"Two times within a few hours I find you here. Before I had come to help the fairy, sensing its distress, but you well-handled that, and now I find you here again. Chasing dear Brethor, I'm sure."
"The fairy did not make it," he said.
"A sad loss but a necessary one. At least now you will learn some truth to the so-called perfect city of Brethor."
There was a strange tone is Ustavis' voice, cocky and almost belligerent. Sviska swallowed, and his hand tightened around the dagger that he held hidden in his coat. Ustavis was a powerful mage, and he feared of how the man gazed upon him.
"No need to bring out the toys," he said, his eyes looking down to Sviska's hand. "Brethor is just that way." He pointed through the gate. "I believe he is tying up some loose ends. You had better hurry. I will tell the Priors so that they may come assist."
Sviska covered his eyes as Ustavis disappeared in a bright flash as before.
Why couldn’t Ustavis assist me?
He ignored the thought and drew his dagger. The sheen blade glimmered in the night air, the jewel in the blade glowing faintly. He looked around him, but there was no one else. Turning, he quickly made his way through the gate and into the overgrown garden.
There were broken statues everywhere. The flowers that grew there were dying, but not from snow or cold. They were forced to the ground, as if it was not dirt but quicksand around the well. In fact, every blade of grass and every flower all pointed to an encircled stone structure at the center of the fenced-in surroundings. A single pathway of trodden weeds went to the stone structure, and a pungent smell was in the air.
Sviska approached the stones and peered over the edge. A ripple of water was all he could see.
"Brethor!" he called out. His voice echoed, and there was no response from within.
He looked around, but it seemed he followed the only path there was through the dense overgrowth. He slid his dagger back in its scabbard and then hopped into the well.
It was a short fall of no more than six feet, and with some luck, he had landed on his feet. He turned both ways, looking but could not see anything. His eyes were still adjusting to the blackness. To his left was a pile of rubble. His only path was right.
He heard a sound coming from the direction not blocked by the broken stones. Air was rushing around him as the noise became louder.
Sviska began running that way.
"Brethor!" he cried out.
Again, there was no response. He came to a large opening in the room where many of the city drains converged together. The gathering waters then fell into a large opening in the ground and flowed off the mountain down a subterranean cave out of Sviska's view.
The path downward was rocky and imposing, even for someone of experience with cliff faces. The jagged edges jutted out randomly, and there was no clear path that he could yet see.
"Brethor!" he cried out again.
There looked to be something lying on the stones near the edge of the crevice. Sviska looked down and began a careful descent down the slippery rocks to the object, or as he hoped, a person.
As he nearly slipped down an eroding watery funnel, he reached for the rocks and pulled himself back to firmer footing. The stones sliced his fingers, and now blood trickled down his arms.
It was then he took notice of an even more horrid smell than that he had smelled outside the well. Something was rotting. Like a dead animal left in the sun cooking with the seasoning of maggots. The smell curled his nose, and he covered his face.
Peering around him, his eyes widened and he gulped, spotting human parts strewn about. It was not what he expected. His first thought was of the only other person within the city with a weapon, Berie. However, the wounds were too violent to have been by the elf's doing with a bow. He thought of her knife, but from the raw tearing imposed on the limbs, he knew that the injuries did not match up. Sviska assumed one thing, but in all the stories he had heard of magic and as mutilated as the bodies were, it was clear that no magic did this. There was a finesse to expect with a spell, not like this scene of heads torn at the neck and chest cavities opened like clamshells on a beach.
With the body parts were weapons, left in the muck of blood and mud. He could make out a long sword and a curved knife. They were of similar design to what he had used in Taria. “Tools” he had been given by the Order. Other weapons seemed to be sticking out too, but he could not tell what they were. He was not sure what to make of what he was seeing.
As he reached the edge of the crevice, he noticed that a body was lying motionless on the edge. It was Brethor.
