River Of Life (Book 3) (27 page)

Erelon’s feet left the ground as he ran over the edge of a wall
and plummeted to the stone ground below.  The wizard’s hands came out
instinctively to help break his fall.  His knees struck first.  Instant pain
shot up both legs, a paralyzing pain that caused all of his muscles to
stiffen.  His hands were torn, and they bled from burning cuts as he pitched forward.

The wizard groaned as he picked himself from the stone street
and began limping off as fast as he could.  The pain began to pass as the
wounds became numb.  Erelon whipped around the corners, looking for the right
level, the right inn.

The red building sprang up to Erelon’s right, and just as he
went to enter the doors, a black creature smashed through the wall, flying on a
pair of wings that seemed held together with tar.  Wood splinters flew, and
Erelon pulled his cloak around him to protect his face and body.

The foul bird lunged forward, but its heavy awkward body kept
trying to pull it back toward the earth.  Below it, held by talons, it carried
the stone in its black cloth.

Erelon’s eyes glowed red.  He stretched out his arm and said,
“Sasmura.”

Instantly the beast was engulfed in flames.  Chunks of decay
wreathed in fire fell to the earth as the bird struggled to stay in flight. 
Before the body gave up, its wings went straight up.  Then the body finally
plummeted.

As the bird hit the stone road, its body sounded like a melon. 
It turned into pieces that did not resemble anything that had ever lived, black
chunks of soft material.

The stone hit, leaving a pit in the rock road.  Steam gradually
rose from the bundle.  Erelon approached it cautiously and then gingerly lifted
it.  Within the bundle, the stone still throbbed.  The fire left Erelon eyes. 
They turned black; never again would their color return, a dull and lifeless
charcoal gray was what they would forever remain.

“What was that?” Easton asked in surprise behind Erelon.

The older wizard shook his head and approached Easton and said
softly, “I do not know.  Some apparition of the wraiths.  What I do know is
that this means we are really starting to become a threat in the minds of the
enemy.”

Erelon continued to walk past Easton and toward Fresmir as he
came running his breathing coming in gasps as his heart slammed against his
chest.  His eyes were wide.  Once again, he had seen the wizard in action, and
once again, he was glad that he was not on the opposing side.

“That was intense,” Fresmir exclaimed.

“Better than Castor’s fight,” Tanton growled.

“Easton needs a horse,” Erelon told Fresmir, “Easton and I leave
as soon as you and he can find one.  For the moment, I need some time alone to
think.”

Erelon turned away to leave.

A few steps and he stopped and turned back to Fresmir, “I am
hosting a fight in a couple months.  You are invited.  And you can bring Castor
if he wants a real challenge.”

Erelon sat in a dark corner of Fresmir’s house.  He was alone,
eyes closed, feet crossed.  The room grew increasingly dark, a spider crossed
the floor.  Erelon could feel the vibrations of each step, of the spider’s
breathing, through the floor boards.  A bird fluttered off through the trees
outside the closed windows.  Erelon’s eyes opened.  He lifted his memoirs from
his leather case along with a jar of silver paint and a pen.  Erelon pulled on
the leather strings to release the knot.  The pages fell open before him. 
Slowly he flipped through them until he came to an empty sheet.

The silver went on in smooth, even, flowing lines.  The wizard
did not leave drops of ink on the page or splatter any on the floor.  The ink
gleamed for a few moments before disappearing into the paper.  Erelon’s pen
went still.

The book remained open for a moment as the last words dried. 
Slowly the pages creaked as Erelon tied them back together with leather
straps.  Erelon leaned back against the wall.  The stone at this altitude was
cold, and it felt good on the wizard’s skull.  His hands still throbbed with
each beat of his heart and burned as if continually in a fire.  Erelon had not
washed or treated them, and the cuts were now black with clotted blood and
dirt.

At the bottom of the leather pack was a rolled scroll that
Erelon had received from Backer.  The wizard pulled it out and unrolled it on
the floor.  It was not a long spell, but Erelon studied every word, making sure
to look for any problems, any glitches that needed to be avoided.  None, the
spell was sound.

A knock on the door echoed through the room.  Erelon woke with a
snort and a groan.  Drool ran down the corner of his mouth.

“What?” Erelon bellowed.

