"With their decrees, magic is used here freely to a point, at least, and weapons of the earth have no place within our walls. As you can see, we carry no weapons of iron or steel. However, it is still dangerous, and I do bid you be careful. The people are wary of anyone new. It is rare."
Sviska had difficulty believing what he was hearing. His entire life he had known that magical beings were evil and that all of men must work together to protect each other from their power. However, here, high in the mountains, was a sanctuary for them. He himself had seen those who proclaimed to be users of magic or of mystical ways fall into madness, a madness that drove them to fall upon their own blades, if not be hunted and killed.
"I do not know what to say of all of this," he told Brethor. "Should I be afraid of those who are here?"
Brethor sat down at the table, still holding his drink. He lifted it up as a toast. "You should only be afraid as much as we should be afraid of you. I know you intend us no harm. Winemakers are harmless after all!"
Sviska joined him and picked at pieces of sliced fruit that was stacked on a platter next to an open bottle of wine.
He was harmless. An interesting thought that he knew was not true. Sviska knew the Order should already have the first shipment nearly here. It was not like them to tarry and wait. He felt that the winemaking guise would hold up as long as he played the part, but still, to what end, he did not know. He had already learned more of his masters than he could have ever fathomed was true. He questioned why, with Elinathrond being such a secret, would Brethor risk bringing him in, an outsider. It did not make sense to him.
"I must tend to the winery. I expect my shipment of supplies any day now," he said. He worried at first that the lord would see it as a very random thing to say given the previous conversation, but Brethor did not seem to mind.
"Good, good," Brethor replied, wiping his hands with a towel.
He stood. "If you follow me out this way, I can lead you to the room. Slats is already working to clean it up."
Sviska stood, scraping the chair across the floor as he did. The sound echoed across the open room. He followed Brethor down to a corridor in the northeast of the Estate. He had not been this way yet. A continuous window that looked out over a small garden and a range of snowy mountains lined the left side of the hallway. There seemed to be large red roses, though covered in snow, of course, growing wildly about the yard.
"Do you like my rose garden?" Brethor asked.
"How do they grow when it is as cold as it is here?"
"I have one of the best gardeners in all of the land! That, I assure you. She is indeed a blessing to such growing things. Ah, but enough about plants. Let us continue downstairs."
They came to a large stairwell that led into the basement of the Estate. Polished handrails led down the steps, and they turned to the right. An echo preceded them as they began to walk down a long hallway.
"I do wish this place was better, but it seemed that once the fire had started, there was no way to save it."
"How would a fire start down here?"
"Not very easily, but intentional fires do not need explanation. My guards are attempting to find the person who did it."
"So you feel someone was trying to burn the Estate?"
"No, I believe just the winery."
Brethor began to walk faster and then turned quickly down a corridor with a blackened door at the end. He reached the door and gave a tug to the handle. The doorframe came off, and he shrugged, placing it against the wall.
"Slats, are you in here?" he asked.
Sviska went through the doorway and noticed the charred wood all over the room. From a pile of collapsed pilings and planks, they heard a muffled yell for help.
Sviska and Brethor ran to the pile and began digging, tossing the pieces to the side. With a firm grip on his shirt, they pulled Slats out of the wreckage. Ash covered him, and he coughed, brushing the dust off his face.
"What happened?" asked Sviska.
"Oh, you know, sir. Minor collapse of wood on top of the dwarf." Slats spat and continued to wipe his lips.
"So you are an actual dwarf? Like in the stories?" Sviska asked.
"Yes, an actual dwarf! I told you that before!"
Brethor cleared his throat. "I leave you to your work. Perhaps we will speak again soon, Turmin."
He then departed the room, leaving the work ahead to Sviska and Slats.
"I am a dwarf, if I do say so! I am a dwarf and now you know!" commented Slats as he humbly sang and drank from an open bottle. His gait was uneasy and random as his feet tapped about, trying to gain stability. In a stumbling collapse, he fell into one of the stone pillars that stood in the room.
"Drinking this early?" asked Sviska, raising one eyebrow as he patted Slats on the back. "I see now why you were stuck under rubble."
"Of course, sir! I have to drink with breakfast. It is a break, and breaks entitle one to a drink. As do all normal breaks when one is working! After what happened down here to the dear elf, I am a bit sad, I say! It is not the best to drink in times as this, but I need to."
Slats began to sob and sniffle loudly. "Oh well, best not to dwindle on it, they say! Brethor says it will not happen again, and I trust him."
Elf, he thought, knowing now another one of the races of the city's occupants. But he could not remember seeing an elf yet. Pointed ears, renowned for longer than average lives, and somewhat ignorant to the problems of the world. That, at least, is what he had read of them.
They shoveled and swept all the charred wood to the door of the room, piling it up for easier disposal. The room was cold and the air thick with dust.
The black walls were bare, and cracks ran up to the upper level of the Estate. Behind further debris, Sviska found a fireplace built into the wall. He gathered some of the charred wood and soon had a roaring fire, warming the room and bringing much needed light to their endeavor.
