River Of Life (Book 3)

by Paul Drewitz

  Handing one to the lad, Erelon kept the other heatless torch for himself and started down the narrow tunnel. Very little noise came to them except for their own heaving breath that caused a heavy white fog to hang in the air before them, which they again breathed in. Slowly as they progressed, the round cave widened so that Erelon did not have to crouch low, yet the rough ceiling of the tunnel continued to rub his back.

  Through the tunnel, music came to their ears. A flute and chimes drifted along the breeze as if some orchestra of fairies had found the peaceful seclusion of the winter’s mountain hall inspirational. As the light grew in power, so did the music, as if it accompanied the light. As the sound grew, melodies and harmony could be heard whimsically telling the story of winter and the legends surrounding this harsh season.

  The torches cast a low red glow on the walls and floor, marking all grooves and obstacles, yet doing little to reveal the hidden secrets of the passage. As the red glow of their torches grew fainter, they knew they were closing in on the end of the tunnel. Slowly the passage opened wider, and a three foot drop brought them into a huge cavern filled with natural light glaring off of ice and snow.

  Ice crystals reflected the light so that a splash of color was sent flying through, decorating the world in a beauty that not even the elves could replicate. As one crystal would reflect light, dividing it, another crystal would pick up each ray to further subdivide it until it was a continuous cycle of rays dancing from crystal to crystal, each ray of light and beam of color changing continuously.

  Thousands of lights were reflected all at once so that the entire chamber was filled with light that had been at first blinding. Both squinted their eyes so that tears flowed freely as their eyes tried to adjust and filter out the excess light. Erelon even drew his hand over his closed eyes as the light beat against his eye lids and still burned. Slowly he parted his fingers, allowing a little more light in as they opened up. Slowly he drew his hand away and blinked several times.

  Erelon descended the steps carved by wind piling up snow and then freezing it into blocks. The ice formed chandeliers above and mirrors on the walls, and they burst from the ground and made chairs and tables. Several trees with the pink blossoms lived, adding a organic element to the cold world. Only during the winter months did this tree blossom and grow. During the warm months of the year, it looked dead and naked, and for this reason, many men who did not know about their miraculous beauty had cut them down.

  The chamber was filled with the musical ensemble as flutes, chimes, and bells all rose together. Yet as Erelon listened and felt for the melody, he could place a sound that did not feel right. It was a mischievous sound, playing with the melody, changing tempo, and its own sound as it wished. The air that flowed through the chambers had wrought the crystals into the sounds needed, and now for those that knew where to find the musical caverns, they played beautifully. Erelon did not know if the Humbas had built this cavern years ago, or if it were the original inhabitants of Suragenna, or if nature itself had through years of trial and practice magically formed this amazing cavern. Erelon knew it had been around for ages, and that these caverns had been unaltered by men as far back as he could find it mentioned in manuscripts.

  Yet the slightest outside force could change the form of the crystals, causing the ballad to change. Some legends claimed if the alteration was severe enough, it could bring the cavern down completely.

  Turning to the lad, Erelon fervently stated, “No fire, and try to keep noise limited.”

  Crossing behind the boy, Erelon took from the pack a tube container along with a saw, which had a blade encrusted with diamond powder, a tool barrowed from Bahsal.

  Without another word, Erelon proceeded farther into the caverns, following the musical sound that did not match the melody. Erelon had crystals of ice growing from his full beard, and white areas on his cheeks and nose where ice had settled. He still held onto his heatless, glowing torch, pointing it around towards the darkest corners, crystals sucking in its color and light and spraying it into the world along with the light they obtained from the world outside the caverns.

  The wizard had left the boy far behind before finding what he had been looking for. The other crystals in the cavern distributed the color and light from his torch so that the world could enjoy the beauty. However, this one squat crystal absorbed the red glow, and into its point it concentrated the color. Greedily, it stole the red glow and kept it for itself, not sharing but keeping the color to make the world envious.

  Slowly, carefully as he had been taught by the dwarves, Erelon cut the crystal free, and then slowly chipped away the excess so that all that remained was a pure, flawless crystal of ice. The wizard had been taught by the dwarves how to cut gems, diamonds, and other crystals.

  Erelon pulled the tube from within his cloaks and unscrewed one end, eased the crystal into it, and then rotated its cap until it was sealed. Erelon breathed a sigh of relief.

  Chapter 3

  ERELON was sitting in on another council. He had only been back from his trek through the mountains long enough to obtain some breakfast. In the balconies, men watched the proceedings about the formation of the military.

  "I think our troops would fight better, be able to better defend our walls if they were allowed to fight beside their friends," one wizard roared.

  "Yeah, dividing up companions, it would be like separating a unit that has been training together for years. It is completely detrimental to our defense," another chimed in his approval.

  "I think we could break up into more shifts. We need more than four shifts. Four shifts every day, two day shifts and two night shifts, makes for a very long day, and the men cannot easily regulate their sleep," another wizard offered a more sound opinion.

  "Maybe only four hour shifts, instead of eight?" Hendle quizzed. "But I would think that would make it even harder to get sleep with only a few hours to catch some rest."

