River Of Life (Book 3)

by Paul Drewitz

  Once inside, there could be an army waiting for him, hiding, and he would never know. In his mind, the wizard tried to remember the terrain while at the same moment knowing it would do him little good. When he left, it was covered in gardens, and in two decades of inhabiting the Keep, the goblins could have rearranged the landscape to however they chose.

  Yet what most caused the wizard to hesitate was the knowledge that he did not know what seeing the old Keep would do to his failing mental stability. Finally, he steadied his nerves and stepped through on foot, leading Draos. Before him, Erelon saw in his mind lush green gardens, but slowly they gave way to reality, brown dust. Soldiers that he had fought beside again lined up in the rain as they made one last stand of defense against the enemy. The last rain that this ground had probably seen.

  As phantoms, the soldiers passed, the darkening clouds faded, the rain was gone. All that was left were worn paths, which had led through the gardens and were still visible like blood vessels running close to the skin’s surface. In the distance, a giant castle, a mansion, grew from the ground. The Keep itself, and above the Keep, faces of goblin warriors carved into the mountain wall.

  The wizard dropped the reins of his horse within the shadow of a tower and started walking, following the trails, though there were no gardens to obstruct the path. Erelon followed one main avenue, one by which horses and wagons could be drawn to a circle before the Keep’s main entrance.

  The trail’s width changed as it flowed along. It would become narrow and then widen again. It dipped and climbed. Yet as Erelon did not wish to enter by the main entrance, he turned onto a side path, a more narrow trail meant for walking, a path used to meander through the gardens.

  A peaceful trail for those who wished to meditate in nature, slowly it brought him towards the castle. Yet before the wizard reached the Keep, he stopped. A short flight of steps were before him, flanked on both sides by statues of winged lions sitting on pedestals of small square chunks of rock. Erelon did not remember these statues.

  Carefully the wizard looked them over. He felt no threat, yet why would the wraiths have statues constructed? Did they still have a desire for art, a desire for some sense of beauty and construction, not just for destruction?

  Slowly he passed between them, up the flight of stairs. The Keep appeared before him. Vacant windows stared at him like the eye sockets of a skull. They longed to again harbor beings that encouraged life, instead of the half dead that knew only how to destroy and end life.

  Hunched over, Erelon approached the castle, trying to hide below the rises of the landscape, though it was mostly flat. Always a hand close to a knife, his eyes darted for any sign of the army that was under the control of the warlocks. This was where their power would be the greatest, in the presence of the main essence of their bodies. His ears never caught a sound, nothing but a slight breeze that swept the world with hot air and displaced the dust.

  The wizard licked his dried, cracked lips and sat still for a moment. This was not right. The warlocks controlled a horde, and although many were employed elsewhere, Erelon knew he had tracked those that had encamped outside the gates to the wizard’s retreat back into this valley.

  Looking around, there was no sign that a large mob had entered. Gathering his feet below him, Erelon lurched forward, running for a side door. Quickly he was on the pillared porch, and in a moment, he was in the cool, close, side hallway within the Keep. He had tapped a simple off colored rock. A section of wall slid away revealing a passage that a pair of gnomes could have comfortably passed through but forced the wizard to crawl on his belly like a lizard.

  The door silently closed behind the wizard who never noticed that his escape was cut off. Instead, all of his senses were focused forward into the future and on the path before him. Part of Erelon was still amazed that he had not heard the gnashing of goblin teeth on his heels as he had raced across the open landscape.

  The rough stonewalls passed by, and Erelon’s hand reached out to feel the old stone, now hot from the weather it had suffered for two decades. The path abruptly stopped, adjoining a main hallway that was also completely empty. The wizard’s eyes had adjusted to the dim light, gathering the little there was and causing a dark image to appear. Yet it still left the wizard uncomfortable. He had used the darkness and knew its possibilities for ambush and destroying adversaries. The enemy before him was not ignorant; they were not weak; and Erelon trusted nothing.