He crawled down to him. With a shake, he tried to rouse him, but he did not wake up. He did not appear injured, and thankfully, Brethor was breathing, but aside from his cloak, his clothes were tattered.
There was a strange low roaring in the room, and air shifted from cool to warm. He had seen nothing else as he came in. He thought of not peering down into the dark chasm but sensed he had to. He looked and noticed a large grate covering the chasm, where rocks cast down from above sprinkled on the metal. There was a rush of warm air and a voice in the air.
"Sviska."
He looked around, his blade in hand. "Who is there? Show yourself!" he commanded. No one appeared.
"Sviska," said the same voice again. "Sviska, why, why did you leave us?" the voice questioned.
"I do not know you!" he yelled in response.
There was a sound of movement around the room, scratching and dragging.
"You are betraying us," the voice said. "We will not allow you to."
There was another rush of warm air from the crevice, and Sviska's eyes widened. His fingers tightened around the leather grip of his dagger as he saw mangled parts rising up from the ground and floating toward him. The parts came together, headless but walking. He stepped out of the way, hoping it would not see him, but the headless form jerked his way.
He slashed his dagger at it, ripping clothing, flesh, and bone from the chest. It fell apart and rolled down the hill into the crevice. Other corpses rose to meet him.
Running forward, he slashed at the second and third bodies just as they began to float. They, too, fell and returned to the grips of death. He turned to look back at Brethor and felt a hand grabbing him. He looked down to see a corpse missing one arm and a leg, grasping on to him from the edge of the chasm.
He went to slash at the arm, but it grabbed on to his stomach, and he stumbled back to keep from falling. The dagger fell, beginning a blade-to-hilt roll down toward the dark depths. He grabbed the monster, one hand on its neck and another on the remains of its pelvic, and tossed it up in the air. He struggled to reach his dagger as it now slid down the rocks to be lost.
"No! Stop!" he yelled.
There was a rush of water from the puddles of mud, and the blade stopped. It turned on its tip before landing in a splash of water, and then it flew to him, landing in his palm.
The monster had gripped on to a rock as it fell back down and held to the edge with three fingers. Sviska cut them off, sending the corpse to its second death.
He stared at the dagger and exhaled in relief. The blade had returned to him. He slid it back into his sheath. Turning again to Brethor, there was another rumbling in the room, but this time, it was from the grate of the chasm. He peered down, and where the endless black had been there was something against the grate.
"We will escape!" it said, slow and menacing.
The air from the chasm was moist and warm but rancid. From what light was in the room, Sviska could see white claws wrapped in the grate.
"He sealed us here. Nevertheless, we will be free. You betray us, Sviska," it said.
"Who are all of you?" Sviska questioned.
"Not left to rest, we have been summoned and brought together in form to do our master's bidding. This cheap trick to hide our shells from others has worked for its reasoning, but left an easy preparation to call forth our forms. We are now one and we will escape this place. His spell will not keep us."
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Sviska looked over to Brethor, who did not move. "You attacked him," he stated to the darkness.
"His part would have been over had he just died as we sought. You, Sviska, get the honor of killing all, you lucky swindler. We wish we were you. We would not regret the great poisoning that the Order now seeks."
"The Order sent you? Each of you?"
There seemed to be different voices, but each answered alike.
"Yes."
"Of course."
"Who else?"
"But you failed," he told the voices.
"We failed because the Order did not tell us all, just as you have not been told all. They lied. Ever since we were taken in as children and so-called saved. Nevertheless, that does not help us, nor do we wish your help. When we are free, we will destroy this place and the lord and you. That is, if our master seeks that!"
"You are bound by this mountain. You cannot escape."
"That was true until you returned our bodies. Your friend there worked very hard to separate them so to weaken our greater form. Now they are returned, and we will be freed."
"Who is your master so I may slit his throat before you may kill more?"
There was sudden silence. The room became cold again, and though still pungent in odor, the smell of the breath from the chasm was dissipating. The entity had left.
