River Of Life (Book 3) (8 page)

The pieces of reptile and bird quickly deteriorated and
disappeared, and the sphere of vines crumbled.  From where the core of the
boulder of vines had landed, a trunk the size of a great man’s waist exploded. 
Vines twisted and spun from its huge expanse, again darting among the men,
striking down soldiers.  Vines rolled across the ground, wrapping around legs,
yanking the men to mash them against the wall, or the ground, or throwing them
into the forest.  Other vines reached from deep within the earth and pulled
soldiers into the ground.  Other vines spiraled from the trees, darting into
warriors, their armor giving little resistance as the vines poked holes through
the metal.

More trunks grew up around the core pillar of the beast, all
deeply rooted, adding more destruction and chaos as if they were adding
hundreds of years of growth to their strength in a matter of seconds.  Again
Erelon sent a stream of ice into their midst, each trunk falling to the earth,
dead from the moment winter touched them.  To the ends of the maze of roots
they froze, the staff’s power reaching far into the ground.

Erelon stood above the area in which they grew.  Deep within the
ground he could see vines growing like a mass of wiggling worms.

Stretching his hand above the pile, he grumbled, “Kroch dest
Boure.”

Some claim it is a spell, but most agree that curse is a better
term.  Below his hand, anything living died.  It was a curse of death—most
magical races had one.  It was said that the Humbas knew of one that would have
killed the entire earth.  The one that Erelon employed was of the dwarves. 
Nothing from then on would grow there.

This area, below the hand of the wizard, would forever be a
black mar upon the world.  Even the trees that stretched out over the cursed
area dried and disintegrated.  The monster died, but so also did that little
section of the earth.  A wizard had to be careful with such spells.  If used
too often or too carelessly, great damage could be caused.  Here, the disease
of death spread like cancer until it ran its course and came to a halt.  Yet
from then on, nothing would grow there and all animals, men, and plants would
avoid it.  It was a permanent scar, one that nature could not hide.

Erelon felt his stomach tense as he watched the creature die. 
The ground caved in a little as the creature shriveled up and decayed.  Grass
died, marking the path that the curse took, looking like the legs of a crab,
spreading, eating the life.  But at least the creature died, Erelon thought to
himself.  No one knew if it would mean death to a man to stay near the spot of
such a curse, but unconsciously, every creature avoided it.  It was a scar that
most would insist even time could not heal.  Erelon looked back at the blotch
he had left, hoping that the legacy he left behind when his time came to leave
this world would not only be one of scars.

Erelon tossed and turned in a restless sleep that left him
sweating heavily.  He was exhausted, but the unconscious world that he hunted
would not come.  The major fight had passed days ago, but his body was still
healing.  The dwarves had not been at that fight and would be disappointed when
they learned about what they had missed.  Several days before the members of
the short stocky race had gone home to see to issues there.

The wizard sat up in bed, tired of fighting his own body.  Sweat
poured from his face, streaming, soaking his clothes and bedding.  He looked
around, his eyes trying to see into the darkness.  Slowly everything within his
room started to come into focus until he could see that all was where it was
supposed to be except his door, which was wide open.  The wizard remembered
closing it before going to bed.  Quickly, something flashed by the door.  The
patter of the creature’s feet told Erelon that it was hoofed and the color of
its mass was that of a mirage created by the light of a blue moon.

Erelon was immediately out of bed, throwing on some clothing and
rushing out the door.  At the foot of his bed always were clothes for
emergencies, especially if the army encamped outside their walls decided to
attack again.

Erelon swiftly passed through the door in time to observe the
creature turn a corner, a corner that Erelon knew would lead downward.  Erelon
gave chase, silently, smoothly gliding through the halls, tracking the
mysterious creature.  He descended several flights of stairs, barely catching
glimpses of his quarry as it fled.  Yet Erelon saw enough to know that it was a
faun, or a spirit of a faun, for it was a luminescent blue.  It was nothing
like any truly living being Erelon had ever seen.