Slats fetched a bucket of water, and they began scrubbing the floors and walls. They had cleaned over half of the room when they both decided a well-needed break was in order. They placed their buckets and mops against the wall and headed back up and out through a side door just near the stairs.
Just outside, a terrace overlooked the southern reaches of the castle wall and the woods beneath.
Slats searched his pockets until he found a long wooden pipe and filled the bowl with tobacco before lighting it. With a sigh, he leaned back, resting on the stones.
"Good time to relax," he said, staring upward.
The sun was already beginning to set. Sviska looked as it hung just at the level of the horizon. Already the stars were shining in the eastern skies, and the howling winds swept through the mountains.
"Is it already nearly nighttime?" asked Sviska.
"No, no, sir. The sun sets much sooner this time of the year. Soon the great time of the polar lights will begin to shine the brightest that they do the entire year! A wonderful festival is normally held during that time!"
"Perhaps we can serve wine by then?"
The dwarf took a long draw from his pipe. "Perhaps. I don't know if it will be ready. It depends on your equipment, winemaker."
Sviska wondered when the first shipment would arrive. Although his guise was strong and sure, he had never had this much doing with targets from the Order. If he was to kill them, why not get it over with? He didn't know if that was even his task. The note from the Order left too much room for him to wonder.
Perhaps another letter would be delivered with the shipment, he thought, his eyes scanning the mountains in the distance.
Slats coughed and spit, taking Sviska’s mind off his thoughts. The dwarf stuck his tongue out and pulled a piece of burned tobacco that he had sucked through his pipe.
"Bluckers! Nasty stuff. I like the smoke, not the plant!" He knocked his pipe free of the ash and tucked it away. "Best be getting back to it."
They both stood up, brushing off their clothing as they did. Sviska went to tu
rn toward the door with Slats, but then noticed something black, shimmering slightly, like glass on the castle wall. There seemed to be more than one, now that he noticed. Every few feet, a statue not much bigger than a man appeared to be standing on the walls.
"Slats, those things on the wall, I had not noticed them before now," he said, pointing.
Slats walked to where Sviska was standing and squinted, looking along the wall.
"Oh, those are the Watchers. I do not know their exact origin or much else about them, but don't find yourself at odds to them and be unfriendly. They protect the city. A special magic gives them power. Not that those ones need to do much, given the black woods are beneath them. That land is protected, too. But not of the same magic that is the city."
"Is down there also part of the refuge for magical beings?"
"No," Slats replied as he headed back into the Estate. "I do not know for sure, but it is said one of the last unicorn herds reside there. And, well, they are not friendly. You can't have a unicorn rummaging about the city. They'll eat all the mint, and I love mint."
Back down in the cellar, Sviska added more wood to the fire. There began to be a greenish-blue glow shining from the flames, and then in a second, it was gone. He thought nothing of it and added more wood to the growing fire. Again, just as before, the fire sparked the strange hue and then returned to normal.
"Look at this," he said to Slats, who was rolling one of the remaining empty barrels to a dimly lit resting area off to the side.
He threw another piece of wood, and the hue shined brightly. It lasted a bit longer, but Slats seemed unimpressed.
"The wine burning does that. At festival, we will sprinkle some on sticks and throw it in the bonfire just to see it."
Sviska had never seen wine do such a thing, and wondered of what source the green and blue colors came from. Slats seemed uninterested in it, but the effect amazed him.
A few more hours of work and they were nearly done cleaning. Other than a few barrels, the only other thing that had survived the fire was a stone rack where barrels, filled with fresh wine, would rest until they were ready. The remaining empty barrels were placed one by one on the rack. Sviska did notice that along a far wall was a shelf with several long-necked crystal bottles.
"That was for the wine, used during the celebration I told you about before. I am happy to see they managed to survive. However, they are a bit smoky."
Slats began to polish each of them, taking the time to look over the crystal before setting them back on the shelf. "Soon, you will all be filled again."
Between the two of them, they were able to gather what was left of the debris near the doorway and take it outside for disposal.
Exiting the Estate through the main foyer, they dumped the charred materials near a goat stable, where Slats said the ashes would be good for the ground. They had just made it back to the door of the Estate when a large contingent of hooded guards could be seen walking around the circular archway of the gypsies.
It was difficult to see what they carried, but a large wagon brought up the rear. They began up the steps of the Estate, and Sviska noticed Captain Runa at the fore with a large scroll.
"Your shipment was left at the gates of the city. The people carrying it scurried off before we could even speak with them. This document seems to list the items included and says a second shipment is also on its way."
He handed the scroll to Sviska and whistled as he walked around the side of the Estate. The guards pulled the wagon following him to where a large cellar door was opened leading into the storeroom. The door opened outward, and a narrow dirt ramp led into the underside of the Estate. As a guard walked ahead with a lit torch, the men pulled the wagon.
Sviska followed and assisted in untying the ropes that held it. He then removed the cover to reveal a large barrel used for smashing the grapes and a holding vat for the fermentation process to begin. He was thankful of his childhood to have this knowledge, especially now.
