River Of Life (Book 3) (25 page)

"One day as I wandered into the town," Fresmir
continued, "and as the locals learned I was a mercenary, they hired me to
destroy the bear.  They emptied their treasury to buy my assistance.  That
night, I stayed awake, sitting next to what I had chosen to be the bear’s next
target.  Not long later, the bear came into view, two times the size of ordinary
bears of the mountains.  I raced across the ground on all legs, propelling
myself toward the bear named Distmos, engaging it without any weapons besides
my own hands."

Erelon watched as the Brect told his over-exaggerated tale, as
he dramatically stood and began to reenact the fight to give his story greater
drama.  Neither the mug of the wizard nor the Brect grew empty as the tale was
told.  At any time they grew low, a waitress brought new mugs.  Fresmir was
good for business, and the one who owned the tavern wanted to encourage regular
visits from the Brect.

"To fight the bear with anything but my bare hands would
not have been honorable, it would not have been a fair fight.  The bear had
claws and size, but I have strength, mobility.  I was able to get behind it and
grabbed its massive head, the size of a troll's head, and turned it, breaking
it off," the Brect roared.

As Fresmir’s story closed, a few moved off, giving Erelon more
room to breathe.

“Margareth,” Fresmir bellowed toward a stocky woman who looked
as if she had just eaten a lime.

At the sound of the Brect’s voice calling her name, her face was
broken by a smile, “What can I do for you?” she asked Fresmir in a flirtatious
manner.

“Bring me and my friend some of your best Malladian rum.”

“Of course,” the waitress answered and pushed a path through the
mob toward the back of the tavern.

“Wait until you taste some of this rum,” Fresmir told Erelon,
“From the Malladian nation to the far east.  None make it better.  But be
careful.  I’ve seen it knock the most jaded of drinkers on their ass.”

The waitress approached again, only this time with a bottle with
a long green neck that grew wider at the top.  The jar had a bulb bottom which
was wrapped in some kind of rope netting.  A language that Erelon did not
recognize was written around the lip with silver foil.

The waitress sat the bottle down, plopped two glasses beside it,
popped the cork, and left only after giving a wink to Fresmir.

Fresmir poured himself a glass and began sipping on it.  Erelon
was listening to all the voices around him, trying to catch local traditions
and subjects.

Erelon poured himself a shot.  The wizard slowly sniffed the
glass.  The sweet scent of rum lifted.  A sip warmed the wizard’s belly, but
did little more, so Erelon downed the shot.  A couple of people watching
chuckled, and Fresmir simply grinned and turned back to a man with webbed hands
and vertical eyelids.

Erelon’s mind began to grow warm, his sight fuzzy.  A nonchalant
smile crossed his face; his arms grew tired and content to simply lie on his
belly.  Erelon ceased to try to focus on the conversations around him and
allowed them all to turn into a jumbled murmur as the bottle slowly became
lighter.  At first a quarter of the bottle disappeared, and when that seemed to
have little effect, the rest went fast.

One question uttered by a man close by escaped into Erelon’s
barely conscious mind, “Who’s your friend?” someone asked of Fresmir.

That’s Erelon,” came the fuzzy response.

The entire tavern went quiet, as if a ghost had walked into the
center of the room.

“The Erelon?” someone asked.

“I’m the only Erelon I know,” Erelon replied with a giggle
before falling from his seat.

Half an hour later, both moons glided into the sky as Erelon and
Fresmir stepped into the street, the Brect half supporting the wizard. 
Together they stumbled down the street.  They were singing a song in a language
Erelon did not understand.  Somehow he had picked up the words from the tavern,
and in his drunken state, mispronounced them all as he sang along with Fresmir.

Up the stairs they tumbled, at times almost tipping backward. 
They finally made it into the house.  Erelon sank to his knees and tipped
forward onto his packs, content just to lie there, leaving his body in the
position in which it fell.  A hiccup bubbled from his lips.

The room was dark, and slowly Erelon’s vision blended with it,
with his last remark being, “Good bye.”

