River Of Life (Book 3) (6 page)

Slowly, carefully as he had been taught by the dwarves, Erelon
cut the crystal free, and then slowly chipped away the excess so that all that
remained was a pure, flawless crystal of ice.  The wizard had been taught by
the dwarves how to cut gems, diamonds, and other crystals.

Erelon pulled the tube from within his cloaks and unscrewed one
end, eased the crystal into it, and then rotated its cap until it was sealed. 
Erelon breathed a sigh of relief.

ERELON was sitting in on another council.  He had only been back
from his trek through the mountains long enough to obtain some breakfast.  In
the balconies, men watched the proceedings about the formation of the military.

"I think our troops would fight better, be able to better
defend our walls if they were allowed to fight beside their friends," one
wizard roared.

"Yeah, dividing up companions, it would be like separating
a unit that has been training together for years.  It is completely detrimental
to our defense," another chimed in his approval.

"I think we could break up into more shifts.  We need more
than four shifts.  Four shifts every day, two day shifts and two night shifts,
makes for a very long day, and the men cannot easily regulate their
sleep," another wizard offered a more sound opinion.

"Maybe only four hour shifts, instead of eight?"
Hendle quizzed.  "But I would think that would make it even harder to get
sleep with only a few hours to catch some rest."

"Well then maybe four hour shifts during the day, and two
six hour shifts at night?" Burlim offered the concerned wizards.

Erelon noticed Burlim had streaks of gray through his hair now,
and a few wrinkles lining his head.  His little brother Flex sat next to him. 
Flex had turned into a quiet young man, allowing Burlim to do the talking, but
no one was fooled by his silent exterior.  Everyone in the room understood that
Flex had the most talent.

A few days before, a squat man with wild red hair and a giant
mole on his left chin had approached Erelon, "The council has not met for
a while now.  Several months.  This is not a dictatorship.  We demand to be
allowed to voice our complaints and concerns in a democratic manner."

The man had hissed and gurgled.  He was not a man Erelon would
have chosen to represent him, not a well spoken wizard.

Erelon eyed the man with caution.  He had never known his
opposition to be interested in anything democratic.  "Fine, we can meet
tomorrow in the afternoon.  Not a minute before the sun passes its highest
point in the sky."

"My friends will be grateful," the warty wizard
gurgled as he sloughed off into a hallway.

"You remember what I told you about the alliances between
some of these wizards?" Hendle's voice questioned behind Erelon.

"Yeah, I understand," Erelon mumbled.  "But I do
not believe that any of these alliances are powerful enough to try to fight
me.  And we have broken these men apart so they cannot plot and associate
easily.  I have been watching them cautiously.  I do not feel they can cause
any great mischief."

"Still, I am sure they will be wanting to change the
organization that you have forced on them," Hendle replied.

Erelon had only chuckled as he considered how he could use
tomorrow's meeting.

And now it was tomorrow, and Erelon was listening to another
wizard whine.

“The military organization is unfair,” one wizard complained.

“Would we not fight more efficiently if we were to battle with
those of our own choice?” another whined.

“Fight who more efficiently?  The enemy or ourselves?” Hendle
asked and then gave an answer to his own question, “No.  I think we will remain
with the organization installed by Master Erelon himself.”

On they argued.

"Yes, definitely.  Wizards who are enemies fighting
together along the wall will be very successful," one growled back.

"You are not divided up by friends and enemies,"
Burlim retorted.  "You are divided up by the skills you have, what you
know.  You are separated so that each shift has experienced warriors and those
who have not spent as much time fighting or studying."

The battle degraded into a struggle for power.

"I do not believe that these decisions should be only
decided by you and Erelon," a wizard bellowed at Hendle, sweeping his
hands across the table as if trying to make himself appear larger than he
really was.

"Yes, let us allow you to make the decisions.  A man who
could barely crawl across the floor of Mortaz when we left," Hendle
growled with sarcasm.

"Well, not all of us here are so young," another bald
wizard bellowed.  "Some of us here might be quite qualified to make a few
decisions of our own."

