River Of Life (Book 3) (15 page)

The demon’s form came from out of the smoke.  Its body was continually
moving, a constant flow of fire and smoke moving around the demon's form.  It
descended into the water, bringing all the heat and anger of its fire to bear
upon this one point, to consume the water, turning it to vapor.  The water
viciously bubbled around the demon.  It spilled around, hopping out of the
banks of the creek and spilling out onto the desert floor, boiling the already
dead grass.  The water began to part around the demon as it concentrated all of
its energy and focus on this one spot in the creek.  The water turned to steam
and the ground below the demon began to dry and crack, spreading away from
him.  Out of the depths of the stream, the maw of the dragon opened.  It
exploded from the waters of the creek, sailing through the air and crashed back
into the stream, filling in where the demon had evaporated the water.  Quickly
the dragon returned, its maw opened up below the demon, swallowing its fiery
enemy.

Quickly the fire demon began to drown.  Its ashes washed away,
its fire died, and the smoke dissipated.  The demon thrashed wildly.  Bubbles
exploded from its form and hit the surface of the creek.  The water boiled but
did not evaporate.  The demon suddenly felt cold.  The demon’s body shriveled
as it fought free and climbed back to the surface.  What had once been a small
stream was a deepening creek and quickly turning into a river, but it was not
deep enough to hold the demon and destroy it.  As soon as the fire demon’s head
surfaced, he gave a gasp at the air, feeding his fire which burst to life. 
Steam rose from the river.  Up onto the bank the demon lurched, escaping the
deadly cold waters.  The fires that ate at the prairie had been dying but now
came back to life as they fed off the presence of the creature that had given them
existence.

The fire demon stared back at the waters that continued to roll
along.  He would have to come back later.  His main objective was to hunt down
and destroy the wizard, Erelon.  Erelon had all but laughed at the warlocks. 
He had insulted them, and he had lived.  This concerned those whom the demon
had been called by.  The demon’s own personal vendetta with the water dragon
would have to wait.

Erelon twisted in the saddle for what seemed the second time in
the last half of a minute.  The billowing black clouds and red angry sky had
calmed down as Erelon had first fled.  The sky had cleared so that Erelon could
see the ugly gray-blue mixed with the brown dust of the dead prairie blown into
the atmosphere by high winds.  Yet now, the sky had begun to glow red again.

Erelon assumed it to be almost a day since he had sent the water
dragon to fight the fire demon.  It was more time than he thought the magical
beast would buy him.  Both the wizard and the horse were better for the break,
for the time of rest.  Though they had kept traveling, it had been slow.  Now
Erelon nervously watched the sky behind as the pink conquered the pale dusty
blue and as the source slowly became a darker, bloodier red.

Erelon encouraged his horse to a faster pace.  A line of black
formed at the base of the source of the livid red.  Erelon swallowed hard and
nudged his horse to a run.

The magical horse was fast, but the fire was pushed by the
magical winds powered by the strength and abilities gained by the warlocks from
past ages.  The black curtain blocked all view of the world behind and now the
reddened angry skies had penetrated well before the wizard.  The entire world
glowed.  It might have seemed an exotic beauty except the danger that it posed,
the task Erelon knew had been assigned to the fire.  Draos ran swiftly without
tiring.  It was as if his flanks had not even been torn by the goblin’s claws. 
His body almost seemed to disappear, and Erelon along with it.  But visual
invisibility did not confuse the demon who could feel the magical presence of
the wizard and his horse.

The fact that these two enemies ran from him only seemed to
encourage the demon further.  The fire came up to the flanks of the horse.  It
seemed to gain speed, and Erelon watched it come in for the kill.  Long had
Erelon been watching the black smoke along the ground grow larger and the red
of the flames and sky turn to a deeper blood red.  A huge hand lifted high and
descended, striking at Draos only to come down upon the prairie, sending a
shower of sparks.

There was no time for Erelon to give his horse a rest, no time
to give it a little water to boost its energy, to wet its tongue.  Their only
hope now was to outrun the fire, to flee into territory where the warlock’s
power did not yet reach.  Erelon did not know how much longer his horse could
race on.  The wizard feared that Draos collapse at any moment, sending him
sprawling forward, only a few seconds later to be consumed by the demon.

