Echoes of the Fourth Magic (Chronicles of Ynis Aielle, Band 1) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

R. A. Salvatore was born in Massachusetts in 1959. His first published novel was The Crystal Shard. He has since published more than a dozen novels, including The Demon Spirit, The Demon Awakens, The Halfling's Gem, Sojourn, The Legacy, and Starless Night. He lives in Massachusetts with his wife, Diane, and their three children.

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The extraordinary beginning of an epic series brimming with the unbridled action, adventure, and imagination that have made the name R.A. Salvatore synonymous with the best in fantasy!

Jeff "Del" DelGuidice was proud of his assignment to the research submarine The Unicorn. But his mission had barely begun when the vessel was sucked into a mysterious undersea void. Propelled forward through time itself, the crew surfaced in a strange, magical world changed forever by nuclear holocaust. Here a race of angelic beings had taken pity on the remnants of humankind, offering a chosen few a precious second chance.

Thus the Isle of Hope was raised from the poisoned seas and set like a jewel in Earth's ravaged crown. But the jewel had a flaw, a dark vein of evil. For a sinister expert of the mystical arts had embraced the forbidden third magic, the most deadly sorcery of all. Only Del could defeat it -- a hero sworn to peace and fated to wield the dazzling power of the fourth magic...

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The extraordinary beginning of an epic series brimming with the unbridled action, adventure, and imagination that have made the name R. A. Salvatore synonymous with the best in fantasy!

Jeff "Del" DelGuidice was proud of his assignment to the research submarine The Unicorn. But his mission had barely begun when the vessel was sucked into a mysterious underseas void where time stood still, before propelling it forward, through the centuries. The crew surfaced in a strange, magical world changed forever by nuclear holocaust. Here a race of angelic beings had taken pity on the remnants of humankind, offering a chosen few a precious second chance.

Thus the Isle of Hope was raised from the poisoned seas and set like a jewel in Earth's ravaged crown. But the jewel had a flaw, a dark vein of evil. For a sinister expert of the mystical arts had embraced the forbidden third magic, the most deadly sorcery of all. Only Del could defeat it--a hero sworn to peace and fated to wield the dazzling power of the fourth magic. . .

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ECHOES OF THE FOURTH MAGIC Chapter One: The Passage of the Unicorn

The Unicorn ran deep, ran smooth, gliding with the ease of an eagle on wing. But no hunter this; she was a ship of peace, the pride of the National Undersea Exploration Team, NUSET, pelagic counterpart of NASA, and the one, soon after the turn of the second millennium, to garner more of the government funding. The disaster at the space station, with seven astronauts dead, a shuttle and the multibillion dollar station lost, had curtailed NASA's budget tremendously and dampened the nation's taste for space exploration.

But scientists had found it easier to sell the public on exploration of the seas, the last great unexplored expanse on the planet. Particularly after yet another disastrous El Niño year, with the warm Pacific water brewing a long series of disastrous storms sweeping across the continental United States; public opinion rang out favorably for the fledgling NUSET.

And the Unicorn was the result. Every member of NUSET looked upon her with satisfaction and deep respect, for this submarine was the epitome of technological achievement. More than that, in accordance with the legend of her mythical namesake, the Unicorn had become a symbol of hope for the future of mankind amidst the constant threat of technological annihilation. For NUSET was an organization openly and honestly dedicated to the peaceful application of science. Any nation, friend or foe, could, for a modest fee, sign on to share in the wealth of information the project meant to collect. Any nation. And that, more than anything else, was the true victory of the Unicorn.

More than five miles of water now separated this splendid example of the new generation of submarine from the sunlit surface. All was dark here and quiet, save the gentle hum of the ship's engines and the ping-poc of the hull-insulator hydraulic system beating back the tremendous ocean pressure. Powerful searchlights cut a swath of illumination through the lightless waters as this lone sphere of civilization prowled the Atlantic's depths.

On the surface she had bobbed nervously about, each swell threatening to spin her over, but in this watery environ, she swam swiftly and effortlessly. Here she was made to be at home, graceful and swift, and yet for all of her detailed and near-perfect designs, here she remained a stranger.

Morning sparkled in bright reflections on the glassy surface, but this depth knew only night. So began the Unicorn's thirty-second day out of Woods Hole, her first without a dawn. Down she had gone. Down from the curious Russian trawler; from the humming propellor of a private plane--suspected of being a spy plane out from Cuba; from the beating of the Navy helicopter's gigantic blades. Down from the clamor of a mechanical world, deeper than any hint of the sun could reach, deeper even than the fish dared swim.

