The Crystal Chalice (Book 1)

by R. J. Grieve

  She looked over her shoulder at Andarion. “How do you come to be here?” she asked.

  “I came because I felt I shouldn’t have let you return alone. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  This was too much for Celedorn. He began to laugh, then winced with pain and was forced to change his mind. “Now that you are both here,” he said, “I have something to tell you that you won’t like. I have spent the entire day trying to find out what is going on, and you are not going to care for the results. I got into conversation with one of the guards from the towers across the bridge and he told me that the Turog are massing in great numbers just out of sight beyond the great headland to the north. He was certain the rope-bridge will soon have to be cut and the towers abandoned. Worse still, from the top of the towers, a Turog fleet can be seen standing out to sea. No doubt they will move in to cut off the island, once the landward attack begins.”

  Andarion frowned. “How much time do you think we have?”

  “Very little. Once the rope-bridge is cut, we will be trapped here. Apparently a small sailing boat was dispatched to Kelendore to get help, but it ran into the Turog fleet and was caught. It could be some time before Sirkris sees any outside help. Any supplies stacked on the quays are being lifted up by the hoists, prior to the harbour being abandoned.”

  “How did you get so much out of this man?” the Prince asked suspiciously.

  Celedorn raised a cynical eyebrow. “I used my charm.”

  The Prince wisely decided to let that one pass. “It appears that the decision must now be made,” he observed reflectively. “Do we stay here and stand siege, or risk the Forsaken Lands?”

  Celedorn turned to Elorin. “If we cross the Forsaken Lands we must rely on stealth to protect us. The more who travel together, the less chance we have of remaining undetected. You and I would do better alone. The old man and His Royal Highness will only be a hindrance.”

  Before she could reply, Andarion intervened. “Even you, for all your bravado, have no idea what we would face in the Forsaken lands,” he chided Celedorn. “No one knows what the terrain is like, or what secrets it holds. There could be rivers that cannot be crossed, mountains too high to be climbed. No one knows any more, not even Relisar who has studied all the available sources. You could starve to death, never mind encountering the Turog. Are you really proposing to take Elorin on such an expedition? Are you really that selfish?”

  “Elorin and I have journeyed through the Forsaken Lands before.”

  “Yes, I heard. And what exactly was it that you faced that night at Skerris-morl? What if that is not the only evil thing you encounter? Relisar was convinced that it was a demon of darkness - one of the Destroyer’s more unpleasant minions. You cannot fight such a thing with a sword. How do you propose to keep Elorin safe?”

  “I never said that it would be easy,” Celedorn replied irritably. “I am aware that it will be dangerous but......” he hesitated.

  “But?” Andarion prompted.

  “I have my doubts that Sirkris will be able to hold out this time.”

  The Prince was scornful. “Sirkris is impregnable.”

  “Nowhere is impregnable,” Celedorn countered swiftly. “At best, it is going to be a very long siege, at worst, a very short one.”

  Elorin who had been deep in thought spoke up: “We should ask Relisar’s opinion.”

  “I already know it,” the Prince replied reluctantly. “He is in favour of chancing the Forsaken Lands. He says that it is our fate - or some such nonsense. What do you think, Elorin? Is it our fate?”

  “I don’t know about fate, but I do know that you must return to Eskendria as soon as possible.” She glanced at Celedorn, who was watching her with curious intensity, and then uncertainly back at the Prince again. “I....I think we should risk the Forsaken Lands.”

  Celedorn relaxed his tense posture and looked enquiringly at Andarion. “Do you agree? I want no unwilling parties on this trip.”

  “I think it foolhardy.”

  Unable to resist goading, Celedorn raised his brows speculatively. “Afraid?” he suggested softly.

  The Prince took a hasty step towards him, his hands clenching into fists again. “If Elorin goes, I will go too - if only to protect her from you,” he spat.

  “Very well,” said his tormentor, leaning back in his chair provokingly at his ease. “Have you collected enough provisions or do you need more?”

