearing.”

 The Prince bowed again.
“Thank you, Sire. I fear that we cannot trespass on your kindness for more than
a few days, as it is imperative for us to return to Eskendria as soon as
possible.”

 The King smiled
ruefully. “Surely you would not deprive me of the pleasure of your company so
soon? You must not think of leaving just yet, unless, of course, you have been
offended by your initial reception.”