The Crystal Chalice (Book 1)

by R. J. Grieve

  When she left, Celedorn shook Elorin awake again and handed her the nightdress.

  “Change into that,” he ordered, “and get into bed. I’m going to get some food. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  She nodded vaguely and he doubted if she had understood him but when he returned with the hot wine and a plate of meat and bread, he found her curled up on the floor in the nightdress, the wet clothes discarded in a ring around her like fallen petals. When he had picked her up and tucked her into bed, he stood looking down at her for a moment before spreading her wet hair out across the pillow.

  “You need sleep more than you need food, my girl,” he told the unconscious form.

  With a sigh, he shed his own wet clothes and wrapped a blanket around himself. After eating ravenously, he stretched out on the rug in front of the fire, enjoying the sensation of warmth soaking into his back.

  “Not cold, not wet, not hungry,” he remarked to the quiet room. “I think I must have died and gone to heaven,” he chuckled with sudden self-mockery. “Except that they’d never let me in.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  An Unexpected Reunion

  When Elorin awoke, she had no idea where she was. The white ceiling above her, criss-crossed with carved oak beams, was unfamiliar. Turning her head on the pillow, she encountered a latticed window, flanked by chintz curtains liberally splashed with a pattern of pink roses. The view from the window was unencouraging - low, sullen grey clouds. She supposed that if she sat up, she would obtain a better view of her surroundings, but the effort required was too much to even think about. She lay relaxed beneath the warm feather quilt, puzzled by her change in circumstances but too tired to care. Her last vague memory was of struggling through a dense stand of wet hazel trees and the hard feel of Celedorn’s arm supporting her. Celedorn!

  With an effort she raised her head, to discover that she was alone in the room. A fire burned brightly in the hearth, flanked by comfortable padded armchairs. Against the back wall of the room, a small table, covered in a white cloth, was set for dining - but unfortunately without the food. Vaguely, she realised that she was hungry and wondered dreamily if someone would come along soon and explain how she got here. Her wish was soon granted. The door softly opened and a head appeared around it. Not Celedorn, as she had been expecting, but a middle-aged, matronly lady clad in an old-fashioned blue gown and apron. A little lace cap was perched on top of her head and tied under her ample chin with blue ribbons. When she saw that her guest was awake, she ventured further into the room.

  “I see you are awake at last, my dear,” she observed in a kind voice.

  With a great effort, Elorin raised herself on her elbow. “Do....do I know you?” she faltered.

  “I’m Mother Sorna. I am the proprietress of this tavern. I met you last night, but you wouldn’t remember that. It gave me quite a nasty turn to see you when your husband brought you in. What a state you were in! So cold and white. For an awful moment I thought that you were beyond human aid, but your husband knew just what to do. If you don’t mind me saying so, my dear, but he was quite a startling sight when he appeared carrying you in his arms, water streaming off him, looking so haggard - apart from those dreadful.....well, never mind that. Scared me out of my wits, he did. I can tell you, his wild appearance nearly made me turn you both away, but then I saw how worried he was about you, thinking nothing of himself, just concerned for you, well I changed my mind. One must not, after all, judge by appearances,” she concluded virtuously.

  “I’m in Sirkris then?”

  “Yes indeed, and just in the nick of time, by the looks of things. Those dratted creatures are up to their tricks again,” she announced, obviously unimpressed by the Turog, “taking advantage of any bad situation for their own wicked ends. But I have no doubt the Ruling Council will know how to deal with them.”

  “Where is Cel....my.....my husband?” Elorin stammered, hastily correcting herself.

  “He went out earlier to buy some things for you. On my advice, he took your clothes to get the size right. Men have no notion about these things. Goodness only knows what he will come back with, but your clothes were in tatters and you were in no condition to go out yourself. He told me that if you awoke, I was to bring you some food and a hot bath. You see, I was right,” she added, pleased with this evidence of her own percipience, “appearances can be deceptive.”

  Elorin sat up and realised that she was wearing a nightdress she had never seen before.

  “Where did this come from?”

