River Of Life (Book 3)

by Paul Drewitz

  The raft gently glided down the river’s surface, no one doing anything as they all stared at the water dragon with open mouths, simply gaping, except for Erelon. Even Easton could not believe the magnitude of the creature Erelon had just called.

  The water dragon dropped back into the water and made a shiny streak as it flashed toward the South where the water was fresher.

  “Come on,” Erelon said, bringing the frogmen from their paralysis, “To the other side.”

  The oarsman began to guide the raft to the other bank. The bank was flat for only a few feet before rising steeply as a muddy hill, and then it was covered with trees rising high above the river’s surface. As soon as the river became shallow enough, the other dipped his pole into the water, helping to guide and propel the boat. The river’s gravel floor shone as one of the frogmen jumped from the boat and grabbed at the hull, pulling it up onto the banks.

  From a large hole in the muddy banks, another large creature came out to grab and pull the boat higher on the shore. It looked like a muskrat but, like the frogmen, had features like a man and could speak.

  The muskrat exclaimed while pulling on the boat, “Wow, that was intense!”

  “Ruphis!” one of the frogmen exclaimed, “We thought for sure that we’d not see you or home again.”

  “I never did have a chance to warn you about that mud monster, but I've never seen anything like that dragon,” Ruphis apologized with a raspy voice.

  “It’s alright, we made it here safely,” one of the frogmen assured his friend.

  Erelon looked into the wooded hills. He knew that beyond these trees, the river’s bluffs, there would be a few rolling hills before it would level off and become the desert prairie. Easton and Erelon dragged the horses from the boat while the frogmen threw their bundles and packs to the ground. They were scared and impatient to be back across the river. The muskrat looked suspiciously at the two wizards before slithering back into his hole.

  “I don’t know who you are, but you are a bad man to fight against,” one of the frogmen stated, croaking nervously.

  Erelon turned in time to see them pulling the raft back into the river. As it started floating in the water, its bottom no longer dragging the shore’s floor, both jumped into it and began pushing with poles. Erelon watched them until they seemed no bigger than the driftwood that floated close by. Erelon, patiently, unhurriedly, turned back toward his horse.

  Easton already had the pack horse and his own saddled and packed. The younger wizard’s eyes continually flashed along the shore line, watching for the enemy’s soldiers. Easton shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he watched Erelon slowly throw the saddle on Draos after placing a bit in the horse’s mouth and connecting the bridle. Erelon made sure that everything was tightened first before moving on.

  “Come on,” Easton said impatiently and nervously.

  Erelon seemed to ignore the younger wizard as he slowly placed his bags behind the saddle and tied them down. Then Erelon checked his swords, wiping them free of moisture, making sure each would slide quickly from its scabbard. Erelon also checked the string on his bow, testing it, pulling back, feeling for weak points, checking how taunt it felt, if the string needed tightening.

  Easton was already mounted and acting as if threatening to leave Erelon. The older knew Easton would not leave; Easton needed Erelon, especially for protection and knowledge of survival

  Erelon finally pulled himself into the saddle and looked Easton in the eyes and said, “Let us go.”

  “About time. The enemy is going to find us soon,” Easton hissed.

  Erelon shrugged his shoulders, “Bring them. I do not care.”

  The older wizard followed the river’s shore for a while, but the edge grew too steep and too soft and slimy for the horses to keep steady footing. They almost slipped into the water several times. Occasionally, the bank leaned far over the river, and if the horses had dropped from these points, they would have been carried until they drowned or were swept to the edge. Finally, Erelon led them further into the forest, away from the banks.

  Always south and west Erelon led, and after a few days of traveling through the gloomy forest that was filled with mist and shadows, they finally came out, looking across grassy hills. Only a few wooded areas surrounding water could be seen as dark lines, and only in the bottoms of the valleys.

  Erelon had hoped to follow the river as far south as possible, a source of water, though not always fresh. The river, Erelon knew, had a couple bows that would also turn toward the West, and even though at the moment it began to work its way east of the two wizards, Erelon intended to meet it again in the future. Yet, the farther south Erelon traveled, the more hills he ascended, the more goblins he saw scouring the earth. They were setting fire to anything green

  So Erelon abandoned the plan to use the river and instead turned Draos west, taking a path that led into a world already destroyed. The hills unraveled like a ball of ribbon. Erelon came to the top of one dried-out hill to look out across a few other rolls before the world became flat.

  “We will camp below the hills tonight,” Erelon muttered, “It will be the last protected camp and good sleep we may have for a while.”

  Erelon sent his horse trotting down the hill as the last orange in the sky began to turn to a dark blue hue. Erelon looked around quickly, knowing that after the light completely left, finding a spot to stop would be all but impossible. Finally, Erelon settled for a small bowl that cut into the side of a hill. There was a rock sticking up from the ground, which the old wizard used to reflect the fire’s light back into the camp. They cooked a meal, the last hot meal Erelon assured Easton they would get before reaching the other side of the prairie. Some beans and rice mixed with dried meat and flat bread.

