The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (53 page)

 We also were
accompanied by about a hundred servants and guards, less than we would normally
have travelled with, because the King,” he flicked a glance over his shoulder
at Andarion, “your father, was coming to meet us half way, along with a strong
detachment of cavalry. When the Turog ambushed us, we were unprepared and
outnumbered. They dropped out of the trees in their hundreds all around us. We
had not yet reached the rendezvous point but it was not far, less than a mile,
and when he saw how heavily outnumbered we were, my father dispatched his
personal servant to fetch the King to help us.” He leaned forward, his hands
gripping the windowsill. “I remember that day very clearly. I remember how the
Turog arrows rained down on us like black hail. Men fell in their dozens around
me. Some fell silently, others, less fortunate, screamed in agony. It was the
first battle I had ever seen, except it wasn’t battle, it was slaughter. My
father gathered the last remnant of his men in a circle around his family, and
told them to lock shields to protect us, desperately hoping that the King would
arrive in time. But no one came. The arrows ceased and the Turog closed in to
attack us with swords and battle-axes. The men fought with terrible courage to
save us. My father killed many of the Turog with the very sword that now stands
propped against the wall in my room, but there were too many of them and one by
one, the men protecting us fell. Little by little the shield wall dwindled and
grew smaller, until only my father was left to defend us. But us they would not
kill, not at first. Through the snarling, seething horde that surrounded us, a
Great-turog strode. The lesser ones stood aside for it, falling back like a
black tide. It strode up to my father and stood facing him, looking down from
its greater height. It said nothing at first, but just stared at my father with
eyes slitted like a goat’s. I remember that it wore a metal wristband
emblazoned with a snarling wolf and carried a curved sword of tremendous
weight. Finally it said in a deep voice: ‘You, Lord of Westrin, you I
challenge. Fight for your life and the lives of your family.’

 Celedorn drew a deep
breath and sat down on the windowsill as if he no longer had the strength to
stand. The room was so silent and tense that the faint sound of a scythe being
plied in the garden could be heard. The homely sound rendered worse by
comparison the dreadful tale they were being told.

 “My father fought him
with every ounce of courage and skill he possessed, but it was no use. No man
has ever defeated a Great-turog in single combat and the creature knew it. When
my father was exhausted and at the end of his strength, it knocked the sword
from his hand. I remember how it flashed in the light as it flew amongst the
trees.” His voice was a little jerky, the knuckles of his hands gripping the
ledge were white. No one dared to interrupt him. “It drove its sword into my
father’s unprotected chest with such force that the point came out his back. He
fell to his knees, but even as he did so, his eyes sought mine in a look I will
never forget to my dying day. The creature pushed him forward onto his face
with its foot and he lay still and moved no more. The Great-turog had seen that
look, and it came to me, mockery on its ugly face. “I give you a chance,
whelp,” it said, “to save your mother and sister.” It tossed me a curved Turog
sword. “Fight me and win, and they will live.”

 Celedorn halted again,
as if unable to continue.

 “What age were you?”
asked Triana in a voice that trembled.

 “I was fourteen years
old,” he replied constrictedly. “I had just begun to learn the sword. It was
merely playing some sadistic game with me. I.....I did my best, but if a
powerful man like my father could not defeat it, what chance had a fourteen
year old boy? It toyed with me, spinning things out a little, but suddenly it
seemed to tire of its game. It struck the sword from my hand and threw me back
on the earth, pinning me down with its foot on my chest. ‘Now see the price of
your failure,’ it said. ‘Watch your mother and sister die.’

  They bound me to a
tree and then.....and then, made me watch as they tortured my mother and sister
to death. I tried not to look, but if I closed my eyes I could hear their
screams. I cannot speak of what they did to them, not even now twenty years
later, not even to Elorin.” He bowed his head, in terrible distress. “I can
never speak of it, yet it haunts my dreams.”

 The tears were flowing
down Triana’s face and Elorin looked deathly white. Relisar, the tears standing
in his own eyes, leaned forward: “My dear boy, this is too much for you. You
have just arisen from your sickbed and this is by far too much for you.” 

