The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (58 page)

 They heard the sharp
sound of flint against steel and a moment later a tiny stump of candle gave
enough illumination to reveal five anxious faces.

 Triana was already
feverishly stuffing things into her pack and her actions galvanised the others
into frantic activity.

 Their belongings were
loaded onto the horses in a trice, and extinguishing the candle, Celedorn led
his horse out into the overgrown courtyard. The air was fresh and cool in the
aftermath of the storm. As they brushed against the bushes, they were showered
with cold droplets of rainwater. When he reached the archway leading to the
square, Celedorn signalled to them to halt. He passed his reins to Elorin, and
crossing the mosaic floor, peered out between the pillars into the dark square
beyond. Although the clouds were heavy, there was a faint, greyish luminescence
in the sky which enabled him to make out the dark, jumbled mass of the building
across the square. A soft gust of damp air moaned between the pillars but
otherwise all was silent. All was still.

  He returned to the
others. “It’s too dark to see very well but all appears to be quiet. I think we
must lead our horses until we are clear of the city, as there is not enough
light to ride with safety. It will be slower, but the roads are strewn with
fallen masonry and the last thing we need at this moment is for one of the
horses to be injured.” He turned to Relisar. “Which way?”

 Relisar closed his eyes
and sensed the atmosphere. “The Presence is coming from the east, we must
therefore go west. The avenue across the square appears to head in the right
direction.”

 As they picked their
way carefully along the overgrown roadway, Andarion drew level with Celedorn.

 “This thing, is it as
bad as you say?”

 Celedorn glanced over
his shoulder to make sure that Triana was out of earshot. “Worse. It has eyes
in its depths that glow like embers and once they catch you in their gaze, you
can neither move nor speak. It has no physical form, so it is impervious to all
weapons. I do not know how to fight this thing - I suspect that the only one
amongst us who might know, is Relisar.”

 “Then heaven help us,
cousin, if it should ever catch up with us.”

 Relisar, a little ahead
of the others was not thinking about what pursued them. He found himself
oppressed by the city itself. All that had once been great had now been taken
over by the shades of its unhappy past. It remembered not the joyful days when
the High King reigned and the gracious courts and fountains had rung with music
and children’s voices. Now it remembered only its fall, the destruction and
slaughter wreaked by the black horde of Turog that had descended upon it like
locusts on young corn. They had ravaged it, stripped it, destroyed it. Flames
had burst from every window and smoke rose up to such a height that it could be
seen as far away as the Harnor. The elegant courtyards had rung to the clash of
weapons and the screams of the dying, and each beautiful, jewel-like mosaic floor
had flooded red with blood.

 Relisar sighed, his
spirits dragged down by the waste and destruction. He remembered the
description of the city’s beauty in the Lays of Tissro, and even though it had
all happened so long ago as to be the stuff of legend, it cut him to the heart
that so much that was beautiful and good had been lost for ever. Yet the shades
of the past were being displaced by a growing sense of evil that was very much
of the present. The very same evil that had been the source of so much slaughter
so long ago, was still present, still active, still seeking the obliteration of
mankind. The events that had happened in the city so long ago would never be
ended until either good, or evil, had triumphed completely. Viewed against such
power, the forces of good seemed weak and ineffectual. Like a scattering of
tiny stars, those that were left still shone before a void of such immensity
that it threatened to swallow them whole. Eskendria and her people alone held
true, few in number and deserted by those who should have stood beside them.
Alone, Eskendria stood against a dark tide with a courage that far exceeded her
strength.

 “Yet it is deceptive,”
Relisar murmured to himself. “For the enemy greatly underestimates the one
weapon that we possess that he does not - faith.”

 When the ruins finally
began to peter out, the company mounted their horses and headed westwards
across the plain towards the shallow circle of hills. The last fragment of
paved road soon fell behind, and as they encountered the level grass, their
speed increased. All of them were now possessed of a sense of urgency, and many
fearful glances were cast behind them, as if they expected to see the two
burning eyes pursuing them relentlessly across the plain. Although there was
still nothing to be seen, the conviction grew upon them, Relisar in particular,
that the evil will that sought them drew ever closer.

 When they reached the
brow of the hill, they drew rein and looked back at the darkened plain.

 “Will this night never
end?” groaned Triana.

