River Of Life (Book 3) (20 page)

All Erelon’s senses were brought into the moment, no more
dreaming.  He never knew if the goblins would come back.  No moving leaf,
sudden rush of birds, or change in tempo and pitch of a chirp passed without
the wizard’s observation.  Erelon watched for a sudden change in temperature,
color in the clouds, or for the atmosphere to become thick, causing his lungs
to struggle to breathe the air.

The sun continued to cross the sky, forcing the shadows to
change.  The trail continued the same, undisturbed by any others passing.  The
goblins did not return, and soon Erelon began to relax and enjoy the walk
through the forest.  He did not push his horse, but allowed Draos to pick his own
pace.

Down a few steps built by the roots of trees, around another
corner, past a rock with a smooth top, Erelon looked upwards into the mouth of
a cave and thought about stopping for the night.  The idea passed in and out of
his mind as he suspiciously glared at the hole in the mountain’s wall, almost
expecting a horde of goblins or a troll to come loping out.

No other shelter showed as the sun climbed from the sky. 
Darkness settled in the forest fast as the last few rays of the sun were
blocked by the trees.  A few thickets of brush might offer a little shelter, at
the least a place in which to hide, but there was some time left and Erelon
continued forward.  Two more corners left Erelon standing before a stone entrance
composed of several square rooms that led into a walled interior.  The wall
seemed to be made of no more than planks.  Between Erelon and the stone
entrance were three men.

One who stood a little further forward than the other two
thought he discreetly hid one arm behind his back while holding the other
forward in greeting.  Erelon could feel the magical energy emanating from the
hidden arm.

“Welcome,” the leader was saying, “This is Halfway Point, a
halfway point between nowhere and nowhere.”

The leader chuckled at his futile attempt at humor.  Erelon did
not laugh with him.  The wizard had heard of halfway points, which were usually
located a day’s travel between cities where there were no little towns and
where the land was hostile to travelers.  There had been several in the prairie
at one time.  But this one, in the forest against the mountains, was not placed
strategically between cities.  There was no city closer than Pendle to the
south, and north there was nothing for several days of hard travel.

“To stay,” the leader continued, “will cost you a pound of gold
which will cover both man and beast.”

Erelon hissed, “That is outrageous, no place is worth that
much.”

The leader’s arm stretched forward, holding a chain at the end
of which hung a magical blue globe in a cross-like structure.

“This is what protects my establishment, which also so happens
to be sitting on the forest path.  Now it will cost you a pound of gold just to
pass through and two if you wish to stay the night.”

The leader grinned, having successfully pulled this con on many
foreign travelers.

Erelon also stretched his arm forward, and as a blue light grew
within his palm, the magical sphere grew dark, its life leaving.

“I require lodging and food for both myself and my horse. 
During tonight I will be the protection for your fort, tomorrow after I safely
leave, the magic will be returned to your sphere.”

Erelon looked the leader straight in the face, never blinking,
never giving a hint of backing down.

Inside the walls were rooms for the horses and adjoining rooms
for those who owned them.  Outside were fires and tents for those who could not
afford rooms within the walls or for those who walked and so had no need for a
place for their horses.  Looking around, Erelon noticed a lot of carts, old
men, and food.  They were farmers.  This was a stopping point on their way into
Pendle or maybe even farther south.  Food was in large quantity and easy to buy
for the wizard, especially as most knew of what Erelon had done to gain
admittance.

For the rest of the night, Erelon found himself content to sit
within his small room, listening to the heavy breathing of his horse as Draos
slept.  A deep intake of breath turned into a heavy sigh as Draos exhaled. 
Erelon’s pen scratched away quickly as he raced to catch up on his journal. 
The silver flowing lines blurred together as Erelon struggled to view the
journal below heavy and tired eye lids.

Slowly he closed the book, tying the leather strips together to
hold it shut, then blew out the wax candle.  Quickly the light seeped away,
much like a thin film of water during a hot summer day evaporates from
leather.  A few cracks in the window shutters allowed in a little light, only
broken when someone passed.  Erelon’s body sank below its own weight, collapsing
along with his mind into darkness.