  “We have as much as we can carry, besides, it would be unwise to delay any longer in case they cut down the bridge.”

  “I have a few things to purchase tomorrow morning,” Elorin interposed.

  “In that case our journey will start at noon tomorrow. We will meet here at that time. Are we agreed?”

  That night Elorin found that she couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned in the soft feather bed. Finally, she raised herself on her elbow and looked at the figure wrapped in blankets, dimly outlined against the glow of the dying fire.

  “Celedorn?” she whispered. “Are you awake?”

  He rolled onto his back with a sigh. “What is it?”

  “What.....what if we encounter that black cloud again - the thing Relisar calls a demon of darkness?”

  “Better pray we don’t.”

  “But......”

  “If you are going to stay awake all night, can I have the comfortable bed and you take the floor? At least one of us should get the benefit of it, for it’s the last soft bed we are likely to see for quite some time.”

  A soft chuckle issued from the bed. “The Prince would be horrified by that discourteous speech.” She lay back, gazing at the red glow the fire was making on the ceiling. “Think of it, the heir to the throne of Eskendria will be going into the Forsaken Lands tomorrow, with no more escort than an old man, a girl and a........”

  “........and a what?” demanded Celedorn dangerously.

  “A stubborn, irritating, provoking......”

  “All right,” he interrupted hastily, “no need to labour the point.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “Celedorn?”

  He groaned. “What now?”

  “Do you think we’ll make it?”

  His reply was so long in coming that she raised herself on her elbow again. “As bad as that?”

  “Do you want reassurance, or the truth? Because the truth is that I just don’t know. We don’t know what we will be facing, but my hope is that rumour has exaggerated the dangers, and with the Turog distracted by the attack on Sirkris, we may be able to avoid detection. I still think we would do better by ourselves but I can see that I am not going to be able to detach you from your Prince. Now stop asking stupid questions and get some sleep - or if you can’t, at least let me get some.”

  The next morning, when Elorin returned to the inn after making her purchases, she found Celedorn in the taproom attacking a large plate of ham and eggs. On the floor beside him were two packs, one large and one small, with their cloaks neatly tied across the top. Propped against the smaller pack was a bow and a quiver full of deadly, steel-tipped arrows.

  He waved his knife at her when she came in. “Come and join me,” he invited. “It will be camp fare from now on, so make the most of your last decent meal.”

  She tucked her purchases into the pack and sat down opposite him. He passed her a plate with some slices of ham.

  “What time is it,” she asked.

  “Almost noon. Your friends should be here soon.”

  He had barely spoken the words when the door burst open, precipitating Relisar and Andarion hurriedly into the room. They too were carrying heavy packs, but from the looks on their faces something was clearly wrong.

  “Quick!” Relisar gasped. “You must come quickly! They are going to cut down the rope-bridge!”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The Domain of the Destroyer

  Celedorn snatched up the packs, and tossed the bow to Elorin.

  “Mother Sorna!” she
exclaimed.

  “I’ve paid her.”

  “But I wanted to say goodbye!”

  “No time,” said Relisar agitatedly. “We must hurry.”

  They sped through the narrow streets, thankful that it was not market day and the way was clear. Relisar brought up the rear, scuttling along like a startled rabbit, his grey robes hitched up with little regard for his dignity.

  When they arrived at the cliff opposite the towers, a crowd had assembled, obscuring their view of the bridge. They pushed their way to the front, but even as they did so, Celedorn’s keen eyes spotted several figures on the far side of the gulf, tiny against the towering cliffs, attacking the ropes with axes.

  “We’re too late,” said the Prince blankly.

  One of the ropes parted and the bridge tipped over abruptly on its side. When the final rope was severed, the bridge dived gracefully downwards until its tail hit the sea.

  “Why did they cut it from the far side?” Elorin asked a bystander.

  “Don’t want to leave anything the Turog could use against us. The towers have been stripped. The men who wielded the axes will be picked up by boat further along the coast and brought home. Sirkris stands alone now.”

