River Of Life (Book 3)

by Paul Drewitz

  The carved designs that had at one time decorated the stone surfaces of the pillars, those that had long been worn away by the elements, now showed clearly as silver curved and swirled across the stones’ surfaces. The designs showed as water once again released into a river whose access had been long denied. The elements might have destroyed the carvings, but the magic still resided in the rock pillars. Geometric designs in silver decorated the surface of each stone.

  From the Humbas' crystal Stone of Combining, the gold and silver poured, as the magic released power that would unite time. The wizard stepped into the perimeter of the stone table. The place glowed in magnificent color that would have made many a greedy man jealous. It looked like the sun had started to shine through a giant stained glass orb but only here in the origin of King's Time.

  The shadows that belonged to the pillars and giant rock began to slowly turn as if in a few seconds the sun had crossed the span of the entire sky. Faster the shadows began to whirl until they were a solid round shadow.

  The wind slammed into the body of the wizard, jerking him around, coming mostly from behind and shoving him closer to the center of the table like a giant hand were ushering him deeper into the magical relic. It howled and screeched, seemingly trying to tear him from the ground on which he stood. The world around him became dark. A swirl of dark greens and blues amid a mass of black was his only optical perceptions. He watched his life start to slowly roll out in front of him. He saw Chaucer working in the forge as the hammer rose and fell, banging against metal and sending up a cloud of sparks. The gnomes teaching him to read, Jerry's little wand tapping against the table, Kastor reprimanding him for being rude and throwing food across the room. The Gremlin, Quin, his first pet, his only pet next to Draos. Then there was Draos prancing around the front lawn, the reins no more than braided rope in Chaucer's hands. This horse had become more of a friend, a companion, than a pet.

  Yalen and Arlum, teaching him about the culture, language and magic of the elves. Then later Bahsal would become his brother among the dwarves, and Vagult a little brother. A tear ran down Erelon's dried cheek as he thought about Vagult for the first time in many years. Easton had ran into Erelon at the bar, had become his friend as they had explored Mortaz. Tix had set him on the right path to ending the problem. Auri had come along to help as well, a stranger kneeling next to a rancid puddle of water. Then Ahzmad, Fresmir, Tanton, and even the mud troll, Bunkir.

  The girl of Kintex, his first experience with his heart feeling like a girl had torn it from his body. The only time he would allow himself to become that mentally attached to a woman, to feel that crushed. From there he watched his fight with the boys, the first time he had purposely, almost enjoyably, destroyed the body of a human. And then the trolls destroying everything within their path, man, creature, or plant. The dragon's heat came again to him as it had destroyed the body of his friend Vagult, and the disaster at Mortaz where his mind had disappeared and he had allowed Messoth to shoulder the consequences for his mistakes as a leader.

  The faces of those who he considered his friends, those who he had killed, the hideous snake and the infested waters in which it lived. The wizard's Jaffrey and Regis who had haunted his every step through Mortaz, and finally the smirking, irritating face of Mellacobe who had led to his downfall. His second fight at Mortaz and his flight. Finally this rock that seemed to focus all the events of this age appeared before him.

  Finally the voice of Tix came back to him, laughing, "You are the only one. You are the only one. You are the only one." Tix's laughing voice told him over and over again. Slowly the face of Tix changed to that of a Humban. Erelon could not remember ever having seen this Humban during his life, but somehow he felt that this was not the first time the Humban had visited him.

  In such a way his life flashed before his eyes, and it was depressing, almost as if the stone tried to pile the world’s problems, all that had gone wrong in his life, into one moment, trying to break the wizard. It was as if the stone was testing the wizard to see if he was mentally powerful enough to handle the power he was about to utilize. Erelon saw the worst of his life surmounting the little good that there had been. Such was the curse of using this rock.

  Slowly the energy that beat upon his body slowed and calmed until it became only a gentle breeze blowing back his hair and light cloak. Erelon’s vision cleared. The old wizard stood within what some would call a rift in time.