  These are my halls, Erelon thought to himself as he stood up.

  With his arms at his side, hands held palm up, even with his shoulders, Erelon called out, “Speak to me home of the wizards. My home.”

  Phantoms of torches appeared down the length of the hall, wavering as their thin forms tried to once again go dormant and disappear into the world from which Erelon called them. Their light was not great, yet it allowed for the wizard to view what lay ahead. They danced with the presence of the wizard. Long it had been since the magic of the stone structure had felt the presence of one as great as Erelon.

  Erelon easily passed through the halls. Although almost two decades, he still remembered them all as if the building’s design had been burned into his mind with a hot iron.

  One hall led to his study, another to what had been a treasury, yet out into a garden he stepped. Now brown, wooden skeletons were all that was left of small trees and shrubbery. A stone bench where he had met a young girl floated back into his memory. He could remember meeting her regularly for two weeks, and then suddenly she never again appeared. For another week he had continued to visit the garden hoping for her return.

  After that, Erelon assumed there would be no woman in his life. He was a wizard with a power so great it left him isolated. His magic would not allow for him to put down foundations for a life. Afterwards he had gone back to his books, experimentation with magic, and practice with blades.

  The garden was small. A door was reached within seconds, allowing Erelon to escape the terrible sun. The wizard did not know where he was going. He did not really even know what he looked for. Though, deep within his soul, he hoped for a confrontation with the warlocks.

  Yet he could feel no dark shadow upon his mind or heart. There was no evil, no presence that he could feel in the Keep beyond his own. It was almost as if it had been abandoned. Slower he began to move; more cautious he became as he was disturbed by the Keep’s apparent abandonment.

  Erelon paused by a room that had collapsed and filled with rubble. Thoughts trailed through his mind about what the room had been. These he quickly shut from his mind, but they continued to come back, resurfacing in new ways. In that room, he had destroyed the men who had used him, betrayed him. In destroying those wizards, Erelon had killed some of his most powerful fighters, his greatest weapons and assistance.

  Slowly Erelon worked back down to the main floor, descending hundreds of stairs. Then on the lowest levels he continued, down into the treasuries where the wizards had stored their loot, some gained honorably, some not. Huge rooms with high rib vaulted ceilings were covered in painted mosaics of famous battles and warriors.

  Small piles of coins and other treasures of mediocre value still remained. The warlocks had no use for such physical objects. They gained their power through fear and their military strength. And their military fought for them for payment other than gold. In one chamber, the far wall had caved in, and much of the ceiling had also tumbled down. Small pieces of glass lay outside the pile of rubble, and a frame lay below, twisted and ruined. Yet Erelon found nothing of great importance or enlightenment.—only small clues that reminded him that his flight from Mortaz had not been a nightmare.

  Suddenly, the wizard could sense something sinister move around a room above, almost as if some creature had been disturbed from a nap and now began to prowl the halls. From the cellar, Erelon turned, rushing up the flights of stairs. At first wide, the further he climbed, they became increasing narrow, allowing room for other chambers. Erelon stepped into a bright do
orway. A room he did not recognize lay before him.

  It was small, but open; there was no far wall, and instead it opened onto a balcony with a railing. On the balcony sat a pedestal on which was an ancient book, the pages of which looked like they would fall into dust the moment they were touched. The wizard stepped farther into the room. Nearby was the evil that he was searching for. He could feel it. Now he had to only wait for it to show itself.

  Erelon did not fear a meeting with his enemy. He had long practiced to control his magic. Now it was time to see how well his experience and lore would serve him when he needed it most. Behind the wizard, several dark, transparent forms glided. Not just one, but many. Spreading out, several stood behind Erelon while one glided past the wizard to stand before him.

  “So Master Erelon,” it hissed, “We finally meet again. So much have you changed since last we met in the bowels of this great castle. I have been looking forward to this meeting.”

