Echoes of the Fourth Magic tcoya-1

by R. A. Salvatore

  Del’s jaw dropped open when he turned back.

  “Wizard’s working in a fore age,” Belexus explained. “A free path from the vale in times o’ need. Come.” And they entered the stair. Just inside the opening, Belexus pulled a torch and tinderbox out of a cubbyhole. A few steps up, he stopped again to work a second lever, and the rock moved quietly and securely into place behind them.

  Ever upward wound the stair, always arcing at the same angle to the right. The walls were cracked and chipped, though not nearly as broken as the exaggerating torchlight shadows made them appear. This passage didn’t appear to have been cut; Del got the impression that an incredible force had literally torn the rock from between the walls.

  Up they went, and up some more. Five hundred stairs passed, then a thousand. Only Belexus kept the spring in his stride; the others struggled for every breath, their legs aching. Reinheiser lagged behind and the others kept calling to him to make sure he was still moving, but Belexus didn’t relent the pace. In near blackness the physicist stumbled on, scrambling to keep within the area of torchlight. Finally, just when the men thought they could go no farther, they came to a short, level landing ending in a large stone door. There they waited for a minute to find their breath and to let Reinheiser catch up. Then, with a great heave, Belexus opened the door.

  A cool refreshing breeze rushed in on them, and the cries of a night bird and the chirping of crickets mercifully washed away the monotonous echoes of weary boots scraping on stone. But it was the clear night sky that held Del’s thoughts. A canopy of black velvet it seemed, a million twinkling little lights strung upon it.

  “Beauty in the spring, Aiellian Sky,” Belexus recited, sensing Del’s delight. “Soothing freedom for wall-wearied, wintered eyes.”

  The men stepped out into the night, and Belexus closed the door behind them. From the outside, the portal seemed to be part of an immense boulder, and not a crack showed to indicate that this was an entrance.

  “Incredible workmanship!” Reinheiser exclaimed. Belexus smiled and nodded, but before he could elaborate any details to Reinheiser about the door, the group was accosted by a voice from the darkness.

  “Stand where ye are!”

  The men halted obediently at the threat, but Belexus knew the voice. “Andovar?” he called.

  Immediately several torches blazed up and a dozen powerful-looking, well-armed men surrounded the party. Del knew right away that these men were of the same clan as Belexus, for they, too, exuded strength and exceptional health. There was a rightness about their physiques, a natural beauty and strength, hardened by the labors of winter, yet softened under the warmth of springtime sunshine. Their visages reflected that strange combination, with jaws set strong and grim on a face not unaccustomed to smiles. They put their weapons away quickly when they saw that it was indeed Belexus.

  “Wait quiet,” Belexus instructed the men, and he walked over to one of the warriors.

  “Bringin’ people here,” the man said. “Suren that be a course o’ folly!”

  “Ayuh, Andovar, in troth t’would,” Belexus agreed, “were they not the ancient ones o’ the Witching Propheties.”

  The man, Andovar, blew a low whistle. “Ye be certain?”

  “By their clothes,” Belexus said. “And the skin o’ that one.” He pointed at Billy Shank, the first black man either of the rangers had ever seen, indeed, the first black man ever to walk the sands of Ynis Aielle.

  “Five by the tales,” Andovar argued, “but only four before me.”

  “Five they were,” Belexus said grimly. “Even as I came upon them, a whip-dragon showed one to the other world.” He held up his broken sword.

  “Blackemara?” Andovar exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief. “An evil place for meetings.” He shook his head and sighed. “Still, ye should no’ huv bringed them. Calva’s spies feel the belly o’ every rock.”

  “No choice was to me,” Belexus answered. “They do’no’ know the land. One more night on their own would huv seen to their deaths.”

  He turned to another man. “Fetch me sire and be quick.” The man nodded and sprinted off into the darkness.

  “Bellerian is just beyond the firelight,” Andovar said, and even as he spoke, the man returned with the Ranger Lord. He bore the same strong and steady features as Belexus, diminished not at all by his silver hair or by the fact that his back was bent nearly double and he used a cane to walk, crippled from a wound that had occurred in a battle with a whip-dragon.

