The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (20 page)

 Elorin, watching him
from the log, saw his backward glance and instantly sensed his unease.

 “What’s wrong?”

 “I’m not sure. It may
be nothing but I thought I saw something following us across the Meadowlands.”

 “Turog?”

 He shook his head. “No.
I don’t know what it was. It’s probably nothing, just my eyes playing tricks.
There is definitely nothing out there now. The plain is deserted and there is
certainly nowhere to hide.” He smiled wryly. “Maybe I’m getting tired too. We
must find somewhere to rest where we will be well hidden. The Turog watch fires
that I saw last night were real enough. I don’t know if they were coming this
way or not, but the Forsaken Lands are infested with the creatures and one must
never take safety for granted. I’ll look around and see what I can find.

 When he returned, she
was nodding off again. He picked up the basket and nudged her awake.

 “If I had been a Turog,
your throat would have been slit by now,” he observed dryly. “Come on, I’ve
found somewhere.”

 He led her deeper into
the wood as the sun cast long fingers of light between the trees and the birds
sang and twittered amongst the branches. The Wood of Uldor lacked the menace of
the Great Forest. Its atmosphere was benign, a perception heightened by the
fact that it teemed with birds whose song cheerfully filled the air. Finally,
he stopped in front of an ancient fir tree whose branches came right down to
sweep the ground. Forcing his way between the prickly branches, he revealed an
area of needle-strewn ground close to the trunk of the tree, completely
screened from view from the outside world.

 “The ground is dry
here,” he remarked, “and the needles are old enough not to be sharp.”

 She nodded and sat down
without saying a word, but to his surprise she didn’t instantly go to sleep.
She sat on the ground staring intently at the pine needles between her feet. He
sat beside her and after observing this for some time, said: “I thought you
were dropping with tiredness? Do you not wish to go to sleep?”

 She shook her head
without looking up.

 With an acuteness that
did not entirely surprise her, he suddenly said: “You’d better tell me what’s
on your mind.”

 “Why do you ask?”

 “I know you well enough
to tell when something is troubling you. You’d better tell me what it is.”

 She looked at him
consideringly for a moment, as if undecided, but when she spoke, it appeared
that she was changing the subject.

 “How far is it, would
you guess, to Skerris-morl?”

 “Not far,” he replied
accepting the rebuff. “The river is supposed to be near the edge of the wood.
Once we find it, we then simply follow it down to the sea.”

 “Do you really think
we’ll find fishing boats there?”

 “There is a good
chance. The value of the silver pearls makes it worth the risk of approaching
these dangerous shores.”

 She was silent for a
moment, her brow clouded. “If we find a boat they will take us back to
Serendar? To Sar-es-Marn, won’t they?”

 He frowned, wondering
where all this was leading. “Very probably.”

 Finally she took a deep
breath and he sensed that she was coming to the crux of the matter.

 “Surely you are bound
to be recognised in Sar-es-Marn. The fishermen may not recognise you but there
are many merchants in the City-by-the-Shore who must have
had.....er.....unfortunate encounters with you.”

 “Very likely. This
cursed face of mine is too easily recognised.”

 “But what will they do
to you if they catch you?” she persisted.

  He smiled crookedly.
“Hang me,” he declared tersely. “King Orovin has a noose set aside especially
for me.”

 Her eyes flashed with
anger. “How can you be so casual about it? How can you make light of such a
thing?”

 He raised his eyebrows
in surprise. “I was under the impression that you thought hanging was too good
for me.”

 “That....that was
before. That was in Ravenshold when you must admit that you had done little to
endear yourself to me, but......”

 “.......if you are
trying to make a saint out of me, don’t,” he interrupted harshly. “That shoe
will not fit no matter how much you force it.”

 She laughed and shook
her head. “No, you are no saint, but neither are you quite the blackguard you
would have people believe. You see, I have not forgotten how you stood on the
very edge of that broken bridge, risking your life to save me. Sometimes when
you are being provoking - which admittedly is most of the time - you make me so
angry I could explode, but other times......well, I just don’t want to see you
executed however much you might deserve it.”

 He didn’t answer her
immediately but sat staring off into the distance, his mouth a little grim.

 “Much as I hate to
shatter your faith in me,” he responded acidly, “but in all honesty I must tell
you that I deserve such a fate several times over. You might think that you
know me but you do not. There are things in my past that you could not even
begin to imagine, things I have done that I would not even begin to tell you
about. I am no more a hero than I am a saint. Reserve those roles for your
noble Prince, if you please. I could certainly not play them, nor do I have the
smallest desire to try.” His grey eyes grew cold. “I am what I am and make no
apology for it. I might have tried to save you at the bridge but have you
forgotten that the very first time I met you, I struck you so hard that I
knocked you to the ground?”

