The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) (39 page)

  When she had seated
herself on the great carved chair, with the sword resting across her knees, she
scrutinised each face before her in turn. Her glance was brief, but each of
them was left with the impression that it was not as casual as it seemed.

 “I am Varinia, a spirit
of the waters of Sirindria Myreth. These are my twin brothers, Elro and
Thandian.”  Her voice was low and musical, reminding Celedorn of something
which he could not immediately identify. “Tell me, strangers, how do you come
to be in the Hidden Valley?”

 Relisar stepped forward
and bowed slightly. “My Lady, I am Relisar of the Brotherhood of the Book. My
companions and I are crossing the Forsaken Lands, attempting to return to
Eskendria. We lost our way amongst the maze of hills and came to Sirindria
Myreth by accident.”

 “It is believed by my
people that none of the Brotherhood of the Book survived the fall of the Golden
Kingdom. How can this be?”

 “Some did survive. My
Order alone survived by crossing the Harnor into Eskendria, but alas, I am the
last. No new apprentices have been found. There will be no more after me.”

 “And who are these
others?”

 Relisar named each in
turn. Varinia looked thoughtfully at Prince Andarion. “When I was last in the
world, Eskendria had a governor, not a king. There was no king other than the
High King at Korem.”

 “That was a thousand
years ago, My Lady. After the fall of the Old Kingdom, the only fragment to
survive was the province of Eskendria. Those who governed her eventually took
the title of king, the line of the High Kings being destroyed.”

 “You have something of
the look of your forefathers. A noble race of men, strong and true.”

 She had a pleasant word
for each in turn, until she came to Celedorn. She stared at him a long time and
he found it difficult to meet the intensity of those sapphire eyes but he
forced himself to stand his ground.

 “You puzzle me,
stranger,” she said softly. “You are an enigma. Your mind is closed to me, your
past and future dark, and yet.....and yet I do not sense evil from you.” She
arose and handed his sword to him. “I return to you this noble weapon, this
blade of the Old Kingdom. Use it well.”

 Andarion leaned towards
Relisar and whispered: “Just as well she cannot read his past.”

 “I must beg your
forgiveness for our discourteous treatment of you,” Varinia continued, “but I
ask you to understand that we are surrounded by enemies and have not seen any
Children of Light for many centuries. In these sad times, we have grown to be
cautious, for the Destroyer has power in all realms - not just the physical. He
has demons that fight in the spiritual regions, and can cross from one realm to
the other in many forms and disguises. Once many of my people lived in this
valley, but most have now gone and only a few of us remain. Perhaps we too must
soon leave, for only our strength of will holds this place intact and we grow
weaker as all around us grows stronger. Yet it gives us joy to see you here,
where once the kings and queens of old came. You are our guests and must permit
us to make amends for our previous suspicion by allowing us to treat you
hospitably. Our home is at your disposal.”

 “Thank you,” said
Relisar. “Em.......where exactly is this?”

 “These caverns stretch
for many miles under the Hidden Valley. The entrance is under the floor of the
shrine, but that is a secret you must swear never to reveal, for it is secrecy
alone that enables us to remain here.”

 As she spoke, several
of her people, dressed in the grey robes, appeared and began to set dishes of
food on the table. Elro returned carrying crystal flagons of wine and silver
goblets set with beryl.

 “I thought spirits
didn’t need to eat?” whispered Elorin to Celedorn.

 “They don’t. I think
this is all for our benefit.”

 About a dozen men and
women joined Varinia at the table with her guests. She asked them to tell her
the story of their journey and they all listened intently as the Prince,
occasionally interrupted by Relisar, told their tale. When he had finished,
Varinia sighed.