  “Sire,” Belexus began, “I huv brought the-”

  “Ayuh, me son, I huv heard,” Bellerian said in a voice steady and cool with the confidence of experience. “Ye did right in bringing them here. Knowing their path may help us find ourne.”

  “And what o’ our guest?” Andovar asked with deep concern.

  “It is a risk,” Bellerian agreed. “But ’tis a risk we need take. Too much has happened for us to heed not the Prophetics, Andovar. Might that these be the ancient ones, and if they are, then our world’ll not e’er be the same. I wish now to question them.”

  Belexus pointed at Del. “Speak to that one. I huv seen his heart bared and ’twas true. Unless me eyes be seeing lies, a good man he is.”

  “Call him, then,” Bellerian said.

  “Jeff DelGiudice,” Belexus called. “Please, if ye would, come and speak with us.”

  Surprised, Del glanced at his companions and shrugged. Though he turned right away, he hadn’t missed the look of jealous rage on Mitchell’s face and he fully expected the captain to say something as he started toward Belexus.

  “Watch what you say,” came the growled order behind him. Del smiled at the predictable bully but otherwise ignored him, tired of threats and commands Mitchell issued solely for the purpose of making himself seem important. Del knew that he was a better judge than Mitchell of what he could and could not say to these men.

  “This is Andovar, me friend, and me sire, Bellerian,” Belexus said when Del reached the small group. Del nodded his greeting and clasped their wrists firmly.

  “Just call me Del,” he said with a friendly smile.

  “Me father wishes to ask o’ ye some questions,” Belexus explained. Again Del nodded.

  Bellerian stared searchingly at the man before him, reading every detail about Del. As the seconds passed silently, Del grew uncomfortable, feeling naked under the scrutiny of the Ranger Lord’s gray eyes, orbs clear and sharp with crystalline awareness. Seeking a defense, Del began his own visual study. Immediately he recognized the pride and honor that was in Bellerian. And he saw incredible strength in the older man’s gaze, a power of mind that mocked the bend in the old man’s back. Their eyes met and locked in stares probing for the truth of each other’s character.

  A good test, Del thought, and he gathered up all of his willpower and tried to stare Bellerian down. He had recognized strength in Bellerian, but he had no idea how deep and true that vein ran. The two remained held in mental combat for several long minutes, but then, determined as he was, Del proved no match for the Ranger Lord. Visibly shaken, sweat on his face and neck, he blinked and turned away. Bellerian never flinched.

  “What business might ye huv had in Blackemara?” Bellerian asked pointedly but politely. No trace of arrogance edged his voice, as if he had already put the contest behind him. His gracious attitude heightened Del’s considerable respect for the rangers. Would Mitchell have let him off the hook so easily after such a defeat? he wondered with a grin.

  “We were looking for a pass through the cliff,” he answered, anxious to please. “We were told to go east.” Bellerian’s eyes lit up and Del wondered if he’d said too much.

  “And who might huv told ye?” the Ranger Lord asked.

  Del hesitated for a moment. He remembered Mitchell’s warning, but his judgment told him that these men could be trusted. He glanced at his companions. Mitchell stood with his arms crossed and his head defiantly back, looking as stubbornly proud and belligerent as ever
. That was all Del had to see. “Calae sent us.”

  The three rangers gasped in unison at the mention of the Colonnae prince. “By the Lairds o’ the Endless Hall!” Andovar cried. “ ’Tis in troth a blessed omen.”

  “Where ye be going? Or looking to go?” Bellerian pressed excitedly. Again Del hesitated.

  “Do’no’ be feared,” Belexus assured him. “In his own breast would a Ranger o’ Avalon catch an arrow flying for ye, if a friend o’ the Colonnae ye be!”

  “We are going to… to Illuma.”

  “Lochsilinilume,” Bellerian said, and his face lit with a smile of pleasant recognition. “The Silver Realm. Ayuh, that was me guess.” He eyed Del directly and soberly, and Del knew there was no falsehood in his words. “If yer business is with the Colonnae, me friend, then yer business is yer own, and I ask no more o’ ye. Be at peace, for ye huv made the right choice in trusting us. Now go back to yer friends. Rangers will be taken ye to Illuma after ye huv rested.”

  Del relaxed, certain beyond any doubt of the friendship of the rangers. He bowed-it seemed appropriate-and went back to the others.