  From outside the stone table, Easton felt the wind slam into the world. He had been watching as Erelon stumbled toward the center of the table as if his body were there without his mind. The older wizard's silhouette became blurry. The clouds rose up and tried to attack the open sky from all directions. From where they collided above King’s Time, a huge funnel appeared. It slowly descended, clear sky and dark clouds swirling round and round, coming straight down toward the stone table. At the base, it bubbled out, encompassing the entire table and covering over Erelon. The twelve stones and the huge spike of rock were the outer limits, containing the bubble.

  The funnel that flowed from the sky to the ground seemed to bob around between the pillars, but it never passed beyond them. Lightning flashed through the funnel and into the bubble, growing in power with every passing second, making spider webs of electric color across the orb. Faces and figures appeared in the walls, mocking Easton who had stayed outside, allowing his friend to face the enemy alone.

  Chapter 18

  IT was already mid morning before Bahsal and the giants finally reassembled the towers. The centaurs were rushing around their camp, pulling their tents down, and slipping wide swords into sheaths.

  "Might as well leave those up," Fresmir growled, "Have not taken the wall yet."

  "We will be on the next tier by evening," the Mayor growled back, defiance in his eyes.

  Posts were erected with giant wheels and gears on top. A rope was tied to a section of tower. Men hitched the rope to horses, or giants would grab and lift it quickly, the gears clicking madly as it swung up off the ground. Dwarves at the top of the tower would reach out, grabbing the section and pulling it into place. Spring loaded clamps would twist, and the dwarves would hammer a pin to hold it all together. Swiftly, easily, it all went into place.

  Hendle was staring at the next wall.

  He watched as the dwarve was everywhere at once. Bahsal supervised the giants as they assembled the siege towers and then corrected where some men were incorrectly setting up ballistae. Hendle smiled as the dwarve ran the battle as if it were his own. The dwarve was determined to win Mortaz back for Erelon.

  “Will they toy with us again today or actually attack?” the wizard asked.

  “I don’t know,” Bahsal admitted. “But we’ll find out soon enough.”

  "Where do you want my men?" Auri grumbled."

  "They ready to die?" Hendle asked with melancholy.

  "Here or down south in our own country, we fall to the same enemy," Auri boasted.

  "Then I want you to help us spearhead up the center. I have the elves and their horsemen on one flank and the horsemen of Samos on the other. The center will be more congested and more dangerous, especially for your men on horse," Hendle ordered.

  "Yes, but it will be helpful to have fast horsemen in the center of the field," Auri proudly stated.

  Again, the army of the wizards lined up. The jingle of their armor and weapons sounded more like a roar as the army took a first step in unison. They stared at the second wall waiting for the signal to march. The drums began to rumble, and the army moved in beat. The entire force marched right up under the walls with no opposition. The enemy did not show any resistance. The dust churned underfoot, and the ground lightly vibrated.

  Bunkir took several of his clan and went to the ramshackle gates, and with giant hammers and the trunks of trees, they attacked them. The wooden and metal gates would thud and give, a slight crack showing between, only to settle back to where they had been before, strong hinges pulling them back
into place. But with each assault by a troll, the doors seemed to move more; the hinges did not swing back to where they had rested. The fibers began to give as they popped, the metal began to pull away from the wood. The trolls began to beat in rhythm, each taking a turn with a swing, not giving the gate a chance to settle. Under pressure from the trolls, the gates quickly burst, and in flowed the army, several trolls in front but Bahsal quickly behind, leading his part of the army.

  The siege towers came up to the walls, their bridges dropped, and hundreds poured from the towers. Ladders were pushed up, and even more soldiers came over them.

  Bahsal pushed through the tunnel the moment the trolls turned the gates into pieces. The wide forms of the trolls blocked most of the light. The dwarve kept expecting to hear the sound of metal clashing ahead of him, but there was no sound beyond the heavy breathing of the trolls before him.

  He emerged from the tunnel unexpectedly so that the light temporarily blinded him. He blinked a few times until he could see again. The trolls stood before him, looking around confused. Bahsal's army of dwarves followed their leader out of the tunnel, milling below the legs of the mud trolls who were their allies. They all stopped to look out across an empty battlefield, a long lonely plain. In the far distance, the next wall glared at them bleached white by the angry sun.

