Echoes of the Fourth Magic

by R. A. Salvatore

  “Listen to him, Captain,” Billy pleaded. “We had a swamp back home where I grew up, and I’m telling you, it’s a bad place to be wandering blindly.”

  Mitchell snapped his menacing gaze on Billy. “What’s the matter, little boys?” he whined sarcastically. “Are the bad buggies biting you?” Then he squared his shoulders, eyes squinting in an ominous threat. “We go on!” he growled.

  Del wouldn’t challenge him this time, nor would Billy, but Mitchell’s renewed fury only prompted Reinheiser. The physicist truly desired to leave the swamp and the dark wood altogether, but more than that, he wanted to test the extent of Mitchell’s defiance of his advice. “Perhaps you should listen to them, Captain,” he stated flatly.

  Mitchell wheeled around as if struck.

  “You, too?” he blurted in disbelief. “Again you back these two jerks. Whose side are you on?”

  “This is not a contest,” Reinheiser began, but before he could elaborate, a loud splash ended the debate.

  The fen before them churned and bubbled, its gray ooze rolling in sickening contrast to the pale whiteness of the frothing. Then as suddenly and unexpectedly as it had started, it stopped, the rancid water quickly settling to flatness under the weight of its muck. In a second only a widening ring of dissipating ripples hinted at a disturbance under the mirror smoothness of the pool. The men sensed a presence—close, under the surface—and knew they were surely being stalked. In frozen terror, they awaited the wild rush of water of the expected charge.

  It didn’t happen like that. The creature came slowly, deliberately, confident of the inability of its prey to escape. Without causing even a ripple, almost as if it were an extension of the fen itself, a head appeared out of the dark water, a great lizard head with a forked tongue flicking between long, pointed teeth and bulbous black eyes, slitted yellow.

  Oh, those eyes! Del thought. Horrible and mesmerizing all at once! He mustered up all of his willpower and managed to break free of their binding gaze. Nearly limp with terror, he somehow managed to grasp the hilt of his sword.

  The lizard monster rose from the fen and reared up on its hind legs, lean and sinewy and very tall—even twenty feet away it towered over the men. It almost seemed to grin as it looked down at them, sizing up its dinner and swaying slowly, hypnotically, back and forth. And all the while, its wicked little forelegs twitched in anticipation of the juicy morsel they would soon hold steady for its great maw.

  Most frightening of all were the creature’s “whips.” Two tentacles, twin serpents they seemed, protruded sideways from its shoulders, hanging down its side all the way to disappear into the dark water. Del couldn’t tell how long they were, for most of their length was hidden beneath the mere, but he did get a look at the end of one, a nasty barbed hook, as it broke out of the water for an instant in a menacing twitch.

  “Good God,” Del muttered, and he drew his sword, preparing to meet his doom.

  “Do we try to run, or fight?” he asked softly, trying not to spur the monster to action.

  “Well?” he said louder, panic in his voice when he received no reply. He glanced over to his right. There stood Billy, Mitchell, and Reinheiser, staring blankly ahead, transfixed by the gaze of the loathsome beast. Over at Del’s left, Doc Brady, too, stood immobile, held fast by the bulbous eyes.

  “Hey! Hey!” Del yelled, shoving Billy Shank, who was the closest to him. But the lizard’s eyes held Billy so firmly that he didn’t even blink.

  A voice inside Del’s head, his instinct for self-preservation, told him to run. He resisted, unable to leave his friends in this predicament. He was obviously no match for the monster, but figured that if he could hurt it, the lizard might just settle for him and leave the others alone.

  Del sucked in his breath and prepared to attack. Truly, he wanted to charge, but again that basic instinct for survival refused to let him rush to his death.

  Now it was the creature’s move, and Del watched anxiously as one of the tentacles began inching out of the water, arcing up behind the shoulder slowly, teasingly, until the barbed claw just cleared the water. Then crack! came the snap of the whip, and the tentacle rocketed off past Del’s left and slammed into Doc Brady’s chest, tearing through flesh and bone to explode out of the man’s back, its barbs catching fast on a piece of vertebra in the splintered backbone. So quick and clean was the blow that Doc Brady never moved. Nor did the expression on his face change. He just plopped facedown in the muck, and the beast began reeling in its skewered quarry.

  “Doc!” Del screamed.

  Its meal secured, the beast released the other men from its paralyzing gaze.