The light struck Erelon in the face.  It warmed him unequally as
what remained in shadow stayed cool, and what the light rested upon began to
sweat.  The wizard’s nose twitched, his equilibrium disturbed.  Finally his
eyes popped open.  He looked around the room.  It was empty except for a table,
a scattering of chairs, and some half deteriorated logs for the fireplace. 
Erelon propped himself onto one arm.  His muscles were sore from lying
awkwardly on the hard floor.  Erelon had almost forgotten the beating his body
had taken during the past month even though one eye was darkened.  His muscles
and joints did not hesitate to remind him.

Fresmir wandered in, dressed in boots and pants.  He wore no
shirt so that his brawny, wool chest stood out, each muscle chiseled so that
their edges could be clearly seen.  Erelon groaned as he sat up and stated, “I
am not as young as I used to be.”

“Hangover?” Fresmir asked, a smile cutting across his face.

“No,” Erelon stated, “Hard floor.”

“Oh,” Fresmir sighed with disappointment, “Thought maybe your
head would at least hurt with as much of that rum as you drank.”

“Erelon slowly shook his head and asked, “Have you ever heard of
elvish wine?”

“Yeah?” Fresmir said, as almost a question.

“I grew up on that,” Erelon replied, knowing that this simply
statement would explain everything about his drinking habits.

A low growl sounded from the door, “Fresmir, are you up yet?”

“Tanton,” Fresmir stated for Erelon’s knowledge.

“Yeah, just a moment,” Fresmir called to the leopard.  Quickly
the Brect moved toward the door and opened it.

“I found your friend,” Tanton stated to Erelon.

“That was fast!” Fresmir exclaimed.

“Well, it’s not hard to locate the only wizard to enter and
return alive from the Humban spirit world.  I thought the name sounded
familiar, but didn’t realize why until I found him.”

The Brect turned silently toward the wizard, his mouth
dropping.  Erelon picked himself from the floor, dusted himself off, and looked
up toward the two creatures who stared quietly back toward him.

“What?” Erelon asked, as if such events as Easton’s
accomplishment were everyday occurrences.

“He volunteered for the job.  I was going to go, but he
insisted.  Easton went to get a tool to help me against our common enemy.  I’m
assuming that you can take me to him, but I want some breakfast first.”

Tanton led Erelon, with Fresmir trailing, into a well-recognized
inn, one level higher than Fresmir’s home.  The higher level in the city meant
more money, more prestige.

Tanton sat by as Erelon and Fresmir ordered from the inn menu.

The leopard waited until the waiter had been gone for a few
minutes before giving instructions, “Easton is trying to keep his
accomplishment quiet.  He came to the city seat to ask for directions to the
Humban spirit world.  The council laughed but gave him directions anyway.  At
that time he asked for secrecy.  When he got back, they were shocked and wanted
to throw a celebration.  Easton refused, again asked for secrecy.  The council
got him a room in this inn, makes sure he’s comfortable.  But the wizard is
rarely seen outside of his room.”

Tanton looked up at Erelon with grave eyes and finished, “I will
take you to him after you finish eating, but I warn you, I do not think he is
the same wizard that went into that ghost world.”

The waiter brought out their order, eggs, biscuits, gravy, pork
sausage, goat cheese, and milk, along with a variety of fruit.  Erelon
retreated into his own mind, revolving ideas and thoughts about what might have
happened to his friend in that strange plane of existence.  Erelon was trying
to prepare himself for anything he would face, but finally came to the
conclusion that he would be walking blindly into that room.

A fruit that was a mix between an apple and a peach squished
between the wizard’s teeth, cool juice oozed down his throat.  Fresmir sat
passively eating and observing the mental process of the wizard.  The Brect was
long finished with his breakfast before Erelon finished.  It was almost time
for brunch before the wizard’s vacant eyes filled with consciousness.

“Okay,” Erelon said solemnly as he stood.  Quickly the leopard
was before them, the Brect filled with curiosity following.  Tanton led up a
few flights of stairs.  The building was built solid with the walls painted
white and enhanced with fake gold hangings, decorations, and lamps.  Tanton
stopped before a floor that appeared to be deserted.  Only one of every three
lamps was lit, keeping the hallway filled with shadow.  Nothing moved, none of
the floor boards creaked, and there was no hint of muffled voices.  It was an
eerie absence of life in an inn located in a city so busy that there was seldom
an empty room.

