Echoes of the Fourth Magic

by R. A. Salvatore

  Ardaz blushed and lowered his eyes from the many glances that came his way.

  “For they hid me away from Ungden’s fell knife,” Benador continued. “And for lo these thirty years I have lived as a farmer’s son.

  “Several months ago I came north to the fair wood of Avalon, that Bellerian might prepare me for the day when I would claim the throne that is rightfully mine. That day is come,” he proclaimed sternly, his arms outstretched and his eyes raised skyward. “Be it known here and now, and let the word go out throughout all Aielle, that the line of Ben-rin is restored to the throne of Pallendara!”

  When he looked back at Arien, his friendly and unpretentious smile had returned. “And in the true spirit of my ancestor Ben-rin,” he said softly to the Eldar, “it is my first act to surrender my army to the night dancers.”

  The astounded elves didn’t even know how to react.

  “My people have committed many sins against you and yours, Lord Eldar Arien Silverleaf, the worst being the battle that was fought yestermorn,” Benador went on. “I cannot undo those wrongs, but I desire that the feud between Calva and Illuma end now.” He dropped his arms and, humbly, his gaze. “We trust in your mercy.”

  At once, all eyes focused on Ryell.

  “Let him go, Ardaz,” Del insisted. Released from the wizard’s spell, the confused Ryell hesitated.

  “Here is the chance of your world,” Del said quietly to him. “Peace is yours if you will only reach out and grab it.”

  He put his hand on Ryell’s shoulder. “Erinel is dead; the price has been high—too high. But if this doesn’t end now, then Erinel’s death means nothing. Then all of this will happen all over again.”

  Ryell looked to Benador and the Calvan army, which was waiting patiently for his decision.

  Unarmed.

  “No tricks,” Del assured him. “I promise.”

  “What say you, Ryell?” Arien asked. “I know my answer to the rightful Lord of Pallendara. It is an answer that I give willingly, with all of my heart. Yet many of our people have come to value your words above mine, and it is important that our stand in this matter be undivided. So what say you?”

  “The whole future of Aielle rests with your decision,” Del added. “Will your world start down the same bloody path that led my world to its destruction? Or are you going to rise above this stupid violence?”

  Ryell dropped his gaze, trying to sort through the sudden confusion this day had brought. How could he be expected to accept peace with the hated Calvans with an Illuman victory at hand?

  His eye strayed to the funeral pyres of his dead comrades, the pyre of Erinel, joy of his life.

  He glanced at the bodies of the fallen Calvans, some black with carrion birds, lying scattered about the field, and thought of the children back in Calva, standing in their doorways and crying for fathers who would never return.

  Such were the horrors of war.

  Humbled and embarrassed, Ryell faced Arien, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. “Too much blood has been spilled already,” he said softly.

  He threw his sword to the ground.

  “We do not accept your surrender, Lord of Caer Tuatha,” Arien said to Benador. “Only your friendship.”

  Benador dismounted and extended his hand to the Eldar, and as Arien moved to accept it, he undid the clasp holding his scabbard and let Fahwayn fall to the earth beside the sword Benador had cast down. At that moment of friendship between the Eldar of Lochsilinilume and the Overlord of Pallendara, many elves and men alike came to know and share Del’s hopes for the future of Ynis Aielle.

  “You’re free now,” Del said softly to Ryell. “Free of the hate that’s darkened your life for so long.”

  Ryell could not manage a smile on his tear-streaked face.

  But he offered a handshake to Del.

  The funeral fires brightened the evening sky once again on Mountaingate. But this night, the grief of the survivors was not masked under cries of hatred or false glory. Both human and elf accepted their losses as a tragic lesson and vowed never to repeat the grievous error they had made.

  In an act of the highest faith and trust, Arien, without opposition from any of his people, laid open the once-secret paths and led his human guests to the Silver City. There, a great feast was prepared and many bonds were made and oaths were spoken. The solemn celebration lasted a full week, its high point an invitation by Benador to the elves and rangers to share in the ceremony of his coronation in Pallendara in the spring of the next year.