Erelon could imagine the flames diving into his flesh,
separating muscle, bone, and skin, and finally turning it all to ash before it
disappeared.  Erelon could feel the presence of the demon on his back.  The
edges of his cloak became singed, and sweat poured from his body until he
thought all liquid in his body was gone.  Erelon did not even want to turn to
see.

Several of the wounds again opened and began to bleed under the
intense physical and mental strain.  The wizard began to swoon in his seat.  He
was not tied into the saddle.  Erelon knew all that would keep him astride
Draos was his own will.

A cool wind came from the East, from the mountains to which
Erelon fled.  It pushed against the fire demon, slowing it.  The demon hissed
and, for a moment, stalled as it faced this new obstacle, a will that was
opposed to his.  The demon’s fire crackled and popped as it ate everything it
could find, and then the demon pressed onward, facing this new unknown entity. 
On the currents of the breeze, Erelon thought he heard his name called.  Then
the wizard shrugged it off as just his deteriorating mental stability.

The sky above and the lands around Erelon became completely
black as the smoke surrounded him.  Erelon did not know if it was night or
day.  Before him, in the distance, the sky was dark red.  The demon was upon
him.  The wizard’s cloak disintegrated, Draos’s tail caught flames, and his
iron shoes were glowing red.  The grass below the flying hooves of the horse
was only embers, burning stalks, and the ground black.  Erelon knew somehow
that this was not meant as his end, yet here he was about to be consumed. 
"Not without a fight," he grumbled to himself.

The breeze blasted past Erelon, this time demanding, “This way. 
Hurry.”

“I am coming, I'm coming,” was Erelon’s exasperated, half
unconscious reply.

Looking up, Erelon noticed that the black clouds had been
broken; pale blue had begun to show through.  The heat seemed lessened, but
Erelon still did not look back.  His head dropped; his hands clutched the
saddle horn.

“This way,” the breeze coaxed, pulling on the wizard’s beard to
direct him.  The wind seemed to form a shield from the demon and its fire as it
surrounded the wizard and his horse, massaging the wizard’s tired, worn body. 
The flat plain turned to rolling hills, and the sky brightened.  Erelon did not
know how many days he had spent racing across the prairie, spending half the
time partially conscious.

The grass started to become green again, and as the wizard
ascended a hill, he stopped his horse to look back.  He could see across other
hills until it was almost flat again.  A broad black mar traced the demon’s
path to where it had died.  It had moved too far away from the power of the
warlocks' protection, and it had moved too slowly so that its fuel had run
out.  It had burnt itself down into nothing in its fury to destroy the wizard. 
It had fought the wind; it had chased the wizard and unknowingly destroyed
itself.  Following the black path made by the fire demon, a small group of
goblins crawled along.  Slowly they picked a route that avoided the hottest spots. 
A few flames and embers popped here and there trying to reestablish the
menacing blaze, but the cool breeze soon stomped them out.

Erelon was burnt.  Some of his own skin was charred, some heated
red.  But all physical feeling had left him, and looking down at the goblins,
watching one break out into a dance after stepping on a hot coal, brought a
smile to the wizard’s face.  Tugging lightly on the reins, he turned the horse
down the high rise.  Those goblins would never be able to keep up with his horse. 
Tonight Erelon would find a secluded camp and look after his and the wounds of
Draos.

The best Erelon could find was a shallow dip in the side of a
rising mound of earth, a place where water had washed away the dirt at the
hill’s base.  Several times he had checked his back to watch for the enemy, but
there was no sign of any continued pursuit by the goblins.

He looked at his own wounds, which had festered again, producing
pockets of infection, but he did not know injured he truly was.  Almost all of
his skin was burnt; dirt had clotted along with the blood; his clothes could
not be peeled from his body; and when the wizard tried, everything again bled
profusely. 

Erelon gave up.  He simply rubbed magical gel on his body and
into the clothes that had fused to his flesh.  He tore any extra material into
strips and wrapped his body like a mummy.  His entire visage looked like a dead
person who had been brought back alive.  Draos was a little scorched, but the
horse had not been the focus of the demon’s attack.  Even the cuts on his
flanks were fairly clean and healing rapidly.

