Echoes of the Fourth Magic (16 page)

Ever upward wound the stair, always arcing at the same angle to the right. The walls were cracked and chipped, though not nearly as broken as the exaggerating torchlight shadows made them appear. This passage didn’t appear to have been cut; Del got the impression that an incredible force had literally torn the rock from between the walls.

Up they went, and up some more. Five hundred stairs passed, then a thousand. Only Belexus kept the spring in his stride; the others struggled for every breath, their legs aching. Reinheiser lagged behind and the others kept calling to him to make sure he was still moving, but Belexus
didn’t relent the pace. In near blackness the physicist stumbled on, scrambling to keep within the area of torchlight. Finally, just when the men thought they could go no farther, they came to a short, level landing ending in a large stone door. There they waited for a minute to find their breath and to let Reinheiser catch up. Then, with a great heave, Belexus opened the door.

A cool refreshing breeze rushed in on them, and the cries of a night bird and the chirping of crickets mercifully washed away the monotonous echoes of weary boots scraping on stone. But it was the clear night sky that held Del’s thoughts. A canopy of black velvet it seemed, a million twinkling little lights strung upon it.

“Beauty in the spring, Aiellian Sky,” Belexus recited, sensing Del’s delight. “Soothing freedom for wall-wearied, wintered eyes.”

The men stepped out into the night, and Belexus closed the door behind them. From the outside, the portal seemed to be part of an immense boulder, and not a crack showed to indicate that this was an entrance.

“Incredible workmanship!” Reinheiser exclaimed. Belexus smiled and nodded, but before he could elaborate any details to Reinheiser about the door, the group was accosted by a voice from the darkness.

“Stand where ye are!”

The men halted obediently at the threat, but Belexus knew the voice. “Andovar?” he called.

Immediately several torches blazed up and a dozen powerful-looking, well-armed men surrounded the party. Del knew right away that these men were of the same clan as Belexus, for they, too, exuded strength and exceptional health. There was a rightness about their physiques, a natural beauty and strength, hardened by the labors of winter, yet softened under the warmth of springtime sunshine. Their visages reflected that strange combination, with jaws set strong and grim on a face not unaccustomed to smiles.
They put their weapons away quickly when they saw that it was indeed Belexus.

“Wait quiet,” Belexus instructed the men, and he walked over to one of the warriors.

“Bringin’ people here,” the man said. “Suren that be a course o’ folly!”

“Ayuh, Andovar, in troth t’would,” Belexus agreed, “were they not the ancient ones o’ the Witching Prophéties.”

The man, Andovar, blew a low whistle. “Ye be certain?”

“By their clothes,” Belexus said. “And the skin o’ that one.” He pointed at Billy Shank, the first black man either of the rangers had ever seen, indeed, the first black man ever to walk the sands of Ynis Aielle.

“Five by the tales,” Andovar argued, “but only four before me.”

“Five they were,” Belexus said grimly. “Even as I came upon them, a whip-dragon showed one to the other world.” He held up his broken sword.

“Blackemara?” Andovar exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief. “An evil place for meetings.” He shook his head and sighed. “Still, ye should no’ huv bringed them. Calva’s spies feel the belly o’ every rock.”

“No choice was to me,” Belexus answered. “They do’no’ know the land. One more night on their own would huv seen to their deaths.”

He turned to another man. “Fetch me sire and be quick.” The man nodded and sprinted off into the darkness.

“Bellerian is just beyond the firelight,” Andovar said, and even as he spoke, the man returned with the Ranger Lord. He bore the same strong and steady features as Belexus, diminished not at all by his silver hair or by the fact that his back was bent nearly double and he used a cane to walk, crippled from a wound that had occurred in a battle with a whip-dragon.

“Sire,” Belexus began, “I huv brought the—”

“Ayuh, me son, I huv heard,” Bellerian said in a voice steady and cool with the confidence of experience. “Ye
did right in bringing them here. Knowing their path may help us find ourne.”

“And what o’ our guest?” Andovar asked with deep concern.

