River Of Life (Book 3) (9 page)

The steed’s heavy body fell forwards, its chest slamming into
the earth and spraying leaves and dirt into the air.  All of its appendages
were scrambling as it tried to heave its heavy body away from the one who
caused pain.  Even what remained of the severed limbs struggled, pushing when
they touched something tangible and twisting in the air, scattering blood and
dirt.

The minotaur dismounted, each of his huge, wide, six-toed feet
dropping heavily onto the earth.  He dropped a chain whip in the same motion. 
He looked with anger toward the wizard, but walked to the head of his beast,
locking his hands around the whining creature, and gave a sharp jerk and twist,
snapping its neck like a twig.  The entire body, including the legs, eased and
went limp.  The troll dropped its ride and turned to face his enemy.  He looked
at the sword.  The blade was magical, its heat and power could be felt a long
distance away.  The beast pulled two axes and began to madly swing, cutting
through the air, but not touching anything.  The blades came down, slamming
into the earth, casting dirt, though the enemy was cautious to avoid the magical
sword of the wizard.

The bovine eyes followed it continuously, not wanting to feel
the wrath of the elvish smith cutting into his flesh.  Erelon rolled below the
arc of one axe, and as the minotaur backed from the elvish blade, the wizard’s
lance pierced through its belly.  Warm, dark red liquid poured down the troll’s
body.  The monster had not even noticed that the wizard had picked up the
lance.

The wizard held onto the lance, knowing that such a small wound
in a giant beast would not stop it.  Yet as the wizard held on, he jerked with
his weight, throwing the creature off balance.  The axes went flying out of the
monstrous hands which were used to break his fall.

Quickly, Erelon was next to the monster, his sword going through
both knees, permanently grounding the minotaur.  Erelon slipped up the
monstrous back, his sword severing the bison’s head from the troll body.  The
huge mass of flesh collapsed on the ground, casting dust into the air.

Erelon looked towards the gate.  It was shut, but something on
the other side heaved against it.  Inside the gates was a pile of goblin
bodies, enemies that had broken through before the defenders could close the
gates.  Both the men of Auri and Durge gasped for air, tired from their assault
against the enemies who had entered.

Sections of rock seemed to explode from the gate as some force
applied pressure on the other side.

“Erelon!” the urgent voice of the elf Yalen called anxiously to
the wizard.

“What?” Erelon asked, growing uncomfortable as he knew the
battle was far from over.

“Something, some giant creature is pushing against our gates. 
The arrows of my kin can’t pierce its gray rock hide,” Yalen ended with a look
that asked Erelon what they were to do.

“We are going to let it through,” Erelon replied with confidence,
with resolution.

“Whatttt?” Yalen asked with horror and surprise all at once.

“Just as before,” Erelon responded, “Auri on one side, Durge the
other.  Have horses ready to shut the gates when the creature gets inside, cut
off its help, and escape after it gets in.  If it breaks the doors down, we
won’t be able to keep anything out.  Our only chance is to let in the one and
destroy him.  Just hold them out for a moment as I get some other men set up.”

Durge and Auri had been close enough to hear the wizard’s plan;
both looked at each other with eyes wide in amazement.  Yet they did not
question the orders but began, themselves, giving orders to their men,
organizing for the assault.

Erelon turned to several men behind him.  Grabbing one wizard by
the shoulder, the master wizard commanded, “Once the creature gets inside, hit
it with a bolt of electricity.”

The wizard turned to two other men and pointed to two large
siege weapons that were based on the concept of the ballista.  However, these
shot rounded stones and not crossbow bolts.  They were seldom used as they were
hard and slow to load.  They required an extraordinary amount of pressure.

“Bring those to me,” Erelon commanded of both men.

Again the wizard stood before the gate.  Kneeling down, he held
his hands with outstretched fingers over the ground.  Slowly dirt rose and
began to bubble and glow as it turned to molten ooze.  Within a sphere of
energy, much like what Erelon used for shields, the wizard entrapped dirt and
built pressure and heat within it until the earth melted and formed into a
heavy steel sphere.  Erelon closed his eyes as he dropped several of these to
the ground.

Turning to the men operating the ballistae, Erelon commanded,
“Here, use these.”

Looking at the men who were shooting the ballistae, Erelon
stated solemnly, “I need the creature fairly stationary for only a moment in
order to use the spell I think will destroy it.  That is your task.”

Erelon did not say another word but instead turned to face the
opening door.