  “That’s mine, dearie, you needed something dry to wear and you had lost everything when your ship foundered. Nearly all the poor souls that arrived at our gates over the last few days have lost all they possessed in the world. They say there has never been such a storm. Why, even some warships from Serendar sank just at the mouth of the harbour before they could get to safety, and all on board except a very few were drowned. Even our own ships tied up at the quay, broke loose from their moorings and smashed against the rocks. The seas forcing their way into the Devil’s Dyke would have scared a person silly just to look at them, even from the height of the cliffs.”

  “Is the storm over now?”

  “Well, the wind has dropped and it has stopped raining.” She crossed to the window and held back the curtain. “The sky still looks a bit dirty but they say that the worst of it has gone - and not a moment too soon. Why, we lost several slates off the roof and it’s a miracle that next door’s chimney didn’t come down on us.”

  Elorin stared at her owlishly, a little bemused by this recital.

  “Now,” said the landlady, “I’ll bring you something to eat and then you can have your bath.” She laughed. “I wouldn’t like to be the one to have neglected you when your husband comes back.”

  When she returned with some food for Elorin on a tray, she sat on the edge of the bed and to her guest’s amusement, continued with her relentless flow of trivial conversation. She asked questions which she answered herself, informed Elorin in intimate detail about her relations, the state of her health, and her feud with a recalcitrant neighbour. In the midst of this dialogue, two maids came in with a small metal tub and some cans of hot water.

  “There now,” said Mother Sorna, winding up her recital, “A nice hot bath by a coal fire is just the thing for you. I’ve lent you a towel and a cake of my own rose-scented soap. You’re looking better already, you know, all you need is a bit of colour in your cheeks and you’ll be as right as rain. Now I’ll take myself off and leave you to it. If you need anything else, just call.”

  She stayed in the bath for a long time, luxuriating in the heat, letting the last lingering stiffness melt away, then she washed her hair with the scented soap and wrapping herself in the towel, knelt down by the fire to dry it.

  She was engaged in this occupation when Celedorn returned. She looked up when the door opened and let out a soft whistle of appreciation.

  “What a transformation,” she declared. “Hair cut, clean shaven, and new clothes.”

  He grinned, not minding in the least being teased. “Yes,” he agreed, “if it wasn’t for the face, I’d be almost respectable.”

  He was clad in a grey shirt, black breeches and boots, and one of the longish leather waistcoats popular in the region. Under his arm he carried a large paper parcel tied with string. He held it out to her.

  “Some clothes, madam,” he said with a gleam of humour. “Not that I have any objection to your present attire,” he added, his eye travelling downwards from her face to the edge of the towel, which just revealed the beginnings of an intriguing curve. To his amusement, when she detected the direction of his glance, she blushed scarlet and hitched the voluminous towel more tightly around her. He handed her the parcel and sat down in one of the armchairs to watch her open it.

  “If you don’t like the clothes, don’t blame me. I just handed your old clothes to the woman in the shop and let her get on with it.”

  Elorin lifted out a pale
blue shirt of fine cambric embroidered with white flowers at the collar. Next came boots of the softest tan leather. One by one she lifted items of the finest quality out of the parcel.

  She looked up at him. “These are beautiful, Celedorn, but how did you pay for them?” An unwelcome thought occurred to her. “You.....you didn’t steal them, did you?”

  He had been watching her with a slight smile on his face, but his good humour vanished in a flash and the black brows come down in something perilously close to a scowl.

  “No I didn’t steal them,” He snapped angrily, unaware of the inconsistency of his indignation given his past history. “They are paid for.”

  “But where did you get the money?”

  “I sold something.”

  She glanced quickly at his sword but it was still by his side. “What?”

  He hesitated before saying ungraciously. “Very well, I suppose I’ll have to tell you. When I was helping the fishermen at Skerris-morl, I found a perfect moonpearl and.....er....kept the information to myself. I knew we would need money when we returned to Serendar - I just didn’t expect to be spending it here.”

