River Of Life (Book 3) (30 page)

“You are the wizards Erelon and Easton,” the lady said.

“Sure,” Erelon replied, feeling no hostility or evil coming from
her, “But who are you?”

“I am a friend of Fresmir.  He asked that I scout the trail
before you.”

Erelon tried to interrupt her, but she cut him off, “Shhh. Just
listen. I leave soon and don’t have much time to tell you.”

She unrolled a map and tapped Sine with a narrow blade, “Between
us and the South, thousands of goblins crawl looking for you, expecting you to
flee to the dwarves.  They also have many other creatures with them, huge,
evil, powerful beasts whose only purpose is to kill.  You may be able to push
past or punch a hole through, but this is foolish and dangerous.  My advice, go
back north.  Follow the forest; they fear the forest.  They feel a power lies
in the forest that can bring a death that the wraiths can’t raise them from. 
Go north, into the bottom of the kingdoms of Westeron and Sirus.  Cross the
river Fallas there.  The wraiths' army is preoccupied with Sirus forces that protect
better crossings up north.  Find the third tributary that flows into Fallas. 
Close to its source, a strange looking clan runs a ferry service.  They will
take you across.  From there, you are behind the enemy’s main force and can
easily slip home.  That is my suggestion.”

The woman’s knife had traced her plan of action, up the forest
across Sirus, the river, all the way to the Suragenna.  Erelon looked at the
map. His impulse was to drive a hole through the wraiths' army before him, and Easton sensed it.

“No, Erelon, let’s go north.  You’ve gotten lucky until now. 
Don’t press your luck.  One of these days it’s going to kill you.”

"Hmmm, you call this lucky?" The woman stated tapping
Erelon's mashed fingers with her knife and then pointing to Erelon's face.

"If you knew what he had done to deserve those, you would
understand that he got lucky," Easton growled.

Erelon did not reply, although he did hear and take into
consideration the feelings of Easton.  Erelon’s heart sank at the thought of
the weeks lost as they would have to travel back north and then go back south,
and by the time they backtracked, they might find out it was no safer than if
they had just gone south from where they now sat.  And the very thought of
having to cross the dead prairie again caused Erelon’s mind to throb.

Erelon looked up.  A word of thanks was on his lips for the
blonde who had brought them the information.  She was gone, leaving the map for
Erelon to study.

“Erelon, I go north with or without you,” Easton threatened.

“Pack,” Erelon simply retorted.

Erelon was rolling his clothing into bundles and stuffing them
into bags.  A whole morning wasted, and now they were to travel weeks out of
their way.  Erelon looked into the direction that Suragenna lay, his eyes
glowing.  He would have chosen to blast a hole through the enemy that stood
before him.

Erelon shrugged into his cloak, grabbed at his hat, and threw
the leather bags over his left shoulder.  He scanned the room one last time to
make sure that he had not left anything behind and started for the door. 
Before Erelon’s hand touched the cold knob, it burst open.

Easton was staring at Erelon, his face white and sweating, mouth
hanging open, “Do you know where the stone is?  I forgot about it, I don’t know
where it is.  It’s gone.”

Erelon indicated the saddlebags he was holding by shrugging his
left shoulder and replied, “Yeah, I figured the stone slipped your mind.  I
took it.”

Easton let out a gasp, his whole body sagging as the anxiety
left.  Erelon patted Easton’s shoulder as he squeezed by the younger wizard and
through the door.

Erelon put the key in Easton’s hands and said, “Lock up.  Go see
the girl.  I’ll get the horses ready.”

Erelon strutted out of the building.  His right hand was free,
though he did not expect any trouble.  The sky had lightened as the clouds
were a little thinner, and the atmosphere was fairly clear as there was no
mist and the fog had been mostly burned off by the additional sunlight and
warmth.

Erelon tried to avoid walking across streets that were mud.  At
times, he happened onto a part of the city with a little more money, and their
roads had been filled with stone.  But their roads were still filled with
trash, dirt, and hay.  A very unpleasant little village Erelon had decided.  He
no longer questioned the reasons for Kit wanting to leave and see more of the
world.

Erelon crossed another street, each step causing a vacuum as his
boots sucked at the mud.  Erelon stepped into the door of the stables.  All the
horses turned their necks, looking at the wizard with large eyes.  The wizard
threw his bags to the floor before throwing a blanket on Draos, followed by the
bridle and saddle.  He cinched everything tight.  Then the saddle bags went
next.  The bag the stone was in Erelon buried in the other packs of general
supplies that he later strapped to the pack horse.

