The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (15 page)

 It was looking over her shoulder that nearly caused
her undoing. A deep pit, dug directly in her path, suddenly yawned at her feet
and she teetered on the brink, flapping her arms wildly until she regained her
balance. The pit already had an occupant. A little fawn stood on the earth at
the bottom of the pit its spindly legs trembling. She had seen no deer in the
forest and for a moment stared at it in surprise. The earthen sides of the pit
were scraped where it had scrabbled with its hooves trying to get out. But
whoever had dug the trap clearly knew his business and its sides were too steep
for the little creature to escape.

 Elorin glanced around her warily, wondering if the
fawn was bait to catch larger game, wondering if some minion of the Destroyer
would leap upon her from the trees.

 But when nothing moved, she remarked to the fawn: “I
like this path less than ever now, but I can’t leave you to be eaten by the
Turog.”

 She hunted around for a sharp, flat stone and then
jumped down into the pit. The fawn backed away in alarm.

 “Don’t be frightened. I’m going to use this stone to
cut footholds in the side of the pit and then I’ll lift you out.”

 She wondered if the animal would struggle with her,
making it impossible to perform her task but in fact it put up very little
fight. It must have been trapped a long time for it appeared to be exhausted
and allowed her to put it over her shoulder with very little resistance.

 When she got it on to firm ground, its legs promptly
collapsed beneath it.

 Elorin stared at it in perplexity. “What am I going
to do with you? You can’t lie there because whoever built this pit will be back
to see what he has caught.” The fawn looked at her, blinking its large eyes.
“We must get away from this track before nightfall and find somewhere deeper in
the forest where we can hide. Try to walk.”

 She attempted to set it on its feet but it sank to
the ground again.

 “All right,” she announced in exasperation, “I’ll
carry you, but not very far because you are heavy for something so small.”

 Once more she lifted in onto her shoulder and moved
quickly westwards into the forest away from the track. By dusk she could go no
further. The weight of the fawn, combined with her own hunger and tiredness,
was too much.  She stopped near a stream and brought the fawn some water
in her cupped hands, but it would touch nothing.

 “If I were on my own, I think I would climb into the
branches of that large oak to spend the night,” she told it. “I don’t feel safe
on the ground. However the cover of these bushes will have to do, as I can’t
carry you another step tonight. Maybe I’ll be able to work out what to do in
the morning, but at the moment I’m so tired and hungry that I can think of
nothing but sleep and food.”

 She lay down against the fawn appreciating its
warmth as night descended and the air grew chill. It lay quietly without
moving, its soft ears flicking at every sound.

 “I’m glad I don’t have to spend another night alone
but I honestly don’t know what to do with you.” After a pause she added: “I’ll
never sleep tonight I’m so hungry.”

  The brilliance of the sunlight shining directly
onto her face awoke her the next morning. She sat up abruptly, realising that
it was late. The next thing that struck her was that the fawn had gone. It must
have recovered and wandered off during the night. A stab of pain in her stomach
reminded her of her predicament. She went down to the stream again and splashed
her face with cold water. Then she sat down on a boulder overtaken by despair.

 “This is never going to work,” she whispered. “I’m
going to die of starvation in this accursed forest.”

 “I will not let you die of hunger,” a voice said.

 Elorin leapt to her feet. Standing at the edge of
the forest were two figures - a tall woman and a little girl. They wore long
robes that were not green, nor brown, nor yet grey but blended so well with the
trees, that but for their hands and faces they would have been invisible. Both
had long nut-brown hair and the woman wore a wreath of ivy twined through her
tresses.

  “Who.....who are you?” Elorin managed to gasp.

 “I am Kerrea, a spirit of these woods.” the woman
replied, “and this is my daughter, Calya. Your help saved her life yesterday
and we have come to repay the debt.”

 “But....but I don’t....” Elorin stammered, then
realisation struck her. “The fawn!” she exclaimed.

