R. Salvatore - Echoes of the Fourth Magic

Noting that distress, Billy dismounted quickly and moved to support his friend. Truly he felt for Del, realizing that he, too, would have surrendered to the enchantment of the wholesome wood under a different set of circumstances.

He led Del out slowly, letting him savor every last second. As they passed the rangers, Del stopped and looked to Belexus.

“How can I leave?” he asked, honestly torn between his desires and his responsibility.

Belexus understood the torment in Del’s eyes.

“Ye huv me pity, me friend,” he replied. “Many are the sorrows on the road o’ life, yet oft the grief o’ parting is the most unlooked for and the most to hurt. Yet ye must be going. By the words o’ Calae himself, Lochsilinilume is the land o’ yer purpose and yer destiny.”

No reason for leaving seemed good enough to Del at that moment, but he continued on sadly, vowing in his heart that he would one day soon return to Avalon and seek out the mysterious witch.

Mitchell and Reinheiser walked up next, their stride considerably different from the lingering steps of Del and Billy, showing these two to be anxious indeed, and it wasn’t hard to figure out their motivations: Reinheiser to see what would come next, and Mitchell to get away from the rangers so that he would once again be the one in control.

Andovar stepped his horse out, blocking their path. “Ye keep me warning, Mitchell,” he promised grimly. “Should ye bring any hurt to DelGiudice, the sword of Andovar will part yer head from yer neck!”

“And all of the rangers will hunt ye down,” Belexus added. “And to yer terror, so I’m guessing, greater powers more horrible in their wrath than anything ye huv ever dreamed will be wanting a piece of yer stubborn hide!”

Mitchell just sidestepped Andovar’s horse and kept on walking, pretending to ignore the rangers altogether. He heard their words, though, and he marked them well.

“Martin,” he said to the physicist when they were clear of the rangers and not yet up to Del and Billy, “someday, with you at my side, I’m going to own this world. Then I’ll pay back those rangers and especially that damned DelGiudice.”

“If you plan to dominate this world, Captain, you are going about it all wrong,” Reinheiser replied. “You reveal your enmity to some very powerful foes, when gaining their confidence would better suit your purposes.”

Mitchell considered Reinheiser’s words and, except for a thoughtful grunt, remained silent.

The four men emerged from Avalon into a bright noon sun. They were on the edge of a flat, green field stretching about a quarter mile south to a grouping of mountains, and twice that distance north, where the main range of the great Crystals lay dormant like resting giants, comfortable in their confidence that they were truly unconquerable. The field was barely two hundred yards wide, bordered on the west by the cliff ledge overlooking Blackemara, running from the feet of the northern mountains to the expanse of Avalon. A towering stone spur lined the eastern side of the field, ending abruptly just south of where the men stood, allowing the field to spill out around the southern mountains into a wider rolling plain in the southeast.

The men walked slowly northward, approaching a rising wall of trees and stone. In the middle of this imposing barrier stood two trees, similar to elms, but with silver-hued bark and leaves colored white as a puffy cloud. They bent to meet each other, their intertwining branches making them seem almost as one, forming an arched entrance to the lone trail up the mountain.

“I’m in for it now,” Del whispered to Billy when he saw that Mitchell and Reinheiser had nearly caught up to them.

But the captain was still considering Reinheiser’s advice, and he knew that Belexus and Andovar were probably watching from the shadows of Avalon. He wasn’t about to invoke the rage of the powerful rangers; not yet.

“I’m in charge again,” Mitchell declared as he walked past Del and Billy. “And from now on, if we meet someone, I’ll do the talking.” Too relieved to worry about the implications of Mitchell’s command, Del let the point pass without an argument.

As they approached the silvery archway, it became obvious to all the men that there was something special about these trees, as if some magical aura emanated from them, a fairy-tale flavor of the happy dreams of a child’s bedtime. Visibly the tension eased out of the men’s strides and taut muscles unwound with every step toward the wondrous boughs, and as they came under the shadows of the white leaves, a nonsensical, yet innocently joyous singing filled their ears. It seemed so appropriate that they hardly noticed it, and a long moment passed before they realized they were not alone. They peered up the sloping path with renewed caution, but the contrasting patches of shadow and sunlight blurred everything beyond a few yards.

“Do you think they know we’re here?” Billy asked.

The singing stopped.

“They know,” Reinheiser answered.

Mitchell slipped aside, hoping to blend into the surroundings to gain a better vantage point. He had barely started moving, though, when an arrow cracked into a tree inches from his head.

“On your lives, halt and be recognized!” came a command-a young woman’s voice, or perhaps even that of a boy child, and certainly not ominous. But the arrow was several inches deep into the tree. The men froze.

“Cast your weapons to the ground before you,” the voice ordered. Billy and Del looked at each other, each perfectly willing to surrender their swords, not really knowing how to use them anyway, but expecting a violent confrontation. Mitchell, after all, certainly wouldn’t give up easily to a voice so removed from violence.

Indeed, the captain itched for a fight. When the command to throw down their weapons came, his first reaction was to clutch his sword hilt. But then Reinheiser’s advice came to him once again. He looked to the physicist, who nodded toward the ground in front of them. To the absolute surprise of Billy and Del, Mitchell drew his sword and threw it down.

“Do it!” he growled at the gawking men, though they needed no encouragement; their swords were already in the air.

A slender figure clad in a short brown tunic stepped out from behind a tree and skipped down the path to the swords. Sparkling blond hair, short-cropped and straight, bounced above his pointed ears with every springing step. He seemed in his early teens, shorter than a man and not nearly as heavy, with a face angular, yet very fair; nose straight and thin, but not sharp, and eyes accentuated by slanted brows. Those marvelous eyes, big and round and blue, so rich in hue they appeared almost black, told Del that this was no child. Although on the surface they reflected that unblemished joy of youth, these eyes were far from shallow, and within their depths they revealed to Del’s sensitive scrutiny a sorrow gathered in the experiences of many, many years.

The boy’s skin glowed with a hint of a golden tan, but Del clearly recognized that this being had not seen much of the sun in his day. A “night dancer,” Del surmised with a secretive grin, and he realized that it was the twinkle of the stars, not the shine of the sun, that highlighted the lad’s hair.

“Who… what the hell is this?” Mitchell balked as the graceful Illuman gathered up their swords in long, graceful fingers and started back up the path.

“It’s an elf,” Del explained, but his smirk disappeared when the shocked Illuman stopped short and wheeled around to face the men. Surprised whispers issued from every imaginable hiding place near the trail.

“What name have you branded upon me?” the Illuman demanded in a near shriek. He stalked toward Del, hand firm on the pommel of his sheathed sword.