 “I had forgotten.”

 “Don’t. It is dangerous
to forget such things.”

 “I have also forgiven.”

 He turned a glance on
her that was like being doused with icy water. “I ask no forgiveness. I will
never ask forgiveness of anyone.”

 “No, I can easily
believe that. No doubt you would go to the scaffold exuding defiance until the
very end, but despite all you have said and all you have done, I do not wish to
be the cause of delivering you to King Orovin’s vengeance. We must ask the
fishermen to drop you off on some deserted part of the Serendarian coast where
you have a chance of making your way back to Ravenshold.”

 With one of his
characteristically abrupt changes of mood, he suddenly smiled ruefully.

 “Your Prince would not
approve of that suggestion.”

 “My Prince does not owe
you a debt - I do. You have only been put in this situation because of me and I
will not let you pay the price.”

 “You repaid your debt
to your Prince and look where it landed you. Perhaps you should rid yourself of
this overdeveloped sense of obligation before it is the death of you.”

 She shrugged. “Like
you, I am what I am.”

 He stared at her
reflectively for a while. “I’m beginning to think your Prince is a fool. A
total, complete and utter idiot.”

 She swelled with
indignation and drew breath to protest but he cut her short. “Enough. Our
journey is not over yet. It’s time to get some sleep.”

 “But....”

 “Oh, do as you are told
for once!” he snapped, relapsing into his former self. “I can’t tolerate women
who answer back.”

  They found
Skerris-morl the next day. It was a wide, shallow river, clattering its way
cheerfully between rounded, grey boulders that glistened with quartz. Its clear
waters mirrored the trees that hung over it just for the sheer pleasure of
looking at their own reflection. Sometimes a beech, growing at some improbable
angle from the bank, would stoop down to touch the crystal waters with trailing
fingers. Kingfishers flashed turquoise across the surface, and dippers, perched
on the rounded stones, would bob up and down, flashing their white throats,
apparently just for the joy of seeing the sunlit day. Celedorn was reassured by
their presence, for they were wary little birds that would disappear in a flash
if all was not well. The river halted their northward path and they now turned
westwards following its course to the sea.

 Elorin found its noisy,
chattering presence a cheerful companion but Celedorn was more equivocal
because it robbed him of a sense upon which he heavily relied - his sense of
hearing. Elorin teased him about it but he shook his head abruptly, refusing to
be beguiled.

  “Amongst the trees,
where vision is limited, hearing is almost more important than sight. It’s a
pity we know of no other way to the coast than to follow the river.”

 But as the days passed,
it seemed that his vigilance was unnecessary. They saw not a sign of the Turog.
The pleasant weather continued and the sun shot sparkles off the rippling
river. Indeed, if it hadn’t been for the shortage of some basic necessities and
the monotonous diet of oat cakes, the days could almost have been described as
halcyon for Elorin. Her companion was reserved but not unpleasantly so. Often
he walked beside her in silence, his mind busy with his own thoughts but when
she spoke to him, he responded readily, abandoning all trace of his former
sarcasm. Yet still she had the impression that he walked beside her in body
only, and his mind was oblivious to the sunshine and bird song,  locked in some
distant place peculiarly his own. The more time she spent in his company, the
more she became convinced that Dorgan’s assessment of him was correct - a
complicated man, with many depths like a deep river. Not like the Skerris-Morl,
where all was on the surface, but like the Harnor with many dark and powerful
currents hidden from sight. Reluctantly she began to be intrigued.

  After several days,
the river began to broaden and its banks grew less steep. The water abandoned
its cheerful romp in favour of a more stately pace. Shoals and sand banks began
to bisect its passage and on the southern shore the trees began to thin and
change in character, from regal beeches to grey-green willows and elders. On
the northern bank, which they were following, the Wood of Uldor continued, the
slightly rising ground giving them a panoramic view over the marshy,
reed-fringed land to the south. Suddenly, on rounding a bend in the river,
Celedorn, who was a little in advance, gave a cry. Elorin hurried up to him.

 “The sea,” he
exclaimed, pointing between the trees.