  Chapter 7

  ERELON looked around, carefully observing the situation. He was pinned. There were two ways out: the balcony rail and a plunge to certain death that would leave his blood and bones scattered across the ground, or the entrance through which he had come, which was guarded by at least three phantoms. Erelon was not sure how many were behind; they faded into one another, making it impossible to get a certain count.

  “You have become powerful. There is nothing you cannot do,” the wraith went on while holding a hand over the book, making its pages turn.

  “Join us. In the form of man or through the Humban artifact you can join us. Either way, you will become a god. Join us.”

  The wraith’s offer came completely unsuspected. Never had such a thought entered the mind of the wizard, to join the warlocks. Never had he imagined that the enemy would make such an offer. They were enemies of Erelon’s mentor, Chaucer. Now they wished for his pupil to join them. To join the warlocks was completely counter to the wizard’s actual mission. The wizard looked the wraith over.

  “Maybe so. Maybe I would be a god. I would rule you. Even so, join you. . . . I will not and cannot.”

  The wraith chuckled. “We made you, and we will destroy you. Did you think the Battle of Samos was just a coincidence, an accident? We sent the trolls. Sirus was to be the first country in the North to fall. But instead it has become Westeron, as the trolls were destroyed. Sirus was weak, and you defended it, rising to the top of the war, a hero, finding more power within yourself than you ever knew possible."

  The wraith stopped turning the pages and chuckled as he turned to face the wizard, "We sent the dragon to the Rusted Mountains, we had Mellacobe send for you to retrieve you from the dwarves, to bring you to Mortaz. And do you not think we knew of where you were raised? With the gnomes? Do you think we did not know of your training under the elves and the dwarves? We let you live when you were a baby so that in your prime of wisdom and power you could come to us. You do not want to die old in age, after you have watched the magic leave your body and mind, leaving you so feeble that you have to rely on other men. You could join us and live forever."

  The wraith stopped again, looking at Erelon, waiting for some kind of reply, some consideration. The wraith waited for the wizard to change his mind, but as he looked into the stubborn eyes of the wizard, the wraith understood that they should have destroyed the wizard when he was a child.

  "Have it your way. You should never have come. You will not be allowed to leave,” the wraith hissed, its eyes turning a brighter red as the glow deepened.

  “I do not think so. You neither made me nor will stop me from leaving,” Erelon said with amusement.

  Slowly the Alsmah stone floated below the palm of his hand. As it rotated, the stone took on an orange glow.

  “You do know what this is?” Erelon asked with sarcasm.

  There was no doubt within his mind that the warlocks did know what the artifact contained and did fear it. The stone recoiled as a sphere blazed away. For a moment the wraith before the wizard was gone as it evaded the attack. The pedestal and its book both became ash, one moment standing, the next only a pile. The balcony shattered and tumbled into space. Massive amounts of rock from the mountain slammed into the Keep’s walls, causing the entire building to shake.

  With a snicker, the wraith reappeared and began to gloat, “It will take more than a little stone to destroy me.”

  The warlock stopped when he noticed Erelon no longer stood within their presence. With the wraiths' attention occupied by the sphere of Hell, the wizard had disappeared with a simple spell of invisibility.

  “Find him!” the warlock lord roared, “I want him found, and I want him dead.”

  Erelon raced from the little room. They were powerful. His spell would not stop them long. The only reason for its success was the wraiths' lack of attention on the wizard and their overconfidence.

  They had heard of such artifacts from their search of the past. But the past is a giant world, and it takes a long time to make a thorough sweep. There were also the Humbas who could easily cover their passing. If the Humbas did not want something found, no one except those who already knew where to look would ever find it. So, this Alsmah stone had passed into the hands of Tix, and from there to Erelon, without the warlocks having a chance to intercept the powerful rock.

