R. Salvatore - Echoes of the Fourth Magic

Leaving the two bowmen behind to keep watch, Erinel led Del and the swordsman at a swift pace up the mountain. Still struggling with the torment of Brielle’s darker side, Del asked no questions and paid no attention to the secret paths. Eventually, though, when they had entered the tunnels and left Avalon far behind and hidden from sight, he was able to focus on the events at hand, and he realized that something terribly important and grave must be going on. All of the signs moved him in the direction of one horrible suspicion: that one of his companions must have done something awful to rile the elves so. And Del had a good idea who that might be.

Soon after, seated at a table of council in the Throne Room of Arien’s house, Del noted the grim faces of the elves, trying to mask an undercurrent of desperation, and the quiet, almost cowed visage of Billy Shank. He also noticed with great concern and renewed suspicion, that Mitchell and Reinheiser weren’t present.

“It is as we feared,” Erinel said darkly. “They have reached Caer Tuatha.”

“Mitchell,” Del said with a groan, easily guessing now the deceit and motives of the hated captain, and angry at himself for not recognizing this possibility sooner, when it could have been prevented. “That idiot.”

“And how were they received?” Arien asked evenly, ignoring the outburst.

“Even as we hold council, the Usurper marches north with an army of a thousand spears,” Erinel replied. Above the gasps and frightened whispers that flooded from every end of the table, he added, “And their numbers swell every day as more humans rush to the side of their glorious Overlord to join in his day of triumph over the wicked mutants.”

“Barbarism!” Ryell shouted, punctuating his cry by slamming his fist on the table. “Again we bear witness to the treachery of man.”

“Silence,” Arien commanded, fighting to the last to maintain a rational atmosphere. Yet the elf-lord, too, wanted to scream out in anger and frustration. He could not, for he was the Eldar, the leader of his people, and was bound to set the proper example of strength. All Illuma looked to him for guidance. He mustered up his composure and stated his question calmly. “How much time do we have?”

“A few days, no more,” Erinel replied.

This time there were no ensuing gasps or whispered responses, as a silent veil of dread wafted through the room, graying the faces of the elves and dimming the light in their eyes.

“Pray tell us, Eldar,” Ryell said with a snarl, holding fast to his rage as a litany against despair and making it clear to all present that he held Arien personally responsible for their predicament, “whatever are we to do now? Would you have us play the role of frightened rabbits as they run and hide before the teeth of the wolf? Perhaps we could find another hole deeper in the mountains that would serve as our prison for the next few centuries.”

The mention of rabbits sent Del’s thoughts reeling back to Avalon and the peaceful lunch he had shared on the first day of his return to the wood. Ryell’s twisted grimace destroyed that fantasy quickly, reminding Del with painful clarity that his utopian image of Aielle was a distortion founded entirely upon his own ignorance.

Right, Ryell, he thought. Rabbits would run away. They don’t confuse pride with stupidity.

Ryell’s sarcasm wounded Arien deeply, for he had trusted the humans despite the risks, and now had to bear the responsibility for not taking stronger precautions. Arien remained solid in his convictions about trust and friendship, but the army coming to slaughter his people, to snuff out his entire world, weighed as a heavy consequence on his tired shoulders. He felt the judging eyes of the others upon him, awaiting his response to the accusations of Ryell.

The Eldar steeled his gaze on his accuser. “No, Ryell,” he said firmly, “I shall not leave.”

“You can’t win!” Del blurted desperately, jolted by the sudden, unexpected declaration, a vow that seemed suicidal.

“That may be,” Arien replied, “but if the entire city departs, the pursuit will be swift and unrelenting. My people must survive, and thus a large group of maidens and the younger of our race, and any else who wish, shall flee into the mountains.

“We must leave more than a token group behind to face down the murderous threat of Ungden, and I count myself among that number. This had been my home for many, many years, and I shall not willingly relinquish it to an unlawful king. Perhaps there is parlaying yet to be done, and in that circumstance, who but myself should speak for Illuma?”

“He’ll kill you all,” Del declared flatly.

“Then let him fulfill his rage and be done with it,” Arien declared. “We are not a warring people, yet our skill with sword and bow is great. The Calvans will pay a heavy price for their raid. Our fallen will satisfy their thirst for blood, and it may well be that the numbers of their own dead will dim any further desires they have for war. I perceive this to be the only way any of our people shall live in peace again.”

Arien jumped to his feet, sending his chair skidding behind him, and stood tall and proud above the gathering, set in a grim resolve that could not be questioned. No weakness showed in the Eldar now, no indecision, no burden weighing on his shoulders, and all seated around the table looked on him with respect that bordered on awe.

All except for Del.

He looked away and muttered, “Et tu, Arien,” once more feeling the pain of disappointment as keen as a dagger in his breast.

Arien paid him no attention. “These are my words of counsel,” he declared. “Yet in this matter I feel that each of us must make his own choice-to flee to the mountains or to stay and face the wrath of Ungden.”

Through gritted teeth, Erinel cried out his support. “None shall willingly leave!”

“No,” Sylvia agreed with the same fervor. “The people stand behind you, Father!”

“Then let us not stand idle,” Ryell commanded. “There is much to be done!”

Overcome by a dizzying wave of nausea, fighting back the distaste of bile rising in his throat, Del stumbled out to the corridor.

Del returned to the Throne Room several hours later. The place had become a beehive of activity, with elves coming and going and congregating in small groups to discuss plans. Ryell, just a few feet away, standing with his back to Del, seemed the center of it all. Excited, almost frantic, he called out commands, delegating duties to the younger elves.

“You seem thrilled by all of this, Ryell,” Del stated accusingly as he entered. “Are you that hungry for blood?”

Ryell wheeled on him angrily. “For freedom,” he growled. “I am hungry for freedom. Too long have I hid in fear from men. Too long have I viewed the same mountain walls, the walls of my prison.”

He looked across the room, leading Del’s gaze with his own. Billy and several others stood before a large map that had been hung on the wall.

Ryell turned back to Del, eyeing him slyly. “Your friend has offered his aid unconditionally,” he said loudly, purposely attracting the attention of some of the other nearby elves. “What of you?”

Del knew that he had just been set up, had been put on the spot before witnesses that Ryell might wring the desired responses from him. He recognized the expectant looks turning quickly to impatience. He lowered his head so as not to face their disappointment and remained silent.

For Del could not give his assistance or his approval for the battle the elves had chosen to fight. He had hoped for more in this new land than the commonplace wars, the non-solutions of violence, that were the tainted legacy of his world-hadn’t Calae of the Colonnae spoken specifically of earth’s Jericho and the first steps on that bloody road? And after witnessing that same dark wrath in the woman he had viewed, and loved, as the epitome of peace and beauty, his abhorrence of violence now claimed his emotions absolutely, with no room for excuses or compromise.