  “Get out of here!” Mitchell ordered his remaining crewmen.

  “Come on, Del,” Billy cried, grabbing Del’s shoulder.

  “I’m not leaving him!” Del rasped. He shook himself free of Billy’s grasp and rushed to the body of his fallen friend, who was by then nearly halfway to the beast.

  The creature was ready for Del, though, and just before he reached Doc, the other tentacle snapped. At that moment, Del stumbled on a rock and hunched over, trying to regain his balance. That slip saved his life, for the claw razed his back, severing his cloak, but it could not dig in. Del felt the burning flash of pain and then the warmth of his own blood. He dove forward into the mud and scrambled on his belly to Doc Brady.

  “Doc!” he cried. “Oh, Doc!”

  “Del!” Billy screamed, and took a step forward.

  “That’s far enough, mister!” Mitchell roared. Billy turned to the captain, who was already backing away. “Let’s go!” Mitchell ordered.

  Billy saw Reinheiser moving to safety behind a nearby root. From behind, he heard Del moaning over Brady. Faced with the same choice that Del just had, Billy, too, could not leave. He met the captain’s eyes firmly and stated, “No.”

  Mitchell lunged for Billy, meaning to pull him forcibly away, but he stopped short, his face going bloodless with shock and fear as an arrow suddenly whistled by, just inches from his nose.

  It wasn’t aimed at the captain. Even as the lizard readied a death strike on Del, the missile found its mark, thudding into the beast’s chest and knocking it off balance. Its tentacle fired wildly as it staggered under the blow.

  “Oi, Avalon!” came a cry. Mitchell and Billy turned just in time to see a warrior charging at them through the muck, brandishing a huge sword. Billy braced himself, and Mitchell, unsure if this man was friend or foe, grabbed at his sword hilt. He never got the weapon out, though, as the warrior crashed through and bore down on the beast, his direct line sending both the captain and Billy sprawling in the mud.

  The lizard began wriggling the tentacle impaling the doctor, frantically trying to free itself in order to better fight this new foe. But Del saw the lizard’s intent.

  “You’re not getting away!” he cried, and with a great fury he brought his sword down on the tentacle.

  The monster tried its other tentacle again, but the warrior had rushed too close and just pushed it harmlessly aside before it could snap. On he charged, the beast responding with a defiant snarl, as if it remained unafraid, believing itself more than a match for any man.

  But this warrior was no ordinary man. He moved right in, deftly dodging the biting maw’s initial attack, and snapped his sword against the lizard’s side, just under its foreleg, his agility and speed surprising the beast, though for a moment it remained unhurt as its scaly armor easily repulsed the blow. The warrior stayed calm as the two squared off, taking good measure of each other. He had fought this type of monster before and knew how to defeat it.

  He let the lizard be the aggressor, using his energy defensively, dodging its deadly jaws and parrying the lightning thrusts of its razor-edged forelegs. He bided his time, patiently waiting for openings, and when they came, he brought his sword to bear, always on the same spot on the beast’s side. Frustrated, the lizard stepped up its attack, but this merely gave the agile warrior even more opportunities to strike. Agai
n and again his sword crashed in, and now with every blow the beast roared in pain.

  Billy and Mitchell watched the battle in horrified awe. Reinheiser backed away a bit, further securing his escape should the monster prove victorious, or perhaps even if the unknown warrior won. Del remained blind to everything except the particular focus of his rage, hacking away with abandon at the still-twitching tentacle that impaled Doc Brady.

  The lizard wasn’t standing straight anymore. It hunched to the side in obvious agony as the concentrated blows began to take their toll. Desperately the beast lunged at its foe, but tiring from its frenzied attacks and off balance from its crooked posture, it stumbled and the warrior easily dodged aside. As the beast struggled to regain its footing, the warrior had his widest opening yet, and he grasped his sword hilt tightly in both hands and hammered it into the battered scales, jolting the monster several inches from the ground. Scales splintered and flaked away, leaving the lizard’s blue, bruised hide clearly exposed. It shrieked in agony as the warrior wound up for a death blow.

  But the monster wasn’t defeated yet. With desperate ferocity, it transformed all of its rage and pain into one last, vicious lunge at the man.

  The warrior had figured the battle won; the sudden attack caught him off guard. He somehow managed to get his weapon up in front of him, blocking the beast’s jaws from his face, but the force of the blow snapped off the blade of his sword and dropped him on his back in the mud.