 The woman inclined her head. “We seldom take
corporeal form, especially now that the Turog infest these lands. Long ago in
the days of the Old Kingdom it was different, when the High King still reigned
and came to hunt the white hart in these woods. But now all is fallen and there
are few of us left in the mortal sphere. My daughter was told not to take
bodily form without supervision as she is inexperienced at it.” The little girl
looked sheepish at that pronouncement. “However children must sometimes learn
by their mistakes. She was fortunate that one of the Children of Light found
her and not a creature of the Destroyer. She told me you were lost and hungry.”
She held out the basket she had been carrying. “I will do all I can to help you
- though that is little enough, I fear.”

 She set the basket by Elorin. It contained many
round, flat cakes that looked and tasted like oatmeal but were astonishingly
good. Despite her hunger, Elorin tried to eat with restraint. While she ate, at
Kerrea’s request, she told her story.

 “Relisar is the last of his kind,” Kerrea remarked.
“He may appear to bungle but that is often just because the full import of what
he does is not understood. It is many long years since I have seen Keesha. In
the days of the Old Kingdom she would often come here but now she never leaves
her tower. I think she has forgotten how to take corporeal form. If Eskendria
falls, the last remnant of the old ways will be gone. The last glimmer of order
and civilisation will be extinguished. When that light is put out, we will
leave too, for there will be nothing left to keep us here. These woods, once
beautiful, have become polluted. A power that is too strong for us grows each
year, smothering our joy in the brooks and new leaves and our pleasure in the
sunlit glades. All that once was healthy and joyous descends into sickness and
death. There will be no spring after the winter that is coming. For many years
our power held the shadows at bay but there are too few of us now. Relisar is
correct - it is now that the Champion is needed. The Wielder of the Sword of
Flame must drive back the Turog and restore all the Destroyer has spoiled. It
is our only hope.”

 Elorin shook her head sadly. “I’m so sorry that his
attempt to summon the Champion failed. All he got was me and I appear to be of
no use to anyone.”

  For the first time Kerrea smiled. “Have faith,
Elorin, the path that reaches its goal is not always straight.”

 “Perhaps, but no one even knows where I am. In fact,
it is probably assumed that I am dead. I don’t know how I survived that fall
into the Serpent’s Throat.”

 “You must return to Eskendria,” Kerrea replied
firmly. “These woods crawl with those foul creatures of the Destroyer. Your
instinct to head towards the sea was correct but do not follow the Harnor, for
it plunges into the sea over a mighty fall, straight into deep water where the
waves of the sea crash against the cliffs. No, you must go northwards to the
edge of this forest, across the Meadowlands, which in the old days were golden
with wheat, and into the wood of Uldor until you meet the river Skerris-morl -
which in the modern tongue is called the River of the Pearl Seekers. Follow it
down to the sea and there you are likely to find fishermen from Serendar. They are
often there at this time of year.

 “Why do they risk coming to fish at the edge of the
Forsaken Lands?”

 “They fish for oysters which carry the famous silver
pearls. The crown of Serendar in made entirely of silver pearls. One of the moonpearls
is worth a king’s ransom - many times more than the white ones, so the risk of
coming to the Forsaken Lands is deemed to be worth it.”   

 She stood up. “You have more than enough food in the
basket to see you to the coast and there will be no shortage of streams to
provide water on the way. But before you go, there is something I must tell
you.......” She hesitated. “I do not wish to alarm you, but you are being
hunted. Something black, some dark shadow pursues you. I do not know what it is
but it has killed in this forest. It has blood on its hands. It has followed
you relentlessly from the Harnor. It lost your trail in the darkness two nights
ago but it has found it again.”

 “Something passed me the night before last,” said
Elorin slowly. “Some shadow skirted the glade where I was resting.”

 “Travel swiftly, Elorin, and stay off any tracks you
find. Go directly northwards until you reach the Meadowlands. Perhaps it is a
creature of the shade and will not follow you onto the sunlit plains. We have tried
to confuse and mislead it, but it has woodcraft and is not easily deceived.”
She turned to go. “Travel safely and may the Father of Light guide your path.”

  The little girl shyly smiled her thanks, and with
that, they withdrew their hands into their sleeves, pulled their hoods over
their heads and instantly disappeared.