 “Dawn is not so far
away,” Andarion reassured her, “but it only guarantees our safety if the
morning is clear and the sun appears. The demon of darkness is affected only by
direct light. A cloudy day does not inhibit it.” He tilted his head to look at
the sky. What he saw was not encouraging - a dark, heavy blanket of cloud that
threatened more rain.

 Relisar, shifting
impatiently in the saddle beside the Prince, suddenly gave a sharp cry of pain
and doubled up over the pommel of his saddle. “Oh! It has found me! Its mind
has detected me! I feel its will bent upon me!” He cried out again and flung up
his hands as if to ward off a blow. “Its thoughts burn my mind.
An’Valedor!
 
I repel you.
An’Ethidor! 
I resist you!” His face contorted with
pain. “My mind is my own and I deny it to you. Begone!”

 With a cry he suddenly
seemed to break free of the power that held him and with a gasp of relief,
straightened up so abruptly, he nearly fell out of the saddle.

 “It knows where we are.
We must fly, my children, there is no time for caution, we must fly!”

 He swung his horse’s
head around and clapping his heels to its flanks, careered off down the far
side of the hill with little regard for safety or prudence.

 “We must follow him!”
called Andarion to his hesitating companions. “Come on!”

 Hell-for-leather they
galloped down the shallow flank of the hill, risking everything in the interest
of speed. The horses picking up the fear of their riders, willingly lengthened
their stride until the ground flashed beneath their hooves.

 It was Celedorn,
glancing over his shoulder, who first realised that their flight was futile.
Against the backdrop of the shallow hills, a patch of darkness moved. Blacker
and more intense than the night, concentrated darkness, like looking into a
void. Swiftly it crossed the plain behind them, faster than the fleetest horse.
Steadily it gained upon them, and as it did so, it grew and spread.

 Relisar suddenly drew
rein, causing his horse to come to a skidding halt. The others shot past him
before they realised what he had done. Hurriedly they too brought their horses
to a halt.

 Relisar had turned to
face back the way they had come.

 “It’s no use!” he
called to them over his shoulder. “We cannot outrun it. We must stand and face
it.”

 
“No!”
screamed
Triana, who had by now seen what pursued them.

 “We must,” said
Celedorn and slid out of the saddle.

 Andarion dismounted
beside him and drew his sword. Observing the action, Celedorn remarked: “You
waste your time, my friend,” but nevertheless did likewise.

 Relisar stood a little
distance ahead of them, his light-grey gown glimmering in the darkness of the
empty plain, looking small and frail. He let go of his horse’s reins and it
promptly deserted him in favour of the company of its own kind.

 “Relisar?” called
Andarion. “What can we do?”

 “Stay back,” replied
the old man with certainty. “This I must face alone.”

 The moving blackness
was now close enough for them all to see the two points of fire that burned
within it. A cold power swept over them, a will so strong as to fall like the
hammer- blow of a thunderbolt. Triana fell to her knees.

 It came to a halt a
short distance before Relisar, and as at Skerris-morl, it began to rise up like
a black wave about to break upon the fragile figure below it. The eyes were
much larger now, burning with fury and malevolence. Celedorn suddenly realised
that he was not frozen into immobility as he had been the last time, because
the eyes were not looking at him. All their power, all their evil was
concentrated upon Relisar.

 Up and up it swelled,
towering against the paling sky, completely dwarfing the tiny silver-grey
figure which stood hopelessly defiant before it like a flower before a
hurricane. By contrast, as the darkness around it grew a shade less intense
with the approach of dawn, the blackness became even blacker, an absence of
light, as three dimensional as a deep well into which one might fall for all
eternity. Celedorn glanced at the sky, but to his dismay, the thick clouds
continued unbroken above them. He watched as the two eyes, like molten ingots
from a furnace, bored into Relisar, but the old man was not transfixed by them
as he and Elorin had been. Instead he lifted his hand and held it towards the
rearing cloud, palm outwards in rebuke.

 “I am Relisar, Keeper
of the Book of Light. You have no power over me. It is written that darkness
must give way before light.”

 The was a moment’s
ominous silence before a deep, harsh voice spoke from the depths of the cloud.

 “There is no light
here.”

 So powerful was the
voice that the words echoed across the plain, and those that heard it felt
their legs weaken and almost give way beneath them.