  Bahsal slowed and stopped. There was nobody to fight. The plain before them was empty. Erelon’s entire army stopped and went silent.

  Hendle came running out of one of the towers. He had been inside as the giants had pushed it up against the wall. He grabbed a pin that allowed the bridge to drop, and he rushed across, jumping over the wall. His feet landed, kicking up dust. He ran forward a few steps with a slight limp, favoring his bum leg. He slowed and stopped as more poured out of the tower behind him. He looked both ways. Dwarves and trolls poured from the tunnel, more towers dumping soldiers along the walls. Giants were slowing climbing ladders. The army stretched out along the wall. The drums quit after Hendle’s hand came up, signaling the cease to all activities.

  More giants came up through the gates and took stations along the army’s front lines, their huge shields helping to protect the army from a surprise attack. Hendle’s eyes closed. Slowly he could hear the enemy’s drums, their beat pulsing through the earth, their horns not yet heard by Erelon’s army, causing the ground to vibrate. The footsteps of the enemy echoed in Hendle’s mind. The entire army of the wraiths had been loosed.

  “Ballistae! Here, now!” Hendle bellowed, pointing to the front of the army.

  Bahsal looked toward the wizard who led them. He had stomped down toward the wizard but stopped the moment Hendle took action.

  “They are coming and in their full force,” Hendle explained quickly.

  “Alright,” Bahsal growled, “It’s about time.” The dwarve walked back to his part of the army and let out a roar of battle. Soon the dwarves echoed Bahsal and then slowly the rest of the army picked it up. Most did not know what they chanted but cried out in unison.

  “Archers!” Hendle bellowed, “Ready!”

  Hundreds of arrows were fitted into strings. The gears to the ballistae were cranked back, building up pressure, ready to send giant arrow bolts into the enemy lines. The day was clear and hot, the sun pounding on the soldiers buried beneath their armor, flashing off the metal and glaring into the eyes of the men, burning into their skulls. Yet as the main part of the wraiths' army came, darkness seemed to cover them as if the sun refused to shine, leaving them in shadow. It was a huge mass of bodies that poured over the wall. Not only goblins, trolls, and ogres, but also the skeletal warriors and the monstrosities formed by the magic of the wraiths.

  The ballistae were released along with a barrage of arrows and huge spears from both the trolls and giants. Other giants and trolls used large strips of leather as sling shots. They set huge stones in the center of the leather and spun them hard and fast above their heads, releasing them after reaching maximum velocity. The stones bounced into the enemy lines, pulverizing bodies, scattering the enemy, throwing the bodies into the air. The mass of the enemy army was so congested, so thick, that it seemed as if each arrow, each spear, found a target, but it did little to slow the enemy’s flow. The hole made in the wall of the enemies' army by the dead soldiers pulverized by the stones, was quickly over run and filled by more of the wraiths' minions.

  The dead were trampled below the rush. The barrage of arrows was released again, the missiles flying high into the air before dropping. The air ruffled their feathers as they dropped into the horde. By the time the ballistae were reloaded, the enemy was on top of the front line of the wizard’s army. A dwarve released his ballistae into the knee of an ogre, no more space between the two than an arm's reach. The large arrow shattered the ogre's knee. Instantly, the dwarve drove his axe through the skull of the falling ogre.

  The dwarves had already taken up their axes, becoming an impenetrable wall, mowing their enemies before them. The swinging of the axes blurred into one long wall, a long line of shining, gleaming metal. They were sharp, and did not lodge, but cut through flesh, bone, and metal. The dwarves pushed forward, driving the goblins back. Bahsal looked into a wall of bodies, arms, legs, heads, torsos, blood. It was all before him, a massive wall blocking his way, moving, bleeding, sweating. It smelled like soured fruit and decaying flesh; it tasted salty; and Bahsal's desire for the fighting was quickly fleeing.