 The river, curling its
way between sandbanks and tiny islets, slid serenely into a wide, sandy bay. A
crisp line of surf could be seen breaking on the beach and out to sea a curving
brown stain marked the sediment carried by the Skerris-morl. There was a
sandbar at the mouth of the river, crowded with a snowdrift of white gulls.
Their raucous squabbling carried faintly to them over the sound of the river.
To the south, a dense, shoulder-high forest of golden reeds shook and quivered
in the breeze. Apart from the gulls there was no other sign of life.

 Elorin sighed with
disappointment. “No ship.”

 Celedorn looked down at
her. “That would have been too easy. We must wait. It might be several days or
even weeks before one of the fishing vessels turns up, but things could be a
lot worse. At least now we will have a change of diet.”

 She wrinkled her brow
enquiringly.

 “Oysters,” he informed
her, “and mussels too. I don’t think I could have stood another day of those
oatcakes.”

 She smiled. “Just as
well. We have only four left. What do we do now?”

 “We’ll set up camp
amongst the cover of the trees but in a position that gives us a clear view of
the estuary in case a ship arrives.”

 “Set up camp indeed,”
she snorted derisively. “No blankets, no cooking utensils and worst of all, no
soap.” She surveyed herself in disgust. “The only things I possess are these
clothes and look at them! - dirty and torn.”

 He grinned. “You have
an overdeveloped obsession with hygiene.”

 “Not from where I’m
standing,” she remarked, sardonically surveying him from head to foot.

 He gave a crack of
laughter. “Vixen,” he remarked approvingly. “We’ll find a spot where you can
bathe, albeit without the benefit of soap and I think we’ll risk lighting a
fire - at least during the daytime. If we choose wood that is bone dry there
should be little smoke.”

 “All the comforts of
home,” she observed, following him down the bank.

 “Besides, we’ll need
the fire to open the oysters because I’ll be damned if I ruin my sword on
them.”

 “I’ve always preferred
them cooked anyway. I never liked the look of them raw.”

 He shot her a sharp
glance but said nothing.

 The bank on the
northward side of the river continued to rise until it formed a wooded hill
sloping gracefully down to the estuary. The river was now tidal and unsuitable
for washing but they found a little brook which tumbled down the hillside to join
its larger cousin. They made camp not far from it, in a hollow amongst the
trees that yielded an extensive view to the river and the sea beyond. While
Elorin visited the brook to see what repairs she could make to her appearance,
Celedorn climbed down the bank to the estuary and was soon wading about in the
shallow water, collecting oysters and mussels from the bountiful supply. He
took off his shirt and collecting his salty treasure in it, returned to the
camp. As there was still no sign of Elorin, he collected stones and dry
branches and soon had a fire going. He picked out the best of the oysters and
set them carefully on stones close to the heat. Ever mindful of security, he
retreated to a distance to observe the effect of the fire and was relieved to
find that it generated hardly any smoke. By the time he had returned, some of
the oysters had opened and were ready to eat. He was amused to discover in one
of them a little misshapen pearl which had twisted itself to look like a heart.
It was of no value and he absently put it in his pocket before consuming the
contents of the shell.

 The crackle of a twig
behind him brought him to his feet in one fluid movement. His sword was in his
hand in a flash, pointed menacingly in the direction of the sound. Elorin halted,
shock written on her face, the weapon an inch from her throat.

 He relaxed and sheathed
his sword. “You caught me unawares,” he explained, leaving her to take that for
an apology if she wished.

 “Personally,” she said,
recovering her poise, “I think it’s a guilty conscience making you jumpy. It
hasn’t escaped my attention that you have been making serious inroads into
those oysters.

 His lips twitched.
“There’s plenty here. In fact, I gathered so many I had to use my shirt to
carry them - it’s just about ruined it,” he said, holding up the offending
item. “It’s got such a bad rip down the back that it’s not worth putting on
again.”

 She noticed that he had
a powerful, broad-shouldered frame that was lean and supple enough to indicate
speed as well as strength. Strangely, she had assumed that because his face was
so badly scarred the rest of his body must be also, but he was unmarked. Not a
flaw was seen in the tanned skin of the back turned towards her.

 Unaware of her
scrutiny, he handed her an oyster.

 “You look marginally
cleaner,” he remarked, observing her wet hair.

 To his amusement she
began poking about in the oyster. “Do you think we might find a silver pearl?”

 “They are very rare.
You might find a white one but they are not so valuable and indeed if the pearl
is not either a perfect sphere or a teardrop it is worth nothing,” he advised,
forgetting about the one he had found. “Now I am going to visit this stream of
yours. I’ll take the remnants of my shirt to use as a towel but I doubt whether,
without the use of a razor, you’ll see much improvement when I return.”

