The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (62 page)

 “This destruction took
place many weeks ago. Whoever burnt this village has long gone.”

 “They torched the
houses,” said Andarion numbly.

 “Are you surprised?
They are the Destroyer’s spawn after all.”

 “There are no bodies,”
observed Triana, morbidly. “They say the Turog eat those they kill.”

 “The bodies could be
underneath the ruins,” suggested Elorin sadly. “If they took shelter in their
houses they would have been trapped by the flames.”

 “We must go on,”
Andarion insisted in an agonised voice, his eyes travelling over the ruins. “We
must go on. It is better to know the worst than continue with all this
uncertainty.”

 Celedorn nodded and
swung into the saddle. By late afternoon, they began to ascend the flanks of
the low hills. Andarion, goaded on by fear, was a little ahead of the others
and reached the summit of the hill before them. He halted, an acutely arrested
expression on his face and shaded his eyes against the low sun.

 Beyond the hills lay a
rolling plain, skirted by the foothills of the Westrin Mountains to the west
and a dense forest to the east. On the southern extremity of the plain, another
low line of hills hid Addania from sight. What had brought the Prince to so
sudden a halt was the fact that on the plain below, two armies were encamped.
The one nearest them was a huge, unwieldy dark mass. Many tents were pitched in
disordered rows. Over the largest tents, the ominous black banner of the
Destroyer flew. Thousands of Turog swarmed around the encampment, all wearing
an assortment of barbaric black armour and carrying wickedly- sharp, curved
swords and battle-axes. Here and there a Great-turog could be distinguished by
its height and the way the common species gave way before it. There were so
many of them that the entire plain seemed to crawl with activity like a
disturbed anthill. Legion upon legion blackened the pleasant, green plain like
a horrible, disfiguring growth.

  But the Prince’s gaze
was not upon the Turog. He had lifted his gaze to the south, to a mile or so
beyond the Turog, where in the distance he saw rows of orderly tents neatly
pitched with military precision. That army was too distant to make out details,
but now and then the sun flashed on armour, or a mounted patrol could be
distinguished beyond the main body of the camp.

 “Your eyes are better
than mine,” said Andarion tensely to Celedorn. “Can you distinguish the
pennants flying above the camp?”

 Celedorn’s eyes
narrowed in concentration. “Not in detail, no, but I can tell you that their
colour is sky-blue - the colour of Eskendria.”

 Andarion let out a long
pent-up breath. “I had thought so, but I didn’t trust myself.”

 Celedorn was studying
the forces intently. “They may have been driven back from the Harnor, but they
are not in disarray. Their retreat, if it was one, was at least orderly.
However, it will be nightfall before we reach them, because we are going to
have to make a wide detour to avoid the Turog.”

 “Are they preparing for
battle?” asked Relisar.

 “No. I don’t know
what’s going on, but they are not in battle formation.”

 “Look!” cried Triana.
“I see Red Turog as well. Just like the ones who pursued us into the cleft.”

 “I have never seen
their kind across the Harnor before,” said the Prince. “The Destroyer is
throwing everything he has at us. My brother will be in command of the army. We
must reach him as soon as we can.”

 “Our detour will take
us into the foothills of the Westrin Mountains,” Celedorn advised. “A region I
know well. Provided we do not fall foul of the Turog, we should arrive just
after dark.”

 But the Turog proved to
be as frustrating as ever. They had many small scouting parties scouring the
hills and it took all Celedorn’s skill and knowledge of the region to avoid
them. Even so, one of the wretched creatures, isolated from its fellows, who
happened upon them unexpectedly, found its throat ruthlessly and silently slit
by the Executioner.

 Darkness had therefore
fallen for several hours before the weary and tense travellers saw the watch
fires of the Eskendrian army glimmering in the blackness. While still some
distance from the camp, they were challenged by the sentries. A party of bowmen
emerged from the darkness as if by magic and surrounded them.

