River Of Life (Book 3)

by Paul Drewitz

  Erelon looked to the sky and thought about calling out a storm of rain to counter the fire, but he knew he did not have the power, the energy, in his physically beaten state. Looking down into the bubbling water, Erelon could envision summoning an elvish water dragon, but the question filled Erelon’s mind. Was there enough of the liquid for such a creature to form, to exist? Erelon looked at his horse. It was not in the condition to run. Torn and worn from the battle and filled with water, its stomach was sloshing back and forth.

  Even if it was simply a weak dragon, Erelon needed the extra time to flee, just a little delay to outrun the flames, to make it to where the wraith’s power dwindled, where the land once again grew green. Where the fire would smolder and slow until it died.

  The fairies, he must trust that the river fairies would assist his spell. Erelon looked deep into the earth’s pores, into the vessels that brought water from the deep places to this one little hole on the surface of the earth that could save Erelon and his mission.

  “Ayam,” one of the elvish words for water dragons, issued from his lips.

  Far below, water gathered and came spewing up. It started as a thin geyser and quickly widened, sending a shower of rock and mud through the air. Water poured through the old creek bed in both directions, forcing the wizard to the banks to avoid being swept away with the current.

  "Zambril," bellowed from the wizard as he also named the dragon as it exploded into life above him, showering him with water.

  Translucent bones, muscles, finally scales and wings slowly appeared above the wizard as a swirling mass. As the wizard scrambled up the bank panting, several of his cuts again open and bleeding, he wondered if it would have taken less energy to have called up a countering storm. He decided conjuring the dragon would be more entertaining and would have a greater psychological impact on the enemy.

  The dragon, pulling itself together, streaked through the sky towards the black smoke and fire. A demon seemed to emerge, head and shoulders first. An amorphous, continuously changing shape that bled into the flames that gave it life. One foot stepped forward, a column of smoke. Where it collided with the earth, a shower of sparks exploded and coated the prairie in more fire. The fire surged from behind and seemed to envelop the demon's body so that only it's eyes could be seen glowing from the inferno. The ground cracked below the intense pressure caused by the head of this demon. The world around it wavered as all the moisture and oxygen was swallowed by the evil spirit.

  The water dragon glared at this demon it shot towards. It instinctively understood that it had been given life, it had been conjured to fight this demon that threatened the wizard. A path of water, like an umbilical cord, connected the dragon to its water source, the new river. A shower of water fell on the dried prairie with every beat of its wings. Erelon climbed back on his horse before setting its path slowly towards the East.

  The dragon, formed of water that swirled through the length of its body, streaked towards the fire demon released by the wraiths. As the dragon approached, water spewed from its giant maw, slamming into the flames, scattering the black clouds.

  A hiss erupted as if the demon had been stung. The form of the demon composed of fire and smoke once again stepped forward from the chaos caused by the blaze. A hand swung forward to grab the dragon by the throat. The water dragon disappeared for a moment to reappear to the demon’s right. The dragon tried to penetrate the fire with its body of water, but the liquid evaporated the moment it approached the demon. Twisting and turning, the elemental beasts struggled for mastery. Slowly the fire demon pushed the young dragon backwards. Flames darted out, trying to sever the cord that connected the dragon to its source.

  The dragon disappeared for a moment in a mist only to again erupt from the ground in another geyser, having reestablished a link underground. Wherever the dragon touched seemed to gain life. The grass gained color, sprouts shot up from the earth. Only a moment later, the new life shriveled and died, turning to ash to feed the demon who pushed the fire onward.

  The dragon soared upwards, towards the sky that had been obscured by flames. Liquid fire dropped from the upper atmosphere; fire from below climbed upwards. Pillars, stalactites, and stalagmites of fire formed and disappeared only to be again replaced. Tongues of flame shot upwards and seemed to explode. One demon inhabited this fire, spawned by an ancient magic of ancient wraiths, now again brought to life by the warlocks of Chaucer’s and Erelon’s time.