"And feel free to give your opinion in this council, and I
am sure that we appreciate when you make decisions for the defense of the wall
when it is your turn to be stationed there.  So I am not sure what you are
disapproving of?"  Hendle tried to disarm the situation through a calm,
steady voice.

Slowly, those few involved in the verbal battle noticed that the
other members of the assembly had become quite quiet.  Looking down the long
table, they observed the master wizard, juggling several spheres of ice and
fire.  Such control over completely opposite and conflicting elements worried
those along the table who opposed Erelon.

“So you do not agree with my decisions,” Erelon started quietly,
amusement echoing within his voice.

“N-n-n-n-no-o-o,” one stammered in denial.

“Oh, it sounded to me as if you were against my decision. 
Although it seems to me that it is working quite well,” Erelon stated with
amusement as he could sense the fear he provoked.

Slowly Erelon worked the spheres of ice and fire together until
there were only one of each, and then he stopped juggling altogether, letting
the two forces lie, one in each hand.  He brought them together, placing them
together in the same hand, cupping his hands together and then squeezing.  The
two elements fought against the wizard, trying to squeeze out, licking at open
air and space.  Bringing two elements that are complete opposites together into
the same spell is much like forcing the same poles of a magnet together. 

From within his cloak, Erelon drew a smooth, oval, ordinary
stone with his left hand.  Erelon slowly began to force the fire and ice into
the stone.  It struggled against him.  Yet the sphere of ice and fire came into
contact with the rock, and Erelon’s hands cupped over the stone, enclosing the
magical elemental powers.  Streams of ice and tongues of fire burst from
between his fingers, and then all went dormant.  Holding the rock in one hand,
Erelon displayed it for all to see as it glowed for a few moments and then went
dark.

“So what are we arguing about?”  Erelon questioned as everyone
looked at him with amazement.

The control and power he had displayed was amazing.  With no
struggle, he had created a magical artifact.  Average wizards would have spent
days of preparation.  In the perfect room, without any interrupting outside
presence, with all the proper and necessary tools, they would have carried out
such a performance.  And they would have required several days of rest
afterwards.  Yet Erelon sat ready to fight the entire assembly.

“Nothing.  We’re not arguing about anything,” came a whispered
voice in response to Erelon’s question.

“Then what are we doing here?” Erelon asked innocently.

Without another word, the entire assembly excepting Erelon and
Hendle broke up and started for the door.  A few chairs were hastily pushed
back so they fell over.  One wizard tripped over the feet of another as he
tried to push ahead.  A path across the floor was swept clean of dust from the
low hanging cloaks of the wizards as they passed through.

Erelon watched them as they breezed by, only a blur of color.  A
smile creased his face, and then slowly, he also got up and left.  Bahsal
waited for him just beyond the door.  Standing quietly, the dwarve had watched
events from the ground floor.  If there was trouble, he wanted to be in the
center of it.

“You have what I asked for?” Erelon questioned.

“Sure, right here,” Bahsal responded as he handed Erelon two
leather bags.

In the first was a handful of diamond dust.  The dwarves kept a
huge pile as they chipped their diamonds.  The fragments that were too small
for any other use were gathered and stored away for anyone and everyone to take
as much as they wanted.  Wizards used it for all-purpose magical powder.  Mix
it with some sand, and it would go a long way.  Some had nicknamed it fairy
dust, but it had nothing in common with fairies.

In the second bag was a diamond itself.  It was just as big as
Erelon’s fist if not a little larger.  The bottom of the diamond was cut into
the classical facets that all diamonds naturally contained but required an
expert eye to see.  Yet the top of the gem was something that only the
masterful hand of a dwarve or elvish jeweler could accomplish.  For this particular
diamond, the top was a completely smoothed dome with no flaws.  It was amazing
in that it showed no signs of the natural facets that wanted to be seen, that
automatically, naturally, fell away as they were struck with a hammer.

“Such edges I could have made with it, casting light in all
directions.  All the colors of the world would have been honored to become the
mantle of this rock,” the dwarve mourned.

“I know, but this is what I needed,” Erelon replied, not in a
consoling manner, but instead one that was engrossed with the diamond.

He was pulled into its amazing craftsmanship and the colors that
already danced around inside of it.