Runa went to a black chain that was hanging from the ceiling and gave it a hard tug. The wall directly before him sunk backward and then rolled open, revealing a pathway to the winery. The men worked together to move the massive contraption into its place in the winery. Sviska began looking over the scroll and directed the bags of seeds for the grape bushes to be lined against the wall. Slats, busy placing the new barrels in the holding area, came across a box that was heavier than the rest.
"Turmin, it seems we have something interesting here."
Sviska jumped up. The Order was sending something, and the box could have contained those items. Although, he knew most of the shipment was searched before being brought into the gates, he wished to take no chances. A weapon found at any point within the shipment would give way to unanswerable questions arising.
"Don't touch that!" he yelled.
The room became quiet, and the guards all stared at him. Runa moved his hand to his staff on his back, uneasy by the winemaker’s yelling Sviska ran to Slats and took the crate. Slats stared at him, confused.
"This must be opened in the dark," he lied. "It is a special brew of wine that must not see the light until it is to be served, a special brew from my homeland." He smiled at Slats and nodded his head. "But we will have some later."
His nervousness disappeared, as it seemed they bought it. The others went back to work, bringing in the last of the supplies, and Runa released his grip on his staff.
Sviska turned, still holding the crate, and sighed in relief. He took the box to a corner of the winery and put it down carefully. He would need to come back to it when he was alone.
Chapter 8 Of Elinathrond
The winery was now partially complete. As Sviska worked to organize his grape seeds, stacking them in rows against the far wall, it struck him that he still did not know where to grow them. The outside was too harsh due to the cold winds and icy ground. The previous winemaker had to have a growing area, but it was definitely not down near the cellar. At least, not to Sviska's knowledge.
They were finished for the day. As he went back over the inventory, he noticed the next shipment would include the winepress attachment and further resting barrels. He rolled the scroll up and set it on a recently delivered table. It was well into the night now, and Brethor had yet to come by to see how far they had gotten with the new winery.
Sviska and Slats went to the Estate kitchen and joined Cusis, who was eating a freshly made stew in the servant's area. Just off the main kitchen, in a small, unadorned room with a simple table and chairs, Cusis sat alone.
He was startled seeing them both and immediately stood, beckoning Sviska to go sit in the dining room.
"It is fine, Cusis. It is a large room more fit for many. I would enjoy just a seat after the day we've had."
Cusis nodded, agreeing, and served two bowls of stew into small bowls that had been stacked neatly on the table. He then stood and began to tend to his dirty dish, sloshing water and scrubbing it in a sink.
The kitchen was massive. A large stone oven was against the back wall, and an open pit for cooking meat was in the center of the room. Smaller kettles lined the wall next to the oven, which set next to pots in numbers enough to cook a large feast.
"A peculiar thing, this Estate," began Sviska. "So large yet the only occupants are us and Brethor."
Cusis stopped washing his dish and dried his hands with a towel.
"Lord Brethor is an old man. He may not look it, but many years he has watched over us. His family has been lost. I remember as a boy, my father was chief servant, and I played with the children of the Estate. There were many who lived here then."
"I'm surprised, then, that none remain." As he finished his stew, slurping the last of the broth, he handed the dish to Cusis, as the servant asked for it as he walked over. Standing over the oven and warming himself over the dim flames, he tried to chase the chill out of the air.
Slats said nothing and stirred his bowl, looking up at Cusis periodically. Sviska
had a feeling it was best to remain quiet given the looks between the two servants.
Cusis joined him near the fire. "I know you wish to know, but I do not feel it is my place," he said. "Lord Brethor needs to inform you of the conditions here. I know he has not, especially if you ask of his family."
There was a cold breeze and an uncomfortable quiet in the kitchen. Slats still said nothing. Cusis now was not even acknowledging Sviska's presence. Sviska wondered where Brethor was. He did not seem to be in the Estate even now with evening meal done. But no one else seemed to be worried.
He bid the dwarf and chief servant good night and headed back to the winery. He needed to check that crate, and considering Slats was with him nearly all the time, he felt this would be his only time to look in it.
The embers from the cellar fireplace were dying, and a distinct coldness shivered his bones. If the Estate was the warmest structure in the city, he wondered how others survived.
He knelt next to the crate and pried it open with a metal pole. The crate split with a pop and fell apart. Ironic to him, there were bottles of wine.
Straw packed around each of the bottles stuck his fingers as he reached in. He removed the bottles and turned, looking for somewhere to place them. Just a few paces from him, he noticed a dark area with carved stone. He made his way over, sliding on his knees. He could not tell what the carved stone area was used for but noticed the bottles would fit nicely in a row side by side. He pulled the frame of the shattered crate to him and slid each of the bottles into place in the stone shelf. As he removed each bottle, he checked it, but found nothing out of the ordinary.
Turning back to the crate, he removed handfuls of straw until he could clearly see the bare side of the crate. There was a strange coloration of the wood in a portion of the bottom. He flipped the crate over and took the metal pipe to the edging of the crate. He worked to loosen whatever held the bottom securely and, in a shattering of wood, found a note hidden inside.
Saints of Wura: Winemaker of the North, Arcane Awakening, Reckoning in the Void (Saints of Wura Books 1-3 with bonus content) Page 7