  The wizards led by Hendle, along with several powerful elves, began singling out the magical monsters. Erelon’s ice staff, wielded by Hendle, furiously paralyzed many. Hendle thrust the staff forward as a wolfman leapt over the wall of goblins. It turned to ice from its nose down to its feet. Quickly ice crystals formed along each hair, each cell crystallizing. It fell, turning into pieces. Hendle spun the staff above his head, another stream of ice flew, tearing a hole through a large spider-like creature, and then he slammed the bottom into the ground, a wall of ice bursting from the ground, blocking in an ogre from helping a small group of goblins being impaled by long lances of men.

  The ice slammed into the bodies of the opposing soldiers, throwing them backward. He thrust the staff forward, and the ice blasted into the goblins, a huge flying wall flinging crushed bodies. His other hand held a short sword that quickly darted into the belly of a goblin who had escaped. Then he swung the staff in a wide arc, spraying darts of ice that shredded the line of goblins before him, tearing small holes into everyone.

  The ballistae were released straight into the enemy, tearing through many before finally choosing one to embed into. The bodies of the dead enemies crashed into the siege weapons, clogging gears and hampering the movement of the strings. The giants wielded their huge swords and spears together, mowing down hundreds. They slammed their shields into the enemy, sending them flying backward, clearing space. Easily the giants tore into the trolls and other larger monsters.

  The fight was a bloody, entangled mess. Two armies clashing. Slowly Erelon’s pushed that of the wraiths backward. The cavalry charged the flanks, driving in and out of the enemy lines. One of the quicker enemy creatures charged after the horsemen. It leapt on the hind quarters of a horse and grabbed at the rider, catching the man by the throat and tearing at the rider’s veins with curved claws. The beast brought the rider to the ground. As it looked up, a dozen spears were thrust into its body.

  Goblins surrounded Bunkir. They climbed over his body. Just as quickly, the mud troll grabbed at them, pulling them off like ticks and smashing them into the earth or beating their bodies together. Just as Bunkir slammed one goblin into the ground, the troll’s fist smashed into the face of another, obliterating the bones.

  Slowly, the goblins began to drag the troll down. Bunkir’s body gave as each blade cut deeper and more blood was released.

  “Bunkir!” a voice roared, and over the crowd of goblins that encircled the troll leapt Fresmir.

  Though exceptional with his short sword, it was Fresmir’s fangs that the enemy had learned
to fear. Together they fought, driving the goblins back, forcing the enemy to flee. One moment the Brect was forcing his blade into an enemy, the next he was on one, his fangs ripping at its throat. A goblin crashed down on Fresmir. The Brect threw it down and grabbed the goblin's own sword and shoved it back through the creature. He turned and rolled out of the way as Bunkir brought a goblin smashing into the ground. Several dwarves surrounded the two, pushing the others back. The dwarves' axes formed a wall so that Bunkir and Fresmir could stand and breathe.

  Trabin wielded the amber swords once offered to Erelon. The young mage moved in and out of his allies, trying to avoid enemy swords as his experience and talent with the weapons was not great. But the longer he fought, the more enemies he faced, the more courage Trabin gained.

  The blood of the enemy ran down the length of the blades and seemed to be absorbed by the amber fossils. The closer Trabin came to the Keep, the more the amber fossils became gelatinous. Soon, even the small creatures within the fossils began to move, animated by the magic of the wraiths, their power over the ages bringing the little creatures that had once been dead back to life.

  There was a hiss from above, like bottled steam being slowly released. The air grew extremely hot and turned red. Flames burst around the wizard’s army. Hendle turned and swallowed hard as if he had choked on a stone. The strong beat of air caused by the giant wings of a dragon slammed into the wizard.

  Bunkir yelled at two others of his clan, “Ungert! Keylon!” and then motioned toward the dragon with his head.

  Both mud trolls charged the flying lizard. Keylon had a ridge running down the center of his forehead. One ear was missing and the other had several golden rings through the top. He had six fingers on each hand but only four toes on one foot while six on the other. He jumped and grabbed at the dragon's feet, the sudden extra weight dragging the winged wizard down. As the great lizard spewed fire, its aim was thrown off. It shot the fire close above the heads of ducking warriors instead of through their ranks.