R. Salvatore - Echoes of the Fourth Magic

Yet he had indeed expected more of Billy. If Mitchell and Reinheiser were to be the demons that would damn Aielle, then Billy Shank had become their unwitting agent, bolstering the resolve of the elves to accept the rekindled flames of war by feeding them the false hopes of futile plans.

And the sight of these doomed people rehearsing the scenes of their imminent slaughter with sharpened blades and a common, merciless grimace, revolted Del, sent him reeling to his room, the last bastion of his fleeting hopes. Even this walled womb was not impervious to the assaults of the wicked reality, for it couldn’t block out the sounds. Every so often the hollow clang of sword against sword echoed through the air and slashed into Del’s heart.

On the afternoon of the third day since his return to Illuma, Del lay quietly on his bed fantasizing that he was dancing with Brielle in the promised splendor of Luminas ey-n’abraieken. A soft knock on the door chased away his daydream.

“What?” he called defiantly.

Billy entered the room, disregarding the challenge in Del’s tone. “How’re you doing?” he asked through a strained smile.

“I’m all right,” Del replied coolly, averting his eyes from Billy’s to make a point of his true feelings.

“What are you planning to do?” Billy asked quietly, walking over and boldly sitting on the edge of the bed beside his friend.

“How the hell do I know?” Del replied sharply, and again he looked away.

“Will you look at me?” Billy scolded. “Listen, pal, you had better make up your mind soon. The Calvans are setting up camp less than three miles south of Mountaingate, and this whole damned thing is going to explode tomorrow morning.”

Del sat up on the opposite side of the bed, still looking away, and bit his lip at the grim news.

“Most of the elves are already down on the field,” Billy continued, less harshly, in tones truly sympathetic. “The rest of us are leaving in a little while.”

“It’s stupid,” Del muttered.

“Of course it’s stupid,” Billy agreed with a chuckle. “Ever know a war that wasn’t?”

Del spun on him. “Then why?” he shouted. “Can you answer me that? You’re going down there to die, Billy. To die! All of these wonderful people are going to throw their lives away. And for what?”

Billy shook his head and sighed. “For principles, damn it,” he said, rising from the bed. “You live by principles and you do what’s right. And if you die by those principles, and for those principles, then your death isn’t stupid!”

The two men glared at each other, truly at odds for the first time in their friendship.

“Never mind the Illumans, then,” Del argued. “Think about the Calvans. Your sword is going to be stabbing at men, real men, with wives and children. Not evil monsters, just ordinary, misinformed men who are doing what they’re told. How do you feel about that?”

“I feel terrible about it,” Billy replied. “Of course I do. But I’ve got no choice.”

“Oh, is that so?” Del taunted.

“Yes, that’s so,” Billy mimicked, his voice growing stronger as his anger spilled out. “You know, Del, since we got here, you’ve been living in some kind of wide-eyed fantasy world. I hate to be the one to tell you, but that’s not the way it is.”

“But that’s the way it should be!” Del snapped, and again the two exchanged cold glares.

It couldn’t hold though, not between these two. As if they had screamed out all of their rage, had cleared their differences from the air in one quick fit of passion, they soon found their familiar smiles.

“What’s wrong with us?” Del offered calmly. “What is it within our character that makes men, and now elves, fight one stupid war after another?”

“I don’t know,” Billy replied with a shrug. “I don’t want this war any more than you do, but it’s about to begin and we’ve got to fight it. What else can we do?”

“We can run,” Del replied without the slightest hesitation. “I’m amazed that Arien didn’t do that in the first place. There must be millions of places to hide in these mountains. This battle, this tragedy, doesn’t have to be fought tomorrow.”

Billy paused for a moment, studying Del. “Up on the shelf a couple of weeks ago, Reinheiser said that maybe we were brought here not to prevent this fight but to make sure that the right side won. Think about it; it makes a lot of sense. You’re right, and this whole mess can be delayed. But not avoided. Ungden knows for sure that the elves are here now, and he won’t rest until he’s got them. Arien realizes that. Why else do you think he’d stick around?”

Del bit down on his lip again and crossed his arms in front of him, his expression a mixture of disdain and disappointment, but Billy refused to yield.

“You’ve got to face reality,” he pressed. “Forget about the elves and the Calvans and just think about this: We don’t have the luxury of time to run away. If Mitchell and Reinheiser aren’t stopped here and now, they’re going to introduce all the wonderful weapons from our world to Aielle. Don’t doubt that for a minute. Where will your fantasy world be then?”

Del slumped back, stunned. So overwhelmed by the present danger, he hadn’t given much thought to what future damage Mitchell and Reinheiser could wreak.

Billy walked to the door, but looked back over his shoulder one final time. “You think about it, Del. We leave in half an hour.”

Del sank deeper into the security of his soft bed covers as the door slammed shut. He felt the ghosts of pain and misery, images from the wars and poverty of his own world, crowding around him, mocking his hopeless dreams of true peace and brotherhood. He had no arguments to dispute Billy’s warning about Mitchell and Reinheiser; he was trapped in this conflict, locked as surely as his ancestors into the unyielding cycle of battle.

It flooded him with revulsion, paralyzed him for many minutes on his bed in subconscious hopes that the last party for Mountaingate would leave without him, absolving him of his unwanted responsibilities.

Then a vivid memory jolted him. He saw Captain Mitchell standing on a beach with an automatic rifle, holding hundreds of cowed talons at bay and proclaiming himself to be a god.

Del had run out of arguments.

Had that last party already left? he wondered. He leaped from the bed and charged out the door.

He had a plan of his own.

DEL CAUGHT UP to the last party just as they entered the tunnel on the far side of Illuma Vale. Billy had mixed emotions at the arrival of his friend. He was grimly satisfied that Del had apparently recognized and accepted his responsibility, yet he felt somehow a sense of loss for Del’s innocent, if unrealistic, way of embracing this new world. Billy had hoped that Del could prove him wrong, could convince him and all of the others that utopia was within their grasp if they only reached for it.

Del walked up to Billy and clasped his hand firmly. The two men stared hard and long at each other, exchanging silent but unmistakable feelings of mutual respect and true friendship, sealing an unbreakable bond that would live on even if they were both slain on the battlefield.

“You will join us, then, in our time of desperation?” Arien asked hopefully, his expression showing profound relief. All along, Del’s reluctance to accept the coming battle as the proper course of action had shaken Arien’s confidence in the decision, had made him worry that this man with wisdom bitterly gained in another age might be seeing the situation from a better perspective than he.

“I’m with you,” Del assured him. “But first I have something to do. Will you let me go back to Avalon?”