River Of Life (Book 3)

by Paul Drewitz

  Erelon began to imagine for himself a quiet little cabin, no more than two rooms, set back in a clearing in one of the meadows that lay against the Gronge Mountains. A path that would only allow a single horse to pass through, would lead to his meadow. It would only be a couple days' travel outside Pendle. There would be a pond behind the house, filled with so many fish that the water would be constantly rippling.

  Erelon shook his head violently, trying to remove the dream. A dangerous dream. One that drew his mind away from the moment, his mission.

  The trail continually turned, avoiding areas of ambush, going around giant rocks that came up from deep within the earth. Erelon had never traveled this part of the trail. Coming around a corner, the trail widened, and a clearing allowed a good view of the sky, still the overcast gloomy clouds that never seemed to give up.

  In the center of the clearing was a small cart drawn by a single horse. In the seat an old man had pulled himself into a ball, trying to sink into a hole that was not there. Several goblins were poking their blades at him while trying to light parts of the cart on fire. The moist weather had not allowed a fire to take off, and at most, they had been able to char the wood.

  Erelon grabbed the handle of Rivurandis, which was strapped to his back, and pulled it free, and then silently, he gently walked his horse up to the cart. None of the goblins turned to look. The old man’s gaze came up at first in hope and then in dread of the one-eyed cloaked figure. Erelon looked more like a demon, a mummy raised from the dead by the wraiths, who led the goblins instead of the world’s protector.

  Erelon watched the goblins for a few moments, each cackling in their own grotesque language. One came around front, jabbing his blade as if he were pointing a long finger at the terrified man, laughing at his anxiety.

  Erelon nudged his horse into the goblin, spilling him forward into the earth, face first. Quickly the wiry creature came to his feet, swinging his weapon madly around him. Draos backed to a safe distance and turned sideways so that Erelon could easily dismount, but it also showed the wizard’s full size and the length of his unsheathed magical blade. All three goblins now focused full attention on the wizard.

  One hissed and angrily said, “It’s the demon wizard.”

  Erelon could only smile below his wraps, discovering how the enemy now referred to him as quite comical. Slowly each goblin backed away cautiously, not wanting to turn their backs, not thinking about how easily the wizard could destroy them even as they stood facing him.

  Into the shadow of the trees they slowly disappeared, almost as if the wraiths had turned them into vapor. Erelon tugged at the reins of his horse, guiding it past the cart, looking at the old man who only continued to sink further. Even after Erelon had scared off the goblins, the old man still feared him.

  In the back of the cart was what remained of vegetables, now just a mass of greenery mixed with destroyed produce. Erelon did not say a word, and the old man never tried to give a response, never made a motion to thank the wizard. Erelon guided Draos back into the narrow trail.

  All Erelon’s senses were brought into the moment, no more dreaming. He never knew if the goblins would come back. No moving leaf, sudden rush of birds, or change in tempo and pitch of a chirp passed without the wizard’s observation. Erelon watched for a sudden change in temperature, color in the clouds, or for the atmosphere to become thick, causing his lungs to struggle to breathe the air.

  The sun continued to cross the sky, forcing the shadows to change. The trail continued the same, undisturbed by any others passing. The goblins did not return, and soon Erelon began to relax and enjoy the walk through the forest. He did not push his horse, but allowed Draos to pick his own pace.

  Down a few steps built by the roots of trees, around another corner, past a rock with a smooth top, Erelon looked upwards into the mouth of a cave and thought about stopping for the night. The idea passed in and out of his mind as he suspiciously glared at the hole in the mountain’s wall, almost expecting a horde of goblins or a troll to come loping out.

  No other shelter showed as the sun climbed from the sky. Darkness settled in the forest fast as the last few rays of the sun were blocked by the trees. A few thickets of brush might offer a little shelter, at the least a place in which to hide, but there was some time left and Erelon continued forward. Two more corners left Erelon standing before a stone entrance composed of several square rooms that led into a walled interior. The wall seemed to be made of no more than planks. Between Erelon and the stone entrance were three men.

