R. Salvatore - Echoes of the Fourth Magic

Del thought it was the sun that stole his troubled dreams, but it was not. Calae stood before him, bright and glorious as the dawn itself.

“You expect much of us,” Del said to the Colonnae prince.

“We expect nothing and ask nothing,” Calae replied.

“And give nothing,” Del quipped sharply. He wanted to retract the insult as soon as he heard it spoken. Certainly the Colonnae, who had given salvation to his race in its darkest hour, did not deserve such words.

He felt even more ridiculous when Calae laughed softly, accepting the sarcasm with good-natured understanding of the frustration behind it.

“Can’t you help me?” Del pleaded. “Can’t you stop them and show them what they’re doing?”

“What would be the gain?” Calae replied. “The destiny of mankind lies in the hands of men. If it were otherwise, there would be no meaning. Your race is free, Jeffrey DelGiudice, and you would have it no other way. Mankind must bear its own burdens and accept the responsibilities of self-reliance.”

Del’s gaze dropped as the weight of salvation fell with heavy finality onto his shoulders.

“You may find that you have the strength to win your fight,” Calae comforted. “There are stirrings in Avalon that offer hope.” His words trailed away.

Del looked back at him, but had to shield his eyes as the light intensified, blurring the image of the Colonnae prince. The first rays of the new dawn had found their way over the Crystals, and by the time Del was able to sort through the glare, Calae was gone.

Del considered the words and looked to the field far below. Shadowed by the high cliff along its eastern border, Mountaingate had not yet seen the dawnslight. The fires burned low and most of the elves slept, their celebration interrupted by physical and emotional exhaustion.

Del rushed down the mountain paths, spurred by the undeniable truth of Calae’s observations and determined to face his responsibilities bravely, to bear the weight of his duties with his back stubbornly straight.

“You have become a pitiful sight, Arien Silverleaf,” Ryell taunted a short while later, the mob behind him, nearly all of Illuma, agreeing with his every word. “Sworn to the service of your people, yet you stand against them. What form of consistency is this?”

“We gave our promise to the ranger that we would wait for word from Bellerian,” Arien reminded.

“We agreed to wait until morning,” Ryell retorted. “The dawn is come; I have heard no messages from the cursed wood.”

“I hold for the just course,” Arien stated.

“You are alone in your folly.”

“Not true. I stand alone before you because the others who are able to perceive the evil that has befallen our people fear to oppose you. You feed upon the sorrow of many, Ryell. They follow you that they might shield their grief in anger and hatred, black thoughts easily sated by vengeance. Is it not the same for you and your loss of Erinel?”

“You should have stayed away longer,” Billy said grimly when he saw Del approach from beneath the shadows of the telvensils. “Ryell has just announced the decision of the council.”

“Innocence will not defend the prisoners from his unmerciful blade,” Sylvia stuttered, and turned away, obviously ashamed at that moment to be numbered among the people of Lochsilinilume. “He is going to kill them all.”

“The hell he is,” Del growled as he started forward.

Billy grabbed him by the arm.

“You can’t,” he said.

“Let go,” Del ordered, his eyes unyielding as he stared down at his friend. “A few days ago you convinced me that we were brought here to help the right side win. That battle isn’t over.”

“Get out of our way, Arien,” Ryell threatened, regaining his composure against Arien’s stinging reference to Erinel. “Or we shall cut you down as a traitor.”

Appalled that the demon possessing his onetime friend had gained such control, Arien’s hand went for his sword hilt. But Del stepped in front of him, face-to-face with Ryell.

“This is none of your affair, human,” Ryell spat at him.

“Oh, it is,” Del retorted. “I won’t stand by and let you murder innocent people.”

“Innocent?” Ryell balked. “They marched against our homes! Had they won, would they have shown mercy?”

“I don’t know,” Del answered sincerely. “But that doesn’t give you the right to do this. Can’t you see that these men came here honestly believing in their cause? They were misinformed by evil, and we can only guess what magical persuasions Thalasi exerted over them.

“The Black Warlock is dead, Ryell,” Del went on. “Ungden is gone and can harm your people no more. Do you really believe that these men here remain a threat to you? Or do you just want revenge?”

Ryell spoke now to the crowd as much as to Del. “I want to teach a lesson to Calva that the humans will not forget.”

“All you’ll breed is hatred!” Del shouted back at him. “You cannot know the horrors of the world before Aielle.” He stepped out to the side, that all the crowd might see him. “Hear me well!” he cried. “For my purpose in returning from that past age is upon me now.” He looked Ryell straight in the eye. “Wars breed war; killing breeds killing. Once you begin that cycle, there can be only one ending.

“When my world burned, Ryell,” he said quietly. “Five billion people died with it. Five billion. Can you even comprehend that number?

“Five billion hopes, five billion hearts.” Truly Del hated speaking his next words, but he understood that shock might be his only weapon. “Five billion Erinels. There will be no reprieve from the horror you begin this day.”

Flames simmered in Ryell’s eyes, and he slid his sword from its sheath. “Move aside, human,” he snarled. “Or my blade shall find your heart.”

Del’s smile bore the serenity of truth. He held his arms outstretched, a posture purely defenseless. “Then do it,” he said impassively. “My faith in your people is undaunted, and apparently greater than your own. When your venom has played itself out, they will look upon their bloodstained hands with horror. They will remember this moment, Ryell. What will become of you when they realize the truth of the path you led them down?”

Ryell’s sword tip dipped. He thought of Del’s fight with Mitchell the previous night. How could this man so willingly accept death?

Before he could find an answer, a cry of alarm rang out. “Look to the south!” yelled one of the elves, and the others soon understood his panic.

Streaming out of Avalon and northward across Mountaingate, spear tips and helms glistening in the early sun, came the regrouped remnants of the Calvan army, even now more than a thousand strong. All the elves realized at once that they had been caught unawares, never imagining that the scattered and leaderless army could be turned back on them so quickly.

“Deceiver!” Ryell cried in hopeless rage, and he spun back and launched his sword in a deadly arc for Del’s throat.

Ardaz was quicker, though, throwing a spell with a wave of his hand that stayed the blade and held Ryell motionless in mid-swing.

“Hold calm!” Arien commanded his people as the Calvans, still walking their mounts and showing no signs of breaking into a charge, passed the midpoint of the field. “The Rangers of Avalon are among their ranks.”

The army stopped a short distance from the stunned elves and three men rode out from their ranks. In the middle a fair-haired young man, dressed like a king in a flowing white robe with golden trimmings, rode a great roan stallion. Belexus, upon Calamus the Pegasus, flanked him on his right, and on his left rode the Ranger Lord Bellerian. In his arm Bellerian cradled a coral crown, pinkish white and inlaid with dozens of lustrous pearls.