  Several strong soldiers were pulling up the remains of the bridge, hand over hand, until the frayed ends arrived, dripping sea water.

  Relisar turned to the Prince. “What do we do now?”

  Celedorn, who had been standing watching the bridge being pulled in, turned and handed his pack to the Prince.

  “I have an idea,” he said. “Take the others back to the Grey Dolphin and I will meet you there shortly.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll tell you when I see you,” he replied evasively and disappeared into the crowd.

  The Prince was disgruntled. “Since when do we take orders from him?”

  “We have little alternative for the moment,” Relisar sighed with resignation.

  It was late afternoon when Celedorn appeared at the inn and when he did so, he did not come alone. By his side was a grizzled, weather-beaten man in his sixties. His skin was leathery and brown, with deep lines etched around incongruously cheerful blue eyes.

  Celedorn introduced him. “This is Pelgar, he is a fisherman who works from the harbour below. He thinks perhaps he can help us.”

  “That’s right,” the man confirmed. “I heard that you wished to go to the Forsaken Lands before the siege starts, but unfortunately the bridge was cut down before you could cross. Now, I have a rowing boat down in the harbour and if the payment is enough, I’d be prepared to take you a couple of miles south of here and drop you off on the shore. But you’d need to make up your minds quickly because they are closing the harbour in the morning. All boats that are left will either be destroyed or winched up to the top of the cliff. My fishing boat broke loose during the storm and was smashed in the Devil’s Dyke but I still have a largish rowing boat.”

  “Nothing big enough to take us to Serendar, I suppose?” the Prince enquired.

  “Lord, no sir. My rowing boat is one of the biggest vessels left. Mind you, it will be a bit of a squeeze fitting you all in, but I think I can manage it.”

  “Pelgar has something else of interest to tell us,” Celedorn interjected.

  “Well, yes,” the man conceded. “I can give you a bit of information about the coast of the Forsaken Lands immediately to the south of Sirkris. When I was a boy I took my rowing boat and explored around there one summer. My father would have taken the hide off me if he’d known, but you know what boys are! All you have to do is to tell them that something is too dangerous and they are mad to give it a go. Now, these tall cliffs and headlands continue southwards as far as they eye can see. I’ll drop you off in one of the sandy coves between the headlands, and you can make your way southwards from there along the base of the cliffs. There is a shelf of rock at the cliff-foot which can be crossed at all times except a spring tide. The headlands are interspersed with sandy coves, many of them crossed by little streams. The bays will provide a good place to camp. After a while, you come to a headland that sticks further out into the sea than its fellows. It has no shelf, so you will be forced to go inland at that point. The headland is unmistakable, because it has the ruins of Kerrian-tohr on it.”

  Relisar’s eyes lit up. “It’s still there? The Palace of the Queen?”

  “Aye, it’s still there.”

  “What is it like? Is it........”

  “I can tell you nothing more about it, other than the fact that it is in ruins. I would not return there for any money.” He looked Relisar squarely in the eyes. “You see, it’s haunted. Even the Turog won’t go near it. When I was a lad, I camped on the beach below the Palace one night and I woke up in the small hours to see ghostly blue lights travelling along its walls. Not a sound, not a soul in sight but those silent blue lights moving as if of their own accord along the battlements. My hair fairly stood on end, I can tell you. I haven’t been back since and I have no intention of returning now. No, sir, there is no price high enough to take me there.” The others exchanged glances as he drew a deep breath, as if to shake off the memory. “There is a valley with steep sides that heads inland behind Kerrian-tohr. It’s not wooded, but it will give you more cover from prying eyes than the bare cliff-tops. Beyond that, I have no further knowledge. My own view of the matter is that you are all crazy. Better to stay here. The Turog are wasting their time trying to crack this nut. You’d be safe here, but if you are determined to go, I’ll take you.”

  Celedorn looked questioningly round the table and received reluctant nods of assent.

