River Of Life (Book 3)

by Paul Drewitz

  “What luck!” Fresmir exclaimed again, “A fight and we were already up here close to the stadium. We got the best seats.”

  “Who's Castor?” Erelon finally got a chance to voice his question after swallowing a few deep breaths of air.

  “Part troll, part giant, rejected by both races, so naturally he found asylum in this city. He got the best of both races. A natural born fighter, bred for it you might say. So good that none want to fight him. So when he does get a challenger, it becomes a huge event,” Fresmir explained with pride.

  “That’s why you don’t want to be on the bottom levels. Two big guys fighting, they sometimes get to throwing elbows into the seats,” Tanton added.

  The stadium filled fast. People were scrambling for any seat that they could claim. One moment it was a dead cold stone, empty shell, next it was filled with life and color. Vendors appeared selling food and drinks, and gamblers gathered and began betting with Castor being a ten to one favorite. Not a seat was left empty; people even sat in the stair ways, stood, or squeezed two or three to a seat. All wanted to see this event, the greatest event and most excitement of the year. A low mumble filled the stadium as voices excitedly yammered.

  Only after the stadium could hold no more, Erelon got his first look at Castor as he stepped through a large door. Taller than most trolls and wider than most giants, he had little nubs for tusks coming out the sides of his mouth. He was an ugly giant. Castor’s twelve toes sunk deep into the sand floor. The mixed breed raised his arms in victory. His eyes were huge with excitement. Finally, he had an opponent. The crowd roared in approval of the local man, supporting Castor, even those who bet against him.

  Castor pumped his arms in the air, causing the crowd to roar louder every time his muscles tensed. Then he turned towards the gate his opponent would come from. Slowly, a wooden gate groaned and burst open, and a large troll came rushing out, not giving his opponent a chance to think. Instead, the troll stuck a shoulder into Castor’s stomach, sending him flying backward into the sand, which leapt into the air and showered into the crowd. A roar of excitement rushed through the stands.

  “Wow, what luck that a challenger came while you were here!” Fresmir exclaimed to Erelon.

  Yeah, what luck Erelon thought to himself. A troll came to challenge Castor the very day after he made it to town.

  Castor stood, and the troll threw himself at the half breed who grabbed his assailant and began to grapple with him. For a moment they were locked together, neither giving ground. Although their bodies did not move, they exerted tremendous energy. The stress upon their bodies was evident as their muscles tensed, the vessels began to bulge, and sweat ran between every muscle, their bodies turning dark red.

  Finally the tension was broken as Castor threw the other troll to the sand floor. Landing on top of his challenger, Castor began to smash his opponent's face with two huge fists. In this fight, there were no weapons. It was a mix between wrestling and boxing, a good street fight with only a few rules that were decided on between the contestants before entering the arena. The troll brought his heels into the stomach of Castor, knocking the mixed breed backward.

  “Everyone from the city must be here! The streets are probably deserted!” Easton exclaimed to Erelon above the roar.

  Yeah, Erelon thought, the streets would be easy to travel now. Nobody to run into, no mob to try to traverse. Could probably walk the entire city without seeing another living person. Erelon's head jerked up. He suddenly felt the need to get back to the inn, back to the stone Easton had retrieved.

  Castor shrugged off all the attacks the troll managed to land. Castor now just waded in, slamming his fists and knees into the troll who only covered his grinning face protectively with his arms.

  Erelon turned toward the direction they had come. Bodies were packed into the stands. He began to push a path through, physically having to separate the people around him. Their sweaty bodies pushed up against Erelon. The wizard slowly became irritated. He tried to control his anger. He did not wish to simply destroy everyone in his path. But desperation began to set into his mind. The city streets might be empty and easy to walk through, but this stadium was impossible to escape.

  Some within the crowd roared with excitement at Castor’s victory; those who came to see a good fight went silent. Anyone who had ever seen a real fight knew that the troll never had a chance to defeat Castor. The troll never even drew blood. Castor would be more sore from the energy he had himself exerted than the hits he had taken. He might not even notice any wear on his body at all in the morning.

