River Of Life (Book 3) (4 page)

No birds, deer, or rodents filled the habitat that should have
harbored many such creatures.  The marauding goblins had invaded; the forest
creatures had fled.  Now, the only sign of life was the chirping crickets and
hum of locusts that pulsed with a nasal quality.

The first enemy did not surprise Erelon.  He felt its presence,
and with a spike, he gently crept behind the tall lanky creature and thrust the
weapon through the goblin’s temple.  It dropped without making a sound except
the low crunch and rustle of the limp body dropping onto leaves.  Blood puddled
in the leaves, trickling through the many layers, mixing with the wet earth
below to form mud.  Several elves also claimed their first victims.  The
goblins fell, the hunters passing on through them as if nothing had happened.

To Erelon’s left, the piercing sound of branches cracking could
be heard.  The wizard’s head jerked with surprise and was in time to see a body
fall from the upper reaches of a giant tree, to hit the ground, becoming
immediately a mangled bloody mess, a broken and torn body.  Traces of its body,
flesh and blood, marked a path to the ground through the foliage.

Silently the wizard continued onward, elves before and behind
him.  He began to pick up his pace, not as careful to hide the sound of his
walking.  The bodies falling out of the trees would be more likely to warn the
goblins of their coming than an occasional crunch of his boots.  A stick
breaking could be a deer, or the rustling of leaves, squirrels wrestling.  It
was not so easy to ignore the crashing of a body falling from a tree.  And Erelon
wanted to be further along before the goblins knew they were here.

Silently, he stole his way up to another victim, his spike going
through the fleshy soft throat, turning any sound the goblin would have made
into a thick gurgling of air coming through liquid.  It dropped to bleed out on
the ground, the wizard passing on, giving the creature no more thought. 
Quickly the goblin died, but not before it watched its assailant pass before
him, a dark shadow enshrouded within a cloak.

Erelon knew that they were closing in on the main camp as the
goblins grew thicker.  More fell down from the sky, bringing with them a rain
of blood droplets, needles, and pieces of twigs, branches, and bark.  Their
bodies landed on the soft bed of needles to never rise again unless the wraiths
raised their bodies.

Erelon left his spike in the temple of his next victim as he saw
many goblins before him, and instead grabbed for his throwing knives.  They
left his hands, gaining speed as they whistled through the air.  Smoke trailed
behind the wizard’s missiles.  With a knife in his teeth, Erelon proceeded on. 
Goblins fell as elvish arrows along with the wizard’s throwing knives flew
through the air.  Suddenly the wizard’s fingers no longer felt his blades for
throwing, so instead he grabbed a dagger from his waist.

He passed around a thicket and almost stumbled on a goblin that
had his back turned to the wizard.  It was staring in the direction of the
goblins’ camp, where the goblin dreamt of the fire and food that would be there
to calm his hunger and warm his flesh.  Yet, he would not need such comforts
again.

The wizard’s powerful left arm slid about the goblin’s chest,
pinning his arms to the side of his body.  The other creature smelled faintly
like feces and moldy hair.  The goblin's wiry hair struck through the wizard's
clothes, poking at him.  A blade crossed through the goblin's throat, cutting
off any sound that he could have made to warn the others.  No longer did he
breathe air.  His lungs filled with his blood.  For a moment, Erelon's mind
entered the goblin's.  The goblin's mind raced as he barely had time to
consider his own death, leaving himself open for invasion.  Erelon read the
creature's thoughts.  The wizard felt the plans of the warlocks.  The fight was
not going completely to their plan.  They wanted to be in Sirus, they wanted
Westeron completely destroyed.  However, Kintex still remained, and the wizards
still occupied Suragenna.  The warlocks were frustrated.  Erelon smiled as he
allowed the goblin to drop to his knees and fall face first into the leaves.

Suddenly, little white tents, no more than cheap cloth on
supporting poles, covered an area just cleared.  The old trees had been torn
and cut down, their giant trunks used either for firewood or just left on the
ground to rot.  For a moment, the wizard stalled on the parameter, observing
the area.  A crackling noise, the popping of rapidly heating wood and crackling
as ember-weakened timbers would break and snap, attested to the fact that somewhere
a huge campfire could be found.  Erelon assumed around the main fire would be
the majority of the goblins.

