by R. J. Grieve
Celedorn returned to the palace to find the others anxiously waiting. “The librarian was more helpful than I dared hope. He has given me a map showing the part of the palace where he thinks they may be holding Relisar.”
“When do we go?” asked Andarion, leaning over his shoulder to look at the map.
“We do not go. I will go alone - there is less chance of being detected that way.” He saw the Prince draw breath and realised that an argument was impending. “I know you want to come. I expected no less, but you must get Triana and Elorin beyond the city walls as soon as it is dark. Take all the horses and our belongings with you and go to a copse that Elorin knows just beyond the eastern gate. If all goes well, I will bring Relisar to you. However, if am not with you one hour before midnight, leave two of the horses and ride to the border. You are on no account to wait longer, as the King will be expecting us to put in an appearance at midnight to give him our answer.”
“This is too risky, Celedorn.”
Andarion found himself drawn to one side. “The King has no intention of holding us prisoner. He is playing a cat and mouse game with us. If we do not escape, we will not long survive Relisar.”
“What if Relisar is already dead?”
“Then all this will have been in vain and there will be no escape for us.”
“I still don’t like you going alone.”
“I must. If I am caught, I am the only one who can keep secrets from the old Queen.” Then with a sudden change of mood, he grinned impudently. “Besides, the Scourge of the Westrin Mountains has never yet been caught - even with half of Eskendria trying.” He directed so knowing a look at the Prince that he was forced to laugh. “It’s true, you have the devil’s own luck, Celedorn, let’s just hope it holds tonight.”
As soon as darkness fell, the Prince and his two charges slipped into the quiet maze of back streets leading to the inn. Celedorn, watching their departure from the cover of a doorway to make sure they were not followed, satisfied himself that their exit had been unobserved, and then melted like a shadow into the darkness of the parkland.
He had memorised the map the librarian had given him, before destroying it, and consequently did not hesitate to circle the palace until he came to a long, dark wing that projected from the western side of the building. Unlike the rest of the palace, no lights showed in its windows, there was no coming and going of servants, it was as silent as the grave. But it was not quite as deserted as it seemed, for as he stood listening, he heard the faint clink of metal. Peering around a corner, using the voluptuous fronds of a creeper as cover, he saw a guard standing on duty at the only doorway leading into the wing. The guard was some distance away and was clearly bored but still much too alert to be taken by surprise.
Swiftly his eyes scanned the windows on the ground floor, only to find them all tightly shut. However, a small casement on the first floor appeared to be slightly ajar. Grasping the creeper and hoping fervently that it didn’t give way under his weight, he began to climb.
The casement opened with a loud creak but he was through in an instant and found himself in a darkened corridor. He knew from the map that the ground and first floors of the wing were occasionally used as state apartments, and that the cells were located below ground level in some disused wine cellars. Silently as a ghost, he moved along the corridor until he reached the head of a descending flight of stairs. A faint glow of lamplight illuminated the foot of the stairs, coming from a source just out of sight. Once again he paused to listen intently but reassured by the silence, he soon glided down to the floor below. At the bottom he peered around the corner to find another long passage with many doors opening off it. An oil lamp on a small stand was the source of the light. The passage, like the one above, was utterly deserted. Mentally positioning himself on the librarian’s map, he realised that the door to the cellars lay beyond a sharp corner to his left. He had already begun to move in that direction when he detected voices coming towards him. Quick as a thought, he ducked into one of the side rooms. It was in darkness but the faint gleam coming from the window revealed some sort of dining room. The long table was stacked with dishes and wine glasses, however, the air smelt a little musty as if it was seldom used.
The voices drew nearer and passed the door without stopping. From the fragments of their conversation that he could make out, Celedorn concluded that they were guards coming off duty and heading with resolution to their favourite tavern in the city. When they had gone, he cautiously opened the door and peered out. The next instant he was at the bend in the corridor. One swift glance around it informed him that his luck had come to an end. The door to the cellar lay at the far end of a straight corridor and was guarded by two alert-looking guards who had obviously just come on duty. They stood on either side of the door, long pikes in their hands, swords by their sides, their attention very far from wandering. The empty corridor completely deprived him of the element of surprise, on which he had intended to rely. There were no windows, no other doors, before he got even half way along that passage, he would have a pike stuck in his belly. He was leaning back against the wall, his mind desperately searching for answers, when into his thoughts flashed the memory of the guards coming off duty. A bold idea began to form in his mind. He returned to the dining room and set wine glasses and a decanter on a tray, then returned with them to the corner. Unbuckling his scabbard to render his appearance more innocuous, he picked up the tray and stepped boldly into the corridor whistling nonchalantly.
The two guards instantly snapped to attention, their pikes levelled pugnaciously, but when they saw an unarmed figure approaching with such obvious confidence, a tray balanced on one hand, they were more puzzled than alarmed.
“Your comrades sent me to bring you something to relieve the tedium.” said Celedorn. “A fine wine, with the compliments of the tavern of the Blue Boar.” He hoped desperately that in the poor light, they could not see that the decanter was empty.
