R. Salvatore - Echoes of the Fourth Magic

“The deeper strength,” Thalasi continued, his voice an even whisper, “is the strength of the mind in conjunction with the powers of the universe, and driving those powers by sheer desires and convictions. Given the secrets of the universal truths, you would remain a simple Faustus, playing with firecrackers. But I…” he rose up tall and terrible in his wrath and Reinheiser looked away in fear.

“Look at me!” Thalasi roared, and Reinheiser found that he had no choice but to comply. “Behold Morgan Thalasi and know you are doomed!”

Reinheiser trembled uncontrollably. He hid his face in his arms and curled up, desperately seeking a hiding place where there was none. He had never really been frightened before; even death he had accepted as an inescapable part of life.

But Reinheiser was scared now. He felt a blackness in his heart, a sense of hopelessness and despair that touched his innermost being. He waited, he prayed, for the death blow to come quickly.

It didn’t fall, and gradually some hope returned to him, though he feared that this was just Thalasi’s way of toying with him, of giving him one last glimmer of salvation before utterly damning him. Finally, he gathered up enough courage to peek out.

The warlock was sitting, apparently deep in thought. Slowly, Reinheiser straightened himself in the chair and waited for whatever was to come.

“Perhaps there is hope for you,” Thalasi said after several minutes had passed. “You have certainly proven your intelligence, and perhaps, under my guidance, you will become an asset to me.”

Reinheiser smiled hopefully, drawing disapproval from Thalasi, who returned a glare that slumped the physicist back in dismay. Thalasi pointed a finger threateningly and growled, “But never oppose me,” and Reinheiser felt cold, bony fingers close about his throat, an invisible collar that was Thalasi’s will.

Thalasi laughed aloud, secure indeed, for he no longer viewed the physicist as a threat to him. His faith in his edict of power had once again proven well-placed, for with no destruction, no death, he now owned Martin Reinheiser.

SYLVIA WENT TO rouse the men early on the morning after Mitchell and Reinheiser had made their escape. The early haze had burned away soon after sunrise, leaving the air warm and clean, and Sylvia wanted the three guests to enjoy as much of the day outside of their rooms as possible. Unconcerned and seeking only to make the men’s stay more pleasant, the elven maiden could never have imagined at that moment that Mitchell and Reinheiser had just begun their wild ride across the plains as prisoners of the Calvan scouting party.

She sensed trouble as soon as she fitted the key into the door to their room and found it already unlocked. This was more than an oversight, she knew, for she had locked the door personally the night before. Yet the two guards beside her, as perplexed as she, assured her that they had been faithful to their watch throughout the night and that she had been the last one in or out of the room.

But the room was empty. Still not quite comprehending the magnitude of the escape, Sylvia crossed the hall to rouse Billy. The mere fact that he was there to answer her knock brought her a measure of comfort and made her believe that there must be a simple explanation for the absence of the other two.

Her relief proved short-lived, though, for her question about his companions’ disappearance jolted the sleepiness from Billy’s eyes as completely as if she had splashed him with icy water.

For every image Billy Shank held of Mitchell since they came to this world led him inescapably to one frightening conclusion. He looked grimly at Sylvia, her innocent and hopeful smile heightening his suspicions, and his anger. “Go find Arien, and quickly,” he instructed. Sylvia hesitated, waiting for more details, but Billy couldn’t bring himself to tell her that Mitchell and Reinheiser, his companions, were probably on their way to betray her people.

Sylvia had a good idea where her father would be on such a fair morning. She bade Billy accompany her, and he agreed, though he dreaded confronting the elf-lord with such grim news. They came upon Arien a short time later on a back balcony of the house overlooking the great gorge. He and Ryell sat quietly, enjoying the serenity of the ever wondrous spectacle of dawnslight on the Crystals.

Arien recognized immediately that something was terribly wrong when he saw his daughter, her face flushed and pained. He grasped Sylvia’s hands to steady her. “What is it?”

“They are gone!” Sylvia cried. “Captain Mitchell and Martin Reinheiser are not in their room!”

“Treachery!” Ryell yelled. “I knew that no good would come of these men.” He started threateningly toward Billy, but Arien intercepted him with an outstretched arm.

“Find Erinel,” a very calm and composed Arien said to his daughter. “Gather your friends together at once and search the tunnels to Mountaingate. Until we know more, those two are to be considered as guests and not enemies. But I want them found and brought to me.”

“They might yet be in the city,” Sylvia offered.

“Doubtful,” Arien replied, “but leave a group behind. Instruct them to search the whole of the valley and even Shaithdun-o-Illume. Now go and hurry. We will await your findings here.”

Sylvia nodded and was gone. The two guards remained at Billy’s side, unsure now of his status among their people and a bit nervous about him being so close to their Eldar. Arien, though, waved them away, steadfastly refusing to let the actions of Mitchell and Reinheiser detract from his trust of this man who had done them no wrong.

“Where have they gone?” Ryell snapped, his suspicions bubbling over and showing him to be certain that Billy must be in on some conspiracy.

Billy shrugged his shoulders and looked away, wisely withholding his theory until more information could be gathered and calmer heads prevailed.

Ryell didn’t wait for an answer anyway. Seeking outlets to vent his fury, he turned on the guards.

“And what of you two?” he scolded. “You were supposed to be guarding them!”

“We remained at their door throughout the night,” replied one of the unfortunate elves with strained conviction.

“Ha!” Ryell scoffed. “If I discover that you fell asleep, I shall-”

“Oh, hush hush! Hush up, I say!” came a voice from behind the guards, and Ardaz stepped out onto the terrace, Desdemona the cat wrapped in peaceful slumber like a boneless stole about his neck. “I, too, had eyes posted to watch the ancient ones: Desdemona here.” He lifted the limp cat off his shoulder and held her close to his face. “And she wouldn’t let me down, would she? No, she wouldn’t!

“She kept watch on your house from just outside and saw no one leave, no one at all, not a one,” Ardaz assured Arien with complete confidence. “Never sleeps, either. Not at night anyway. Sleep all day, bother everyone at night; rule of cats, you know.” He gave an amused snort and turned his attention back to the cat, petting her affectionately to make up for his last comment.

“But they are gone,” Ryell insisted, the simple fact challenging the wizard’s reasoning.

“I know that, of course I know that!” a flustered Ardaz replied. “Sylvia told me just a moment ago out in the hall.”

Ryell shook with frustration. “If they are not here,” he asked with deliberate sarcasm, “and that cat assures you that they did not leave, then where are they? Might it be that they simply disappeared?”

“Oh, yes, I see your point,” Ardaz replied, enlightened and confounded all at once. “And a very good point it is!” He again pulled the cat from his shoulder and shook her awake. “Des, did you fall asleep, you nasty little kitty!” He gave her another shake and eyed her suspiciously, then, as if talking to her in her own tongue, he uttered a series of varying “meows,” and Desdemona replied with an emphatic “Meow!”