Just as Erelon finished saddling Easton’s horse, the younger
wizard stepped through the door, Kit holding onto his arm.

“Ready?” Easton asked.

“Yep,” Erelon answered.

Easton wrapped his arms around the girl.  He clutched at her
tightly, pulling her so close that he could feel the warmth of her chest
warming his own.  His hands clutched at her smooth firm waist.  He could feel
her warm breath against his neck and his leather shirt pinch just a little as
she clutched at it.

Erelon knew that the girl did not trust him, as last time Erelon
took Easton, they had not returned quickly.  Erelon raised his eyebrows and
rolled his eyes as Easton and Kit tried to make the moment last longer.  Before
the older wizard could witness any other activities, he nudged Draos, walking
his horse from the stables and leading the other two.

 Outside, Erelon waited, watching as people traveled up and down
the street.  A few looked up toward the wizard, but his stern stare with one
charcoal gray eye sent them hurrying down the street.

Easton came out the stable door without a word and took the
reins from Erelon and mounted his own horse.  Erelon led the way through the
streets at a quick pace.  They would add several weeks to their trip.  Though
Erelon did not want to wear out the horses and was not anxious to get home or
for the fight ahead, the older wizard did wish to see this mission over.

Erelon sent his horse trotting quickly out the west road of
town, which led down a slope with an easy grade.  Once Sine was out of sight,
Erelon sent Draos through a field of corn, the leaves already brushing Erelon’s
knee.  Erelon stopped at a creek long enough for the horses to drink and for Easton to look back in the direction of Sine.

“So what promises did you have to make so that she would let you
go?” Erelon asked.

“Hopefully some I can keep,” Easton said with regret in his
voice.

THE two wizards topped a hill.  It was an early morning, the sun
was rising, but it was not soon enough to clear the heavy fog.  Other hills
rose above the fog, each spear of grass gleaming with the water coating its
surface.  The vapor gently moved, almost swaying.  It drifted into the trees to
the wizard’s right.  The mountains were still close enough to tower over the
men.  Erelon did not plan on leaving the shadow of the mountains until it
became absolutely necessary.

The mountains offered food and places in which to hide.  Also,
the farther west the wizards traveled, the more like a desert it would become. 
Here, the weather was mild, comfortable.  Travel was easy.  Their cloaks were
rolled and packed behind their saddles.  Erelon wore his swords openly, proudly
bearing both the weapon of the elves and his mentor.

Erelon observed the world around him, empty and large.  His
heart sank into his stomach; they were not close to the family that would ferry
him, his horses, and his friend across the river.  Erelon had a strong impulse
to let Draos do what the horse loved, to run—run through the goblins ahead
instead of going around.  Yet, as his eyes looked over Easton and the other two
horses, Erelon remembered the other horses could not move nearly as fast, and
not as long either.  The fog moved and Erelon could see over several hills to
where small dark objects crawled over the surface of the land.

“Let us get off this rise,” Erelon said nervously.

They led their horses down the backside, into a small grove of
trees, across a stream, and into a small valley.  Erelon led around some
deadfalls and into grass that rose above Draos’s chest.  Erelon continued to
look toward the direction where he had observed the enemy’s pawns.

“The power that lies in the mountain forest, the one that can
overpower the wraiths, the power that the blonde mentioned, you wouldn’t know
anything about it?” Easton asked, laughing, knowing the answer.

“Nope,” Erelon answered without a smile, not amused.

A cool breeze blew through, bouncing off the hills, cooling
Erelon’s body and mind.  Soon the close proximity of the enemy slipped from the
wizard’s mind.  The fog burned off as the sun climbed higher into the sky and
finally looked down onto the two men.  Though the air was mild, Erelon still
began to stick to his saddle.  The older wizard could hear his saddle bags
flapping against his horse’s flanks, the air causing the grass to sigh as it
swayed.  The warm sun and the rocking motion of the horse began to lull
Erelon’s mind to sleep.  Soon his eyes were closing, only to pop back open as
he forced himself to try to stay alert.

Easton followed without making a sound.  He knew the path and
had nothing to ask Erelon.  Easton also felt the need for silence, for
meditation and reflection.  Traveling in the valleys, along the bottoms of the
hills, made progress a little slower as they had to cross streams and forge a
path through brush.  Erelon did not wish to show himself to the enemy, so for
several days they continued facing the brush.