  "Well then maybe four hour shifts during the day, and two six hour shifts at night?" Burlim offered the concerned wizards.

  Erelon noticed Burlim had streaks of gray through his hair now, and a few wrinkles lining his head. His little brother Flex sat next to him. Flex had turned into a quiet young man, allowing Burlim to do the talking, but no one was fooled by his silent exterior. Everyone in the room understood that Flex had the most talent.

  A few days before, a squat man with wild red hair and a giant mole on his left chin had approached Erelon, "The council has not met for a while now. Several months. This is not a dictatorship. We demand to be allowed to voice our complaints and concerns in a democratic manner."

  The man had hissed and gurgled. He was not a man Erelon would have chosen to represent him, not a well spoken wizard.

  Erelon eyed the man with caution. He had never known his opposition to be interested in anything democratic. "Fine, we can meet tomorrow in the afternoon. Not a minute before the sun passes its highest point in the sky."

  "My friends will be grateful," the warty wizard gurgled as he sloughed off into a hallway.

  "You remember what I told you about the alliances between some of these wizards?" Hendle's voice questioned behind Erelon.

  "Yeah, I understand," Erelon mumbled. "But I do not believe that any of these alliances are powerful enough to try to fight me. And we have broken these men apart so they cannot plot and associate easily. I have been watching them cautiously. I do not feel they can cause any great mischief."

  "Still, I am sure they will be wanting to change the organization that you have forced on them," Hendle replied.

  Erelon had only chuckled as he considered how he could use tomorrow's meeting.

  And now it was tomorrow, and Erelon was listening to another wizard whine.

  “The military organization is unfair,” one wizard complained.

  “Would we not fight more efficiently if we were to battle with those of our own choice?” another whined.

  “Fight who more efficiently? The enemy or
ourselves?” Hendle asked and then gave an answer to his own question, “No. I think we will remain with the organization installed by Master Erelon himself.”

  On they argued.

  "Yes, definitely. Wizards who are enemies fighting together along the wall will be very successful," one growled back.

  "You are not divided up by friends and enemies," Burlim retorted. "You are divided up by the skills you have, what you know. You are separated so that each shift has experienced warriors and those who have not spent as much time fighting or studying."

  The battle degraded into a struggle for power.

  "I do not believe that these decisions should be only decided by you and Erelon," a wizard bellowed at Hendle, sweeping his hands across the table as if trying to make himself appear larger than he really was.

  "Yes, let us allow you to make the decisions. A man who could barely crawl across the floor of Mortaz when we left," Hendle growled with sarcasm.

  "Well, not all of us here are so young," another bald wizard bellowed. "Some of us here might be quite qualified to make a few decisions of our own."

  "And feel free to give your opinion in this council, and I am sure that we appreciate when you make decisions for the defense of the wall when it is your turn to be stationed there. So I am not sure what you are disapproving of?" Hendle tried to disarm the situation through a calm, steady voice.

  Slowly, those few involved in the verbal battle noticed that the other members of the assembly had become quite quiet. Looking down the long table, they observed the master wizard, juggling several spheres of ice and fire. Such control over completely opposite and conflicting elements worried those along the table who opposed Erelon.

  “So you do not agree with my decisions,” Erelon started quietly, amusement echoing within his voice.

  “N-n-n-n-no-o-o,” one stammered in denial.

  “Oh, it sounded to me as if you were against my decision. Although it seems to me that it is working quite well,” Erelon stated with amusement as he could sense the fear he provoked.

  Slowly Erelon worked the spheres of ice and fire together until there were only one of each, and then he stopped juggling altogether, letting the two forces lie, one in each hand. He brought them together, placing them together in the same hand, cupping his hands together and then squeezing. The two elements fought against the wizard, trying to squeeze out, licking at open air and space. Bringing two elements that are complete opposites together into the same spell is much like forcing the same poles of a magnet together.

  From within his cloak, Erelon drew a smooth, oval, ordinary stone with his left hand. Erelon slowly began to force the fire and ice into the stone. It struggled against him. Yet the sphere of ice and fire came into contact with the rock, and Erelon’s hands cupped over the stone, enclosing the magical elemental powers. Streams of ice and tongues of fire burst from between his fingers, and then all went dormant. Holding the rock in one hand, Erelon displayed it for all to see as it glowed for a few moments and then went dark.

  “So what are we arguing about?” Erelon questioned as everyone looked at him with amazement.

  The control and power he had displayed was amazing. With no struggle, he had created a magical artifact. Average wizards would have spent days of preparation. In the perfect room, without any interrupting outside presence, with all the proper and necessary tools, they would have carried out such a performance. And they would have required several days of rest afterwards. Yet Erelon sat ready to fight the entire assembly.

  “Nothing. We’re not arguing about anything,” came a whispered voice in response to Erelon’s question.

  “Then what are we doing here?” Erelon asked innocently.

  Without another word, the entire assembly excepting Erelon and Hendle broke up and started for the door. A few chairs were hastily pushed back so they fell over. One wizard tripped over the feet of another as he tried to push ahead. A path across the floor was swept clean of dust from the low hanging cloaks of the wizards as they passed through.

