The Crystal Chalice (Book 1)

by R. J. Grieve

  Only Relisar was pleased. “Excellent,” he said in satisfaction. “I have a great desire to stand in the ancient city of the High Kings. It was known as the city without walls, you know. When the three Orders were strong in the days of the Old Kingdom, they protected it with their power, so there was no need for walls.”

  Celedorn was unimpressed. “Yet it fell,” he observed cynically.

  “Sadly, that is true. The brotherhood was betrayed and weakened - as we have but recently discovered. How great was their vanity, when they thought that they could hold this place against the Destroyer purely by the strength of their will. It is a lesson to us all.”

  Triana looked a little unsettled. “Must we go to it? A ruined city sounds eerie to me - especially in a thunderstorm. What if it is haunted? I think I would rather not spend the night there.”

  Relisar smiled tolerantly. “It has long been deserted, Triana. Old stones and empty buildings will not harm you.”

  When he turned away, Triana leaned confidentially towards Elorin and murmured: “Just as long as they are empty. Kerrian-tohr was supposed to be empty and yet was very far from it.”

  “You may have a point, but it appears to be our only option at the moment. Don’t worry just yet, it’s possible that we will not find it.”

  But to everyone’s surprise and Triana’s dismay, a short distance further on, the forest began to thin and then suddenly ceased. They emerged on the top of a gentle ridge that sloped away southwards towards a small plain embraced by the encircling arms of a range of low, treeless hills. In the centre of the plain, instantly recognisable despite its ruined state, stood Korem.

  The sickly copper sky spilled molten light in long stripes across the plain, creating deep purple shadows which made it difficult to distinguish individual buildings within the city. It brooded in the distance like a jumbled grey blot, exuding, even from afar, a sense of ancientness and decay.

  Triana edged her horse closer to the Prince. “I don’t like the look of that place,” she said nervously. “Even from this distance it emits a sense of threat. I would rather take my chances on the open plain.”

  Andarion laughed. “I think you are letting your imagination run away with you. It’s just an old ruin, besides, I, for one, am not keen on a soaking and that is precisely what we’ll get if we are caught on the open plain.”

  “What if there are Turog in the city?”

  “Well, we won’t know until we are closer, will we?”

  For the first time Triana became a little irritated with him. “I wish you’d stop treating me like a child,” she snapped and urged her horse alongside Relisar’s.

  Even as they watched, a mass of inky black clouds began to loom up from behind the distant line of hills, like some evil cauldron boiling over. The freshening wind caught them and fanned them out across the brazen sky like a monstrous funeral pall. Wider, spread the blanket of cloud, and closer, being driven directly towards the watchers on the ridge. A distant flicker of lightning briefly illuminated the bulging underbelly of the clouds, turning them to purple and indigo. Then long after the flash of light had gone, borne on the rising wind, the faint rattle of thunder reached their ears.

  “Come,” said Andarion, “the storm will be upon us soon. We must make haste to the city.”

  When they descended to the short grasses of the plain, they urged their horses to a canter and the distance flowed beneath their hooves. Yet all the time above them, the blackness burgeoned and billowed, filling the sky, prematurely dimming the daylight. Thunder growled and grumbled around the hills, distant yet, but growing in power and threat.

  When seen from the level of the plain, the city seemed more dominant, its ruined towers tall against the bruised sky. The storm, coming from the south, lit the sky behind the city with vertical forks of lightning, throwing it into haunted silhouette.

  Just before the daylight had gone completely, they reached the outskirts of the city. The horses dropped to a walk and their hooves clopped dismally on the fragments of paved road that remained. What had once been a residential area with many fine mansions was now a desolate ruin. No roof remained intact and few walls. All lay in a state of ruinous collapse. Tumbled heaps of stone littered the devastated landscape. Surprisingly, nature had made very little inroads into the city. Here and there a tall plant had made its home, rattling its desiccated seed heads like spears in the mournful breeze. Yet although weeds and grass sprouted from crevices in the rubble, the ruins seemed more the product of some recent upheaval, rather than a distant event. The powers of the brotherhood, although not proof against the Destroyer, seemed to protect the tumbled stones from the ravages of time.

