"A single day, twenty-three and a half hours. So, actually, less than a day."
The dwarf continued to polish his glass. Sviska was happy, confident, and looked at the barrels with fond memories of his childhood.
Then he was stricken, tortured by his own deceit and what he was under the Order's command to do. Were the vials poison? Were they some enhancement to the wine that might actually help those who drink it? The Order did not know everything. Maybe he could put the vials in the wine and it would have an opposite effect. But that, he was sure, was his mind playing a game on him. The Order did not have those kinds of hiccups in their plans.
The man who had attacked him at the tavern was of the Order, but used powers that he himself had never witnessed. Not that assassins normally worked together, but in all his years of service, he had never seen magic. Magic used by the Order? An Order that creeds against all magic and all magical creatures? Something was not right. But, of course, considering what he had already learned of the world since arriving at the city, he did not leave anything to be impossible.
In all his years without a family, without a stable life, or even a simple life, he had never been able just to relax and do what he wished. He was actually happy making wine. That he knew for sure. Before the Order stole him, his fondest memory was when he was at the winery with the old winemaker. That was before the fire. Before the Order.
He began out of the winery. The dwarf, who noticed him suddenly leaving, shouted out.
"If you’re randomly heading outside again, go ahead and stay there for a while. I'm headed to the temple to get more frost berries! We will need more soon!"
Sviska did not say anything. He headed to the dining room and found Brethor sipping from his silver chalice.
"How is your wine coming?" he asked, his hand moving the curl of black hair that blocked his eye.
Sviska came to his side and turned to the fire. The warmness on his hands was calming. He took a deep breath as the lord sipped his drink, the slurping sounds filling the room.
"We have fifteen barrels procured at this time. This time tomorrow, they should be ready."
Brethor clapped his hands and rubbed them. "Yes! Now we shall have a festival and will celebrate this wonderful occasion!"
Sviska shook his head and smiled at Brethor, who was beaming with happiness. Although he was happy of the wine, he was torn from the inside. He struggled to keep composure, to keep the lord from sensing that something was bothering him.
They both picked seats from the dining table and placed them near the fire.
"Do you have the book on you, Turmin?"
Sviska searched his pockets and pulled the book out, handing it to the lord.
Brethor took it in his hands, holding it with just his fingertips. He opened the front cover and stroked the page.
"Old friend," he said. "Long have you been away from your resting place. It is good to have you back."
"What is the importance of this book? I would assume your library has older books than this one."
Brethor began flipping through the book. "What is it you read about when you first saw this book?"
"The burning of the chapel of the village. Um, green lights in the sky. I guess those must have been the polar lights that we saw at the grove."
"Okay, then. Show that passage to me." He handed the book to him, and Sviska took it. Opening the book, he flipped through some pages and then noticed he saw nothing but text, no pictures, no language he could read.
"I don't understand," he said. "This is the book that I read. The cover is the same."
"I have no doubt this book is the book you read, but this is no ordinary book."
He took the book back, closing it. "Show us the orphanage of this boy."
Opening the book again, the words Sviska saw were the same, but then they began to change. The letter and numbers swirled, and color came from the center of the page.
He leaned over, and new paragraphs formed. A bordered picture emerged, and Sviska gasped. The orphanage from his childhood. The white two-story building. The stone fence and rolling hills behind it. Even the housemother, the one who had tended to him as long as he could remember, was there in this book.
"Did you turn to this page? Was this image just there but I could not see it?" he asked Brethor.
Brethor turned his head. "Runhadis, show him the burning of the orphanage," he commanded.
Sviska looked down at the image. A single man appeared on the edge of the picture. Robed and covered, the man brought forth a staff, and a blast of fire engulfed the house. Around the orphanage, the bodies of children appeared. Their charred remains littered the fence. Not even the housemother escaped, the image showing her burning within the house. The image stopped.
"Runhadis? Who is that?"
"A scribe of the old gods. His spirit is contained within these very pages. Turn the page."
The page once again shifted from just text to an image of children carried by shadows across the fields. In the upper right corner, there were snowy mountains and a flight of bats disappearing into the mountains.
"And if you are wondering, those are me. Watching you for the last time. The last time I saw you before they took you."
Sviska looked up. "Why were you watching me?"
Brethor's eyes became solemn, and he looked down, pushing himself out of his chair. He began to pace back and forth before the fireplace.
"It is not yet time for all to be revealed to you, Turmin. But that hour soon comes. I regret that I cannot say more, but the timing must be perfect. I must know for sure of things before I proceed down that path, for things between you and I will not be the same after those words."
Brethor reached out. "The book, please."
Sviska closed the book, reluctantly, though. Now that he knew the book had some of his own history, he desired to read more. To learn more of himself. He handed the book to Brethor.
Brethor smiled and brought the book to his chest. "I know it is hard to stop reading. Especially for someone of your history. The Annuals of Eclipses is a powerful gift from the gods of old to our peoples. The dwarves held it for many ages, but with their passing, it was left to my family, as we guarded the weapons of magic already. My father gave it to the Priest of Wura, but I remember it from when I was a boy. I remember how I could read the entire histories of people, the rise and falls of cultures, the secrets of the gods and men alike. All are contained within the enchanted spine. What you saw when you were in Tar Aval must have been placed for you to see."
