The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (9 page)

 The sheet of paper, however, proved somewhat
difficult to obtain.  She took the first opportunity, when Dorgan’s back
was turned, to search the kitchen but found nothing that would do.  Memory
reminded her that all the rooms she had visited were empty, except for dust and
phantoms. All the rooms, that is, except Celedorn’s. She almost gasped as the
idea occurred to her. Even the very thought of it set her heart racing. As she
stood undecided, the object of her thoughts walked past the kitchen window on
his way to the stables. Before her courage could desert her, she made an excuse
to Dorgan (whose attention was on his bread which would not rise) and fled up
the steps to the great hall. She flew with all of her considerable speed across
the flags, across the stain which marked the spot where Hydar had died, and
took the stairs two at a time. The door to Celedorn’s quarters was slightly
ajar and with trembling hand, she pushed it open and slipped inside. She knew
the room well now and crossed to a tall cabinet standing in one corner. Quickly
she opened the drawers and began to riffle through the contents. Nothing. Time was
pressing. He could return at any moment. She jerked open another drawer with
such haste that something fell out. It was a small dagger, its exquisite hilt
set with diamonds and emeralds. The beautiful little object glittered and
sparkled in the firelight, almost dazzling her. She stared at it fascinated,
for a moment forgetting her purpose. Then swiftly she returned it to the drawer
and resumed her search. Still nothing. She cast a look at the door, her hearing
sharpened by fear. All appeared to be quiet. The only possibility left was to
search the room which opened off this one, a room that she had never seen but
presumed to be a bedchamber. Quickly she entered it and found that her surmise
was correct. The room was bare and stark. It contained only an unmade bed, a
cupboard and a chest of drawers. His sword stood propped against the wall.
Irresistibly drawn, she lifted it, surprised by its weight, and withdrew it
from its scabbard. The shining blade slid effortlessly from its cover. The
steel gleamed coldly. Just below the hilt, the blade was engraved with three
intertwined flowers that somehow looked familiar. But her fascination was
broken when she remembered its spotless surface stained with Hydar’s blood.
Quickly she restored it to its place and crossed to the chest of drawers. As
luck would have it, the very bottom drawer contained a sheaf of writing paper.
She extracted a single sheet and replaced the rest in the drawer. But just as
she was in the act of turning towards the door, her acute hearing detected
footsteps in the corridor outside. She froze, hoping they would pass, but they
stopped briefly, then entered the outer room. She recognised Celedorn’s voice.

 “Tell Teblar to get his men mounted up. They won’t
need provisions as we shouldn’t be away very long, but tell them to bring bows.
I wouldn’t waste a sword-blade on those animals if it can be helped. Bring my
horse round to the front, I’ll be down in a moment.”

  Someone left and she heard the click as the outer
door closed behind him. She tensed, her hand grasping the sheet of paper,
wondering if everyone had gone, then the sound of a slight movement in the
outer room disabused her of this hope. Suddenly, with some uncanny instinct,
she knew he was going to come in. She threw herself on the floor and wriggled
under the bed, pulling the sheet down to conceal her. She was scarcely in
place, not daring even to breathe, when the door opened. From the crack of
visibility left to her under the sheet, she saw a pair of black boots enter the
room. She watched their passage across the floor to where the sword
stood.  The point of the scabbard, which had been within her range of
vision, vanished and the boots retraced their passage.  They paused by the
door and she could almost hear his cold voice saying: “Perhaps you would care
to come out now.”

 The impression was so strong that she was almost
shocked when the door closed behind him. She lay where she was, listening
intently. There were a few muffled sounds from the outer room, then all was
quiet. Still she dared not move, then all at once she remembered Dorgan. She
had been away much longer than she had intended. What if he was looking for
her?

She squirmed out from her hiding place and brushed the
dust off her tunic. Carefully she folded the paper, tucked it in her pocket and
crept to the door. On softly opening it, she breathed a sigh of relief to find
the room deserted and fled down the stairs to the kitchen.