  Triana’s eyes darted everywhere looking for sign of danger. She was unsure whether to be relieved or even more alarmed when she saw nothing. Her horse, however, always a little highly strung, began to tremble, picking up its rider’s unease.

  As they penetrated deeper into the ruined city, to the areas occupied by large public buildings, they began to find more walls intact and the occasional fragment of roof. A ruined tower, still rising to some considerable height, leaned drunkenly to one side. It offered the possibility of shelter but was rejected on the basis that it looked ready to collapse at any moment. More structures began to be recognisable. A crumbling fountain in a large square bore a pitted and eroded figure still identifiable as a dolphin. Further and further into the ruins they travelled, trespassing into the realm of the vanquished. Remnants of the city passed by them - side streets and squares, avenues and courtyards, more and more grandiose piles of ruined masonry. But the streets were silent and dead, pregnant with a stillness that brooded, as if the ghosts of those that had died watched the living with ancient envy. The intermittent crashing of the thunder was almost a relief.

  At last they arrived at what had once been a huge and magnificent square surrounded by palatial buildings. Much of the paving was still intact, though weeds, shivering in the cheerless breeze, now grew between the square cobbles. Facing them was so grand an edifice that they assumed it must be a palace. Much of it was still intact. Its entrance lay through a tall, impressive portico whose smooth, granite pillars had resisted the ravages of time. It had once been a tall building with many upper floors, but now all above the second floor had gone. It did, however, offer the possibility of shelter.

  Celedorn looked questioningly at Andarion, who nodded. They dismounted and giving their reins to Elorin, drew their swords in unison. Together, they mounted the steps to the triple arches of the entrance.

  Relisar and Elorin exchanged anxious glances as the two men disappeared from sight through the doorway. Triana, always of a more nervous disposition than the others, found herself constantly looking over her shoulder across the darkening square.

  Andarion and Celedorn stepped cautiously into the gloom of the ruined palace. Despite his earlier cavalier dismissal of Triana’s fears, Andarion found his nerves tightly strung, his eyes searching every shadowy corner. They crossed a large hallway, over what had once been a beautiful mosaic floor, now thick with dust and old leaves. On the far side they reached another portico, the mirror image of the entrance, that led to a courtyard open to the sky. Lightning shot across the clouds with a sound like ripping silk, briefly illuminating with a blinding white light, every inch of the overgrown courtyard.

  Andarion looked up. “Not exactly what I had in mind,” he said. “No roof.”

  “We’ll try the door on the far side.”

  They threaded their way through a tangled undergrowth of thorny bushes and some sort of choking creeper that crawled over every surface and strangled every pillar.

  “It must have been beautiful once,” observed Celedorn, noting the elegant tiers of marble pillars supporting the upper stories.

  “Perhaps, but it is not beautiful now. In fact, this place begins to fill me with a sense of dread - but please don’t tell Triana that, as I am already in her bad books for laughing at her.”

  Celedorn merely
smiled a little tightly in reply, and ascended the steps at the far side of the courtyard. Two worm-eaten and mouldering wooden doors still hung drunkenly on their hinges, defying all logic by their existence. Upon being pushed, one of them toppled over and fell with a dusty crash to the floor. Instantly, with a screech, something exploded out of the darkness of the interior, narrowly missing the intruders. Celedorn merely ducked, but Andarion, with a cry of alarm, struck out with his sword. His cousin reached out and caught his arm in an iron grip.

  “Stop!” he ordered. “It’s only some pigeons that have been nesting in the building and have been disturbed by the door falling.”

  Andarion gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologise. I came within an inch of doing the very same thing myself. The atmosphere of this place is getting to me as well.” He stepped over the fallen door. “At least there appears to be some sort of roof over the hall beyond. We should light a fire in a corner where the glow cannot be seen from any great distance. In a short time it will be too dark to explore any further. Fetch the others and bring the horses though into the hall. I think we should leave them saddled for tonight. I’ll see if I can get up to the next floor to obtain a vantage-point over the city. So far, there has been no sign of life, but given the sheer scale of these ruins, that means very little. An army could be hiding here and you would never see it.”

