River Of Life (Book 3) (35 page)

“This map,” Easton spoke, “It does not cover your travel from
Pendle to the Flying City?”  Easton worded the comment as a question.

“There, the corner of the world sits.  I will not mark its
location on my map.  My most prized knowledge and what I discovered at Meltrose
was written at Meltrose.  If any has the power to find the Humban corner of the
world, then they can also have the privilege of reading what I wrote on those
pages, the little there is of it.”

Erelon sat watching the stream silently pick up leaves in its
current and steal them away.  The stream fell over small waterfalls created by
stones that would not budge.  Erelon now wore a new cloak, one with the Staff
of Saris sewn on the back.  But below the cloak, he wore an off-white,
light-weight tunic with the mark of his mentor on it.  In this way, Erelon
honored the memory of Chaucer.

“I had nowhere else to be,” a rough voice spoke behind the
master wizard.

Erelon turned and looked up at Fresmir holding the reins to a
shaggy horse.

Erelon smile and stood, “Good to have you.”

“Tanton has to watch the city, he couldn’t make the trip,”
Fresmir apologized for their friend.

“Perfectly understandable,” Erelon said, “Come, let me introduce
you to my generals.”

The giants stood proudly as Bahsal presented each clan leader a
shield along with either a spear or sword.  The wizard’s council along with
Erelon’s close friends and generals stood behind Bahsal.  This ceremony was to
strengthen the bonds of friendship with the huge race.  Each shield took many
dwarves to carry it.  The plan was that, better equipped, the giants should be
more destructive and dangerous.

Erelon sat at the edge of his bed.  The date for the march had
been set for tomorrow, early morning.  Erelon would start with the army and
slip away several days out, taking only Easton with him.

A knock sounded on the door. Erelon looked up to see Hendle’s
frame filling it.

“Come in,” Erelon told the younger wizard.

Hendle sat beside the old wizard but refused to talk until
Erelon finally said, “Tell me, what is it that troubles you?”

“How can I fight with my wooden leg, and how can you or I expect
me to lead if I cannot fight?” Hendle whimpered.

“You will find the power in here,” Erelon said tapping Hendle’s
chest, “But as a friend, I will help you.”

Erelon touched Hendle’s leg where the fake and real joined. 
Instantly pain coursed through Hendle’s body.  The pain shrieked up his thigh,
almost as if some giant hand dug into his spine and squeezed.  His head jerked
back as spit exploded from his lips and a shriek could be heard from his
throat.  The intense pain subsided into a dull throb that left Hendle gasping
with the beat of his heart.

“It will never be as good as the original,” Erelon warned, “But
it will give you greater mobility on the battlefield.”

Hendle moved the cloak back to reveal a shocking twisted form
that half looked like a leg, but at the same moment was still recognizable as
the wooden stump.

Hendle looked down at the leg.  He could feel toes, but as his
hand slid across the appendage, it felt hard and wooden below his fingers.  Yet
the toes moved.

Hendle stumbled around with words in his mind.  Half in tears of
excitement, but at the same moment appalled that this was what his leg would be
for the rest of his life, Hendle could only blurt out, “Thanks,” in his
confusion as to if this were a blessing or curse.

Hendle turned to Erelon.  The master wizard had stood up,
walking toward his chest.  He ignored Hendle's comment of appreciation and
threw back the blanket that covered the trunk.

"If you are going to lead the wizards, there are a few
spells I have picked up over the years, especially from the elves, that I feel
I should pass on down to you," Erelon stated.

Like a slow millipede, Erelon’s army moved from the walls. 
Different sections were dispatched through the various gates to drive the enemy
before them, like herding cattle.  Festor and those left behind retreated into
the mountain where they could easily protect the few doors and windows.

Erelon shook Festor’s hand in farewell at the gate.  The look in
both their eyes stated that they did not know what was going to happen over the
next few days and on into the battle.

"If you take too long coming back, I may be dead from old
age," Festor joked.