 Dorgan was nowhere in sight but the kitchen door was
open and peering out, she saw him in the courtyard talking to Celedorn. Quickly
she sat down at the table trying to still her ragged breathing.

  When Dorgan returned to the kitchen he showed
surprisingly little interest in where she had been.

 “Another band of Turog has been seen near the Kelgor
Pass,” he remarked. “Their incursions are becoming persistent. Celedorn is
going himself to deal with them but hopes to be back some time tomorrow. He
must move quickly if he is to catch the creatures, so the men will be
travelling light without supplies. No doubt they will all be as hungry as
wolves when they come back. There’s nothing like hunting Turog to give one an
appetite.”

 “Where is the Kelgor Pass?”

 “To the north-west, not far from the Harnor.”

 Elorin smiled to herself. Celedorn was going in the
opposite direction to herself. With him out of the way, she rated her chances
of success a good deal higher then she had before. She had intended to try her
luck during the course of the next few days, but it appeared that fate was
presenting her with an irresistible opportunity.

  Later that evening, when Dorgan escorted her up to
her austere room, she turned to him impulsively.

 “I......I wanted to thank you for being so kind to
me, Dorgan. Never did I think, when I entered these forbidding walls, that I
would find a friend such as you.”

 He looked at her in surprise. “Why, thank you,
Elorin, but it is your presence that has brightened these grim surroundings for
me. Tomorrow, when Celedorn returns, I will ask him if he will let you go
riding. I am afraid you will have to be accompanied by one of the men, or
perhaps by Celedorn himself, as I am not unkind enough to inflict my weight on
any poor horse. I think the exercise will do you good. You have been looking a
little pale and wan recently.”

 Her guilt at this further evidence of his kindness
meant that she could only respond by smiling a little uncertainly at him.
“Thank you.”

 His brown eyes twinkled. “Don’t thank me just yet,
my dear, for Celedorn may very well tell me to go to the devil.”

 She stepped back into the room and he closed the
door. There was a loud click as the key turned in the lock and his footsteps
diminished down the corridor. Elorin fell to her knees and peered into the
lock. The end of the key was clearly visible: he had not removed it.

 A glance towards the window told her that dusk was
falling. Swiftly she made her few preparations. She donned her deep red cloak,
wishing yet again that it was a less conspicuous colour and tied up the food in
the cloth bag she had secreted from the kitchen.

 Carefully she removed the paper from her pocket and
smoothed out the creases. Despite the danger, she was highly diverted by the
thought that she was about to secure her escape from such a grim and formidable
fortress, by a trick that every schoolboy knew.

 When the paper was flattened, she slid it under the
door, positioning it beneath the lock. Then she lifted a charred stick from the
fireplace and tried to push it into the lock, but suffered a check when it
wouldn’t fit. It was slightly too thick. Cursing herself for not testing it
earlier, she worked at it, getting very grubby in the process, until she had
peeled off some of the charred bark. She tried again and this time it made
contact with the end of the key. Gently she began to push. The key shifted
slightly. It must not turn or it would become stuck. Taking a deep breath, she
exerted pressure against it. It moved backwards. Then suddenly it fell. She
dropped flat to the floor to peer under the door. If it had bounced, all would
be lost. But to her relief it was lying with its heavy round head on the paper.
Slowly and carefully, she withdrew the paper and had the satisfaction of seeing
the key appear from beneath the door. A moment later she was in the corridor,
locking the door behind her.

 Softly she glided down the stairs, alert for the
slightest sound. As she passed Celedorn’s rooms, she cast them an anxious
glance, even though she knew he was not there. The door leading from the great
hall to the kitchen was open and she could hear the clatter of dishes and the
familiar sound of Dorgan humming to himself. The great oak doors leading to the
courtyard were firmly shut. Only one torch was lit in the great hall, casting
sinister shadows in the corners, making it difficult for her to be sure that
the hall was truly empty. She began to imagine Celedorn’s black form emerging
from the shadows.