  The dragon slammed into the ceiling of fire, puncturing it, tearing through. For a moment, pale blue skies shone through, then the demon of fire pulled on the dragon’s long tail of water, pulling it back down. The hole in the ceiling of smoke filled back in. The demon climbed up the dragon’s back, grabbing at its wings so that it could not fly.

  They plummeted down, twisting and turning as they fell. The dragon struggled to free itself, struggled for life, in the middle of the inferno. The demon grabbed the dragon’s horns, locked its legs around the water creature’s throat, and jerked back on the dragon’s head. Together they rolled through the air. The dragon barely straightened it's flight out in time to see the ground coming towards it fast.

  Face first the dragon plunged into the earth. Water spilled everywhere. The fire demon went rolling into its own smoke. Not a hundred feet away the dragon again burst from the earth to flee towards its protective water source.

  The fire demon came to the stream which was flowing furiously now that it had been given new life after years of sleeping within the earth. The stream’s agitation showed the anger that tore through the dragon to which it had given birth. With each passing second the stream grew stronger and wider. This stream passed through the realm of the warlocks. Those that had called the demon wished for him to destroy; this water gave life. It was contradictory to the demon’s very purpose for being. It would have been easiest to simply jump the creek and continue chasing the wizard, but the dragon that protected this quickly growing stream had attacked him. And the fire demon's vengeance was as hot as the fire which it was made from.

  The demon’s form came from out of the smoke. Its body was continually moving, a constant flow of fire and smoke moving around the demon's form. It descended into the water, bringing all the heat and anger of its fire to bear upon this one point, to consume the water, turning it to vapor. The water viciously bubbled around the demon. It spilled around, hopping out of the banks of the creek and spilling out onto the desert floor, boiling the already dead grass. The water began to part around the demon as it concentrated all of its energy and focus on this one spot in the creek. The water turned to steam and the ground below the demon began to dry and crack, spreading away from him. Out of the depths of the stream, the maw of the dragon opened. It exploded from the waters of the creek, sailing through the air and crashed back into the stream, filling in where the demon had evaporated the water. Quickly the dragon returned, its maw opened up below the demon, swallowing its fiery enemy.

  Quickly the fire demon began to drown. Its ashes washed away, its fire died, and the smoke dissipated. The demon thrashed wildly. Bubbles exploded from its form and hit the surface of the creek. The water boiled but did not evaporate. The demon suddenly felt cold. The demon’s body shriveled as it fought free and climbed back to the surface. What had once been a small stream was a deepening creek and quickly turning into a river, but it was not deep enough to hold the demon and destroy it. As soon as the fire demon’s head surfaced, he gave a gasp at the air, feeding his fire which burst to life. Steam rose from the river. Up onto the bank the demon lurched, escaping the deadly cold waters. The fires that ate at the prairie had been dying but now came back to life as they fed off the presence of the creature that had given them existence.

  The fire demon stared back at the waters that continued to roll along. He would have to come back later. His main objective was to hunt down and destroy the wizard, Erelon. Erelon had all but laughed at the warlocks. He had insulted them, and he had lived. This concerned those wh
om the demon had been called by. The demon’s own personal vendetta with the water dragon would have to wait.

  Erelon twisted in the saddle for what seemed the second time in the last half of a minute. The billowing black clouds and red angry sky had calmed down as Erelon had first fled. The sky had cleared so that Erelon could see the ugly gray-blue mixed with the brown dust of the dead prairie blown into the atmosphere by high winds. Yet now, the sky had begun to glow red again.

  Erelon assumed it to be almost a day since he had sent the water dragon to fight the fire demon. It was more time than he thought the magical beast would buy him. Both the wizard and the horse were better for the break, for the time of rest. Though they had kept traveling, it had been slow. Now Erelon nervously watched the sky behind as the pink conquered the pale dusty blue and as the source slowly became a darker, bloodier red.

  Erelon encouraged his horse to a faster pace. A line of black formed at the base of the source of the livid red. Erelon swallowed hard and nudged his horse to a run.

