Saints of Wura: Winemaker of the North, Arcane Awakening, Reckoning in the Void (Saints of Wura Books 1-3 with bonus content)

by J. T. Williams

  "So will you be releasing your puppet god?"

  The man's eyes widened and she shouted, "Do not mock our power! Kel is of no regard to you, and soon The Order will have obtained the power to subdue the northern gods forever. The Priest of the Itsu is upon us now and is living between the two realms holding power unimaginable to you. The people will cry out in a mass death and in that, his power will increase magnitudes, and the path for the Itsu shall be opened. The blood of the people of these lands shall make old bonds renewed and it will be done. Even the rabble gods of the north will cower in the coming times. Do not worry, Sviska, such things will be seen by you, but not as you wish, for you shall murder your friends in turn as we command it. So it will be."

  The man stood abruptly, a curved dagger in his hand. He slashed hard and fast across Sviska's chest. Sviska bellowed grabbing at the wound.

  The Order Hand then slammed his other hand into the blood now pouring from Sviska.

  "It is to be done and so it shall be, at last it shall pass, until all of them bleed!"

  Sviska looked down at the man's hand and a bright green glow came from it, and the wound on his chest was sealed with scarred flesh. The man stood back from him and stared down. He had used magic again. The Order was using arcane powers of old, and somehow in a world lacking magic.

  "It is done. If you attempt to tell anyone of this, it will happen no different, and whoever you tell will share your fate in turn. And do not think of ending your life, for this curse will stretch to all you know, and you will have betrayed them all!"

  Sviska shook with the shock of the blow, and the curse was upon his mind. A tinge of sourness and blood danced on his tongue.

  "Now, we go to the Chamber of Revealing, and you will tell me all I wish."

  There came a sound from outside, a shout, and then fire and ice erupted through the room toward the Order Hand. He recoiled, casting a shield of magic in a greenish hues spreading out from his hand and deflected the oncoming spells. He then grabbed the Galhedriss Arcana before Sviska kicked the table and another blast of fire and ice forced him from the room, sending him fleeing down the stairs.

  Garoa slid into the room from the windows above. His gauntlets were alight, and in his hands he held a fireball as well as a sword.

  "Sviska!"

  "How is this possible?"

  "My daughter and an old friend. Their forces are taking a beating though. We need to hurry. Can you walk?"

  Sviska stood, uneasy at first, but he steadied himself on Garoa.

  "Good?"

  "Yes, but how do you have magic?"

  "I do not know, but I am not caring of how. I have this for you."

  He pulled the dagger of Meredaas from his belt and handed it to him.

  "Let us go!"

  Sviska stood still for a moment. The sounds of the battle outside were loud and constant, as the chanting below that had continued until now faded and turned to shouts. He placed his hand on his chest where the Rite of the Damned had been placed on him.

  "Sviska! Are you okay?" Garoa said as he jumped back toward the door to check that it was still clear.

  He shook his head, and looking down at the floor he saw the sheath for his dagger and placed it back on his belt.

  "I am good," he said in a low tone. The curse was on his mind, but he forced that thought away. He centered his mind again, took a deep breath, and said, "Okay."

  Garoa began down the circular path, ducking as he made it to the lower level. Then, one of the strange monks appeared before them. It formed a large, smoking sword from the air and swung it. Garoa was upon him, and in a burst of flames he threw the monk across the hallway.

  Sviska made it to the lowest level and looked left to right. There was a long hallway on the far edge of the structure. The ground was stone, stained red in such a way he did not know if it was blood or the dirt from outside. The only light came from small candles opposite the archways every couple of paces.

  Garoa led him further, hurrying toward the double doors of the hallway. Just before reaching the door, it swung open. A warrior of the Leechers appeared.

  "Come quickly! The legionnaires still cannot get in, for whatever reason. But it does not stop them from throwing their spears!"

