R. Salvatore: Bastion of Darkness

“And Rhiannon,” Arien added grimly.

“Istaahl the White,” Charon stated. “Would you ask for him, as well?”

The ghost paused, digesting the sad news that the White Wizard of Pallendara was gone. Somehow, though, that seemed all right to him, as if it was meant to be, as if it was Istaahl’s time.

“And what of Jayenson Belltower?” Charon went on. “She was killed this hour, taken by a talon spear. Should I release her as well? I can name hundreds more, and thousands of talons, if they, too, are deserving of your misplaced mercy.”

“Not her,” Del said immediately. “Not any of them. Just Rhiannon. I know this. It was not her time; not like that. Calae put me back here, in this world, to deliver this one message.”

Charon did not respond.

“She gave Thalasi to you,” Del reasoned. “She broke his staff, that awful staff, that instrument which the Black Warlock crafted and used to steal from you. She gave it all back to you. You owe her this.”

“I do not bargain, nor do I ask for anything,” Charon said with some determination. “And I cannot be robbed, since nothing here is my possession. I simply am.”

“No!” Del cried, thinking he had found his logical opening. “No, Charon, your actions reveal the truth. How you hungered for Thalasi in that tower room, when the staff was first cracked. How your shadowy minions went after him, pulling him to you!”

The specter of Death did not reply, only, for the first time in all the eons, listened.

Belexus and Bellerian, atop Calamus, moved above the rocky foothills, searching for remnants of the talon army so that they could direct the continuing attacks of their kinsmen and the elves. At Belexus’ insistence, the older ranger turned the pegasus inevitably east, toward Talas-dun.

They came in sight of the broken cliff, all trace of the black fortress gone, and any trepidation they held at the sight of disaster disappeared when they spotted, far below, Bryan of Corning, moving along a narrow trail, bearing Rhiannon gently in his arms.

They were with him in a moment, and their fears returned tenfold, for they knew, without doubt, from his tear-streaked face and from the very still manner in which the beautiful witch lay in his arms, that Talas-dun had not been destroyed without a heavy cost.

Bryan lay Rhiannon down on the stone; Belexus moved very close and stroked the young witch’s face, beautiful in death as it had been in life.

“She did it,” the half-elf said. “She beat Thalasi, and destroyed his staff.”

“And all his undead monsters went back to their rest,” Bellerian added. “Suren Rhiannon won the day.”

Bryan fell to his knees beside her, his emotions pouring out of him.

“We canno’ be stayin’,” the ranger lord remarked. “The stones are thick with talons.”

“Ye take Rhiannon on the pegasus,” Belexus said to his father. “Me and Bryan’ll fight our way through, don’t ye doubt.” He put his hand on the half-elf’s shoulder as he spoke, lending some strength, and lending hope in the promise that he would help Bryan find his vengeance upon many talon heads. The half-elf looked the strong ranger in the eye, and Belexus nodded grimly.

“We’re all to go,” an unexpected reply came, and how the eyes of the three widened! They looked down in unison to see Rhiannon opening her blue eyes, a grin growing on her face. “We’re all to go together,” she said in a labored voice.

Bryan, after a moment of wavering, nearly fainting, wrapped her in a tight hug, and Belexus was quick to join in, but both backed off reverently when the ghost of DelGiudice appeared suddenly, hovering over them.

The spirit moved close, and Rhiannon reached out to touch him. But of course her hand passed right through the insubstantial body.

“My time here is ended,” Del explained, for he had heard clearly the beckoning call of Calae. He considered the angel and the mysteries that awaited him and remembered again that long-lost tome of wisdom, that most holy book from the world that had been, a book inspired by the heavens indeed. How clearly he recognized the truths that lay within that book, how ingrained those truths had been to the man who had scrambled off the sinking Unicorn those decades ago! He thought of that now, just briefly, and considered it in the context of those he had come to know and love, and hate, in Ynis Aielle. Honor and courage, tolerance and respect. Truths for the ages, tenets that did not shift with the passing of years, but remained constant and important. How seamlessly Brielle would fit into that tome, though in Del’s often-intolerant world, those who followed the Bible unbendingly would have considered the witch an unholy, pagan thing. How grand would be the story of Belexus and Andovar, had it been told in the Bible of his previous existence!

Some things did not change.

“Me father,” Rhiannon said softly, her expression thick with love and gratitude. She knew what had transpired in the realm of Death, knew that Jeffrey DelGiudice, her father, had come after her.

Del moved close to her, looked deep into her eyes, then turned his gaze heavenward. “Grant me this, Calae,” he begged, and suddenly, Rhiannon’s reaching hand brushed against his solid cheek.

Del kissed her forehead and hugged her close, then moved away, to arm’s length, until only their fingers were touching, a touch that lessened by the moment as the spirit dissipated.

“Fare well, my daughter,” Del said. “Fare well, my love. We will meet again.”

And with that promise of hope, Del was gone.

IT WAS SUMMER and it was Avalon, and the threat of the talons, and of Thalasi, was forever ended. But to Belexus and Brielle, Bryan and Rhiannon, Ardaz, Arien, and Bellerian, the edge of joy had been forever dulled, replaced by a distant but undeniable sense of melancholy. An age had ended in Aielle, the Age of Magic, and nowhere was that more evident than in the boughs of Avalon. Still beautiful was the wood, but that preternatural essence of the place had been replaced now. For nearly a millennium Avalon had stood in eternal springtime, but now it was summer in the wood, with autumn fast closing in.

“Suren ’tis time for resting,” Bellerian noted, and Ardaz, feeling his great age, was quick to agree.

Also in agreement was Desdemona, the black cat curled about the wizard’s neck. She yawned and stretched and dug her claws in a bit too hard.

Yelping, Ardaz pulled her away and tossed her into the air. Unlike those many other times, she didn’t transform into a bird, though, for the magic was gone now, simply gone. She landed gracefully on sure cat feet, turned her back to Ardaz, her tail twitching, and moved to Rhiannon, finding a comfortable perch on the young woman’s lap.

Ardaz looked to his sister Brielle, their expressions showing that neither had missed the not-so-subtle reminder that the Age of Magic was lost.

“Thalasi be damned,” Jennifer Glendower, no longer the Emerald Witch, cursed softly.

“Indeed,” Ardaz said. “Indeed.”