The Crystal Chalice (Book 1)

by R. J. Grieve

  Triana gasped and gave a broken sob.

  Celedorn turned his cheek towards the Prince. “As you see, I still carry the sentence it imposed upon me. I will carry it to my grave.”

  The Prince leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Celedorn.” he whispered. “I have misjudged you. I am so very sorry.”

  “It must have released me, I don’t remember,” Celedorn continued. “The servant that my father had sent to get help, returned alone some time later and found me wandering in the forest completely out of my mind with grief. He had returned to find nothing but a smouldering pile of bodies and my father’s sword lying amongst the leaves. By the time he found me, infection had already set into the wounds and they healed badly.”

  Andarion lifted his head. “Why did he not bring help? Did he not find my father?”

  Celedorn turned a glance upon him as bitter as acid. “Oh yes, he found him and pleaded our cause, but your father would not come. Even with the cavalry he had brought, the Turog would still have outnumbered him and he would not risk it. He would not risk his own skin for his friend.”

  The Prince leaped to his feet. “It cannot be true! The servant must have lied!”

  “I have known the man all my life and he has never lied.”

  Elorin found her voice: “It was Dorgan, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked at the Prince. “I know this man. He would not lie.”

  “But my father would not, could not fail to come to his friend’s aid.” the Prince protested wildly.

  “It is worse than that,” said Celedorn grimly. “Or have you forgotten that my mother was your father’s younger sister? He let his own sister die.”

  Andarion turned away. “No, no! It cannot be.” Another thought struck him. “This explains why you were so hostile to me at first.”

  “Yes, but I came to realise that I was mistaken. You are not your father and cannot be held accountable for what he did. You were, after all, only seven or eight years old at the time. Also, I soon realised that you are very different in character to your father. If it had been you that day, you would not have hesitated to come, no matter what the odds.”

  “There must be another explanation,” Andarion said. “I do not always see eye to eye with my father but I cannot believe that of him. I cannot believe him to be a coward.”

  “I’m sorry,” was all Celedorn replied.

  “What happened to you after that?” Triana asked.

  “Dorgan brought me back to Ravenshold, but the Turog had been there first and it was gutted and burnt. So we salvaged what we could and embarked on our travels. Over the next number of years we journeyed to many places, to Serendar and Sirkris, to the marshlands and the petty princedoms to the south. Even to the edge of the great desert in the south, and everywhere I went, I learnt all I could about the sword. Bitterness and revenge had taken hold of my mind like poison and I vowed I would find the Great-turog someday and this time not fail. I swore, too, revenge on Eskendria for forsaking us. For ten years I studied the sword, learning every technique, every trick in the book and many which aren’t. At last I returned to Ravenshold to find that it had been taken over by bandits. The home which Relisar remembered had become the bleak, cheerless fortress that it is today. I fought their leader and defeated him, thus becoming what I now am, and I began to extract my price from Eskendria, loving humanity little more than I did the Turog. Yet for ten years since I returned, I have searched for the Great-turog, scouring the mountains and forests, sometimes even crossing the Harnor into the Forsaken Lands, but I have never found him and perhaps death has cheated me of my revenge.”

  Andarion gave him a strange look and began to pace the room uneasily. Finally he stopped facing Celedorn. “Tell me, amongst the Great-turog are slitted pupils common?”

  “I have only known one such.”

  “Then it may be that your quarry is still alive. Before I left Eskendria, we attacked the Turog as they camped across the Harnor and I ended up confronting a Great-turog who answers your description.”

  Celedorn tensed, his eyes pierced the Prince like a dagger. “What happened?”

  “It broke my arm and would have killed me, except that my brother and some others came to my aid. It escaped into the forest.”

  A fierce predatory fire was burning in Celedorn’s eyes. “Then perhaps it is not too late,” he repeated to himself.

  “It is not wise to pursue vengeance with such single-mindedness,” Relisar suggested. “It is consuming you. I can see it in the look now in your eyes.”

