River Of Life (Book 3)

by Paul Drewitz

  "So you give an elvish stone to the dwarves?" Bahsal asked with a laugh.

  Erelon's face grew stern as he remembered the stones he had brought back to Mellacobe.

  Again silence ensued. People around were eating and murmuring in low voices, as if each had secrets that they did not want those around to know. A cough echoed through the large room, a chair scraped across the floor. The fire stone sat heavily in Bahsal’s hand. Warmth emanated from it. It was not an uncomfortable heat, but one that would be nice at the foot of a bed to warm one's toes on a cold morning.

  The silence was broken by Auri, “The goblins are harassing incoming caravans.”

  Erelon’s reply was simple, “I know.”

  “There is a party of elves coming in today. Led, some say, by a friend of yours, a Yalen. The goblins may attack them. Are we going to do something?”

  Again Erelon’s reply was simple, “The elves can take care of themselves.”

  The master wizard fell silent as he began to brood, becoming quiet and withdrawn, deciding on a course of action to relieve the area of the marauding, infesting race of goblins.

  “Let me know when the elves arrive,” Erelon suddenly spoke out as Auri rose to his feet to leave.

  “Sure,” Auri replied without hesitation.

  The others followed Auri out of the room as if they knew Erelon needed to be left alone to ponder ideas and questions for which there were no answers. A cart rumbled by laden with plates, mugs, utensils for eating, and rags. In the corners were placed basins for water. A grand feast was being prepared. The wizards planned to show off for their arriving guests — elves, men, dwarves, from the greatest lords to grand warriors arriving to assist in the upcoming battle. For these, a party was going to be held.

  Tonight the hall would be filled with guests dressed in bright garments and laced with jewelry of the most precious metals and gems. Together they would dine and then dance to the music of multiple races. Erelon had already decided that he would not join the festivities. More ceremonies, socializing, it was all expected of him and made Erelon uncomfortable. He was not meant for these activities. Just like standing on that stage only several days after first arriving home, these activities were uncomfortable, unnecessary. He remembered back to when he had first survived the battle at Samos. Even there, he had not felt at home at the party after. For such an event, Hendle would have to appear, representing Erelon’s wishes.

  The wizard watched as the man from the kitchen began to set the tables. He worked alone, yet he had all day to finish. This castle was a hideout for men of magical talent, yet seldom had Erelon witnessed practical use of these talents. Rising from his seat, Erelon walked over to the cart, and with a simple touch of his finger, all the non-living, unanimated objects that had lay cold before him burst to life. Dancing, turning, jumping, as if each contained the emotion of joy, they placed themselves upon the tables.

  The cook’s assistant witnessed with eyes of amazement as the hand towels folded themselves, with no apparent assistance or outside force, into pyramidal forms with geometric folds. Each eating utensil was placed in the right position. Each sat perfectly spaced with the seat that would later support a guest or host. With eyes wide open, the man who had been setting up stared at Erelon. The wizard smirked and then, nodding his head, disappeared through an exit.

  Erelon passed down silent halls. A few men and women walked around the wizard, barely recognizing his presence. Most were busy with work of some kind, and the halls were mostly empty.

  Finally the master wizard stepped into the main lobby where the fountain dominated attention. Around it the wizard passed and then began to ascend the stairs when an urgent voice called his name, stopping him short of his previously conceived destination.

  “Yeah,” Erelon replied as he turned to face the man who had addressed him.

  “Auri sent me to let you know, Yalen and his warriors. . . They are here.”

  Erelon stared at the messenger for a moment before replying, “I will wait for him here. Hurry and bring him to me.”

  Quickly the man was gone, racing through the main castle door. Whatever Erelon requested was done promptly. Yet the wizard knew it would take some time for the man to reach the wall and then return, so he stooped to rest on the steps. Several men passed him going up or down the stairs, their legs brushing against him as they squeezed by.