  On the morning the Calvans were to depart, Del went early to Billy’s room to rouse his friend.

  “We did it,” Del said happily, his enthusiasm born of pride. “We were brought here to straighten things out, and damn it, we really did it.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Billy replied as he rolled out of bed and stretched. “You’ve forgotten your own world. Hundreds of years of prejudice and hatred don’t disappear overnight.”

  Looking at his black friend, Del could only agree. He moved to the window and threw the curtains aside.

  And then he fell entranced as he looked out over the magical valley at the sight of elves and humans bidding fond farewells and trading sincere handshakes and hugs. Serenity flooded over Del; every care and worry seemed to fly from him at that moment, for somehow he knew these to be honest glimpses of Aielle’s future.

  “It’ll take time,” he said through a hopeful smile, turning to face Billy. “But they’re on the right path.”

  Billy cocked his head curiously at his friend’s sudden and overwhelming visage of calm.

  Yet another summer passed into autumn, but he could not know that. He had forsaken all hope; it could bring only torment in a timeless dilemma that knew no cure.

  Salvation lay only in meditation, and thus he had grasped at one spell available and turned inward, suspending all but his thoughts in time. How many years had passed? How many yet would?

  He knew not, and cared not. As physical suspension eliminated his needs and preserved his body, contemplation of deeper universal truths preserved his mind.

  But what had disrupted his spell? What physical change had occurred in the constant to disturb his enchanted sleep?

  The latch clanked again and the tiny cell door swung in. Most of the light from the corridor was blocked by the silhouette of a figure stooping to enter, though it still seemed painfully bright to this man who had known only the darkness of dungeons for three decades.

  “The blessings of the Colonnae forever upon the head of Ardaz!” Benador cried when he viewed the prisoner. “True was his guess, and Istaahl the White is returned to the side of Pallendara’s throne!”

  Epilogue

  THE SOUNDS OF the dance of Tivriasis wakened Del to his surroundings. He had wandered to Shaithdun-o-Illume, the shelf of crystalline reflections. The haunting beauty of the place captured him at once, and he suddenly understood Arien’s protectiveness of this realm and just how much was at stake.

  And in that moment of epiphany he understood, too, why Brielle had shut him out.

  Del glanced back at the tunnel he had just come through. His personal needs seemed insignificant and selfish at that moment, and freed of their hold, his eyes held a renewed gleam as he watched the growing glow of the moon on the mica walls.

  The first moon of spring, the last moon of winter.

  When the moon has passed beyond the western horizon and the stars sparkle brighter against a darker sky, when the last notes of the evening’s voices have faded from thought and the first hints of the music of dawn have yet to sound, a man might then truly explore the murmurs of his soul. So it was for Del that night on Shaiuthdun-o-Illume. He found a time of the present, where his inner contemplations could run free of the world’s noise.

  Still lost in his musing of the incredible journey that had taken him across time and space, to this place that was his heart and yet not his home, Del took no notice, sometime later, of the unnatural mist that drifted up fr
om the pool to hover a short distance from the ledge, nor did he see the specter that appeared within its cloudy vapors.

  “DelGiudice,” spoke the figure, and the angelic tones filled Del with a sense of joy.

  “Calae!” he said with a gasp.

  “You are troubled, my friend.”

  “A woman,” Del explained. “And a world. Loves that I cannot have.”

  Down from the mountains, in the quiet magic of Avalon, the woman leaned heavily against a tree.

  “Oh, Rudy,” she cried. “I huv breaked me covenant!”

  “That is quite obvious, dear sister,” Ardaz replied, chuckling. “Yes, yes, quite obvious.” He became more serious when he realized that Brielle was truly distressed.

  “No need to worry,” he said. “The Colonnae rejoice at the news! They themselves sent me to you.”

  “Help me,” she begged, taking comfort in his words, though they did little to stem the stabbing pain. “Please ye must. Ne’er huv I known such fright.”

  “I’m afraid, too, Calae,” Del continued. “Afraid of myself and the things I might do.”

  “Have you cause?” Calae asked.