  “So you thought I had gone, did you?”

 Mentally she shook herself. “He’s only a man,”
common sense advised. “He is not omnipotent. He is travelling to the west at
this very moment, unaware of what is happening at Ravenshold.” But imagination
refused to be reassured and her nerves remained strung as taut as a harp
string.

 When she was certain all was quiet, she crossed to
the door and tugged. It didn’t move and a stab of alarm shot though her at the
prospect that it might be locked, but then she remembered its enormous weight.
She had even seen some of the men struggle with it. Bracing one foot against
the wall, she grasped the handle with both hands and heaved backwards. With a
groan it opened just wide enough for her to slip through into the darkness of
the courtyard.

 This was the point where she was most likely to be
caught. She had expected the corridors and hallways of the castle to be
deserted at this time of night - they always were, because the men’s quarters
were in a different part of the building. But the courtyard led to the main
gate and night and day there was always a certain amount of coming and going.
She melted into the deep shadow provided by a buttress positioned by the tunnel
leading to the portcullis. The gateway was guarded, but long hours of
observation from her window in the tower had yielded interesting information.
She had discovered that at night-time, when the guard on the gate was changed,
the guards coming off duty came up into the courtyard to share a tankard of
beer with their relief, leaving the gate unguarded for a short time. The nights
were cold and a long stint on watch was a boring occupation: human nature did
the rest. Nonetheless, she noticed that this only tended to happen when
Celedorn was absent from the fortress. The opportunity this provided was slight
but perhaps it was just enough for one shadow to slip out of the gateway
unseen.

  The figure in the shelter of the buttress stiffened
as the sound of the guard coming off duty echoed up the short tunnel from the
portcullis. She heard footsteps and rough voices. At the same time, a door on
the far side of the courtyard opened, spilling light and about a dozen men out
onto the cobbles. These men were loud and rowdy, clearly already a little
drunk, already a little quarrelsome. Elorin tried to press herself against the
stone, certain that when the two converging groups met, she would be
discovered.  But the argument in the square was becoming more heated.
Voices were raised. The altercation must have reached the ears of the guards
coming up the tunnel for one of them called out, demanding to know what was
going on. When he got no reply, the four guards emerged from the gateway to
find out for themselves. The argument in the middle of the courtyard had
already reached the pushing and shoving stage. The guards stopped just inside
the gateway, unaware that they stood with their backs turned to the fugitive,
unaware that if she had but stretched out her hand she could have touched them,
but their attention was elsewhere.

 “What’s all this about?” demanded one.

 “Mind your own business,”

 “It’s my business when you are sent to relieve us
and you don’t appear. Get down to the gate.”

 In reply he was called a word that Elorin had not
heard before, but clearly the guard had, for he lost the last vestiges of good
humour and strode across the courtyard with his companions to join the melee.
The shouting increased and Elorin heard the crack of a heavy punch connecting
with bone.

 It was now or never. Silently she slid round the
buttress and vanished into the dark tunnel. The sounds of the fracas echoed
after her, swelled by more voices joining in. In marked contrast, the
portcullis was deserted. Its cruel teeth suspended above the gateway, its
gaping jaws wide open.

   Further to the west, long after darkness had
fallen, Celedorn stood in a moonlit glade surveying a scene of slaughter. His
gleaming sword, which Elorin had so admired, was now fouled with blood. The
silver light shone with indifferent serenity on the battleground, giving the
heaps of bodies the surreal look of a stage set, as if they would arise to
their feet for the final curtain.  But fifty Turog and about a dozen men
would never rise again.