  Her eyes dropped before his accusing stare. It occurred to her that his grey eyes could be as cold and hard as any moonpearl.

  “I’m sorry,” she said remorsefully, “but bearing in mind your past career, you can hardly be surprised at my suspicions.” She drew a deep breath. “And while I’m at it, I have another apology to make. I remember saying some things to you yesterday that I didn’t really mean and.....I now regret.”

  He appeared to be mystified. “What things?”

  “If I recall rightly, I believe I told you I hated you.”

  He shrugged dismissively in a characteristic gesture she had come to know well. “You have every right to hate me.”

  “I have not!” she declared roundly. “You saved me from drowning and dying of cold. I have every cause to be grateful.”

  Her declaration, however, met with an unexpected response. Fire smouldered in the grey eyes and his mouth thinned with anger.

  “I don’t want your gratitude,” he cut across her. “Like me, or hate me, it matters nothing to me either way, but don’t ever show me gratitude.”

  She stared at him nonplussed, quite astonished at the venom in his voice. Aware of how much he had startled her, he moderated his tone.

  “I was the one who insisted on a hostage and thus set in train the circumstances which led to all of this. You have therefore no cause to be grateful to me.”

  But even as he said it, she knew it wasn’t the true explanation for his outburst. His anger had been too passionate, too intense for such a cause. She began to despair of ever understanding him.

  He nodded to the shirt still in her hand. “If I undertake to look undeviatingly out of the window, will you get dressed? Or do you want me to leave?”

  “No...I....I trust you,” she replied, still a little shaken by his outburst.

  “On my tour of the town, I picked up some information that suggests we are not out of the woods yet,” he informed her, his eyes following the speeding clouds across the sky. “Trade is the breath of life to so small an island as Sirkris and she has maintained her position here only because the strength of her navy has kept the shipping lanes open, but most of her warships have been lost in the storm and that devil-spawn in the Forsaken Lands know it. They may very well use the opportunity to attack Sirkris and without her navy to protect her, she is nothing but a fortress rising out of the sea and will have to stand siege as such. Not something I think that we should get involved in.”

  “Surely Kelendore will send help.”

  “In the normal course of events, yes, they would, but they too have suffered from this accursed storm. One almost wonders if it was natural at all, or something the Destroyer has brewed up. Several warships from Serendar were wrecked on the rocks at the entrance to the harbour.”

  “I know. Mother Sorna told me. She said there were few survivors.”

  “The storm seems to have caught everyone unawares - except those infernal creatures. Ships have been wrecked by the score all along this coast. The guards at the towers have had dozens of survivors coming in, but they were particularly jumpy last night because there is a rumour that the Turog are massing beyond the Great Headland. I would not like to be caught in Sirkris if, for only the second time since the fall of the Old Kingdom, the rope-bridge has to be cut.”

  “You can turn around now, I’m ready.”

  She made a trim figure in breeches and boots with the blue shirt worn under a sleeveless tunic of deeper hue, held neatly in at the waist by a broad belt. If she expected a compliment from him, she was doomed to disappointment, for the only comment he made was that he had told the shopkeeper she liked blue and it appeared that he had been taken at his word.

  She smiled at him. “Am I allowed to thank you, or do I risk being verbally annihilated again?”

  He grinned ruefully. “I have a temper,” he admitted, as one making a heroic confession.

  Her eyes twinkled appreciatively. “It’s as well you told me, for I would never have noticed.”

  “Hussy,” he remarked without rancour. “Come and look around the town with me. I think you’ll like it.”

  When they left the inn, Elorin crossed the cobbled road and peered over the stone wall that guarded the top of the cliff. Celedorn joined her and pointed out the harbour, so far below them that they looked down on the snowy backs of the gulls circling the quays, their greedy eyes searching for scraps.

  Elorin leaned forward to get a better view and at once felt Celedorn’s hand gripping the collar of her shirt.

  “Not so far, if you please,” he declared. “I’m damned if I’m going in after you again.”

  “If you are referring to the Serpent’s Throat, you only went in after me because you couldn’t help it.” She pointed down to the harbour. “How does one get down to it? I can’t see any steps.”

