River Of Life (Book 3) (12 page)

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 doorway.  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.”

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, neatly 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.

The brass doors disappeared like the illusion they really were
and through came a rushing river of gray bodies, like water released from a
dam.  Planning to overpower the wizard, the mob rushed down the corridors from
three directions.  The wizard stepped backwards until the warmth of the stone
wall could be felt seeping through the back of his cloak.

One spell came to the wizard’s mind.  He had avoided using it
since its targets could not be chosen.  The wizard did not want to destroy his
allies along with his enemies.  But here there were no allies.

The wizard’s body went completely rigid, arms stiff and
straight.  Erelon never flinched as the horde flowed forward; the mob never
contemplated stopping to flee.  Those in the back were just as eager to tear
into this hated wizard as those in front.  All were pushing and surging forward
with great momentum that could never have been stopped.  Even if the entire mob
had thought about the future possibilities and had come to the conclusion that
attacking a wizard with such supreme command over magic was not a good idea,
they could not have stopped the flow.

The body of the wizard rippled from the center out.  A wave that
caused the atmosphere to waver, like water after a stone is thrown into it,
raced from Erelon’s body.  It slammed into the foes racing towards him.  The
tide of enemies was thrown back, and as the wave ripped through it, the bodies
of the wizard’s enemies were torn apart.  Slowly at first, the fibers
unraveled, waving in the ripple of energy.  And then the disintegration picked
up momentum.  The skin was torn away, exposing muscle.  Then the muscle would
disappear and bone would show through only to be shattered into small
fragments.  The wave pushed the pieces down the hall.  As the tissues and
fibers floated along with the wave, they churned and ground, growing smaller
with every moment.

The blood and flesh turned to a fine mist which coated the walls
in a fine sheet of liquid.  Pieces of bone lay on the floor, only splinters. 
The spell was that of the elves.  It was not one they were proud of.  It was
not used often.  Only a few knew it, and to only a few special people would
they teach it.  They feared the damage it would cause if the wrong people
learned of the technique and could amplify and apply the spell to a large
monumental area.  Whole cities and armies could be destroyed in one cold rush
of air.

Gingerly, Erelon stepped through the pools of blood and flesh. 
He was out of breath from using the spell.  His mind urged him to lie down and
sleep, even among the remains of his enemies.  But his will pushed him
forward.  His cloak trailed through the mess, drinking it in like an elixir to
give a longer, more powerful life.  The blood did not dry and adhere to the
walls.  Slowly it flowed down, gravity pulling it.  It collected in small balls
like mercury and began to roll around the stone floor.  Not until he was half
the distance down the hallway did Erelon become aware of what was happening
around him.  The other end, the exit, was only a small bright square before
him.

Erelon stood in the center of a reassembling army.  Skin pulled
together and began to fold itself over muscle fibers that one by one reunited,
building upon each other, interweaving in a delicate mesh.  Bones began to
rebuild using the shards left.  When the army would stand, Erelon realized that
he would be in the very center of the mob without a chance to use the spell
again.  Erelon ignored the body pieces on the floor, the reassembling limbs and
the blood that splattered in huge drops as his heavy feet landed in puddles.

Erelon felt a tug and then heard fibers within his cloak rip. 
He did not look back.  The exit did not seem to grow larger as he neared.  It
felt as if he had almost run a mile and yet was no closer.  His lungs burned,
his heart pounded against his ribs and the exertion of his running forced slime
to his throat.  He wanted to stop, to breathe.  His sides began to ache, pain
screaming up and down his muscles.  His chest felt like his rib cage was trying
to pull apart, each bone in an opposite direction.  His head pounded, and his
eyes grew clouded with sweat and the blood that spattered from each heavy
step.  He heard the scraping of bone on stone.  His mind wanted to push him
faster, harder, but his legs refused to respond.  Erelon's mind screamed at
him, but he had no more.

Goblins began to stand.  Only a few were completely
reassembled.  Most still were missing layers.  Muscle, skin, and bone were all
present, all three visible.  In the distance, behind the wizard and down the
corridor, a troll roared and stormed towards him.