“I’ve got a horse,” came a call from Fresmir.

“Just a moment,” Erelon called back.  The wizard stood,
stretched, leaned down to pick up his saddle bags, and reached for the door.

ERELON silently followed Fresmir to the stables that were at the
foot of the stairs leading to Fresmir’s home.  The wizard had slung his saddle
bags over one shoulder and carried a scroll and a small leather pouch in the
other hand.

Fresmir turned several times as if he wanted to speak, to break
the oppressive, tense silence.  To Erelon, descending the stairway seemed to
be instant, as he spent the entire walk sifting thoughts through his mind.  For
the Brect, it seemed as if the end would never come. Curiosity filled the
Brect’s mind, to see and know what Erelon was going to do next.  Maybe, Fresmir
almost hoped, he would get to see the wizard again display his magical skill.

Erelon turned sharply and disappeared into the stable doors. 
Fresmir was only a step behind.  Erelon slowed and stared around to allow his
sight to readjust to the dim light.  A few pillars, light coming through the
window in streams catching dust, a scattering of hay on the floor, a few
scattered metal and wooden buckets with stalls for the horses lined against
each wall.  A very average stables.

“I found you three horses, one to pack the stone,” Fresmir replied
proudly.

“Uh, thanks,” Erelon said, his mind and eyes not focused on
reality as he stared into an oak door.

Tanton slipped in behind, silently on padded feet, causing the
horses to shift uncomfortably.  Tanton had come to watch the wizard.  As the
one who enforced the law, Tanton liked to know all who came and went.  The
leopard was also there out of curiosity, much like Fresmir, wishing to see the
wizard destroy something else.

Erelon dumped a chunk of wood from a pouch into his hand.  The
wizard tucked the empty leather bag into a pocket and unstrung another, drew
out some powder, and sprinkled it onto the wood while muttering a few words
that no one could hear.  Easton looked at Erelon in confusion.

“Needed a way to lock the door behind us,” Erelon explained,
though no one understood yet what he meant.

The master wizard set a three-legged stool next to a door, one
that led into a closet, and sitting on it, asked, “Can I get a hammer and
nail?"

Fresmir quickly rushed off. As Erelon sat, his mind went blank
as his eyes gazed off. Easton would have liked to think, or say, that Erelon
was meditating on the future or the past.  But Easton knew that Erelon had no
thoughts running through his mind.  The longer the mission lasted, it felt, the
more Erelon lost of himself.  Easton simply shook his head.

Fresmir came rushing back into the room, his boots hollowly
clomping against the floor.  Erelon stood, and the Brect dumped a handful of
nails and a hammer into Erelon’s hands.  The wizard allowed all of the nails to
drop to the floor except one.  Each nail hit the dirt and hay floor without
much sound, only ringing when they struck each other.

The wizard stepped onto the stool, which shifted below his
weight.  The stool’s legs bowed and spread.  After twisting some, Erelon
brought his frame into balance.  With one nail, Erelon hammered the chunk of
wood to the lentil above the door.  The hammer rose and fell, each time with
perfect aim.  The handle fit well into the wizard’s grip. Erelon had not
completely forgotten how the hammer felt even though it had been years since he
had been a serious smith, training below Chaucer, dwarves, and elves.

Erelon looked down before descending.  Gingerly, Erelon raised
one foot, careful to adjust his weight, slowly lowered one foot to the ground,
and then easily removed the other from the stool before quickly booting it into
a dark corner.

Erelon simply said, “The address,” to answer the curious faces
that stared at him.

His simple statement only caused more questions.

Erelon placed his fingertips on the door, bowed his head, and
began muttering.  The wooden door rippled like water below the fingers of the
wizard.  Erelon brushed the door, causing more ripples, but his hand remained
dry.  The liquid of the door did not splash, but simply moved like water, as if
a transparent membrane contained the liquid.

Erelon thrust his arm through and withdrew it just as quickly.
His arm still remained dry. Erelon could feel some phantom’s touch, residue of
where the surface of the liquid had rested, had ended against his arm.

Erelon turned to Easton and stated, “We must go now.  I do not
know how much time we have.”

