River Of Life (Book 3)

by Paul Drewitz

  Only a few of the men actually felt grief over the destruction, but for the elves, it was as if old friends were being slain. These trees had seen events to which the elves could relate. Around a bar, they could sit telling stories of the ages past, reminiscing about good and bad moments in history. These trees had seen much of those same stories.

  “We should do something,” Yalen hissed.

  The master wizard looked at him and asked, “What?”

  “I don’t know. Do you have some spell?” Yalen suggested.

  “Nothing that would not do more damage than what the goblins are already causing,” Erelon replied.

  “Then let’s go down and destroy them as we did before,” Yalen suggested, revenge sounding within his voice.

  “It would accomplish nothing except to prolong the destruction for maybe a few days and put the lives of many men at needless risk,” Erelon replied with a whisper.

  Yalen, disgruntled, planted his feet firmly where he stood, as if by watching the destruction of the living woods, he could gain some understanding or revelation through the horrid moment. Erelon also stood, observing, not turning away, and watching for anything they might try afterwards. Without an attack from Suragenna, the goblins might grow bold and attack the walls.

  “Erelon! Erelon!” a voice exclaimed.

  The master wizard looked into a green mirror at his feet. In it, a face looked out, the face of Festor.

  “What is happening at your end?” Festor questioned.

  “Nothing much,” Erelon replied, “The goblins are attacking the trees and making my elven friends uneasy.”

  A grunt came from Festor, and then the old wizard’s face disappeared from view, sinking into a swirling fog. Festor was at the other end of the wall where it again cut into the woods far south and attached itself to the mountain wall. Grism was in the center where the walls looked out on the grassy hills that rolled out across the horizon. Up on the wall, Grism could see where the hills were dotted by blue and green ponds that looked like they were covered in diamond dust. Rivers were marked by dark lines of trees and brush that looked like a lacy trim. Several such magical mirrors were what allowed the men to communicate, but their range was extremely limited.

  From the depths of the forest, shadows began to move. Slowly they pulled together and began to take on forms, human-like forms. They gripped the master wizard’s interest. For a moment, Erelon did not know if it was his own mind, an illusion, or if it was real. And if it was real, what was its nature? One look at Yalen, and Erelon knew he was not the only one there who had witnessed the strange event within the trees.

  The eyes of the elf were intense, his ears strained for any sound, his whole body stiff as all his senses tried to catch any clue that would tell him what was happening or going to happen. The elf’s hand already clutched a knife’s handle.

  The goblins were completely unaware of what built behind them from the shadows. Slowly, from the dark eaves of the forest, the shadows stepped, human of shape with pointed ears, lithe forms, and young faces. Elves, dark elves of the darkest places in the forest. The dark elves stepped behind the goblins, their blades going through the soft tissue of their throats and bellies. The assailants did not make a sound, nor their victims as they slipped silently to the earth’s floor.

  As quickly and quietly as the elves had arrived, they were gone as if they had turned to ash to be stolen by the strong breeze. Both Erelon and Yalen stared at one another.

  “Well. . . .?” Yalen asked.

  “It was not me,” Erelon said with shock.

  “They weren’t mine,” Yalen said with finality.

  Both stood for a few moments in silence before the wizard broke it with words of wisdom, “There is legend that elves still live in the darkest shadows of this forest, that not all fled before the onslaught of the original wraiths.”

  “Yeah, well, I thought it was just legend,” a soldier from nearby spoke out.

  “Whatever happened, it will make for a good story when I am drinking with the dwarves tonight,” Erelon replied optimistically.

  Chapter 4

  THE world around Mortaz was pale brown, covered in a pale dirty blue sky that did little to block the rays of the angry sun. What had been once white stone was covered in a light brown dust, dust that came from the earth that had been at one time fertile, covered with green vegetation, life, and dark earth that supported it. The room was partly covered in shadow, light streaming in through an opening that led to a balcony that looked on the outside world. On a single stand lay a book, its pages thick and heavy, dark with age. Dead mold was thick as at one time it had grown on the parchment when it had been stored in a dungeon. It was one of those artifacts that the wraiths had claimed as they conquered countries in their quest to rule the world.