He tucked the book away in his tunic. "We shall talk more, Turmin," he said. "I believe a festival is soon in order."
"A festival?"
"Yes, of course! We shall have foods, drinks, and dancing, of course. And perhaps a little hand magic from Garoa, just to liven things up a bit! I envision the first barrels opening and the sharing of the sweet wine. The people of this city have long waited for this time again."
With that, Brethor departed from the room, leaving Sviska alone. He stood and began to pace the room. With the Annuals of Eclipses, Brethor could see all of his life up to this point. The time with the Order. Even perhaps his true nature, his true purpose here at the Estate. A new terror was upon his heart, and the coldness of the thought of his betrayal being found out shook him to his soul.
Chapter 22 An Old Friend
It took no time before the signs of a coming festival were evident in the courtyard of the Estate. From the very steps of the Estate to down around the gypsy carts, flowers were strung about on high lines and colored rugs were all strewn about the ground. The ice and snow were no deterrent at all, as construction of makeshift stalls along the path to the Estate set the stage for celebration. Even Shady the ogre, the meat cooker from the tavern, had set up a large fire pit and iron-cooking stakes around the fire.
At the center of the courtyard, Captain Runa and some of the Brotherhood of Wura worked to put together a large table in which to stack the barrels. Under th
e direction of Slats, the barrels were rolled from the winery, out of the storehouse, and prepared to be drunk as their ripening time drew closer and closer.
Sviska was happy. As people poured in from around the city, a renewed glow was upon them as their faces gleamed with excitement and anticipation. One man, extremely tall and wearing a strange hat, stood with his cup trembling just in front of one of the barrels.
With back hunched, fingers frail and trembling, he looked up as Sviska came to his side.
"Good sir, I had heard the wine was good for drinking and to hurry before all was gone. I have traveled from far across the city to come here, and I am afraid I am too late."
The man looked down, his eyes watered, and he began to shake. Sviska brought his arm around the man, walking him to the steps of the Estate. He sat him down.
"You are very early," Sviska explained to him.
The man, now looking up, smiled. Through his missing teeth, his tongue flapped as he yelled, "Woo hoo! I will be getting me some wine after all!" The man jumped to his feet and began to leap around, but stopped suddenly as Sviska heard a strange pop come from one of his legs.
"I am not as young as I used to be!" the man joked, a crooked smile and winking eye directed to Sviska. "But how long must I wait? I have come far and do not feel I can travel the distance again without the wine. I am a bit weak, being as I am."
Sviska was pleased to be able to offer something more to this man.
He embraced the man, and a warm feeling overtook him as the man embraced him back.
"My son used to do that," he said. His eyes began to water, and he wiped them hastily so as to try to prevent Sviska from seeing. "But he died. Died from the curse."
"Well, there will be no more curse, dear sir. I am the winemaker of the Estate, and I shall make as much wine as you can drink. If you will, stay here at the Estate. I will speak with the lord, but I am sure it is fine. You may use my bed if you need sleep. We are less than twelve hours from the wine being ready, and I want you, my good man, to have the first taste!"
He smiled. "I will stay here. But no sleeping for me! The gypsy girls shall be dancing 'round the fire. And an old man like me likes some gypsy girls."
The man stood, nearly stumbling, and went back down the path away from the Estate. A sudden flash erupted near the gate, and the troll laughed a low rumble. His fire burst into flames, and he began stoking the wood, waving at Sviska as he did.
He returned the wave, peculiar of the waving that Shady was doing considering his rough exterior. Everyone seemed happy within the city.
Sviska went back into the Estate and to the winery. He checked the main vat for the frost berries and rolled three more barrels into place. Another batch would be done about the time the first barrels were being drunk. He took some time to sweep some accumulated dust and tidy up the winery. As he cleaned, he came to the original bottles sent with the first shipment.
He knelt down and opened the hiding space. The two vials still lay there. Waiting. A sudden desire came over him to crush them, to toss them away so that they could never be used or discovered. He took each of them out, rolling them in his hand. He picked up the stone and went to the table. As he passed the void where the hallway was visible, he checked that no one was coming and then sat down at the table. Picking up the rock with his right hand, he held it above the two glass vials.
His hands were shaking, and his heart thundered in his chest. From the sweat in his palms and the quivering of his hands, he nearly dropped the stone prematurely. Still he held it, not smashing the vials as his heart wished but lingering between his old ways and his newfound loves. His new purpose in which he sought to embrace more than ever. He was done with his old path. He brought the stone higher. Taking a deep breath, he prepared to smash the vials when suddenly a screeching sound pierced his ears.
He fell backward, stumbling over a sack of frost berries, and grabbed at his head, trying to block out the noise. His eyes watered and his vision blurred. He could not make it out, but the source of the sound was at the end of the hallway. With each step closer, the sound was louder until finally, it stopped.
Eyes watering still, he rubbed them until he could see. The dark figure was the same one from the night at the tavern.