Sviska went to Brethor. He shook him in an attempt to wake him, but could not. He heard approaching footsteps. Looking around, he discerned the steps were coming from the entrance to the room.
He hid behind a large stone just to the side of Brethor. The white glow that came from atop the room grew brighter, and Sviska was relieved to see the Priors looking downward, their staves shining like torchlight. Master Nelkor was there at their fore, peering down into the cistern.
"Master Nelkor! He is down here," Sviska yelled, emerging from the rocks.
The Priors did not move and instead lowered their staves, pointing them right at him.
"Wait!" he shouted, but it was too late. In a flurry of white flashes, he felt his body become stiff and his eyes saw blackness.
Chapter 15 Healing and a Message
It was sometime later when Sviska awoke, lying on his back, staring up into the bough of a tree. He opened his eyes wider and focused, noticing stone etchings above his head. He looked around, spotting Brethor to his side. If the lord of the Estate was unconscious or sleeping, Sviska did not know.
"How are you?" a Prior said to him. The red robes above him signaled where he was. The Priory.
He sat up when he realized and noticed that Master Nelkor sat on a chair nearby, reading a book. He looked up and then back down, setting his book to his side before standing.
"I see you are awake," he said, looking him up and down.
"I am," he replied. "But why did you attack me?"
He bowed his head and began pacing around him. "The demon that you faced could be sensed by all of us here. When Slats came to our temple, we were already preparing to head to the northern part of town where we sensed it was growing. Afraid that you had succumbed to the evil, we subdued you. It is now clear to me that you did not, but I fear of who controls that demon. It was obvious that it was no random entity."
Sviska rubbed his face and shook his head to way off some of his fatigue before standing. He found himself initially uneasy, but soon found his footing.
"Ustavis was there at the well before I went in. He was acting strange. He said something of Brethor ‘tying up loose ends,’ and seemed to jeer of ill fortune on the city. He also claimed he was going to the Priory. I can only guess that was to excuse himself from helping me."
Master Nelkor paused his pacing for a moment and then began again. "Ustavis is a Wanderer, and I will not guess of his part, be it ill or good. That is for him to decide," he said, pointing at Brethor. “But as you may guess, Ustavis did not come here.”
"Is he okay?" Sviska asked, nodding to Brethor.
"He is. Sleeping mostly now. Whatever he did down there pacified his strength and put him into a coma of sorts. He will awake soon.”
Sviska sat at Brethor's side. Master Nelkor brought a bowl of warmed herbs and fanned them over his nose.
"This helps the mind gain clarity and revitalizes the senses."
He continued to fan the herbal water over his face, and it seemed that Brethor was now stirring. His eyes began to open, and he awoke, turning to Master Nelkor.
"How long this time?"
"Just over two hours," he replied, setting the bowl of herbal water on a table nearby.
"And Turmin?"
"Well. He just awoke not too long ago."
Brethor turned and looked at Sviska, who raised his eyebrows and gave a long sigh.
"Are you okay?" Sviska asked.
"Yes. Yes, I am," he said. "Why did you follow me to that place, and who told you I was there?"
"Cusis. He said you needed my help."
"And right he was," interjected Master Nelkor. "You were on the edge of the chasm when we arrived."
The master had brought some fruit and juice for them both to share and then looked around at the other Priors.
"Leave us," he told them. The other Priors immediately left the main hall, leaving just the three of them alone.
Brethor chewed his food and then glared over at Sviska. "It was dangerous for you to follow me, dangerous and foolish. I had done what was needed."
He took a glass offered from Master Nelkor. "From my store?" he asked him.
"Yes," Master Nelkor replied.
Brethor chugged the drink and went back to eating fruit.
"There were bodies around you," Sviska stated to him. "I watched as they came back to life and assaulted me. Had I not been there, they may have attacked you."
"Reanimation?" asked Brethor, looking at Master Nelkor. "Then more than the demon itself is at work."