They rushed into the main lobby and on through the door to the
outside world.  The faun hid below the trees.  There was a full moon casting a
faint blue glow on all that was in the world, filling it with a mysterious
silvery blue glow.  The other moon would be hidden behind the mountains.

It seemed that as the moon was covered by clouds, the creature
disappeared, and that it would reappear as the moon again came from behind,
blessing the earth with streams of silver.  The longer the chase lasted, the
fewer the moments came when Erelon got to observe the creature.  Erelon grew
nervous, not sure if the creature was really before him or if it was a mirage,
a hallucination caused by the moon, his mind, or the wraiths.

The wizard stepped through a creek which reflected the moon’s
light, his boots getting wet and water splashing up into his heavy hanging
cloak.  From tree to tree he passed, watching the empty forest around him for
signs of a trap, of the enemy.  The faun’s spirit led him right up to the
mountain’s wall, and then it disappeared.  Erelon looked around for any
physical sign of the faun’s passing, but there was none.  The spirit was gone.

Metal slammed against hot metal, which hissed as it sent a
shower of the impurities of the molten metal spraying throughout the room.  A
sharp ring stunned the ears of those who listened, although the short man who
worked with the iron did not heed the biting noise as he had grown accustomed
to its presence.  The heat from the mass of forges in the underground location
beat on the two dwarves who watched.  They stood on a high balcony, looking on
the laboring form of a fellow dwarve.

“He did not ask another soul to help him with the great task,”
one dwarve growled low to the other.

“Didn’t trust anyone with a task that has so much importance,”
the other responded in the same low tone, as if trying to remain quiet as not
to disturb the laborer below, as if their voices could carry over the pounding
of metal.

The skin was leather, hard and brown, not from the sun, but the
blast of furnaces and the mighty work that was pursued in the vast forges.  The
heat caused the entirety of the caverns in sight to waver, looking to an
unaccustomed viewer as if they might collapse.  The hammer rose and fell, time
and again, the finished blade pulled from the fire, cooling and turning to a
dull black.  This was a metal little used by the dwarves and known to no other
race.  It was being used for a special commission.

Three swords and two spears, each with a complementary shield. 
Yet these were not the weapons for the average warrior.  These were for five of
the giants, warriors of the North.

Word had just come that a significant number of giants proceeded
from the northern mountains to fight in the second battle for Mortaz, the
battle to destroy the wraiths.  Five great warriors, leaders among their
tribes, were among those giants that traveled.  For these honored guests and brothers
on the field of battle, the dwarves now made weapons that had no match in the
forges of the race of giants.

Many of the giants only wielded clubs and wore jerkins of
leather.  So for the five distinguished guests, the dwarves made special
weapons.  The great difficulty came in the obstacle that the dwarves, not being
huge, were unable to feel the weapons in their own hands.  They were unable to
make exact and perfectly balanced blades from past experience, so special
caution had to be taken.

The cord of metal slowly was pounded into a fine blade and then
honed until as fine as a razor.  A handle, twice the length of an average man’s
arm, was installed.  Two bronze halves, placed about the base of the black
metal, were then soldered together.  Black leather was precisely wrapped around
the handle so perfect gaps were left to allow the bronze to blaze through. 
Finally, a rivet was hammered at intervals to hold the leather in place.  Each
rivet was beaten until smooth.

The weapons were massive, and because of the uncertainty in
their making, Bahsal had only entrusted their forging to himself.  The weapons
were to be presented on the day before the march, and the plan was that the
following day they were to be used in battle.  The metal flattened with each
blow.  The only décor for the blade was to be the rings from each blow of the
hammer.  Over two dozen giants were coming.

They might be a little slow mentally, but they understood
receiving and giving honor to those who deserved it.  Still, they were not as
mindless as some led the world to believe.  They had not won and lost many a
battle against the trolls without learning and gaining experience.  Their race
still lived and continued.