Fog always drifted through in the early mornings, looking like a
phantom.  But by mid morning, the fog had been burned off.  Two hills of dark
grass rose to both sides of the men.  Between the hills, the atmosphere seemed
to grow dim and ice cold.  Sickles of ice even grew on the stone and trees. 
The fog had more mass.  Erelon pulled Draos to a stop.  Easton almost ran his
horse into Draos and for a moment thought about pushing on past the leading
wizard.  Easton was a little impatient to reach Suragenna and then rush back to
Sine, but the look on Erelon’s face brought him to a halt.

Erelon’s eyes strained into the darkness beyond, feeling
something Easton had missed in his impatience.  A sharp high-pitched cackle
answered the question of both men.

“Banshees,” Easton squeaked and made ready to bolt.

Erelon held up his hand and held his position for a moment
longer before finally pulling back on the reins of his horse.  Erelon found a
path that led around the valley, pushing brush out of the way, at times even
having to roll a few boulders or cut deadfalls.  To everyone, banshees were
still an enigma, and Erelon did not have the time, energy, or health to fight
something of which he had little knowledge.

Erelon began to focus more attention on the path before,
checking for signs of goblin activity, the habitations of people as he assumed
they were coming close to the border of Sirus, or other obstacles.  As more
rocks began to force their way from the earth’s surface and the grass grew
shorter, Erelon knew that he had entered the edges of Sirus.

Erelon turned his horse more toward the West, guiding Draos
toward the river.  Erelon grew braver, traveling on higher ground where there
was no brush.  There were no goblins to be seen.  The country was clear except
for a few cattle spotting other hills and an occasional stone fence enclosing a
hut.

Erelon avoided civilization though Easton hungered for it.  The
country was huge, and the enemy did not yet know where the wizards had
disappeared.  Erelon wished to keep it this way.  Erelon feared that the
wraiths may have spies in the inhabited places of Sirus, especially as this was
their next planned conquest.  Erelon did not wish to take such a risk of exposure.

The men could smell the river days before they saw it.  The
water reeked.  It smelled of water that had set for ages, brewing and spoiling
decomposed animals and plants.  The stench rolled over the hills and struck the
men, assailing their nostrils and causing powerful migraines until their senses
of smell grew numb.

A small town sat on stilts a few hundred feet from the river’s
banks.  The town’s boardwalks were above the heads of the two men, even as they
sat on their horses.  A dark water line marked on the stilts the height the
river rose to during flood seasons.

Blocks of corn and rice had been planted.  Irrigation had been
built to move water from the river to keep the rice swamped.  The rice had not
grown knee deep yet, but the corn was already even with Draos’s back.  Erelon
could see where the corn parted as some farmer pushed a path through.

Erelon turned to Easton and said, “Stay here.  I am going up. 
We need a few supplies.  Watch the horses.”

Erelon grabbed a wooden ladder that hung from the walk above and
pulled himself up.  The boardwalk meandered around, connecting all the
buildings.  The paths all seemed to draw him in one direction, leading into a
central square.  From this square, the boardwalk seemed to have been built in
random directions, connecting wherever houses had been built to accommodate the
gently rising population.

From the boardwalk, the river could be seen flowing slowly as it
was muddy and thick.  Flies and giant mosquitoes hovered above the perfect
breeding area like a black cloud.

A few boats floated along in the sludge.  A narrow dock trailed
a short distance into the river, and many boats had been tied along its south
edge.  Erelon turned to follow the walk into the little village.  The boards
creaked and ground together under Erelon’s weight, and he imagined himself
falling through or the supports giving out and the entire village crashing
down.

Erelon turned a corner around a wooden shack and almost collided
with a bald man with a huge bushy beard and a wooden leg.  The prosthetic leg
collided with the board walk and made it echo with every step.

“Hello!” the bald man’s voice boomed in greeting as well as
surprise.

“Good day,” Erelon replied to the greeting and then asked,
“Where is the first tributary that empties into Fallas?”

“Well, stranger, you’re just past it.  It’s south a day or two’s
travel.”

“Where’s the next, and where am I now?” Erelon asked, not sure
of his location.

“Well. . . You’re in Massif on the edge of a stinkin’ river. 
Decent for farmin’, no good for nothin’ else, except maybe a little trade and a
stoppin’ post.  We’re several weeks steady travelin’ from Samos, only a little
over a week from the next creek that enters Fallas, which is also the next
place for fresh water.”

“Thanks,” Erelon stated, and as he was just past the bald man,
the wizard asked in curiosity, “I was just wondering where you all keep
horses?”

“Over the rise to the east is a shed, about a fifteen minute's
walk,” the villager replied before stomping off.