Jeff DelGiudice lay back on a weight-lifting bench and clasped the metal bar. "Five miles up and a thousand across," he mumbled, his thoughts inevitably drifting back to Woods Hole and Cape Cod and the woman he had left behind. Again, as always, he found himself examining his relationship with Debby, trying to find some answers to his unresolved emotions. He cared for her--deeply--and he could admit that to himself openly. Yet, though he was afraid to admit it, their love wasn't the passionate desire that he had fantasized about. That special spark, the tingling excitement that brightened even the blackest moods, simply wasn't there. Ever the resigned pragmatist, though, Del wasn't sure it could be there. He and Debby were as content as they could be, he supposed; for the realities of his world, the constant little pressures and petty headaches, had dulled his ability to hope. In truth, Del doubted the existence of ideal romantic love. That was the substance of a poet's pen, not the reality of the world.

And yet, despite that pragmatic contentment, again he had run away.

But even this escape was a lie, and little protection from the profound sadness within the man. He had never learned the joy of existence, the simple pleasures of perception and experience; and that, more than Debby, was his true frustration. Instinctively Del perceived an emptiness, a void within himself that craved fulfillment, but his materialistic and fiercely competitive world gave him no comfort.

"Lift, lift," Del repeated over and over. No good. Every time the ping-poc of the hydraulic system sounded, his concentration broke and he remembered Debby and those haunting questions. He slipped his hands from the bar in frustration.

On the forward bridge, navigator Billy Shank's brown eyes intently studied his instruments. "Any minute now, Captain," he said, his voice edged with excitement.

"Put the signal from the screen to the rest of the monitors on the ship," said Captain Mitchell, a giant, scowling man. His voice and visage held rock steady, but the simmering glow in his eyes betrayed his calm facade.

The alarm blasted just as Del finally managed to start his lift. The weights crashed back to the rack and Del scrambled across the room, his mind whirling. He charged into the hall, colliding with a crewman. His panic changed to embarrassment when he saw the cooler of beer.

"Carry on," Del said, waving his hand impatiently, as if he had known all along.

"Look at those legs!" came a voice from behind, that of Ray Corbin, the Unicorn's second in command.

"Ray," Del replied, watching the easy saunter of his approaching friend, the one man Mitchell had personally requested for the crew.

The irony of that fact was never lost on Del, for Mitchell and Corbin were far from alike. Intensity, Mitchell's trademark, was certainly not a prominent trait of Ray Corbin--the crew had even tagged the man with the nickname of Lay-back Ray. Still, everyone on the crew understood Mitchell's choice. A quiet, unassuming first officer virtually guaranteed the dominating captain uncontested control.

Or did it? Del often wondered. Truly Ray Corbin would not openly oppose Mitchell; dogfighting wasn't a part of his makeup. But Corbin was an officer sympathetic to the needs of the people around him, and he realized the pressures that a tyrant like Mitchell could exert on a crew. Del thought of him as the Unicorn's Mr. Roberts, playing around the hard edges of Jimmy Cagney. And Del's role in this movie script? He knew it all too well, knew why Ray Corbin had pulled quite a few strings to get him into the project. Corbin needed a foil for Mitchell's dominance, a release valve for the inevitable tension, and he found it in a man recommended by an old skipper of his. Corbin's secret weapon was Jeff DelGiudice, the Ensign Pulver to Corbin's Mr. Roberts.

"You going up front?" Corbin asked.

"You think I'd miss this?" Del replied. "Probably the only excitement we see on this tub for the next eight months."

"You want excitement?" Corbin remarked, smiling widely. "Wait until Mitchell sees his junior officer in gym shorts on the bridge."

Del understood that smile well, for he, too, could easily picture the scene on the bridge, the captain's face burning bright with rage.

"But you do have cute legs," Ray Corbin finished.

"He won't mind just this once," Del said unconvincingly. "Besides, they're Navy issue."

"The legs?" Corbin quipped, heading down the corridor.

Both of them were handed a plastic cup of beer when they entered the control room. Most of the staff and several crewmen were there, all holding foam-tipped cups and staring intently at the viewing screen. Mitchell sat straight-backed in his chair, a microphone buried in one of his huge...