  Erelon stared at the empty door. Boredom began to set in upon the wizard’s mind. Erelon was tired of living the same life. He was constantly on the move, never staying in one place very long. He met plenty of people, made many friends, but he was never around them very long to enjoy the camaraderie. Erelon was tired of always finding a fight. He wanted to be able to walk into a pub without meeting an assassin or go camping in the woods without being disturbed by undead soldiers. He wanted to be someone else, to give this mission to a different unlucky person. Yet Erelon knew he would see the task to the end. More people came and went, passing in and out of the doors, some even ascending and descending the stairs to look down on the wizard who sat there.

  In a state of loneliness, Erelon watched the people come and go, virtually no sound except a slight trickle of the fountain as the water flowed over the stone and fell into the water basin below it. Erelon wanted to trade lives with someone who followed, someone who did not have to make the decisions. Erelon wanted a life that came free of the stress of forming plans that would decide the fate of lives. He wanted someone to tell him what to do. He wanted a life where at the end of the day he could go to the bar, have a couple pints with a few friends, and then go home to a wife.

  A few of those that passed in and out whispered too low for Erelon to understand what they said. What they said did not matter, it only furthered his feeling of being alone. These friends had secrets. They had someone to confide in, someone to share their problems with. Erelon only had his shadow much of the time. Time passed slowly as he did nothing but wait for his friend.

  A dark form shadowed the doorway, and as more men moved in behind, the little light from the opening was cut off. Yalen followed a young man inside, the same messenger who had visited with Erelon earlier. The elf still looked young. He seemed to have not aged a day except for when Erelon looked into his eyes. They showed the extra days he had seen, the history gone by, the wisdom gained and experience learned through encountering events and living through another age.

  Yalen was a young elf, still he had already seen much in his age. Being immortal, he had many more ages to live. In the years to come, ages into the future, this elf would boast of knowing the wizard Erelon. Yalen would tell stories of having seen the wizard when Erelon was young. The elf would rave about having fought beside the wizard in the last few years that belonged to the masterful magical man who seemed to have appeared from nowhere, who seemed to have appeared from ashes.

  The elf with fair hair and skin walked up to the wizard who remained seated. Watching this young elf that he had not seen in years. Erelon did not envy the elf’s immortality. In this age, and then the next age, and all the ages yet to come, Yalen would see death, destruction, bloody battles, dictators, and famines. During the destruction, friends would die. At the end, with old age, more of his friends would pass on, yet the elf would never die. Another age would bring a new threat and new friends who would also die. This cycle would continue until the elf himself died in battle or went wherever old elves disappeared, a mystery that seemed hidden to even the elves.

  “Well, here we are again,” Yalen commented, trying to break the silence, hoping that Erelon would open up. It had been long since they had seen each other, and if they said nothing else, to recount adventures would be fun, to tell of events both had seen and encountered, to allow the other some insight into the life of his friend.

  Looking upward, Erelon sadly stated, “So again we meet, only now on the edge of a new battle.”

  “How many warriors did you bring?” Erelon questioned with purpose.

  “Between t
wenty and thirty,” Yalen answered with curiosity, not quite sure of why the wizard was asking about the military power he possessed. The wizards should be strong enough to protect themselves, was the thought that passed through the elf’s mind, and the battle for Mortaz had not started yet.

  “Well there’s a banquet tonight that you and your friends have been invited to attend. I will not be there, but you should go,” Erelon started and then continued on in the same breath, “But if you do not mind, I have a request to ask of you.”

  Erelon waited for a moment to see if Yalen was interested, and as the elf answered, “Sure, anything,” the wizard continued.

  “If you and your men would not drink too much, and would meet me here in the morning, I have got some hunting that needs to be done.”

  Yalen smiled, “Has anything to do with the creatures that were shooting arrows our way as me and my men raced through your gates?”

  “It might,” Erelon grinned as he looked up at his friend he had seldom fought beside, but knew was very capable.

  “What about your dwarvish friends?” Yalen asked, “I know that they are here.”

  “A dwarve, walking through the forest and fighting without making a sound. . . .?” Erelon asked sarcastically.