Erelon opened all of the windows to his study.  It was higher in
the residential area and so colder.  He uttered a spell of ice and cold, a
spell that signified winter.  Ice crystals grew down the walls, hung from the
ceiling, and some reached far enough to touch the floor.  A cold breeze gusted
into the room and a mirror quickly frosted.  The wizard was dressed in many
cloaks.

From within his layers of clothes, he pulled a leather bag and
dropped the diamond given to him by Bahsal into his hand.  Laying it on a desk,
Erelon pulled a metal tube out of his clothes.  He unscrewed its cap, it
threads grating roughly.  Removing the top, Erelon slightly tipped the cylinder
to allow an ice crystal to slide from its magical, icy, protective chamber into
the palm of the his hand.

Now the wizard had to be quick.  The crystal would not retain
its mischievous personality for long, as it was exposed to elements that would
act differently upon it than had the world of the musical caverns.  It would
lose its character if the slightest ounce melted or the friction of a breeze
rubbed a fraction away.

With the diamond in one hand and the crystal of ice in the
other, Erelon started a chant and brought them together.  It was a low chant,
one that barely hummed below his chest.  A man within the room would have to
lean close and hold his breath to hear the words Erelon made.

Slowly the ice crystal slipped into the diamond.  The diamond
seemed to turn to a gelatin material that absorbed the crystal.  Together their
facets caused light to dance, creating brilliant reflections throughout the
room.

The ice crystal still tried to greedily claim the radiant colors
for its own, but the diamond forced the crystal to release the light back to
the world.  From the side of the diamond, through the faucets, the ice crystal
was barely observable.  From the smooth top, it shone as if Erelon had plucked
a star from the night sky and entrapped it within the diamond.

Erelon stepped from a forge, within his hand the finished
product: a magical staff that contained the mischievous powers of winter.  The
huge diamond, with its imprisoned crystal of ice, was set within a rod of steel
that started wide at the top, and with many arches and valleys, swooped down to
a point.  The length of the rod was a four pointed star that fit into an walnut
staff.  Iron bands encircled the top where the rod set into the staff so that
it was all pulled tight and the rod could not escape.  Fixtures wrapped
themselves around the diamond and finally came out over the crown of the
diamond, holding it firmly in place.

Erelon used it as a walking staff as he left a small forge, no
more than a cottage at the base of the fortifying wall.  Not a forge, not even
a furnace for melting iron, could be found within Suragenna.  So, outside,
below a wall, in a furnace for forging weapons and armor that would go directly
into battle, he had created his magical staff that contained the mischief,
wrath, and beauty of winter.

Erelon was watching from the top of the fortifications.  Spring
had once again blessed the world with fair weather.  But it also came as a
curse for those who sat trapped within the walls that kept the enemy out.  They
could not move; they could not go out to travel, enjoying the best time of the
year.  Once outside the walls, survival became all that mattered, the beautiful
world forgotten as they would be forced to engage in battle. 

Far below, goblins were tearing down the trees.  They had barely
disturbed the ancient forest before, but now, the goblins cut down the majestic
trees.  Sadly, fibers would crack, pop, and finally break, allowing the tree to
groan as it fell with a crash to the earth far below or collapsed into the
bowing arms of another tree.  The enemy would cut gruesome and crude images
into the trunk’s surface.  Elven archers would shoot down on them, but they did
little to the fleeting gang of goblins who knew where the blind spots were from
the wall’s summit.

Erelon watched them, wondering if he should run another hunting
party outside the walls, yet he knew it would be extremely dangerous.  He did
not know what else waited for him in the trees, and as he had no caravans
coming in, there was no real need to risk the lives of a few men.  What
fighting the men of Suragenna now engaged in would be done from the summit of
the walls.  More and more goblins began to destroy the forest before the eyes
of the men who watched from above.

Only a few of the men actually felt grief over the destruction,
but for the elves, it was as if old friends were being slain.  These trees had
seen events to which the elves could relate.  Around a bar, they could sit
telling stories of the ages past, reminiscing about good and bad moments in
history.  These trees had seen much of those same stories.