 Celedorn lifted his
head and his storm-grey eyes were full of a kind of fierce sorrow. “No,
Relisar. I must continue. I cannot go back now. I am telling you what I have
not told another living soul and I cannot go back.”

 Relisar nodded in
understanding and sat back, wiping his eyes with his beard.

 “At last when only I
was left alive, the Great-turog came to me, to where I was still bound to the
tree. ‘Remember,’ it said, ‘it was your failure that killed them, always
remember that. But do not think that you are going to die. Are you longing to
die, whelp? Do you think you will escape your memories in death? No, such will
not be your fate. But if ever you think that the passage of time will make you
forget, I will leave you with a reminder. Every time you see your own face in a
mirror, you will remember this day.’ With those words, it drew back its hand
and raked its claws across my face.”

 Triana gasped and gave
a broken sob.

 Celedorn turned his
cheek towards the Prince. “As you see, I still carry the sentence it imposed
upon me. I will carry it to my grave.”

 The Prince leaned
forward and buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Celedorn.” he whispered.
“I have misjudged you. I am so very sorry.”

 “It must have released
me, I don’t remember,” Celedorn continued. “The servant that my father had sent
to get help, returned alone some time later and found me wandering in the
forest completely out of my mind with grief. He had returned to find nothing
but a smouldering pile of bodies and my father’s sword lying amongst the
leaves. By the time he found me, infection had already set into the wounds and
they healed badly.”

 Andarion lifted his
head. “Why did he not bring help? Did he not find my father?”

 Celedorn turned a
glance upon him as bitter as acid. “Oh yes, he found him and pleaded our cause,
but your father would not come. Even with the cavalry he had brought, the Turog
would still have outnumbered him and he would not risk it. He would not risk
his own skin for his friend.”

 The Prince leaped to
his feet. “It cannot be true! The servant must have lied!”

 “I have known the man
all my life and he has never lied.”

  Elorin found her
voice: “It was Dorgan, wasn’t it?”

 “Yes.”

 She looked at the Prince.
“I know this man. He would not lie.”

 “But my father would
not,
could
not fail to come to his friend’s aid.” the Prince protested
wildly.

 “It is worse than
that,” said Celedorn grimly. “Or have you forgotten that my mother was your
father’s younger sister? He let his own sister die.”

 Andarion turned away.
“No,
no
! It cannot be.” Another thought struck him. “This explains why
you were so hostile to me at first.”

 “Yes, but I came to
realise that I was mistaken. You are not your father and cannot be held
accountable for what he did. You were, after all, only seven or eight years old
at the time. Also, I soon realised that you are very different in character to
your father. If it had been you that day, you would not have hesitated to come,
no matter what the odds.”

 “There must be another
explanation,” Andarion said. “I do not always see eye to eye with my father but
I cannot believe that of him. I cannot believe him to be a coward.”

 “I’m sorry,” was all
Celedorn replied.

 “What happened to you
after that?” Triana asked.

 “Dorgan brought me back
to Ravenshold, but the Turog had been there first and it was gutted and burnt.
So we salvaged what we could and embarked on our travels. Over the next number
of years we journeyed to many places, to Serendar and Sirkris, to the
marshlands and the petty princedoms to the south. Even to the edge of the great
desert in the south, and everywhere I went, I learnt all I could about the
sword. Bitterness and revenge had taken hold of my mind like poison and I vowed
I would find the Great-turog someday and this time not fail. I swore, too,
revenge on Eskendria for forsaking us. For ten years I studied the sword,
learning every technique, every trick in the book and many which aren’t. At
last I returned to Ravenshold to find that it had been taken over by bandits.
The home which Relisar remembered had become the bleak, cheerless fortress that
it is today. I fought their leader and defeated him, thus becoming what I now
am, and I began to extract my price from Eskendria, loving humanity little more
than I did the Turog. Yet for ten years since I returned, I have searched for
the Great-turog, scouring the mountains and forests, sometimes even crossing
the Harnor into the Forsaken Lands, but I have never found him and perhaps death
has cheated me of my revenge.”

  Andarion gave him a
strange look and began to pace the room uneasily. Finally he stopped facing
Celedorn. “Tell me, amongst the Great-turog are slitted pupils common?”

 “I have only known one
such.”

