They went to their horses, which had sought shelter from the chaos in a nearby draw, and found them chewing on some fresh grass sprouted from the magic in the land. It had returned and restored the world around just enough for them each to get a mouthful. The rest of the ground was still barren.
"Seeds of life will sprout here," Berie said.
They mounted their horses. Berie, led them back toward the main road. She stopped and looked to her ruined elven homeland. Streams had begun to flow back into the land. From high atop the mountains, the springs were again clear, and though it would take time, the land would return.
Berie looked toward the torches of Narisond, the towers in the mount, and within them great basins of blue fire glowed, their flames licking the morning sky. A happiness came upon her. A greater hope was kindled in her heart.
Once they reached Swunock, they would depart from Arsus. They turned their path south and then made their way back north around the mire, but it was not so dismal as before. The land seemed awakened and alive. Like a nightmare fading, the lands were waking up.
They stopped at the stream from before and let the horses drink their fill, and took drinks themselves. What rations remained were of dried meat alone and not much more to add. But their journey with Arsus was soon to end, and then they did not know where to take their path. It was something they had not discussed.
As they came upon the route that at last turned toward the mountain village, they heard commotion and shouting in the far distance. It sounded as if someone was in trouble, but a the voice had a strident, commanding tone, and there were confirming shouts back.
Arsus's attention, in particular, perked up, and the Legatus dismounted his horse as they came near the village.
They led the horses to shrubbery by the mountain and then jogged a short distance to a knoll that overlooked the valley. Dropping to their stomachs, they made their way to the edge to see a line of red banners and legionnaires marching north.
"5th Legion," Arsus said. "From the far south. They march north, but I cannot guess why."
"Looking for you?" Slats asked.
"Not the thing to do. They send assassins for that. They march north for war. Their pace is quickened and forced. The Legions are moving with haste. A forced march."
"Aye, the Island Nation," Euso said. "We must return quickly!"
"Agreed. You will need to warn them," Arsus said. "Take the horses and head west. When you see the white stone road, cut back north."
"The Highland Road?" Euso said.
"Yes, and go hard through the evening, and do not stop until you get to the Island Nation. The horses can make it. If the Fifth Legion is being brought up, other Legions may be in place already. I go to the priestess. I will inform her of such happenings as I have witnessed. The Second Legion will come to the aid of the Island Nation to assist when we can. You will not face the Legions alone."
He slid back down the knoll and went to his horse. Berie followed him.
"Thank you."
He smiled and winked. "All is well, elf."
With that, he mounted and began toward the pass. The others looked to one another, and Slats exhaled sharply.
"Perhaps Garoa and Sviska will have figured out we have restored magic and will meet us there."
"Hopefully, there is a there to go back to," Berie replied.
They turned the horses back south, and then, with the cover of the hills, headed west until well after midday. They reached the Highland Road, its white stone evident out of the yellow-grassed fields that ran beside it. They began up and down the hills, out of sight of the Fifth Legion. However, regardless of how safe they were from them, careful eyes watched toward the hills and valleys. If anyone of the Legions spotted them, they would be under pursuit, given the climate about in the land.
As day turned to dusk, they began to catch sight of the sea of the northern realm. In time night fell, and as they neared the ferry landing, they noticed that no boat awaited them. They brought their horses to a halt and dismounted.
The lights of the fisherman's hut were out, and although Slats looked at the door for signs of ill happenings, it seemed it had been abandoned.
"Not a drop of drink or bite of stale fish to be found. He doesn't look to be here," Slats said.
Something stirred in the bushes nearby. Slats's ax was in hand nearly as soon as the elf pulled back on her bow, her head alight in the markings of her people. Euso was as shocked of the sound as he was of the elf's glowing markings, and his attention lacked appropriateness.
"We don't mean any harm," a voice said from the bushes.
"Then come out, carefully now!" Berie shouted.
A trio of men emerged, each in the garb of the Island Nation Kersa.
"Elf, dwarf, and Euso!" one of them said, "They said you would come. It is well you are here. We have waited for you as the chieftain commanded."
"Why are you here?" Slats asked. "Where is the ferryman?"
"They went into hiding it seems. The Legions have set up a fort not too far from here. All the chieftains are at the Great Hall of Srun on the plateau of our fathers. We must take you there immediately. I am Erua, a captain of the men of Kersa, and I hold the will of Chieftain Knasgriff."
"What has happened?"
"They did not appreciate Kealin's departing of them from before and sent an entire Legion to deal with us and find Kealin. Although, no one can. We are kept on the mainland with our chieftains under watch by the Legion themselves. Knasgriff wished to get word to you of our fate if you came back this way. We managed to sneak away, hiding and awaiting chance you would return!"
Berie looked around and said, "We are here now but we do not need to wait if the Legion is searching. Is it far, this fort?"
"Not but an hour’s walk, and that is taking your time," he replied.
"So the chieftains, all of them, are there?" Euso asked.
"Yes, at the old place of meeting, Srun. We will take you there."