  A wraith now stood before it, its form dark but transparent with eyes glowing red. Slowly pages began to flip, one landing heavily upon the next. The binding was half worn out, and the cover was torn and scorched as if someone had unsuccessfully tried to destroy the book. Pages quit turning, and the spirit turned towards the inside of the old wizards' fortress. A goblin strolled to the book and picked it up without closing it.

  The spirit and the goblin stood on the highest wall. The goblin held the book before the wraith while something that resembled an appendage waved before the transparent warlock. From the ground burst monsters of huge proportions, varieties, and elements. Monsters that were plants, beasts, and any mix of them.

  Most roamed the floor of the earth, yet a few flew. As they broke the surface of the earth’s skin, chunks of hardened dirt flew, and craters in which a troll could be buried were left in the ground. Each knew their mission, that mission was the same for each beast. To destroy the wizards, the few enemies that stood between the warlocks and total control over the earth.

  The wizards, they were the only ones that could actually cause trouble. That trouble, the transparent warlocks planned to end now as their army of monsters fell behind a natural leader, a four armed beast with the body of a troll and the head of a giant bison.

  Chapter 5

  ERELON walked below the broken ceiling that was made of the foliage of the trees. He easily stepped across a dry brown carpet. The wizard wore his black cloak with the insignia of his rank. The hood was thrown back which allowed the light to catch the waves within his hair which began to be highlighted with white streaks. He walked with his ice staff in hand. Below his cloak was an off white tunic with brown leather straps crossing his body that were studded with knives. He went nowhere without being armed. His magical elven sword hung low, its tip visible below the black cloak.

  Behind the wizard, giggling children followed. They were young, unaware of the true danger beyond the fortifications. They knew something hostile lay out beyond the stone barrier, but they did not understand its exact nature. They knew who the legendary hero Erelon was, and now following the one they looked up to, the children tried their best not to alarm the wizard and so cause Erelon to send them back to where they came from.

  This was adventurous for the little children. They followed the incredibly dangerous and powerful wizard Erelon. Several had already turned back; these who continued to follow were the bravest. Erelon knew that they trailed him. The children thought they were quiet. For a man who had been hunted and had been the hunter, a warrior who had killed so that he could continue to live, the noise they made was tremendous.

  Erelon’s path dipped into a shallow ravine. Several logs crossed it, and at the bottom ran a small stream of silver water. Small brushy areas clustered at its edge where a few leafy spindly trees grew. Erelon stooped down and began snapping twigs and choosing leaves, allowing those that he discarded to slowly twist and turn on their way back to the floor of the forest.

  With fibers of grass as string, Erelon wrapped and tied a sculpture together in full view of the children. Finally finished, he held up a bird made of twigs and leaves. Casting it into the air, the toy bird took
off with a flutter, calling out with its magical voice. It circled the wizard a couple rounds before taking flight into the tops of the trees and disappearing.

  Strong squeals of glee attested to the enjoyment of the children. Their nervous shuffling feet showed their curiosity and their wish for a closer view.

  Yet a loud, harsh, “Shhh,” came from an older boy who felt they were still hidden.

  Erelon turned to them with a mischievous smile. The wizard was enjoying this game. These children made him forget for a moment who he was and what his mission was in this world.

  The wizard waved them to his side, beckoning for them to come closer, reassuring them that they did not have anything to fear. To bring a little joy to the children, to see their faces light up and to elicit laughter from them, that was Erelon’s mission at the moment. It brought him a happy moment, and a seldom-seen smile creased the wizard’s face. The image of Chaucer giving the toys to the children of Salis flashed before Erelon's eyes for a moment, and Erelon finally understood the feelings that had filled his old mentor when he had given the children the toys.