Easton nodded, and leading both a pack horse and his riding
horse, he proceeded into the liquid.  His body slowly disappeared.  The horses
resisted slightly, but their fear of the three men behind them, Tanton,
Fresmir, and Erelon, drove them forward.

“I will see you later . . . maybe,” Erelon said, shaking
Fresmir’s hand and nodding toward the leopard.

Leading Draos by the reins, Erelon also stepped through the
door.  Never did his lungs fill with anything besides air. Erelon did not know,
or at least he did not remember, if he held his breath as he stepped through
the portal.  Erelon had created a hole in space.  He had shortened the distance
between the two points of the world and had used the door to link them.  The
door’s only purpose was as an object with which to focus the spell, to contain
the spell.  It could have just as easily been cast in the air, or on the
ground, but the hole’s exact dimensions, shape, and location would not have
been known exactly.

Tanton and Fresmir only stood in amazement as the two wizards
and three horses passed through a door which led into a closet.  Above the
door, the wooden fragment gained heat, little spots of embers flashing into
view and even a tongue of flame.  Then the wood began to deteriorate, slowly
turning into splinters and then dust.

Fresmir stepped forward and touched the door similar to how
Erelon had.  It was hard to the touch, rough wooden fibers of solid oak was
what greeted the Brect’s hand.  Slowly he turned the handle and pulled the
closet open. An odd assortment of shovels, pitchforks, gardening tools,
buckets, and other items for the care of horses and saddles lay piled.

“Locked the door behind him,” Fresmir stated as he kicked at the
remains of the wood chunk Erelon had nailed to the door frame.

Erelon’s sight was only obscured by a blurry mass for a moment. 
His sight looked as if he had ducked his head into a murky pool of water.  The
liquid material seemed to adhere to Erelon’s body, creating a tight seal that
air could not squeeze through.  Then it pulled back together behind his body.

Erelon stood in stables similar to those he had just left,
though instead of being dry and lit up by natural light, these were gloomy,
filled with stale air of rotting hay and mildew.  The light was extremely dim,
forcing Erelon to stand perfectly still so that he did not trip over some
hidden object.  Easton was standing only a couple long strides away, holding
onto the reins of the horses, looking back toward the door through which they
had just passed.

Easton looked toward Erelon with a face that asked, “What next?”

Erelon walked over to Easton, who asked, “Are we where I think
we are?”

“Yes,” Erelon reassured him and then said, “Do you know how to
get to Backer’s house from here?”

“I think so,” was Easton’s reply.

“Well, it's just down the street to your left as you step from
the stables.”

Erelon dropped Draos’s reins at Easton’s feet and said, “Take
care of the horses and then go to Backer’s.  He will put you up.  Get some
sleep.  You need the rest.”

Erelon patted Easton on the shoulder as he walked by, grabbed
the stone as he passed the pack horse, and stepped out the door.  Erelon looked
up and down the street.  Rain covered the cobblestone road so that it gleamed,
a warning as to how slick it was.  The older wizard walked down the road, not
heeding the puddles and streams of rain water, ignoring the giant drops that
fell from the roof tops, striking him on the head.

As Erelon stepped before Backer's door, the rain eased to a fine
mist that cloaked the city in a fog, physically hiding travelers, corners,
shadows.  The door opened before Erelon had a chance to knock.

Backer looked Erelon in the eyes, “Come in. I felt the portal
open and close.  I knew you were here.”

Erelon stepped out of the weather and shook himself, causing
water to scatter to the floor.  From within his cloak, Erelon pulled a scroll
and placed it in Backer’s hands.

Backer wandered the large room before collapsing into a chair. 
Erelon also sat in one near the other wizard.

“How many of yours are coming?” Erelon asked.

“I don’t know,” Backer sighed, “I’m not planning on going. 
Fighting is not my best talent.  I teach, I raise young wizards.  I make a few
potions.  Not much more.  And I’m too old to be running around, swinging a
sword.”

Erelon’s look told Backer that the wizard of Mortaz understood
if the wizard of Pendle showed for the battle or if he decided to stay home. 
Erelon's face showed that he had not expected the other wizard to join the
fight at Mortaz.  A few moments of silence allowed Erelon to observe the
presence of a young wizard standing with his arms crossed in a dark corner of
the room.  A scowl creased the young man’s face.  Fair hair, dirty blond with
curls, lay on his head.