Slowly the defenders released the stops that held the door
closed.  Erelon’s plan was simple.  Allow the big brute inside, close the door
behind him, and allow as few enemies as possible inside with it.  Erelon’s
concern was whether the monster would destroy the gate getting in.  It would be
impossible to keep the enemy out if they rushed both the gate and the walls. 
Allow the monster inside, ambush it, destroy it.

The gate swung open and the monster charged blindly in. 
Multiple heads grew on its body like warts; each muscle was cut with
geometrical clarity.  Its hide was made of rock.  Immediately, the ballistae
behind Erelon shot their steel spheres.  One smashed into the monster’s knee
cap, tearing a hole into it, sending chunks of rock hurtling through the air.  
The giant monster began to favor its left leg, bringing it towards the ground
as it could no longer support it's own weight.  The second shot slammed into
the right shoulder, contorting the monster out of shape as it was twisted.  Its
left leg began to crumple and its right side was jerked backwards.

A lightning bolt streaked from the sky, causing the monster’s
body to straighten in paralysis.  Erelon clapped his hands together flatly
above his head in a pyramidal form.  It made a thunderous sound as he began to
whisper the spell.  Slowly he brought his hands straight down, still together,
splitting the creature visually in half.  Still holding his hands vertical and
straight, he pulled them apart, half of the rock monster on either side.  The
rock beast cracked apart with a piercing explosion.  Erelon released the spell
and the rock monster crumbled into a pile of rubble.

DURGE stormed the enemy that gathered behind the rock monster. 
He knew that the giant menace was Erelon’s to bring down; he trusted that the
wizard could destroy the monster as he had promised.  The gates started to
close as Durge and his men engaged the enemy.  Sword in one hand, shield in the
other, the warrior started swinging low, hiding below his round metal shield. 
It was light, given to him by dwarven smiths.

Cutting the legs from under one foe, Durge charged on, pushing
against the enemy, waiting for the gates to close so that he could meet with
Auri and pin the enemy against the wall.  Bodies piled up, and more still
came.  He shoved back with his shield, keeping the enemy before him, trying to
avoid making himself venerable.  A hairy gray leg stepped below the shield,
Durge's sword slipped out, cutting it at the knee.  The goblin fell forward, he
slipped the blade up below it's chin.  The warrior looked around, his line of
defenders held fast.  A wall of shields, forcefully pushing back on the gray
flood.

A wolfman jumped over the wall, and attacked from the back
side.  His first swipe severed the muscles across the back of several
warriors.  Then it was impaled by several arrows and pitched forward into the
ground.  Durge's men spread a little thinner trying to cover the extra space. 
The sound of metal cutting through skin and muscle mixed with the banging of
metal on metal.  Durge's muscles grew warm.  Sweat trickled between his armor
and his clothes.  Will need to oil my armor again, the thought passed through
his mind.  It was a brilliant mirrored silver in the sun light, he abhorred men
who wore armor into battle that had rusted.

He swung his shield into the face of another goblin, crushing
its nose so that blood squirted back into the enemy mass.  Some one else shoved
a blade through it's ribs.  To his right he saw a soldier go down as he tripped
over the body of a dead goblin.  A larger monster in the back pushed forward
causing the enemy mass to ripple.  Durge leaned into his shield and held the
sword forward ready to block and swing.  It was slow, the goblins pressed
together so tightly that few could make an honest effort to fight.  Durge's men
kept in close, slowly striking down those on the edge of the enemy mass who
tried.

He felt a sword glance off the armor around his abdomen. 
Immediately his sword came down, severing the hand that held the sword.  Durge
forced the goblin back into the mass, a body that was extra padding between him
and the wall of goblins who were still capable of fighting.  Screaming came
from his right.  He looked between the slits in his visor.  One of his men was
down, his leg gone.

"Get him out of here!" Durge roared.

"But sir, our defense, our wall is thinning," came a
cry of alarm from a soldier.

"I will hold it.  Get him out of here," Durge growled
and slid to his right to help fill the gap.

One gate shut, but the other stood wide open, and with nothing
to lock and brace against the closed gate, it began to give against the pushing
hordes.  Looking back, the horses that were to pull the other gate shut, were
gone.  In the panic of battle, they had bolted.  The chain to which they had
been attached, the chain that pulled on gears to close the gate, lay along the
ground limp as it had been severed.

“Hestler!” Durge yelled to a giant man who easily slung the
largest of enemies, even the wolfmen,  “Come with me.”

Durge began to push a path to the open door, Hestler following,
swinging madly with a mace.  Several died with every swing.  Every swing was an
onslaught, leaving a clearly defined path.

“Get some more men and push,” Durge ordered.