A wry smile came from a cloaked face, and a black-gloved hand reached for the vials
Sviska leaped up with a renewed vigor and strength. He drew Sishan, throwing it at the figure. It recoiled and drew its blade, a laugh in its voice as it took many steps back and then leaped forward, striking at Sviska. Sviska ducked and reached for his dagger that was across the room. In a sound of screeching metal, it flew back to him, and he brought it up to block the strike from the figure, his blade sliding along the blade of his attacker.
In a black shroud, the being hovered over the table, and the vials disappeared in a ghastly fog.
"No!" cried Sviska, jumping for the space they had just been. But he was too late. Landing on the table, his weight too much for its flimsy legs, it collapsed. He turned to see the black figure running down the hallway.
He gave chase. He was going to destroy them, and now they had been ripped from his grasp just moments before he was to crush them.
As he went up the stairs, he looked quickly for others who might be able to help, but no one was there. He ran outside to the promenade where he had rested before with Slats and looked into the darkness around. He could see no one.
It was then he saw movement. Faint, like a small animal, running near the wall. In a leap, the dark figure was on the wall, atop one of the Black Shards. Sviska ran toward the wall, the figure not moving. It leaped into the air, its sword drawn, striking the Black Shard. With its power gone, the dwarven structure did nothing but shatter and crumble.
Sviska leaped at a broken stairwell that ran up the wall and climbed his way to the parapets. The dark figure laughed and leaped down off the wall, leaving the city. As he ran, he flashed the vials and ran faster, headed directly into the dark forest.
Sviska looked back up at the Estate. There was no one there to help him, no one who had witnessed his pursuit. He had to follow, even if it meant leaving the city and traveling into the woods before him. He had to get the vials. He had to assure they were destroyed.
A barely visible footprint trail led into the trees. He could hardly see his hand in front of him as he wandered into the first few paces under the boughs.
The woods were old, the trees more massive than he had ever seen. Their roots were large; not simple twigs to jump over, but large logs requiring careful feeling in the dark to keep from stumbling. Dense brush rustled with each step he took, and soon he found himself passing into a more sparse area.
His eyes had adjusted some. The moon above, full and beaming down, provided some light, but looking behind him, he saw only darkness. The path before him had been trodden lately, but by beast or man or the being he pursued, he did not know.
He followed slowly, glancing around himself at any creak of noise or cracking of branch. Sishan he held before him, expecting a sudden attack.
As he passed under low-hanging limbs, he came to a larger clearing. In the center encircling branches, the figure stood, waiting for him, cloaked and unmoving. Its blade was jabbed into the snow between Sviska and itself.
It lifted its hand, motioning to the blade.
Sviska knew this truce. The Order had set forth methods of parlay in such times where one Keeper came upon another. He knelt in the snow, still trying to catch his breath. With a crunch of snow, he stabbed his dagger next to the other blade and stepped back.
"What?" he asked.
The figure threw back his hood. It was a man. His red eyes faded to the hue of a wet mountain stone, and he smiled as he closed them.
"Sviska, the Order is not pleased," he said.
The words curled Sviska's stomach, and he looked down at his blade.
"Do not bother."
Sviska looked up at the man, who peered downward as if exam
ining him.
"Who are you?"
"I am a meager worker of the Order, not that much different from you. Except that I have been gifted with the powers of the Order."
"Powers? The Order is but those of non-magical bloodline. As was their founding—to destroy all magical creatures and free men—but I already know that was a lie."
The man spit and began pacing back and forth, the snow beneath his feet cracking and crunching as he began to take deep breaths, hissing as he exhaled.
"What you have been told, or what you know, or what you think you know about anything is irrelevant at this time. The Order has no more time to wait." The man stopped, pointing at Sviska now. "But still they sought this way, a simple poisoning of the wine and the curse of old would take the last of magical creatures. But poor Sviska didn't have the heart to continue with the plan. Never have you faltered, assassin. What happened to our pact as young boys?"
It was then Sviska remembered. Long ago at the orphanage, his friend Kasis. An orphan, much like himself, and the two of them spent most of their days running in the fields and playing games of hide and seek in the grapevines of the winery.
"Kasis?" Sviska asked.
"You remember."
Kasis had changed much from the times when they were children. His face was paler, his hair long and covering part of his face. His eyes, as chilly as frigid stones, were unfriendly. There were deep red marks along one side of his face. Kasis noticed Sviska’s stare.
“The priest in the tavern gave me this lovely gift. In time, it will heal. What I did to him, however, will not.”
Sviska shook his head. “You wish to gloat?”
"Dear Sviska, I would not attract you away from the city to simply gloat. Do you remember the pact?" he snarled, spitting again in the snow.
"Yes. I remember," he replied, his tone firm. "Kasis, we were lied to. The Order burned the orphanage so they could take us. Orphans, we would not be missed. But there is life outside the Order.”
Kasis laughed. His head rocked back and forth as he cackled and reached for his blade.
Saints of Wura: Winemaker of the North, Arcane Awakening, Reckoning in the Void (Saints of Wura Books 1-3 with bonus content) Page 20