River Of Life (Book 3) (19 page)

Erelon smiled thinking about their discomfort in heavy armor,
soaked, cold.  Erelon watched for some time before seeing a large form
approach, a centaur.  At the door, directly below the wizard, he stopped and
then banged hard.  Erelon could hear the door open slightly and then an
exchange of voices.  Quickly Erelon raced for the stairs.  If there was to be a
fight because of him, Erelon felt he should be there.

Flying into the main room, Erelon noticed that the centaur had
been admitted into the house.  There was only one, and he was unarmed.  It was
the mayor himself.

Backer turned to Erelon and said nervously, “Good, there you
are.  I was just getting ready to come and find you.  The mayor wants to speak
to you.”

Erelon looked the centaur over skeptically, “What do you want?” 
Erelon’s voice was not friendly.

The mayor proudly lifted his head and replied humbly, “I have
come to offer my apology for how you were treated on your last visit.  Since
then, the servants of your enemy come in and out of my city at will.  They mock
us for throwing their general out of the city gates, showing that we have no power
to stop them.  They loot shops and houses, kill men who wander the streets late
at night, and stir up the people against each other.  The only chance that we
have to end their entering our city and terrorizing the citizens is to close
our gates, but this city lives because of its policy of leaving our gates open
to all.  If closed, this city will cease to be Pendle.  And I fear even if I do
close the gates, I still don’t have the strength in men and arms to stop the
enemy from one day completely overrunning Pendle.  So I have come to say that
this is a battle to be fought by all.  I’ve heard you have a battle planned,
and I’ve come to enlist myself and offer the assistance of many of the good
warriors of my family.”

Erelon stood with arms folded, the scars on his face glaring,
almost purple.

A grunt sounded from the wizard before he said, “It’ll be good
to add centaur warriors to our ranks.”

“Ah, but not just centaurs,” the mayor exclaimed, “I rule
Pendle, the city where all races come to live.  Many more will follow me and my
kindred into battle.”

“All will be appreciated,” Erelon assured the centaur, but then
warned, “But you do understand that many will die, many may be your family and
those who follow you.”

“Any who go into battle should be prepared to die.  It is the
nature of war,” the mayor said with a nod and then backed out of the door.

The door slipped shut, and both Backer and Erelon stood for
several moments in silence without breathing.  Finally both seemed to sigh
heavily at once.

"That went better than I thought it might," Backer
growled.

"I did not know what to expect," Erelon grunted.

“Have you thought about your return trip?” Backer asked of
Erelon.

The room was dark, only one candle lit. Erelon reclined
contentedly in a chair, practicing the spell that allowed him to absorb the
fire’s light.

“What do you mean?” Erelon questioned.

“After you get to the flying city, how are you and Easton coming back?”

Erelon merely shrugged and mumbled, “The same way I go I
suppose.”

“Erelon!” Backer exclaimed, “You are needed back here faster
than that.  The trip will be dangerous enough going, and the return trip will
be just as bad if not worse.  Powerful wizards seem to draw the worst
obstacles.  You are powerful enough to make a doorway.”

“A what?” Erelon said with annoyed confusion.

“A doorway, a portal that connects two places far apart.  All
you need is an address to return to,” Backer was saying with excitement.

“An address,” Erelon repeated more in wonder than annoyance, but
confusion still filled him.

“Come with me,” Backer commanded as if Erelon had already
consented to the idea of using a portal.

Backer motioned for Erelon to follow him and walked towards the
door, stopping to throw his cloak around his shoulders.  Erelon followed
slowly, more in curiosity than in actual agreement with the plans of the old
wizard.  Erelon also grabbed his cloak, a new thick black one to replace the
one he had previously worn that had been shredded.  One of the young
apprentices had wanted to move the staff insignia from the old cloak to the new
one, but Erelon had refused the offer.  He had been humbled at the Keep.  No
longer did he feel the need or right to wear that rank, that mark of respect.

Backer led Erelon out into a cold, damp night.  The light
reflected by a moon managed to break through the thin frill, outlining the
contours of the clouds.  Someplace water meandered through the road’s stones,
singing happily.  The atmosphere felt pulled tight, as if something horrible
was about to occur.

