R. Salvatore - Echoes of the Fourth Magic

“Come,” he said, “suren ’tis a merry day, and Avalon awaits.”

And when the men emerged from Bellerian’s house, they saw that Andovar was not exaggerating: it was indeed a beautiful day, comfortably cool and with a winsome spring breeze carrying the fragrances of budding life. Puffy white balls of clouds floated across the rich blue sky, and the sun beamed as if rejoicing that the last traces of winter had at last been left behind.

“Get yerself a morning meal,” Andovar said. “We’ve the time. Belexus is gone scouting the road ahead and sha’no’ return for a while, and I huv a notch in me sword needin’ fixing.”

Del drew his own sword. “Do you really think we’ll need them?”

“No’ for guessing,” Andovar replied. “Evil ones do’no’ stalk the grounds o’ Avalon, but sunpeak shall pass above us afore we see her blessed boughs. The road is e’er filled with dangers in the wild northland.” Del’s expression was caught somewhere between excitement and trepidation. “do’no’ worry, me friends,” Andovar added to console them all, “for this day ye ride beside the mightiest warrior o’ this age.”

“Such humility,” Mitchell grumbled, his sarcasm undiminished by a good night’s sleep.

“I speak not o’ meself,” Andovar retorted coldly. A proud man, proven in battle, he didn’t take lightly being insulted by an outlander. He stared unblinking at the captain and continued in a low, grim voice, “Me blade is worthy, alike all o’ the rangers, but Belexus is the one making the deeds for the singers o’ songs.”

Mitchell ignored the words and the glare, acting as if Andovar didn’t even exist.

“Killin’ the whip-dragon to save yer lives marks Belexus at fifteen,” Andovar told Billy and Del. “And he is no’ but a young man. The great Bellerian killed but twelve in his fightin’ days, and the beasts were more about back then. And Belexus once showed a true dragon to the other world. Not a big one, but even a small dragon is a foe beyond the strength of mortal men.

“But not beyond Belexus,” Andovar explained, his smile one of admiration untainted by envy. “By what me own eyes huv seen, even the largest o’ the dragonkind’d be hard put to it by the ringing sword of Belexus Backavar, son o’ Bellerian and prince to the Rangers o’ Avalon.”

“Backavar?” Del asked.

“ ‘Iron-arm’ in yer tongue,” Andovar explained. “ ’Tis a name he hus earned since his first fighting days. I am no wrong in saying, me eyes as witness, that he is a mightier warrior than Arien Silverleaf himself!”

Their looks told Andovar that they did not recognize the name.

“Arien Silverleaf,” the ranger repeated reverently. “Ye’ll be meeting him soon enough, for he is the Eldar of Illuma and very great and wise. But no more o’ yer questions. Things are needing doing and time is not enough!”

Belexus soon returned, and once again, unexpectedly, the four outlanders were left speechless. They stood in a grassy meadow, sheltered by a ring of huge boulders that seemed purposely placed to maintain secrecy. Andovar and another ranger worked nearby, selecting horses for the journey, and the men were indeed relieved that they would not be walking this time. Suddenly the horses began whinnying and stomping their hooves.

Del jumped back from the horse he was brushing.

“Lord Calamus draws near,” Andovar answered to his questioning look.

“Who?”

The ranger pointed toward the eastern sky. “Calamus,” he repeated solemnly, “winged Lord of Horses.” The men turned to scan the sky, shielding their eyes from the early morning glare. As soon as the sight registered, they stood with their mouths agape, for coming in low, under the fiery ball of the rising sun, was the unmistakable and unbelievable silhouette of a winged horse bearing a rider.

“Pegasus,” Reinheiser muttered.

“It can’t be,” Mitchell gasped. He stood perplexed. Everything that had come before, the talons, the Colonnae, the Emerald Room, even the whip-dragon, Mitchell could rationalize away as a deception or some form of technology. But now this. Pegasus! There was no explanation. The beast approaching was not mechanical or a trick of makeup. His breathing coming hard, he had to concentrate to keep his balance, forced now to accept that this whole adventure wasn’t merely a game. Even amidst the craziness and the death, Mitchell had held on to the hope that it was all some elaborate scheme.

Reality proved persistent, though. The building evidence had pushed Mitchell’s belief further and further back in his mind, and now this flying horse shoved it out completely, taking with it all his hopes of returning to a more controlled, more organized, and more familiar environment.

Seconds later the magnificent steed landed in the little knoll and Belexus hopped off its back. It was pure white, with a thick silvery mane that shimmered in the sunlight and coal-black saucer eyes sparkling with pride and spirit, and hinting at an intelligence that transcended its equine frame.

“Where did you get him?” Del asked, actually trembling with excitement.

“Belexus won him,” Andovar answered. “Spoil of the dragon’s lair.”

“Won him?” Belexus echoed skeptically. “No, Calamus canno’ be won.” He patted the mighty steed’s muscular neck and met the saucer eyes with his own, as if directing his words to the horse. “Calamus canno’ be won,” he repeated, “for he canno’ be owned. He is his own master, and woe to any who might try a rope on him!” The horse lord snorted its accord and stamped its foreleg hard.

Belexus spun back to the men, a boyish smile of exuberance stretched from ear to ear. “But now’s for going,” he proclaimed. “A clear road and a climbing sun. To Illuma!”

Del marveled at the ranger’s enthusiasm and envied that smile, for it shone untainted, pure joy unleashed for no reason other than the glory of the world about, an exuberance spawned by the simple thrill of existence. Del wondered if he would ever smile like that.

“Illuma!” Andovar echoed with the same innocent grin, and thus began the final leg of the eastern trek.

They moved southeast at first, gaining even more distance from the great cliff, as further “guarding from watching eyes lurking in the northern mountains,” Belexus explained.

Soon they swung around directly eastward. The ground sloped up slightly as they climbed toward the Crystal Mountains, the trail rocky and bare except for an occasional sprig or bush, but off to the south, the ground fell away more steeply, and in the distance lay a wide expanse of grassy fields. Hillocks rolled relentlessly southward like green ocean swells on and on as far as the men could see, and winding through them, a silver-blue snake, the great River Ne’er Ending.

Presently the trail leveled and the clip-clop of hooves on stone changed to softer thudding as the path transformed from stone to softer earth. Many large and jagged rocks still showed through all about them, but every stride took them deeper into more hospitable terrain. Grasses and scattered trees grew more general, and then, almost without warning, they came upon the edge of the mighty forest. Great oaks, tall and proud, stood thickly packed before them, running in a long line all the way down to meet the green plain. Belexus quickened their pace at the sight, and shortly after midday the travelers dismounted and ate their lunch in the shadow of Avalon.

Del directed most of his conversation toward Belexus, reiterating his sincere thanks for the rescue in the dangerous swamp.

A humble man, Belexus said little and seemed uncomfortable with the subject.

“Killing that monster was a feat of great strength,” Del mentioned.