Erelon only gave the old wizard a sad smile, so Festor turned
shaking his head.

Erelon was not at the head of the army, but all around it. 
Erelon wanted the men to know that he was there, but did not want to appear as
the leader and cause great speculation when he disappeared.  If all went well,
no one would even know he was gone when he and Easton finally broke off and
went to King's Time.  His horse raced up to Bahsal who marched by foot.

"Can't even see the end of the line of dwarves,"
Bahsal bragged.

Erelon smirked, "No, it is impressive."

"There was some rumor about making me king, but I have
rejected any serious offers," Bahsal remarked.

"Too much responsibility?" Erelon quizzed.

"No, the dwarve king has no real power," Bahsal
explained, "Only a figure, a symbol of dwarve power.  I have more power
sitting on the council through friends than the king has."

Draos flared across the front of the army.  The horse was
unmistakable.  Its colors blended into the trees, the dirt, into the flash and
sparkle of the warriors' armor.  Erelon rode up next to Yalen who was on a
yellow horse with a black tail and mane.  The elf wore armor that tingled with
blue and silver.

"Watch out for Hendle.  He will need help and
support," Erelon told the elf.

"I will make sure to protect him," the elf replied.

"The wizards will need him after this battle has been
won," Erelon stated.

"They will need you too my friend," Yalen hissed.

"Ugh, I need a break," Erelon grumbled.  "Going
to take a long vacation after this.  The wizards will have to learn how to live
without me no matter the outcome," Erelon said, a chuckle hidden in his
comment.

Erelon rode past Grism and Auri.  This was going to be a vicious
dirty battle, one made for the brawler.  Grism was barking at some soldier whose
horse collided with his own.  Auri only grinned.  As he saw Erelon ride by, he
raised a fist into the air and let out a yell that was lost in the rhythmic
crunch and thump of the army.

Every night out, Erelon camped just a little farther from the
main army.  If any had questions, Erelon sent them to one of his generals,
mostly Hendle.  The army traveled slowly, as most were on foot.  The army
stretched on for several miles, a vast number of races and clans and
ethnicities within this one army.

One morning, the army began to pick up camp.  Fires were stomped
out, tents pulled down.  Erelon’s friends drifted away from the main camp, into
the forest, saying goodbye to the wizards who stood below the open trees in
cloaks that bragged of their power.  These were the closest Erelon had to
family, to brothers.

Hendle gave Erelon and Easton a firm handshake.  Grism began by
shaking Erelon's hand, then he jerked the wizard into a breath-stealing embrace
before letting go without a word.  Bahsal, Yalen, and Auri were all there as
well.  These had been Erelon's closest friends at different parts of his life,
different parts of his journey.  He smirked as he looked at the different men
he brought together.  As the others turned to slowly and silently leave the forest. 
Erelon patted Rivurandis and thought to himself that indeed, all his closest
friends were there.

As the army moved off, two tents went unnoticed as they were far
away from the main army encampment.  Erelon watched the army, his army, move
off.  The master wizard stood on a hill, watching the glittering dark line as
it caused dust clouds to roll from behind.  This was one battle Erelon would
have loved to watch.  It would be a fight of titans.  The enemies did not
realize the number of heroes this army contained.  Some who were even unknown
at this moment but much like himself after the battle at Samos against the
trolls, would come out heroes.  Erelon proudly watched the army brought
together because of him.

As the last of the army moved out of sight, Erelon walked down
the hill slowly.  The army was supposed to arrive at the Keep before Erelon
showed at King's Time.  Erelon wanted the enemy already occupied when he
started his own offense, so Erelon was in no hurry.

Easton was taking the tents down as Erelon walked up.  Together,
in silence, they finished taking their camp apart.  Erelon folded the canvas
and kicked at the few embers until they died.  It was just Erelon and Easton, the horses they rode, and a pack horse.  They skipped through the valleys. The
grass and trees were all turning brown.  A few streams still carried water, but
they were few.