Erelon continued to follow the flow of the path.  It seemed to
guide toward the center.  The center square was truly a square.  A wooden rail
ran along the inside of the board walk which looked over into corn.  The
outside of the walk was lined by stores.  For a small village, it was quite
busy.  Erelon had to weave a path through the people and at times even had to
brush against them to move through.  Erelon was looking for a general
merchandise store, one with food for himself and Easton as well as grain for
the horses.

It was not until his second trip around the square that Erelon
noticed a store that was loading merchandise from the ground using a pulley
system.  Looking up, Erelon could not read the sign, but within the building he
could see women and men alike going through flour, rice, and other grains, as
well as cloth and a great variety of other general products.  A trading town
along the river, Erelon finally realized and understood the village’s purpose.

Erelon stepped through the door.  Several clerks attended those
around, quickly filling orders and taking money.  It was a mad house, the roar
of people talking and yelling never ceasing.  Erelon began to yell at one of
the clerks, trying to obtain attention and service.

Finally the wizard managed to wade through the customers and,
standing next to a clerk, yelled above the roar, “I need some stuff!”

“Wait your turn! Wait your turn!” the clerk angrily and rudely
bellowed back and went to take the next order.

Erelon stood there, rooted and unmoving while clerks and
customers swirled around.  The mass and hysteria was not as terrific as it was
in the cities like Kintex or Pendle, but for a small village, Erelon had
expected to receive quicker, more friendly service.

“You—you—what do you need?” a clerk impatient and out of breath
demanded of Erelon.

“Two frigas rice and flour, and six murges horse feed,” Erelon
replied using the native measuring unit, “two bags beans and a roll of that
leather and a bag of that dried beef.”

The clerk was filling Erelon’s order as the wizard gave it.  The
clerk piled it in a corner, took Erelon’s money, and then laughed, “Good luck
packing it.”

Erelon looked around, carefully observing all of the people. 
His gaze rested on two young men leaning against a nearby post, talking.

Erelon stepped over to them and said, “I have a silver coin for
both of you if you help me pack what I just bought.”

They looked at the wizard as he held up a pair of coins, rubbing
them together so that the boys could hear the musical sound of the precious
metal as well as see the size and color of the coins promised.

Erelon led over to his stash and began lifting bags and throwing
them over his shoulders.  The wizard waited to ensure the two boys could carry
the remaining feed before leading back through the crowds.  The wizard could
not remember completely where he had left Easton with the horses, but he
plotted a course in the direction of the river.

Erelon looked for familiar buildings or turns in the boardwalk,
but everything looked alike.  There was little uniqueness with which to
remember the path he had taken earlier.

The walk continued past buildings and led like a dock into the
sea of corn.  Erelon turned his head around, looking down.  He could not find Easton.  Erelon sighed and picked up his head.  Against another arm of the walk, Easton and the three horses were a dark blob against the green corn.

Erelon’s lips wrinkled in disgust as he turned around corners,
guessing at the distance he needed to travel before stepping out along another
arm of the walk, the one that Erelon assumed Easton to be waiting beside.

One of the boys stumbled over a barrel, barely avoiding dumping
what he carried.  A glare from Erelon brought a shrug and a sheepish smirk from
the young man.  The barrel rolled off down the path, and as Erelon neared, he
saw that it was filled with trash, bits of paper, used tobacco, packaging,
remnants of someone's lunch.

Only a few more corners and Erelon finally found the next arm to
the boardwalk that led out of the town.  The wizard set his bundles beside the
ladder that led down to Easton, and after the two boys did the same, the wizard
paid each the promised piece of silver.  The village kids turned and quickly
fled down the walk back into town.

Erelon watched them leave, not trusting.  Too many had been the
times the scent of money had turned good men and women into conniving fools
capable of murder.  Although logic told the wizard that the two men were not
going to take an old warrior armed with two giant swords, experience warned the
wizard not to turn his back.

“Erelon!” a shout came from below, “Come on, Erelon, send the
bags down.  We don’t have all day.  Most of it is already gone.”

Erelon turned from staring at the town and, lying down, lowered
each bag into the uplifted waiting arms of Easton.  Erelon took one last look
at the village and climbed down the ladder to the saddle of his horse.

“What took you so long?” Easton demanded.

“Service was horrible and the waiting lines long,” was Erelon’s
excuse.

They stayed close to the river as they traveled north, so close
that they could smell and almost taste the stale river.  Erelon did not want to
miss the next tributary or the one following that was supposed to lead them to
their ferry.  At times they would rise to the summit of hills that allowed them
to look down upon Fallas.  Mostly, though, they passed through the valleys that
were the river’s bluffs.