  “They stay in the Emerald Room till once around the morn,” Bellerian said when Del was out of earshot. “Then ye two guide them to Mountaingate.”

  “But Benador is at yer house!” Andovar argued.

  “He goes to the wood for hiding till they leave,” Bellerian replied. “There’s much the danger in these men. And much the hope. I want to be keepin’ them under me eye. Know ye me will: not a one speaks to them and they do’no’ leave me home till ye depart. Now no more o’ yer arguing. Take them to the room. A hard road behind them and mighten be harder a road to come. They’ll be needing rest.”

  Belexus and Andovar exchanged a look, knowing well the road ahead of these men and knowing well that Bellerian spoke truly.

  Chapter 11

  The Emerald Room

  Belexus and Andovar led the four men eastward along the cliff face overlooking the vale and Blackemara, crossing stony ground, cracked and uneven, that had them jumping small ravines and pulling each other up steep inclines. Every so often they passed a cairn of piled rocks, markers for those who knew how to read them, for the rangers’ secret trail and the paths to the house of Bellerian.

  Andovar still did not like the idea of outlanders in the ranger camp, but he honored absolutely the requests of venerable Bellerian. For the last thirty years Bellerian had been his teacher and guardian. Indeed, the man was to Andovar as a father, as he was to all the Rangers of Avalon, for when they were but children, sons of the nobles of the court of Ben-galen, Overlord of Pallendara, the infamous Ungden seized the throne and murdered their parents. Ungden had planned to do slaughter to them as well, to extinguish the lines of noble blood completely, but Bellerian, with the help of Glendower, shuffled them away in the darkness of that bloody night to the outskirts of Avalon. There, under the watchful eyes of Bellerian and one other secret friend, the new rangers grew strong and true. Now, as adults, they had achieved a whispered reputation among the farmers of Calva’s northern fields as mighty warriors. This was a wild land, open to bands of marauding talons or to monsters that slithered out of Blackemara. Yet such intruders, no matter how many or how mighty, were always cut down before they could cause much mischief, and when the farmers found the slaughtered remains left along the roadsides for the carrion birds, they knew that the fierce rangers were watching over them.

  The party came to a small cliff, a great block of stone rising up before them.

  “Behold ye, we are to the door,” Belexus said, pointing to a dark crack at the base of the slab.

  “That’s it?” Billy asked. “You want us to go in there?”

  “This is your father’s house?” Del added incredulously. “I thought he was a lord.”

  “Indeed, and that he is,” Belexus answered. “But a lord o’ rangers.”

  “A ranger is a soldier o’ the spirit,” Andovar explained. “We are but a simple folk and huv no need or want for palaces to name as home. The meat of our table is not fineries, but honor and sense o’ purpose. We huv a duty, and the giving of self to that duty is comfort enough.”

  “And just what might that duty be?” Reinheiser asked, curious to know more about this people, to understand completely their ways and motivations. For Reinheiser, knowledge was the greatest advantage over enemies or friends alike.

  Andovar didn’t answer, wondering if he had said too much to the strangers already.

  “Come, let us enter,” Belexus interceded. “Ye may find that we’re not as poor as ye believe.” With that, Belexus crawled into the crack and disappeared from sight. The others followed, Billy somewhat reluctantly, with Andovar taking up the rear. Belexus soon had some torches burning and the men found themselves in a wide chamber, with furs scattered about the floor and a firepot sitting under a natural chimney in one corner. A rack of weapons lined one wall, brimming with well-crafted spears and swords and fine chain-link armor. On pegs along the opposite wall hung cloaks and saddles.

  “Looks pretty crude to me,” Mitchell snickered.

  Belexus pulled a torch out of a holder. “Follow,” he said coldly, his eyes on the captain, a man the ranger obviously did not like.

  That dislike only brought an inward smile to the belligerent Mitchell.

  Belexus pushed hard on a rock, and a section of the wall slid away to reveal a short tunnel sloping down into blackness. He entered first with the torch, the intruding light showing an iron-banded wooden door at the tunnel’s other end. Belexus took out a key and opened the door and the men caught a shadowy glimpse of a room beyond. But then, with a look of contentment aimed at Mitchell, and much to the surprise of the men, Belexus put out his torch.

