River Of Life (Book 3) (28 page)

Erelon eased out of the path of another awkward lunge by the
young wizard.  Erelon snapped his fingers in Jeffrey’s face.  The young wizard
froze in mid-stride with his staff out before him, rigid paralysis instantly
overcoming his entire body.

Erelon turned to Backer and stated, “I regret I had to do that. 
He will be released when I leave the city.”

“You had to do what was necessary,” Backer assured Erelon.

Erelon turned and shrugged on his coat.  The door opened, and
for a moment, Erelon’s frame filled it.  Then there was a short cool breeze as
the door was empty, looking onto a silent wet street, and finally the door
slowly slid shut.

“Look out for him,” Backer told Easton, “He has some unhealthy
ideas about his future and preoccupations with some spells that could do harm
to both himself and the world.  You have to be the voice of reason.”

“I’ll try.  But it's not easy trying to advise or tell Erelon
anything that goes against what he has decided he wants to do,” Easton warned
Backer.

“Even so, look after him,” Backer emphasized his suggestion.

Erelon crossed the street without looking in either direction,
his eyes set straight before him.  Still, he knew what and who was up and down
the street.  The water began to soak the bottom of Erelon’s cloak, and his
boots began to gleam from the water that covered them.  A soft light that was
filtered by the clouds filled the city with a blue glow.  Nothing dangerous or
ominous could Erelon feel in the city.

He had told the men in the room he needed air, fresh air. Erelon
needed out of the cramped room, to move, to feel his muscles work.  He felt cornered
in Backer's home, and he could not allow his mind to wander with those men constantly
trying to ask him questions.  He wanted to think about the future battle, about
his own involvement.  He was considering if all the weapons, all the assets
needed, were coming together, or was he rushing too fast into this fight.  Or
maybe he was already too late.  Erelon did not know, and he wanted to think
about it without other wizards trying to invade his mind.

Erelon trudged around the city as water began to drip from his
hat and run down the inside of his cloak.  The entire city seemed to be made of
stone with wooden beams and shingles.  No one moved, only a few lights broken
now and then by a moving shadow.

Erelon knew where to find life.  The older wizard turned up a
few more alleys so narrow that a horse could never have passed.  Erelon came
from between two houses; to his right lay the city’s garden, a park filled with
plant life.  Erelon looked around and then slipped down the town square and
between a couple trees.  He did not follow the stone paths laid by those who
had planned the garden, those hired to do the landscape.  Instead Erelon passed
across the grass and pushed his way in between bushes.

Several wild roses caught Erelon’s cloak, stalling him for a
moment as he tediously untangled himself, trying to avoid tearing his cloak. 
For a moment Erelon thought about destroying the rose bush, disintegrating it. 
Erelon glared at it for a moment, but his eyes softened as he watched it bob in
the slight breeze.

Slowly Erelon stretched his hand out and lightly touched it with
his finger.  Erelon closed both his eyes and drifted back to a time when he had
lived in a twilight world of the elves, a world where there was no sun to help
plants grow.  Magic was the power behind everything that lived.  An elvish
word, one that was soft and musical, issued from the wizard’s lips.

From the deepest core of the wild plant poured the colors of
strawberry red and the bright yellow of lemons.  They blended together into a
delightful twist.  From the plant's surface this color blossomed into an
interweaving ribbon in a circular form.  Erelon smiled at the rose.  In the
flower’s center, Erelon could see the elves at play, the high-pitched cackle of
the young elves still filled with fun, not yet burdened by the decades of
memories stored by the immortal race.  A tear rolled down from both Erelon’s
eyes as he remembered the elves and his time spent with them.

Erelon slipped back into the house of Backer.  He had not
knocked before entering.  By now he was more than just a guest.  Jeffrey was
still frozen.  Easton was gone, and Backer was asleep in an arm chair like a
father waiting for his son to come home after a long night out with friends.

Erelon grabbed a saddle blanket and lay on the floor with a
saddle for a pillow.  The fire was almost gone, but Erelon did not move from
his solid bed to stir or feed the flames.  It would wait until morning.