 “Then it may be that
your quarry is still alive. Before I left Eskendria, we attacked the Turog as
they camped across the Harnor and I ended up confronting a Great-turog who
answers your description.”

 Celedorn tensed, his
eyes pierced the Prince like a dagger. “What happened?”

 “It broke my arm and
would have killed me, except that my brother and some others came to my aid. It
escaped into the forest.”

 A fierce predatory fire
was burning in Celedorn’s eyes. “Then perhaps it is not too late,” he repeated
to himself.

 “It is not wise to
pursue vengeance with such single-mindedness,” Relisar suggested. “It is
consuming you. I can see it in the look now in your eyes.”

 “Consuming me? Of
course it is. Every time I look in a mirror to shave, I am reminded of that
day. Every time I see the look of shock on someone’s face when they see these
scars, I am reminded. It is what I have become. Do you not realise that even
the very  name I chose for myself means vengeance in the old language?”

 “Of course,” murmured
Relisar. “It is a corruption of Celed-riorn - he who seeks revenge.”

 “I will never be able
to rest, never, not until I have found that Turog, and either it is dead, or I
am.”

 Andarion shook his head
slowly. “No man can defeat a Great-turog, not even you. I will admit that you
are the finest swordsman I have ever seen, but those creatures are taller and
more powerful than a man. Why, even the smallest of them stands over seven feet
tall.”

 “Nevertheless,” said
Celedorn stubbornly. “I will try.”

  There was a long
silence in the room. Everyone sat staring at the floor, devastated by what they
had learned.

 Celedorn resumed his
seat on the window-ledge and looked out into the sunlit garden without really
seeing any of it. Yet he was conscious of a faint sense of relief, as if by
sharing his pain he had lessened it.

 Finally Elorin spoke.
“You know, as Lord of Westrin you are too good for me. Too good for the girl
with no name,” she remarked sadly to Celedorn, revealing to the others the
state of affairs between them.

 He turned his head from
the placid scene outside. “As a mountain brigand, I am not good enough,” he
replied in subdued tones. “Besides, I will never be Lord of Westrin.”

 “Why not?” asked
Elorin.

 “Because I would have
to take the oath of loyalty.” His gaze swung across the room to Andarion. “I
will never,
never
swear loyalty to your father. I regret if this causes
you pain, but I will not.”

 Andarion returned the
look unflinchingly, his mouth compressed into a straight line. “There is also
the little matter of your misdeeds to be considered. Whatever your reasons, you
have broken just about every law in Eskendria.”

 “I know. There is no
going back for me now. It is too late. When we cross the Harnor, all of you will
return to Addania, whereas I must make my way to Ravenshold and fight whichever
cut-throat has taken my place.”

 Elorin rose and crossed
to him. “What about me?”

 “You too must return to
Addania. Andarion will see that you do not lack for anything.” He glanced
towards the Prince who nodded. “In time you will marry a good and decent man
who can give you a home and all the things you deserve.”

 The tears stood in
Elorin’s eyes but she managed a tiny smile. “But I don’t want a good and decent
man. He sounds too boring for me.”

 Triana, her heart
breaking for them, said: “There must be another alternative. Surely there must
be.”

 “I cannot think of
any,” said Celedorn.

 “No,” groaned Elorin
and leaned her forehead against his sound shoulder. “I will not accept that.”

 He put his arms around
her, both of them completely oblivious to the others.

 “Elorin, I cannot take
you with me to such a place. God alone knows that I would give ten years off my
life for things to be different, but your happiness is more important to me
than my own, and just for once in my misbegotten life I am not going to be
selfish.”

 With that, he gently
disengaged himself from her embrace, unable to bear any more, and swiftly left
the room.

  When the door closed
behind him, the Prince, who had been listening in growing disbelief, started to
his feet. “That is just typical of him!” he exploded in frustration. “He spends
his life being selfish and unprincipled and just when you
want
him to be
selfish and unprincipled, he comes down with a truly alarming attack of
nobility.”

 Elorin looked up,
smiling a little despite herself. “He is always unpredictable.”

 “Unpredictable!”
exclaimed the Prince, warming to his theme. “Perverse, contradictory and
downright aggravating is closer to the mark.”