At the nearest stables, Backer stopped.  A ramshackle building
looked as if it had been thrown together overnight using boards that had
already half rotted.  Without hesitation, Backer led Erelon into the unstable
building.  A small lamp from the wall cast light in slats across the uneven
floor that was covered in straw.  Backer stopped at another door within the
stables. Pulling out a knife, he ordered, "Look around the room.  Even if
you were gone for a decade, I still want you to be able to build a mental
image.  Think of every water stain on the wood, each piece of straw, how the
rain water runs in.  I want you to know the exact count of stables, how many
holes are in the roof.  Feel every wooden fiber, every rusty nail, in your
mind."

Erelon turned around, trying to burn the image within his mind,
every post, shred of straw, darkened window, and fallen board.  Most
importantly, Erelon could feel the place upon the earth on which he stood.  If
taken to look at the earth from a distance, Erelon could still have pointed to
this very spot on which he stood.

Finally his eyes came back to rest on the door itself, sitting
crooked on its hinges.  The bottom hinge supported most of the weight. 
Darkness was all that lay beyond.  Backer thrust a scroll into the hands of the
wizard, causing Erelon to jump.

“Here’s the manual,” Backer said with a wink, “You’ll need to
read it.”

Then Backer stood on a wooden bucket to reach the board above
the door and, with his knife, pried at several of the wood fibers until a large
chunk came loose with a pop and fell to the floor.

Backer stepped from the bucket, one foot at a time, stiffly as
if he had been standing like a statue on the bucket for ages and had not used
his muscles in all that time.

Bending over with a groan, he retrieved the chunk of wood and
handed it to Erelon, saying, “Here.  Take this.  It’s your return address.”

Backer and Erelon both sat at a table silently during the cool
morning hours.  Erelon was just finishing coffee that had gone cold.  His horse
was loaded and standing outside Backer’s door.  This was Erelon’s fourth day of
rest.  Backer had wanted him to stay longer.  It had not been enough time for
Erelon to heal, Backer argued. 

Erelon had stared him down, not saying anything, but the look in
his eyes told Backer that Erelon did not feel that he would survive the next
battle.  Always the great ones look so pessimistically upon their own lives,
Backer thought to himself under that stare.  But he did not voice his opinion. 
Backer felt that Erelon had a better chance than any to outlive all who would
fight in the upcoming battle, especially with the new sword.  But Erelon was a
hard man to convince.

Erelon figured if he was not to live out the year, there was no
use in allowing the dust to settle on his shoulders.  No, it was best to finish
the fight quickly, before more damage was inflicted upon the world.

Erelon gathered up a strip of white cloth and began to wrap it
around his face.  Erelon did not want to frighten the people, so he covered the
scars and the mangled eye.  Erelon’s two swords lay on the table before him. 
He had replaced all his knives and hatchets along with his bow and arrows.  He
had also been given a new saddle, along with cheese, dried meat, bread,
medicine, wrappings, and extra clothes.

Still the two men did not exchange words.  The world felt too
heavy to waste energy on idle talk.  Slowly Erelon stood and clutched both
swords around their sheaths in one hand.  He walked through the door and under
the cloud that drizzled, always spitting water.

Erelon brushed the water from his seat and then pulled himself
up.  Backer grabbed the pommel and rested his other hand on the horse’s belly.

The old wizard looked up at Erelon and said, “You’ll be all
right.  But be quick.  Every day the damage escalates.  Kintex is finished,
soon Samos will also fall.”

Backer disappeared into the house, leaving Erelon to gently
guide his horse down the street into the fog.

The day was young as Erelon passed through the gates of Pendle. 
The guards had opened them only a moment before.  Erelon had heard the sleepy
groan of the hinges long before turning the final corner and looking into the
exit.  The exit led into a hostile world that would show the wizard no mercy. 
Once beyond the walls, Erelon was again alone, on his own.  There would be no
one to protect him, to shelter him.  If he was not strong enough, it would all
end.  The mission would fall to some other poor soul who would to try to finish
it, to end the power of the warlocks.  But Tix had assured Erelon there was no
one else.  If Erelon could not succeed, no one would.