  Now Erelon plunged down the hallway, allowing his unconscious mind to control where he fled. It had been long ago since he had last roamed these halls, but unconsciously his mind remembered it all. He was racing for the front door. He knew where it was, he knew the way. To his horse, and out into the prairie where he could lose any pursuit. Draos could outrun any beast the warlocks could send in pursuit. Then afterwards, he did not know. Back down to Suragenna, or out to look for Easton, Erelon had yet to decide.

  The sharp patter of hundreds of big flat feet echoed down the hall, the sound of a small goblin guard. Quickly he took the next right to avoid conflict. He had wanted to meet the wraiths, to feel the extent of their power. Erelon had been young when he had last seen one. The wizard did not know how much they had changed.

  Erelon had read their thoughts. The wraiths would have been ashamed to admit that a creature of mortal form had picked their minds, but Erelon had seen through their minds and into their very souls. Their conquest of Westeron was a success, only Kintex remained. Multiple kingdoms of the South had already fallen below their control. The elves were too terrified to face them, the dwarves had not the magical power. The wizards were their last threat.

  Erelon walked into a wider, longer hallway, so long that the walls converged in the distance. Erelon did not follow it very long before he turned off. He continued down another corridor until it stopped at a pair of double wooden doors. Throwing them open, Erelon stood awkwardly facing three goblins with an ogre. It was a hideous-looking crew that was just as astonished and surprised at the presence of the wizard as he was of them.

  Sword out, Erelon plunged it into the chest of the nearest goblin. Blood squirted out, covering the blade and spattering on the floor. Quickly Erelon rolled below and between the legs of the ogre, its axe slamming into the ground behind him. The axe dug deep into the rock, sending splinters flying down the hall with a crystalline ring. The big beast was too slow to strike again. Coming up, using the momentum from his roll, Erelon with one stroke of the Elvish blade severed the ogre’s leg at the joint and completely cut the other two goblins in half through the chest. Turning, Erelon watched the ogre sink to its other knee as its massive weight pulled it down to the Keep’s floor.

  A flame flickered in the eye of the wizard, something that no one had seen before. It was almost as if he enjoyed the kill to come. For years it had been something he had done out of necessity. Killing was something he had done to ensure his survival and to protect the lives of the innocent.

  Now, almost with joy, he rammed his sword through the back of the monster’s skull, causing its eyes to roll back and go blank. The tip of the sword protruded through the chin, neatl
y breaking the jaw’s fixed joint in half. Green blood bubbled from the hole Erelon had just made, and then all activity ceased as the body fell forward onto the hot stone floor.

  Horns began to blow as if the wraith’s army felt the deaths of their four comrades. Erelon heard the roar of hundreds of feet as a mob stormed through the Keep’s halls. Their feet flopped madly, their voices a high-pitched cackle.

  Erelon could hear his heart beating within his mind, as with every turn he expected the wraith’s entire army to be launched upon him. The rock walls and floor turned to a blur as Erelon raced through them. Yet with each passing moment, the halls became less familiar.

  Another corner, another hallway, only this was blocked by huge double brass doors, doors he did not remember. Why would such doors exist? He stood within the cross section of hallways. All ways were clear except for the brass doors. What lay beyond, Erelon did not know. As he studied the ways around him, he reestablished his equilibrium and came to realize that through those doors was the shortest route to the front porch and the outside world.

  More cackling echoed through the corridors to Erelon’s left and right. The heavy steps of trolls accompanied a multitude of high-pitched goblins with flat feet flapping against the rock floor. Only one way to go, through the doors that hid whatever lay behind.

  The wizard stepped forward to grasp the doors with his mind, as there were no handles and no latch to open them from this side. Erelon held each hand out. He squeezed his fists shut as if trying to clutch invisible handles, magical handles only visible to the mind. Yet not only did his hands clutch at the air, so did his mind. There was nothing blocking the way. There was no cold brass metal to cool his mind. Air was all that filled the passage before him.