The Crystal Chalice (Book 1)

by R. J. Grieve

  As he watched, the city gates opened and a troop of cavalry came into view, heading undeviatingly up the white, dusty road towards the Eskendrians. They wore the dark blue uniforms of King Orovin’s personal guards. As they came closer, the sun could be seen glittering on the chalice flowers embroidered in gold thread on the hems and sleeves of their tunics. Unintentionally, they confirmed the Eskendrians’ prejudice that the residents of the City-by-the-Shore had an excessive love of finery. Their captain halted his horse before the Prince and bowed low over its shoulder.

  “Crown Prince Andarion of Eskendria, His Majesty, King Orovin, sends his greetings and welcomes you to Sar-es-Marn. I have been instructed to escort you to the apartments that have been prepared for you. The King thought that you would wish to rest after your long journey before meeting with him. A banquet is to be held in your honour tonight.” He smiled slightly. “It is not often in these troubled times that we have the honour of entertaining such an esteemed guest.”

  The Prince merely bowed slightly in reply, so immune to flattery that he scarcely noticed it.

  The Serendarian cavalry executed a neat, if somewhat showy, manoeuvre to about-face, that raised a few eyebrows amongst the Eskendrian troops, before they led the way back to the city.

  Andarion was aware that he was not the King’s equal in rank and could therefore not expect to be greeted by him in person but he felt that it boded ill that he had not been accorded that privilege. Nevertheless, this was not the time to be haughty and take offence. A hasty temper had ruined many a promising negotiation and the Prince resolved not to lose sight of his purpose.

  The company wound its way down narrow, cobbled streets flanked by immaculate white houses, their balconies overhung with a riot of colourful flowers. At last they emerged from the shady coolness of the streets onto a broad promenade by the sea that baked in the full glare of the sun. The light glittered so brilliantly on the water that it was almost painful to look at it. Dozens of fishing boats, all painted in bright blues, reds and greens were tied up at the quays which projected into the sea from the promenade. Some had unmoored and were raising white sails as they took advantage of the fresh breeze to put out to sea: others were tied up three and four abreast at the quay, their nets either spread out to dry or being mended by groups of fishermen, their hands deftly flying back and forward. Further out in the bay, two large warships, distinguishable by their much greater size and subdued colour, were anchored, their sails furled with naval precision.

  The ground floors of the houses facing the sea were all converted into shops or taverns. Many of the warehouses displayed the exotic wares brought in by the merchant ships - gems from the ruby mines of Kelendore, silks from the south, pearls from Skerris-morl, perfumes from the lavender fields of Eskendria. The Prince, observing the colourful bustle around the shops, wished that he visited the City-by-the-Shore just as an ordinary traveller whose time was his own. It would have been pleasant to have strolled along the harbour, chatting with the fishermen, investigating the treasures of the nearby warehouses and perhaps visiting one of the quaint taverns to try one of Serendar’s famous seafood dishes.

  They were nearing the end of the sweeping promenade and a broad ramp arose before them, ascending at a gentle gradient towards the citadel. The horses clattered through a deep archway, their hooves echoing in the sudden coolness. Relisar for once was paying attention to his surroundings. He was looking around him with interest, twisting in the saddle in a manner that was clearly irritating his horse. The animal had a discontented look in its eye and Andarion hoped it did not rid itself of its rider in its customary fashion. To his relief, they dismounted in a large, shaded courtyard. Two men emerged from a great doorway and came down the steps to greet them. One was the King’s chamberlain, a dignified, grey-haired man of about Relisar’s age, whom Andarion recognised from an earlier visit. The other was a stocky, bearded man with dark hair salted with grey, who advanced towards them with the assurance born of power. The Chamberlain introduced him as Goradis, the Lord High Counsellor, head of the cabal of war barons. The information conveyed a world of intelligence to the Prince, for it meant that after the King, he was addressing the most powerful man in the Kingdom. Goradis said all that was appropriate to the occasion but the Prince knew that those heavy-lidded eyes were evaluating him: assessing him both as a Prince and as a man. For some peculiar reason, he sensed hostility despite the urbane smile. However the Lord Counsellor conversed pleasantly enough as he escorted the Prince to his apartments, sticking carefully to mundane matters. Relisar trailed behind, chatting with the King’s Chamberlain and shaking dust out of his grey robes all over the highly polished floor.