  They did not speak as they ate, too tired to do both at once. Easton took their few dishes to a small stream for washing while Erelon checked the horses, assuring himself that they were anchored and well fed and watered. The horses would be less likely to stray if picketed on good feed with water nearby.

  By the time Easton returned, Erelon had already climbed between his blankets and was asleep. Easton watched his mentor, realizing that Erelon seemed carefree, as if he did not fear anything. Although Easton knew the older wizard to be powerful, he was not sure that Erelon should be so careless.

  For a few minutes Easton kept watch, not convinced that the enemy was not nearby. Nothing showed, and Easton could not feel a hostile presence. Finally, he also went to sleep.

  Erelon was already changing the water in their canteens, filling them with the fresh stream water, when Easton finally rose. The sun was already rising. The younger wizard watered the horses before drinking some himself. Both understood that before they crossed the dry prairie, their bottles would be empty, and they would be dried out like the beef they ate.

  They did not take the time to prepare a hot breakfast. Instead, they grabbed cold dry meat and bread and ate as they rode from camp. The morning was cool and Erelon wanted to use as much of it as they had left. Through shallow dips they rode, no longer valleys, simply a shallow low point. The grass was tall and thick by late morning, and as the men stopped their horses for the day, the evening was warmer than the afternoon had been and the grass was beginning to dry out.

  The wizards immediately began rationing their water, only allowing the horses a sip. With no fuel for a fire, they ate cold meat and bread and went to sleep below blankets. As night fell, so did the temperature.

  The days began to pile up, every day the same as the one before, only it left the men and horses more worn and hungry. Easton watched as the earth was so barren for so far that the planet’s curve could be seen as the top of the grass gently made a curved carpeted surface.

  Canteen after canteen became empty. Horses and men sweated profusely until their clothes were soaked. Their water was half gone before they reached the halfway mark. Erelon’s tongue seemed to swell at the discovery. His lips cracked and ble
d, rashes broke out across his skin. In places, his skin became raw from rubbing as he rode. Erelon looked into the sun, the pounding light and heat making the pressure within his skull build until it felt like exploding.

  Erelon brought his hand out before him and was about to sweep it before the sun when Easton knocked it down.

  “No. Backer told me to watch out for you,” Easton growled, “He warned me that you had gained an unhealthy preoccupation with that spell. It won’t do any good. The sun’s light could possibly destroy your body if you did manage to absorb it. And even if you were successful, the sun’s heat would still be present, but the shock to the earth of losing the light so quickly, the horrible potential, is too great of a risk.”

  Erelon glared at the young wizard for a moment while logic returned to his fatigued mind. They stopped traveling by day and instead tried to sleep, burying themselves below the grass, trying to use their cloaks and swords as makeshift tents.

  During the night, by the light of the moons, Erelon picked a path. The stars also helped to guide his steps. Erelon was not sure if he had missed King's Time, but he had laid a path that he hoped would lead north and then west of it. Erelon did not wish to see it again before he was forced to go there and end this battle. Erelon did not want to draw attention to this pivotal point on the globe.

  As mountains rose to the west, Erelon knew he had missed King's Time, successfully traveling around it. He passed over a strip of burnt ground. It was black and covered in ash.

  With the Seaward Mountains lying to their west, Erelon now guided his small group south. The prairie continued. The forests that decorated the mountain's foothills were now only dead spires. No life, plant or animal, thrived. Erelon kept hoping that green would begin to return, a sign that they were growing closer to their destination. Still the dead, brown world continued.

  Hills began to again roll, and still they were only brown lumps. Erelon’s heart began to race with fear. Fear that maybe the wizard’s retreat had been taken, all of his support gone. Erelon began to hurry the horses. Their water had run out long ago, but that no longer mattered. If the older wizard could, he would have sent Draos at a run, but all were beaten. None had that much energy or strength left, not even the elvish horse.

  The world to Erelon did not look or feel familiar. It was a strange world and so Erelon allowed Draos choose the path. As Erelon topped a hill, shock rolled over him. The walls built to protect the retreat lay before him, extending well out into the prairie and back into the forest. The brown grass led right up to the walls, but the retreat had not been abandoned.

  Giants using clubs like brooms swept goblins who tried to come near. The giants kept the paths to the gates open and free of the enemy’s soldiers. Even as Erelon watched the giants at work, many more soldiers, warriors, farmers, and a great flow of different people of different races drifted into the walls. Everyone was doing some kind of job to help prepare for the upcoming battle.

  The giants had arrived, and centaurs were entering the gates. Erelon did not know when the army would be complete, or if it ever would be. Erelon did not know if men would ever stop marching, traveling from long distances to join his army. Erelon would have to be satisfied with what he had when the time came to march and simply go finish the mission. As for now, Erelon thought, he also should join the great inflow that was his army preparing for battle.

  “Come on!” Erelon roared with almost a battle cry toward Easton, and then charged down the hill.

  Chapter 15

  ERELON wanted to race Draos across the low rolling hills and through the gates. Victoriously, Erelon could imagine showing off for the giants and for the men along the walls, brandishing his new sword, giving a loud cry of war, and bringing a rush of adrenaline to all the men. But the horses would not go. They had lived too long on harsh rations of little water and almost no food.