  “Consuming me? Of course it is. Every time I look in a mirror to shave, I am reminded of that day. Every time I see the look of shock on someone’s face when they see these scars, I am reminded. It is what I have become. Do you not realise that even the very name I chose for myself means vengeance in the old language?”

  “Of course,” murmured Relisar. “It is a corruption of Celed-riorn - he who seeks revenge.”

  “I will never be able to rest, never, not until I have found that Turog, and either it is dead, or I am.”

  Andarion shook his head slowly. “No man can defeat a Great-turog, not even you. I will admit that you are the finest swordsman I have ever seen, but those creatures are taller and more powerful than a man. Why, even the smallest of them stands over seven feet tall.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Celedorn stubbornly. “I will try.”

  Chapter Thirty

  An Unconventional Proposal

  There was a long silence in the room. Everyone sat staring at the floor, devastated by what they had learned.

  Celedorn resumed his seat on the window-ledge and looked out into the sunlit garden without really seeing any of it. Yet he was conscious of a faint sense of relief, as if by sharing his pain he had lessened it.

  Finally Elorin spoke. “You know, as Lord of Westrin you are too good for me. Too good for the girl with no name,” she remarked sadly to Celedorn, revealing to the others the state of affairs between them.

  He turned his head from the placid scene outside. “As a mountain brigand, I am not good enough,” he replied in subdued tones. “Besides, I will never be Lord of Westrin.”

  “Why not?” asked Elorin.

  “Because I would have to take the oath of loyalty.” His gaze swung across the room to Andarion. “I will never, never swear loyalty to your father. I regret if this causes you pain, but I will not.”

  Andarion returned the look unflinchingly, his mouth compressed into a straight line. “There is also the little matter of your misdeeds to be considered. Whatever your reasons, you have broken just about every law in Eskendria.”

  “I know. There is no going back for me now. It is too late. When we cross the Harnor, all of you will return to Addania, whereas I must make my way to Ravenshold and fight whichever cut-throat has taken my place.”

  Elorin rose and crossed to him. “What about me?”

  “You too must return to Addania. Andarion will see that you do not lack for anything.” He glanced towards the Prince who nodded. “In time you will marry a good and decent man who can give you a home and all the things you deserve.”

  The tears stood in Elorin’s eyes but she managed a tiny smile. “But I don’t want a good and decent man. He sounds too boring for me.”

  Triana, her heart breaking for them, said: “There must be another alternative. Surely there must be.”

  “I cannot think of any,” said Celedorn.

  “No,” groaned Elorin and leaned her forehead against his sound shoulder. “I will not accept that.”

  He put his arms around her, both of them completely oblivious to the others.

  “Elorin, I cannot take you with me to such a place. God alone knows that I would give ten years off my life for things to be different, but your happiness is more important to me than my own, and just for once in my misbegotten life I am not going to be selfish.”

  With that, he gently disengaged himself
from her embrace, unable to bear any more, and swiftly left the room.

  When the door closed behind him, the Prince, who had been listening in growing disbelief, started to his feet. “That is just typical of him!” he exploded in frustration. “He spends his life being selfish and unprincipled and just when you want him to be selfish and unprincipled, he comes down with a truly alarming attack of nobility.”

  Elorin looked up, smiling a little despite herself. “He is always unpredictable.”

  “Unpredictable!” exclaimed the Prince, warming to his theme. “Perverse, contradictory and downright aggravating is closer to the mark.”

  “But you said.......” began Triana, about to remind him that he had once told her that there could be no future for the relationship.

  Anticipating the gaffe with deadly accuracy, the Prince hurriedly cut her short. “Never mind what I said. I have lately decided that these two are so admirably suited that it would be a shameful waste if they went their separate ways. So there is nothing else for it - Celedorn will have to resign himself to becoming respectable.”

  “You don’t lack for nerve,” said Elorin admiringly. “And just how do you propose to do that?”