 “We know nothing of the
outside world, except that we are surrounded by evil. This King Orovin of whom
you speak sounds like a fool. He is like a child standing on a sandcastle as
the tide comes in. The aim of the Destroyer has always been the annihilation of
mankind and he will not stop at Eskendria. He will not rest till all that is
good has gone. Your instincts to return to your county are correct - I feel it
most strongly in my heart. The last remnant of the Old Kingdom must not fall.
It saddens me that you bear so little news that is good. The three Orders have
gone and along with them a power that held much wickedness at bay. Alas, there
are many things in this world that cannot be defeated by the sword and the
spiritual strength of the Orders will be sadly missed.”

 There was silence for a
moment, then Andarion spoke: “We must soon resume our journey south and would
be grateful if you would tell us anything you know of what lies ahead of us.”

 “My knowledge in that
respect is limited by the fact that we seldom leave this valley, and then never
in corporeal from. Beyond the headwaters of the valley there are many dry hills
which eventually become volcanic, with hot vents, ash and springs of boiling
water. The water in that region is tainted and is not fit to drink. You must
not touch it or it will make you ill. Beyond that, lies the chain of mountains
known in the old days as the Torst Range and my knowledge ceases there.
Except.....”

 “Except?”

 “I sense a power beyond
the mountains, hidden, indistinct but strong. It is not the Destroyer but
neither is it a thing of light. When you pass through the mountains, beware of
it. I wish I could be more specific, but all I can tell you is that things are
not always what they seem. Trust nothing. This power deliberately hides itself
from my gaze.” She shook off her pensive mood. “We can at least provide you
with food, and for you, my dear,” she said, turning to Elorin, “fresh arrows
for your bow.”

 “You have been so kind,
I wish there was something we could do for you in return.”

 “Well perhaps there is.
We have a great love of song but it has been many years since we heard music
that is new to us. Perhaps you would sing something that is typical of the
region of Eskendria?”

 Elorin instantly wished
she had kept her mouth shut and looked in panic around the table at all the
expectant faces. “I.....I have not a good singing voice,” she demurred, “and
besides I have no accompaniment.”

 “I’ll accompany you on
the harp,” offered Triana helpfully, catching sight of the harp standing by the
tapestry.

 She was blissfully
unaware that Elorin cast her a look normally reserved for those who commit the
most base acts of treachery.

 Nervously, she chose a
beautiful, haunting love song that she had learned during her stay in Addania.
Her voice was pleasant, low-pitched and clear against the gentle strumming of
the harp. Unfortunately, half way through the piece, she suddenly remembered
that one of the verses had responses that should be sung by a man. Beads of
perspiration broke on her forehead as she wondered if she should leave out the
verse, or try to sing the male part herself. But help came from an unexpected
source. Celedorn, accurately interpreting the look on her face, realised what
had happened. When she reached the part of the song for the male responses, his
clear, strong baritone took up the part. She cast a startled but grateful look
in his direction. His voice blended beautifully with hers and a moment later
the Prince’s fine tenor joined them.

 “Wonderful, wonderful,”
cried Varinia when the song ended. “I had forgotten the beauty of the human
voice.”

 Elorin, sighing with
relief that she was no longer the focus of attention, settled back comfortably
in her chair and observed those around her.

 Relisar, to her right,
was engaged in an animated discussion with Elro, unaware that the end of his
beard was wagging in his dinner. The Prince and Triana were sitting side by
side, their golden heads shining in the torchlight. Elorin sighed inwardly. She
liked Triana for her kindness and gentleness, but in some ungracious corner of
her heart that she had hitherto not known she possessed, she wished she was not
so beautiful and appealing. Her eyes travelled round to Celedorn, sitting on
the other side of the Prince. Once more she was struck by the contrast between
them; lightness and darkness. Yet it happened that Celedorn had his undamaged
profile turned towards her, and for the first time it struck her that if it
hadn’t been for his disfigurement, he could have been quite a handsome man - in
a rather dark and brooding way. Light and dark the two men might be, but she no
longer felt that one represented good and the other evil. Her increasing
knowledge of them blurred such stark distinctions. She had seen the Prince
behave provocatively; she had seen Celedorn act with kindness. It occurred to
her that he had mellowed since leaving Ravenshold. Although still occasionally
blistering, his habitual sarcasm had largely gone. His animosity towards the
Prince had subsided, as he grew to respect his courage and integrity. She
remembered Varinia’s words about Andarion’s noble ancestry and wondered sadly
if Princes only married beggar-maids in fairy stories.

