River Of Life (Book 3)
Page 36
Erelon’s elvish sword went through the warlock’s neck and just as quickly came back out, ringing as the man’s fibers caught the blade’s edge. The warlock dropped to his knees and fell backward.
The seams between the stones that had been previously invisible now had rivers of blood flowing through them, highlighting runes, messages left by the Humbas. The fight, for Erelon, had been as easy as a child killing ants. Now and then, the child would get bit, but in the end, the child, a giant monster in comparison to the little bugs, wins.
Erelon smiled, he was a weapon, an extremely dangerous weapon. Without the sword of Chaucer, he had been powerful, but with it, he had the power of two great wizards, and these warlocks did not have any understanding of how powerful the wizard had become. Erelon thought to himself that he had become even more powerful than he could have ever realized. These warlocks, when robbed of their powers by the Stone of Combining, could not compete with the strength of Erelon.
Erelon dropped to his knee, tears rolling from his eyes. The wizard was so tired, and now it was over. The curse that Erelon had inherited, that had followed and plagued the master wizard’s entire life, was gone.
Erelon’s eyes grew heavy, his feet lead. The wizard yawned, sucking in dust as he crawled toward the bubble’s wall. Erelon did not know how he was getting out, but he did not care. He been chasing answers for so long. He had been born for this mission. Erelon was the only one who could complete the mission, or so Tix had warned him.
Now it was done, and Erelon was so tired. He had seen too much in his lifetime. Erelon had shouldered much of the mission alone. There had been those who had been there for him, who had supported and helped him. But they had come and gone.
Erelon crawled for the bubble’s wall, his hands bleeding as they strained against the stone. Erelon sat for a moment, just looking around, breathing heavily. The wall began to ripple and then started to come apart in ribbons.
Erelon thought, “I guess I’ll take a little nap.”
The breeze felt first by Grism picked up until it was a howling gale. The disappearance of the wraiths, their demise, left a void in the rifts of time, and as time healed, a strong wind blew through. A wind that smelled of must and old dust, as if it had been locked away in a dungeon for decades, and at the same moment had a fresh scent of spring, like freshly plowed soil, clean rains, and new flowers.
The wind blasted both armies with blinding sand, so that for a moment, all fighting ceased. The siege towers were blown apart, turned into chunks of lumber, and giants had to duck, pulling their shields low to protect their allies as well as keep the wind from ripping the shield from their grip.
The wraiths' army felt the disappearance of their leaders. Their pain grew more acute. The power that held them together, that kept their minds from racing in panic, disintegrated, and the entire army began to break into a backward retreat, fighting among themselves as they began looking for their own clans and tribes.
The skeleton warriors began turning to dust. The bones fell once again to the ground without life as their glowing eyes died. The beasts constructed from magic unraveled, their minds closing into darkness. Their tissues unraveled into a pile of fleshy fibers, into a pile of worms that was quickly destroyed by the blazing sun. The dragbas swept through the sky, disappearing as they looked for the caves from which they had been summoned. They looked for relief from the sun which now blinded them as the shadow of the wraiths no longer protected them. They had become a squalling pack, a chaotic mess as they slammed into each other in their blindness and confusion.
“Charge now!” came a loud call.
Every member of the wizard’s army charged into what was left of the wraith’s army. It was a massive onslaught as wizards using magic plunged up the center with their own military. The dwarves pushed into the wraith army from one side, and elvish and Sirus cavalry pushed from the other flank.
Auri picked up a spade from a fallen soldier, no more than a farmer with a leather jerkin. The spade had a sharpened edge. The weapons master had seen Iriote coming, trying to slip around the outer edges of the battle. Auri smashed the shovel into the face of one goblin, jerking the feet of his enemy into the air from the force of the impact. Auri jabbed the shovel’s edge into the throat of another and then swung it before him like an axe, splitting another goblin’s chest open.