The guards stood before the gate, watching every move of every
muscle in both horse and man.  Not many passed through the gates at this time
in the morning; none at the moment walked the path.  With the times, the guards
grew continually suspicious of anything that was not ordinary.  Erelon looked
down at the ground, but his faithful shadow did not greet him as the clouds
stood firmly in place laughing at the sun.

Just as Erelon passed under the walls, he kicked the horse, and
Draos sprinted down the path out of sight of the walls and the armed guards. 
The jolt of the horse caused Erelon's muscles to groan.  The wizard gritted his
teeth as he felt a trickle of blood run down his thigh.

Trees still lined the path, and though the world was quiet, it
was not silent.  Erelon was not alone.  Small rodents raced along beside the
horse to disappear into dark holes, and a few birds mocked the man who fought
for a cursed world.

Erelon did not push Draos hard.  The distance was long, and time
was getting short for the world, but Erelon wished to enjoy the moment. 
Breathing in the smell of cedar, a pleasant burning at his nose, listening to
the birds and animals speak to him, hearing the hooves of Draos lightly clip
the ground.  The breeze easily slipped through the trees, sighing as it tipped
them gently over.

Erelon began to imagine for himself a quiet little cabin, no
more than two rooms, set back in a clearing in one of the meadows that lay
against the Gronge Mountains.  A path that would only allow a single horse to
pass through, would lead to his meadow.  It would only be a couple days' travel
outside Pendle.  There would be a pond behind the house, filled with so many
fish that the water would be constantly rippling.

Erelon shook his head violently, trying to remove the dream.  A
dangerous dream.  One that drew his mind away from the moment, his mission.

The trail continually turned, avoiding areas of ambush, going
around giant rocks that came up from deep within the earth.  Erelon had never
traveled this part of the trail.  Coming around a corner, the trail widened,
and a clearing allowed a good view of the sky, still the overcast gloomy clouds
that never seemed to give up.

In the center of the clearing was a small cart drawn by a single
horse.  In the seat an old man had pulled himself into a ball, trying to sink
into a hole that was not there.  Several goblins were poking their blades at
him while trying to light parts of the cart on fire.  The moist weather had not
allowed a fire to take off, and at most, they had been able to char the wood.

Erelon grabbed the handle of Rivurandis, which was strapped to
his back, and pulled it free, and then silently, he gently walked his horse up
to the cart.  None of the goblins turned to look.  The old man’s gaze came up
at first in hope and then in dread of the one-eyed cloaked figure.  Erelon
looked more like a demon, a mummy raised from the dead by the wraiths, who led
the goblins instead of the world’s protector.

Erelon watched the goblins for a few moments, each cackling in
their own grotesque language.  One came around front, jabbing his blade as if
he were pointing a long finger at the terrified man, laughing at his anxiety.

Erelon nudged his horse into the goblin, spilling him forward
into the earth, face first.  Quickly the wiry creature came to his feet,
swinging his weapon madly around him.  Draos backed to a safe distance and
turned sideways so that Erelon could easily dismount, but it also showed the
wizard’s full size and the length of his unsheathed magical blade.  All three
goblins now focused full attention on the wizard.

One hissed and angrily said, “It’s the demon wizard.”

Erelon could only smile below his wraps, discovering how the
enemy now referred to him as quite comical.  Slowly each goblin backed away
cautiously, not wanting to turn their backs, not thinking about how easily the
wizard could destroy them even as they stood facing him.

Into the shadow of the trees they slowly disappeared, almost as
if the wraiths had turned them into vapor.  Erelon tugged at the reins of his
horse, guiding it past the cart, looking at the old man who only continued to
sink further.  Even after Erelon had scared off the goblins, the old man still
feared him.

In the back of the cart was what remained of vegetables, now
just a mass of greenery mixed with destroyed produce.  Erelon did not say a
word, and the old man never tried to give a response, never made a motion to
thank the wizard.  Erelon guided Draos back into the narrow trail.