River Of Life (Book 3)
Page 37
Many of the returning wizards looked around in tears, remembering when the halls had been decorated in colorful banners and precious items. Those returning remembered times when prestigious visitors walked these halls. Now the building was empty, it echoed. The building reeked of feces and a horrible body odor of thousands of sweating men cramped into small quarters. Huge chunks of stone were missing, leaving huge holes in the stairways and walls.
A few other young wizards were stepping into the Keep for the first time in their lives, or for the first time since they could remember. The young ones stood and stared in awe, amazed at the eccentric structure with stairways leading in all directions, balconies appearing in random places, irregularly shaped walls, floors, and ceilings.
The returning wizards wandered the halls, speechless, almost as if they were ghosts. It was the younger generation that brought new life to Mortaz, as they did not remember and see how it was before the warlocks took control.
The centaurs and the cavalry from Sirus were the next to leave. The centaurs were going back to Pendle to resume control; the men from Sirus were going home to help rebuild. The dwarves of the Broken Mountains also left, although those from the Rusted Mountains remained behind. Soon all that was left were the men under command of Auri, along with Bahsal and Yalen and a few elves and dwarves. A few days later Festor arrived to help oversee rebuilding and offer advice.
“As I once was a friend and ally of Erelon, so I will now be to you,” Yalen told Hendle as he mounted his horse and led the elves from the Keep.
Only a few days later Bahsal also marched. “Don’t be afraid to visit or ask for help,” Bahsal told Hendle.
As the last of the dwarve's army marched from the gate, dust obscuring all but the peaks of their helms, Auri looked at Hendle and said, “It is time I returned home. My fiancé waits. If you find an opportunity, come down. I do not know if I will ever be this far north again.”
As Auri left, Mortaz emptied to a handful of wizards and men who had originally lived in the Keep’s villages. They were left to rebuild, to bring life back to the ancient home of the wizards. As days passed, a slow trickle of men, women, and children came into the walls, coming from Suragenna. Still it would be years, decades, before the Keep returned to the power and significance it had once held.
Even as the Power of Ages could destroy, it made those who controlled this power invulnerable to physical attacks, kept alive those who should die, and gave knowledge of the past and future. It also had the ability to heal. Through the passage of time, the world would heal itself. There would be scars left from the horrible, unnatural decaying that the wraiths had forced upon the land. Yet, again, the grass of the prairie would grow, swamps recede, a form of equilibrium set on the environment. The races would try to live in peace. Many will look to the previous times when life was not so peaceful, look back on those people who had been lost during those times and wish that they were in the present. However, the Power of Ages forces time to continue on.
Though it had taken almost a century, as the River Fallas finally cut the prairie in half, it brought green to the Desert Prairie, which was no longer a desert. A horse flew through the flat land. The tall grass made a path for the flying beast as it pushed on through. Its brown body rippled as its muscles moved with graceful ease. An object in the distance pointed upward. The horse seemed to flee toward this landmark. Its brown body was brushed by the long green grass as it swished with the light sound of a woman’s skirt.
Its hooves hit the ground with a steady, heavy rhythm. The beast’s hooves tore into the sod, ripping through it and turning it over. A rider dressed in brown leather sat astride his beast’s back, prompting it onward. Both of them felt content as the wind whistled by. The man also wore a wide brimmed hat, his short, washed out, sandy locks drifting below it. His eyes peered around the landscape.
Although there had not been any observation of goblins upon the prairie for decades, none knew when they might reappear. His horse splashed through water that foamed up angrily. It was a cool, wide creek, its water jumping up on the man and beast, causing whatever it hit to turn to a darker shade of brown. A saber slightly curved down to the man’s knee, and a quiver contained many arrows as well as a short bow. These were the only visible elements of defense.
The peaked element which the man and beast ran toward continued to grow larger, bursting from the ground. The prairie grass, green with recent rains, ran right to the landmark’s walls. He smiled to himself and patted the beast with a friendly hand. The landmark grew larger and larger until it looked down upon both of the creatures with a unfriendly stare. The rider slowed the horse, which snorted, whinnied, and started to shy away from the area and only turned back for the compelling voice and arm of his rider.
The grass continued to swish against the horse and roll on by. The man was looking for shade during the afternoon hours, where he could watch the day pass in comfort. The horse stepped onto a table of rock, its hooves clicking coldly against the stone. Pillars of rock encircled the table like silent guardians, sentries, posted to keep watch over holy ground.
The man grabbed the pommel firmly with one hand and swung from the saddle as it creaked. The sweat upon the surface quickly dried and evaporated. His boots thudded against the ground and dully marked his passing as he crossed to sit in the shade of the rock. He leaned back against the wall and slid down with a sigh, gravel following his every move.
He laid a sword at his feet. It was a plain sword given to him by his father, who claimed to have received it from some great warrior who fought in wars a century before, one who had fought in the wars for Mortaz. His father claimed it had been given to him when he lived in a valley not far from here. The man had always thought that if a great warrior and wizard were to give someone a gift, it should look much more extraordinary than this simple blade. But it had freed his grandfather from the dungeons of Drull.
Removing the hat, he mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. His eyes slowly began to close, but the man tried to fight it. Here was not the place to sleep. A landmark like this would be easy to spot.
The sound of sand being quickly shaken brought the man’s eyes slowly open. He muttered and again mopped his forehead. A hiss followed the rattle in a warning of impending danger. The man now completely awake was aware of a snake, its tongue darting from within its mouth where it boasted a set of bleached fangs. The sun caught each, glaring. The man sucked in his breath and held it. The eyes of this nemesis with a diamond design painted down its back glared back into his with hatred. It hissed again, and then both man and snake struck. A knife leapt into the man’s hands, and quickly, he severed the head of the reptile as it darted forward.
Shaking his head, he rubbed his eyes and turned to find his horse. It stood stiff, not moving, both ears laid back. Between it and his rider stood a transparent figure of no real mass. Through it, the man could see his horse. The man rubbed his eyes again in an unbelieving manner, expecting it to simply be film covering his eyes. Then the man looked the unearthly being in the eyes.
There was a hiss at the rider’s feet. He jumped up and was moving backward while watching the snake do the same as it swung its lithe powerful body in a circular motion away from the man.
The stranger looked around, trying to find the snake which he had sliced, but there was no evidence of another, dead snake. The stranger smiled to himself in bitter resolve and turned again to face the wraith. The stranger could see a figure of a man within the wraith. A light robe flew around the wraith’s form, the insignia of a staff on the back. It wore a sword and had dark wavy hair that dangled around its neck. The wraith had one bandaged eye while the other blazed with a red glow.
The man hissed and asked angrily, “What is it that you want?”
He hated to be surprised. Now he was impatient and more than a little afraid of this apparition. This angered him even more, for he had feared nothing, or so he convinced himself. Yet his fear toward this wraith was extreme
ly obvious.
The wraith replied simply and silently, but with power, “I have a mission for you. To the far south a creature lives, part man, part bull. It protects an artifact that you will need.”
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21