  Sviska looked around at the surrounding cliffs burning from random fires. The strange monks were the keepers of the citadel and wielded staves like those of the priors back in Elinathrond. But running around they were hunched over and made strange hacking sounds as they spoke to one another. They lifted their staves, shooting flames toward the rocks while arrows came whooshing back in response.

  Ropes thrown down to all levels of the courtyard were overwhelmed in fighting, and Leechers descending to the citadel fell at every turn.

  "We must get to the southern wall!" Garoa shouted.

  The Rusis ran ahead, and with his magic returned for a time, he summoned both ice and fire, throwing cylindrical balls toward every entity that came upon them as they ran for the far wall.

  Sviska had yet to use Sishan, but the fight was thicker as they ascended a stairwell and reached a section of inner keep, leading toward a small spire jutting off the cliff side.

  It was there a circle of monks, as well as the Order Hand, chanted and caused the spire of rock to glow brightly. In the Order Hand’s arms, Sviska saw the Galhedriss Arcana.

  "Garoa! He has the book! We must not let him have it."

  Master Naskin shouted from the far wall, "We are holding them here. You must come now!" The ground Naskin stood upon was their only escape from the ever-growing hoard of the enemy.

  "Signal their arrow fire to that spire!" Garoa shouted back.

  From a bullhorn kept under his coats, Naskin pressed his lips and blew four times. He then drew back his bow; the sounds of a hawk calling split the air as the arrow rushed toward the spire.

  In response, arrow fire struck the platform, barraging the circle of monks.

  They held their ground, not moving or wavering, even as arrows struck their arms, legs, and backs. From the spire, a swirling light shot upwards, piercing the bleak cloud cover, and The Order Hand began to laugh.

  Sviska went into a sprint toward the spire. Garoa followed, but looked to spot Asnea retreating against a lower wall. She was alone, with few arrows at hand.

  “Asnea, here!”

  She turned and acknowledge him before punching at a monk that had drawn too close.

  He went to go to her, but then looked at Sviska as further monks filled in behind him. He ran forward, spraying fire and tossing ice balls at every one of them he could see, but they poured from every window and door of the citadel, running like beasts on their hands and feet.

  Asnea managed to pull herself up to another ledge and worked to make her way toward Garoa.

  Sviska was now within the monks, slicing and cutting down each as he went for the Order Hand and the Galhedriss Arcana. But before reaching his target, winds of blackness came from the sky, striking all along the citadel. The Dark Ones arrived, called by the spire and The Order Hand. They were between him and the Galhedriss Arcane.

  Kasis was there, and Sviska took no pause in lunging forward with his dagger. Kasis drew his sword in a rapid parry, catching Sviska’s blade before pushing it aside and driving his elbow into Sviska’s face.

  The other Dark Ones drew blades as well, and Sviska made a circle in place, looking at them as they took drew around him. He pointed his dagger at Kasis.

  “Is this how I should die? At the hand of my own?”

  Garoa was beyond Sviska, and as more monks swarmed him he fought to see beyond his own hands. The Order Hand had backed away from the Dark Ones and now was alone.

  Garoa broke free of the monks and engaged The Order Hand himself. The Order Hand summoned a barrier spell that surrounded him in a green hue. Garoa responded with an attack of fire, attempting to shatter it. The green and red magics melded together.

  Sviska stared at Kasis.

  “Do not touch him
— he is mine,” Kasis told the others.

  Sviska and Kasis ran toward one another. Their blades met and in slashes and clangs. Back and forth; thrust, slash, and parry. Of near-equal skill, they continued until Sviska made a feint, jumped to the side, and slashed low. The robes worn by Kasis in his new form has slowed him in his blade work.

  Sviska’s blade proved red with Kasis’s blood.

  Kasis turned, and from his hands came a glowing orb of blackness, punctuated with sparkling light.

  “Back to magic? Is that the only way you can defeat me?” Sviska jeered.

  Just then, Garoa broke through the circle of monks and managed to knock The Order Hand into the circle, as well.

  “Damn Dark Ones! You must get me to safety!” the Order Hand wailed.

