River Of Life (Book 3) (7 page)

“We should do something,” Yalen hissed.

The master wizard looked at him and asked, “What?”

“I don’t know.  Do you have some spell?” Yalen suggested.

“Nothing that would not do more damage than what the goblins are
already causing,” Erelon replied.

“Then let’s go down and destroy them as we did before,” Yalen
suggested, revenge sounding within his voice.

“It would accomplish nothing except to prolong the destruction
for maybe a few days and put the lives of many men at needless risk,” Erelon
replied with a whisper.

Yalen, disgruntled, planted his feet firmly where he stood, as
if by watching the destruction of the living woods, he could gain some
understanding or revelation through the horrid moment.  Erelon also stood,
observing, not turning away, and watching for anything they might try
afterwards.  Without an attack from Suragenna, the goblins might grow bold and
attack the walls.

“Erelon!  Erelon!” a voice exclaimed.

The master wizard looked into a green mirror at his feet.  In
it, a face looked out, the face of Festor.

“What is happening at your end?” Festor questioned.

“Nothing much,” Erelon replied, “The goblins are attacking the
trees and making my elven friends uneasy.”

A grunt came from Festor, and then the old wizard’s face
disappeared from view, sinking into a swirling fog.  Festor was at the other
end of the wall where it again cut into the woods far south and attached itself
to the mountain wall.  Grism was in the center where the walls looked out on
the grassy hills that rolled out across the horizon.  Up on the wall, Grism
could see where the hills were dotted by blue and green ponds that looked like
they were covered in diamond dust.  Rivers were marked by dark lines of trees
and brush that looked like a lacy trim.  Several such magical mirrors were what
allowed the men to communicate, but their range was extremely limited.

From the depths of the forest, shadows began to move.  Slowly
they pulled together and began to take on forms, human-like forms.  They
gripped the master wizard’s interest.  For a moment, Erelon did not know if it
was his own mind, an illusion, or if it was real.  And if it was real, what was
its nature?  One look at Yalen, and Erelon knew he was not the only one there
who had witnessed the strange event within the trees.

The eyes of the elf were intense, his ears strained for any
sound, his whole body stiff as all his senses tried to catch any clue that
would tell him what was happening or going to happen.  The elf’s hand already
clutched a knife’s handle.

The goblins were completely unaware of what built behind them
from the shadows.  Slowly, from the dark eaves of the forest, the shadows
stepped, human of shape with pointed ears, lithe forms, and young faces.  Elves,
dark elves of the darkest places in the forest.  The dark elves stepped behind
the goblins, their blades going through the soft tissue of their throats and
bellies.  The assailants did not make a sound, nor their victims as they
slipped silently to the earth’s floor.

As quickly and quietly as the elves had arrived, they were gone
as if they had turned to ash to be stolen by the strong breeze.  Both Erelon
and Yalen stared at one another.

“Well. . . .?” Yalen asked.

“It was not me,” Erelon said with shock.

“They weren’t mine,” Yalen said with finality.

Both stood for a few moments in silence before the wizard broke
it with words of wisdom, “There is legend that elves still live in the darkest
shadows of this forest, that not all fled before the onslaught of the original
wraiths.”

“Yeah, well, I thought it was just legend,” a soldier from
nearby spoke out.

“Whatever happened, it will make for a good story when I am
drinking with the dwarves tonight,” Erelon replied optimistically.

THE world around Mortaz was pale brown, covered in a pale dirty
blue sky that did little to block the rays of the angry sun.  What had been
once white stone was covered in a light brown dust, dust that came from the
earth that had been at one time fertile, covered with green vegetation, life,
and dark earth that supported it.  The room was partly covered in shadow, light
streaming in through an opening that led to a balcony that looked on the outside
world.  On a single stand lay a book, its pages thick and heavy, dark with
age.  Dead mold was thick as at one time it had grown on the parchment when it
had been stored in a dungeon.  It was one of those artifacts that the wraiths
had claimed as they conquered countries in their quest to rule the world.

A wraith now stood before it, its form dark but transparent with
eyes glowing red.  Slowly pages began to flip, one landing heavily upon the
next.  The binding was half worn out, and the cover was torn and scorched as if
someone had unsuccessfully tried to destroy the book.  Pages quit turning, and
the spirit turned towards the inside of the old wizards' fortress.  A goblin
strolled to the book and picked it up without closing it.