  The magnificence of the apartments allocated to them completely eclipsed the more homely charms of the palace at Addania. Slender white pillars rose to an intricately carved ceiling whose ornate curlicues were picked out in gold leaf. The floor was of the famous azure marble, as deep a blue as the sea. The marble was found only in one place in the Isles of Kelendore and the fact that the palace was so liberally adorned with it, spoke of the good relation she enjoyed with her island neighbour. They were both seafaring nations, a brotherhood from which Eskendria was excluded by virtue of the fact that it was landlocked. The archipelago lay to the north-west of Serendar, its five islands wealthy and powerful out of all proportion to their size. Kelendore had stayed aloof from the recent collisions with the Turog. She had a small army but a powerful navy which guarded her shores most effectively. Generations had grown up without ever seeing a Turog and the threat was becoming remote. Although the Turog possessed ships, they were not natural seafarers and were always ill at ease on such an alien element. They tended to confine themselves to picking off lone merchant ships plying their way to Serendar or to the tiny independent island of Sirkris which nestled uncomfortably close to the coast of the Forsaken Lands. The Kelendorians countered such threats by organising their merchant ships into convoys escorted by powerful warships. Thus their trade continued uninterrupted, the only minor annoyance being the difficulty of getting goods through the Westrin Mountains to the markets of Eskendria. Celedorn’s name was in poor odour even as far away as the Isles.

  When Goradis and the servants had departed and Andarion finally found himself alone, he crossed the shining blue floor and ascended the couple of steps which led to a balcony. The view had been screened by softly stirring silk curtains but when he drew them aside and stepped out onto the white terrace, he caught his breath once again at the magnificence of the city. His windows looked back along the curve of the bay. The deep, cobalt blue of the sea put the azure marble to shame and the purity of the white buildings was almost too dazzling for the eye to bear.

  Beyond the gentle backdrop of rolling hills, their flanks dotted with neat farms, the Westrin Mountains rose, misty and lavender blue in the distance, their highest pinnacles still romantically tipped with snow. He sat down on the wall of the balcony and gazed at them a long time. They once had represented the largest and most powerful barony in Eskendria, ruled by the Lords of Westrin, second only in power to the monarch. Indeed so powerful had the Lords of Westrin been, that the Kings of Eskendria had required them to travel each year to the capital to swear an oath of loyalty. It was on such a journey that the last Lord of Westrin and his family had met their fate. Now the ancient line had ended and a region once well governed was wild and lawless, part of Eskendria in name alone. Inevitably, as the Prince gazed at the mountains his thoughts led him to Elorin. At best she was a prisoner in some vile dungeon, at worst slain by Ravenshold’s cruel master. Andarion knew that no matter how long he lived his conscience would give him no rest. Guilt would torment him for allowing Elorin to sacrifice herself. The fact that he had little choice did nothing to alleviate his pain. He had been a fool to allow himself to be trapped and it was consequently his failure to protect her that had been at fault.

  At that moment the Prince’s rather gloomy reflections were interrupted when the door of his
apartments burst open precipitating Relisar into the room. He was looking more than ordinarily disreputable: his hair was on end, his gown rumpled and his beard stuck out in all directions.

  He was clearly agitated and began pacing the room, wringing his hands and uttering inarticulate noises of distress.

  The Prince smiled tolerantly and descended the steps into the room. “Well Relisar?”

  The old man uttered one word. “Elorin!”

  Andarion frowned. “Strange, I was just thinking of Elorin.”

  Relisar appeared not to hear him but continued to pace the floor. “It can’t be. I must be wrong. I must be wrong.” He wrung his hands until the knuckles cracked.