 But Relisar stood firm.
“That is a lie,” he declared with conviction. “There is light everywhere except
your master’s lair. He can tolerate its purity no more than you. It is alien to
his very being and will ultimately destroy him. So I command you, return to the
darkness from whence you came!
An’Valedor seth mirente!”

 But the blackness did
not disappear, instead, it billowed up still higher until it blotted out the
sky before them. Celedorn tore his gaze away from it and looked eastwards. The
first threads of dawn were drifting like strands of mist behind the stark
outline of the hills.

 He nudged Andarion, who
started as if awoken from a horrible dream. “If only Relisar can keep it
occupied a while longer,” he whispered, jerking his head significantly towards
the east.

 But Relisar was playing
a dangerous game, for the spirit in the cloud was rapidly becoming

enraged with his temerity.

 “You dare to try to
stand in my way!” it thundered. “You dare to attempt to oppose me? You pitiful
creature, whose span is so short as to be beneath contempt. When mankind was
twisted to my master’s will, I was there. When his servants wrought destruction
on the Old Kingdom, I was there. When the final battle is won and all your
miserable kind wiped out, I will be there! You dare to challenge me? You are
nothing! You are less than nothing! Now watch as I snuff out your life as the
fragile thing it really is.”

 With a final growl of
rage it poised itself far above Relisar and began to curl over like a huge
black wave about to crash down on the helpless figure below it.

 
“No!”
screamed
Elorin and before anyone could stop her, darted forward and gave Relisar such a
violent shove out of the way that he fell sprawling.

 Celedorn leaped towards
her, but he was too late. The darkness tumbled down upon Elorin like a black
avalanche and she disappeared from view, engulfed within it.

    Just at
that moment two things happened at once - Relisar called out something in a
language that none of them had ever heard before, and as he did so, his whole
being began to glow with a silver light. At the same moment, the heavy clouds
on the horizon split apart and the sun peeped over the rim of hills, casting a
long golden finger of sunlight across the plain.

  A mighty roar of pain
issued from the blackness. Light radiated from Relisar, turning his gown and
beard to shining silver that grew ever stronger, until even his skin shone like
moonlight. His whole being radiated such brightness that he lit the plain
around him. So too, second by precious second, the sun’s golden glow increased
in power.

 The black shape began
to writhe and twist in agony, diminishing in size as it did so. Still the two
sources of light blazed upon it, and little by little it shrank down towards
the earth, squirming itself into convoluted shapes as it did so. Soon it was
only the height of a tree, and yet smaller it shrank, until its mass became
small enough to reveal Elorin lying motionless on the ground. Celedorn darted
forward and fell on his knees beside her.

 Still the evil spirit
shrank until it was the size of a man, then a book, then a hand, until finally
it shrank to a tiny dot and vanished.

 All the company watched
this event with stunned disbelief - except Celedorn who had caught Elorin into
his arms and was desperately trying to wake her.

 “Elorin! Elorin!” he
called frantically, as he had done so long ago at the Serpent’s Throat.

 Relisar ran over to
him. Celedorn turned up a white, distraught countenance.

 “She will not wake! I
can find no injury upon her. Her skin is warm and she is breathing but she will
not wake! Help me, Relisar!
Help me
!”

 The others gathered
round as Relisar took Elorin’s hands between his own and closed his eyes. The
glowing light had faded from him and he was himself again - just an old man
deeply worried about someone he loved.

 When he opened his
eyes, he looked despairingly at the man kneeling so anxiously before him. “Her
body has not been harmed, Celedorn, but......but the demon has taken her soul.”

 “No!
No!”
Celedorn caught her closer against him. “It cannot be! She is not dead. Look,
she is warm, she breathes. It cannot be!”

 “She breathes because
her body has not been hurt,” Relisar replied, his old voice trembling, “but the
spirit that made her who she is, has gone.”

 The Prince sank down
beside Celedorn. “What does this mean?” he asked Relisar.

 “The body will live
until it dies of starvation. When that happens all hope is ended, for her
spirit can then never return.”

 Andarion snatched at
the words like a drowning man. “You mean that while her body lives there is a
possibility that her spirit might be restored to her?”

 “I would not give you
false hope. There is only one thing in all creation that is capable of
restoring her soul, capable of reversing the evil that has been done.”

 “What?” demanded
Celedorn, his face haggard. “
Tell me!”

 “A chalice flower.”

 “A chalice flower?”
echoed the Prince blankly.