  “There are plenty of dead branches in the courtyard. I’ll soon have a fire going and maybe that will help to banish the ghosts.”

  A crash of thunder cut off the end of his sentence, causing the building to vibrate. A tile slid off the roof and clattered down into the courtyard. “Let’s just hope this entire edifice doesn’t collapse around our ears.”

  By the time Celedorn returned from his reconnoitre, a fire was burning cheerfully in one corner of the cavernous hall. It lit up the echoing emptiness, the dusty floor and the rows of lonely pillars, with an incongruously homely glow. The others were seated on their packs around it, staring into the flames. The horses stood patiently to one side, thinking poorly of accommodation that did not provide grazing. Elorin looked up quickly when she heard his step, and smiled with sudden relief when she saw him. He came and sat beside her, his answering smile a caress.

  “There are two floors above us,” he informed them. “The first one at least is reasonably intact. Beyond the doors at the back of this hall, there is a huge marble staircase that curves upwards to the floor above. However, the second floor is in a pretty ruinous state but it gave me a view over the city and I can see no other lights or signs of occupation. The floors above are inches thick with dust, and apart from a few mice tracks, there is no evidence that the dust had been disturbed for centuries. However, I got to explore very little of the building because it got so dark there was a real danger of falling through the rotten parts of the floor. We must take our chances, I think.”

  “I look forward to exploring it in the morning,” Relisar enthused, stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth.

  “You are alone in that wish,” replied Celedorn. “Daylight will improve this place very little. My only wish is to leave it. Too many ghosts live here for my taste.”

  Triana started and gaped at him, her bread suspended in mid-air. Observing her expression with some amusement, Celedorn remarked: “I was speaking figuratively, of course. You may relax, Triana, I have encountered nothing that would pounce on you in the dark.”

  To her chagrin, everyone laughed. Noticing the Prince’s smug expression, Celedorn was unable to resist adding: “Except for some truly fearsome pigeons.”

  Triana, to whom the Prince had related his encounter with the birds, crowed with triumph, glad to get vicarious revenge upon him.

  Elorin arose and crossed to the doorway leading out into the courtyard. “The thunder is getting less, I think. The rain will soon come.”

  As if in response to her words, a few heavy drops fell on the steps, making dark spots in the dust. Then, as if unable to bear the strain any longer, the clouds burst asunder and hurled battalions of silver needles at the ground with a mighty hissing, roaring sound like a ferocious battle. It poured in miniature cataracts off the remaining remnants of the roof, bringing down loose tiles in its churning wake. It thundered down onto the wilderness in the courtyard, turning the vegetation into a soggy, dripping morass that cowered beneath the assault. Water, finding its way through the upper floors, dripped with dismal, echoing plops from numerous cracks in the lofty ceiling into pools on the floor. Only the corner by the fire remained dry.

  The Prince came and joined Elorin by the door. “We have chosen our corner well. I would not like to be caught on the open plain in such a deluge.”

  While he remained looking out at the rain, she returned to her seat by the fire and leaned her head against Celedorn’s shoulder. “I have always loved the sound of thundery rain. It fills the air with such a wonderful freshness. It makes our little corner by the fire almost cosy in comparison.”

  He tilted his injured cheek against the top of her head in such an unconsciously intimate gesture that it made Triana’s heart ache. “I know,” he agreed. “Even in such a place as this, the sound of the elements outside doing their worst, contrasting with the warmth of the fire within, combine to give the feeling of shelter and safety.”

  Triana looked at them gloomily. “I’m glad you two feel safe. I still cannot rid myself of the impression that something is creeping up behind me - which reminds me, who is taking the first watch tonight?”

  “I will,” Relisar volunteered, brushing breadcrumbs out of his beard. “When one gets on in years, one needs less sleep anyway.”

  “Keep the fire bright,” said Celedorn meaningfully. “There are branches stacked behind you. And Relisar? Try to stay alert.”

  The old man sniffed huffily. “Do you not trust me?”

  Celedorn merely grinned in reply.

