River Of Life (Book 3) (26 page)

“I have long shoved the Humban Trail into the back of my mind. 
The horrors along its length I do not wish to remember even on my dying day
with my last breath.”

“Did you see any of the other artifacts that the Humbas were
rumored to have packed with them?” Erelon’s eyes were now wide with excitement.

This was a road he now wanted to travel and now wanted to know
what it truly was, for Erelon knew that it had to be unlike anything that could
be imagined and developed in this world.  A path part physical, mostly mental,
and spiritual.  Erelon did not realize that he would travel this path many
times to come, but not in the form he thought or dreamt about.

Easton slowly shook his head, “I do not know about any other
artifacts.  I saw the stone and grabbed it.  I don’t know why I did not look
for others.  This is what I went for, the only thing I looked for.  It
conspicuously was there before me.”

Erelon looked cautiously at Easton and then suspiciously at the
stone.  Slowly he reached forward and, touching the round cloaked object, could
feel the pulse of the magic as if some heart pumped, each throb a heavy beat.

“I do not know if you will be able to defeat them even with the
stone,” Easton warned, “From what the stone showed me, they will still be
powerful.  And there are many of them and only a few of us powerful enough to
oppose them.”

“Maybe the stone alone will not be enough, but with this I can,”
Erelon said with triumph, pulling Rivurandis from its scabbard.  It hummed and
vibrated, its magic only contained by the power and will of Erelon, and it
filled the room with an orange glow.

“A sword forged by the wraith’s enemy, containing the spirit of
the wraith’s enemy, meant to destroy the wraiths.  Together we can do it,”
Erelon said grimly.

Easton looked at Erelon in confusion.  The younger wizard had
never known Chaucer, and even though he could feel the nauseating power, Easton did not recognize the spirit within it.

“It is Chaucer’s last and greatest gift to this world,” Erelon
explained.  “The great wizard and smith entrapped his magical spirit within
this sword before he died.  He left it in a place where I would find it when I
needed it most.”

Easton looked on the sword with a mix of amazement, awe,
curiosity, and some amusement.

“Then indeed I believe we have a chance,” Easton sighed.

“And to think,” Erelon laughed, “the wraiths offered me a job.”

“A job?” Easton asked confused and amazed.

“Yeah, as a commander, as an equal, but forget that.  Come on,”
Erelon said, “It has been some time since you have seen life.”

“But the stone, it should be guarded,” Easton argued.

“If it is as bad as you say, none will be able to take it and
leave.  It will be fine.  Let us go,” Erelon reassured.

Both men stepped from the dark room.  Easton’s eyes blinked
rapidly as they watered, unaccustomed to the light.  For weeks he had lived in
darkness and secrecy.  Easton had feared the wraiths and the world.  Erelon had
faced the warlocks in the Keep and had survived; he no longer feared their
pawns, especially at this distance from their source of power.

Tanton and Fresmir both stood outside the door, at the same
moment both protecting and waiting.  Their heads snapped to attention as the
two legendary wizards stepped from the door.

“Let us see this city of yours,” Erelon said to Fresmir.

“Gladly,” was the reply.

Down the stairs all four proceeded.  Slowly they walked,
allowing Easton’s eyes and muscles to both adjust.  The first few stairs the
young wizard almost tripped down, but finally arriving at the bottom, Easton had regained a sense of balance and stability.

A quick nod toward the waiter brought a quick smile of greeting
to his face, and the four disappeared out the door.  The sky was clear
excepting a small cloud now and then.  Sometimes a shadow seeming to float
gently above the ground would stroll by, bending to all the contours of the
buildings and trees.

“So where to first?” Fresmir questioned.

“It is your city,” Erelon returned.

“I say the temple,” Tanton suggested.  “It’s at the top of the
city.  A large colonnade plaza where all the politics happen and the best
vendors are located.”

Fresmir looked at his two visitors, and when they simply
shrugged their shoulders, he led the way.  They waded through the normal
traffic of people congesting the streets.  With the respect that Tanton and
Fresmir had earned, a path seemed to constantly open before them, people
nodding and giving a cheerful hello.