A pale strip of light settled on the wizard’s face, its vague
warmth upsetting the natural balance, causing a strip of heat that was
contrasted by the cool shadow cast across the rest of his body.  The wizard
stirred until his eyes opened.  He looked around the bleak room through eyes
that blurred every time he tried to focus them.  Erelon grumbled to himself and
then just sat waiting for his vision to clear.  He remembered a time when early
morning did not bother him; to get up was a pleasure.  Now his beaten body just
wanted to lie.  To get up meant to force stiff muscles to move.

Erelon threw his few belongings into a saddlebag and stepped
from his room into Draos’s stable with a knife in hand.  There was nothing else
in the room besides his horse.  Quickly Erelon made his horse ready to ride and
then led him from the door.  The day had already begun for most farmers,
hitching carts to horses or packing mules.  The little establishment would seem
to die during the day, but during the evening it would come to life as
travelers stopped for the night.

Unnoticed and without being stopped, Erelon slipped from the
halfway point.  The trail was still well marked.  Fuzzy with short green
grass.  Just outside the path, the grass grew hip high, thick, and deep, with
fuzzy heads sprouting seed that would later ripen.  The path stayed level.  A
low creek traveled to and from the trail and finally emptied into a pond.

Erelon stopped for a moment to allow his horse a drink.  The
trees had for the moment thinned as a gravel bar encircled the pond.  Erelon
reached down into the running creek and scooped up a handful of poor dirt, no
more than silt.  Allowing water to run between his fingers, Erelon inspected what
remained.

A few flakes glittered.  He smiled; this was an unsettled wild
country.  Few lived out here, yet at the source of this gold, the amount of the
precious ore would be richer, and if ever found, every surrounding kingdom
would be claiming a share of the Gronge Mountains.

Erelon looked towards his horse, not twenty steps away, looking
back down at him.  A fish jumped, arching its back, scales glistening like
diamonds; a rainbow ran down the length of its abdomen.  Little drops of water
dripped from the fish's lean body.  It dropped back into the pond causing a low
hill of water that turned into ripples.

Erelon stood and walked to Draos, who snorted and shook his
head.  Quickly the wizard was back in the saddle.  They followed the shore of
the pond to the other side and then continued across the dam, which fed into a
barren ridge.  Far to the left and right, trees again started growing, but
along this rocky ledge, nothing except a few short shrubs.  Deep red and purple
rocks lay scattered, along with some that were variegated and others that were
striped.  Mostly it was ugly yellow shale and sandstone.

Walking the same ridge as the sun stood directly above, Erelon
looked down to see a water hole covered in light green moss and filled with
water so black that nothing could be seen below the surface.  It was small
enough that a horse could have easily jumped it.  Two dead trees grew from its
banks and hung over the pool, their branches creaking and groaning like the
hands of an old laborer.  It was one of the places where the pond, far behind,
emptied.

Two men, one obviously a mage from the robes he wore, stood
before it, casting curses into the black waters.  Erelon wanted to imagine that
far from Suragenna or Mortaz, this mage was continuing the tradition of the
Keep by reaching out to others, using his talents to help the people of the
world.  But Erelon's sarcastic mind thought that it was quite unlikely, and his
curiosity was stirred so that he turned his horse towards them.  A gurgle,
almost a laugh, came back in the form of bubbles.  Erelon led Draos down a
twisting narrow trail that brought them behind the men.

“What is going on here?” Erelon’s voice boomed, causing the
other two to jump.

“Go away,” the mage grumbled with self importance and disdain,
“It is much too dangerous for you.”

The other man’s voice squeaked in fear and excitement, “A witch
has anchored herself to this pool and harasses all travelers that pass.  She’s
killing the land and turning the water stale.”

“Uh huh,” Erelon grunted with sarcasm, then commanded, “Do me a
favor, stand back.”

"This is none of your affair," the mage grumbled. 
"I was hired to stop her, I will finish the job."

"You can still have the reward," Erelon grunted,
"I want none of it."