The taller guard was suspicious. “Is this one of Jaldeth’s practical jokes?” he asked, his eyes narrowed. “I’ve fallen for them once too often. Perhaps he has put rat poison in that wine.”
But his companion dismissed his fears. “If you won’t risk it, I’ll drink your share as well. The Blue Boar has the finest wine in the city.”
Celedorn was now just a pace or two away. He handed the tray to the first guard with his left hand, and simultaneously delivered such a powerful punch with his right, that the man dropped in an unconscious heap without so much as a groan. The tray crashed to the ground, the glasses shattering. As the guard fell, like a flash, Celedorn wrenched the pike from his hands and rammed the butt hard into the other guard’s stomach. The breath exploded from him and he doubled up. A heavy blow to the head dispensed with any possible resistance and he fell beside his companion.
Celedorn glanced around anxiously, wondering if the crash of the tray had attracted attention. He sprinted to the corner and snatched up his sword, then returning to the two inert bodies, he searched them for keys. A truly enormous bunch was his reward and he frowned at it in frustration but as luck would have it, the fifth key he tried opened the door.
A flight of stone steps descended steeply into darkness. Lifting the torch from the wall outside, he began to descend, uncertain as to what he would find. The flickering light lit cold, bare stone walls. Lying curled up in a corner, looking very small and alone, was a figure in a grey ink-stained robe.
“Relisar!” Celedorn called sharply.
But there was no response. Fearing the worst, he descended the last few steps and crossing the figure, grasped it by the shoulder.
“Relisar!”
A pair of rather dazed eyes opened. “Celedorn? My dear boy, am I dreaming?”
No one had ever addressed the Scourge of the Westrin Mountains in quite that manner before and Celedorn grinned with a mixture of amusement and relief. “You’re not dreaming. You didn’t think we’d leave you to your fate, did you?”
�
��How did you find me?” he asked, sitting up stiffly.
“A long story, best kept for another occasion. We must go. The others are waiting for us outside the city walls.” He gripped the old man by the elbow and helped him to his feet.
When they ascended the stairs, Celedorn dragged the bodies of the two unconscious guards into the cellar and locked the door. He knew that he could hardly expect Relisar to climb down the creeper, but didn’t want to risk a noisy fracas with the guard at the door, so he led the way back to the dining room and forced open the window. Relisar nipped out with surprising agility and landed in a flower bed.
“We must hurry,” whispered Celedorn. “The two guards will soon be found and the alarm will be raised, besides, we must return to the others an hour before midnight and that gives us little time.”
Together they crossed the parkland, keeping well away from the palace within the cover of the trees. When the gate leading to the city came in sight, Celedorn drew a sigh of relief, but his emotion was premature.
Just as they approached the archway, someone they knew came through it. In the flaming light cast by the bronze dragons, Captain Naldian could hardly fail to recognise them. He stared in astonishment before drawing breath to raise the alarm. Celedorn charged him and brought him down in a crashing fall, but the Captain was game for a fight and lashed out vigorously. A confused and bitter struggle ensued, wasting valuable time. Relisar stood dithering, wanting to help but unsure what to do, until he heard Celedorn commanding him in thunderous accents to run. He hitched up his grey gown and darted, like a rabbit pursued by a stoat, through the gateway. A moment later Celedorn came flying after him looking wild and dishevelled.
“He got away from me,” he panted. “He’ll be raising the alarm right now.”
As if in confirmation of his words, there came the sound of many running feet. A body of about a dozen guards burst through the archway. A roar went up from them when they spotted the fugitives.
“Run!” shouted Celedorn, pushing Relisar before him. They shot into the maze of narrow side-streets that Celedorn was now thankful he had explored in such detail earlier. They twisted and weaved along alleys and round corners, and twice they doubled back on themselves, but their pursuers knew the streets as well as Celedorn and could not be shaken from the scent. Relisar by this time was gasping for breath and trembling in every limb. Celedorn pulled him backwards into a deep doorway, just as the guards thundered past. “You can’t outrun them,” he said rapidly. “In a moment they will realise what we have done and will be back. Stay in this doorway while I draw them away from you. When all is clear, make your way down this street to the city gate. A short distance beyond, there is a copse to the left of the road. You will find the others there. Tell them to leave one of the horses and proceed to the border immediately, to the place where we came though the curtain. Is that clear? And don’t listen to any nonsense from Andarion about not leaving me.”
“Yes, but I don’t wish to leave you, not after all you’ve risked for me.”
“Relisar,” said Celedorn gravely. “I stand a better chance alone. You know it is true.”
Reluctantly, the old Sage nodded. The sound of boots clattering over the cobbles informed them that their ruse had been discovered. Signalling to Relisar to stay put, Celedorn ran out into the street. A cry like hounds picking up a scent greeted his appearance.
Relisar, watching from the darkness of the doorway, saw Celedorn dive down an alley on the opposite side of the street, with the guards hard on his heels like an unpleasant fate. When all was quiet, he slipped out into the broad avenue and made his way unmolested to the gate. As was the custom, it was unguarded, but before he vanished through it, he thought he heard the faint sounds of the chase echoing down between the narrow confines of the houses.
