R. Salvatore - Echoes of the Fourth Magic

Together they observed the animals, and Brielle taught Del to emulate their fluid and balanced motions. His muscles worked in true conjunction, expanding the limitations of his mortal form to levels far beyond his imagination. He felt free, with a sense of rightness and health.

By night, they danced under the stars and Brielle sang to Del songs of beauty and mystery, often in the same strange tongue he had heard among the elves. Ancient and melodic, known to the Four and taught to the elves by Ardaz, it was the song of the angels, the rhythms of the galaxies. Del joined in when he could, and though he had never before been able to carry a tune, in Avalon his voice rang clear and strong.

Thoughts of leaving the forest never entered Del’s mind. This was his home now, and this was the woman with whom he would spend eternity. But events of the world don’t often allow for such plans, as Del would soon realize.

It was early in the day, the first fingers of the sun stretching out through the thinning mist and the trees. Del, just awakened, was sitting in a patch of bedewed clover in the same pine-bordered field on which he had first viewed the dancing Brielle three weeks previous. He was waiting for her now, to come to him as she did every morning. Sure enough, flashing the familiar smile that rivaled any dawn, the witch of Avalon soon skipped across the grass.

“Good morning,” Del called out to her.

“Oh, but it is!” Brielle laughed, and she twirled and danced up to Del and floated down into the clover beside him.

She stared deeply at Del. He was in her thoughts all the time now, as long-forgotten feelings began to stir within her.

Del sensed her vulnerability; all his feelings of insecurity had been left far behind in the joy of the previous days and he knew now that she shared his love. He moved closer to her; the time had come for them to share their first kiss.

Suddenly Brielle pulled away from him and sprang to her feet, her expression changing to shock and then anger.

Del fell back, stunned and wondering what he had done wrong, for he, unlike the witch, did not hear a tree cry out in pain.

She stood motionless with her eyes closed, focusing on the breach that threatened her domain.

How? she wondered as the picture came clear. She knew the answer when she looked upon Del, knew that she had gotten careless.

A distraction had come into her life.

“Ye must be leaving,” Brielle stammered, realizing and accepting her responsibility. She continued quickly, before Del could argue, knowing that a protest from him could break her resolve. “Go, I say. Get ye back to Lochsilinilume and do’no’ return!”

“What are you talking about?” Del cried.

“Go!” Brielle commanded in a tone that drove the words from Del’s lips. Del reasoned that she was using some spell to silence him and wanted to resist, but the fire in her eyes was genuine and he knew better than to argue. He squinted to hold back the tears as he watched her crossing the field.

She turned back to him when she got to the pines and whispered, “Sorry, I am.”

Del heard her, though he was far away, for a sudden breeze came up and carried the words to his ears.

Then she was gone and Del had no recourse except to follow her wishes. Throwing up an emotional shield of anger, he marched from the field and through the trees, trampling as direct a route to Mountaingate as he could figure. He couldn’t sustain the defense, though, and gradually his line began to waver. He was reeling emotionally, hurt and above all confused, for Brielle had stung him to the core of his heart, had dropped him in a breath from his highest peak to his lowest valley, and still he could not deny his true feelings for her or for this wonderful forest. He loved her and no pretense of anger could change that. His pace slowed and his course meandered, like a condemned man clinging to the last minutes of his life and praying for a reprieve.

The fragrance of lilacs led him to the small hill where he and Brielle had shared their first lunch. Del started up, lost in the memory of that pleasant morn. He had nearly reached the top before he heard gruff voices coming from the other side. Startled to caution, he ducked down and crept to the bushes.

A small wagon sat motionless on the path below him. His first thought was that some of the rangers were about, but when he noticed the horse hitched to the wagon, he quickly dismissed that theory. Beaten and half starved, it could hardly lift its head for lack of spirit and strength, and Del knew that no ranger would treat any animal that way. He realized then that something was wrong, though he couldn’t have imagined how very wrong until, from a group of trees, pushing and grumbling with every step, appeared a band of talons!

Five of them, each with an armload of freshly cut wood, moved toward the wagon, the largest wielding a great ax and shoving the others. Unclean and loathsome, they stained the beautiful forest with their mere presence, and Del barely caught himself from crying out in dismay.

“Do something,” he whispered to the wind. “Someone get them out of here.” As if in answer to his plea, a large raccoon crept out of the brush on the far side of the road. It hopped up on the horse’s back and began gnawing on the reins. The talons, busy with their arguing, took no notice of it. Although the horse was freed within seconds, it remained in place, showing a level of discipline and intelligence. Not until the raccoon was safely back in the brush did it bolt away.

The talons let out a howl and gave chase, but the horse ran with the taste of freedom blowing in its face and had no intentions of being caught by its wicked masters. Del watched with satisfaction as the miserable creatures returned, pushing and arguing tenfold, each blaming another and threatening some horrible punishment.

Then something else caught Del’s eye-Brielle on a distant hill across the road. She danced about, beautiful and terrible all at once, gathering power with every move and reaching for the sky. Del followed the line of her arms upward and saw the thunderclouds. He looked back to the witch, beckoning to the rising storm, menacing and distinct in her white gown against the darkening sky.

The talons hushed when the sun disappeared, their arguing drowned away by the angry rumble of witching magic. Del nearly pitied them, they were so terrified, for they knew their fate was at hand. In a pathetic attempt to escape, they jostled about and tried to break free from each other and away from the wagon.

They had no chance. Even as they started, a bolt of lightning sizzled down from the clouds. Del covered his head and lay as flat and still as he could. Blast after blast exploded and crackled, and the thunder rolled on and on, shaking the very earth beneath him.

When all was quiet, Del looked with horror upon the splintered remains of the wagon and the charred, smoking bodies of the intruders.

Then a small twister whistled in just above the trees, not too far from Del. Unafraid, he understood now that this fury was perfectly aimed. The whirlwind swept down upon the road and sucked up every trace of the infection that had invaded Avalon, carrying it far, far away from the fair wood and back to the desolated land of Brogg.

Panting for breath and fighting against a wave of nausea, Del looked back at the witch. She stood calm now, untroubled, as if she could not see the blood that was on her hands. And as the clouds began to break away, their mission complete, a ray of sunlight descended upon her, lining her form in silvery approval.

The emerald in her forehead sparkled.

“My God,” Del whispered. In his own abhorrence of violence, he painted the same face on Brielle now that he had seen on Mitchell that day on the beach. But Mitchell’s rifle seemed a toy compared to the incredible power the witch had conjured. In Avalon, Del had viewed the creations of Brielle’s magic, and he had loved her even more for them. He had never imagined that she could turn that same wonderful ability into such a force of destruction.