The spirit and the goblin stood on the highest wall.  The goblin
held the book before the wraith while something that resembled an appendage
waved before the transparent warlock.  From the ground burst monsters of huge
proportions, varieties, and elements.  Monsters that were plants, beasts, and
any mix of them.

Most roamed the floor of the earth, yet a few flew.  As they
broke the surface of the earth’s skin, chunks of hardened dirt flew, and
craters in which a troll could be buried were left in the ground.  Each knew
their mission, that mission was the same for each beast.  To destroy the
wizards, the few enemies that stood between the warlocks and total control over
the earth.

The wizards, they were the only ones that could actually cause
trouble.  That trouble, the transparent warlocks planned to end now as their
army of monsters fell behind a natural leader, a four armed beast with the body
of a troll and the head of a giant bison.

ERELON walked below the broken ceiling that was made of the
foliage of the trees.  He easily stepped across a dry brown carpet.  The wizard
wore his black cloak with the insignia of his rank.  The hood was thrown back
which allowed the light to catch the waves within his hair which began to be
highlighted with white streaks.  He walked with his ice staff in hand.  Below
his cloak was an off white tunic with brown leather straps crossing his body
that were studded with knives.  He went nowhere without being armed.  His
magical elven sword hung low, its tip visible below the black cloak.

Behind the wizard, giggling children followed.  They were young,
unaware of the true danger beyond the fortifications.  They knew something
hostile lay out beyond the stone barrier, but they did not understand its exact
nature.  They knew who the legendary hero Erelon was, and now following the one
they looked up to, the children tried their best not to alarm the wizard and so
cause Erelon to send them back to where they came from.

This was adventurous for the little children.  They followed the
incredibly dangerous and powerful wizard Erelon.  Several had already turned
back; these who continued to follow were the bravest.  Erelon knew that they
trailed him.  The children thought they were quiet.  For a man who had been
hunted and had been the hunter, a warrior who had killed so that he could
continue to live, the noise they made was tremendous.

Erelon’s path dipped into a shallow ravine.  Several logs
crossed it, and at the bottom ran a small stream of silver water.  Small brushy
areas clustered at its edge where a few leafy spindly trees grew.  Erelon
stooped down and began snapping twigs and choosing leaves, allowing those that
he discarded to slowly twist and turn on their way back to the floor of the
forest.

With fibers of grass as string, Erelon wrapped and tied a
sculpture together in full view of the children.  Finally finished, he held up
a bird made of twigs and leaves.  Casting it into the air, the toy bird took
off with a flutter, calling out with its magical voice.  It circled the wizard
a couple rounds before taking flight into the tops of the trees and disappearing.

Strong squeals of glee attested to the enjoyment of the
children.  Their nervous shuffling feet showed their curiosity and their wish
for a closer view.

Yet a loud, harsh, “Shhh,” came from an older boy who felt they
were still hidden.

Erelon turned to them with a mischievous smile.  The wizard was
enjoying this game.  These children made him forget for a moment who he was and
what his mission was in this world.

The wizard waved them to his side, beckoning for them to come
closer, reassuring them that they did not have anything to fear.  To bring a
little joy to the children, to see their faces light up and to elicit laughter
from them, that was Erelon’s mission at the moment.  It brought him a happy
moment, and a seldom-seen smile creased the wizard’s face.  The image of
Chaucer giving the toys to the children of Salis flashed before Erelon's eyes
for a moment, and Erelon finally understood the feelings that had filled his
old mentor when he had given the children the toys.

From behind trees, over half a dozen youth came bounding up to
the old wizard, no longer afraid of him.  However, the older boy with distrust
hung behind, slowly following as if he wanted to see what happened to the
others first.  Erelon set to gathering more sticks and leaves, quickly binding
them into a little boat with little men.  His hands easily bent and twisted the
leaves and sticks as if he had done this many times.  Setting it into the
stream, it came to life: men raced around, the sails filled, and off down the
river it sailed on adventures of its own.

The sun shone bright, and reflecting from the stream, it cast
moving golden patterns against the boat’s hull, patterns that curved and
crossed.  Giggling and shouting, the children followed the boat down the stream
until a horn sounded from the direction of the wall.