  With a chuckle, Yalen replied, “I see your point.”

  The master wizard sat on the lip of the basin that surrounded the fountain in the lobby. The sun had barely begun to rise, and the hall was dimly lit, causing all motionless objects to easily blend into their surroundings. Erelon wore a dark leather cloak, covering his light-weight brown deerskin clothes below.

  Knives that studded his body caught the thin light and reflected it. He wore a leather strap across his chest. Every alternating blade was a small throwing dagger. The others were knives for stabbing, no more than large spikes with a round oval end that set in the palm of the wielder’s hand, allowing the spike to protrude from between the middle fingers. Erelon preferred to aim for the temple with these knives. He also wore his two long knives and his elvish sword.

  For the first moment in many years, Erelon also packed a quiver filled with arrows whose feathered ends became a tuft behind the wizard’s head. A short bow hung from the quiver. He waited the arrival of his posse. Slowly the elves drifted in. They were silent.

  Only few elves packed large swords, but many of them were armed with a long bow and knives. They wore weapons more suitable for the quick and quiet attack. None said a word. Most were fair skinned, and all were slim. Most were blond, but a few had dark hair. All had eyes bright like stars, yet deep within, Erelon could sense their real age even though their bodies did not show it.

  Yalen appeared beside Erelon, and after a few moments with no others slipping in, Erelon queried, “Is this all of them?”

  “Not sure,” Yalen replied and then began to scan the faces of all his friends and finally answered, “Yeah. Twenty-three of us, not including yourself and me.”

  “Okay. Then let us go,” the wizard said hastily. Quickly everyone stepped outside where horses waited. As one, all mounted and, turning their horses, followed Erelon into the forest paths. Occasionally a bird would flutter through the trees, sensing the presence of the warriors, yet it could not be seen in the vague morning light. No talking was heard from the men, only a low creak of a leather saddle or the graze of horse flesh against brush.

  It was as if the goblins were within visual distance. If anyone even released the slightest breath, they feared the entire wraith’s army might come down on them. It was the silence of warriors who knew what was coming. Instead of boasting and telling stories of previous fights, they kept quiet and calm, meditating.

  The wizard led them to a gate on the very edge of the forest. It was not the one by which he had first entered. It would allow for them to creep up on the goblins instead of stepping directly into the middle of any that might be waiting at the main gate within the forest.

  In the clearing before the wall, the hunters left their horses. Dismounting, they strolled over to a door that led into a chamber below a watchtower, which had a secret door within its walls. The door was invisible to the eye, such was the craftsmanship of the dwarves.

  Erelon turned to Yalen and quickly told the plan, “Pick eight of your best archers. Put them a couple steps behind. They are to take out any goblins that might be watching from the tops of the trees or may be too far away from us to reach with knives. There are between ten to fifteen goblins to an elf. Hopefully we can destroy the majority of them before they know we have arrived. I am hoping for no casualties or deaths. I have several caravans coming in over the next couple of weeks starting today. I do not need any of the wagons destroyed or those driving injured. The only enemies in these trees are goblins, and I am going to try to get as many supplies within the walls as possible before anything larger and stronger joins the enemy forces to help besiege us. Let us make this quick and efficient. We might even make it back in time for breakfast.”

  Into the dark room within the wall, the hunters filed, Yalen sorting through his friends and giving individual instructions. The elves followed the barely visible wizard before them. He appeared to be no more than a ghoul in the early morning. On the other side of the protecting wall, the forest was barely more than a minute’s walk. Silently they slipped into the trees, beginning to separate, creating a line while at the same moment keeping everyone in view.

  The forest was mostly clean. Brush did not grow in abundance. However, many fallen limbs crossed the paths of the elves, and twigs and limbs, dried and dead, were covered in drying leaves. Yet the elves still made no noise, and the wizard seemed to hover above it all.

  A few trees with small rounded leaves and thin intertwining branches grew among the majestic trees. These smaller brushy trees protected thicker ground cover and choked off the paths. Sometimes the brush could be maneuvered around, and occasionally they would have to fight through it as quietly as possible while the woody brush grabbed at their clothing and threatened to rip their garments.