  So instead, the two wizards and their three horses wandered toward the giants and the wall’s gate, beaten mentally and physically. There was no bravado in their step; instead, their heads hung, weary from the continuous, long journey. The giants stopped swinging their clubs for a moment to look down on the wizards as the two men passed. Easton and Erelon fell into the flow of incoming travelers. They did not push forward, they did not force a path through, but allowed the pace of the newcomers to dictate their own.

  They passed through the walls, the top high above. Men looked cautiously down, scrutinizing every face, looking for someone out of the ordinary, something that did not feel correct. Considering the great variety of people walking through the gates, Erelon did not know how the guards could possibly expect to decide what and who was right or wrong.

  Erelon looked back up, knowing that of those staring down at him, those surrounding him, none knew who he was. Erelon no longer wore his insignia, and even if they had known his face, it was so torn up and covered in bandages that only under closer observation would anyone be able to recognize the wizard.

  Within the walls, the grass and trees retained some green hue, but here too, within the protection of the wizards, the world was dying. Through more low rolling hills covered by short grass the two wizards had to travel. The hills were covered in tents that had at first been scattered, but now were steadily growing more solid. A great army was building, everyone with their own reason. Some fought for glory, others to defend their home whether it was near or far. Many others because of loyalty for one wizard, Erelon. The people came from all races and backgrounds: mercenaries, warriors, nobles, smiths, farmers, dwarves, elves, men, centaurs, giants. The mix of blood was great, and though tension was high, peace remained.

  Erelon led through paths that had not existed even a week ago, caused by the growing army. The hills grew rougher as they rode into the mountain’s foothills. Trees began to pop out of the ground. The trees had begun to dry, and so their foliage was not thick. Erelon could look through the skeletal forms to see that the forest was clear of debris and brush.

  The first stream that the wizards neared, they stopped at. Both horses and men dropped to the ground, dipping their entire dried bodies into the cool water which reflected amber light because of the dying trees and grass that turned the atmosphere red.

  Erelon sat back on the ground, looking in the direction of the castle. All of them were trying to catch their breath as they had quit breathing in their greed for the water.

  “This is it, the end,” Erelon said solemnly.

  “How do you mean?” Easton asked.

  “From here, to the castle. I again become Erelon, the wizard who leads armies. A plan of battle and then battle. It is the end of preparing, and it is the time to do. The time of failure or victory. Either way, the end of the fight.”

  “I’m ready for the end,” Easton said stoutly.

  “So am I, so am I,” Erelon agreed with a sigh, “But I am so tired. I want it to end, but I am too tired. . . .” Erelon’s voice trailed off as if he had failed to complete his thought.

  “You’re young yet,” Easton argued, “Many years yet, especially for a wizard. A few years' vacation and you’ll be a new man.”

  “Maybe,” Erelon whispered as his mind trailed.

  In this forest he had at one time made children squeal with surprise as grass, sticks, and leaves took on animated forms. Before that, the Keep had been inhabited and surrounded by villages filled with children. Before Mortaz, Erelon had been a simple child.

  A smile creased Erelon’s face. His mother had given him up for a better life, and now this was the life he had come to, much the same as she had, the life she had not wanted for him.

  Erelon pushed his body to its feet, pushing away the heavy thoughts, “Guess we should be moving,” the wizard said.

  They climbed onto their horses and began walking them through the forest. There was no path to follow, just a general direction in which to travel. They stopped as the small door to the large castle appeared. A multitude of people passed in and out. Both wizards stood watching. This was
supposed to be home, yet neither of them had spent much time living here and did not recognize any of the faces within the stone opening.

  “Here we go,” Easton said with a sound of doom and fate in his voice.

  The wizards led their horses right up to the door, pushing a path through those coming out and going in. Both wizards held their heads high with pride. Those below looked up at them, not understanding who these two men were.

  Erelon stepped from his horse and grabbed a young mage by the shoulder, “I am Erelon. This is Easton. Take care of our horses and their packs.”

  The mage’s mouth slowly lowered as Erelon handed him the reins to Draos. The older wizard walked around to the pack horse and rummaged around in a sack and, finding a round bundle that contained the Stone of Combining, walked into the wizards' refuge. Easton followed closely behind, carrying a few bags.

  Hundreds passed in and out of the main lounge area. Water still trickled from the central rock fountain. A few children ran laughing, but Erelon did not recognize any of the people. He passed along the right-hand wall. Pushing people aside, Erelon finally reached the stairs. Quickly he was up and through a doorway, trying to reach the levels where his room was located and hoping those hallways were not as congested. Erelon pulled a key from his robes and unlocked his door. Both dropped the packs they were carrying.

  Stepping to a chest, Erelon dropped the stone into it and, casting a spell, turned to Easton and said, “Let us go find some grub and get this place really stirring.”

  Back down the stairs and through the grand lounge they again fought. The cafeteria was no better as hundreds were milling around, talking, causing a low rumble that forced Easton to talk loudly, “We’re never going to find any one we know.”