As morning came, it was still gloomy.  Erelon was not sure if it
was morning or just a continuation of night.  Slowly, though, the atmosphere
lightened, assuring Erelon of the time of day.

Erelon was seated at the table eating breakfast, Backer nearby
watching.

Backer said, “Easton went out to saddle and feed the horses.”

Erelon continued to eat without response.

As Erelon emptied his plate, he leaned back with a sigh of
contentment and, looking at Backer, finally said, “Thanks, for everything.  I
do not think we shall see each other again, especially if you do not come for
the fight.”

As Erelon stood, Backer stepped forward to shake his hand and
replied, “You never know.  Pendle is now friendly with you.  After the fight,
you can always come back, for a vacation of a kind.”

Erelon smirked sarcastically.

“Besides, if I don’t see you again in this world, I doubt it
will be too long before I meet you again on the other side,” Backer said,
trying to relieve some of the pressure of the moment by joking about his own
old age.

“Take care of yourself,” Erelon demanded before turning and
walking toward the door.  He put on his cloak that had been lying on the back
of a chair and, without turning around, stepped out the door.

It was not much brighter outside than it had been within the
building, and Erelon’s eyes quickly adjusted as he power walked up the street. 
Alleys and buildings alternated.  Alleys looked down rows of buildings until
ending at another main street, or until another building cut off the view. 
Each building was architecturally the same, but at the same moment, each house
was unique, an individual with a mind of its own.

As Erelon reached the stables, Easton already stood outside
sitting on his own horse while holding onto the reins of the other two.  Both
men wore dark clothing and oiled leather hats so that the rain slipped off in
beads.

Erelon took the reins from Easton, mounted Draos, and took the
lead.  He let his horse walk slowly.  He was in no rush to leave the protective
walls of the city.  Both men hunched down in their cold saddles, trying to
contain their own body heat within their cloaks.  A light fog drifted from
their mouths as they breathed in the biting morning mountain air.

Very few others were out to witness the departure of the
wizards.  A shop keeper opening his store, a woman quickly walking, only
glancing up for a moment before again looking toward her goal.  A faun with a
bucket were all that had a chance to wish the wizards a good day.  Even the
guards barely showed any sign that they observed the wizards leaving.  A couple
guards sat in rooms at the base of the towers that were built to both sides of
the gate.  They looked up, nodded toward the two wizards, and went back to
their fire.

A couple big barrel torches mounted to the wall blazed with
fire; embers exploded sending a shower of ash into the air that was quickly
cooled by the rain.  Huge drops of water fell from the wall under which Erelon
and Easton rode.  Dropping with rhythm, the water almost became the drums, a
marching rhythm, a beat to war.  Erelon knew that from here, a large battle was
soon to come.  The city walls disappeared quickly into the trees. Erelon
followed a well worn path.

“You do realize that there are no more civilized cities between
Pendle and Sine?  Until Sine we live outdoors on our own,” Erelon asked Easton more to remind the younger wizard of what was to come.

“Yes,” Easton commented, but his mind was wandering far down the
trail.  Mentally, Easton was already in Sine.

“How do you know she is still waiting on you?” Erelon asked,
half serious half in amusement.

Easton eased back in his saddle, allowing his muscles and
shoulders to relax.  It had been a long time since he had been able to take the
day easy, allow someone else to bear the burden of anxiety and decision
making.  Now that Erelon was back and Easton had delivered the stone to his
superior, he could let Erelon take care of all the mentally cumbersome work.

“She promised me that she would,” Easton said with conviction.

“Uh huh,” Erelon replied with amused sarcasm. “Do not know if
she expected you to be gone this long, though?” Erelon questioned.

Easton looked up through the trees into the sky.

It had been a long time since Easton had last been able to allow
his mind to drop its guard long enough to dream.

“Kit’s father owns that tavern,” Easton announced, “and it
belonged to his father, and his father’s father, and to many of the generations
of her family before them. She wants to escape from Sine, from the curse of
their tavern.  Kit wants to see some of the world.  She will still be waiting,”
Easton reasoned out the situation and reassured himself at the same moment.