  “What the hell are you doing?” the captain shouted above a chorus of wondering murmurs.

  “Silence!” Belexus commanded abruptly, and the others, taken aback by the sudden power in the calm ranger’s voice, did indeed quiet. Reinheiser and especially Mitchell grew nervous, though, for they recognized that they were in a precarious situation, surrounded by two grim warriors, one of whom was angry at Mitchell, and they were helpless in the complete darkness. Only Del held calm in his trust of the rangers.

  “Take hold o’ the hand o’ the man in front of ye and follow me lead,” Belexus instructed. He grabbed Del’s hand and, after Andovar called from the back that the chain was complete, led them into the room beyond. Andovar shut the door and they heard the dancing music of a swift-running stream. They stood silent in anticipation for several seconds, but neither Belexus nor Andovar made any move or offered any explanation.

  “Well?” Mitchell snapped, strung out with anxiety.

  “Behold ye the home o’ Bellerian,” Belexus answered flatly.

  “It’s awfully dark,” Del said.

  “Ye be wantin’ light?” Belexus chuckled. “Then ask for it.” Over by the door, Andovar began to laugh.

  “Would you please light your torch?” Del asked, not quite understanding what the ranger might be hinting at.

  “Do no’ ask me,” Belexus replied, straining to hold back his own laughter.” Tis the room ye should be asking.”

  “What?”

  “The room,” Belexus repeated calmly and in all apparent seriousness.

  “But be asking it politely,” Andovar added. “Take care ye do’no’ offend it!”

  “Okay, I’ll play your game,” Del said, his confusion turning to curiosity. Billy and Reinheiser, too, were no longer afraid, sensing that the rangers had something amazing in store for them, something of which Belexus was obviously very proud. Mitchell, though, fumed, having no patience for surprises or for jokes made at his expense, and he perceived these mysterious actions by the rangers as an attempt to pay him back for his earlier insults.

  Del thought for a moment about what to say, deciding that if he was going to play along, he was going to do it in grand style. “O Great Room!” he began, but he was interrupted by the laughter o
f Andovar.

  “Quiet!” Del shouted, a smile crossing his face.

  “O Great Room!” he began again. “We humbly beseech you to shed your magnificent light upon us!” Instantly, the room lit up with blinding white light, its intensity stinging the eyes of the four ancients-Belexus and Andovar knew enough to close their eyes tightly when Del had said “magnificent.”

  Mitchell yelled in anger, snapping his eyes shut. “Damn it!”

  “Light!” Belexus commanded, and the brightness of the room immediately mellowed. Andovar opened his eyes and jumped in front of the men.

  “Behold ye,” he cried, “the magical chamber of Bellerian, Ranger Lord o’ Avalon!”

  As their eyes adjusted, the men were treated to a sight they would never forget, a vision so wondrous that even Mitchell lost his anger.

  They stood in a domed chamber, its floor smooth white marble streaked with red-brown veins. A gully several feet across and running from wall to wall parallel to the door, divided the room, the water singing its melody from within. A marble bridge arched delicately over the midpoint of the gully and, therefore, over the exact center of the floor. Incredibly, the posts and handrails of the bridge, though also made of marble, were shaped into intricate twists and turns, and Del instinctively knew at once that only magic could have worked stone in that manner.

  On the wall opposite the door, the men saw beautifully crafted furniture; a desk, chair, and bookcase, all adorned with bas reliefs of dragons and wizards and arcane runes, and overfilled with scrolls and parchments. Off to the side stood a small cabinet and Bellerian’s bed, many-pillowed and covered with purple satiny sheets.

  Most magnificent of all, though, were the curving walls and ceiling of the room. Constructed of translucent, many-faceted crystal, these were the source of the light, a magical glow flashing through them in brilliant reflections of spectral color. Rainbow rows of gemstones, all polished to a sparkling glitter, ran up the walls like many-hued ladders of starlight and converged at the center of the ceiling in a kaleidoscopic burst. Just below this, suspended in midair, hung a clear crystal ball rotating slowly on an unseen axis. Set in its center was a huge, six-sided emerald, perfectly cut, almost as if it, like the shaping of the bridge’s rails, had been formed naturally to that design.