 Andarion replied calmly
to their challenge. “I am Andarion, Crown Prince of Eskendria.”

 The reaction was not
entirely what he had expected. The sentry gave a guffaw of rude laughter. “And
I am the King of Serendar! Don’t play the fool! Prince Andarion drowned at sea
several months ago. Prince Sarrick is now the Crown Prince.”

 Triana gasped but the
darkness concealed Andarion’s surprise. “Where is Prince Sarrick?”

 “He is not here. He is
in Addania.”

 “Who commands the army
in his absence?”

 “My Lord Veldor.”

 “Veldor will know me.
Take me to him.”

 The man, misliking the
stranger’s assumption of authority, looked set to argue the issue but the
Prince forestalled him. “Don’t be a fool, man!” he snapped, losing patience.
“As you can see, we are not Turog.”

 “Perhaps not, but I’m
taking no chances. I can spare no more than a handful of men to escort you, for
those damned creatures are always trying to outflank us in the darkness.”

  Despite the lateness
of the hour, the lamp still burned in my Lord Veldor’s tent. The guard left
them outside while he went in to speak to his commander. As they dismounted,
they could hear an urgent, but low-voiced, discussion going on in the tent.
Celedorn had his hood drawn up in order to conceal his face, and the two women
had done likewise to render him less conspicuous. A strong voice, raised in
irritation, suddenly rang forth from the tent.

 “Don’t be foolish! He
must be an impostor! The Prince died on his way to Kelendore.”

 Andarion grinned suddenly
and called out: “This is a fine welcome, Veldor! Do you not know me?”

 There was a moment’s
stunned silence, followed by the sound of an upheaval in the tent. There was a
crash, as if something had been knocked over and a burly, middle-aged man fairly
burst through the flap. The lamplight flooding over his shoulder from the tent,
caught Andarion full in the face and the man stared as if he could not believe
what his eyes were telling him.

 “It cannot be! You were
given up for lost!” he gasped, clearly quite overcome. “My lord Prince, what
miracle is it that brings you back to us?”

 “Veldor, my old
friend,” began the Prince but he got no further because he found himself caught
in a ruthless embrace.

 “By all that is holy, I
thought I should never see you again. Yet now, just when our hour is darkest,
you are restored to us. How can this be?”

 “I will tell you,
Veldor, but first you must provide beds for my companions. We have ridden hard
since dawn and have had a difficult time avoiding the Turog in order to get
here. They need somewhere to rest.”

 Veldor finally paid
some attention to the four people standing at the edge of the lamplight.

 “Relisar, is that you?
Tonight is a night for miracles indeed. You too were given up for lost. I am
heartily glad to see you safe and sound.”

 “Thank you, my lord,”
replied the old man, unusually subdued.

 “And these two ladies?
How come you to......?”

  Andarion intervened to
head off any questions about Celedorn. “Later, my friend, later. Somewhere for
my companions to rest and then you and I have much to discuss.”

 Veldor cast a curious
glance at the tall, black-cloaked figure who remained so silent, but he passed
no comment and directed a soldier to escort the two women to one tent and
Relisar and Celedorn to another. Elorin acquiesced in the arrangement, fearing
that to do otherwise would be to draw attention to Celedorn. She cast a look
brim-full of meaning at him but he merely gave a faint jerk of his head in
acknowledgement, before disappearing into the tent with Relisar.

 Veldor escorted
Andarion into his tent with his hand still on his shoulder, as if afraid that
if he let go of him, he would disappear like an apparition. He poured two
glasses of wine and handed one to the Prince.

 “Your father’s grief
was great, Your Highness. Never have I seen a man age so much in so short a
period of time. When he heard the news that the ship that had been carrying you
had foundered off the coast of Sirkris, it was as if the light went out of his
eyes. Normally he would be in command of the army himself, but he does not
come. All our efforts to repel the Turog have been carried out under your
brother’s orders.”

 “My brother is not
here?”

 “No, he was summoned
back to Addania only this morning to report to the King. I must send a message
to your father informing him of your safe return.”