  The magical horse was fast, but the fire was pushed by the magical winds powered by the strength and abilities gained by the warlocks from past ages. The black curtain blocked all view of the world behind and now the reddened angry skies had penetrated well before the wizard. The entire world glowed. It might have seemed an exotic beauty except the danger that it posed, the task Erelon knew had been assigned to the fire. Draos ran swiftly without tiring. It was as if his flanks had not even been torn by the goblin’s claws. His body almost seemed to disappear, and Erelon along with it. But visual invisibility did not confuse the demon who could feel the magical presence of the wizard and his horse.

  The fact that these two enemies ran from him only seemed to encourage the demon further. The fire came up to the flanks of the horse. It seemed to gain speed, and Erelon watched it come in for the kill. Long had Erelon been watching the black smoke along the ground grow larger and the red of the flames and sky turn to a deeper blood red. A huge hand lifted high and descended, striking at Draos only to come down upon the prairie, sending a shower of sparks.

  There was no time for Erelon to give his horse a rest, no time to give it a little water to boost its energy, to wet its tongue. Their only hope now was to outrun the fire, to flee into territory where the warlock’s power did not yet reach. Erelon did not know how much longer his horse could race on. The wizard feared that Draos collapse at any moment, sending him sprawling forward, only a few seconds later to be consumed by the demon.

  Erelon could imagine the flames diving into his flesh, separating muscle, bone, and skin, and finally turning it all to ash before it disappeared. Erelon could feel the presence of the demon on his back. The edges of his cloak became singed, and sweat poured from his body until he thought all liquid in his body was gone. Erelon did not even want to turn to see.

  Several of the wounds again opened and began to bleed under the intense physical and mental strain. The wizard began to swoon in his seat. He was not tied into the saddle. Erelon knew all that would keep him astride Draos was his own will.

  A cool wind came from the East, from the mountains to which Erelon fled. It pushed against the fire demon, slowing it. The demon hissed and, for a moment, stalled as it faced this new obstacle, a will that was opposed to his. The demon’s fire crackled and popped as it ate everything it could find, and then the demon pressed onward, facing this new unknown entity. On the currents of the breeze, Erelon thought he heard his name called. Then the wizard shrugged it off as just his deteriorating mental stability.

  The sky above and the lands around Erelon became completely black as the smoke surrounded him. Erelon did not know if it was night or day. Before him, in the distance, the sky was dark red. The demon was upon him. The wizard’s cloak disintegrated, Draos’s tail caught flames, and his iron shoes were glowing red. The grass below the flying hooves of the horse was only embers, burning stalks, and the ground black. Erelon knew somehow that this was not meant as his end, yet here he was about to be consumed. "Not without a fight," he grumbled to himself.

  The breeze blasted past Erelon, this time demanding, “This way. Hurry.”

  “I am coming, I'm coming,” was Erelon’s exasperated, half unconscious reply.

  Looking up, Erelon noticed that the black clouds had been broken; pale blue had begun to show through. The heat seemed lessened, but Erelon still did not look back. His head dropped; his hands clutched the saddle horn.

  “This way,” the breeze coaxed, pulling on the wizard’s beard to direct him. The wind seemed to form a shield from the demon and its fire as it surrounded the wizard and his horse, massaging the wizard’s tired, worn body. The flat plain turned to rolling hills, and the sky brightened. Erelon did not know how many days he had spent racing across the prairie, spending half the time partially conscious.

  The grass started to become green again, and as the wizard ascended a hill, he stopped his horse to look back. He could see across other hills until it was almost flat again. A broad black mar traced the demon’s path to where it had died. It had moved too far away from the power of the warlocks' protection, and it had moved too slowly so that its fuel had run out. It had burnt itself down into nothing in its fury to destroy the wizard. It had fought the wind; it had chased the wizard and unknowingly destroyed itself. Following the black path made by the fire demon, a small group of goblins crawled along. Slowly they picked a route that avoided the hottest spots. A few flames and embers popped here and there trying to reestablish the menacing blaze, but the cool breeze soon stomped them out.