“It is a risk,” Bellerian agreed. “But ’tis a risk we need take. Too much has happened for us to heed not the Prophetics, Andovar. Might that these be the ancient ones, and if they are, then our world’ll not e’er be the same. I wish now to question them.”

Belexus pointed at Del. “Speak to that one. I huv seen his heart bared and ’twas true. Unless me eyes be seeing lies, a good man he is.”

“Call him, then,” Bellerian said.

“Jeff DelGiudice,” Belexus called. “Please, if ye would, come and speak with us.”

Surprised, Del glanced at his companions and shrugged. Though he turned right away, he hadn’t missed the look of jealous rage on Mitchell’s face and he fully expected the captain to say something as he started toward Belexus.

“Watch what you say,” came the growled order behind him. Del smiled at the predictable bully but otherwise ignored him, tired of threats and commands Mitchell issued solely for the purpose of making himself seem important. Del knew that he was a better judge than Mitchell of what he could and could not say to these men.

“This is Andovar, me friend, and me sire, Bellerian,” Belexus said when Del reached the small group. Del nodded his greeting and clasped their wrists firmly.

“Just call me Del,” he said with a friendly smile.

“Me father wishes to ask o’ ye some questions,” Belexus explained. Again Del nodded.

Bellerian stared searchingly at the man before him, reading every detail about Del. As the seconds passed silently, Del grew uncomfortable, feeling naked under the scrutiny of the Ranger Lord’s gray eyes, orbs clear and sharp with crystalline awareness. Seeking a defense, Del began his own visual study. Immediately he recognized the pride
and honor that was in Bellerian. And he saw incredible strength in the older man’s gaze, a power of mind that mocked the bend in the old man’s back. Their eyes met and locked in stares probing for the truth of each other’s character.

A good test, Del thought, and he gathered up all of his willpower and tried to stare Bellerian down. He had recognized strength in Bellerian, but he had no idea how deep and true that vein ran. The two remained held in mental combat for several long minutes, but then, determined as he was, Del proved no match for the Ranger Lord. Visibly shaken, sweat on his face and neck, he blinked and turned away. Bellerian never flinched.

“What business might ye huv had in Blackemara?” Bellerian asked pointedly but politely. No trace of arrogance edged his voice, as if he had already put the contest behind him. His gracious attitude heightened Del’s considerable respect for the rangers. Would Mitchell have let him off the hook so easily after such a defeat? he wondered with a grin.

“We were looking for a pass through the cliff,” he answered, anxious to please. “We were told to go east.” Bellerian’s eyes lit up and Del wondered if he’d said too much.

“And who might huv told ye?” the Ranger Lord asked.

Del hesitated for a moment. He remembered Mitchell’s warning, but his judgment told him that these men could be trusted. He glanced at his companions. Mitchell stood with his arms crossed and his head defiantly back, looking as stubbornly proud and belligerent as ever. That was all Del had to see. “Calae sent us.”

The three rangers gasped in unison at the mention of the Colonnae prince. “By the Lairds o’ the Endless Hall!” Andovar cried. “ ’Tis in troth a blessed omen.”

“Where ye be going? Or looking to go?” Bellerian pressed excitedly. Again Del hesitated.

“Do’no’ be feared,” Belexus assured him. “In his own
breast would a Ranger o’ Avalon catch an arrow flying for ye, if a friend o’ the Colonnae ye be!”

“We are going to … to Illuma.”

“Lochsilinilume,” Bellerian said, and his face lit with a smile of pleasant recognition. “The Silver Realm. Ayuh, that was me guess.” He eyed Del directly and soberly, and Del knew there was no falsehood in his words. “If yer business is with the Colonnae, me friend, then yer business is yer own, and I ask no more o’ ye. Be at peace, for ye huv made the right choice in trusting us. Now go back to yer friends. Rangers will be taken ye to Illuma after ye huv rested.”

Del relaxed, certain beyond any doubt of the friendship of the rangers. He bowed—it seemed appropriate—and went back to the others.

“They stay in the Emerald Room till once around the morn,” Bellerian said when Del was out of earshot. “Then ye two guide them to Mountaingate.”