Erelon grunted with sarcasm, “Elvish horse.”

The wizard collapsed mentally and physically on the ground.  The
moment his head touched earth, his entire body and mind shut down.  The stress
and shock was too much for the wizard’s body to handle.

Erelon awoke to the high pitched laughter of goblins and the
snort of his horse.  The night was lit up by a bright silver moon.  Erelon
could see dark forms moving in the darkness of night.  Quickly Erelon grabbed
at his sword, pulling it free and rolling to the side.  A body went flying into
the area Erelon just vacated.  Quickly two more piled on.  As Erelon brought
his sword around, he cut one cleanly in half.  Up the sword went, and swiftly
it came down on another, carving it from the shoulder down through the chest. 
Turning, Erelon shoved the blade through the face of a helmet.

Running, Erelon slid onto his horse, leaving the saddle and bags
lying on the ground.  The moment Draos felt the weight of his rider, he took
off at an immediate dead run, disappearing into the valleys obscured by night.

The wizard followed the breeze that still came out of the
mountains.  It carried with it a soothing voice.  It was a voice out of
Erelon’s far past, it was a voice that sounded familiar, but the wizard could
not remember to whom it belonged.  Yet the voice calmed his mind.  It was a
voice Erelon trusted.

The grass had finally turned green.  A rock stretched out from
the hill’s side, to Erelon’s right, and a little stream strolled past it and
meandered down the valley Erelon followed.  The wizard slipped from his horse
to splash some of the water on his face, and then he drank, scooping water with
his hands.  He had only one canteen to refill, one that had laid beside him
before his mind and body had crashed into unconsciousness.  The others had been
left with the saddle when he had fled the goblins.

Erelon looked up, knowing that it would not be long before he
would be able to see the mountains before him.  Feeling had begun to return to
his body.  Erelon cast a spell upon himself, numbing his own body.  He knew
that when feeling started to return to his shocked body, the pain would be
intense.  Erelon hoped to allow his body to heal without pain.

It did not matter how Erelon’s body looked.  He was a weapon,
Erelon’s mind grimly thought; all that mattered was how that weapon worked. 
All that mattered was that he healed.

Erelon avoided the high rises where he could easily give away
his position.  Many goblins were already like bloodhounds on the trail.  They
did not need help.  The wizard did not flee; he allowed his horse to walk
slowly.

The mountains started to rise above the wizard.  Last time he
had been here, he had been accompanied by Auri and Easton.  Now he was alone
except for his horse and shadow.  Erelon followed the stream as it bounced
along.  It was a sure source of water.  Trees grew up to its edge.  Wild game
could be found everywhere, and even though Erelon had no weapon besides the sword,
a stone aided by magical velocity brought rabbits to a swift stop.  Behind,
Erelon knew that goblins would be close, following his trail no more than half
a day away.  Erelon knew that in his condition he could not fight them off
easily.  He needed to rest, but Erelon could not sleep until his enemies lay
dead.  He would go unconscious while riding his horse, his body gently bobbing
up and down, balancing itself as Draos picked the smoothest route.

The horse walked around the outside of a forest’s wall before
finally finding a trail that led in.  Many places could be used for ambush, but
the
path was
little used and so no one
laid traps along its length.

The trail at first wandered down.  It was narrow and Draos had
to walk tightly to avoid brush.  Limbs hung low and pieces of rock lay in the
trail.  The path itself was overgrown, mostly used by deer and an occasional
bear or cougar.  Seldom had it seen the hoof marks of a horse or the prints of
boots.  Soon the trail leveled off, but it did not grow wider.  In several
places it intersected the trail of larger beasts like cattle, and the path
would become so worn that it showed dark smooth ground.

The trees stopped abruptly, leaving the two in a meadow.  Grass
was knee high.  A few fallen trunks barely rose far enough from the grass to
peer at the visitors.  The trail took them back up a hill before dropping into
a field of wild corn that Erelon would not have been able to see over even if
he had been conscious.