  Gliding from tree to tree, each member of the hunting party swiftly proceeded while looking around. They assured themselves that none of the enemy was around before moving onward. The forest was still gloomy, filled with angry shadows that caused the landscape to blend together. Cautiously, Erelon looked for any signs of movement. A goblin, with its gray-hued skin and hair, would easily hide in the early morning light.

  No birds, deer, or rodents filled the habitat that should have harbored many such creatures. The marauding goblins had invaded; the forest creatures had fled. Now, the only sign of life was the chirping crickets and hum of locusts that pulsed with a nasal quality.

  The first enemy did not surprise Erelon. He felt its presence, and with a spike, he gently crept behind the tall lanky creature and thrust the weapon through the goblin’s temple. It dropped without making a sound except the low crunch and rustle of the limp body dropping onto leaves. Blood puddled in the leaves, trickling through the many layers, mixing with the wet earth below to form mud. Several elves also claimed their first victims. The goblins fell, the hunters passing on through them as if nothing had happened.

  To Erelon’s left, the piercing sound of branches cracking could be heard. The wizard’s head jerked with surprise and was in time to see a body fall from the upper reaches of a giant tree, to hit the ground, becoming immediately a mangled bloody mess, a broken and torn body. Traces of its body, flesh and blood, marked a path to the ground through the foliage.

  Silently the wizard continued onward, elves before and behind him. He began to pick up his pace, not as careful to hide the sound of his walking. The bodies falling out of the trees would be more likely to warn the goblins of their coming than an occasional crunch of his boots. A stick breaking could be a deer, or the rustling of leaves, squirrels wrestling. It was not so easy to ignore the crashing of a body falling from a tree. And Erelon wanted to be further along before the goblins knew they were here.

  Silently, he stole his w
ay up to another victim, his spike going through the fleshy soft throat, turning any sound the goblin would have made into a thick gurgling of air coming through liquid. It dropped to bleed out on the ground, the wizard passing on, giving the creature no more thought. Quickly the goblin died, but not before it watched its assailant pass before him, a dark shadow enshrouded within a cloak.

  Erelon knew that they were closing in on the main camp as the goblins grew thicker. More fell down from the sky, bringing with them a rain of blood droplets, needles, and pieces of twigs, branches, and bark. Their bodies landed on the soft bed of needles to never rise again unless the wraiths raised their bodies.

  Erelon left his spike in the temple of his next victim as he saw many goblins before him, and instead grabbed for his throwing knives. They left his hands, gaining speed as they whistled through the air. Smoke trailed behind the wizard’s missiles. With a knife in his teeth, Erelon proceeded on. Goblins fell as elvish arrows along with the wizard’s throwing knives flew through the air. Suddenly the wizard’s fingers no longer felt his blades for throwing, so instead he grabbed a dagger from his waist.

  He passed around a thicket and almost stumbled on a goblin that had his back turned to the wizard. It was staring in the direction of the goblins’ camp, where the goblin dreamt of the fire and food that would be there to calm his hunger and warm his flesh. Yet, he would not need such comforts again.

  The wizard’s powerful left arm slid about the goblin’s chest, pinning his arms to the side of his body. The other creature smelled faintly like feces and moldy hair. The goblin's wiry hair struck through the wizard's clothes, poking at him. A blade crossed through the goblin's throat, cutting off any sound that he could have made to warn the others. No longer did he breathe air. His lungs filled with his blood. For a moment, Erelon's mind entered the goblin's. The goblin's mind raced as he barely had time to consider his own death, leaving himself open for invasion. Erelon read the creature's thoughts. The wizard felt the plans of the warlocks. The fight was not going completely to their plan. They wanted to be in Sirus, they wanted Westeron completely destroyed. However, Kintex still remained, and the wizards still occupied Suragenna. The warlocks were frustrated. Erelon smiled as he allowed the goblin to drop to his knees and fall face first into the leaves.