“But Benador is at yer house!” Andovar argued.

“He goes to the wood for hiding till they leave,” Bellerian replied. “There’s much the danger in these men. And much the hope. I want to be keepin’ them under me eye. Know ye me will: not a one speaks to them and they do’no’ leave me home till ye depart. Now no more o’ yer arguing. Take them to the room. A hard road behind them and mighten be harder a road to come. They’ll be needing rest.”

Belexus and Andovar exchanged a look, knowing well the road ahead of these men and knowing well that Bellerian spoke truly.

B
ELEXUS AND
A
NDOVAR
led the four men eastward along the cliff face overlooking the vale and Blackemara, crossing stony ground, cracked and uneven, that had them jumping small ravines and pulling each other up steep inclines. Every so often they passed a cairn of piled rocks, markers for those who knew how to read them, for the rangers’ secret trail and the paths to the house of Bellerian.

Andovar still did not like the idea of outlanders in the ranger camp, but he honored absolutely the requests of venerable Bellerian. For the last thirty years Bellerian had been his teacher and guardian. Indeed, the man was to Andovar as a father, as he was to all the Rangers of Avalon, for when they were but children, sons of the nobles of the court of Ben-galen, Overlord of Pallendara, the infamous Ungden seized the throne and murdered their parents. Ungden had planned to do slaughter to them as well, to extinguish the lines of noble blood completely, but Bellerian, with the help of Glendower, shuffled them away in the darkness of that bloody night to the outskirts of Avalon. There, under the watchful eyes of Bellerian and one other secret friend, the new rangers grew strong and true. Now, as adults, they had achieved a whispered reputation among the farmers of Calva’s northern fields as mighty warriors. This was a wild land, open to bands of marauding
talons or to monsters that slithered out of Blackemara. Yet such intruders, no matter how many or how mighty, were always cut down before they could cause much mischief, and when the farmers found the slaughtered remains left along the roadsides for the carrion birds, they knew that the fierce rangers were watching over them.

The party came to a small cliff, a great block of stone rising up before them.

“Behold ye, we are to the door,” Belexus said, pointing to a dark crack at the base of the slab.

“That’s it?” Billy asked. “You want us to go in there?”

“This is your father’s house?” Del added incredulously. “I thought he was a lord.”

“Indeed, and that he is,” Belexus answered. “But a lord o’ rangers.”

“A ranger is a soldier o’ the spirit,” Andovar explained. “We are but a simple folk and huv no need or want for palaces to name as home. The meat of our table is not fineries, but honor and sense o’ purpose. We huv a duty, and the giving of self to that duty is comfort enough.”

“And just what might that duty be?” Reinheiser asked, curious to know more about this people, to understand completely their ways and motivations. For Reinheiser, knowledge was the greatest advantage over enemies or friends alike.

Andovar didn’t answer, wondering if he had said too much to the strangers already.

“Come, let us enter,” Belexus interceded. “Ye may find that we’re not as poor as ye believe.” With that, Belexus crawled into the crack and disappeared from sight. The others followed, Billy somewhat reluctantly, with Andovar taking up the rear. Belexus soon had some torches burning and the men found themselves in a wide chamber, with furs scattered about the floor and a firepot sitting under a natural chimney in one corner. A rack of weapons lined one wall, brimming with well-crafted spears and swords
and fine chain-link armor. On pegs along the opposite wall hung cloaks and saddles.

“Looks pretty crude to me,” Mitchell snickered.

Belexus pulled a torch out of a holder. “Follow,” he said coldly, his eyes on the captain, a man the ranger obviously did not like.

That dislike only brought an inward smile to the belligerent Mitchell.

Belexus pushed hard on a rock, and a section of the wall slid away to reveal a short tunnel sloping down into blackness. He entered first with the torch, the intruding light showing an iron-banded wooden door at the tunnel’s other end. Belexus took out a key and opened the door and the men caught a shadowy glimpse of a room beyond. But then, with a look of contentment aimed at Mitchell, and much to the surprise of the men, Belexus put out his torch.