River Of Life (Book 3) (33 page)

ERELON wanted to race Draos across the low rolling hills and
through the gates.  Victoriously, Erelon could imagine showing off for the
giants and for the men along the walls, brandishing his new sword, giving a
loud cry of war, and bringing a rush of adrenaline to all the men.  But the
horses would not go.  They had lived too long on harsh rations of little water
and almost no food.

So instead, the two wizards and their three horses wandered
toward the giants and the wall’s gate, beaten mentally and physically.  There
was no bravado in their step; instead, their heads hung, weary from the
continuous, long journey.  The giants stopped swinging their clubs for a moment
to look down on the wizards as the two men passed.  Easton and Erelon fell into
the flow of incoming travelers.  They did not push forward, they did not force
a path through, but allowed the pace of the newcomers to dictate their own.

They passed through the walls, the top high above.  Men looked
cautiously down, scrutinizing every face, looking for someone out of the
ordinary, something that did not feel correct.  Considering the great variety
of people walking through the gates, Erelon did not know how the guards could
possibly expect to decide what and who was right or wrong.

Erelon looked back up, knowing that of those staring down at
him, those surrounding him, none knew who he was.  Erelon no longer wore his
insignia, and even if they had known his face, it was so torn up and covered in
bandages that only under closer observation would anyone be able to recognize
the wizard.

Within the walls, the grass and trees retained some green hue,
but here too, within the protection of the wizards, the world was dying. 
Through more low rolling hills covered by short grass the two wizards had to
travel.  The hills were covered in tents that had at first been scattered, but
now were steadily growing more solid.  A great army was building, everyone with
their own reason.  Some fought for glory, others to defend their home whether
it was near or far.  Many others because of loyalty for one wizard, Erelon. 
The people came from all races and backgrounds: mercenaries, warriors, nobles,
smiths, farmers, dwarves, elves, men, centaurs, giants.  The mix of blood was
great, and though tension was high, peace remained.

Erelon led through paths that had not existed even a week ago,
caused by the growing army.  The hills grew rougher as they rode into the mountain’s
foothills.  Trees began to pop out of the ground.  The trees had begun to dry,
and so their foliage was not thick.  Erelon could look through the skeletal
forms to see that the forest was clear of debris and brush.

The first stream that the wizards neared, they stopped at.  Both
horses and men dropped to the ground, dipping their entire dried bodies into
the cool water which reflected amber light because of the dying trees and grass
that turned the atmosphere red.

Erelon sat back on the ground, looking in the direction of the
castle.  All of them were trying to catch their breath as they had quit
breathing in their greed for the water.

“This is it, the end,” Erelon said solemnly.

“How do you mean?” Easton asked.

“From here, to the castle.  I again become Erelon, the wizard
who leads armies.  A plan of battle and then battle.  It is the end of
preparing, and it is the time to do.  The time of failure or victory.  Either
way, the end of the fight.”

“I’m ready for the end,” Easton said stoutly.

“So am I, so am I,” Erelon agreed with a sigh, “But I am so
tired.  I want it to end, but I am too tired. . . .” Erelon’s voice trailed off
as if he had failed to complete his thought.

“You’re young yet,” Easton argued, “Many years yet, especially
for a wizard.  A few years' vacation and you’ll be a new man.”

“Maybe,” Erelon whispered as his mind trailed.

In this forest he had at one time made children squeal with
surprise as grass, sticks, and leaves took on animated forms.  Before that, the
Keep had been inhabited and surrounded by villages filled with children. 
Before Mortaz, Erelon had been a simple child.

A smile creased Erelon’s face. His mother had given him up for a
better life, and now this was the life he had come to, much the same as she
had, the life she had not wanted for him.

Erelon pushed his body to its feet, pushing away the heavy
thoughts, “Guess we should be moving,” the wizard said.

They climbed onto their horses and began walking them through
the forest.  There was no path to follow, just a general direction in which to
travel.  They stopped as the small door to the large castle appeared.  A
multitude of people passed in and out.  Both wizards stood watching.  This was
supposed to be home, yet neither of them had spent much time living here and did
not recognize any of the faces within the stone opening.