  An arrow whizzed past his shoulder just after he spoke. He slapped Kasis and said, “We have the book. Let us go.”

  Sviska ran forward toward The Order Hand, but the Dark Ones rushed around the Hand, surrounding his once unknown master and the Galhedriss Arcana.

  The Order Hand laughed. With the book in hand, they lifted into the sky and out of reach of either Sviska or Garoa.

  “He’s escaping!” Sviska shouted.

  A dense fog began to roll across the citadel.

  Garoa looked out for Asnea, as the legionnaires were now within the citadel grounds. The remaining Leechers retreated up the side of the cliff in a frantic action, not wishing to match their bows against the swords of the Legion.

  The steady tide of monks seemed to wane, but still they came. Sviska and Garoa found themselves cut off from the planned escape. The platform jutted off the side of the mountain, and they would need to move back away from where they were to get to where Naskin was.

  Asnea appeared at a distance from them, striking down more of the monks with her knife at the far end of the path leading to the spire. Garoa was relieved to see her.

  “We must go!” she shouted.

  She turned back away from them just as the encroaching fog rolled over her. A figure appeared in the shadows, taking a form much taller than Asnea.

  All went silent in Garoa's mind. He focused his eyes and took a deep breath. He ran forward as the ethereal form he had seen before in Tar Mena took to shape and grasped Asnea. Her screamed pierced the air, but fell silent as she faded from view, taken by the one Sviska knew as the Itsu priest.

  “Asnea!” Garoa yelled.

  The Rusis flew into the fogs, finding himself deep within the line of legionnaires. He recoiled off their shields, swinging his gauntlets in such a way that the fire formed whips, knocking the entire shield wall back many men at a time.

  The legionnaires reformed and returned, and a second time Garoa sent more to their deaths.

  Sviska noticed the lights around the spire beginning to fade, the blueish glow turning into a dimming hue of light and then black, as the glow completely faded.

  Garoa went to cast more spells, but found that just as before, he was powerless. What magic had been in the place was now gone.

  The legionnaires rallied and cheered, rushing forward. Sviska ran for Garoa and, taking hold of him, pulled him to the edge of the platform.

  There was only a cliffside and jutting rocks to jump to, but it would have to do. They both leapt from the side of the citadel, the rocky precipice of rocks their only lifeline as the legionnaires filled the platform on which they had stood moments before.

  Struggling to climb sideways, they were relieved when a rope from the cliffs above fell between them.

  They both grabbed it, their hands tight on the rope, and pulled themselves up. By a chance, Master Narkin as well as two Leechers had waited for them.

  "We must go, now. More of the monks are emerging from the citadel," he said.

  They followed the remaining Leechers down the cliffside and a small hill. There were more ropes waiting to assist them down to a lower level. Looking back, they were well away from the citadel now, and another area of ropes lead straight down to the forest level.

  At last, on the ground before the mountain, they looked back toward Tuonia and took deep breaths, each struggling to calm themselves.

  Sviska looked up at Naskin and said, "Thank you for your help back there."

  "Anything for a friend, although we lost a few good people there. We will have to gather who has survived to take true note of our losses. I did not believe that such evil would reside there.” He stopped to catch his breath again, and then continued, "We need to get back toward the valley and to our woods. We will meet up with the others, as well as Asnea," directing the last words to Garoa, who sat with his head against his knees.

  Garoa did not move.

  "My friend, we must go now," Naskin told him.

  "Asnea was captured."

  Naskin looked back toward the citadel.

  "No, she is not there," Sviska said. "The man of fog, like the one that came in Tar Mena, took her. Perhaps to Lokam, but I do not know."

  Naskin looked down to Garoa, and then knelt by his side.

  "You must go after her. You are her father!"

  "I know who I am!" he shouted to him, taking to his feet in a jump.

  "Then think with your head and find where she was taken. I will send every animal I can muster to search for her, but I need you to keep thinking as you should be. I will be there when it comes time. Asnea is a dear friend and a sister to the Leechers."

