The soldiers thought him insane, and Brother Chanticleer merely shook his head, having no insight as to what his fellow Deneirrath might be doing. Danica didn’t know how to react, didn’t know whether to try to stop Cadderly or just to stand back. In the end, she decided to trust her love, and she waited as time wore on.
Long shadows filtered from the west, and Cadderly continued. Even Ivan and Pikel began to wonder if the storm and the earthquake had broken the man, had reduced him to a babbling idiot.
Danica held her faith, though. She would wait for Cadderly to finish—whatever he was doing—through all the next day if need be, even beyond that. She, all of them, owed the young priest at least that.
As it turned out, Danica didn’t have to wait through the night. With the western horizon pink with the last moments of the setting sun, Cadderly’s voice lifted.
Brother Chanticleer and many of the others ran near him, thinking that something grand was in store.
They were not disappointed. There came a sharp hissing sound, a crackle as if the sky itself were being torn asunder.
Then it appeared, on the ground before Cadderly, rising like a tree growing out of control. It was a tower, a decorated pillar of stone. It continued to grow, its tip rising into the air before Cadderly and the astonished onlookers.
Cadderly stopped his singing and fell back, exhausted, to be caught by his friends. The crowd murmured dozens of questions, most prominent among them, “What have you done?”
Danica asked that very question of Cadderly when she looked closely at his face, at the flecks of silver suddenly showing in his tousled brown hair, at the crow’s-feet that had not been there before, running out from his eyes.
She looked back to the tower, a tiny portion of the cathedral of which Cadderly had oft spoken, then back to her love, who had obviously aged with the effort. Danica grew worried, and still more with the serene look that had come over the tired and suddenly not-so-young priest.
EPILOGUE
Shayleigh had gone to Shilmista, and had come back in high summer to view the progress on Cadderly’s new cathedral. She had expected a virtual army would be hard at work on the place, and was amazed at how few people were actually around, just Cadderly and Danica, Vicero Belago and Brother Chanticleer, the Bouldershoulders, and a handful of sturdy men from Carradoon.
Progress had been made, though, and Shayleigh realized she should have expected no less. It was a construction of magic, not of physical toil, and it seemed as if Cadderly needed little help. Many areas had been cleared of rubble, a tribute to the dwarves and the Carradden, and three of the flying buttresses were set in a line along the northern edge of what would be the new library. Twenty feet from them, to the south, Cadderly had begun construction on the wall, a delicate-looking structure.
Shayleigh gasped when she saw what the priest was working on, a huge, arching window of multicolored glass and black iron that would fit into the wall in clear sight of the spaced buttresses. Cadderly paid attention to every detail as he worked over the rough design, flaring the tips of iron symmetrically, forming patterns with varying colors of glass.
The elf was a creature of the forests, of the myriad beauties that nature offered and that men could never replicate, but Shayleigh found her heart lifted, felt her spirit soaring as her imagination pictured the finished cathedral. There were too many fine details, too many intricate designs, for her to even appreciate them. It was like a wide-spreading elm, she thought, and Cadderly was painstakingly placing every individual leaf and twig.
Shayleigh found Danica along the eastern edge of the library’s grounds, intently looking over a pile of parchment. Brother Chanticleer was close by, singing to his god, calling up spells of preservation and protection as he watched over the piles of artwork and priceless manuscripts that had been brought out of the old library. Belago was close by him, inspecting the piles and singing, too. Apparently the wiry alchemist had at last found his way to a god. And who could blame him? Shayleigh smiled as she considered the man. Given the wondrous sights Belago had witnessed, most marvelous among them the construction continuing every day right in front of him, how could he not find his way to Deneir?
Danica’s face brightened when she saw that her friend had returned. They exchanged warm greetings and hugs, and perceptive Shayleigh knew at once that Danica’s smile hid much that was not so bright.
“He does that all day,” the monk offered, pointedly looking at Brother Chanticleer, though Shayleigh understood that she referred to Cadderly.
Shayleigh, trying to subtly change the subject, looked at the parchments on the ground in front of Danica.
“Lists,” the monk explained. “Lists of men and women who will accompany me to Nightglow and the dragon’s treasure. I have already sent emissaries to Shilmista.”
“I passed them on the trails,” Shayleigh remarked. “They probably have met with King Elbereth already, though I suspect they will tell my king nothing he does not already know.”
“They’ll invite Shilmista to join the expedition,” Danica said.
“That was expected,” Shayleigh replied with a calm smile. “We understand and appreciate the friendship you and Cadderly have begun the People.”