  “After the battle of Mountaingate, I thought I might pen the history of the world,” Del explained. “The world before the holocaust.”

  “An ambitious undertaking,” Calae said.

  “And stupid,” Del added. “For that tome would carry information that these people do not need to know, information that could well damn them.”

  Calae didn’t respond, but the look on his face showed Del that he understood completely. Any recounting of the world before the holocaust might well include information on ways and weapons, the fourth magic of technology, that could prematurely advance Aielle, that could light fires of conquest in the eyes of some.

  “This is the world I always dreamed of,” Del explained. “The world of all my fantasies, and I can’t stay because of the things I learned in the world I despised. My knowledge, my ways, could bring ruin to Aielle. I couldn’t bear to do that.”

  “Could you not keep this dangerous knowledge to yourself?”

  “Maybe,” Del replied. “But I don’t think I want to take the chance. I’m not like Billy. He can accept it all with a shrug and a smile, but I’ll always be trying to improve things.”

  “Improve,” Calae echoed. “A dangerous concept.”

  “Aielle doesn’t need that,” Del said sincerely, and he looked deeply into the blue flames of Calae’s omniscient eyes. “They survived their Jericho; their battle is won. I am the only danger now.”

  “Your fears are valid, my friend,” Calae replied. “It was necessary that you come to this realization on your own. I see your pain and wish that I could tell you otherwise.”

  “It’s not fair,” Del said quietly. “To have found my heaven, only to have it pulled out from under me.”

  “I am truly sorry.”

  Del fought back his tears. “What then?” he asked through a stoic front. “Will you send me back to my own time, where I might live out my life?”

  “That I cannot do,” Calae replied. “The rivers of time flow at different speeds, but, alas, their waters move ever in the same direction. The moment of your existence in the earth you knew has passed. Even if this were not so, the experience of your world would pale beside the beauty of Ynis Aielle. You would not be happy there.”

  The Colonnae prince extended his arm toward Del. “Come with me, Jeffrey DelGiudice,” he said. “Come, that we may travel the stars together.”

  Del eyed the entrance of the tunnel to the elven city, then felt his gaze drawn southward, through the crack in the mountain wall to the impenetrable black veil shrouding Avalon. “How can I let it go?” he asked. “Or her?” He looked back at Calae, the wetness on his cheeks twinkling in starlight. “It’s all over?” he mumbled. He thought of Billy, and how he envied his complacent friend, and he took heart that Billy would indeed watch the coronation for him, would watch over this world and the work they had done.

  Del looked back to the angelic specter. Calae remained unchanging, his arm extended and his expression beckoning.

  Del shook his head and smiled, accepting his fate at the hands of the trusted Calae. He cast a final, dreamy glance down at the enchanted forest.

  Then stepped off the ledge.

  Perhaps it was merely the winds within the stillness of the night, but more likely it was the magic of Calae, or of Ardaz or Brielle, carrying a final comfort to the man of yesterday who had so touched their lives, as the last sounds of Ynis Aielle carried to Del’s ears were the birth cries of a baby. For at that moment, a child was born unto Brielle, a beautiful girl.

  Rhiannon, she would be called, the name of a woman who had graced that long-lost world with wisps of mystery and enchantment.

  Also at that moment, snow began to fall across Aielle. Driven by the sea wind, it whipped with blizzard fury against the black walls of Talas-dun, where Reinheiser, the new Black Warlock, sat on his dark throne, awaiting the day when he would rise once again. It fell indifferently on Pallendara, barely visible against the whiteness of the newly polished walls. It shrouded sleeping Illuma, and descended gently on Avalon, where a new mother suckled her child.

  That was to be the winter’s last snow, for the dawnslight came bright and clear, the first day of spring.

  A Note on Language

  ENGLISH IS THE language common to all the races of Aielle, even spoken, though in a broken form, by the wild talons of the eastern wastes. This is merely a carryover from the times before the holocaust, English being the predominant language of the children on the ships the Colonnae guided to Aielle’s shores.