 Later that night,
someone else wondered the same thing. Celedorn lay in the chamber he shared
with the Prince, listening to his companion’s even breathing coming from across
the room and staring into the darkness. He reflected that from a worldly point
of view an alliance between the Crown Prince of Eskendria and the daughter of the
Lord Protector of Kelendore was a much more acceptable match than a girl with
no name. Yet he had caught Elorin looking across the table at the Prince with
her feelings written on her face, and despite his own pain, almost wished that
the Prince had returned the look. But increasingly Andarion seemed to be drawn
to Triana - something that Celedorn found incomprehensible. His own tastes were
so different. He liked a woman with fire, who was not afraid of him and would
not hesitate to answer him back. He admired Elorin’s quick-wittedness, and the
way she never ran away from danger. But the Prince seemed to want someone he
could protect, and Celedorn feared that the words he had spoken long ago would
prove prophetic - that it all could only end with Elorin being hurt.

 As for himself, he had
fought his growing feelings for Elorin every inch of the way, unwilling to
surrender to the dependency that love creates. But the more he struggled, the
stronger the emotion had become, until he was forced to admit that he was its unwilling
prisoner. That day on the cliff-top near Sirkris, with the rain falling around
them, when she had told him she hated him, he had been cut to the heart - even
though he had not betrayed the fact by so much as the flicker of an eyelid. He
realised now that she no longer hated him, perhaps had not done so even then,
but to be merely her friend irked him. Sometimes, when the conflicting feelings
became too much for him, he would flare up at her, letting his biting tongue
say things he didn’t mean. All he knew for certain was that the daydreams he
occasionally indulged in could never become reality. He had nothing to offer
her except the fact that he loved her desperately. He would not drag her down
into the black mire that was his life - a life that would most probably end, in
the not too distant future, on some cold gallows.

 Yet even as he viewed
this bleak scenario, a line from the Song of Myreth sprang into his mind: words
that he thought he had long ago forgotten.

  ‘
Hope is a flower
which blossoms in the snow’.

 
 “It cannot be,” he groaned softly. “It can never
be. There is no hope.”

  They spent the
following day in the caverns under the hidden valley. The twins, who were
rarely seen apart, chose to be their guides and showed them halls, chambers,
stores and stairways that were grand, beautiful, but somehow sad. Not one of
the companions would have exchanged a day spent in the sunshine for such gloomy
grandeur. As evening approached and their departure drew near, they found
themselves showered with gifts of clothing and food.

 Thandian had a special
gift for Elorin. “You expended your last arrow trying to shoot me,” he remarked
with a rare smile. “So I give you these to replenish your quiver.”

 He handed her two dozen
finely made arrows with silver-grey fletchings.

 Elorin was grateful but
thought an apology was owed. “I didn’t know it was you in the willow tree,” she
explained, “but I don’t suppose you were in any real danger.”

 He raised his eyebrows.
“Indeed? In that case it might interest you to know that your arrow missed me
by a hair’s breadth. Corporeal form has its disadvantages.”

 He then turned to the
rest of the company. “My brother and I will be your guides to the headwaters of
the valley. We will leave just as it grows dark, so that your departure is less
likely to be observed by any unfriendly eyes that might be watching. Beyond the
headwaters, lie the maze of hills in which you lost your way. About a week’s
journey will take you beyond them into the volcanic region, and to the far side
of that, lies the Torst Range. Our knowledge ends there, and from that point
you must trust to your own wisdom and courage to guide you home.”