  One who stood a little further forward than the other two thought he discreetly hid one arm behind his back while holding the other forward in greeting. Erelon could feel the magical energy emanating from the hidden arm.

  “Welcome,” the leader was saying, “This is Halfway Point, a halfway point between nowhere and nowhere.”

  The leader chuckled at his futile attempt at humor. Erelon did not laugh with him. The wizard had heard of halfway points, which were usually located a day’s travel between cities where there were no little towns and where the land was hostile to travelers. There had been several in the prairie at one time. But this one, in the forest against the mountains, was not placed strategically between cities. There was no city closer than Pendle to the south, and north there was nothing for several days of hard travel.

  “To stay,” the leader continued, “will cost you a pound of gold which will cover both man and beast.”

  Erelon hissed, “That is outrageous, no place is worth that much.”

  The leader’s arm stretched forward, holding a chain at the end of which hung a magical blue globe in a cross-like structure.

  “This is what protects my establishment, which also so happens to be sitting on the forest path. Now it will cost you a pound of gold just to pass through and two if you wish to stay the night.”

  The leader grinned, having successfully pulled this con on many foreign travelers.

  Erelon also stretched his arm forward, and as a blue light grew within his palm, the magical sphere grew dark, its life leaving.

  “I require lodging and food for both myself and my horse. During tonight I will be the protection for your fort, tomorrow after I safely leave, the magic will be returned to your sphere.”

  Erelon looked the leader straight in the face, never blinking, never giving a hint of backing down.

  Inside the walls were rooms for the horses and adjoining rooms for those who owned them. Outside were fires and tents for those who could not afford rooms within the walls or for those who walked and so had no need for a place for their horses. Looking around, Erelon noticed a lot of carts, old men, and food. They were farmers. This was a stopping point on their way into Pendle or maybe even farther south. Food was in large quantity and easy to buy for the wizard, especially as most knew of what Erelon had done to gain admittance.

  For the rest of the night, Erelon found himself content to sit within his small room, listening to the heavy breathing of his horse as Draos slept. A deep intake of breath turned into a heavy sigh as Draos exhaled. Erelon’s pen scratched away quickly as he raced to catch up on his journal. The silver flowing lines blurred together as Erelon struggled to view the journal below heavy and tired eye lids.

  Slowly he closed the book, tying the leather strips together to hold it shut, then blew out the wax candle. Quickly the light seeped away, much like a thin film of water during a hot summer day evaporates from leather. A few cracks in the window shutters allowed in a little light, only broken when someone passed. Erelon’s body sank below its own weight, collapsing along with his mind into darkness.

  A pale strip of light settled on the wizard’s face, its vague warmth upsetting the natural balance, causing a strip of heat that was contrasted by the cool shadow cast across the rest of his body. The wizard stirred until his eyes opened. He looked around the bleak room through eyes that blurred every time he tried to focus them. Erelon grumbled to himself and then just sat waiting for his visi
on to clear. He remembered a time when early morning did not bother him; to get up was a pleasure. Now his beaten body just wanted to lie. To get up meant to force stiff muscles to move.

  Erelon threw his few belongings into a saddlebag and stepped from his room into Draos’s stable with a knife in hand. There was nothing else in the room besides his horse. Quickly Erelon made his horse ready to ride and then led him from the door. The day had already begun for most farmers, hitching carts to horses or packing mules. The little establishment would seem to die during the day, but during the evening it would come to life as travelers stopped for the night.

  Unnoticed and without being stopped, Erelon slipped from the halfway point. The trail was still well marked. Fuzzy with short green grass. Just outside the path, the grass grew hip high, thick, and deep, with fuzzy heads sprouting seed that would later ripen. The path stayed level. A low creek traveled to and from the trail and finally emptied into a pond.