  The Gaelic flavor of the rangers’ speech is due to the influence of Jennifer Glendower (Brielle). Alone in her domain for many centuries, the witch often wove spells of cell memory, seeking her ancestors through her genetic heritage. And from those encounters she acquired the more colorful phrases and rhythms of the speech of her Scottish highlander forefathers. These she passed along to Bellerian when he came north to live under the boughs of her wood, and he in turn imparted them to the children who would become the Rangers of Avalon.

  Enchantish is the tongue of wizards, its rolling multisyllabic words an integral component of spellcasting. In Aielle it is most prevalent among the elves, who incorporated it into their everyday speech through their close association with the wizard Ardaz. Ironically, enchantish also has Gaelic overtones, for the language of the ancient Celtic peoples reflected their symbiosis with the land and the natural forces around them, the same forces from which wizards draw their power.

  Glossary

  Aielle—the land of rebirth

  Ancient Ones—the survivors of the Unicorn, delivered unto the future land of Aielle to teach the new race of man the lessons of the past

  Andovar—a ranger, friend to Belexus

  Angfagdul—(enchantish) “the utter darkness,” referring to Morgan Thalasi

  Ardaz—the Silver Mage of Illuma, one of the four wizards trained by the Colonnae at the dawn of Aielle

  Avalon—a magical forest located southwest of the Crystal Mountains and bordering the field of Mountaingate

  Backavar—(enchantish) “iron-arm,” referring to Belexus

  Belexus—a ranger, son of Bellerian, and reputedly the mightiest warrior in all Aielle

  Bellerian—the Lord of the Rangers of Avalon

  Benador—heir to the line of Ben-rin and rightful Overlord of Pallendara

  Ben-galen—father of Benador, killed by Ungden the Usurper

  Ben-rin—beloved Overlord of Pallendara at the time of the second mutation of man

  Blackemara—(enchantish) “black mere,” a festering swamp in a box canyon just north of Avalon

  Brady, Doc—ship’s doctor on the Unicorn

  Brielle—mistress of the First Magic, the Emerald Witch of Avalon and one of the Four

  Brisen-Ballas—the tower home of Ardaz on the cliff overlooking Illuma Vale
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  Brogg—The Brown Wastes, a land desolated by Thalasi to discourage intruders from finding his stronghold

  Caer Tuatha—(enchantish) “the city of man,” referring to Pallendara

  Calae—angelic Prince of the Colonnae

  Calamus—a Pegasus rescued from a dragon’s lair by Belexus and serving as his mount in return

  Calva—the grasslands of south-central Aielle, under the rule of the Overlord of Pallendara

  Castel Angfagdt—(enchantish) “the castle of darkness,” referring to Talas-dun

  Clas Braiyelle—(enchantish) “home of Brielle,” referring to Avalon

  Colonnae—angelic beings who served as guardians to the second race of man immediately following the holocaust

  Corbin, Ray—first officer of the Unicorn

  Crystal Mountains—two great, mica-strewn ranges forming the northern border of the Calvan plains

  Darwinia—wife of Ben-galen, murdered by Ungden the Usurper

  DelGiudice, Jeffrey—Del, junior officer on the Unicorn

  Desdemona—Ardaz’s shape-changing familiar, usually in the form of a black cat

  e-Belvin Fehte—(enchantish) “the killing fires,” referring to the holocaust that destroyed the original race of man

  Elves—the second mutation of man, driven into exile by the Calvans

  Erinel—an elf, nephew of Ryell

  Fahwayn—Arien Silverleaf’s magical sword

  Four—the four adults saved from the holocaust by the Colonnae and trained as wizards

  Four Bridges—structures spanning the River Ne’er Ending in southern Aielle; site of a legendary battle between the talons and the Calvans

  Glendower, Jennifer—Brielle’s name before the holocaust

  Glendower, Rudy—Ardaz’s name before the holocaust

  Illuma—the secret mountain refuge harboring the fugitive elves

  Illuma Vale—the magical valley wherein lies Illuma

  Istaahl—the White Mage of Pallendara, one of the Four

  Justice Stone—site of Ardaz’s deception of Umpleby, where the wizard pretended to slay the elves while in reality shuffling them off to Illuma