As Hestler and a dozen other men began to push, several more
gripped the chain and began to pull.  Durge organized men to protect those that
labored to close the valve that allowed the inflow of enemies.

"There," Durge pointed to the men who pulled against
the chain while grabbing one man by the shoulder.  "I want two men
fighting for every one pulling."

Grabbing another by the arm Durge bellowed, "How many do we
have left."

"Ten from the Duras district," the soldier bellowed
proudly.

"Twenty of our finest from home then," Durge proudly
puffed back.  "Bring them, eight to help Hestler push, twelve to
protect."

The enemy quickly observed the valiant effort of Durge and his
men and charged, ignoring all other warriors that attacked their flanks. 
Durge’s shield brought down one as it slammed into the creature’s skull, and
then his sword lunged.  Durge did not lead a grand offensive push; instead, he
backed up, protecting those trying to close the gates.  They fell into a half
circle around those shoving against the door.  For all it budged, the men might
as well have been pushing against the wall.  The goblins from the other side
held it steady.

Time and again Durge would swing his shield and bring his sword
crashing downwards.  His arms began to scream, and a spasm took control so that
his shield arm jerked and flinched.

"Move!"  He bellowed to his body.

He brought his sword down through the hip of one goblin as he
shield came up over his head to block a blow from a crude spiked mace built
from a log and thorns.  His sword lunged into the abdomen of another goblin,
and then cut through the rib cage of another before he brought his shield
swinging back down, shattering the arachnid leg of another beast.

He swung both the shield and sword around wildly trying to force
the enemy back while slowly backing up himself, spittle and foam madly flying
out of his visor.  He looked around at his shrinking circle of defenders.  Two
who had been pushing against the door had left to help with the defense of
those trying desperately to close it.  Hestler had set his enormous shield up
to help protect him and the others pushing with him from the barrage of arrows
and spears.

An intense pain broke his rhythm as an arrow pierced his armor. 
Breaking the shaft off, Durge continued, blood draining from the wound just
below his arm.  Around him, his men were falling fast as they bore the brunt of
the enemy assault.

An enemy before the southerner fell as an arrow bit into the
creature’s face.  Durge slashed at another, and as he thrust his sword, it went
through the wooden shield of a goblin.  The shield was twisted with the arm of
Durge still within it, snapping the bone.  The warrior’s sword fell.  He
brought the shield up to protect him, but it was futile.  An arrow pierced his
neck, blood gurgled to his lips and filled his lungs, and as goblins passed,
they pitched into his body with every weapon they carried, scattering flesh and
blood until the warrior lay in pieces.

Hestler watched as his commander Durge fell.  Without any sign
of emotion, he went back to shoving on the door.  Durge’s courageous efforts
would go for nothing if the gate was not closed and the walls overrun.  A sword
tore at Hestler’s arm.  Turning, he grabbed the face of the goblin and squeezed
it until it popped and oozed like a grapefruit.  With disappointment, Hestler
saw that those that had pulled on the chain lay dead and his entire defense was
gone.  Only Hestler and the few that had helped him in pushing against the
gates remained.  The goblins swarmed on them like insects.  A mace appeared as
Hestler made ready for the confrontation.  With power and agility, Hestler
swung, and quickly the first line fell, their bodies broken and as he brought
the massive shield around, more flew backwards through the air, each body
clunking against the metal shield.

Yet Hestler did not get a second chance to swing.  A swarm of
short, stocky men brandishing axes and wearing red-hued armor stepped before
him.  They were yelling threats and chants for war in a guttural language that
caused the earth to shake.  Hundreds more charged the goblins' flank, pushing
them out the gates.  More lay hold of the chain and started pulling, the gates
closing as their powerful bodies made the gears turn.

The rock menace disintegrated before Erelon.  With a sigh of
relief, Erelon breathed easier, until he noticed the plan had not worked as it
had been plotted.  The gates were not closed, and through them poured a gray
ocean.  On the right side, Durge struggled to hold back an onslaught as several
men tried to close the doors themselves.

On the left, Auri struggled to make a path to join Durge.  The
elves from the top of the walls were working hard to keep the enemy from
scaling the embattlements.  They did not have the time nor the numbers to help
those below.  Too many of the enemy and too few warriors, Erelon thought to
himself sadly.