  “Wow, he didn’t have any chance at all,” someone behind Erelon commented.

  Castor threw the troll over his hip into the wall, now playing with his enemy, trying to encourage the crowd as his own disappointment grew. Castor was trying to salvage as much of the fight as possible.

  “Didn’t know what hit ‘im,” another said.

  “Do you think the troll knew what he was facing?” Tanton asked nobody particular.

  “No,” Fresmir said, “At least not until he actually saw Castor,” Fresmir sighed with disappointment.

  Erelon shoved through a few more people, but the crowd pushed back. Erelon turned to watch the grinning face of the troll. The troll shows up to challenge Castor conveniently while he was in the city. The fight completely emptied the city. As Erelon looked at the troll, the wizard came to the conclusion that, yes, the troll had known that he did not stand a chance, but then why fight? At first Erelon had thought maybe for pride, maybe stupidity, or just lack of something better to do? The answer had stunned the wizard for a moment. This had been planned. But he could not get out, the crowd surged back. He needed help, he needed more force to push a path.

  Erelon jumped to his feet, yelling at Easton, “Get back! Get back to the inn!”

  Erelon lowered his shoulder and shoved through, already Easton behind widening the wedge. Finally Erelon was rushing down the stairs through the nearest door. Erelon did not know the quickest route, but he did know the general direction, and he charged down the nearest paths that led in that direction. Pillars, walls, people, brush, trees all blended together into a blur. Erelon’s feet moved fast, carrying him across the ground. All voices, all noise, faded from his mind as he focused on that path ahead. Erelon did not even know if any of his friends followed; he did not care. All he needed was to get back to the inn, back to Easton’s room.

  Erelon’s feet left the ground as he ran over the edge of a wall and plummeted to the stone ground below. The wizard’s hands came out instinctively to help break his fall. His knees struck first. Instant pain shot up both legs, a paralyzing pain that caused all of his muscles to stiffen. His hands were torn, and they bled from burning cuts as he pitched forward.

  The wizard groaned as he picked himself from the stone street and began limping off as fast as he could. The pain began to pass as the wounds became numb. Erelon whipped around the corners, looking for the right level, the right inn.

  The red building sprang up to Erelon’s right, and just as he went to enter the doors, a black creature smashed through the wall, flying on a pair of wings that seemed held together with tar. Wood splinters flew, and Erelon pulled his cloak around him to protect his face and body.

  The foul bird lunged forward, but its heavy awkward body kept trying to pull it back toward the earth. Below it, held by talons, it carried the stone in its black cloth.

  Erelon’s eyes glowed red. He stretched out his arm and said, “Sasmura.”

  Instantly the beast was engulfed in flames. Chunks of decay wreathed in fire fell to the earth as the bird struggled to stay in flight. Before the body gave up, its wings went straight up. Then the body finally plummeted.

  As the bird hit the stone road, its body sounded like a melon. It turned into pieces that did not resemble anything that had ever lived, black chunks of soft material.

  The stone hit, leaving a pit in the rock road. Steam gradually rose from the bundle. Erelon ap
proached it cautiously and then gingerly lifted it. Within the bundle, the stone still throbbed. The fire left Erelon eyes. They turned black; never again would their color return, a dull and lifeless charcoal gray was what they would forever remain.

  “What was that?” Easton asked in surprise behind Erelon.

  The older wizard shook his head and approached Easton and said softly, “I do not know. Some apparition of the wraiths. What I do know is that this means we are really starting to become a threat in the minds of the enemy.”

  Erelon continued to walk past Easton and toward Fresmir as he came running his breathing coming in gasps as his heart slammed against his chest. His eyes were wide. Once again, he had seen the wizard in action, and once again, he was glad that he was not on the opposing side.

  “That was intense,” Fresmir exclaimed.

  “Better than Castor’s fight,” Tanton growled.

  “Easton needs a horse,” Erelon told Fresmir, “Easton and I leave as soon as you and he can find one. For the moment, I need some time alone to think.”