 “No,” Andarion quickly
interjected. “I will leave for Addania myself in the morning. My father must
see for himself that the report is true. Anything less would be cruel.”

 “But......but, his
grief was such, that I would fear that the shock would be too much for him. He
is no longer a young man.”

 “My father has
surprising strength. Oblige me in this matter, if you please, Veldor.”

 The older man bowed his
head in assent. “Very well. Now tell me, how has this miracle happened? How is
it that you have returned to us?”

 “It is a long, involved
story but suffice it to say, that Relisar and I survived the shipwreck and
managed to reach Sirkris where we met our other companions. As Sirkris itself
was in danger of being besieged by the Turog, and as all its ships had been
destroyed in the storm, we decided that the only method of escape was to cross
the Forsaken Lands - and that is what I have been doing all these months.”

 Veldor stared at him
wide-eyed. “You crossed the Forsaken Lands! No one has ever done that before!
No one has ever survived such a journey.”

 The Prince smiled
whimsically at his incredulity. “I have had the good fortune of exceptional
travelling companions - and a great deal of luck.”

 “It was indeed
fortunate that you did not decide to stay in Sirkris, my lord Prince.”

 “Oh?” Premonition dug
cold claws into the Prince’s heart.

 Veldor’s eyes filled
with a mixture of sadness and smouldering anger. “It fell, my lord, it fell. By
the time warships from Kelendore fought their way through the blockade, all
that was left of the town was a devastated ruin. Everyone, every man, woman and
child had been put to the sword. After the slaughter was complete, the Turog,
as is their custom, set fire to the town. The ships could see the pall of smoke
from well out to sea and knew that they had come too late.”

 Andarion’s head sank in
his hands as he remembered the pleasant little town, the cosy Inn of the Grey
Dolphin and Mother Sorna’s kindly face.

 “No,” he groaned. But
when he at last raised his head, Veldor saw a fierce light burning in his eyes
- the light of battle.

 “We cannot bring back
Sirkris and all those who lost their lives, but by the Crown of Eskendria, I
swear those vermin shall be made to pay.”

 “Alas, my Lord Prince,
we are in no position to exact vengeance upon them, because we are fighting for
our very existence. They have been attempting to cross the Harnor for several
months now, but always we managed to frustrate them. We carried out strikes
across the river to burn the rafts they were making, we thwarted attempt after
attempt to build a bridge, but a month ago they finally succeeded. Their army
appeared to embark on building yet another bridge, to the west of here, where
the river narrows before entering the Serpent’s Throat, but it was a ruse to
distract us. While part of their army kept us busy, the others, further to the
east, brought out from amongst the trees the rowing boats which they then strung
across the river. The planking that formed the causeway had already been
prepared in sections and was positioned with astonishing speed. By the time we
realised what was happening, they had enough troops across to repulse our
attempts to attack the Eskendrian end of the bridge. After that, thousands upon
thousands of them poured across in an evil black stream. They have many
Great-turog with them, driving on the others, organising them in a manner that
the common kind are incapable of. There is even a demonic new species, never seen
before, whose skins are red as sandstone - creatures more closely resembling a
man than I have ever encountered. Why! They can even ride horses! Until now, it
was well known that no horse would tolerate a Turog on its back. They are
cunning fighters and can match even our best men in strength and skill. In
short, we are sore beset.”

 “Has no help come from
Serendar?”

 “None,” was the bleak
response. “Once the Harnor was breached, your father sent his fastest
messengers to King Orovin, begging for his help - but he would not come. He
replied that Serendar had not been attacked, so therefore he had no quarrel
with the Turog.” Veldor started to his feet, anger causing his fists to
tighten. “He is a fool! A stupid, arrogant fool! Does he seriously think that if
Eskendria falls, the Turog will stop there? Together we might have had a
chance, but if our army is defeated, Serendar is no match for them on her own.
All that fool can think about at the moment is his new bride.”