Auri leapt over a small mass of goblins, boosting himself over as he pushed down on the shoulders of one. As the weapons master came back down, only one charging goblin stood between Auri and his long rival. Auri threw the shovel like a lance, stopping the goblin’s charge as it slammed into his chest, spilling him head over heels backward.
Iriote looked at Auri through laughing eyes. Coming toward Auri, Iriote cut the legs from several soldiers, each in the same location, just below the knee. Hestler, who could never be separated from Auri, tumbled over a pile of dead bodies. Auri screamed something that none could understand above the roar of battle.
Hestler’s body fell, and Iriote’s scimitar sliced upward. Auri rushed toward his friend, but Iriote’s blade already had swept a clean stroke through the body of Hestler. The giant man was dead before the blade cut through the other side of his body, and he fell heavily upon the hard earth, his mace falling out of his arm’s reach.
Iriote seemed to have no knowledge of who he had just destroyed as he stepped up to Auri and said, “I’m going to live forever because of this battle. I’m going to be known as the one who killed the greatest weapons master, the one who killed Auri, a prince and warrior. And once I am done here, I will make sure the legacy of your family ends, as well. I’m going to be one of the few survivors of the wraith army. In the legends, I’ll live long after I’m too old to hold a sword, long after I’m dead and my body has rotted away.”
Auri said no words. Instead, he walked in, producing two shotels, weapons built almost like an extended scythe. Both sides were bladed, the arched side facing Auri. Both shotels arced downward, meeting Iriote’s upward swing with his large scimitar. Auri cleared his mind, taking deep breaths and focusing on the one before him, putting Hestler’s death in the deepest part of his mind. Now was not the time to cloud his mind with anger. Both blades moved gracefully in the hands of Auri, a dance of ribbons as they floated through the air.
As Auri twisted, he found himself behind the assassin. Both blades held horizontally, he cut through Iriote’s back muscles. The cuts were so deep that blood was immediately dripping to the earth. Iriote jerked his back forward as if branded.
Auri did not rush in for the kill. He had seen too many impatient soldiers die in that manner. Thinking their enemy all but dead, soldiers would rush in expecting to easily impale their enemy with that last fatal blow. They would find that they had in fact impaled themselves on the blade of an enemy only playing the part of an almost dead adversary.
Auri respectfully waited for his opponent to stand alone for a moment. Iriote had to regain his wits. Very seldom had he felt pain and his own blood oozing down his back. Slowly the burning numbed, and the assassin turned, trying to avoid disturbing the lacerated muscles. As Iriote’s eyes looked into those of Auri, the pain, the wounds, were forgotten as Iriote charged, his hatred growing with every step.
Iriote’s scimitar was already descending as he reached Auri. Quickly a blade came up, blocking the scimitar. The other came in, cutting through the top pair of Iriote’s abdominal muscles.
Again Auri backed off, forcing Iriote to make the next move. The assassin stood with his back to Auri, looking downward. The bottom half of his body was soaked in his own blood. Both men knew that Iriote had to finish the fight fast. Iriote was quickly loosing blood. Auri was not going to allow the assassin to bandage himself, and if the assassin did not stop the red flow soon, he was going to be dead without another wound.
Weakly, the assassin charged back in, his scimitar being easily deflected by Auri. Three blades, all delicately curved, danced together like deadly snakes, a dance that could o
nly end in the death of one or both. Iriote finally understood, Auri was playing games with him. In an open battle, Iriote had no chance. His skill was in the shadows of the dark night, and his lack of a conscience. Iriote’s entire body had gone numb from the deep cuts inflicted on him.
One of the shotels came down through Iriote’s chest, the other up through his abdomen. Both were forcefully removed at once, tearing his chest cavity open. Auri stepped back to watch the assassin drop. Saliva mixed with blood ran from the corner of the assassin’s lips. Iriote’s eyes grew huge as the pupils dilated. The assassin went face first into the earth.