Goblins could be seen across the clearing into the far
parameters of the camp.  Elvish arrows flew, and the goblins fell to the
ground.  Finally, deciding that none were left watching the outlying parameters
of the camp, Erelon left the brush that had hidden him.  Sheathing his dagger,
he walked with both his long knives.  Into the first tent he cut a slit and aggressively
pushed his way in.

A goblin looked at him with confusion.  Quickly, recognition of
the danger he faced entered his mind, and the goblin reached for a blade while
getting ready to yell.  His moment of confusion made his reaction too late. 
Both of Erelon’s blades quickly went into the goblin’s throat, opening a hole
and allowing blood to drain down his chest.  Erelon had already cut an exit
before his victim ever fell to the floor.

Erelon watched as the other elves entered and exited tents,
swiftly, quietly, efficiently, invading one tent and then another.  Only those
eight chosen for their skill with the bow did not enter tents.  Instead, they
circled the camp grounds, disposing of those goblins that strayed into view,
those that could give signal of the invasion.

The roar of a huge fire grew louder as Erelon worked his way
toward the center.  A low murmur of voices floated through the tents.  The
leaves on the camp paths had been trampled into powder.  Now only bare, hard
dirt showed.  An occasional blade of grass, unhealthy, more yellow of hue than
green, would pierce the hard dirt.

Erelon peered around one of the tents, observing that half of
the camp surrounded huge fires.  Mutton was being served.  Where the goblins
had found the deer, the wizard did not know, as he had seen no sign of any
living creature besides the goblins.  They would reach into the fire with long
crude metal utensils that would tear at the meat.  Some of it was raw, some
well cooked.  The goblins ate it either way.

Blood dripped from the torn part of the carcass that the goblins
devoured.  Erelon hid behind the tent.  The elves also stopped, watching the
wizard.  The elves nervously shifted as they did not know when they would be
discovered, and they were still easily outnumbered.  Erelon ran the
possibilities through his mind.  Suddenly Yalen appeared next to the wizard.

“So, what’s next?” the elf asked, wanting to finish the hunt. 
He wanted to end the gruesome task so that he could find something else less
destructive to occupy his time.  Yalen did not enjoy causing death; it was
something he did only when necessary.

“Send your archers around back of the camp.  What I am about to
do is going to cause some attention.  When the rest of the elves, including
those keeping watch in the trees, come into camp, your archers are to cover
them.  But they are not to go on the offensive until the goblins go into
retreat, and trust me, they will retreat.  Until then your archers are only to
protect the elves, only killing the goblins who are an immediate threat to one
of your own.  I want them to save their arrows for when the goblins retreat,
your archers are to cut them down.  By then we should have thinned their
numbers down so that your archers can handle those left.  I do not want any
goblins to escape.  The longer we can keep the wraiths in darkness as to what
happens here today, the longer we will have peace.”

Yalen gave a nod and disappeared.  The sun had by now long
ascended into the sky.  Everything was visible.  A jar made of clay and filled
with water sat beside Erelon, behind the tent.  Quickly the wizard kicked a
hole in its base.  The water flowed to the ground, causing a puddle of mud. 
Grabbing some of the all-purpose magical dust from a leather bag hanging from
his belt, the wizard sprinkled it into the mud, mixing it together with his dagger. 
Grabbing a stone that was the size of a child’s fist, Erelon coated it with the
mud.  Then he breathed on it, causing the mud to dry.  The very breath of the
wizard was as hot as a desert, causing the air to waver.

Slipping back around the tent, Erelon looked over towards Yalen,
who gave a nod signaling that the elves were ready.  Erelon lobbed the stone
into the flames and dived to the ground.  The huge explosion emanated from the
fire.  A shower of goblin anatomy flew through the air.  Everything seemed to be
engulfed in flames, the entire camp.  The tent before Erelon whipped back and
forth as a burning projectile hurled through it.  Burning victims raced around,
spreading the flames.  Quickly, both of Erelon’s knives were dancing, cutting
down the frantic goblins, all that was left of the band.  Easily he walked
through the main aisle of the camp, his knives slipping out to tag the goblins,
dropping them.