  "Had I went to her instead of helping Sviska, she may have been fine."

  Naskin shook his head, "You do not know that, and it is because of you that your friend is well."

  Sviska took him by the shoulder and said, "We will find her, and I did not come all this way to abandon her once you finally got to her."

  It was then a sound of howling split the air. A bird flew toward Master Naskin, fluttering near his ear.

  "Wolves, large ones!" he said. "We must go now!"

  They began to run through the trees, jumping over partially shrouded logs and pushing through vines and thorns until reaching the large expanse of fields of the valley below the citadel.

  Sviska turned to see black forms in the grass, much larger than any wolf he had seen in all his travels. They were coming from behind at speeds faster than the men could run.

  When he looked back, he saw not Naskin, but only Garoa, who turned his run toward another group of trees.

  "Where is your friend?" he yelled to Garoa.

  "I do not know," he replied. “He was just with us.”

  They made it to another grouping of trees and the edge of the road Sviska was dragged up earlier. The pain from his injuries became more evident as what adrenaline he had began to fade. He started to fall back, as the howls of the wolves continued as they entered another dense area of woods.

  They could hear water in the darkness, but could not see it. The ground became rocky and from unseen sources, water trickled around them toward a creek that ran into another valley further down.

  They began into the water, sliding on stones and algae growth, and they then leapt again to the far side of the river. The heard the sounds of sliding claws, like sword blades scraping and gnashing at metal, from behind. A splash of water told them the wolves were almost upon them. They made it to another steep climb riddled with roots and stones when dark forms appeared in the trees above them.

  Sviska turned to see a wolf upon him. It was large, and its head was the size that Sviska stood tall. What seemed as stone was upon the creature’s neck and chest. Its mouth snapped toward him, pushing him into Garoa who then stumbled. Both of them rolled down off a large rock into the river.

  The wolves took places in form around them. Sviska held Sishan in front of him, and Garoa remembered his sword, unused while he had magic. He drew it with a ring and took a stance with his back to Sviska.

  The wolves spaced themselves every few feet in a circle that went directly in front and up the cliffside wrapping around them.

  From the trees above the encircled men a dark
form appeared. Neither of them could make out what it was.

  "The old man Nupps was right; he said a beast was in the woods," Garoa said.

  The figure leapt down to the ground, still veiled in darkness and not speaking.

  "Leave us!" Sviska shouted. "We offer no ill will to you or your wolves!"

  The figure leapt down, coming within distance of a lunge that Sviska prepared to make. He was ready. His hand tightened around Sishan, and it mattered not that many wolves would be upon them a moment later. Neither were prepared to die doing no less than a valiant stand.

  The figure stood still and said, "You had to hold onto that book, and not even that could be done."

  The voice was familiar and not of Kasis or any other of the people that they had met of late.

  The clouds above gave way and the moon at last shined down into the creek bed. The figure stepped around the light and knelt to the ground. One of the wolves dipped its head, and breathed heavily, its tongue flapping as it went to the figure, who rubbed it on its head.

  "Your pets can wait! Deal with us!" Garoa shouted.

  "Patience Garoa, Rusis, Saint of Wura. I have not gone through what I have to not praise my friends here."

  Into the light, the figure stepped and Sviska could not ponder how it was possible that the man had survived.

  "My friends, we have much to speak of. There is much that Brethor of Elinathrond has yet to do."

  Chapter 17 Hallowed Ground

  Passing the gates, now a lonesome memorial to the dwarven defenders that still stood in a stony grave, Berie and her group continued forward.

  Two walls of stone, covered in vines, stood before them. The passage was laced above with stonework of the boughs of trees and led to a large circular open expanse, in which the rising sun had just begun to cast a faint orange glow. Pillars supporting the massive dome was riddled with cracks and debris. They were a reminder of the time since the sacrifices within these walls.

  A shallow pool sat in the center of the temple, covered in algae. A sharp wind lapped the feet of a statue of the goddess Etha. Standing before them, her hands reached toward the heavens.