The wizards walked their horses. They did not want to tire them,
especially as there was a chance that they might turn any corner and have to
flee the enemy. The day became comfortable as the clouds finally began to break
up, allowing a little sunlight to drift through and warm the earth.

Travel between Sine and Pendle had not ceased even with the
threat of the wraiths. The trail was still well worn, so the grass was short. 
The wizards even passed a few travelers hurrying along the path, trying to
reach Pendle before dark, not wishing to spend another night outside of the
walls of civilization.

The path led down out of the high mountains, lower to where the
air was more comfortable to breath, the cold less biting.  A few limbs hung
down, brushing at Erelon’s hair, but most that had hung low had been cut down
by passing travelers as the upkeep of the path became the responsibility of any
who used it.

Bare spots popped up occasionally, either where a stone came to
the earth’s surface, or where the path was more narrow and there was less area
to support the travel.

The two slept under the stars.  Always they made a fire.  As
they woke in the mornings, it had burnt down to nothing, and in a rush to warm
themselves and loosen stiff muscles and joints, they soon had the fire again
going.  A pot went onto the fire, followed by water and coffee.  The smell
filled the forest, and if anyone was around, they knew where to find the
wizards, but no one showed.  The wizards almost ceased to see any travelers,
friend or enemy, pass them by.

Both wizards began to ease, relaxing, forgetting the enemy that
wanted them both dead.  They talked openly, not heeding the volume of their
voices, and quit trying to cover up the light of their fire or their trail. 
For the wizards, in their minds, the enemy lay far before them.

Several paths crossed before the wizards.  Some well used,
probably leading to small villages or water holes and then on out of the forest
and into the prairie.  But as they began to pass one that led back into the
mountains, Erelon pulled Draos to a stop.  Easton rode up until even with
Erelon and looked at the older wizard who had seemed to grow darker.

“What is it?” Easton asked.  He sensed no immediate danger, he
could not feel any of the enemy close by, but Erelon’s attitude suddenly had Easton nervous, anticipating a fight.

Erelon remained silent for a few moments longer before shaking
his head, shaking away the mental images that had absorbed his mind, “The last
resting place of Chaucer, my city of birth.  The lost city of the Gronge
mountains.  Victim of its own insanity, now only a trap.  A huge wall that at
one time promised protection, and could still easily offer it.  But instead the
wall only obstructs the escape of those who enter.”

Erelon urged his horse on, sadly remembering the depressing
revelation he had discovered not long ago.  Despite Easton’s efforts, the
older wizard would not open up and explain his words.  Erelon said nothing
else for several days.  Instead, he retreated into a silent melancholy state.

Erelon left Easton to observe the forest, every stone, bird, and
bush, how the trail twisted and rose and fell.  It was the same as before, yet
to Easton it was life.  To look through this forest after having been to the
Humban world was like cold fresh water after a ride through the desert.

The world began to grow darker and cooler as the trail led back,
higher into the mountains.  The clouds began to arrange like pieces of a
puzzle.  Clouds hung low, their fibers tickling the trees.  At first the
clouds were just pieces, little irregular-shaped pieces of sheep’s wool dotting
the sky.  Easton watched them, picking out objects.

Then they began to push together, growing darker, more angry. 
Soon the sun quit shining, and it took half the day to warm their bodies after
waking.  A fine mist filled the air.  Streaks of fog passing through the trees
barely lifted from the ground, hiding everything above the horses’ knees.  The
fog haunted the forest, laughing at those who traveled through it, knowing the
anxiety it caused as they could not see anyone trying to ambush.

Traffic picked back up as they passed farmers who traveled to
and from Sine.  So when Erelon was quiet and would not speak, Easton still got
to hear a voice that belonged to another man, even if it was just a passing
greeting.

“I am sure the wizards are starting to cause problems.  They
will not enjoy having to house and feed all of these warriors coming in for the
fight, especially the giants.  It’s about time to get back and finish this,”
Erelon finally spoke one day.