Erelon rode Draos back up the hill and, dismounting, looked for
a rock the size of his fist.  Maybe the witch turned the water black, but
Erelon doubted that the landscape looked different before her arrival.  Yellow
outcroppings of rock, elm, and walnut trees mixed with cedars and some pine, a
few grassy meadows, high peaks piercing the sky—it was typical mountainous
terrain.

Erelon lobbed the rock high into the air and commanded, “Come
from the waters in which you hide.”

The rock fell as Erelon spoke, and after he had finished, it landed,
causing a small spurt of water to jump into the air and then slap into the
pool’s surface.

“Don’t disturb the water!” the mage yelled as two jets of water
screamed into the air before going in completely different directions,
encircling the wizard and crashing together behind him, forming a circle.  A
wall of water completely surrounded him, and from in front, out of the wall,
stepped the vision of a blond woman, perfect in every aspect.  Every curve was
well defined while at the same moment being soft and round.  She was thin without
being emaciated, and her chest and hips were fully developed.

Erelon grinned.  A witch that had mastered the art of changing
appearances, probably also the art of illusion.  Usually the two went
together.  The only real danger came if a person fell into her traps set using
illusions and appearances, both of beauty and horror.  If one had a mind strong
enough, such a witch could be easily beaten, and that was probably the reason
for her choosing to live in the wilderness, in a little pool of water.  Because
she did not have the power to fight the great witches, warlocks, and wizards,
she all but hid.

“What is it that you wish of me?” the witch asked seductively,
her voice filled with saliva that slipped to her lips, moistening them and
making them glisten.

A strap of her silver dress slipped from one shoulder, disclosing
more of her apparently flawless body with smooth skin that was unmarred by
wrinkles or blemishes of any kind excepting a well placed freckle.  Her voice
seemed to wrap around Erelon’s body, sticky and soft.

The wizard smiled and asked himself why he even stopped.  Any
man with a little education who controlled any amount of magic could have
beaten this witch.

“Do you know who I am?” Erelon asked even though he knew the
answer.

“Yes, you are Erelon, a god even among the greatest of wizards
and warriors,” the witch complimented, trying to play to Erelon’s ego.

“Yeah, maybe,” Erelon replied sarcastically.

Snapping his fingers, Erelon broke the illusion.  The wall of
water crashed to the earth, and the witch was suspended in air as her frilly
silver dress floated around her.  She then collapsed to the dry dirty yellow
stone.  Her dirty, wet, mangled, brown hair and tangled black dress wrapped
around her body like broken tentacles.  She held her tired body up with thin
arms.  So much energy she had given to the illusion that, when Erelon had effortlessly
destroyed it, the pressure and exerted energy left her exhausted.  Her brown
eyes were dropping, long lashes and thick bushy eyebrows all but covering
them.  She had calluses on her elbows and hands, and her knees were knobby and
bruised.  She looked more like the daughter of a peasant farmer than a witch.

Erelon bent over her and said, “I want you to disappear, to
never harass this world again, for the next time, I will banish you from this
world into one of constant mental agony and flux.”

Erelon stood for a moment and watched as the two men eagerly
came toward the beaten witch.  The water had already cleared; this witch did
not have much power inside her small realm of influence, let alone beyond it. 
She was nothing but a small insect in comparison to the Witch of Turgeon.

“First I will give you cover so that you can get to a safe
place, one where you can regain your strength and start over,” Erelon stated
with sympathy.

His hand swept before the young woman and she disappeared.  Both
men stopped as they stared in disbelief towards Erelon and where the witch at
one time had sat.  Erelon simply eyed them sternly, mounted his horse, and
guided Draos back along the rim and, at the first opportune moment, back into the
forest.

Three nights saw Erelon sleeping below the trees, trying to pick
out the stars from in between the leaves.  The ground was hard after sleeping
in a bed, first at Pendle and then at Halfway, though it did not take the
wizard long to become accustomed to it.  He always looked for a thicket a
little off the trail he followed.  Erelon looked for where the grass grew the
shortest in the brush, though it would still be the height of a man’s waist.