  Erelon turned away to leave.

  A few steps and he stopped and turned back to Fresmir, “I am hosting a fight in a couple months. You are invited. And you can bring Castor if he wants a real challenge.”

  Erelon sat in a dark corner of Fresmir’s house. He was alone, eyes closed, feet crossed. The room grew increasingly dark, a spider crossed the floor. Erelon could feel the vibrations of each step, of the spider’s breathing, through the floor boards. A bird fluttered off through the trees outside the closed windows. Erelon’s eyes opened. He lifted his memoirs from his leather case along with a jar of silver paint and a pen. Erelon pulled on the leather strings to release the knot. The pages fell open before him. Slowly he flipped through them until he came to an empty sheet.

  The silver went on in smooth, even, flowing lines. The wizard did not leave drops of ink on the page or splatter any on the floor. The ink gleamed for a few moments before disappearing into the paper. Erelon’s pen went still.

  The book remained open for a moment as the last words dried. Slowly the pages creaked as Erelon tied them back together with leather straps. Erelon leaned back against the wall. The stone at this altitude was cold, and it felt good on the wizard’s skull. His hands still throbbed with each beat of his heart and burned as if continually in a fire. Erelon had not washed or treated them, and the cuts were now black with clotted blood and dirt.

  At the bottom of the leather pack was a rolled scroll that Erelon had received from Backer. The wizard pulled it out and unrolled it on the floor. It was not a long spell, but Erelon studied every word, making sure to look for any problems, any glitches that needed to be avoided. None, the spell was sound.

  A knock on the door echoed through the room. Erelon woke with a snort and a groan. Drool ran down the corner of his mouth.

  “What?” Erelon bellowed.

  “I’ve got a horse,” came a call from Fresmir.

  “Just a moment,” Erelon called back. The wizard stood, stretched, leaned down to pick up his saddle bags, and reached for the door.

  Chapter 13

  ERELON silently followed Fresmir to the stables that were at the foot of the stairs leading to Fresmir’s home. The wizard had slung his saddle bags over one shoulder and carried a scroll and a small leather pouch in the other hand.

  Fresmir turned several times as if he wanted to speak, to break the oppressive, tense silence. To Erelon, descending the stairway seemed to be instant, as he spent the entire walk sifting thoughts through his mind. For the Brect, it seemed as if the end would never come. Curiosity filled the Brect’s mind, to see and know what Erelon was going to do next. Maybe, Fresmir almost hoped, he would get to see the wizard again display his magical skill.

  Erelon turned sharply and disappeared into the stable doors. Fresmir was only a step behind. Erelon slowed and stared around to allow his sight to readjust to the dim light. A few pillars, light coming through the window in streams catching dust, a scattering of hay on the floor, a few scattered metal and wooden buckets with stalls for the horses lined against each wall. A very average stables.

  “I found you three horses, one to pack the stone,” Fresmir replied proudly.

  “Uh, thanks,” Erelon said, his mind and eyes not focused on reality as he stared into an oak door.

  Tanton slipped in behind, silently on padded feet, causing the horses to shift uncomfortably. Tanton had come to watch the wizard. As the one who enforced the law, Tanton liked to know all who came and went. The leopard was also there out of curiosity, much like Fresmir, wishing to see the wizard destroy something else.

  Erelon dumped a chunk of wood from a pouch into his hand. The wizard tucked the empty leather bag into a pocket and unstrung another, drew out some powder, and sprinkled it onto the wood while muttering a few words that no one could hear. Easton looked at Erelon in confusion.

  “Needed a way to lock the door behind us,” Erelon explained, though no one understood yet what he meant.

  The master wizard set a three-legged stool next to a door, one that led into a closet, and sitting on it, asked, “Can I get a hammer and nail?"

  Fresmir quickly rushed off. As Erelon sat, his mind went blank as his eyes gazed off. Easton would have liked to think, or say, that Erelon was meditating on the future or the past. But Easton knew that Erelon had no thoughts running through his mind. The longer the mission lasted, it felt, the more Erelon lost of himself. Easton simply shook his head.