Again the hammer rang, metal sparks bounced off the walls, the
fire leapt and sank. To appease this race, was the thought in Bahsal’s mind. 
To help give them a reason for coming, especially as Erelon would not be there
for them to follow.

Erelon slipped from the saddle of his horse just inside the
forest behind the gates of the defending wall.

Auri was there to give him the details of what they knew, “They
request an audience with you.  They asked for you by name.”

“Who is 'they'?” Erelon questioned, feeling that this could be
important even though he knew the answer.

“The enemy,” Auri replied

Only moments before, a runner had wakened Erelon saying that he
was wanted at the wall.  The master wizard had thrown on his clothes, grabbed
his sword, and in a matter of minutes was racing his horse down the pathways of
the forest.  The enemy had not attacked strongly since being held back in that
remarkable battle with the flying monster.  They had started several
skirmishes, but nothing to create mass chaos.  That huge battle was by now
several months past.

Now they asked for an audience with Erelon under a white flag of
temporary peace.  The wizard did not understand what they hoped to gain except
getting the gates open.  Yet curiosity also consumed Erelon, and as he surmised
he had the power to hold back a surge of the wraiths’ soldiers, he considered
risking meeting the enemy leader.

“Do you know what it is that I am facing?” Erelon asked,
preparing himself mentally for what was to come.

“Some kind of Minotaur riding a monster,” Auri responded, not
really understanding what it was that the wizard faced.

Erelon walked before the gates.  He loosened his sword in its
sheath, adjusted his knives and belts, cracked his neck, and with a nod of his
head, motioned that he was ready for the gates to be opened.

Hinges cracked and popped as the huge stone barricades were
rolled back, pulled by a team of huge horses.  Men were already reversing the
chains on the gears before the monster rode in so that they could quickly pull
the gates shut.

Erelon looked around him, Durge to his right, Auri to his left,
Yalen on the wall.  Behind, Erelon knew Grism stood ready.  With confidence
that his men could handle any attack thrown at them, Erelon turned his
attention toward the creature that rode through the opening.  A huge creature,
part bison, but mostly troll, rode through on a creature that had the body of a
horse, but the eight legs of a spider.  The minotaur had four arms, the bottom
two wielding swords, a white flag in his top left, and a spear loosely held in
his top right.  Behind his bovine eyes was a light of intelligence, and its
body contained the strength of a giant, ugly troll.

“The lords of the keep say that if you will all be willing to
give up your weapons, you and those that you protect may join the army of the
great lords.  Those that do not join the great army of my lords will be allowed
to be the last living people.  My most merciful lords only ask that the life of
one small wizard, Erelon, be given to show the trust and compliance of those
surrendering.”

The minotaur gave the terms of its masters, a grin creasing its
face as it knew its terms would not be accepted.

Erelon also grinned and stated, “You know those terms I cannot
accept.”

"I did not expect you to accept those terms, but I thought
maybe the men with you may have a change of heart," the monster laughed.

"I am afraid that I speak for the men with me," Erelon
smirked.

“Very well, as you wish,” the minotaur said, and without giving
the defenders a chance to change positions, it kicked its steed, sending it
flying towards the wizard.  Erelon stepped forward to meet the enemy.  Quickly
Erelon dodged the spider’s legs.  The huge creature was above him.  A leg
slammed into the ground, and Erelon jerked his body back.  A giant spear
slammed into the ground in front of the wizard.  He jerked his right arm back,
his feet clumsily moving to keep from getting crushed as another leg from the
beast stomped.  Easily Erelon stepped around every blow that the minotaur tried
to place, a stumbling dance they seemed to engage in as Erelon tripped the
steed several times.

As a chain whip flashed before the wizard, he knew it was time
to fight seriously.  A leg pierced the earth before him, trying to impale the
wizard.  Erelon’s sword came out and cut through the limb, the exoskeleton
crunching as the sword broke through.  The creature wailed, and before it could
regain its balance, two more legs were gone as the wizard spun around taking
two with the same cut.