Abruptly, the hills ended.  Erelon passed from between two of
them, and a wide flat land opened before his eyes.  What remained of what had
been tall prairie grass glared at the wizard.  A wind began to howl, scattering
dust before it.  Wind demons danced across the dead prairie, twisting and
turning, catching the dust up in their dance.

Erelon breathed in heavily and let it all out in a disappointed
sigh, “Here we go again.”

The army moved on, Yalen leading his elves and the horsemen from
Sirus; Bahsal the dwarves; Hendle the wizards and giants; Grism and Auri led
everyone else, a wide variety of soldiers and races.  None of the regular army
seemed to notice the disappearance of Easton and Erelon.

The heat increased as the army drew closer to the Keep.  The
heart of every soldier beat faster.  Each knew that a stray arrow could be
their death.  But to keep their sanity, each had convinced themselves that they
would live to see the end of the battle.  It took a careful and perfect balance
of fear and insolence to keep one’s sanity.  While facing the truth of death,
the soldiers had to lie to themselves to keep marching forward.

The army turned the corner that led into the valley that led to
Mortaz.  The valley was shrouded with smoke.  The goblins had set fire to the
dead evergreens, filling the valley with a screen of fog.  The smog engulfed
the army, and soon all the warriors had tears running from their eyes as they
stumbled backward coughing.  A spell drifted in the smoke, and the tears of
those with weak minds were soon tears for their mothers, wives, or any others
close to them that reminded them of better days when they did not face death.

Bahsal looked down the length of the army as fingers of smog
drifted through.  All the soldiers stopped in unison, stopping as the banner
men began to wave flags signaling the stop and the rhythm of the drums ceased. 
There was a large absence of sound as the roar of metal rubbing and jangling
against metal stopped.

Bahsal looked at Hendle and said, “I want to know what’s before
us.”

Hendle gave a nod of his head and the dwarve ducked into the
smoke, silently working his way toward the Keep, hoping to come out on the
other side before he stumbled into the enemy.

A wizard stepped out next to Hendle.  The wizard wore blue and
green robes.  He was young with smooth skin, clean shaven, with dark eyes that
seemed to take in the whole world at once.  He had no scars.  His hair was
nicely trimmed above his ears and combed so that it had a flare before his
bangs fell before his eyes.  His muscles were not bulged, but there was no fat
on him.  He stood slightly taller than Hendle, taller than most average men.

“I would like to try quenching the fire,” the wizard told
Hendle.

“Sure, Flex,” Hendle replied with a nod.

Flex turned toward the East and, pulling a leaf from his pouch,
held it in the palm of his hand and passed it before the sky.  Behind the trail
of the leaf, clouds appeared as if painted in place.  The clouds grew, reaching
up as other pieces tumbled out from the base.  A curtain of rain burst from the
bottom, and a wind came up, blowing the smoke back into the Keep.

Bahsal stepped onto the other side of the smoke screen.  The
wall was still several minutes' ride, but there was not an enemy to be seen
except in the trees along the edges of the mountains where a few goblins
stalked.  The rest of the valley was clear.  A well placed arrow flew by
Bahsal’s head.  Into the smoke Bahsal disappeared.

Bahsal stepped back onto the eastern side of the smoke wall as
an opposing force stopped Flex’s rain storm before it could reach the valley of Mortaz.  The stress between the two spells caused a violent reaction.  An
explosion and bursting wind blew dust into the valley, blasting into all of the
soldiers, completely suffocating the fires, and pushing what was left of the
smoke into the Keep.  It was as if two winds collided and pushed against each
other until both snapped.

“Okay, that was not the best outcome, but it did get the job
done,” Hendle said with a chuckle.

Bahsal only glared upward, dirt falling from his beard with each
step like a waterfall.

“Come with me,” Bahsal growled as he led a giant toward siege
towers that needed to be assembled.