  Erelon stopped for a moment to allow his horse a drink. The trees had for the moment thinned as a gravel bar encircled the pond. Erelon reached down into the running creek and scooped up a handful of poor dirt, no more than silt. Allowing water to run between his fingers, Erelon inspected what remained.

  A few flakes glittered. He smiled; this was an unsettled wild country. Few lived out here, yet at the source of this gold, the amount of the precious ore would be richer, and if ever found, every surrounding kingdom would be claiming a share of the Gronge Mountains.

  Erelon looked towards his horse, not twenty steps away, looking back down at him. A fish jumped, arching its back, scales glistening like diamonds; a rainbow ran down the length of its abdomen. Little drops of water dripped from the fish's lean body. It dropped back into the pond causing a low hill of water that turned into ripples.

  Erelon stood and walked to Draos, who snorted and shook his head. Quickly the wizard was back in the saddle. They followed the shore of the pond to the other side and then continued across the dam, which fed into a barren ridge. Far to the left and right, trees again started growing, but along this rocky ledge, nothing except a few short shrubs. Deep red and purple rocks lay scattered, along with some that were variegated and others that were striped. Mostly it was ugly yellow shale and sandstone.

  Walking the same ridge as the sun stood directly above, Erelon looked down to see a water hole covered in light green moss and filled with water so black that nothing could be seen below the surface. It was small enough that a horse could have easily jumped it. Two dead trees grew from its banks and hung over the pool, their branches creaking and groaning like the hands of an old laborer. It was one of the places where the pond, far behind, emptied.

  Two men, one obviously a mage from the robes he wore, stood before it, casting curses into the black waters. Erelon wanted to imagine that far from Suragenna or Mortaz, this mage was continuing the tradition of the Keep by reaching out to others, using his talents to help the people of the world. But Erelon's sarcastic mind thought that it was quite unlikely, and his curiosity was stirred so that he turned his horse towards them. A gurgle, almost a laugh, came back in the form of bubbles. Erelon led Draos down a twisting narrow trail that brought them behind the men.

  “What is going on here?” Erelon’s voice boomed, causing the other two to jump.

  “Go away,” the mage grumbled with self importance and disdain, “It is much too dangerous for you.”

  The other man’s voice squeaked in fear and excitement, “A witch has anchored herself to this pool and harasses all travelers that pass. She’s killing the land and turning the water stale.”

  “Uh huh,” Erelon grunted with sarcasm, then commanded, “Do me a favor, stand back.”

  "This is none of your affair," the mage grumbled. "I was hired to stop her, I will finish the job."

  "You can still have the reward," Erelon grunted, "I want none of it."

  Erelon rode Draos back up the hill and, dismounting, looked for a rock the size of his fist. Maybe the witch turned the water black, but Erelon doubted that the landscape looked different before her arrival. Yellow outcroppings of rock, elm, and walnut trees mixed with cedars and some pine, a few grassy meadows, high peaks piercing the sky—it was typical mountainous terrain.

  Erelon lobbed the rock high into the air and commanded, “Come from the waters in which you hide.”

  The rock fell as Erelon spoke, and after he had finished, it landed, causing a small spurt of water to jump into the air and then slap into the pool’s surface.

  “Don’t disturb the water!” the mage yelled as two jets of water screamed into the air before going in completely different directions, encircling the wizard and crashing together behind him, forming a circle. A wall of water completely surrounded him, and from in front, out of the wall, stepped the vision of a blond woman, perfect in every aspect. Every curve was well defined while at the same moment being soft and round. She was thin without being emaciated, and her chest and hips were fully developed.

  Erelon grinned. A witch that had mastered the art of changing appearances, probably also the art of illusion. Usually the two went together. The only real danger came if a person fell into her traps set using illusions and appearances, both of beauty and horror. If one had a mind strong enough, such a witch could be easily beaten, and that was probably the reason for her choosing to live in the wilderness, in a little pool of water. Because she did not have the power to fight the great witches, warlocks, and wizards, she all but hid.

