R. Salvatore - Echoes of the Fourth Magic

The stars came bright and clear when the cold dark closed in, but soon dimmed as the full moon peeked his silvery face through the valleys between the mountains in the east. The air grew chill, but not uncomfortably, for a gentle wind came up from the south.

Something about this budding evening flickered recognition in Del’s heightened senses. “Am I wrong,” he asked with a puzzled look, “or is this the same night that we saw in Bellerian’s room?”

“It does look the same,” Reinheiser agreed, and he, too, wore a puzzled expression.

“It feels the same,” Del said.

“Might that it be,” Andovar said. “ ’Tis in the power of the magic o’ the Emerald Room to huv foreseen this night.”

“Suren’s to be beautiful, then,” Belexus said. “But we canno’ keep our eyes open to it, for the road is yet long before ye and moren so if ye’re weary. Now is the time to sleep.”

Lulled by the rustling leaves and the wind’s mournful song, they complied almost immediately, except for Andovar, keeping watch, and Del. Though Del was certainly comfortable in this enchanted wood, sleep would not come to him. As he settled down for the night, the bone case that Bellerian had given him caught his attention and pulled incessantly at his curiosity. He realized that he should be stronger than the temptation, but with all the wonders going on about him, he couldn’t resist.

Finally he gave up trying to sleep and walked over to where Andovar sat patiently. Del couldn’t help but chuckle as he approached, for as he suspected, the ranger’s eyes weren’t turned outward against any threat from the wood, they were fixed squarely on Captain Mitchell.

“I’m not tired,” Del explained when he got to the small fire. “I’ll take the watch if you’d like.”

“Nay, the watch is mine,” Andovar replied. “The soft nights of Avalon are me deepest love and I do’no’ weary from riding. But I would welcome your company.” He motioned a friendly invitation for Del to sit.

“I’d like that, too,” Del said, returning the ranger’s warm look. “But first, if it’s all right, I’d like to take a walk. The woods don’t scare me; they seem to call to me. And the moon is bright.”

“Ye huv the makings of a good ranger.” Andovar laughed, studying Del’s face. “Me friend, there be a sparkle in yer eye as I huv seen before. So ye’ve seen it, huv ye? The magic o’ the wood.”

Andovar’s ability to see right through him embarrassed Del, and he blushed deeply.

“Ayuh,” the ranger continued, “she’s shown ye the beauty and health of the place-the strength o’ the trees and the richness o’ the earth below. Know yerself a lucky man.

“Go take yer walk, then, and enjoy the wood. But do’no’ stray too far. A man might get lost even in a friendly wood!” As Del started off, Andovar called after him, “Keep the fire in yer eyes!”

Del smiled, assured by the ranger’s friendly and calm tone. He did indeed keep the fire in his eyes, though moving far away, and soon found a break in the trees that let in enough moonlight to read by. He pulled the bone case from under his cloak, his eyes wide and his hands sweating.

I shouldn’t do this, argued his conscience.

But his conscience was no match for his curiosity.

“Bellerian didn’t say I couldn’t look at it,” he rationalized, and before his conscience could argue back, he popped off the cap and pulled out a scroll, trembling as he slowly unrolled the parchment.

The first thing Del noticed were sketches of a man going through various motions. “It must be some kind of magic spell,” he whispered happily, for that was what he had hoped.

But his excitement turned to frustration when he saw the runes. They were a wizard’s writings, of course, and try as he might, Del could not make any sense of them at all. He studied them for a few moments longer, hoping that some magic within the runes would reward his perseverance. Nothing happened, and so, with a sigh, he put the scroll away and started back to camp.

But then he heard the music.

It floated on the wind through the trees, the clearest bell that ever rang, the sweetest music ever heard. It drew Del’s heart, pulled him uncontrollably within the sphere of its notes and led him away from the camp, out of sight of the fire. But he didn’t care-following the course of that harmony became his only concern.

He came to a row of pine trees on a small banking. The singer-no, it was more than a singer, he understood-was close now, perhaps just over the rise. Belly-climbing to the top, Del cautiously peeked out around one of the trees, to find that he lay on the edge of a wide field blanketed with plush grass and lined on all sides by thick pines. Scattered patches of wildflowers added a preternatural touch to the scene, surrealistic wisps of dull color in the silvery moonlight.

But Del hardly noticed the field, for his gaze fixed upon the heart of Avalon’s song, a hauntingly beautiful woman dancing carelessly in the moonlight, leaping high into the air and floating down gently, a leaf in autumn, caught by currents of unseen breezes. She wore a black, flowing gown with many layers of gossamer that displayed, with every twirl and rushing leap, her graceful form in ghostly silhouette; and as she descended from her latest entrechat, a silken cape floated behind, a shadowy extension accentuating her mysterious essence. Her skin shone creamy and porcelain smooth, and her thick hair floated about her shoulders, a golden mane so rich in color that even the quiet light of the moon could not diminish its luster. And her green eyes sparkled a light that could penetrate even the blackest night.

Lithe as any ballerina, her moves as distinct and meaningful, yet she moved in a manner less rigid and precise, more in tune with the natural flow of her spirit. Del could sense the joy of that spirit. He could feel the cool, moist evening grass under her bare feet. And he felt the free rush of air as she rose in yet another great leap, ascending on a moonbeam and floating gently, delicately, back to the earthen realm of mere mortals.

Del watched entranced as the minutes passed and the woman tirelessly continued her dance. Suddenly she stopped and stood staring in his direction, her eyes wide with surprise.

No way she can see me in this light at this distance, Del reasoned. Yet, all logic aside, he knew that she had sensed his presence and could indeed see him.

Cautiously, the woman walked across the field toward Del, stopping a mere dozen yards away. Leaning over to get a better view of him, she brushed her thick hair back from her face, and Del saw a sparkle of green in the middle of her forehead, though he could not discern its source.

He wondered whether he should run away or simply stand up and introduce himself. But any choice he might have made became irrelevant, for a combination of awe, even to the point of fear, of this mysterious woman before him, and a deeper passion, one that was wonderfully new to him, rooted him to the ground and rendered his tongue useless.

The woman studied the area around Del for a few seconds, then seemed to relax, apparently satisfied that he was alone. And her gaze probed deeper. Del felt naked before her green eyes, certain that she could read him to the very core of his soul. And yet, when he grew uncomfortable, she seemed to read that, too, and immediately broke off her examination and looked at him apologetically.

Del longed to know this woman who was so perceptive and responsive to his feelings. He felt kindred to her spirit, and prayed that she shared those feelings. As if in response to his silent hopes, the woman lowered her eyes and turned a blushing smile, and with a sudden burst of energy like a child breaking free of its embarrassment, she began spinning around, her form blurred by the floating layers of her gown. Around and around she twirled, faster and faster. And then she leaped from the spin onto a moonbeam and simply vanished into the evening air.