  Erelon was burnt. Some of his own skin was charred, some heated red. But all physical feeling had left him, and looking down at the goblins, watching one break out into a dance after stepping on a hot coal, brought a smile to the wizard’s face. Tugging lightly on the reins, he turned the horse down the high rise. Those goblins would never be able to keep up with his horse. Tonight Erelon would find a secluded camp and look after his and the wounds of Draos.

  The best Erelon could find was a shallow dip in the side of a rising mound of earth, a place where water had washed away the dirt at the hill’s base. Several times he had checked his back to watch for the enemy, but there was no sign of any continued pursuit by the goblins.

  He looked at his own wounds, which had festered again, producing pockets of infection, but he did not know injured he truly was. Almost all of his skin was burnt; dirt had clotted along with the blood; his clothes could not be peeled from his body; and when the wizard tried, everything again bled profusely.

  Erelon gave up. He simply rubbed magical gel on his body and into the clothes that had fused to his flesh. He tore any extra material into strips and wrapped his body like a mummy. His entire visage looked like a dead person who had been brought back alive. Draos was a little scorched, but the horse had not been the focus of the demon’s attack. Even the cuts on his flanks were fairly clean and healing rapidly.

  Erelon grunted with sarcasm, “Elvish horse.”

  The wizard collapsed mentally and physically on the ground. The moment his head touched earth, his entire body and mind shut down. The stress and shock was too much for the wizard’s body to handle.

  Erelon awoke to the high pitched laughter of goblins and the snort of his horse. The night was lit up by a bright silver moon. Erelon could see dark forms moving in the darkness of night. Quickly Erelon grabbed at his sword, pulling it free and rolling to the side. A body went flying into the area Erelon just vacated. Quickly two more piled on. As Erelon brought his sword around, he cut one cleanly in half. Up the sword went, and swiftly it came down on another, carving it from the shoulder down through the chest. Turning, Erelon shoved the blade through the face of a helmet.

  Running, Erelon slid onto his horse, leaving the saddle and bags lying on the ground. The moment Draos felt the weight of his rider, he took off at an immediate dead run, disappearing into the valleys obscured by night.

  The wizard followed the breeze that still came out of t
he mountains. It carried with it a soothing voice. It was a voice out of Erelon’s far past, it was a voice that sounded familiar, but the wizard could not remember to whom it belonged. Yet the voice calmed his mind. It was a voice Erelon trusted.

  The grass had finally turned green. A rock stretched out from the hill’s side, to Erelon’s right, and a little stream strolled past it and meandered down the valley Erelon followed. The wizard slipped from his horse to splash some of the water on his face, and then he drank, scooping water with his hands. He had only one canteen to refill, one that had laid beside him before his mind and body had crashed into unconsciousness. The others had been left with the saddle when he had fled the goblins.

  Erelon looked up, knowing that it would not be long before he would be able to see the mountains before him. Feeling had begun to return to his body. Erelon cast a spell upon himself, numbing his own body. He knew that when feeling started to return to his shocked body, the pain would be intense. Erelon hoped to allow his body to heal without pain.

  It did not matter how Erelon’s body looked. He was a weapon, Erelon’s mind grimly thought; all that mattered was how that weapon worked. All that mattered was that he healed.

  Erelon avoided the high rises where he could easily give away his position. Many goblins were already like bloodhounds on the trail. They did not need help. The wizard did not flee; he allowed his horse to walk slowly.

  The mountains started to rise above the wizard. Last time he had been here, he had been accompanied by Auri and Easton. Now he was alone except for his horse and shadow. Erelon followed the stream as it bounced along. It was a sure source of water. Trees grew up to its edge. Wild game could be found everywhere, and even though Erelon had no weapon besides the sword, a stone aided by magical velocity brought rabbits to a swift stop. Behind, Erelon knew that goblins would be close, following his trail no more than half a day away. Erelon knew that in his condition he could not fight them off easily. He needed to rest, but Erelon could not sleep until his enemies lay dead. He would go unconscious while riding his horse, his body gently bobbing up and down, balancing itself as Draos picked the smoothest route.