 “But you said.......”
began Triana, about to remind him that he had once told her that there could be
no future for the relationship.

 Anticipating the gaffe
with deadly accuracy, the Prince hurriedly cut her short. “Never mind what I
said. I have lately decided that these two are so admirably suited that it
would be a shameful waste if they went their separate ways. So there is nothing
else for it - Celedorn will have to resign himself to becoming respectable.”

 “You don’t lack for
nerve,” said Elorin admiringly. “And just how do you propose to do that?”

 “Well.....I don’t
exactly know yet, but there must be a way.”

 Relisar raised his
bushy eyebrows significantly at Andarion. “You should speak to him alone,” he
suggested. “He respects your opinion.”

 Andarion nodded his
agreement and arose and left the room. However, his good intentions suffered a
check when he couldn’t find Celedorn. He wasn’t in his room, or in the orchard
and a search of the monastery seemed to suggest that he had vanished into thin air.
In fact Celedorn had gone out of the main gate and was walking in the forest.
He needed time to be alone, time to collect his fragmented thoughts and calm
the conflicting emotions that raged within him. His heart urged him to throw
every other consideration to the winds and take Elorin’s love as the wonderful
gift it was, but a stubborn little voice, that he tentatively identified as
conscience, wouldn’t let him.

 He returned to the
common room just as the light was fading and the others were sitting down to
their evening meal.

 “Just in time,” said
Triana, fetching him a plate.

 The Prince was still a
little disgruntled. “Where did you disappear off to?”

 “Walking,” replied
Celedorn curtly. “Perhaps after dinner you would oblige me with a little practice,”
he said, tapping the hilt of his sword. “I want to see if my arm has been
weakened by the wound.”

 “Certainly - as long as
you promise not to kill me.”

 Celedorn laughed. “I’ll
do my best.”

 The Prince was not
reassured. “That was not exactly the absolute guarantee I was looking for,” he
complained.

 Relisar, who had been
staring abstractedly into space in his usual manner, and had not heard a word
of the conversation, suddenly said: “Berendore, why did you......”

 He got no further, for
Celedorn sharply cut across him. “Do not call me by that name. Berendore died
twenty years ago and I have forsaken that name for ever. My father chose it for
me, and I would not dishonour it by using it as I now am. For better or worse,
I will now always be Celedorn.”

 Relisar’s reaction was
astonishing. He leaped to his feet, overturning his bowl of soup. “Of course!”
he cried distractedly. “Of course! That’s it! Why did I not see it before!”

 The Prince looked into
his dish. “I hope it’s not something in the soup.”

 Relisar ignored him and
began to pace the room, agitatedly wringing his hands. “It fits! It all fits! I
am a blind, stupid old fool!”

 The others looked
helplessly at each other.

 “Has anyone any idea
what he is talking about?” asked Elorin.

 The Prince was in a
frivolous mood. “Don’t interrupt him, Elorin, he is calling himself an old fool
and I never thought to be in such complete agreement with him.”

 Relisar halted his
perambulations abruptly. “It was all there, right under my nose the whole time.
Everything I have been searching for.”

 Elorin drew together
her disintegrating patience. “I suppose it’s too much to expect coherence?”

 Relisar took a deep
breath to steady himself. “The Champion of the Book of Light can be summoned
only by name. Correct?”

 “Yes?”

 “He has four names. One
we are given in the Book of Light - Erren-dar, the Wielder of the Sword of Flame.
The other three we must find out from the riddle that the old man posed for
Tissro. The first name is one that only Erren-dar himself knows but which he
has forsaken - don’t you see? It is Berendore! Celedorn has forsaken that name
and no one, until now, has been aware of his true identity. Berendore was
thought to have died in the forest that day twenty years ago and only now do we
discover that he lives. Then there is the name by which the world will know him
but know him not. That one is Celedorn. The world knows him by that name as a
violent mountain brigand, but it knows him not, for it does not know who he
really is. Finally there is the name that his enemies bestow upon him in fear.
That is one we have known for a long time. It is Zardes-Kur, the bringer of
death, the name conferred upon him by the Turog.”

 Andarion was sitting
bolt upright in astonishment. “You are not
actually
suggesting that
Celedorn is the Champion?” he asked incredulously. “My dear friend, this time
you have surpassed yourself!”