 “These oysters are
delicious,” was the only comment he got in reply.

 “Don’t eat so many that
you make yourself sick,” he recommended and headed off through the trees.

 When Elorin could eat
no more, she shook out her damp hair and started drying it between her hands by
the fire.

 The day had dulled and
become a little chilly. She was glad of the warmth of the fire and only wished
she could have enjoyed its comforting presence during the night, but her
companion would not take the risk. The glow of the fire could be seen from a
great distance in the darkness. But as she sat enjoying the heat, gently
rubbing her hair between her hands, a strange, yet oddly familiar feeling crept
over her. A feeling she had not experienced since the Great Forest. Elorin felt
she was being watched.

 Her hands ceased their
movement and she sat very still. It was then that she noticed that the birds
had stopped singing. Even the breeze had dropped and the trees stood deathly
still. The only sounds were the slight crackling of the fire and the distant
susurration of the sea. All at once, she became aware of a vulnerable feeling
in the small of her back. She was now certain that something was behind her.
Beads of perspiration broke on her forehead and every muscle grew tense with
apprehension. A wave of cold, unreasoning fear swept over her. Summoning every
ounce of resolution she possessed, she slowly turned her head and looked over
her shoulder. At first she could see nothing but the quiet, leaf-strewn hollow,
but a slight movement attracted her attention to a dark space between the trees
- darkness that moved. Too dark for a shadow; strangely black and dense as if
lack of light had concentrated to a degree that passed the boundaries of
nature. It was like looking into a bottomless void. Then out of the depths of
the strange darkness something began to glow. Something that grew and
intensified as she watched. She found herself staring into two glowing red eyes,
burning with malevolence like embers plucked from a furnace. Out of the dense
darkness they stared unblinkingly at her, exuding a sense of pure, undiluted
evil. Her skin began to crawl and dimly she was aware that the hair on her
scalp was lifting but she could not look away. She sat rooted to the spot as if
impaled. The darkness surrounding the eyes had no shape or form but it
gradually began to drift closer. She wanted to move, to run, to scream but she
sat like stone under the hypnotic power of its gaze. Then, all of a sudden, a
log poised on top of the fire overbalanced and falling out of the flames,
struck her knee, burning her. The pain shot through her and broke the spell.
With a sob of sheer terror she leapt to her feet and bolted up the bank between
the trees, one thought and one only in her mind - to find Celedorn.

 Instinct rather than
reason led her to the little stream where she had bathed. The brook sprouted
over some fern-covered rocks into a fairly deep pool and it was here that she
found Celedorn sitting beneath the fall, up to his chest in water, vigorously
scrubbing his hair.

 “Celedorn!” she gasped,
speech almost beyond her.

 “What?” He wiped the
water out of his eyes and then saw her face clearly. “What’s wrong?” he
demanded.

 She pointed back down
the slope, expecting at any moment the blackness to appear between the trees.
“Quickly
!”

 He made to rise and she
had only just the presence of mind to hastily turn her back. Swiftly he donned
his breeches and boots. She turned to face him just as he was buckling on his
scabbard and was rewarded by being grabbed peremptorily by the shoulders.

 “What is it?” he
demanded, shaking her. “Turog?”

 “No! No, Celedorn, I
don’t know what it is!” she sobbed.

 He shook her again more
forcefully.  “You’re not making any sense. What has frightened you so
much?
Tell me!”
he ordered savagely.

 “It was watching me. I
felt that old feeling of being watched and it was there amongst the trees.
A......a blackness. But it had eyes like fire that stared right into me. Right
into my soul. Eyes that burned like fire. Such......such
evil
. I
couldn’t move. I ......”

 “.......did it follow
you?”

 “I don’t know. I don’t
know. The log burned me and I just simply ran. I didn’t look back.”

 He drew his sword. “I
had better go and find out what it is. Stay here!”

 She caught his arm.
“Don’t, Celedorn! I don’t think this thing can be fought with swords.”

 He shook off her hand
impatiently. “We’ll see,” he remarked grimly and began to descend the slope.

 Having no intention of being
left alone, she fearfully began to follow him. He moved with all his customary
stealth. Not a twig cracked under his foot, not a leaf rustled. His sword was
poised in his hand as if it belonged there and his muscles were tense. She was
close enough behind him to see the drops of water still running down his back.