  “What is it that you wish of me?” the witch asked seductively, her voice filled with saliva that slipped to her lips, moistening them and making them glisten.

  A strap of her silver dress slipped from one shoulder, disclosing more of her apparently flawless body with smooth skin that was unmarred by wrinkles or blemishes of any kind excepting a well placed freckle. Her voice seemed to wrap around Erelon’s body, sticky and soft.

  The wizard smiled and asked himself why he even stopped. Any man with a little education who controlled any amount of magic could have beaten this witch.

  “Do you know who I am?” Erelon asked even though he knew the answer.

  “Yes, you are Erelon, a god even among the greatest of wizards and warriors,” the witch complimented, trying to play to Erelon’s ego.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Erelon replied sarcastically.

  Snapping his fingers, Erelon broke the illusion. The wall of water crashed to the earth, and the witch was suspended in air as her frilly silver dress floated around her. She then collapsed to the dry dirty yellow stone. Her dirty, wet, mangled, brown hair and tangled black dress wrapped around her body like broken tentacles. She held her tired body up with thin arms. So much energy she had given to the illusion that, when Erelon had effortlessly destroyed it, the pressure and exerted energy left her exhausted. Her brown eyes were dropping, long lashes and thick bushy eyebrows all but covering them. She had calluses on her elbows and hands, and her knees were knobby and bruised. She looked more like the daughter of a peasant farmer than a witch.

  Erelon bent over her and said, “I want you to disappear, to never harass this world again, for the next time, I will banish you from this world into one of constant mental agony and flux.”

  Erelon stood for a moment and watched as the two men eagerly came toward the beaten witch. The water had already cleared; this witch did not have much power inside her small realm of influence, let alone beyond it. She was nothing but a small insect in comparison to the Witch of Turgeon.

  “First I will give you cover so that you can get to a safe place, one where you can regain your strength and start over,” Erelon stated with sympathy.

  His hand swept before the young woman and she disappeared. Both men stopped as they stared in disbelief towards Erelon and where the witch at one time had sat. Erelon simply eyed them sternly, mounted his horse, and guided Draos back along the rim and, at the first opportune moment, back into the forest.

  Three nights saw Erelon sleeping below the trees,
trying to pick out the stars from in between the leaves. The ground was hard after sleeping in a bed, first at Pendle and then at Halfway, though it did not take the wizard long to become accustomed to it. He always looked for a thicket a little off the trail he followed. Erelon looked for where the grass grew the shortest in the brush, though it would still be the height of a man’s waist.

  Erelon did not worry about goblins or bandits. They would hold to more traveled paths where there were men to ambush. Still, the wizard took care to take cover, to make sure that if he was trailed, if attacked, his position would be easy to retreat from or defend if necessary.

  The mountains fell into hills, and even the hills and valleys began to level off, yet the forest continued. The grass still ran against Draos’s chest as his massive body parted the silky green sea. The landscape was calm; always there were the trees and a level field of grass. The sun sometimes was all that moved except for the horse and Erelon.

  The wizard broke into a path through the grass where it had been beaten and broken, turning brown and snaking around the trees. Erelon looked around suspiciously. He had not seen any sign of habitants for days, maybe even a couple weeks. Now a path, something well traveled and well defined, lay before him.

  For a moment he considered passing back into the deeper parts of the forest, avoiding the path and anyone it might lead to. As he was about to pull back on the reins, an overwhelming wish to hear the voice of another human washed over his body. The last couple weeks, his horse and a few random squirrels were all he spoke to. Erelon stalled his horse for a few moments more. Erelon felt out the future path, wondering where it might lead, the trouble that might lie along it.

  The path felt empty, the world felt empty. The light turned to a golden brown as it passed the trees, filling the empty space as far as Erelon could see. There was no brush, no dead falls, nothing in which to hide, no good place for an ambush. Erelon nudged Draos onto the path, the urge for any possible human contact overcoming any potential danger. It seemed to curve on forever, almost as if it was a magical path that never ended.