  “Well.....I don’t exactly know yet, but there must be a way.”

  Relisar raised his bushy eyebrows significantly at Andarion. “You should speak to him alone,” he suggested. “He respects your opinion.”

  Andarion nodded his agreement and arose and left the room. However, his good intentions suffered a check when he couldn’t find Celedorn. He wasn’t in his room, or in the orchard and a search of the monastery seemed to suggest that he had vanished into thin air. In fact Celedorn had gone out of the main gate and was walking in the forest. He needed time to be alone, time to collect his fragmented thoughts and calm the conflicting emotions that raged within him. His heart urged him to throw every other consideration to the winds and take Elorin’s love as the wonderful gift it was, but a stubborn little voice, that he tentatively identified as conscience, wouldn’t let him.

  He returned to the common room just as the light was fading and the others were sitting down to their evening meal.

  “Just in time,” said Triana, fetching him a plate.

  The Prince was still a little disgruntled. “Where did you disappear off to?”

  “Walking,” replied Celedorn curtly. “Perhaps after dinner you would oblige me with a little practice,” he said, tapping the hilt of his sword. “I want to see if my arm has been weakened by the wound.”

  “Certainly - as long as you promise not to kill me.”

  Celedorn laughed. “I’ll do my best.”

  The Prince was not reassured. “That was not exactly the absolute guarantee I was looking for,” he complained.

  Relisar, who had been staring abstractedly into space in his usual manner, and had not heard a word of the conversation, suddenly said: “Berendore, why did you......”

  He got no further, for Celedorn sharply cut across him. “Do not call me by that name. Berendore died twenty years ago and I have forsaken that name for ever. My father chose it for me, and I would not dishonour it by using it as I now am. For better or worse, I will now always be Celedorn.”

  Relisar’s reaction was astonishing. He leaped to his feet, overturning his bowl of soup. “Of course!” he cried distractedly. “Of course! That’s it! Why did I not see it before!”

  The Prince looked into his dish. “I hope it’s not something in the soup.”

  Relisar ignored him and began to pace the room, agitatedly wringing his hands. “It fits! It all fits! I am a blind, stupid old fool!”

  The others looked helplessly at each other.

  “Has anyone any idea what he is talking about?” asked Elorin.

  The Prince was in a frivolous mood. “Don’t interrupt him, Elorin, he is calling himself an old fool and I never thought to be in such complete agreement with him.”

  Relisar halted his perambulations abruptly. “It was all there, right under my nose the whole time. Everything I have been searching for.”

  Elorin drew together her disintegrating patience. “I suppose it’s too much to expect coherence?”

  Relisar took a deep breath to steady himself. “The Champion of the Book of Light can be summoned only by name. Correct?”

  “Yes?”

  “He has four names. One we are given in the Book of Light - Erren-dar, the Wielder of the Sword of Flame. The other three we must find out from the riddle that the old man posed for Tissro. The first name is one that only Erren-dar himself knows but which he has forsaken - don’t you see? It is Berendore! Celedorn has forsaken that name and no one, until now, has been aware of his true identity. Berendore was thought to have died in the forest that day twenty years ago and only now do we discover that he lives. Then there is the name by which the world will know him but know him not. That one is Celedorn. The world knows him by that name as a violent mountain brigand, but it knows him not, for it does not know who he really is. Finally there is the name that his enemies bestow upon him in fear. That is one we have known for a long time. It is Zardes-Kur, the bringer of death, the name conferred upon him by the Turog.”

  Andarion was sitting bolt upright in astonishment. “You are not actually suggesting that Celedorn is the Champion?” he asked incredulously. “My dear friend, this time you have surpassed yourself!”

  “But don’t you see? It all fits,” cried Relisar.

  “It is a coincidence,” said the Prince dampeningly. “Besides, Erren-dar, the Wielder of the Sword of Flame, is not some mountain brigand - forgive me, Celedorn.”