  Erelon watched them as they breezed by, only a blur of color. A smile creased his face, and then slowly, he also got up and left. Bahsal waited for him just beyond the door. Standing quietly, the dwarve had watched events from the ground floor. If there was trouble, he wanted to be in the center of it.

  “You have what I asked for?” Erelon questioned.

  “Sure, right here,” Bahsal responded as he handed Erelon two leather bags.

  In the first was a handful of diamond dust. The dwarves kept a huge pile as they chipped their diamonds. The fragments that were too small for any other use were gathered and stored away for anyone and everyone to take as much as they wanted. Wizards used it for all-purpose magical powder. Mix it with some sand, and it would go a long way. Some had nicknamed it fairy dust, but it had nothing in common with fairies.

  In the second bag was a diamond itself. It was just as big as Erelon’s fist if not a little larger. The bottom of the diamond was cut into the classical facets that all diamonds naturally contained but required an expert eye to see. Yet the top of the gem was something that only the masterful hand of a dwarve or elvish jeweler could accomplish. For this particular diamond, the top was a completely smoothed dome with no flaws. It was amazing in that it showed no signs of the natural facets that wanted to be seen, that automatically, naturally, fell away as they were struck with a hammer.

  “Such edges I could have made with it, casting light in all directions. All the colors of the world would have been honored to become the mantle of this rock,” the dwarve mourned.

  “I know, but this is what I needed,” Erelon replied, not in a consoling manner, but instead one that was engrossed with the diamond.

  He was pulled into its amazing craftsmanship and the colors that already danced around inside of it.

  Erelon opened all of the windows to his study. It was higher in the residential area and so colder. He uttered a spell of ice and cold, a spell that signified winter. Ice crystals grew down the walls, hung from the ceiling, and some reached far enough to touch the floor. A cold breeze gusted into the room and a mirror quickly frosted. The wizard was dressed in many cloaks.

  From within his layers of clothes, he pulled a leather bag and dropped the diamond given to him by Bahsal into his hand. Laying it on a desk, Erelon pulled a metal tube out of his clothes. He unscrewed its cap, it threads grating roughly. Removing the top, Erelon slightly tipped the cylinder to allow an ice crystal to slide from its magical, icy, protective chamber into the palm of the his hand.

  Now the wizard had to be quick. The crystal would not retain its mischievous personality for long, as it was exposed to elements that would act differently upon it than had the world of the musical caverns. It would lose its character if the slightest ounce melted or the friction of a breeze rubbed a fraction away.

  With the diamond in one hand and the crystal of ice in the other, Erelon started a chant and brought them together. It was a low chant, one that barely hummed below his chest. A man within the room would have to lean close and hold his breath to hear the words Erelon made.

  Slowly the ice crystal slipped into the diamond. The diamond seemed to turn to a gelatin material that absorbed the crystal. Together their facets caused light to dance, creating brilliant reflections throughout the room.

  The ice crystal still tried to greedily claim the radiant colors for its own, but the diamond forced the crystal to release the light back to the world. From the side of the diamond, through the faucets, the ice crystal was barely observable. From the smooth top, it shone as if Erelon had plucked a star from the night sky and entrapped it within the diamond.

  Erelon stepped from a forge, within his hand the finished product: a magical staff that contained the mischievous powers of winter. The huge diamond, with its imprisoned crystal of ice, was set within a rod of steel that started wide at the top, and with many arches and valleys, swooped down to a point. The length of the rod was a four pointed star that fi
t into an walnut staff. Iron bands encircled the top where the rod set into the staff so that it was all pulled tight and the rod could not escape. Fixtures wrapped themselves around the diamond and finally came out over the crown of the diamond, holding it firmly in place.

  Erelon used it as a walking staff as he left a small forge, no more than a cottage at the base of the fortifying wall. Not a forge, not even a furnace for melting iron, could be found within Suragenna. So, outside, below a wall, in a furnace for forging weapons and armor that would go directly into battle, he had created his magical staff that contained the mischief, wrath, and beauty of winter.

  Erelon was watching from the top of the fortifications. Spring had once again blessed the world with fair weather. But it also came as a curse for those who sat trapped within the walls that kept the enemy out. They could not move; they could not go out to travel, enjoying the best time of the year. Once outside the walls, survival became all that mattered, the beautiful world forgotten as they would be forced to engage in battle.

  Far below, goblins were tearing down the trees. They had barely disturbed the ancient forest before, but now, the goblins cut down the majestic trees. Sadly, fibers would crack, pop, and finally break, allowing the tree to groan as it fell with a crash to the earth far below or collapsed into the bowing arms of another tree. The enemy would cut gruesome and crude images into the trunk’s surface. Elven archers would shoot down on them, but they did little to the fleeting gang of goblins who knew where the blind spots were from the wall’s summit.

  Erelon watched them, wondering if he should run another hunting party outside the walls, yet he knew it would be extremely dangerous. He did not know what else waited for him in the trees, and as he had no caravans coming in, there was no real need to risk the lives of a few men. What fighting the men of Suragenna now engaged in would be done from the summit of the walls. More and more goblins began to destroy the forest before the eyes of the men who watched from above.