“Here we go,” Easton said with a sound of doom and fate in his
voice.

The wizards led their horses right up to the door, pushing a
path through those coming out and going in.  Both wizards held their heads high
with pride.  Those below looked up at them, not understanding who these two men
were. 

Erelon stepped from his horse and grabbed a young mage by the
shoulder, “I am Erelon.  This is Easton.  Take care of our horses and their
packs.”

The mage’s mouth slowly lowered as Erelon handed him the reins
to Draos. The older wizard walked around to the pack horse and rummaged around
in a sack and, finding a round bundle that contained the Stone of Combining,
walked into the wizards' refuge.  Easton followed closely behind, carrying a
few bags.

Hundreds passed in and out of the main lounge area.  Water still
trickled from the central rock fountain.  A few children ran laughing, but
Erelon did not recognize any of the people.  He passed along the right-hand
wall.  Pushing people aside, Erelon finally reached the stairs.  Quickly he was
up and through a doorway, trying to reach the levels where his room was located
and hoping those hallways were not as congested.  Erelon pulled a key from his
robes and unlocked his door.  Both dropped the packs they were carrying. 

Stepping to a chest, Erelon dropped the stone into it and,
casting a spell, turned to Easton and said, “Let us go find some grub and get
this place really stirring.”

Back down the stairs and through the grand lounge they again
fought.  The cafeteria was no better as hundreds were milling around, talking,
causing a low rumble that forced Easton to talk loudly, “We’re never going to
find any one we know.”

“Hang on,” Erelon simply said with disgust.

Erelon stepped onto a table and clapped his hands.  A huge boom
sounded from his clap, resounding through the room and echoing through the
hallways.  It caused the mountain to shake and dust to fall.

“I am Erelon,” the old wizard announced, “Easton and I have
returned.  Let it be known that in two hours, after Easton and I have eaten and
washed, there will be a meeting in the council hall.  All the wizards and my
generals should be there.”

Erelon stepped back down from the table.  At first the room was
filled with silence.  Slowly, starting with where Erelon had stood and given
his short speech, a low roar of voices spread outward, gaining speed as it
went.  The name of Erelon was on everyone’s mind, and it was the name that all
voices spoke.

Erelon no longer had to push a path; instead one opened up.  The
name Erelon, to many here, had only been a legend, a story.  Now it took shape,
the name and legend took a human form, a real face, that they could see and
touch.  Though it was for this wizard that everyone waited, the presence of
such a great wizard and warrior was still shocking.  Erelon and Easton stepped to the counter and only seconds later were handed platters of food with mugs
of ale.  Silently they sat at a table.  The lines began to again flow, but
slowly as everyone had to first look at the legend and then ponder the future
events that were no longer so distant.

The two wizards had peace for half an hour and then a voice
boomed, “Boys, you look like shit!”

Erelon looked up into the face of Grism.  Yalen was not far
behind.

Erelon smirked, “Yeah.  Well you try going through hell.”

Grism nodded toward Easton, “Been a long time since you last was
here.”

“I was nothing but a pup then,” Easton said with pride and
sadness.

“What happened to ya?” Grism asked.

“Not now, not here,” Erelon replied.

The long table was lined by the grim faces of many wizards. 
Erelon looked down at the many friends and rivals.  Hendle was at the other
end, looking back.  As Erelon and Hendle had entered, Hendle had assured Erelon
that most had been very cooperative, and those causing trouble were becoming
fewer.

One wizard stood, and Erelon could see by the disgruntled look
that he was one of those causing trouble.  He was blond with blue eyes, not a
large frame, but not thin either.

“I don’t like all of these strangers here eating our food,
taking up space.  The dwarves and elves were bad enough, but the giants, they
eat everything.”

Erelon looked at him and growled, “I don’t see you sweeping the
goblins off the front lawn.  There’s only maybe a few dozen of them, and they
eat as much as all of the wizards, but the giants are more useful than a few of
the wizards I know,” Erelon’s biting words pointing toward the blond wizard.