  The Prince winced. “What is all this about? Have you heard news of Elorin? Would you please stop pacing the floor, you’re making me dizzy.”

  The Sage turned to face him, utterly distraught. “It’s no use, I know it was Elorin.”

  Andarion’s brows drew together but before he could speak, Relisar started his perambulations again.

  “Sit down, and try to be coherent,” ordered the Prince with an edge to his voice that would have informed someone even less observant than Relisar that he was getting impatient.

  Relisar obeyed, collapsing into a chair as if his legs had given way under him.

  He took a deep breath. “After I was shown to my room, I thought I’d have a little nap after the journey, you know, so that I would be bright-eyed and at my best for the banquet this evening. At my age a long ride can be most fatiguing. You young people have no appreciation of how.....”

  “Can we stick to the point?”

  “Oh....er....yes, well, I fell asleep and then it happened.”

  “What happened?” snapped the exasperated Prince.

  “The dream came to me. I dreamt of Elorin. I saw her in some dark place and she was falling, falling backwards into some horrible black abyss. She screamed and I felt her fear - sheer, utter terror. She is in deadly peril, I am sure of it. I.....I felt her fear go through me like an icy wind. It was literally the fear of death.”

  Andarion’s face was white by this stage. He knew Relisar’s dreams of old and knew they were not to be lightly disregarded.

  “Is she......is she dead, Relisar?” he asked, his voice a little unsteady. “That savage in the mountains, has he.....?” his voice trailed off, unable to proceed.

  The old Sage sat very still, his eyes closed in rapt concentration. Andarion knew that he possessed the gift of perception but unlike the Sages of old, he could not always bend it to his will. Andarion waited as the seconds ticked by. The silk curtains billowed restlessly in the breeze. Somewhere distant along the harbour, gulls squabbled noisily over scraps. The Prince sat as still as stone, his eyes fixed on the old man. Finally Relisar opened his eyes with a sigh.

  “In truth, Your Highness, I don’t know. I think if she were gone, I would feel it, but I sense nothing at the moment. That is perhaps reassuring, for it tends to suggest that she is no longer in danger. But of course these things cannot be made to order - or at least,” he amended, “I have never found it so.” His agitation diminished into sadness. “It went right through me, just here,” he said, placing his hand on his heart. “It was like being pierced by a cold blade.” He shivered. “I know you blame yourself for what happened in the mountains but you must not, for I am the one to blame. In my arrogance and pride I thought I could summon the Champion but Elorin came instead and has ended up paying the price of my folly.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  A Devious Game

  The King entertained his guests lavishly that evening. Everything, thought Andarion rather cynically, had been done to impress. The magnificent banquet set out in the main hall appeared to be attended by every noble in the Kingdom, all arrayed in colourful finery. The huge hall was set with long rows of tables groaning under the weight of silver plate and exotic delicacies. The gold leaf on the pillars and roof reflected the light from thousands of candles and the jewels worn by the women sparkled with such vivacity that the Prince felt his senses were being overwhelmed by so much colour and glitter. Strangely, it made him a little homesick for the simpler beauty of Addania. He remembered as a child sitting in the throne- room when it was deserted, watching the sunlight glow golden on the polished wooden floor, which in turn reflected the light upward, illuminating the rose-coloured pillars with celestial light, gilding every delicate detail of the carved chalice flowers. He thought of the old rose growing across the doorway, its tumbling white and pink blooms cascading over the portico until one had to stoop to get under it. The gardeners had wanted to cut it back but he would not permit it.

  His reverie was interrupted by the King leaning towards him.

  “How do you like our City-by-the-Shore, Prince Andarion?” he asked, a certain self-satisfied smile anticipating the Prince’s response.

  “Most magnificent,” the Prince replied, knowing what was expected of him, “Its reputation for beauty is justly deserved.”

  “Ah, but I was forgetting, you have been here before when my father was alive. You and I did not meet then, as I recall. I was visiting Kelendore at the time.”