“No, you will not live on forever,” Auri stated as he passed the body of Iriote.
Auri spoke seldom of the assassin after the battle. Auri did not wish for fame for the killing of Iriote, he did not want the assassin to live on forever in legends. On this battlefield, as the assassin’s blood poured out of his body, Iriote’s fame, his story and legend, died with him. He was lost in the great battle, for without Auri to tell the story of Iriote, there was nothing else that the assassin left behind in his trail of death. The people were simply content that the shadow that killed had disappeared. Men who knew of the assassin left the story alone, fearful that speaking about him might bring him back.
For the first time in two decades, Hendle raced down the paths and roads of the monumental tiers of the Wizard's Keep. His army chased the disintegrating army of the wraiths up through the gates. Hendle's army hacked at the flanks of the opposing army, pushing them across the top tier.
Buldure watched as the last few retreating goblins fled past him. The retreating army had long left their weapons lying behind in their desperate attempt to escape the flow of the angry army behind.
With Buldure was over a thousand goblins and a scattering of ogres, all that Buldure could convince to stand with him. The goblin leader wished to give what was left of his army a chance to flee and escape into the mountains. Buldure wanted to seize a little dignity left to his race by nobly facing the rushing enemy. A courageous fight and an honorable death. He stood in much the same place Erelon had decades ago in the rain, mustering his army to stand for one last defensive maneuver before escaping.
The army of the wizards swept over the last plain. Buldure’s eyes grew huge. Buldure’s group of soldiers was only a small band compared to what raced toward them. A few in the back of his band fled through the gate, and the entire group shifted nervously.
Hendle’s army saw the group of goblins, but never hesitated as they swarmed. Buldure charged forward a few steps as he brought his lance before him, shoving it into the closest enemy. An axe came down, shattering the shaft. Buldure went to a short sword. The goblin toppled over as a leg was cut from below him. Buldure’s vision was cut off as his blood poured over his face. There was a tug at the sinews of Buldure’s neck and, then, for the goblin, the world ended.
The small band of goblins was thrown back by the force of Hendle’s army. The goblins were run over by a stampede, their futile attempt to stop the enemy lost in the massacre. Hendle burst through the gates, Bahsal beside him. The dwarves had proudly fought in the front during the length of the battle. Bahsal would not have seen his race fight any other way. Hendle proudly looked toward the Keep, the actual fortress itself. Mortaz.
“I want the wraith army tracked and forced from the mountains! Don’t stop until they no longer offer a threat!” Hendle bellowed to the officer beside him.
The officer led the army around and past Hendle, a rush of soldiers sweeping into the Keep and up mountain paths. Yalen quickly was behind Bahsal and Hendle. Bahsal and Yalen were remembering years ago when the Keep had been decorated, the world of wizards seemingly perfect, the time when they had been summoned to the Keep as friends.
Hendle remembered the gardens, courtyards, where he had lost his leg, where friends had died. As Auri came up behind, he tried to imagine the Keep as it might have looked when Erelon had lived there.
Slowly Hendle walked toward the building, stepping below the porch, his fingers gently brushing the pillars. The brass doors still lay on the ground, warped, remaining as Erelon had left them.
Hendle sighed sadly, “Grism didn’t get to see us again in command, in victory. He didn’t get to see the prize.”
“Many didn’t get to see this moment,” Yalen reminded, “Many die in war. Such is the cost.”
“I think, maybe, he did,” Bahsal replied, “Grism knew the warlocks were defeated before even I felt their presence die.”
Chapter 21
EASTON watched as the bubble began to unravel. The funnel that fed it lifted upward. The clouds and wind began to grow calmer, and the rain finally moved into the West. The first drops of rain to be felt in the prairie in over two decades finally fell from the sky to hit the ground with a hiss.