 “But don’t you see? It
all fits,” cried Relisar.

 “It is a coincidence,”
said the Prince dampeningly. “Besides, Erren-dar, the Wielder of the Sword of Flame,
is not some mountain brigand - forgive me, Celedorn.”

 “Not at all. I couldn’t
agree more.”

 “But.......” Relisar
began but Andarion overrode him.

 “Apart from anything,
do you not think that Celedorn would know if he was the Champion?”

 Relisar’s elation
deflated a little and he looked doubtfully at Celedorn. “Are you?”

 Celedorn threw back his
head and laughed. “Don’t be absurd. The whole idea is completely ludicrous.
Erren-dar will be some pure and saintly hero, dazzlingly perfect, not a black
scoundrel like me.”

 Elorin swelled with
indignation at that method of describing himself, but before she could deliver
a reproof, Relisar continued his quest with single-minded dedication.

 “The Book of Light says
nothing about his character,” he objected stubbornly.

 “No, but it does say he
must be summoned,” countered Celedorn. “You can hardly summon a person who is
already here.”

 Relisar seemed at a
loss for a moment, then he suddenly pointed to Elorin. “Then what is Elorin’s
involvement? The voice that spoke when she appeared said that a key would be
provided. I have lately come to the conclusion that Elorin herself is that key.
Answer me that!”

 Celedorn shrugged. “The
Lays of Tissro say that through Tissro himself the key will be found - so it can’t
be Elorin. We don’t even know for certain that it is a person.”

 Relisar sat down
dejectedly in his chair. “I suppose not.”

 Andarion was highly
amused. “I know I said that Celedorn must become respectable but trying to turn
him into the Champion of the Book of Light was not exactly what I had in mind.”

 Celedorn raised an
eyebrow at him. “And why must I become respectable?”

 “Because I have just
made a truly
horrific
discovery,” replied the irrepressible Prince. “You
and I are actually cousins!”

 Celedorn’s lips
twitched. “Don’t worry,” he said soothingly, “every family has its black
sheep.”

 “Ha! Very amusing! Now
let’s leave Relisar to his fantasies and I’ll give you the chance to carve me
into little pieces.”

 When he returned alone
some time later he was looking somewhat hot and flustered. He threw himself
into a chair and remarked to no one in particular: “If that’s what he fights
like when he’s sick, I never want to be at the sharp end of his sword when he
is well.”

 “His arm has not been
affected?” asked Triana.

 Andarion wiped his
brow. “You could say that.”

 “Did you get the chance
to speak to him?” Elorin enquired.

 “Yes.”

 “And?”

 The Prince’s eyes met
hers and he shook his head. “Don’t worry, I haven’t finished with him yet.”

 He was as good as his
word and next day, upon encountering Celedorn seated on a bench under the shade
of an apple tree in the orchard, he came and sat beside him. He duly noted his
cousin’s rather sombre expression and said quietly: “I have in my time called
you many things, but I never thought to call you a fool.”

 A pair of hard grey
eyes swung in his direction. “I would take that from no man but you.”

 “I know. If I were not
your friend I would not dare to say it. Do you not realise what you are
throwing away? She loves you, Celedorn, and you love her in return. Do you not
realise what a rare and wonderful gift that is?”

 “Too wonderful to be
destroyed by me. You know very well I would only bring her grief.”

 “Yet if you leave her,
you will bring her even more grief. Take your chances together,” he urged.
“Perhaps the future may prove to be a disaster and perhaps not. We cannot
predict how things will turn out in life, but if you think that Elorin will
ever forget you and grow to love someone else, then all I can say is that you
don’t know her. She will spend her life mourning your loss, eating out her
heart in loneliness and despair. You cannot do that to her.”

 “I cannot break her
heart.”

 “You are already
breaking it. Even now, she is in her room crying her eyes out,” said Andarion,
who had not the faintest idea where Elorin was, or what she was doing.
“Together you have a chance at happiness, perhaps only a slim one, but apart
you have none.”

 Celedorn sat frowning
into the distance. “You are telling me what I want to hear.”

 “No. I am telling you
the truth.”

 “I thought you cared
for Elorin,” he accused.