  Andarion inclined his head. “I had not the pleasure of meeting you then but your father was most kind to me. I was deeply saddened to hear of his death a few years ago.”

  For some reason he sensed that the King was not overly pleased by that speech but he merely said: “And King Tharin? I trust he is well?”

  “Very well, I thank you.”

  “But then he has always enjoyed excellent health. His rule will be a long one, I think.”

  The Prince knew exactly what was being said but refused to be baited. “I trust so, Your Majesty. I still have much to learn from my father before I would consider myself fit to ascend the throne.”

  The King laughed knowingly. “Very proper,” he commented.

  The Prince decided to turn an awkward situation to his advantage and broached a subject that was proving difficult to raise. “However, in these troubled times, few of use dare look too far into the future. Few of us dare plan too far ahead. It is on such an issue that I have come to speak with you.” The King looked a little uneasy, knowing what was coming next. “Perhaps tomorrow you would honour me with some private conversation, so that we may discuss issues that are of mutual interest to our two countries?”

  “Very well,” said the King, giving in with what grace he could. “Join me in my apartments for breakfast in the morning, oh, and bring you advisor with you,” he added, nodding towards Relisar. Andarion followed his glance, and observed that the Last of the Seers and Keeper of the Book of Light was sitting wool-gathering, unaware that he had split wine on his gown and was trailing his sleeve in his dinner. The King smiled tolerantly and Andarion inwardly ground his teeth.

  ‘He thinks I have brought a fool with me’, he raged inwardly, ‘and perhaps he may be right.’

  He forced himself to say lightly. “It’s strange how often I have observed that men of great gifts are often immune to life’s trivia.”

  The King’s smile broadened. “Just so.”

  Someone else’s face also wore a smile. When Andarion’s glance transferred to Goradis, he knew every word of his conversation with the King had been overheard. For some reason, he found this disturbing.

  Relisar arrived early at the Prince’s apartment the following morning, complete with clean gown, neatly combed beard and a contrite expression. He was still mindful of the dressing- down the Prince had given him the night before and was clearly anxious to be on his best behaviour. Andarion, usually no stickler for protocol, had on this occasion dressed mindful of his rank, in the royal colour of Eskendria. His deep red cloak was richly embroidered along the hem with silver thread. He ran his eye critically over Relisar’s customary grey habit and was relieved to see an absence of the usual stains.

  “Any advice, Relisar?” he asked, his sternness melting a little.

  The old man raised his bushy eyebr
ows a little, surprised by the question. “Watch Goradis,” he said consideringly. “He is a fox if ever I saw one.”

  “Goradis will not be present.

  Relisar held the Prince’s gaze. “He will be,” was the flat reply. “Consider carefully who you are addressing when you wish to speak to the ruler of Serendar.”

  Andarion understood him perfectly but observed: “King Orovin is no weakling.”

  “Appearances can be deceptive. A strong chin and decided manner does not always mean a strong character. I sense hostility from Goradis, I’m not sure why, but his influence with the King is great.”

  “Is it a personal dislike of me?”

  “I don’t know. I cannot tell whether it is personal or whether there are wider issues involved. All I do know is that your visit is not welcome.”

  The King had chosen one of the palace’s many wide terraces as the venue for their meeting. A circular table set with four chairs sat on the white stone terrace overlooking the sea. The morning was clear and fair with the softest of breezes. The sea lapped languidly at the rocks below. It was still early and the heat of the day had not yet commenced. The sun, not far above the horizon, cast a long, clear channel of light across the water.

  As Relisar had predicted, Goradis was seated beside the King. The King’s Chamberlain escorted the Prince and Relisar to their seats. While servants were placing food on the table, the conversation was confined to pleasant trivialities but once they had withdrawn, the King directed a sharp glance at Andarion.

  “You have travelled long and far to reach the City-by-the-Shore, Crown Prince. Perhaps the moment is now appropriate for you to tell me the reason for your journey.”