The city was filled with color, and the late morning sun
sparkled off the water and glass and illuminated the green shrubbery.  On the
top of the flying city, a large complex stretched.  Columns lined flat stone
roads, and small shops and tents sparkled.  On the far end, a huge domed
building rose, and to the left, an oval building with flat smooth sides pocketed
with a multitude of windows could be seen above the back side of a hill, the stadium. 

Slowly Erelon watched as the floating island turned, the
perspective of the mountains continually changing.  The entire area was filled
with gardens and spotted with the living quarters of those with more money.

“We have politics just as any other developed country or
society.  And yes,” Fresmir added with contempt, “Many of them are no better
than those of the other places in the world.  The rich look after their own,
promising to be looking for the good of the people they represent, but really
only trying to start a scheme by which they can increase the money they
control, more money than either they or three of their generations could ever
spend.  We have simply decided to ignore them.  Laws to keep peace are
enforced, but beyond that, we allow the politicians to argue and fight, and we
ignore them.  Years ago it’s been when they lost their power, but they have not
yet come to realize it.”

“Yeah, it’s just like we no longer pay taxes to politicians,”
Tanton piped up, “We tax all trade, it goes into a pot, and someone who is good
with figures makes sure that everything gets paid to keep up the city.  Records
are made available to the public.  And if anyone were to try to cheat, they
would quickly find themselves strung from the vines that hang from our island. 
It’s a community effort to bypass politicians.  Before, money seemed to get
misplaced or simply go missing.  They were careless with it, paying friends too
much and cheating those they didn’t know.  Now they have to fund their own
campaigns so that they can continue to argue.”

Several townspeople went racing by, down the hill toward the
stadium.  Behind Erelon and his friends, more rushed in the same direction. 
Steadily this stream of racing creatures grew thicker.

Fresmir grabbed hold of one man, “What’s going on?” he demanded.

“Castor has a challenger,” the stranger said excitedly.

“What luck!” Fresmir exclaimed, “Let’s go.”

Fresmir led the charge through passages, leaping walls and
hedges, almost shoving others into wild roses in his hurry to be one of the
first into the stadium.  His pace did not give either wizard a chance to ask
questions.  A stone path led them into an entrance.  They passed through a
colonnaded hallway and to a flight of stairs that continually doubled back on
themselves while leading upward.  Fresmir led them halfway up the stadium.

“What luck!” Fresmir exclaimed again, “A fight and we were
already up here close to the stadium.  We got the best seats.”

“Who's Castor?” Erelon finally got a chance to voice his
question after swallowing a few deep breaths of air.

“Part troll, part giant, rejected by both races, so naturally he
found asylum in this city.  He got the best of both races.  A natural born
fighter, bred for it you might say.  So good that none want to fight him.  So
when he does get a challenger, it becomes a huge event,” Fresmir explained with
pride.

“That’s why you don’t want to be on the bottom levels. Two big
guys fighting, they sometimes get to throwing elbows into the seats,” Tanton added.

The stadium filled fast.  People were scrambling for any seat
that they could claim.  One moment it was a dead cold stone, empty shell, next
it was filled with life and color.  Vendors appeared selling food and drinks,
and gamblers gathered and began betting with Castor being a ten to one
favorite.  Not a seat was left empty; people even sat in the stair ways, stood,
or squeezed two or three to a seat.  All wanted to see this event, the greatest
event and most excitement of the year.  A low mumble filled the stadium as
voices excitedly yammered.

Only after the stadium could hold no more, Erelon got his first
look at Castor as he stepped through a large door.  Taller than most trolls and
wider than most giants, he had little nubs for tusks coming out the sides of
his mouth.  He was an ugly giant.  Castor’s twelve toes sunk deep into the sand
floor.  The mixed breed raised his arms in victory.  His eyes were huge with
excitement.  Finally, he had an opponent.  The crowd roared in approval of the
local man, supporting Castor, even those who bet against him.

Castor pumped his arms in the air, causing the crowd to roar
louder every time his muscles tensed.  Then he turned towards the gate his
opponent would come from.  Slowly, a wooden gate groaned and burst open, and a
large troll came rushing out, not giving his opponent a chance to think. 
Instead, the troll stuck a shoulder into Castor’s stomach, sending him flying
backward into the sand, which leapt into the air and showered into the crowd. 
A roar of excitement rushed through the stands.