 “But they are just a
legend,” whispered Triana despairingly. “They do not really exist.”

 “The Book of Light says
they exist,” remarked Relisar quietly.

 Andarion groaned. “No
one has ever found a chalice flower. Not even in the days of the Old Kingdom.”

 “That is because the
chalice flower cannot be found with the eyes, it can only be found with faith -
the substance of things not seen.” Relisar looked at Celedorn, still tightly
cradling Elorin. “In the distance, arising out of the plain, you will see a
perfectly round hill, topped by seven ancient oak trees. That is the Hill of
the Seven Crowns referred to in the Lays of Tissro. In the centre of the ring
of trees stands a stone altar that is older than even the Old Kingdom itself.
Legend has it, that the flowers grow around the altar. You must go there to
seek one.”

 Celedorn remained
staring at him and said nothing.

 It was left to Andarion
to voice his thoughts. “But the hill is only a few miles from Korem and must
have been searched many times - yet nothing was ever found.”

 Relisar had not looked
away from Celedorn and some sort of unspoken message seemed to pass between
them. “Perhaps the need has never been so great. You must go, nevertheless, and
you must look not with your eyes but with your heart.”

 Andarion stood up and
shading his eyes against the rising sun, directed his gaze eastward across the
plain.

 “I see it. A small hill
with trees on top. It looks about a mile or so from here. I will go with you.”

  Finally Celedorn
spoke. “No,” he said, his face ashen but set. “I must go alone.” Gently he
transferred Elorin into Triana’s arms and bending forward, with great
tenderness, touched his lips to her brow. Triana, unable to bear the look in
his eyes, turned her head away and fought to control her tears.

 “Take care of her,” he
said softly.

 He rose to go, but
Relisar called him back. “You must leave your sword behind, Celedorn,” he
advised. “No weapons are permitted in such a holy place.”

 Slowly, Celedorn
unbuckled his scabbard and handed it to Relisar. Without a further word, he put
his foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle.

 Andarion stood for a
long time, watching the mounted figure diminishing into the distance in the
direction of the hill, until he heard Triana’s voice calling to him.

 “I need your help to
put some blankets on the ground to make Elorin more comfortable.”

 “I think she feels
nothing,” he remarked, looking down at the still figure.

 “Nonetheless,” said
Triana stubbornly. “I promised Celedorn I would take care of her.”

 The Prince laid out
some blankets and folded a cloak into a pillow, then he lifted Elorin in his
arms and set her down carefully upon them.

 “What do we do now?” he
asked Relisar.

 “We wait.”

 “She looks as if she is
peacefully asleep,” Andarion commented, then noticed that a tear had run along
Relisar’s beaked nose and was hanging in a large drop at the end of it.

 “She did it to save
me,” he sniffed. “She had such a generous heart.”

  Triana rounded on him
as fiercely as a wildcat. “Don’t dare to speak in the past tense, Relisar!
Elorin is with us yet.”

 “You are right, my
dear. Her fate now lies with Celedorn, as I always knew it would. If anyone can
save her, he can.”

 The long weary day
dragged by like torment. The sun shone on the little encampment and its
occupants, with a beauty that was wholly unappreciated. Not a movement was seen
on the plain or the hills beyond. Scarcely even a bird cleaved the air. The
hours crept by, with even nature appearing to join in the waiting. The sun
slowly rose to its zenith, shedding the rich honeyed light of autumn, turning
the dry grasses to dun, cinnamon and sand, and still nothing stirred. Andarion
prowled restlessly around the camp, always ending up at the same spot facing
east. Always his eyes searched the plain in the direction of the hill but there
was absolutely nothing to be seen.

  Triana bent over
Elorin to shade her face from the sun and tried to give her some water, but it
was useless. It just spilled out of the corners of her mouth and ran down her
face.

 As the shadows finally
began to lengthen and the day at long last drew to a close, Andarion’s pacing
became more and more feverish. At last he could stand it no longer and swung
round to face Relisar.

 “Where is he? Why has he
not returned? I must go to find him!”

 Relisar’s opinion of
that was unequivocal. “You must not. This is something that only Celedorn can
do.”

 His certainty caught
the Prince’s attention. “Why?”

 “Because he loves
Elorin with a love that is rarely seen on this earth.”

 “But where is he? What
can be keeping him?”