Erelon looked at both creatures with him for reassurance, mental
support, almost pleading for advice as if he should enter or flee.  Erelon’s
hand touched the knob.  It was cold, no heat from within, almost as if only
spirits lived in the room.  Slowly Erelon turned the knob and pushed the door
inward.  With one look back at the other two, Erelon stepped through the door
and pulled it shut behind him.

Erelon strained his eyes as he looked into the darkness that
filled the room.  A table about halfway in, several large stuffed chairs, and a
bed was arranged in the room.  The back of the top of someone’s head poked
above the back of a chair.  Erelon cleared his throat, alerting Easton to his presence.  Easton turned to look over his chair.  Both men were pale shadows,
ghosts of what they had been.

Slowly Easton stood and walked toward Erelon, shaking his hand
and exclaiming, “It’s good to see you, my friend, my brother.”

Erelon smiled weakly.  Easton led him to the table.  A bundle
wrapped in a shroud was in the center, but Easton ignored it, sinking into a
chair that groaned below his weight.  Erelon slowly sat in a chair opposite his
friend, his eyes never leaving Easton as one does not turn from a strange wild
dog.

Easton stated with a sigh of horror, “I’ve been to hell and
back.”

His eyes were glazed over.  If the experienced wizard could have
looked behind the veil of stoicism, Erelon would have seen the terrors of
another time, a different plane of existence.

Trying to ease the tension, Erelon joked, “You may have been to
hell and back, but I passed straight through it.”

Easton chuckled, and for an instant, a gleam of life shone
through as he affirmed Erelon’s decree, “You look it.”

Easton was examining the torn and disfigured face of his friend.

“You do not look too good yourself,” was the reply of the elder.

For a few moments there was silence.  Easton pulled a pipe from
his robes.  It was made of jade.  Easton packed it and then lit it.  After a
puff, he offered his pouch of tobacco to Erelon.  Easton watched in silence as
Erelon packed his own pipe, the bowl made from ivory, the stem oak.

“None expected me to come back alive, you know,” Easton commented sadly.  “They warned me, pleaded with me not to go.  Known as the Humban
Trail, also as the Trail of Skulls, "cause none who go in come out,” Easton stopped to cackle as he mimicked someone.

Regaining his composure, Easton went on, “When I got back, they
were so amazed that they treated me as a hero, as royalty.  Gave me these fancy
clothes, the wonderful room, and even this,” Easton said holding up his pipe.

“So do you have the stone?” Erelon broke in, going straight to
the subject of the rendezvous.  Time was becoming short.  Erelon knew what
needed to be done and wanted to move on with it.

Easton pointed at the table, at the lump enshrouded in the black
cloak.  The younger wizard pointed at it as if it was the enemy.  Horror of the
stone itself, and the terrors Easton had to face to retrieve the artifact, gleamed
from his face.  Easton’s face was a warning to Erelon, showing him a shadow of
what the cloak veiled.  Erelon reached forward to gingerly take hold of the
relic which had held up Erelon’s quest to destroy the wraiths.

“No!” Easton screamed before the elder could even lay a hand on
it.

Easton was wild, his hair stood straight up like a cornered
angry beast, his eyes growing huge.

“You must not open it, or touch it, not even look into it.  At
least, not until you need it.”

Erelon looked at his young friend with annoyed curiosity, “Why?”

It was all Erelon could ask as he was rendered speechless by his
friend’s behavior.

“I would not even advise touching it when you go to use it.  You
see horrible things,” Easton’s voice was drawn out as if he spoke to Erelon
from his subconscious.

“The future, the past, the worst of both.  What may be, but only
bad outcomes.  It is enough to make anyone want to lie down and stay where they
are, to never leave and seek out the world, to instead live in fear of the
world and the future.  The only reason that I came back is because the world in
which I stood was worse than facing the future and its path shown to me by this
stone.”

Erelon looked at his friend and pitied him as Erelon knew
something of the horrors Easton had faced.  It should never have been Easton’s task to bear.

“Can you explain to me the path of the Humbas?” Erelon
questioned.

This path which led to another world had long been an
underground legend among the wizard's guild, something seldom spoke of, and not
often believed either.  This one young wizard, alone, had traveled its length
to retrieve this one relic.