  From behind trees, over half a dozen youth came bounding up to the old wizard, no longer afraid of him. However, the older boy with distrust hung behind, slowly following as if he wanted to see what happened to the others first. Erelon set to gathering more sticks and leaves, quickly binding them into a little boat with little men. His hands easily bent and twisted the leaves and sticks as if he had done this many times. Setting it into the stream, it came to life: men raced around, the sails filled, and off down the river it sailed on adventures of its own.

  The sun shone bright, and reflecting from the stream, it cast moving golden patterns against the boat’s hull, patterns that curved and crossed. Giggling and shouting, the children followed the boat down the stream until a horn sounded from the direction of the wall.

  At that moment, the world seemed to stop for the wizard. Again the task and the enemy before him clouded his mind, the joy he brought the children gone. The children had abandoned their pursuit of the boat, their ears listening to the loud nasal warning.

  “Come,” Erelon ordered and began shoving the children in the direction of the woodland path.

  Men in armor raced up and down its length. Several horses charged and were gone with a breeze following behind.

  “Hey, you!” Erelon exclaimed to one of the soldiers running towards the wall, “Take these children back to the mountain.” Erelon had demanded with no room for the man to refuse.

  Leaving the children in the charge of the soldier, Erelon raced toward the protective wall. Already several of the enemy mounted the summits as the master wizard arrived, flying through the trees. With an outstretched arm, Erelon caused magical electricity to envelop those goblins that had reached the top of the wall.

  The goblins' bodies grew stiff and straight as the electricity caused their muscles to spasm and grow taunt. The bodies of the gray creatures fell to the earth with a sullen, dull thud, nerves still sending the muscles into ugly spasms that caused their faces to turn into wretched masks even though the mind and heart were dead. Even as the dead bodies of slain enemies came crashing down around Erelon, he grabbed a knotted rope and swung up the wall.

  Easily he climbed, one hand after the other, his muscles growing tight, sweat dripping from his wrenched face and taunt skin. The wizard’s body brushed the rough wall, and his cloak trailed far below, hanging straight.

  First one hand and then another grasped the rough rock ledge, then the wizard pulled with his full strength, heaving his body onto the ledge. As he stood, bringing his sword from its sheath all in the same fluid movement, he looked down into the eyes of a beast, a wolfman. They were yellow glaring eyes, the eyes of one who loved to kill, hated those that fought back, but hated still worse those who were such cowards that they would not fight.

  Erelon’s sword descended, opening a bloody gap between those horrible eyes. The body fell to the floor of the wall, and with a shove of his boot, Erelon sent it tumbling over the edge into the swarming mob below.

  Quickly Erelon moved in for the kill. Each stroke destroyed at least one enemy. He wasted no energy, no move was pointless. Erelon brought the blade downward, cleaving the skull of one enemy, and as he brought the blade back, an unsuspecting goblin found the hot magical tip of Erelon's blade searing a path through his throat. Erelon used every inch of the blade. One moment using the heavy thick section where it connected into the pommel to sever the arm off one creature, and the next using only the tip, allowing it to only slighting sink into the back of another monster.

  The enemies were mostly goblins, yet within them were mixed motley beasts that Erelon did not know from where the wraiths had spawned them. Part wolves, trolls, and spiders mixed with men or other creatures. A few even seemed related to wraiths. Suddenly, Erelon and Yalen met on the wall. Instinctively, they turned their backs together and went back to work.

  “The battle is mostly contained along the wall within the forest,” Yalen shouted above the roar of rushing bodies and metal crashing into metal.

  Erelon shoved his sword through the throat of one goblin and twisted it so that it came out free and then brought it downward through the bowels of another. The pressure of the mob pushed against his body, but Erelon anchored his feet into the ground, pushing back so that he was not shoved from the wall to fall to the ground far below.