"There is more," said Master Nelkor. "Tell him."
"Ustavis," Sviska said. "He said things, things of the city and you, Brethor. I feel he may be deceiving us, but I have no proof."
"We will question him, and we will not do so alone. Ustavis is one of the last wandering mages, and though I have long trusted him, I will not have any further sources of weakness in our city. We must hope he will listen to reason."
"A mage of his type will be powerful," Master Nelkor said. "And the demon is gaining power. The Priory can feel it."
"I had hoped that removing some of the bodies from the chasm would weaken it, but it seems a spell was placed on them, giving them even the power to resist. It was only reaching out in spirit before, taking hold of those susceptible to its grasp, as was the fate of your granddaughter."
Master Nelkor nodded and sighed. "I understand that now."
"Whoever summoned it did not know," Brethor continued, "that the grates were magical in themselves and wouldn't allow its physical body to escape once it was brought from the ethereal fires. But, the grates lose power, as does the rest of the city."
"The demon must know this," said Sviska. "It said that it would break free."
"We can only hope it does not,” Master Nelkor replied, standing.
From the far end of the temple, the Brotherhood of Wura was holding a plate, the still unconscious body of Berie atop it.
The fairies fluttered their wings and scampered to stay on her as the plate was laid before Master Nelkor.
"The men of the Estate stated she fell unconscious after touching a vessel holding the remains of a fairy," one of them explained.
"When Brethor saw her, he ran out of the Estate and headed to the well," Sviska said, now standing and heading to her side.
"The curse is but one of our problems now. If the demon leaves, we may have further evils to deal with," said Brethor.
Master Nelkor and Sviska looked toward him just as he was drifting back to sleep. Master Nelkor tucked his robes as he knelt beside Berie. He ran his hands above her body.
"An already weakened body can be struc
k down with much ease when such evil is rampant. Brethor is a powerful being himself, and though both of them are sleeping, I fear hers is deeper. We cannot shield her from the demon here. It must leave for her to awaken. Brethor will awaken on his own. His body is nearly fully recovered now, but we cannot hasten the process."
Sviska stood. He felt about his body for his dagger but noticed it was missing. Master Nelkor watched as his hands fumbled about his tunic.
"I kept your dagger for safekeeping," he said. Reaching into his robes, he presented the dagger wrapped in a yellow flower. Sviska took it and removed the leafy plant.
"The flower of Kel has many powers—one, to expel evil. Your blade harbored the essence of a living corpse but is cleansed now of its darkness. Keep that plant with you; you may find it useful."
"I need to find Ustavis," Sviska said, securing the dagger to his waist.
"Do not act in haste on this matter," Master Nelkor warned. "His magic is by all accounts the strongest. His kind, the Wanderers, roamed the lands, looking for only the unique and powerful of magical powers. We must gather our strength and approach him in force. I will send for the Brotherhood of Wura, and when we are able, we will confront him. You must tend to your wine. A second shipment has arrived. That is one of the most important tasks at this time."
Sviska nodded his head, agreeing, although his heart tore to search out Ustavis. He made his way out of the temple and to the Estate.
Passing the guards of the doorway, he wondered of them still. There they stood, motionless, and ever watching. But he sensed more. He wondered if they, too, were of magic.
He was about to enter the door when he heard a chopping sound from around the left side of the Estate. Near where they had brought the ashes from the winery, he found Slats chopping wood.
The dwarf set a new log on the ground and then swung his axe. The wood splintered and fell. Sviska was about to clap his hands when Slats spun, cutting down a second log and a third that Sviska had not noticed yet. Then the dwarf gave a shout and jumped forward, collapsing a wall of waiting woods and chopping at it wildly. He then stopped and rubbed his nose. He was out of breath, and after coughing, he looked up and saw Sviska.
Saints of Wura: Winemaker of the North, Arcane Awakening, Reckoning in the Void (Saints of Wura Books 1-3 with bonus content) Page 14