Echoes of the Fourth Magic

Chapter 10
Belexus

DEL MANAGED TO sever the tentacle just before the beast disappeared beneath the mere. He rolled Brady gently over onto his back. Blood trickled out of the doctor’s mouth, mixing with the mud and slime on his face into a grotesque red-black paste.

“Oh, Doc,” Del moaned.

“Don’t worry about me,” Brady gasped, opening his hollowed eyes.

“You’re alive!” Del was amazed.

“Not for long,” Brady said calmly, and he grasped Del’s arm gently. “It doesn’t hurt, Del. Calae told me it wouldn’t.”

“Calae?” Del asked, the mere mention of the angel calming him somewhat. “What are you talking about?”

“This adventure… not for me,” Brady replied, now laboring for every breath. “A mistake that I was here. Same with Corbin. Calae came to me that first night… on the road. He explained. Apologized to me… promised it wouldn’t hurt.” He finished coughing, more blood streaming over his lips.

“They’re coming now, Del,” Brady said, his voice sounding stronger, and he turned his eyes up to the heavens. His face brightened with joy as the greatest mystery of the human experience unfolded before him. “They’re coming for me!” he asserted as loudly as he could, trying to convince himself of the reality of the moment of his death.

“Don’t worry about me,” he continued soothingly, and there was true excitement in his voice. “I’m okay now. I’m not afraid. Everything’s okay now.” And he kept repeating those words until his voice trailed off and his stare deadened, eyes going cold.

“Doc,” Del groaned. He lifted Brady’s head and hugged him close.

“Be strong, buddy,” said Billy, who had come over. He helped Del to his feet just as Mitchell walked up.

“Is he dead?” Mitchell asked hoarsely. Del nodded.

“Come. And be quick now,” the warrior called as he finished wiping the blood from his ax. “We’ve got no’ a minute to tarry.”

Covered with mud from being knocked to the ground, Mitchell was confused, embarrassed, and angry. The beast had scared him and the arrow had unnerved him. Doc Brady lay dead before him, and it was his own bad judgment that had caused the tragedy. And Mitchell wasn’t sure that he appreciated being rescued; in his fantasies, he was the only hero. “And if we refuse?” he snapped, belligerence his only defense.

As the warrior approached, Mitchell put his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

“Are you nuts?” Billy whispered to Mitchell. “That guy just saved our butts.”

The warrior slid the ax into his belt and strode right up to the captain. Del eyed the man with sincere respect. He wasn’t as tall as Mitchell, but sturdier, with huge, knotted muscles. His tousled hair glistened raven black and his eyes shone a clear, untainted blue. He wore high and soft boots and a short, brown tunic, belted by a wide leather girdle. Studded bracers adorned his wrists and he had a thin, red band tied around his right arm at his massive biceps, with a matching headband crossing his forehead, weaving in and out of his unkempt locks.

“I do’no’ understand,” he said calmly.

“To follow you,” Mitchell explained. “If we refuse?”

“Then yer bones are for buzzards,” the warrior replied matter-of-factly. “For no doubt ye will die.”

Mitchell, not quite sure of the stranger’s intentions, clutched his sword hilt all the tighter.

“Behold Blackemara-the Black Mere,” the warrior continued, sweeping his arm in a wide arc. “And her name’s comin’ from the color o’ her heart, and not her water. Ye must not know where yer going, for ye cannot go much farther into the swamp. She’s too soft for the way ye fill yer boots. And if a bog do’no’ swallow ye, suren one o’ her fiends will!

“Blackemara,” he repeated, rolling the name off his tongue like the ominous rumble of an approaching storm cloud. “Good thinkin’ it’d be for ye to berth her wide in comin’ days. Few enter here, not a one but the Rangers o’ Avalon e’er leave.”

Mitchell relaxed his grip on the sword, but still eyed the stranger with icy suspicion.

“What’s your name?” Del asked, trying to end the tension.

“I am Belexus,” the stranger replied.

“Jeff DelGiudice.” He extended his hand, and Belexus clasped his wrist firmly. “Call me Del.”

“Del,” Belexus echoed, smiling. “ ’Tis noble to chance yer life for a friend. I bow in respect o’ yer braveness.” The compliment from such a man thrilled Del, but Mitchell moved quickly to defuse Del’s pride.

“He was stupid,” the captain snorted.

“And who ye be?” Belexus asked, eyeing Mitchell with some obvious measure of contempt now, and understandably, for the captain had just insulted the man Belexus had just honored.

“Mitchell, Captain Mitchell,” the huge man proclaimed, emphasizing the rank.

But the pride in his voice only seemed to antagonize the warrior all the more.