As the bubble completely disintegrated, small piles of already decomposing bone turned to dust and blew away, eloping with the wind. Nothing remained where the bubble had been except the stone itself. Easton grabbed a cloak and slowly approached the Stone of Combining. There was a hissing and crackling in the air, and from out of it appeared Rivurandis falling to the earth, branding the stone table. Only a few feet away, the sheath also appeared. Easton jumped to the sword and quickly forced it into its sheath, the power of the blade shrieking in protest at being once more subdued. Easton dropped the cloak over the stone and left the sword there as well.
Easton walked over to the wall of King’s Time. The wizard rummaged in a small leather pouch, pushing aside leaves, feathers, bones, and miscellaneous other items. Locating a chunk of coal, Easton wrote an epitaph on the stone. He outlined each letter of the runes. Then, casting his hand out before him, the runes began to glow gold. Slivers of stone fell from within the outlines, disintegrating into dust as it dropped to the stone. As each rune was magically carved, it turned from gold to black. Easton stepped back as a few tears dropped from his eyes.
The stone read, “Here remains Erelon, master wizard and warrior, friend to all races. Always alone and never alone. May he find the rest and peace he deserves.”
Easton turned and picked up the stone and sword, both artifacts too great to take back to the wizards. Too great and powerful to be kept where any ordinary man could easily reach them or any wizard with no self control and large dreams.
Easton tied both artifacts to his pack horse, mounting his own horse and gathering the reins to the other two. Draos tugged against Easton's grip on his bridle. The old horse looked towards King's Time, as if begging for a few more seconds as it mourned the passing of his long time friend.
There were many places in the far reaches of the world that were unknown to any man. Easton had seen much while in the Humban world, many corners that could only be reached by those with enough magical power, enough will and desperation. First he would care for the magical artifacts. He would hide them someplace few men could find them. First to see Ahzmad as Erelon had asked. And then past the flying city, past the Desert of Fire. Easton's mind traveled on down the road that he was choosing. Past the Desert of Fire, that's where he would take Rivurandis and the Stone of Combining. But should he stop in Sine first, Easton asked himself.
Easton led away to the East as Draos tossed his head once and then quietly followed.
Hendle stood alone, looking out across the dark night. A shower had passed through, settling the dust. Behind the wizard, huge bonfires had been started, and music could be heard playing. A few mourned, a few partied, and most did not know how to respond. They had won. Many of those who had fought did not know the world before the wraiths; many others debated the cost.
Hendle and others who were strong with magic, like Yalen, had felt the disappearance of the warlocks and the cloud that had fallen over Erelon. Erelon had left an empty hole in the world as his presence had faded. He had truly been one of the most powerful wizards seen by the world, and his fading left a void in the minds and hearts of all who controlled magic and lived by it.
Hendle looked up into the sky as stars jumped and spoke to Erelon, “You did it. You really did it. You won.”
The new leader of the wizards turned from the wall to wander randomly through the night, chasing shadows and avoiding people.
Piers had been built, and in the darkness, they had been lit, a signal seen for miles honoring those who had died, the cost of the battle. Those such as Hestler and the giants, who had died and could not be taken home for a funeral, were cremated upon the fires. Auri swore that none of his army would be buried on a foreign field of battle and instead allowed the wind to carry the ashes home.
Hendle began having the pieces of the siege towers collected, the timber used to construct crude houses on the foundations of a couple of the old villages. None had stayed in the Keep that first night, instead sleeping in the open, throwing up tents and sleeping on the hard ground.
The army began to dissipate. The first to go were the giants and mud trolls. They stopped by Hendle, who was watching the brass doors that Erelon had blown down being packed into a wagon. The dwarves had promised to fix and return the doors. The members of the giants bowed to the new leading wizard before loping off through the gates and into the prairie, beginning their long trek back to the northern mountains.
Hendle stepped into the Keep. Before moving farther in, Hendle looked around for traps and began surveying the damage. Other wizards also began to follow Hendle into the castle. The rest of the wizard’s army respectfully stood outside watching as the wizards returned from their banishment.