  “Not at all. I couldn’t agree more.”

  “But.......” Relisar began but Andarion overrode him.

  “Apart from anything, do you not think that Celedorn would know if he was the Champion?”

  Relisar’s elation deflated a little and he looked doubtfully at Celedorn. “Are you?”

  Celedorn threw back his head and laughed. “Don’t be absurd. The whole idea is completely ludicrous. Erren-dar will be some pure and saintly hero, dazzlingly perfect, not a black scoundrel like me.”

  Elorin swelled with indignation at that method of describing himself, but before she could deliver a reproof, Relisar continued his quest with single-minded dedication.

  “The Book of Light says nothing about his character,” he objected stubbornly.

  “No, but it does say he must be summoned,” countered Celedorn. “You can hardly summon a person who is already here.”

  Relisar seemed at a loss for a moment, then he suddenly pointed to Elorin. “Then what is Elorin’s involvement? The voice that spoke when she appeared said that a key would be provided. I have lately come to the conclusion that Elorin herself is that key. Answer me that!”

  Celedorn shrugged. “The Lays of Tissro say that through Tissro himself the key will be found - so it can’t be Elorin. We don’t even know for certain that it is a person.”

  Relisar sat down dejectedly in his chair. “I suppose not.”

  Andarion was highly amused. “I know I said that Celedorn must become respectable but trying to turn him into the Champion of the Book of Light was not exactly what I had in mind.”

  Celedorn raised an eyebrow at him. “And why must I become respectable?”

  “Because I have just made a truly horrific discovery,” replied the irrepressible Prince. “You and I are actually cousins!”

  Celedorn’s lips twitched. “Don’t worry,” he said soothingly, “every family has its black sheep.”

  “Ha! Very amusing! Now let’s leave Relisar to his fantasies and I’ll give you the chance to carve me into little pieces.”

  When he returned alone some time later he was looking somewhat hot and flustered. He threw himself into a chair and remarked to no one in particular: “If that’s what he fights like when he’s sick, I never want to be at the sharp end of his sword when he is well.”

  “His arm has not been affected?” asked Triana.
/>   Andarion wiped his brow. “You could say that.”

  “Did you get the chance to speak to him?” Elorin enquired.

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  The Prince’s eyes met hers and he shook his head. “Don’t worry, I haven’t finished with him yet.”

  He was as good as his word and next day, upon encountering Celedorn seated on a bench under the shade of an apple tree in the orchard, he came and sat beside him. He duly noted his cousin’s rather sombre expression and said quietly: “I have in my time called you many things, but I never thought to call you a fool.”

  A pair of hard grey eyes swung in his direction. “I would take that from no man but you.”

  “I know. If I were not your friend I would not dare to say it. Do you not realise what you are throwing away? She loves you, Celedorn, and you love her in return. Do you not realise what a rare and wonderful gift that is?”

  “Too wonderful to be destroyed by me. You know very well I would only bring her grief.”

  “Yet if you leave her, you will bring her even more grief. Take your chances together,” he urged. “Perhaps the future may prove to be a disaster and perhaps not. We cannot predict how things will turn out in life, but if you think that Elorin will ever forget you and grow to love someone else, then all I can say is that you don’t know her. She will spend her life mourning your loss, eating out her heart in loneliness and despair. You cannot do that to her.”

  “I cannot break her heart.”

  “You are already breaking it. Even now, she is in her room crying her eyes out,” said Andarion, who had not the faintest idea where Elorin was, or what she was doing. “Together you have a chance at happiness, perhaps only a slim one, but apart you have none.”

  Celedorn sat frowning into the distance. “You are telling me what I want to hear.”

  “No. I am telling you the truth.”

  “I thought you cared for Elorin,” he accused.

  “It is because I care for her that I must say this. You see, I happen to agree with Relisar that love is a strange and wonderful thing. This is a truly staggering gift, cousin, take it with both hands and let the future take care of itself.”