  Fresmir came rushing back into the room, his boots hollowly clomping against the floor. Erelon stood, and the Brect dumped a handful of nails and a hammer into Erelon’s hands. The wizard allowed all of the nails to drop to the floor except one. Each nail hit the dirt and hay floor without much sound, only ringing when they struck each other.

  The wizard stepped onto the stool, which shifted below his weight. The stool’s legs bowed and spread. After twisting some, Erelon brought his frame into balance. With one nail, Erelon hammered the chunk of wood to the lentil above the door. The hammer rose and fell, each time with perfect aim. The handle fit well into the wizard’s grip. Erelon had not completely forgotten how the hammer felt even though it had been years since he had been a serious smith, training below Chaucer, dwarves, and elves.

  Erelon looked down before descending. Gingerly, Erelon raised one foot, careful to adjust his weight, slowly lowered one foot to the ground, and then easily removed the other from the stool before quickly booting it into a dark corner.

  Erelon simply said, “The address,” to answer the curious faces that stared at him.

  His simple statement only caused more questions.

  Erelon placed his fingertips on the door, bowed his head, and began muttering. The wooden door rippled like water below the fingers of the wizard. Erelon brushed the door, causing more ripples, but his hand remained dry. The liquid of the door did not splash, but simply moved like water, as if a transparent membrane contained the liquid.

  Erelon thrust his arm through and withdrew it just as quickly. His arm still remained dry. Erelon could feel some phantom’s touch, residue of where the surface of the liquid had rested, had ended against his arm.

  Erelon turned to Easton and stated, “We must go now. I do not know how much time we have.”

  Easton nodded, and leading both a pack horse and his riding horse, he proceeded into the liquid. His body slowly disappeared. The horses resisted slightly, but their fear of the three men behind them, Tanton, Fresmir, and Erelon, drove them forward.

  “I will see you later . . . maybe,” Erelon said, shaking Fresmir’s hand and nodding toward the leopard.

  Leading Draos by the reins, Erelon also stepped through the door. Never did his lungs fill with anything besides air. Erelon did not know, or at least he did not remember, if he held his breath as he stepped through the portal. Erelon had created a hole in space. He had shortened the distance between the two points of the world and had used the door to link them. The doo
r’s only purpose was as an object with which to focus the spell, to contain the spell. It could have just as easily been cast in the air, or on the ground, but the hole’s exact dimensions, shape, and location would not have been known exactly.

  Tanton and Fresmir only stood in amazement as the two wizards and three horses passed through a door which led into a closet. Above the door, the wooden fragment gained heat, little spots of embers flashing into view and even a tongue of flame. Then the wood began to deteriorate, slowly turning into splinters and then dust.

  Fresmir stepped forward and touched the door similar to how Erelon had. It was hard to the touch, rough wooden fibers of solid oak was what greeted the Brect’s hand. Slowly he turned the handle and pulled the closet open. An odd assortment of shovels, pitchforks, gardening tools, buckets, and other items for the care of horses and saddles lay piled.

  “Locked the door behind him,” Fresmir stated as he kicked at the remains of the wood chunk Erelon had nailed to the door frame.

  Erelon’s sight was only obscured by a blurry mass for a moment. His sight looked as if he had ducked his head into a murky pool of water. The liquid material seemed to adhere to Erelon’s body, creating a tight seal that air could not squeeze through. Then it pulled back together behind his body.

  Erelon stood in stables similar to those he had just left, though instead of being dry and lit up by natural light, these were gloomy, filled with stale air of rotting hay and mildew. The light was extremely dim, forcing Erelon to stand perfectly still so that he did not trip over some hidden object. Easton was standing only a couple long strides away, holding onto the reins of the horses, looking back toward the door through which they had just passed.

  Easton looked toward Erelon with a face that asked, “What next?”

  Erelon walked over to Easton, who asked, “Are we where I think we are?”

  “Yes,” Erelon reassured him and then said, “Do you know how to get to Backer’s house from here?”