At that moment, the world seemed to stop for the wizard.  Again
the task and the enemy before him clouded his mind, the joy he brought the
children gone.  The children had abandoned their pursuit of the boat, their
ears listening to the loud nasal warning.

“Come,” Erelon ordered and began shoving the children in the
direction of the woodland path.

Men in armor raced up and down its length.  Several horses
charged and were gone with a breeze following behind.

“Hey, you!” Erelon exclaimed to one of the soldiers running
towards the wall, “Take these children back to the mountain.”  Erelon had
demanded with no room for the man to refuse.

Leaving the children in the charge of the soldier, Erelon raced
toward the protective wall.  Already several of the enemy mounted the summits
as the master wizard arrived, flying through the trees.  With an outstretched
arm, Erelon caused magical electricity to envelop those goblins that had
reached the top of the wall.

The goblins' bodies grew stiff and straight as the electricity
caused their muscles to spasm and grow taunt.  The bodies of the gray creatures
fell to the earth with a sullen, dull thud, nerves still sending the muscles
into ugly spasms that caused their faces to turn into wretched masks even
though the mind and heart were dead.  Even as the dead bodies of slain enemies
came crashing down around Erelon, he grabbed a knotted rope and swung up the
wall.

Easily he climbed, one hand after the other, his muscles growing
tight, sweat dripping from his wrenched face and taunt skin.  The wizard’s body
brushed the rough wall, and his cloak trailed far below, hanging straight.

First one hand and then another grasped the rough rock ledge,
then the wizard pulled with his full strength, heaving his body onto the
ledge.  As he stood, bringing his sword from its sheath all in the same fluid
movement, he looked down into the eyes of a beast, a wolfman.  They were yellow
glaring eyes, the eyes of one who loved to kill, hated those that fought back,
but hated still worse those who were such cowards that they would not fight.

Erelon’s sword descended, opening a bloody gap between those horrible
eyes. The body fell to the floor of the wall, and with a shove of his boot,
Erelon sent it tumbling over the edge into the swarming mob below.

Quickly Erelon moved in for the kill.  Each stroke destroyed at
least one enemy. He wasted no energy, no move was pointless.  Erelon brought
the blade downward, cleaving the skull of one enemy, and as he brought the
blade back, an unsuspecting goblin found the hot magical tip of Erelon's blade
searing a path through his throat.  Erelon used every inch of the blade.  One
moment using the heavy thick section where it connected into the pommel to
sever the arm off one creature, and the next using only the tip, allowing it to
only slighting sink into the back of another monster.

The enemies were mostly goblins, yet within them were mixed
motley beasts that Erelon did not know from where the wraiths had spawned
them.  Part wolves, trolls, and spiders mixed with men or other creatures.  A
few even seemed related to wraiths.  Suddenly, Erelon and Yalen met on the wall. 
Instinctively, they turned their backs together and went back to work.

“The battle is mostly contained along the wall within the
forest,” Yalen shouted above the roar of rushing bodies and metal crashing into
metal.

Erelon shoved his sword through the throat of one goblin and
twisted it so that it came out free and then brought it downward through the
bowels of another.  The pressure of the mob pushed against his body, but Erelon
anchored his feet into the ground, pushing back so that he was not shoved from
the wall to fall to the ground far below.

“Those watching the prairie wall should stay at their posts
anyway.  Do not want to be surprised,” Erelon replied as he smashed the butt of
his sword into the face of a goblin, blood squirting from a crack in its skull,
and then yanked on its arm sending him over the edge of the wall.

Yalen only gave a nod of his head in acknowledgement.

On the enemy came.  They used few ladders; instead, they
ascended the walls like bugs, using all four of their own limbs.  They
clambered over every inch of the stone wall, a vertical flood of gray bodies. 
Finally some men began dumping oil and tar over the walls, but Erelon refused
to have it lit.  The oil made the wall slick, and the enemy slid back to the
ground.  The goblins grew wise.  Erelon saw as torches were flung, the goblins
setting it on fire themselves even though it consumed many of their own.

Smoke and fire billowed over the edge of the wall, blinding
those who guarded it.  As the smog cleared and the fires and heat died, men
could still see overpowering numbers of enemy warriors.  Wizards used magical
spells, fire, electricity, and wind, but nothing could turn aside the dark
swarm.  Explosions filled the base of the wall as earth and bodies flew in all
directions.  Bodies were wrapped around trees or impaled on limbs, chunks of
flesh hanging like clothes on a line to dry.  Erelon shoved his sword into the
sky.  Lightning bolts came from the clear blue beyond and slammed into the earth
at the base of the wall.  Dirt showered his own soldiers along with pieces of
the enemy bodies.