  As the heavy rain began to slacken and grow quieter, and the whole building started to echo and gurgle to the sound of water penetrating every nook and cranny, the younger members of the company settled down in their blankets by the fire. Relisar alone stayed awake, staring into the dripping darkness that lurked beyond the arched doorway. Now and again he arose to put more fuel on the fire and fondly looked over his brood of sleeping children, noting how even in sleep, Elorin’s hand was clasped in Celedorn’s. Then he resumed his seat by the warmth and permitted himself to sink into deep thought, his chin resting on his chest, his hand absently stroking his silver beard. Gradually, as the hours passed, as the fire warmed him, and the drops falling from the ceiling exercised their hypnotic effect, his eyelids grew heavy and began to droop.

  Elorin awoke with a start. Her eyes flew wide open but she saw no more than with them shut, for the hall was in pitch darkness. The fire had completely gone out. With her sight so useless, she probed her surroundings with her other senses, aware that something had awoken her, but unable to determine what. Hearing provided few answers. A heavy, oppressive silence reigned. Faintly she could distinguish the steady breathing of her sleeping companions and an occasional plink, as a drop fell from the distant ceiling. But gradually as her mind attuned itself to the night, a feeling grew upon her. A dreadful yet familiar feeling. A sensation that she had not experienced since Skerris-morl. The feeling of being watched.

  Wildly she stared into the darkness while her body grew rigid with fear. It was the same as in the Great Forest, the same as by the fire at the camp by the estuary. She knew with awful certainty what it meant.

  Her hand shot out in the darkness and encountering Celedorn close beside her, shook him urgently.

  He was instantly awake. “What is it?” he asked.

  “It’s here,” she managed to whisper, though her throat was closed with fear. “The blackness that found us at Skerris-morl. It’s here. I can feel it.”

  He leaned up on his elbow and probed the surrounding darkness with the sense that had served him so well over the year
s - the ability to detect danger.

  “I believe you are right,” he said with ominous foreboding, “but it must still be distant because the impression is not so strong as at Skerris-morl.” He suddenly stiffened when he realised the significance of the darkness surrounding him. He made a faint sound of annoyance. “That old idiot had fallen asleep and let the fire die.” She felt him rise in the darkness and then heard a soft thud and a cry from Relisar.

  “You were supposed to be on watch,” hissed Celedorn’s voice out of the darkness. “You have let the fire go out.”

  “That hurt,” said Relisar in an aggrieved voice. “I’m sorry, my dear boy, I must have nodded off.”

  Out of the stygian blackness, Andarion spoke: “What’s wrong?”

  But before anyone could reply, a gasp of shock was heard from Relisar. “There is something here! A presence! An evil will! It approaches us even now - and it is strong, very strong!”

  “We must leave at once,” said Celedorn urgently. “If it is what we think it is, we cannot fight it. We have no alternative but to flee.”

  “What is it?” panicked Triana.

  “It is the demon of darkness that Elorin and I encountered before. The only thing it fears is strong light and there is no moon tonight. Our only chance is to keep ahead of it and pray for a clear sunrise. If the sky is cloudy at dawn then......” He left the sentence unfinished but the import was clear enough. “Quickly, there is not a moment to lose. We must leave here with all speed. I must strike a light, as we cannot blunder about in the darkness.”

  They heard the sharp sound of flint against steel and a moment later a tiny stump of candle gave enough illumination to reveal five anxious faces.

  Triana was already feverishly stuffing things into her pack and her actions galvanised the others into frantic activity.

  Their belongings were loaded onto the horses in a trice, and extinguishing the candle, Celedorn led his horse out into the overgrown courtyard. The air was fresh and cool in the aftermath of the storm. As they brushed against the bushes, they were showered with cold droplets of rainwater. When he reached the archway leading to the square, Celedorn signalled to them to halt. He passed his reins to Elorin, and crossing the mosaic floor, peered out between the pillars into the dark square beyond. Although the clouds were heavy, there was a faint, greyish luminescence in the sky which enabled him to make out the dark, jumbled mass of the building across the square. A soft gust of damp air moaned between the pillars but otherwise all was silent. All was still.