Behind, Erelon heard Grism’s men give a cry of energy and then
charge.  Quickly Erelon was also caught up in the tide of charging men as well
as feeling their adrenaline flow through him.  Sword out, he cried out in
dwarvish, a battle cry learned from Bahsal.  Suddenly he felt as if something
had answered him.  Looking around, hundreds of dwarves flew in, swinging axes. 
The enemy did not have a chance to escape as the heated dwarves swept in. 
Bahsal led a charge to the door, protecting those there that fought to close
it.  Bahsal and his dwarves created a wall as the flood of the enemy smashed
into it.  The wall moved little.  Such a dust was stirred that only the helmets
of the dwarves could be seen above it.  But the goblins disappeared into the
dust as each stroke of a dwarvish axe brought them down to the ground.

Erelon, Grism, and their men swept into the battle, Erelon bringing
his shoulder up into one and his sword crashing into another, now flaming
brilliantly with so many friendly races so close and needing its help.  The men
following Erelon and Grism, along with dwarves, shoved the enemy into the
walls.  Electrical energy exploded from Erelon and raced through the center of
the enemy army and out through the gates, casting severed and burned bodies
left and right.  The gates had slammed shut, any chance of reinforcements for
the enemy shut out and held down by the elvish archers on the walls.  The
entirety of the enemy forces that were trapped inside died before an onslaught
that they had never expected.  Erelon's men and the dwarves pushed them up
against the walls so that the goblins could not move, pinched between rock and
the bodies of their fellow warriors.

On a stand, a bier, a fire roared.  It rose high into the air so
that it could be seen above the walls, a beacon into the dark world beyond.  In
dark shrouds, a company of men stood around it quietly, respectfully.  Auri at
the front, close behind were Erelon, Hestler and Grism, and just behind them
the men Durge had brought with him, now fewer in number.

The moment Auri had reached the side of Durge on the
battlefield, tears filled his eyes.  This most noble friend of his had come far
north to protect his home.  He had died on a foreign battlefield.  Auri held
his friend’s body, torn, bloody, mutilated within his arms, tears rolling from
his eyes, the drips of water kissing the still face of Durge.

Auri’s hand passed across his friend’s face, closing his eyes. 
When one joins a battle, in the back of their consciousness, they know death
can come at any moment, but none really think about it, confront it mentally. 
Death can come to any at any moment in life, but how would one live life if
always in fear of death?  So it is the same in battle, or so Auri felt.

The fire mounted high in the evening sky.  The sun had long gone
down, and the fire was easily seen as it stood out from the darkness settling
in behind.  There was no good way in which Auri could pack the body of his
friend to take back to his home in the South, so instead he had decided upon a
funerary bier.  The ashes of his friend he would take back, along with what had
belonged to the old nobleman and warrior.

Slowly the fire began to die, and then its light was gone
completely.  With a slow sigh, the men disappeared until only a few remained. 
Slowly they ascended the stand to collect the remains of their friend.

Erelon looked up at the sky from the balcony that adjoined his
room.  The stars glowed brightly, yet it did not seem at all right.  Many times
he had been able to tell his position or time of day by the stars.  But
tonight, he was confused.  The constellations were not located as they should
be, or were nonexistent altogether.  Erelon brought out a map and charted the
stars, as he thought it might be hallucinations, yet the chart also disagreed
with the night sky.

The chart was only a solid, shiny, black piece of parchment, yet
it mirrored the night sky as well as plot out the directions when laid out flat
below a full view of the sky.

Only a few stars on the chart agreed with the stars in the sky. 
Blurry, hazy lines and dots discolored the rest of the map.  As Erelon watched
the stars, for an instant they formed a hammer over an anvil with a sword
behind.  Erelon smiled as he thought to himself that the young man had made the
trip alive after all.

Erelon was finding that sleep did not come easily.  Several
short battles had kept everyone within the walls continually busy, and then all
skirmishes ceased.  Yet Erelon could still hear within his mind the ringing of
metal against metal, the splintering of wood, the ripping of flesh, the last
gurgle as something living died.  He awoke continuously, reliving battles in
his dreams at night and during the day.  There seemed no end to the mass of soldiers
the warlocks could send from Mortaz, and also there was no end to their
marching through Erelon’s dreams.  The battles had even begun to stretch out
along the wall that extended into the prairie where the enemy army had no
cover.

The wizard woke.  Sweat soaked his blankets.  In his dreams,
hundreds of goblins, each sticking his body with a blade.  The sweat had been
his blood, breathing became impossible, and as he drowned on his own body’s
fluids, Erelon’s eyes had lurched open, forcing himself back into the real
world so that he knew he lived.  Erelon stumbled to the window for fresh air
that swept down off of the mountains.  He had been watching the skies, but the
stars no longer moved.  They had returned to their normal positions.