  Billy gasped and started to charge, but the lizard was in control again. It waved its free tentacle menacingly and held Billy at bay.

  The warrior scrambled to his feet and faced his doom. He knew he couldn’t flee; even if he managed to get ahead of the beast, its tentacle would easily find his back. His options slim, he found an inner calm and concentrated his thoughts on a final plan of attack.

  The lizard looked down on the man and exhaled a long hiss, hesitating, as if savoring the moment of its victory.

  A fatal mistake.

  The warrior flung his broken sword hilt at the monster’s head and pulled a hand ax from his belt. As the beast raised its forelegs to block the projectile, the warrior leaped. He crashed in heavily, his free arm hugging tightly, pinning the lizard’s forelegs against its chest, while his other arm chopped away with the ax at the unprotected hide, peeling away the tough flesh with mighty strokes. The monster tried to bite him, but he was in too close and the beast couldn’t manipulate its head that way. The lizard struggled wildly to break free, but so strong was the warrior, so ironlike his grasp, that he held tight with one arm.

  Dark blood gushed from the monster’s wound, staining the persistent ax and reddening the water at the combatants’ feet. The lizard managed to free one claw, digging it deep into the warrior’s shoulder and sending a stream of blood down his back. He grunted and grasped tighter and, incredibly, the flexing of his cordlike muscles pushed the claw out.

  And all the while, the ax dove in relentlessly, tearing and splattering the beast’s entrails.

  Then, with a final scream of agony, the lizard burst free of the hero. The man backed away a few steps, his ax held ready, but as he watched the reeling monster, its breath coming in short, labored gasps, he knew that the battle was over. With one last shudder, the beast rolled back into the mere and was swallowed by the filth from which it had spawned.

  Chapter 10

  Belexus

  DEL MANAGED TO sever the tentacle just before the beast disappeared beneath the mere. He rolled Brady gently over onto his back. Blood trickled out of the doctor’s mouth, mixing with the mud and slime on his face into a grotesque red-black paste.

  “Oh, Doc,” Del moaned.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Brady gasped, opening his hollowed eyes.

  “You’re alive!” Del was amazed.

  “Not for long,” Brady said calmly, and he grasped Del’s arm gently. “It doesn’t hurt, Del. Calae told me it wouldn’t.”

  “Calae?” Del asked, the mere mention of the angel calming him somewhat. “What are you talking about?”

  “This adventure … not for me,” Brady replied, now laboring for every breath. “A mistake that I was here. Same with Corbin. Calae came to me that first night … on the road. He explained. Apologized to me … promised it wouldn’t hurt.” He finished coughing, more blood streaming over his lips.

  “They’re coming now, Del,” Brady said, his voice sounding stronger, and he turned his eyes up to the heavens. His face brightened with joy as the greatest mystery of the human experience unfolded before him. “They’re coming for me!” he asserted as loudly as he could, trying to convince himself of the reality of the moment of his death.

  “Don’t worry about me,” he continued soothingly, and there was true excitement in his voice. “I’m okay now. I’m not afraid. Everything’s okay now.” And he kept repeating those words until his voice trailed off and his stare deadened, eyes going cold.

  “Doc,” Del groaned. He lifted Brady’s head and hugged him close.

  “Be strong, buddy,” said Billy, who had come over. He helped Del to his feet just as Mitchell walked up.

  “Is he dead?” Mitchell asked hoarsely. Del nodded.

  “Come. And be quick now,” the warrior called as he finished wiping the blood from his ax. “We’ve got no’ a minute to tarry.”

  Covered with mud from being knocked to the ground, Mitchell was confused, embarrassed, and angry. The beast had scared him and the arrow had unnerved him. Doc Brady lay dead before him, and it was his own bad judgment that had caused the tragedy. And Mitchell wasn’t sure that he appreciated being rescued; in his fantasies, he was the only hero. “And if we refuse?” he snapped, belligerence his only defense.

  As the warrior approached, Mitchell put his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

  “Are you nuts?” Billy whispered to Mitchell. “That guy just saved our butts.”

