The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (61 page)

 “I am glad to hear you
say that, but of course, you are assuming that the spell
did
go wrong,
and lately - well, lately I have begun to think that there was nothing wrong
with it at all.”

 “It scarcely matters.
Through you, I have found everything I want in life.”

 He saw that she was
looking across the camp to where a tall, dark figure was loading packs onto the
horses. “I am so proud of him,” she murmured, with such a look of adoration in
her eyes that Relisar turned away to hide his emotion.

 
“He must not pay the
price,”
he groaned inwardly to himself.
“He shall not pay the price.”

  The Prince suddenly
stood up in his stirrups and let out an exclamation of surprise. “There it is!
Look! To the left of the trees! The Harnor!”

 They all followed the
direction of his pointing finger and saw the metallic gleam of the sun on the
distant water.

 “I believe you are
right,” said Celedorn, screwing up his eyes against the strong light. “We have
come to it more quickly than I thought. I would have guessed that we still had
another day’s journey to make but I have miscalculated, the river can be no
more than a couple of miles distant. What concerns me a little is that we have
come so close to the river and yet have seen nothing of the Turog. Last spring
these woods were crawling with them as they mustered their army to attack
Eskendria. Now we have not encountered a single one.”

 “Perhaps we are too far
east,” suggested Relisar.

 “You forget that I know
the region across the river well. Opposite here lies the Barony of Westrin - my
old hunting grounds,” Celedorn replied, indicating the Westrin Mountains,
already snow-tipped, floating dreamily above the clouds in the distance.

 “Then there is only one
conclusion to be drawn,” said the Prince grimly. “They must have crossed the
border into Eskendria. The invasion must have already begun.”

 “Did you really expect
anything else?”

 “No, I just hoped
beyond hope, that they might have been delayed.”

 “That still does not
entirely explain their absence. I would have expected some detachments to have
been left in the woods to secure their supplies.”

 “Unless,” said the
Prince, reading his thoughts and feeling a cold chill crawl up his spine.
“Unless the war is already over and Eskendria has fallen.”

 Triana, moved with
sympathy for him, said: “It’s foolish to speculate. We will only know for sure
what has happened once we cross the Harnor.”

 By noon, the river was
close enough for them to see its broad, steel surface flashing the sun back
into the sky. It rolled towards the coast with smooth, unbroken power, forcing
its way towards the narrow confines of the Serpent’s Throat and its sudden
escape into the open sea.

 So, too, as they
approached, did the Westrin Mountains grow in height and majesty.

 Noting how Celedorn’s
eyes were constantly drawn to them, Elorin remarked: “I never thought that I
might someday look upon them as home.”

 Triana drew her horse
level with them. “I have not seen them before. They are so beautiful, so
mysterious the way the peaks seem to float above the clouds. But surely they
are a cold, inhospitable place to live? How is it that Westrin is one of the
greatest baronies when its land is so rugged and mountainous?”

 Celedorn turned from
contemplating his birthright to answer the question. “In the days when my
father ruled Westrin, before it fell into chaos and ruin, the land in the
sheltered valleys provided rich farmland. Also, the mountains provide other
resources - mighty forests of timber and silver mines located on the slopes
facing Serendar. I remember visiting them as a boy and being impressed by the
deep galleries driven into the rock. They are deserted now, for the brigands
robbed the miners of their silver just as quickly as it could be mined from the
ground. When I returned ten years ago, the mines had already been abandoned.
However, the silver is still there and all it needs is the rule of law to be
restored for the mines to be opened again.”

 Triana raised her brows
delicately. “All that is needed to restore the rule of law, is for a strong
Lord of Westrin to be in control again.”

 He shrugged
dismissively, unwilling to get involved in that particular issue.

 “How is it that
Ravenshold has no town around it like other castles?” Elorin asked, mainly to
distract Triana away from matters that clearly Celedorn did not wish to discuss.

 “Ravenshold has always
been a strong defensive position, designed to protect the border against Turog
incursions. The town it protects lies in the foothills of the mountains, well
back from the Harnor out of harm’s way,” he informed her. “I know that you see
it as a grim and even frightening place, Elorin, but it was not always so. Its
defensive function meant it was always a little austere on the outside, I grant
you, but within its walls, it once was a comfortable home. I remember how one
of the inner courtyards, now just an area of flattened earth used for
exercising horses, used to be my mother’s rose garden. As a child, many times I
walked amongst the roses on a summer’s day.” His face had softened with the
recollection but it also grew a little sad.

 “We could make
Ravenshold a home again,” Elorin suggested, but he shook his head abruptly, and
urged his horse forward, leaving her wishing that she had held her tongue.

  By early afternoon,
they emerged from the trees onto the banks of the river without having
encountered a single Turog. The river drowsed in the autumn sunshine, flowing
placidly between its broad banks. On the far side, golden meadows, dotted with
copses of trees, rose in gentle undulations to a low line of hills which hid
the view southwards towards Addania. To the west, the foothills of the
mountains began to rise in a jumbled mass, like children trying to climb their
mother’s skirts.

 Not a soul was to be
seen.

 Triana looked at the
wide, powerful river a little doubtfully. “How do we cross it?”

  The Prince stood
measuring the distance and flow with his eye. “If the horses were unloaded,
they could probably swim it, with us holding on to the saddles. I have known
men to swim it, but,” he said, glancing at Relisar, “I think that is not an
option open to us.”

 “Are there no bridges?”

 “None. The only bridge
that has ever spanned the Harnor was destroyed long ago. The river is not only
the boundary with the Forsaken Lands but forms our first line of defence as
well.”

 Celedorn, who had
dismounted and was exploring on foot further along the bank, returned in time
to overhear the Prince’s remark.