  “Those watching the prairie wall should stay at their posts anyway. Do not want to be surprised,” Erelon replied as he smashed the butt of his sword into the face of a goblin, blood squirting from a crack in its skull, and then yanked on its arm sending him over the edge of the wall.

  Yalen only gave a nod of his head in acknowledgement.

  On the enemy came. They used few ladders; instead, they ascended the walls like bugs, using all four of their own limbs. They clambered over every inch of the stone wall, a vertical flood of gray bodies. Finally some men began dumping oil and tar over the walls, but Erelon refused to have it lit. The oil made the wall slick, and the enemy slid back to the ground. The goblins grew wise. Erelon saw as torches were flung, the goblins setting it on fire themselves even though it consumed many of their own.

  Smoke and fire billowed over the edge of the wall, blinding those who guarded it. As the smog cleared and the fires and heat died, men could still see overpowering numbers of enemy warriors. Wizards used magical spells, fire, electricity, and wind, but nothing could turn aside the dark swarm. Explosions filled the base of the wall as earth and bodies flew in all directions. Bodies were wrapped around trees or impaled on limbs, chunks of flesh hanging like clothes on a line to dry. Erelon shoved his sword into the sky. Lightning bolts came from the clear blue beyond and slammed into the earth at the base of the wall. Dirt showered his own soldiers along with pieces of the enemy bodies.

  Erelon slammed the pommel of his sword into the face of a goblin before pitching him over the wall and then plunging the blade into the bowels of another. The stomach, so soft. A blade easily went through without catching on bone or cartilage, and yet the wound would be so vicious that even though the victim would die slowly, it would be unable to continue the fight.

  The wizard scooped up a scimitar that had fallen from the dead hands of a goblin. With two blades, he rushed the goblins along the wall. He brought both down, severing the arms from one. Then brought them back around through another. He twisted, turned and loosed the scimitar so that it flew awkwardly through the air to plunge through the chest of a wolfman. The creature looked at the point that had burst through its ribs before collapsing and falling over the edge of the wall. Erelon rushed in, slamming his shoulder into one goblin, his sword held out straight before him, skewering another.

  Elves looped long chains about crenellations and swung over the wall. Erelon watched as Yalen swung a chain over his head and whipped it around a rock post. As the chain snapped back to the elf, he shoved a pin between two links, holding them together, and slipped over the
wall, running. The chains grew taunt as the other end was wrapped around the elf. For the elf, the side of the wall suddenly became the floor. They swept along the rock barricade’s length, their blades attacking all those obstructing their path. They pushed over or sliced through the few ladders, and the chain between them and the wall’s summit dislodged hundreds of the enemy so that they tumbled to their deaths far below.

  The elves’ feet moved quickly so that they could run along the wall, and as they rushed upwards, their chains forcing them into a half circle course, they were received into outstretched friendly arms. The elves would be disoriented, nauseous as the world again rolled over and righted itself, but for them, the work was done. The attack had been quick and efficient.

  Erelon was a little surprised, but they were elves. With them, one never knew what to expect. He had never seen such a battle strategy, yet the walls had been effectively cleared. Erelon just stood there with arms crossed, watching the elves as they tried to clear their minds and reclaim equilibrium. Yalen stumbled around, his head hung low, his eyes closed as they raced back and forth while his mind tried to remember what was the right side of the world to stand upon.

  Erelon was attacked. A beast slammed into him, knocking him off the wall. A beast made from a huge boulder of poison oak vines and decorated with leaves with razor edges hurled towards him by use of a pair of monstrous condor wings. A hissing reptilian head peered from the sphere. The monster’s mass slammed into the master wizard. Erelon’s breath was stolen from him, every bone in his body groaning and crying in distress. The wizard’s head felt like some troll had hit him with a mallet. His mind instinctively cast a sphere or shield of energy, that absorbed the blow of the ground. His body was so numb that it could not feel the collision as he bounced across the earth and rolled into the trunk of a tree.