“So you are supposed to be the great wizard Erelon,” the young
wizard said with a voice laced with vicious sarcasm. “The one about whom all
the legends are told,” the young wizard finished.

“So some say,” Erelon replied with no hint of emotion.

Backer glared at the young wizard, a look that demanded that the
young man sit down and close his mouth.

“The giants did come down out of the North.  They came through
here a few days back.  It won’t be long now before they reach your home,”
Backer informed Erelon.

“Uh, that’s going to cause some trouble,” Erelon assured both
himself and Backer.  With a sigh Erelon also added, “Guess I better get back as
soon as possible.”

“Samos has dispatched as many horsemen as they can spare.  You
know that they barely hold their side of the river,” Backer told Erelon.

“Yeah,” Erelon replied.

From the dark corner of the room the young wizard’s voice bit,
“You know, all I see is an old worn wizard.  A pathetic skeleton of a real
legend.  Like most legends, overrated.  A tall tale.”

“Jeffrey!” Backer’s voice boomed threateningly.

Erelon shrugged off the insult, though his ears perked up at the
name.  Only those who had something to prove, those with low self esteem, would
try to threaten back with more petty insults.  Erelon had nothing to prove. 
But the name was so close to Jaffrey, the one he had avoided, hated at Mortaz
so many years ago, Erelon could only smile as he made a parallel comparison to
the two boys, from two different generations, who had both been arrogant.

“It will make Bahsal happy to hear that the giants made the
trip.  He was kind of counting on them,” Erelon said, even while he thought
about how Bahsal and Hendle would have to fight with some of the other wizards
about housing the giant race.  But the giants were imperative to part of
Bahsal's battle plan.

“Yeah, well I guess a wide variety of creatures and races are
traveling across the world for this battle.  Some for you, some just to fight a
common enemy, and a few more because they assume this to be the legendary
battle of the century,” Backer warned.

“We could do without the mercenaries,” Erelon commented,
thinking about the trouble they usually caused, “But this is a battle for
everyone.”

Erelon listened as a fire behind him cackled.  Sometimes liquid
would expand and the wood would pop, causing a burst of red ash and embers.  It
was cool in this city of the Gronge Mountains year round.  There was always a
fire in the hearth.

“What about the centaurs?” Erelon asked.

“The mayor has ceased wearing a suit of clothes and now wears a
suit of armor.  I am to send him notice of when he is to lead his clan to war. 
But I don’t think he and his family go alone.  Many others from the city and
around here, I think, also plan to march with him,” Backer told Erelon quietly
but with pride.

A rough knock sounded on the door.

The young wizard Jeffrey pulled it open and grunted at the sight
of Easton and said sarcastically, “Another wizard from the South whose powers
die before they can even understand them.”

Easton looked first at Jeffrey in surprise and then toward
Erelon with a confused look.  Easton did not understand why his appearance was
greeted with sarcasm and if he should beat the young man or ignore the
insults.  Erelon shrugged, signaling his own confusion.  Easton simply ignored
the remark and came over to sit with Backer and Erelon.

“Does it always rain here?” Easton complained.

“In these mountains, on this side, it usually does,” Erelon
replied.

Backer turned to Easton and said, “It’s been a while since we
last talked.  Last time I saw you, you were only beginning your training.  Now
you’ve excelled past what most wizards can hope to accomplish in a lifetime.”

“Yeah, had a trip that I never want to face again,” Easton commented.

“So I’ve heard,” Backer said, “Rumor of your adventure has
reached the ears of many wizard circles.”

Erelon stood, setting the stone in his chair, “Keep an eye on
this for me.  I need to go for some air.  Make sure to get some rest.”

Erelon said the first to Backer and the last to Easton.

Erelon turned to move around his chair and toward the door as
Jeffrey hissed, “Old and worthless, that’s all.  How do you expect to face the
enemy?  You should let me do it.”

Then the wizard of Pendle attacked with a quarter staff.

“Jeffrey!” Backer roared in disapproval.

As Erelon easily slipped out of the path of the descending
stick, he stated sadly, “You would have fit well with many of the wizards of
Mortaz.  Picking and causing fights with those who mean you no trouble or harm,
and making friends with those who wish, in the end, to see you dead.”