  “We are decided,” he told Pelgar. “We will take our chances in the Forsaken Lands.”

  “Come to the hoists as soon as it is dark, as there is no point in letting the Turog see what you are doing. I have to be back in the harbour before daybreak, so I can leave you no further than the first cove I told you about. Now, there is the little matter of payment.”

  Celedorn’s lip curled. “You will be paid when we reach the beach, not before.”

  The man looked ready to argue but Celedorn set a sum in gold coins on the table.

  “That should be enough. You can count it, if you like, but you don’t get it until we land.”

  “Very well,” Pelgar agreed reluctantly. “Now remember, as soon as the light begins to fail, be at the hoists.”

  As the day was already far advanced when Pelgar left, they hadn’t long to wait. Elorin used the opportunity to say goodbye to Mother Sorna and to thank her for all her kindness. As she stood that evening, waiting in the darkness beside the hoists, she remembered how the landlady’s chin had quivered when she heard of her destination. Tears had also sprung into her kindly eyes.

  “To think of you barely escaping death in that dreadful storm, just to go into the den of those murderous creatures. It’s just too much to bear.”

  Elorin looked at the others to see if they showed any signs of uneasiness. Celedorn was standing with his back turned towards her, his arms folded, staring out towards the darkening sea. Relisar was kneeling by his pack, fiddling with the straps but she discovered that the Prince was watching her. Catching her eye, he crossed to her side.

  “Having second thoughts?” he asked softly.

  “Yes, but I’m not backing out now. Besides,” she added, “it’s too late. Here comes Pelgar.”

  Pelgar had brought three burly companions with him to operate the winch. Without a word, he signalled to his passengers to follow him and stepped onto the gently swaying platform of the hoist. When they all stepped on, the platform lurched alarmingly and Elorin involuntarily clutched Celedorn’s arm. Knowing well the reason she had to fear heights, he steadied her as the platform sank down the cliff face until it bumped down onto the quay.

  Pelgar had not been exaggerating when he said that it would be a tight squeeze to fit them all in the boat, but when the last pack was forced under the seat, he pushed off and soon the oars
were dipping gently into the inky-black water. The sea seemed exhausted after the fury of the storm and a misty moon glinted down on the smoothly undulating surface. It was difficult to make out features in the darkness, but Pelgar seemed to know his way as if by instinct. Once clear of the harbour wall, he turned the boat southwards and it began to rise and fall on the gentle black swell. In the darkness, no one noticed poor Relisar turn a delicate shade of green.

  The waves could faintly be heard breaking on the shore and a line of white surf could dimly be seen on their left. The tall cliffs loomed above the surf, blacker than the surrounding darkness, their presence somehow menacing. In the faint light cast by the haloed moon, tall headlands could be seen thrusting out to sea, their flat tops gleaming like pewter.

  Smoothly and rhythmically the oars dipped in and out, scattering silver droplets. No one spoke and there was no sound other than the hypnotic creak of the oars and the quiet murmur of the sea. Headland after headland passed, as if in some sort of trance and after what seemed a long time, the boat began to turn towards the shore. It slid into the quieter waters between the long, sheltering arms of two headlands. The moon momentarily slipped out from behind the thin veil of clouds and lit up a deep horseshoe-shaped bay, set like a well between the dark cliffs. The head of the bay bore a crescent of hard sand upon which the waves languidly broke. As the boat grounded on the sand, the Prince, who had been sitting in the bow, leaped into the water and pulled it higher. Relisar, still green about the gills, scrambled over the side with more haste than elegance. The others gathered up their belongings and followed at a more sedate pace. The mournful cry of some seabird disturbed by their presence, echoed around the cove. Pelgar did not get out of the boat but wordlessly held out his hand to Celedorn, who dropped the golden coins into it.

  “Don’t try to cross the shelf at the foot of the cliffs during the hours of darkness,” Pelgar advised. “It would be too easy to break a leg in some deep pool or crevice. Wait on the beach until daybreak.”