Danica nodded, and despite her resolve, couldn’t help but look at her lover at the mention of his name. Cadderly was still full of energy—brimming with energy—as he worked on his vision, but he no longer appeared as a man in his early twenties. Despite the toil, his body had thickened. His muscles were broader and still strong, but not quite as sharp and hardened as they had once been.
“The construction takes a toll,” Shayleigh remarked.
“The creation,” Danica corrected. She sighed deeply, commanding the elf’s full attention. “It was a choice,” Danica began, “a choice between Deneir, this course, this purpose that Cadderly has found in his life, and …”
“And you,” Shayleigh interjected, placing a sympathetic hand on the monk’s shoulder.”
“And me,” the monk admitted. “A choice between Deneir’s calling and the life that Cadderly, as a man, truly desired.”
Shayleigh looked hard at the monk and knew that Danica truly believed her words. The generous young woman understood that Cadderly had chosen a higher love, a love that no mortal could ever match. There was no jealousy in Danica’s tone, but there was indeed a sadness, a profound pain.
The two sat in silence, watching Cadderly and the dwarves. Ivan and Pikel had marked off another area, and were apparently discussing the next logical step to support the structure’s already-standing towers.
“He will complete the cathedral,” Danica said.
“A new Edificant Library.”
“No,” the monk replied, shaking her head and lifting her almond-shaped eyes to regard Shayleigh. “Cadderly never liked that name, never thought it fitting for a house of the god of literature and art, and the god of knowledge. ‘Spirit Soaring’ will be the name he gives this cathedral.”
“How long?” Shayleigh asked.
“Cadderly and the dwarves have drawn up the plans,” Danica answered, her voice trailing to a whisper. “Five years.”
“Five years,” Shayleigh echoed, and yet, Danica had pointedly mentioned that Cadderly would live to see the completion. Only five years! “The creation takes from him,” Shayleigh remarked. “It is as if he gives his own being for the cathedral’s materials.”
Exactly, Danica thought, but she had not the strength to answer. Cadderly had discussed it all with her, had told her it was his purpose in life. The cathedral, Spirit Soaring, would stand for millennia, a tribute to the god he served. He had told her what the price would be, and together they had cried for the life they would not share. Soon after, Danica had bitten hard on her bottom lip and bravely added to Cadderly’s point, telling him that Spirit Soaring would be a tribute, too, to Cadderly, to the priest who had sacrificed so much.
Cadderly would hear nothing of it. The cathedral was for the gods alone, a
nd the fact that he was allowed to construct it was a gift, not a sacrifice.
“He hopes to live long enough to offer one service in the new cathedral,” Danica whispered. Shayleigh rubbed her hand over Danica’s shoulder, then, stricken mute, the elf walked away. She could hardly believe the young priest’s sacrifice. Humans lived a short enough time, but for one to give back perhaps three-fourths of that span was inconceivable to the long-living elf.
Danica watched Shayleigh for just a few steps then her eyes inevitably turned back to Cadderly, back to the man she loved, and loved all the more for his determination to follow the course his god had shown him. And yet, she found she hated Cadderly, too, hated that she had ever met the man and had given him her heart. When he was gone, and she was still young, how could she love another?
No, she decided, shaking her head against the pervasive pain. Better to have met and known Cadderly. Better to have loved him, no matter how short a time. That thought sent Danica’s hand gently rubbing over her abdomen. She was hoping to conceive, hoping to give Cadderly another legacy, a living, breathing legacy.
Danica’s smile, as she continued to watch the man, was bittersweet. He could be wrong. He could live a long time after the dedication of Spirit Soaring. But if he didn’t, she wondered if her eyes would ever again be free of tears.
R.A. Salvatore
R.A. Salvatore was born in Massachusetts in 1959. His love affair with fantasy, and with literature in general, began during his sophomore year of college when he was given a copy of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings as a Christmas gift. He promptly changed his major from computer science to journalism. He received a Bachelor of Science Degree in Communications in 1981 then returned for the degree he always cherished, the Bachelor of Arts in English. He began writing seriously in 1982, penning the manuscript that would become Echoes of the Fourth Magic.
His first published novel was The Crystal Shard from TSR in 1988 and he is still best known as the creator of the dark elf Drizzt, one of fantasy’s most beloved characters.
His novel The Silent Blade won the Origins Award, and in the fall of 1997, his letters, manuscripts, and other professional papers were donated to the R.A. Salvatore Library at his alma mater, Fitchburg State College in Fitchburg, Massachusetts.
The Cleric Quintet, Book V
THE CHAOS CURSE
©1994 TSR, Inc.
©2009 Wizards of the Coast LLC
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