Through the camp, other goblins raced to the aid of their
comrades.  Yet they were few.  They leapt into the fight using their crude but
dangerous blades made from scraps of metal, but quickly fell.  No longer did
they greatly outnumber the elven party.  The elves, being better trained,
easily cut the incoming goblins down.

At first the hunters used bows.  Even Erelon shoved both knives
into the ground and pulled his.  The string went taunt, his muscles quivered
along with the string, and then the arrow disappeared.  The air tickled its
feathers, and the music ended only as it thudded into the gray throat of the
enemy.  Again and again Erelon pulled on his bow string with the same effect, a
goblin falling to the earth dead.

As the goblins closed in, Erelon pulled his sword.  He swung it
upwards into his first victim, splitting goblin from its lower abdomen
completely into its chest cavity.  No  The wizard pulled his blade from where
it had become lodged in the ribs of his last victim, and brought it down on another,
cleaving the skull.  Turning, Erelon thrust the sword into another, where it
became jammed within the goblin’s ribs.  The goblin grabbed at the blade, but
it was evident that the goblin was going to die and did not have the power to
pull the steel free.  Erelon dropped the elven blade and reached for his
dagger.  He did not want to be tugging on his lodged blade if another goblin
was creeping on him.  As he turned, Erelon saw that the goblin band was a
scattered bundle of no more than a dozen.

Erelon turned in a circle, taking in the entire scene,
evaluating his own performance as well as that of the elves.  Embers still
burned.  Several of the tents were no more than charred rubble, and pieces of
cloth floated in the breeze.  The elves from outside the camp's parameter were
shooting down the remnants as the last few goblins tried to rush into the forest.

A huge fire blazed in the center of the clearing where the
goblin band had camped.  What was left of their camp had been looked through
for what might be salvageable.  The bodies and remains of the camp and supplies
were being burnt.  Ashes floated through the air, at first still glowing red,
but quickly cooling and dying.

The fire roared and crackled.  The elves stood far from the
blaze as the heat grew unbearable, many of the nearby trees wilting.  The fire
soared several times the height of a man.  But quickly it died, the dry cloth
and oil they had poured on helping the fire to race through the pile of
rubble.  The pile fell until it was no more than a large pile of ash.

The wizard looked around at the forest.  He did not wish to see
it burned to the earth’s floor.  From within his cloak, Erelon pulled a leaf
and brushed it before the sky.  In the distance, where the leaf had crossed,
clouds formed.  As they left the battle grounds, huge clouds rolled in.  They
tumbled and fell only to grow again, only to larger heights and a darker, more
angry hue.  A dark curtain rolled across the horizon, across the prairie, and
through the forest.  All embers left were doused with an angered hiss that left
steam to rise.  The rain pounded the earth, scattering the ashes at first and
then forcing them to bleed into the earth’s floor.

It was early in the morning, and Erelon lay in his bed suddenly
awake.  He did not move.  His muscles did not even twitch as he held them under
throttling control.  It was so early that light had not yet filtered into his
room from an open window.  The ceremonial dagger given to him at the
celebration for his return lay on a table beside his bed.  A handle, which was
molded by an expert artisan into the form of a snake entwining itself about a
branch, held the blade which came from its opened mouth, the edge of the blade
splitting the fangs.  The blade was said to be cursed.  For that reason it was
a ceremonial blade, it was a knife never to be used.  Erelon had never taken
such threats seriously.

Chaucer had tried to change Erelon as a young man.  Yet Erelon had
always known that he was powerful and had not heeded such warnings of his
mentor.  Erelon had thought Chaucer was old and too cautious and conservative
with his powers.  The curse on such a blade was that the blood of one slain on
such a knife would haunt the one who had wielded the blade for the rest of his
life.  The slain might even haunt the murderer on into the world after.

Erelon’s hand slowly gripped the knife’s handle.  He felt a
presence within the room.  The snake unwrapped itself from the handle and
coiled on Erelon’s arm.  The harder the wizard’s grip upon the handle, the
stronger the snake wrapped itself about the arm of the wizard.