 “Goodbye and thank you,” Elorin called into the
empty forest.

  Although she tried not to show it, Kerrea’s warning
had frightened Elorin. She lost no time in picking up the basket and heading
undeviatingly northwards, trying all the time to rid herself of the feeling
that whatever was following her was gaining. As if to heighten her sense of
apprehension, the sun disappeared behind a thin veil of silvery clouds,
depriving her of the brightness and cheerfulness of the sunshine. Once more the
forest became dreary, its very silence a threat. Her old sense of being
followed redoubled, aggravated by the information that her instincts had proved
correct. She quickened her pace, convinced that the shadow that was pursuing
her was drawing closer.

 Just as dusk was beginning to fall, her acute
hearing alerted her to the faint sound of voices coming from amongst the trees
to her right. She stood still, in the shelter of an elder tree whose branches
grew low to the ground, and listened. The voices were coming closer; harsh
guttural voices speaking a language she didn’t understand. She shrank into the
dense foliage, realising that it was too late to run. Into view came a troop of
Turog, about twenty in all, plodding along in their usual disorderly fashion.
They were all armed with axes, weighty round shields, and their customary
curved swords. They wore steel-studded leather tunics and round, visorless
helmets. Two were obviously arguing with each other. They snarled what appeared
to be insults in their barbaric language, their deep, throaty voices raised in
fury. Suddenly one dropped the bundles he had been carrying and drew his sword.
The other swung his axe and battle was joined. The others formed a circle
around the embattled pair, shouting and yelling with demonic glee, enjoying the
sport.

  Elorin was just beginning to think of using the
commotion to slip away, when to her horror another band of Turog emerged from
the trees behind her and rushed over to see what the fracas was about. They too
stopped to see the fun, hooting and yelling with the rest.

 Elorin’s hiding place was now virtually surrounded
by Turog. She cowered down further into the undergrowth, drawing dead leaves
over her as cover. The only possibility of escape was when the fight was over
and they moved on. Frustratingly, the two combatants appeared to be fairly
evenly matched. She could hear the clash and thud of their weapons and the
shouts and jeers of the onlookers but the two sturdy, bowlegged creatures
doggedly banged away at each other - and looked capable of doing so
indefinitely. Elorin leaned back against the tree-trunk, trembling a little at
the thought of what they would do to her if they found her, aware that her hiding
place had only held muster because they were distracted by the fight. Suddenly
a roar of approval went up from the crowd. She peeped round the tree in time to
see the Turog with the axe hold up the severed head of his opponent. She looked
quickly away, her heart beating faster. Now, surely they would go.

 But they didn’t. Night had almost fallen and in the
gloaming she could see that they were preparing to stay the night where they
were. Blankets were being unrolled, fires lit and cooking pots produced. For
one dreadful moment she wondered if the severed head was going to go into the
pot but the victor was still keen on showing off his prowess by carrying round
his trophy impaled on a spear. Several times Turog in search of firewood passed
close by her, so close that she could smell their rank odour and see their
yellow eyes. The others gathered round the pot, clearly keen on whatever
revolting mess they had cooked in it, all grunting and barking in their own
language.

 As the darkness became complete, Elorin could see
other fires studding the forest. A large body of Turog had been moving through
the forest in small, dispersed groups and now had stopped for the night,
infesting the area with their presence. Elorin could hardly believe her
misfortune. If she waited until daylight they would certainly find her. Her
only option was to wait until they were sleeping and then slip away under cover
of darkness, giving the other watch fires as wide a berth a possible.

 After consuming their food with evident relish, one
by one the Turog fell into their blankets. Two guards were posted but
thankfully they sat by the fire, their heads nodding. Quietly Elorin stood up
and stretched her cramped legs. Then keeping a wary eye on the dozing guards,
she glided through the trees, using the cover of the broad trunks until the
firelight faded to a glimmer. No yell of discovery followed her. No sounds of
the upheaval of pursuit. All was quiet. She stood behind a broad beech tree and
risked a quick look back towards the fire. There were other watch fires
glittering between the trees to both right and left but if she charted a course
directly between them, all might yet be well.