 “I hate to contradict
you,” he said with all his customary dryness, “but at this moment there is in
fact a bridge across the Harnor. Come, I will show you.”

 They all dismounted and
followed him to the point where the river bent sharply northwards again. Beyond
the bend an astonishing sight met their eyes - a long, low wooden bridge
stretched right across the width of the river from shore to shore, resting on
dozens of rowing boats lashed together and floating on the water.

 “A floating bridge!”
exclaimed the Prince. “Ingenious! But where is everyone?” he asked, staring in
puzzlement at the deserted bridge.

 “The bridge has clearly
been built by the Turog,” said Celedorn gravely. “You know what that means,
cousin, - your suspicions were correct, they have crossed into Eskendria.”

 The eyes of the two men
met. “We are too late,” whispered Andarion. “All along I have dreaded finding
this. What will we see when we cross into Eskendria? A smoking ruin? A
slaughterhouse?”

 “Do not prejudge the
issue. If the line of defence at the Harnor could not be held, then the
Eskendrian army would have retreated to the next defensive position, beyond
those hills in the distance. All may not yet be lost.”

 Andarion nodded,
grateful for the kindness behind his cousin’s words, and a little reassured by
them.

 “We will at least make
use of the creatures’ construction to cross the river,” he said tightly.

 As usual, Triana’s
horse refused to cross, regarding the floating structure with utmost suspicion.
It minced and jibbed, dragging its frustrated rider along by the reins when she
tried to lead it. Celedorn, who was in no mood for such antics, caught hold of
the bridle in a ruthless grasp and hauled it forward with uncompromising
strength. Recognising his mood, it wisely submitted.

 When he reached the
Eskendrian bank, the others were waiting for him. He restored her mount to
Triana, and turned decisively to face the Prince.

 “We are now on
Eskendrian soil,” he said, in the tone of voice that left little doubt as to
what was coming next. “This is where the company must break. This is where we
must go our separate ways.” He held out his hand to Andarion. “I will always value
your friendship, but I will not place you in an impossible situation by
continuing to claim it, now that you are once again the Crown Prince. I know
that your duty demands that you must hunt me down - and in all fairness, I
cannot deny that I deserve such a fate. I want you to know that in performing
your duty, I bear you no ill will, in fact, I would expect nothing less of you.
So come, let us shake hands and take our separate paths.”

 But the Prince did not
take the outstretched hand. Instead a slight smile crept into his eyes.

 “I once told you that I
had decided that you must become respectable. Westrin needs a strong lord in
control of it once more and there is only one man I know who is equal to the
task.”

 “My friend, you set
yourself a task that you know is impossible.”

 They stood facing each
other, much of a height, one so dark, the other so fair, a strange
confrontation taking place. The smile faded from the Prince’s blue eyes and
they became deadly serious. “Do you trust me, Celedorn?” he asked quietly.

 The reply came without
hesitation. “You know that I do - more than any other man.”

 “Do you trust me enough
to place your life in my hands?”

 “What do you have in
mind?”

 “You must answer me -
do you trust me enough to place your life in my hands?”

 The grey and the blue
eyes met once again in a level glance from which neither looked away.

 “I do,” said Celedorn
simply.

 “Then you and Elorin
must not leave us now. You must come with us to Addania.”

 “No!” cried Elorin.
“What are you thinking of, Andarion? They will hang him!”

 The Prince swung round
to face her. “I do not know if what I have in mind can be achieved, but I give
you my word as Crown Prince, that he will have my protection. He will be
permitted to visit Addania this once without any harm coming to him - I give
you my word.”

 “You promise what
perhaps is not in your power to keep! What if the King overrules you?”

 “If my word does not
bind my father, then he had best leave his kingdom to Sarrick.”

 “But........” Elorin
began but Celedorn checked her.

 “Enough, Elorin. I have
told Andarion that I trust him - and I do. That is an end to the matter.”

 She recognised by the
implacable tone of his voice that his mind was made up, and turned sharply away
from him so that he could not see the tears spring into her eyes.

 Triana moved close to
her and whispered. “We all owe our lives to Celedorn. Not one of us would have
come safely through the Forsaken Lands if it had not been for him. Do you think
that we would let any harm befall him?”

 But Elorin would not be
comforted and merely dashed her tears away without replying.

 “We must keep your
identity hidden until we are actually in the presence of my father,” Andarion
informed Celedorn. “You must wear your cloak and keep the hood pulled up to
cover your scars - they are, alas, all too recognisable.”

 Celedorn nodded. “I
will do so, once we are within sight of the Eskendrian army.”

 “That assumes that
there still
is
an Eskendrian army,” qualified Andarion gloomily. “Let us
hope that all our discussions about the future are not in vain.”

 As they continued
southwards, a strange sense of unreality gripped them. It was difficult to
realise that they were in Eskendria and not still in the Forsaken Lands, for
the countryside was completely deserted. Not a human being, not a Turog was to
be seen.

 The parkland of rolling
grass, dotted with copses, continued empty and unbroken right up towards the
line of hills that was their goal.

 “I don’t like this
silence,” said Andarion, who was riding beside Celedorn. “It is unnatural. I
know this region is a little sparsely populated because of its proximity to the
Forsaken Lands and the - er - depredations of your own men, but it shouldn’t be
this empty. It feels like the aftermath of a massacre - except that there are
no bodies.”

 “I agree. It’s too
quiet. However, there is a small village beyond those trees to our left and
hopefully we shall see some sign of life there.”

  But their hopes were
dashed. Upon rounding a large stand of trees, they came face to face with a
blackened ruin that had once been the village. Two dozen houses had once stood
in a circle around a neat green with a pond and a smithy. Now all that remained
were heaps of burnt timbers, black and forlorn.

 Celedorn dismounted and
crossing to a charred beam, rubbed his finger along it.