“Wow, what luck that a challenger came while you were here!”
Fresmir exclaimed to Erelon.

Yeah, what luck Erelon thought to himself.  A troll came to
challenge Castor the very day after he made it to town.

Castor stood, and the troll threw himself at the half breed who
grabbed his assailant and began to grapple with him.  For a moment they were
locked together, neither giving ground.  Although their bodies did not move,
they exerted tremendous energy.  The stress upon their bodies was evident as
their muscles tensed, the vessels began to bulge, and sweat ran between every
muscle, their bodies turning dark red.

Finally the tension was broken as Castor threw the other troll
to the sand floor.  Landing on top of his challenger, Castor began to smash his
opponent's face with two huge fists.  In this fight, there were no weapons.  It
was a mix between wrestling and boxing, a good street fight with only a few
rules that were decided on between the contestants before entering the arena. 
The troll brought his heels into the stomach of Castor, knocking the mixed
breed backward.

“Everyone from the city must be here!  The streets are probably
deserted!” Easton exclaimed to Erelon above the roar.

Yeah, Erelon thought, the streets would be easy to travel now. 
Nobody to run into, no mob to try to traverse.  Could probably walk the entire
city without seeing another living person.  Erelon's head jerked up.  He
suddenly felt the need to get back to the inn, back to the stone Easton had retrieved.

Castor shrugged off all the attacks the troll managed to land. 
Castor now just waded in, slamming his fists and knees into the troll who only
covered his grinning face protectively with his arms.

Erelon turned toward the direction they had come.  Bodies were
packed into the stands.  He began to push a path through, physically having to
separate the people around him.  Their sweaty bodies pushed up against Erelon. 
The wizard slowly became irritated.  He tried to control his anger.  He did not
wish to simply destroy everyone in his path.  But desperation began to set into
his mind.  The city streets might be empty and easy to walk through, but this
stadium was impossible to escape.

Some within the crowd roared with excitement at Castor’s
victory; those who came to see a good fight went silent.  Anyone who had ever
seen a real fight knew that the troll never had a chance to defeat Castor.  The
troll never even drew blood.  Castor would be more sore from the energy he had
himself exerted than the hits he had taken.  He might not even notice any wear
on his body at all in the morning.

“Wow, he didn’t have any chance at all,” someone behind Erelon
commented.

Castor threw the troll over his hip into the wall, now playing
with his enemy, trying to encourage the crowd as his own disappointment grew. 
Castor was trying to salvage as much of the fight as possible.

“Didn’t know what hit ‘im,” another said.

“Do you think the troll knew what he was facing?” Tanton asked
nobody particular.

“No,” Fresmir said, “At least not until he actually saw Castor,”
Fresmir sighed with disappointment.

Erelon shoved through a few more people, but the crowd pushed
back.  Erelon turned to watch the grinning face of the troll.  The troll shows
up to challenge Castor conveniently while he was in the city.  The fight
completely emptied the city.  As Erelon looked at the troll, the wizard came to
the conclusion that, yes, the troll had known that he did not stand a chance,
but then why fight?  At first Erelon had thought maybe for pride, maybe
stupidity, or just lack of something better to do?  The answer had stunned the
wizard for a moment. This had been planned.  But he could not get out, the
crowd surged back.  He needed help, he needed more force to push a path.

Erelon jumped to his feet, yelling at Easton, “Get back!  Get
back to the inn!”

Erelon lowered his shoulder and shoved through, already Easton behind widening the wedge.  Finally Erelon was rushing down the stairs through the
nearest door.  Erelon did not know the quickest route, but he did know the
general direction, and he charged down the nearest paths that led in that
direction.  Pillars, walls, people, brush, trees all blended together into a
blur.  Erelon’s feet moved fast, carrying him across the ground. All voices,
all noise, faded from his mind as he focused on that path ahead.  Erelon did
not even know if any of his friends followed; he did not care.  All he needed
was to get back to the inn, back to Easton’s room.