 Celedorn’s swift departure from Ravenshold had
secured his objective. He had ridden his men hard, knowing better than any, how
even a large body of Turog could vanish into the forest like phantoms. This he
had resolved would not happen. They were on his territory now and incursions
into the mountains must be paid for in blood. He suspected that they were on their
way to spy on Eskendria’s preparations to meet the threat of invasion. An
assault was clearly brewing across the river. The irony that he was
inadvertently assisting Prince Andarion was not lost on him. These Turog would
never return to report their findings to their masters, for not one of them
would ever leave the mountains.

 One of the men, sword drawn and still a little out
of breath, approached him.

  “Each body has been checked. They were all dead.”
He smiled with a certain gallows humour. “Or at least, it they were not, they
now are. Thirteen of our men are also dead. We have some minor wounds, nothing
so severe as to delay our return to Ravenshold.”

 “Very well. Take anything of value and mount up.”

 “I found this on the one who appeared to lead them -
the one you killed yourself. It’s not valuable but I have never seen its like.”
He handed Celedorn an iron wristband. On its dull surface was stamped a curious
design. Celedorn turned it to the moonlight in order to see it better. To the
man silently watching, it appeared that the colour drained from his face - or
perhaps it was just the effect of the moonlight. Celedorn studied the band for
a moment before casting it into the trees.

 “It is of no value,” he remarked curtly. “Tell the
men to get ready to leave.”

 But what he had seen etched on the band had
disturbed him deeply - a snarling wolf with a dagger through its
throat. Much against his will, his mind was dragged back to the occasion
when he had seen such a motif before. Back many long years to an event that had
seared its pattern on his memory like a branding iron. An event that had
changed the entire course of his life. With a gesture of distaste, he rubbed his
hand on his sleeve, as if somehow he had become polluted by touching the object.
Suddenly, he was aware that he still held his sword and bent to wipe the blade
clean on the soft moss of the forest floor. When he straightened, he glanced
uneasily at the moon.

 “Our return to Ravenshold must not be delayed,” he
remarked to himself. “For these scum have become too bold for comfort.” 

  As the cold, grey light of dawn began to dilute the
darkness, Elorin was well out of sight of Ravenshold. She had risked following
the valley floor, along the course of the river during the darkness, as she
could make better speed by following the moonlit water rather than stumbling
about amongst the maze of trees that clothed the sides of the valley. Somehow
she felt that she must put as much distance as she possibly could between
herself and Ravenshold by morning. As the daylight grew stronger, she would be
forced into the concealment of the trees and must ascend through the wooded
areas until she emerged above the tree line onto the bare, windswept pass that
squeezed between two mighty pinnacles of snow. Before entering the woods, she
took her bearings on these peaks. They stood remote and majestic, lit a pale
lavender against the brightening sky. She took a few deep breaths, glad to draw
the clean spring air into her lungs and expel the last lingering remnant of
prison. She supposed that she should have been rejoicing in her freedom, in how
unexpectedly easy her escape had been, but an insistent, nagging unease had
gripped her. All during her hurried flight along the valley the night before,
her ears had strained for the sound of galloping hooves, her eyes had searched
the darkness. Many times she had stopped and looked over her shoulder towards
the fortress, as if it might be following her. It was now out of sight behind a
projecting ridge but still she felt the watchful malevolence of its presence.
Very soon her escape would be discovered. Soon Dorgan would go up to her prison
to release her for the day and would find it empty. Her advantage lay in the
fact that Celedorn was elsewhere. Without his strength of will to organise and
command the search, with any luck the pursuit might be a little haphazard,
perhaps even wanting in prosecution.

 But he was due back that day. If only something
would delay him until nightfall, she would have crossed the pass by then and be
much more difficult to find. However, in gauging the length of time it would
take her to reach the pass, Elorin had not allowed for the fact that on the
inward journey she had been riding a swift and powerful horse. Moreover her
escort had taken the most direct and easy route - which she could no longer do.
The silent forest seemed more daunting on foot, its still ranks of trees almost
hostile. It stretched for so great a distance that if she had not obtained
glimpses now and then of the pinnacles, she could easily have become
disorientated and lost her way. Indeed, the brooding silence of the forest
began to gnaw at her nerves. There were few birds, no animals. Spring had
barely begun to open little fans of leaves at the ends of the dark branches.
Every crack of a twig had her jumping, every rustle of the wind sounded like
pursuit.