Chapter 18 Ghosts of Elinathrond
Brethor raised his head, looking down on both Garoa and Sviska. His coat of red was no more. He wore a black leather armor, and his cloak of phoenix and dragon skin as in Eliniathrond. On either arm, his bladed gauntlets caught glints of light from above as he lifted his hands and placed them on his head.
"I had well to meet up with you at some hour in the future. I am still at work gathering those who might follow us, but it seems our paths were to cross sooner than expected."
Sviska shook his head in utter disbelief. "We saw you die," he said.
"Die? Is that what I did?"
"You fell from the Estate with pursuing Dark Ones just behind."
"Ah! Yes, those. Well, they could've pursued me for as long as they wish, but it seems that their magic is so limited that they could not pursue as long as they needed. I had made it past the village of Tar Sol when, at last, I was left alone crossing the river before finding rest in a cave on the opposing bank. The Order was left to do nothing, but assume my death, and a wise Dark One would have not said otherwise, given The Order's hectic state now."
Brethor raised his hand to his mouth and blew between two fingers to make a low-pitched howling sound. The wolves that surrounded them began to assemble in a line along the waterway. Each sat on its hind legs, with front paws forward and heads up. Even though well ordered, the sense of such beings towering above them was not comforting. Their heavy warm breath blew across Sviska's face, and it was clear Brethor was not to send them away.
"Meet my friends, the Wolves of Taria."
"You make friends with such beasts?" Garoa asked, his voice firm, and a shift in his weight to another foot showed his annoyance to such a possibility.
"Yes, Garoa. Just as you are friends to two dragons that have an impeccable ability to find even me, I was able to find my old masters, but well. They had changed some from our last meeting. They survived the magic purging and, um, became quite wild."
One of the wolves ruffled its
mane back and forth along its neck, snorting.
"There, there!" Brethor soothed.
He pulled a string of meat from a large bag kept at his hip and threw it to the wolf. "I go from the Lord of the City to a Lord of Wolves, and still I have to please people. If only for once I got be pleased!""
The wolf took its treat and swallowed it down with ease, a mere small morsel to its normal quarry.
"These wolves, you let them run free, as in the Wolves of Tar Wunack?"
There was a sudden shift of large bodies behind them, and a wolf dropped to the ground and covered its snout. Other wolves looked to the one and then turned, growling at Garoa.
"These wolves were not a part of that clan, but dreaded that tragedy, as some of them lost control of their own minds in the thralls of the curse. The Pack worked to keep those that became so vain from doing such things, but these wolves were people once, too, and lost many of their own in that massacre. They are insulted by your statement."
Brethor expected an apology to come from Garoa. Something he had knew from the Rusis's time in Elinathrond was that he was understanding and respectful. But Garoa cared not for the affairs and plight of those that killed his love, be these the same or not.
"I do not dismiss their actions."
The wolf that had received his treat from Brethor took steps toward Garoa. A low growl rumbled in the back of his throat. Brethor raised his hands slowly.
"Runka!" he said, his hands motioning downward.
The wolf looked at Brethor and then back to Garoa. It sniffed the air and then sat, staring at him with a snarl to his mouth. The other wolves behind them were quiet now. What emotions they had felt simmered to stillness by the pack instinct of the Alpha, Runka, whom watched for Brethor's lead.
"I have not idly waited for opportunity to chase you into this creek bed. I knew you sought your daughter when the woodsmen first ran into me, telling me of strangers from afar. I sent one of the wolves to check up on you and learned you had been at the grave of Lucia. From there I directed the woodsman to where I sensed your daughter was, and so you found her.”
However, when you, Sviska, got yourself captured. I dared not risk making myself known to The Order, but had planned an attack by the Wolves. Although such an assault risked them to much harm, it was necessary to save you and the Galhedriss Arcana."
"The Order Hand took it and we failed to take it back from him,” Sviska said.
Brethor shook his head and said, "Yes, I witnessed him depart from the citadel. I feel that further ill will is at work. There have been many prisoners of The Order moving up the coastline of Taria and toward Elinathrond. I have not returned there, but am wishing to seek out those left behind."
"Left behind?"
"The Asylum. With the curse lifted, I pray that some may have been saved. The priors that remain would have held up there and not left. The way into it is secret, and The Order would not have known its purpose even if finding the door was something I feel they could do."
"The Order Hand spoke of a sacrifice to take place, and there is a new power within The Order, unlike anything I have yet to see."
"You speak of the one of the Itsu, the entity of the fog, dwelling between our world and the one of the gods."
"Yes, if that is what it is. The Order Hand had called him an Itsu priest."
"It is, and such things I cannot fathom for reasoning, but it is not The Order that has the power in this world, nor is that the agenda of said power. The Itsu, the heathen gods of the old world, seek rebirth into these lands. The Order seeks to keep Kel, but even he is growing strength to be free as their power fades. I fear of what is to come with the Galhedriss Arcana. The entity is indeed an Itsu priest, and with him will be a power beyond all of these lands. The Priests of the Itsu were of the most terrible in the old times. Alas, it is but a part of their plan, and due to the loss of Master Nelkor, the staff of Kel has but no rightful bearer. I am no magic user; I have but my own strength and the blood of the wolves within me, but the Galhedriss Arcana may have such power to break what oath I placed on the staff."