 “He will come as soon
as he can. We must be patient. We must do the hardest thing of all, and that is
to wait.”

 As darkness fell, they
risked lighting a fire in order to guide Celedorn back to them. Their anxiety
about Elorin was such, that they little cared what else it might guide to them.
She lay without moving, her eyes closed, only the steady rise and fall of her
breathing indicating that she was still alive. Triana hovered over her, watching
her closely, desperately hoping for some sign of returning consciousness, but
nothing happened. Elorin slept on, oblivious to everything, still bound by the
evil that held her captive. From time to time, as the interminable night wore
on, Relisar would come and sit beside her. Sometimes he talked to her, even
though he knew she could not hear, and sometimes he held the hand that was
still warm with life but yet bore the stillness of death.

 Andarion stood alone,
apart from the others, gazing east into the darkness, occasionally watching the
stars play hide and seek amongst the drifting clouds, occasionally pacing back
and forwards to relieve his fatigue. Like many before him, he watched for the
dawn, longing for it and Celedorn’s return with an intensity that was almost
physical pain.

 “A day and a night he
has been away,” he muttered to himself. “Surely dawn will bring him.”

 As the sky at last
began to pale, daybreak found the Prince still at his station, still looking
steadily to the east towards the Hill of the Seven Crowns. At last his keen
eyesight detected something moving across the mist-painted plain. It was a
solitary rider, travelling swiftly.

 His heart began to thud
and he looked over his shoulder at Relisar. “He is coming,” he said constrictedly,
suddenly seized by the terrible fear that he came empty-handed.

 When Celedorn drew
nearer, they could all see that he was guiding his horse with his right hand
alone. His left was cradling something against his chest.

 Andarion strode forward
to meet him and caught the horse’s bridle as it halted.

 “Where have you been?”
he demanded tensely.

 But Celedorn was
consumed with haste and brushed the question aside. “I’ll explain later. How is
Elorin?”

 “Much the same.”

 Celedorn deftly swung
his leg over the pommel and slid smoothly from the saddle, still holding his
left hand against him as if he carried something infinitely precious. But
Andarion, upon looking closely at his hand, was astonished to see that it was
empty. His fingers were lightly curled as if holding something fragile, but his
hand was utterly empty.

 Swiftly he crossed to
Elorin and sank to his knees beside her. Triana looked at Andarion
questioningly, clearly also puzzled. Relisar alone seemed unsurprised. He
watched intensely as Celedorn took whatever invisible object was in his hand
and touched it first to Elorin’s forehead, then her lips, then laid it gently
on her heart.

 “Elorin,” he called
softly, “time to awake.”

 For a moment she did
not stir. Then the long lashes lying against her cheek, quivered slightly and
she opened her eyes. Andarion would have cried out with joy but Relisar flung
out his hand to restrain him. She stared blankly at Celedorn leaning over her,
as if she did not recognise him. There was a tense silence for a long moment.
Then unexpectedly she said: “I remember who I am.”

 Their eyes locked and
held. The others might have been a million miles away. “Do you know me?” he
asked, a certain edge to his voice suggesting that he was by no means certain
of her answer.

 “You are Celedorn.”

 His tension did not
ease. “And who is he?”

 Without hesitation she
replied: “The man I love.”

 His shoulders suddenly
relaxed and he sat back on his heels. “What else do you remember?”

 She frowned, as if she
found the act of recall an effort. “The....the ruined city. A thunderstorm.
Being pursued by the black cloud and then......and then wakening here.”

 “Thank goodness,”
breathed Relisar. “She does not remember.”

 He meant that she did
not remember where her soul had been during the missing hours, but
misunderstanding him, Elorin sat up and turned towards him. “But I do, Relisar,
I remember everything. My name is Lissoreth and I live in the village of
Peridor in southern Serendar. My stepfather owns a fishing fleet there. Both my
real parents are dead, but I know that on my father’s side, I am a direct
descendant of Tissro the Wanderer.”

 Everyone gasped, but
none more so than Relisar. “Of course,” he choked. “It was almost inevitable.
The piece of the puzzle that would not fit is now explained. When Tissro
appeared to me in my dream in the library in the Kingdom of Adamant, he told me
to save his kin. At the time I thought that he was speaking spiritually and
meant us all, but he did not. In fact he meant only you, Elorin, for you alone of
us are his kin.”