  “That’s because there aren’t any. The only way up or down, for goods or people, is by way of those hoists situated further along the cliff-top. In times of peril, the harbour is abandoned as being indefensible. It’s the only part of this island at sea level.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I’ve been here before - a long time ago. You’ll notice that there are no boats in the harbour, other than rowing boats. All vessels of any size that were moored here during the storm broke loose and were smashed in the Devil’s Dyke.”

  “I’d like to see the Dyke - and this famous rope-bridge.”

  “We crossed the rope-bridge last night but it was dark and you were in no condition to admire the scenery. Actually,” he began, as one making another confession. “I was glad it was dark because I’m.....well....not overly fond of crossing it. If we climb the hill we can cross the fields behind the town and drop down at the bridge. It’s market day today and the town is crowded. It would take all morning to fight our way through the streets.”

  As they ascended the grassy slope, the sun at last got the better of its sulks and burst from beneath the dark clouds, lighting up with crystal clarity the view before them. Headland after mighty headland, fading into the misty gold distance, thrust out in succession from the Forsaken Lands. Their dark, craggy brows were adorned with crowns of short, emerald grass that gave way to trees about a mile inland. Between the tall headlands, sheltered, sandy bays could be glimpsed. The ubiquitous gulls, raucous and white as a hailstorm, swirled and circled against the precipitous black rocks.

  Sirkris was so close to the mainland that from the position they were standing in, it seemed to be part of it, but as they descended the far side of the hill, a thin crack appeared that gradually opened as they approached it.

  The Devil’s Dyke dropped sheer to a narrow passage of dark blue sea that heaved restlessly, bursting now and then against the foot of the black cliffs in explosions of white spray that filled the air with a fine salt mist. The bridge spanning the void loo
ked fragile as gossamer, swaying alarmingly with the wind as if too fine to bear weight. It dipped dauntingly in the middle, and Elorin, looking at it with misgiving, was glad that she had known nothing about their passage across it.

  She looked at Celedorn, a new respect in her eyes. “You carried me across that?”

  He nodded.

  She blew out her cheeks. “You don’t lack for nerve. Why, that chasm is even worse than the Serpent’s Throat!” She stepped abruptly back from the edge, looking a little pale. “I don’t think I like it.”

  He understood perfectly. “Don’t worry, I am now aware of your predilection for throwing yourself off heights. I won’t let you fall in this time.”

  She smiled wryly. “How come you can always tell what I’m thinking and I never have a clue what’s going on in your head? I think you cultivate unpredictability just to make life difficult for other people.”

  He laughed and shook his head enigmatically as they made their way towards the town.

  As he had predicted, the narrow streets were seething with people, obviously glad to be out and about again after being confined to their homes by the storm. The shops had opened their shutters, and wooden stalls, festooned with all manner of goods, cluttered the already congested streets. Vegetables, fruit, game, rugs, furs, fabrics, clothes, jewellery, pottery, weapons and baskets all hung in fascinating profusion from the stalls and shops. Their progress was slow, not so much because of the cheerful crowds thronging the streets, all intent on the business of buying and selling, but because Elorin stopped at every stall exclaiming at the range of goods, running her hands over soft furs or holding glassware up to catch the light. Celedorn watched her delight with uncharacteristic tolerance, patiently allowing her to look her fill. But when they came to a shop that sold weapons, he was in for a surprise.

  They entered the low-pitched, rather dark shop in search of a hunting knife to replace the one he had lost in the Harnor. While he negotiated with the owner, Elorin prowled round the shop, inspecting gleaming racks of swords and trying the weight of a rather fearsome double-headed battle axe; but when she came to a stand of bows, her interest sharpened. She lifted a slender longbow down from the rack and bracing her left arm against it, drew back the string to her shoulder in the wholly professional manner of someone accustomed to doing such a thing. When the shopkeeper saw that Celedorn’s attention was no longer on the knife, he crossed to Elorin, scenting another sale.