Erelon slammed the pommel of his sword into the face of a goblin
before pitching him over the wall and then plunging the blade into the bowels
of another.  The stomach, so soft.  A blade easily went through without
catching on bone or cartilage, and yet the wound would be so vicious that even
though the victim would die slowly, it would be unable to continue the fight.

The wizard scooped up a scimitar that had fallen from the dead
hands of a goblin.  With two blades, he rushed the goblins along the wall.  He
brought both down, severing the arms from one.  Then brought them back around
through another.  He twisted, turned and loosed the scimitar so that it flew
awkwardly through the air to plunge through the chest of a wolfman.  The
creature looked at the point that had burst through its ribs before collapsing
and falling over the edge of the wall.  Erelon rushed in, slamming his shoulder
into one goblin, his sword held out straight before him, skewering another.

Elves looped long chains about crenellations and swung over the
wall.  Erelon watched as Yalen swung a chain over his head and whipped it
around a rock post.  As the chain snapped back to the elf, he shoved a pin
between two links, holding them together, and slipped over the wall, running. 
The chains grew taunt as the other end was wrapped around the elf.  For the
elf, the side of the wall suddenly became the floor.  They swept along the rock
barricade’s length, their blades attacking all those obstructing their path. 
They pushed over or sliced through the few ladders, and the chain between them
and the wall’s summit dislodged hundreds of the enemy so that they tumbled to
their deaths far below.

The elves’ feet moved quickly so that they could run along the
wall, and as they rushed upwards, their chains forcing them into a half circle
course, they were received into outstretched friendly arms.  The elves would be
disoriented, nauseous as the world again rolled over and righted itself, but
for them, the work was done.  The attack had been quick and efficient.

Erelon was a little surprised, but they were elves.  With them,
one never knew what to expect.  He had never seen such a battle strategy, yet
the walls had been effectively cleared.  Erelon just stood there with arms
crossed, watching the elves as they tried to clear their minds and reclaim
equilibrium.  Yalen stumbled around, his head hung low, his eyes closed as they
raced back and forth while his mind tried to remember what was the right side
of the world to stand upon.

Erelon was attacked.  A beast slammed into him, knocking him off
the wall.  A beast made from a huge boulder of poison oak vines and decorated
with leaves with razor edges hurled towards him by use of a pair of monstrous
condor wings.  A hissing reptilian head peered from the sphere.  The monster’s
mass slammed into the master wizard.  Erelon’s breath was stolen from him,
every bone in his body groaning and crying in distress.  The wizard’s head felt
like some troll had hit him with a mallet.  His mind instinctively cast a
sphere or shield of energy, that absorbed the blow of the ground.  His body was
so numb that it could not feel the collision as he bounced across the earth and
rolled into the trunk of a tree.

All he could hear was a high pitched ringing in his ears as he
stood wheeling in circles, disoriented.  The creature’s vines whipped,
splitting men in half.  Other men still living were impaled on the vines and
could be seen writhing in pain as they were carried and thrown around. 
Suddenly, as if the maddened creature first noticed their heavy bodies
weighting upon his powerful tentacles, it sent several more vines through the
warriors' bodies.  Finally, the creature would drop the carcasses to the
ground, full of holes where its vines had tunneled.

A tentacle whipped by Erelon’s skull, and again, he was saved
only by an unconscious shield.  Still, Erelon found himself picking his body
from the ground, an angry red welt creasing his forehead.  Anger filled the
wizard’s entire body.  He could feel its heat; Erelon’s body even seemed to
begin to take on a glow of its own.  Erelon pulled the ice staff from within
his cloak and brandished it, swinging it around his head once before shoving it
in the direction of the monster.  He sent the ferocity of winter towards the
creature made of summer’s madness.  A ball of ice surrounded by a cloud of cold
and crystal dust flew into the creature and disappeared into it.  Instantly,
the monster hit the ground and died.  Its vines went limp, its visage blue and
white, ice crystals forming in its cells that had contained liquids.  The
leaves dried and fell to the ground.