“Easton and I are back,” Erelon stated the obvious, “Now it is
time.  Are we ready?”

“Only a few of the dwarves are here,” Hendle said, “Bahsal and
an army are still coming.”

“Food, weapons, armor, strategy, and the men are lined out and
ready,” another wizard assured Erelon, “We can march when Bahsal arrives.”

“You do have what you left to get?” the troublesome wizard
asked.

“Yeah,” Erelon answered already prepared for trouble.

“Then why do we all go to fight?  Why don’t you just destroy
them?” the blond wizard reproached.

“Are you my master strategist?” Erelon asked mocking. "How
many battles have you fought in?  Must have been a lot considering you seem to
think you know how to plan this fight."

“No,” the blond wizard replied with confusion as Erelon had not
answered the younger wizard's questions.  "I've only fought in a few here,
on the walls," the boy finished in embarrassment.

“Then don’t concern yourself with the battle strategy,” Erelon
reprimanded.  "You do not look hardly old enough to be weaned when we left
Mortaz."

"No," the wizard mumbled.  "Left in a
wagon."  His voice shrank until it was barely audible.

“Everything is ready?” Erelon asked one last time for
confirmation.

A long murmur of positive assurances went around the table. 
“Alright, then I am done here,” Erelon stated, “I am going for some rest. 
Someone find a room for Easton.”

Erelon stood to leave but as he was walking out the door, he
grabbed Grism’s arm and pulled him close and whispered, “I want to know
immediately when Bahsal arrives.”

Erelon was seated at the edge of his bed after sleeping for
several days.  He had only been up long enough to say hello to friends and eat
before going back to an unconscious state.  The only one who did not come by
the room was Festor.  Erelon did not know where the old wizard was located.

A loud knock came through his door.  Erelon looked over and sat
there for a moment just allowing his mind to clear.  The knock came again, and
once again Erelon ignored it, looking towards the window.  The knocking did not
stop.

“Just a moment,” Erelon growled.

The wizard looked toward the bolt lock.  Erelon cast his hand
before it.  The bolt slid back; the knob turned; and the door cracked open. 
The young mage pushed it farther open and began apologizing for interrupting
the wizard’s sleep before he stepped through the door. Erelon was not wearing a
shirt or wraps, his scars visible for all to see.

“It is okay, it is okay,” the wizard grumbled.

“I was told to bring you these,” the mage said, holding out a
pair of dirks whose steel was a red-brown.  They had brown and gold handles and
brass hand guards, and in the pommels were amber fossils.

Erelon took them from the mage and swung them around.  Whoever
had made them knew their craft well.

“What is your name?” Erelon asked the mage.

“Trabin,” came the reply.

Erelon placed the swords back in the mage’s hands, saying, “Keep
these.  They are good swords.  You will need them worse than I.”

Erelon walked over to his window, ignoring the mage until he had
left.

Erelon was seated in the cafeteria eating with several friends. 
Auri and Yalen, Easton and Grism were all there.

“Erelon! Erelon!” a soldier called out to the wizard as he
neared.

Erelon’s head came up, “Yeah.”

“There’s somebody here, asking for you,” the soldier said.  “You
won’t believe who it is.”

Erelon’s mind thought for a second.  It could not be the
dwarves.  Bahsal would have come to see Erelon himself.

“Where are they?” Erelon asked.

“We’re holding them outside the walls,” the guard answered.

“Well, who are—what are they?” Erelon demanded, his patience
growing low as the soldier kept him guessing.

“Trolls,” the soldier answered ominously.  “They came with a
white flag; the giants are ready to destroy ‘em.”

“Trolls,” Erelon said with confusion.

“Yeah, and one carries a pendant that he claims belongs to you,”
the soldier replied.

“Ohhhh,” Erelon said in recognition before roaring in laughter.
“Come on,” Erelon told his friends.

The older wizard led his friends from the castle.  Horses always
remained saddled near the exit.  Each man picked a beast that they liked and
followed Erelon through the forest.