“Ye show a strange mind for a captain, Mitchell,” Belexus said. “A man following his heart to a danger his mind would’no’ face is not stupid. Nay, he’s a man I wish to raise sword beside when battle is joined. A true leader knows the worth o’ loyalty.” Apparently having nothing more to say to Mitchell and wanting to hear nothing more from him, Belexus turned to Billy.

“Billy Shank,” Del said.

“Health o’ yer kin,” Belexus said, warmly clasping Billy’s wrist.

Not knowing quite what to say in his amazement of this magnificent man, Billy just nodded blankly. But Billy didn’t have to say anything, for he had already earned the warrior’s respect. His attempt to help when the monster had gained the upper hand had not gone unnoticed.

“By yer unheared names and ne’er seen clothes,” Belexus said with a deep sigh. “And ye come no’ from the land, for suren ye do’no’ know her ways. Troth be in seeing, ye are standin’ proof to the Witching Prophetics.”

“What do you mean?” asked Reinheiser, who had come from hiding when things appeared safe. He grudgingly dealt with Belexus’ offer of a handshake with a quick pump. “What are these Witching Prophetics?”

“A gift o’ the Lady,” replied Belexus, undisturbed by the callous efficiency of Reinheiser’s greeting. Something had struck a chord in his heart, a faraway memory or a pleasant image, and a sparkle like the twinkling of a distant star edged his eye. “Old tales and long in the telling.”

“I thought you said we didn’t have much time,” Mitchell cut in, his voice openly hostile.

“That I did,” Belexus replied with a smile, obviously taking no care of the captain’s tone. Insults directed against him didn’t bother Belexus unless they came from someone he respected. He turned to Reinheiser. “By the words o’ the prophecies, a time o’ great trial is come upon us. A time for valor and courage. And honor. And the tales tell o’ the coming of strange men-ancient men to deliver us. Or mighten be they come to damn us. ‘And they shall be the shapers of Aielle, the changers of all that is to pass,’ ” he recited. “But the prophecies do’no’ tell for good or for evil. Me sire, Bellerian, Ranger Lord o’ Avalon, sent me in quest o’ the ancient ones. I found yer tracks in the vale above and the rest ye huv seen.”

“And we must be the ancient ones,” Reinheiser said.

“May that ye be,” Belexus replied. “And being so, I must beg yer trust o’ me and bring ye to meet me sire.”

“I have to bury my friend first,” Del said. “It is our custom.”

“And ’tis ourne,” Belexus explained. “But we huv no’ the time. I huv no heart for seein’ this foul swamp at shadow-time, and even now the sun rides low. Blackemara takes care o’ her victims.”

Del looked at the fallen doctor. “Then, if you’ll excuse me for a moment,” he said softly, “I’ll say my good-byes.” With Billy at his side, he walked to where Brady lay fallen and knelt over the body. Belexus bowed his head in respect.

In deference to Del’s injured back, Belexus led them at a steady but easy pace. Del wasn’t too uncomfortable, though, the cut being superficial.

Walking behind Belexus, Del was stunned by the grace of the ranger’s movements. Belexus seemed unhindered by his bulky muscles as he easily glided over or around any obstructions they came upon. And Del was even more amazed when he noticed that Belexus, though heavier than any of them except Mitchell, left only a slight depression, barely visible in the muddy ground, while he and the others sank in nearly to their ankles with every step. Del smiled as the meaning of Belexus’ earlier words, “too soft for the way ye fill yer boots,” came clear to him.

They emerged from the swamp as the day began to wane, and backtracked up the grassy slope with the sun, riding low in the western sky, in their eyes. When Belexus felt assured that Blackemara had been left safely behind, he veered sharply off toward the southern range. They made the cliff wall just before sunset and moved westward along its base. The great river, red-speckled in the last rays of the daylight, rolled on methodically a short distance ahead of them, and as they approached, they saw that it flowed into a wide tunnel in the cliff wall. Belexus led them in, walking along a narrow rock ledge beside the flowing water. A short distance inside he stopped.

“Pray turn yer eyes aside,” he requested.

“Why? Don’t you trust us?” Mitchell protested.

“You embarrass me, Captain,” Reinheiser promptly scolded. “Turn away and let us get on with this adventure.” Still grumbling, and stung by Reinheiser’s comment, Mitchell realized that he had no support in his hostility toward the ranger. He spun around and the others followed suit.

Belexus put his hand in a small crack in the wall and pushed a hidden lever. A large slab of rock silently slid away, revealing a narrow, carved stair spiraling upward into blackness.

Del’s jaw dropped open when he turned back.

“Wizard’s working in a fore age,” Belexus explained. “A free path from the vale in times o’ need. Come.” And they entered the stair. Just inside the opening, Belexus pulled a torch and tinderbox out of a cubbyhole. A few steps up, he stopped again to work a second lever, and the rock moved quietly and securely into place behind them.

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 Propheties.”

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.