  The long day wore on, grey and gloomy. The
brightness of the dawn soon was dimmed by black clouds rising up from the west,
piling up one upon the other until they filled the sky. It became colder and
she almost believed that it would snow again, so dark was the sky. By late
afternoon she still had not reached the edge of the trees. The pinnacles were
closer, she now had to tilt her head backwards to look up at them, but their
tips were lost in swirling mist that sank ever lower down their massive flanks.
She stopped only once. Briefly, beside a little brook, she ate some food but
was soon moving again, careful to leave not the slightest trace of her passage.
All day she climbed higher through the trees, up banks strewn with last year’s
leaves, past shy clumps of wood anemones not yet in flower.  Beech, oak
and chestnut trees closed ranks around her, awaiting the touch of spring. She
was tired now, anxiety as well as physical exertion was beginning to take its
toll. She knew she had not the strength to keep going all night and must find
somewhere to rest. Disappointment dragged her spirits downwards as she conceded
to herself that she would not cross the pass that day.

  Had she but known it, her hopes of Celedorn being
delayed were not to be realised. He and his men made unexpectedly good time on
their return journey to Ravenshold and arrived in the early afternoon. But even
as they swept under the archway into the courtyard, Celedorn knew something was
amiss. A knot of men stood in the square surrounding Dorgan. When they heard
the horses, their earnest discussion ceased and they turned towards the sound,
looking the epitome of collective guilt. The fact that Dorgan was in the
courtyard at all, spoke of something unusual as he was indolent and disliked
the cold, seldom leaving his cosy lair.

 Dorgan crossed to Celedorn before he had even time
to dismount. The others hung back, anxious to remain out of range.

 Before Dorgan could speak, Celedorn pre-empted him.
“What has happened?” he demanded tersely.

 With the benefit of long years of experience, Dorgan
knew better than to prevaricate or offer excuses.

 “Elorin has escaped!”

 “
What!”

 “When I arrived at her room this morning, I found it
locked. When we broke down the door we discovered the room was empty. I don’t
know how she got out.”

 Celedorn’s lip curled. “You did not, I trust, leave
the key in the door?”

 “I...er...I...”

 “I thought so,” was the caustic reply, but he wasted
no time in useless recriminations. “We must assume that she left yesterday
evening, so she will have had quite a head start. “

 “We searched the castle just in case she was hiding
somewhere, but she’s not here.”

 “Of course she’s not, you fool. She will be heading
in the most direct line back to her Prince. Get the men ready and fetch me a
fresh horse. I’ll soon put an end to this nonsense.”

 Celedorn began to issue orders, organising search
parties, directing them to all the most likely locations. He had just time to
snatch a bite to eat as he stood in the courtyard, before a fresh horse was led
up to him. He swung determinedly into the saddle but his departure was checked
by Dorgan.

 “Celedorn!”

 The black brows drew down angrily. “What?”

 Dorgan looked up at him earnestly. “Don’t hurt her,”
he pleaded. But all he received in reply was a scowl.

  The day proved frustrating and fruitless for the
search parties. They searched every valley, every path, every rock, but Elorin
appeared to have vanished into thin air. The search party under Celedorn’s
direction stayed out the longest, scouring the forest near the eastern pass.
While his men searched amongst the trees, Celedorn separated from them and
ascended above the tree line where the snow spilled off the mountainside in icy
blue-white patches. He skirted each frozen patch looking for footprints, but
found none. He glanced at the peaks towering above him, scanning their pristine
skirts for a glimpse of a crimson cloak - but all in vain.