His greeting from the others was all he could have wished, Triana even going so far as to fling her arms around his neck, but Elorin immediately said: “Where is Celedorn?”
“Our escape was detected and he is now leading the King’s guards a merry dance through the older parts of the city. He said to leave him a horse and ride to the border immediately. He will meet us at the place where we escaped from the tunnels.”
“No!” declared the Prince stubbornly. “We are not going without him.”
“He gave me very strict instructions, my boy, and he is not the sort of person one disobeys. He has a better chance of escape if he is not burdened with all of us - and besides, you cannot just think of yourself, you must ensure Elorin’s and Triana’s safety.”
At that moment, Triana, who had been listening intently to their conversation, turned to address Elorin, and found nothing but empty air behind her.
“Where is Elorin?”
“Damn!” said the Prince grittily. “I know where she has gone. She has gone to help Celedorn.”
“Oh no!” cried Relisar. “How could she be so foolish?”
“I must go after her! You two go on to the border.”
But Relisar caught his sleeve. “You must not! There is only one person who can look after her now and that is Celedorn. He knows those streets like the back of his hand, whereas you and I would only get lost and ultimately caught, and this whole night would end in disaster. No, we must do as Celedorn ordered. Leave two horses and we will meet them at the border.” Seeing the Prince’s intractable look, he lowered his voice. “Triana must not fall into the hands of the King. Think! Andarion. Your sentiments do you credit but Celedorn would be the first to tell you that you were behaving like a fool.”
A reluctant smile was drawn from Andarion. “Yes, indeed he would.” He glanced at Triana, anxiously awaiting his decision. “We ride to the border,” he said decisively, but as they mounted, she did not see him cast a look of apprehension back at the city.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The Kiss
Once through the gateway, Elorin halted and listened intently. Distantly, echoing down the silent streets, came the sound of a commotion. Following the sound, she entered an area of the old town that was a rabbit warren of narrow streets and decrepit buildings. There were a few people on the streets, all turning their heads in the direction of the fracas. Thankfully, no one paid any heed to her.
Rounding a corner, she found herself at the head of a straight street that appeared to be a dead end. The cobbled road ended in front of a tall, imposing building in the course of being renovated. Halfway up the street, heading away from her and just a few steps ahead of his pursuers, raced Celedorn. Elorin gasped and caught her hand to her mouth in alarm as he reached the end of the street - but he didn’t stop. Like lightning he leaped up the builder’s ladders and soon gained the roof of the building under repair. With heart-stopping agility, he sprang from the edge of the roof onto the gable of an adjoining building and disappeared over the roofs towards the next street. Elorin turned abruptly on her heel and ran in the same direction. She rounded the corner into the next street just in time to see him land with catlike poise from a high wall.
“Celedorn!”
He whirled in astonishment. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, not looking at all pleased. “You should be at the border by now! Of all the.....” He broke off as he saw a guard appear over the ridge tiles of the roof above them. “I’ll reserve your telling-off for later,” he said, catching her hand. “Now is not the time.”
They ran to the end of the street until they were out of sight of the guards, and on suddenly finding themselves in a crowded thoroughfare, they dropped to an inconspicuous walk. The street was lined with taverns, all doing a roaring trade. There was much coming and going between them, as patrons, already a little the worse for wear, sought the delights of a new establishment. The mostly male crowds were rowdy but fairly affable. Some speculative glances were cast in Elorin’s direction, unaware that she was still clasping Celedorn’s hand. When he intercepted such glances, Celedorn scowled in such a forbidding way that speculation gave way rapidly to apprehension.
> He had made to turn left down the street, when suddenly he halted abruptly.
“What is it?” Elorin asked.
“Look!” He indicated the end of the street where a large party of guards had appeared. The fugitives turned as of one mind in the opposite direction but the same thing happened at the other end of the street. The haphazard chase appeared to have been abandoned and the body of men now searching for them were doing so methodically. The guards began to push their way through the crowds, grasping men by the shoulder and turning them peremptorily to scan their faces. Detachments were sent to search every inn.
“Finally they have got themselves organised,” Celedorn observed sourly. “Perfect timing.”
As the searchers drew closer, his eyes scanned the street for a way of escape. The busy inns supplied him with an idea. “If we go into one of these taverns, we might find a back door leading to an adjoining street.”
Moving discreetly and unhurriedly so as not to attract attention, they wended their way through the crowds and entered a large tavern whose tiny windows were cosily aglow with lamplight. The inn, too, was packed, the large taproom filled with the sound of laughter and loud conversation. Barmaids dressed in swirling skirts of many colours, with their waists nipped tightly in, wove deftly between the throng carrying loaded trays of beer or wine. Celedorn began to make his way towards the back of the room, towing Elorin behind him. A wooden door at the far end was clearly his goal, but before they had even got half way through the intervening crush, the door opened to admit several guards - effectively cutting off their means of escape. They had begun to retreat, when the door from the street also opened and an even larger detachment of guards entered and began to search the busy inn.
“Cornered,” growled Celedorn.
Elorin caught his arm and a led him to a small table tucked away in a dark corner.