"Do you think they seek the staff?"
"I would be surprised if they do not. The staff would go well with the book and the secrets long held by myself alone would be made known to others. It is with haste we must go to the city, if for no other reason to save those of a supposed sacrifice. Long has history passed where men were put down to appease the heathen gods, and that time would be well to stay away."
"Brethor!" Garoa yelled. His voice shook the air from calm conversation as he stood with his gauntlets crossed. "You and Sviska can do as you wish, but I seek my daughter, alone. You have view of this valley and know much, I give you that, but I need to find her now."
Brethor nodded, curling his lips and raising his head up higher. "Then you are well to stay with us."
"No, I will hunt them, track them to wherever they are, and I will find them."
"And where, good Garoa, do you think they are? It is best to go to where we know the key players of these working will be. Perhaps we can find your daughter there, or at least learn where she is for sure. If you have more wisdom than that, be gone with you to it. You're abandoning of such tasks as returning magic to the world has done nothing to help others, and it will be your undoing!"
There was a silence between them all. Then Brethor went to Garoa and placed his hand on his shoulder.
"I admire your desire for family and, such as it is, that desire is not unfounded, but the risk you put on her as well as yourself will do no good. Do you not think the priest can sense the Rusis blood coursing through her veins? You are the last Rusis, the great casters of the world. You hold the ground to be one of the few that can match him in spell craft. If I was the priest, I would do whatever was needed to fog your mind and cause you to jump to rash action. I would get you alone, and I would kill you.”
Garoa looked down as he drew in a deep breath. Brethor continued, “This world is changing. One does not return magic to a land as simply as lighting a torch with a small piece of wood. It is like walking through a straw-filled barn wishing to light but one candle as pieces of burning wood fall from your stick. Danger is growing in this world, and if you are not careful, the flames of a few sudden actions will envelop you. I bid you, seek your dragons, and call for them. You will see some of these such changes breathing before you. They have heard your calls in the past days, but I bid them wait. They do not as easily hide as they use to."
Garoa stared up at him, then reached into his coat. He pulled his silver whistle out and looked up to the sky as he pushed air through the instrument in a silent song. A few moments passed and nothing happened. He looked down at Brethor, who then pointed up and looked.
Branches high above shifted and leaves ripped from their limbs. The trees shook and swayed as the two dragons moved in the darkness above, circling around the creek. Garoa struggled to see them, their forms moving fast above the trees as they circled back, coming into the entrance of the creek.
The Wolves of Taria parted into two groups as Garoa's dragons landed in a space much larger than he expected them to need.
Garoa stared at his friends. They were no longer as tiny as before. Each stood about the size of the wolves, their heads curved upwards and bent like a shepherd's cane. He walked toward them, awestruck by their size. He reached his hand out, touched them, and they nuzzled their snouts into his arms.
"They have grown much since they departed you," Brethor said.
"I do not understand this. They are but miniature dragons. They have not the blood of their ancestors."
"Yes, but there is not one alive who knows of dragon lore to be sure, but I'd say these two have risen to the occasion to support you in your efforts. Though I doubt their size will continue without magic, it is but another sign of your path to return magic."
Garoa smiled and looked at them. Placing both of his hands on the dragons and nodding, he smiled.
"I know what is needed, bu
t my daughter is my desire in this life."
"We will find her," Brethor said. "I will search beside you to the end of these lands to seek her, if needed, but for now, we must attend to other things. It is by following the clues we have thus far that we return to Elinathrond, and I feel that from there we will find her."
Garoa nodded. "Very well, Brethor. You have not led me astray in my time of knowing you."
Brethor shook his head and added, "And I will not now. Now come, we must depart quickly before the sun begins to rise. Your friends should return to their place of hiding until it is time for their emergence."
Garoa looked to his dragons and said, "Stay well, my friends. I will call you again soon."
Both dragons took a few steps back and flapped their wings, the spray from the creek splashing around them and causing the wolves to shake the water from their fur in part annoyance. In a rush of wind, they were gone into the trees and flapped away toward the night sky.
Brethor gave a confident laugh and turned back to Sviska and Garoa. "Very well, it is time to go,” he said.
He rubbed his hands and then looked to the wolves. "Come, we have need for your backs!"
Three of the wolves walked toward them and laid down on their bellies.
"You mean for us to ride them?" Sviska asked.
"Yes, we must reach the bay and the passages secret from The Order to make it to Elinathrond, as we need. We can make it by daybreak, but we must hurry."
There was a reluctant glare between Sviska and Garoa as Brethor climbed onto one of them.
"Come on, come on! They do not bite." He paused. "Well, they do not bite often. Just hold on when they start running. You will not wish to raise up on them like a horse either, doing such will leave you headless from a low lying limb!"
Sviska and Garoa did as instructed and climbed onto the stone backs of the wolves. The crest on their backs that formed their armor acted as a good place to anchor their hands, but it was still not as secure a feeling as they would like.
Saints of Wura: Winemaker of the North, Arcane Awakening, Reckoning in the Void (Saints of Wura Books 1-3 with bonus content) Page 50