  The warrior slid the ax into his belt and strode right up to the captain. Del eyed the man with sincere respect. He wasn’t as tall as Mitchell, but sturdier, with huge, knotted muscles. His tousled hair glistened raven black and his eyes shone a clear, untainted blue. He wore high and soft boots and a short, brown tunic, belted by a wide leather girdle. Studded bracers adorned his wrists and he had a thin, red band tied around his right arm at his massive biceps, with a matching headband crossing his forehead, weaving in and out of his unkempt locks.

  “I do’no’ understand,” he said calmly.

  “To follow you,” Mitchell explained. “If we refuse?”

  “Then yer bones are for buzzards,” the warrior replied matter-of-factly. “For no doubt ye will die.”

  Mitchell, not quite sure of the stranger’s intentions, clutched his sword hilt all the tighter.

  “Behold Blackemara—the Black Mere,” the warrior continued, sweeping his arm in a wide arc. “And her name’s comin’ from the color o’ her heart, and not her water. Ye must not know where yer going, for ye cannot go much farther into the swamp. She’s too soft for the way ye fill yer boots. And if a bog do’no’ swallow ye, suren one o’ her fiends will!

  “Blackemara,” he repeated, rolling the name off his tongue like the ominous rumble of an approaching storm cloud. “Good thinkin’ it’d be for ye to berth her wide in comin’ days. Few enter here, not a one but the Rangers o’ Avalon e’er leave.”

  Mitchell relaxed his grip on the sword, but still eyed the stranger with icy suspicion.

  “What’s your name?” Del asked, trying to end the tension.

  “I am Belexus,” the stranger replied.

  “Jeff DelGiudice.” He extended his hand, and Belexus clasped his wrist firmly. “Call me Del.”

  “Del,” Belexus echoed, smiling. “ ’Tis noble to chance yer life for a friend. I bow in respect o’ yer braveness.” The compliment from such a man thrilled Del, but Mitchell moved quickly to defuse Del’s pride.

  “He was stupid,” the captain snorted.

  “And who ye be?” Belexu
s asked, eyeing Mitchell with some obvious measure of contempt now, and understandably, for the captain had just insulted the man Belexus had just honored.

  “Mitchell, Captain Mitchell,” the huge man proclaimed, emphasizing the rank.

  But the pride in his voice only seemed to antagonize the warrior all the more.

  “Ye show a strange mind for a captain, Mitchell,” Belexus said. “A man following his heart to a danger his mind would’no’ face is not stupid. Nay, he’s a man I wish to raise sword beside when battle is joined. A true leader knows the worth o’ loyalty.” Apparently having nothing more to say to Mitchell and wanting to hear nothing more from him, Belexus turned to Billy.

  “Billy Shank,” Del said.

  “Health o’ yer kin,” Belexus said, warmly clasping Billy’s wrist.

  Not knowing quite what to say in his amazement of this magnificent man, Billy just nodded blankly. But Billy didn’t have to say anything, for he had already earned the warrior’s respect. His attempt to help when the monster had gained the upper hand had not gone unnoticed.

  “By yer unheared names and ne’er seen clothes,” Belexus said with a deep sigh. “And ye come no’ from the land, for suren ye do’no’ know her ways. Troth be in seeing, ye are standin’ proof to the Witching Prophetics.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Reinheiser, who had come from hiding when things appeared safe. He grudgingly dealt with Belexus’ offer of a handshake with a quick pump. “What are these Witching Prophetics?”

  “A gift o’ the Lady,” replied Belexus, undisturbed by the callous efficiency of Reinheiser’s greeting. Something had struck a chord in his heart, a faraway memory or a pleasant image, and a sparkle like the twinkling of a distant star edged his eye. “Old tales and long in the telling.”

  “I thought you said we didn’t have much time,” Mitchell cut in, his voice openly hostile.

  “That I did,” Belexus replied with a smile, obviously taking no care of the captain’s tone. Insults directed against him didn’t bother Belexus unless they came from someone he respected. He turned to Reinheiser. “By the words o’ the prophecies, a time o’ great trial is come upon us. A time for valor and courage. And honor. And the tales tell o’ the coming of strange men—ancient men to deliver us. Or mighten be they come to damn us. ‘And they shall be the shapers of Aielle, the changers of all that is to pass,’ ” he recited. “But the prophecies do’no’ tell for good or for evil. Me sire, Bellerian, Ranger Lord o’ Avalon, sent me in quest o’ the ancient ones. I found yer tracks in the vale above and the rest ye huv seen.”