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

  Managing to escape the attack, the speaker and another man kicked their horses forward in an effort to flee. They would not escape.

  Berie loosed her arrow. It struck the speaker in the chest and he fell, rolling to the ground.

  The other man on horseback kicked his horse once again, speeding his way toward the Legions. Berie took another arrow to her cheek and fired again, and this one struck the man in the head. His horse galloped back toward the awaiting Legion, carrying his dying rider.

  On the Ocean Path, those of the Legion were dead. The attackers removed their helmets and went to the door.

  "Chieftains! We bring word from the Island Nation!”

  The doors opened in mere moments, as the word of some relief hastened those who moved the heavy timbers.

  "What word, men, do you have?" Knasgriff said to them.

  The twenty five men and women held swords made at the dwarven forge in the far north. Their armor was of leather, metals, and shell. Fur from the white bears of the ice lands added warmth to the ensemble.

  "Word of the Half-Elf, Chieftain. He sent us here as soon as he met up with the rebels that fought to free the cities. We have chased all Legions from the Island Nation; the last of them boarded a prison ship and escaped."

  "How is it you are so armed? You could not have had time to head to the forge." Ruir said.

  "Kealin came slipping us away one by one, and we gathered in force at the forge. One of Tvila's nation managed to take a ship and after gathering our arms, we went with Kealin and rescued those recently captured by the Grand Protectorate.

  “Chieftains, we are to tell you that a larger force comes in haste to your aid. After Kealin learned of what befell Lunis, he sent us ahead of the main force. We did not know if word had come to you, so we sailed to rescue you from this place before your demise. It seems others did come, but no news likely reached you. Many of our brothers and sisters are dead at the base of the cliffs."

  "It did come," Tvila said, "but the messenger was not quick enough. We had no time to escape."

  "Two Legions now come upon us, soldier," Knasgriff said. "How far is this aid?"

  "I could still see their sails before the fog, but we caught a good tide coming in. I cannot say for sure."

  "Come in, boys," Colui said. "It seems your have come early to help; we must hold this place until that aid arrives!"

  The doors were shut once again and the timbers placed just as horns sounded in the distance.

  Berie watched as the cohorts began to march. The reddish sky behind her cast further light upon the field, and she waited until the blocks of shields turned toward the Ocean Path and began to hasten their pace. The sound of their shuffling metal armor and clomping boots reminded her of their vast numbers.

  She pulled back her bow, the chest plate of the far right man holding the towering banner in her line of sight. She loosed the arrow, and with a plink it struck home and the man fell.

  From the fourth line, a man in a high-plumed helmet looking down his ranks of men, commanded, "Forward, pick up our banner! Forward cohort!"

  She drew again and the man who picked up the banner also fell dead, an arrow in his eye. As soon as the standard was lifted back into the air, then another man fell again, the elven bow singing in the morning air.

  The line of shields was nearly halfway up the ramp, but the march seemed to slow even as more cohorts gathered behind them.

  She reached her hand into her quiver. Whispering a spell, the power of magic lit up the runes on her bow as she drew it back. The twang of the bowstring proceeded the breaking up of the arrow, and a barrage of razor-edged light struck the front rank, causing them to break up and fall, the pieces of metal sticking into every exposed place on their bodies.

  As men fell out of line, dropping their shields, the cohort stopped. A whistle sounded within the ranks three times. The rank behind the front rank stepped forward, even though they stood on the bodies of their comrades, and lifted their shields up. The third rank formed their shields above them, and so was it the same for the rest of the cohort. A large wall of metal walked slowly toward the door.

  She fired again, but her arrow found no spot to pierce the moving metal wall.

  From the base of the ramp she noticed some men who had large spears and were rearing backwards, as well as leaving themselves open. She drew arrows in quick succession, taking three men before a volley of shining metal clanged against the battlements.

  She ducked down, one shaft nearly striking her as another volley came. A shout sounded from the men below as they stuck their shields upon the gates of Srun.

  The volley of spears paused. She drew another arrow and pulled back, and the runes upon her head shined. Firing again, the arrow split once more, pelting the men of the further back ranks. There were cries of agony and pain as more fell dead.

  The sea of shields below began to part, and a large tree carried from the rear ranks pounded into the gateway. Another centurion was now among them, shouting his orders.

  "Auxiliaries to the right, keep fire upon the battlements! Send word to the coming cohorts — bring ropes to scale this wall!"

  She stood back up, drawing on her bowstring before flinging an arrow toward the centurion. He raised his shield just before it struck, and the arrowhead buried into the metal.

  He looked down at the shield and slapped the arrow with his sword. “Kill those archers!” he bellowed, his order repeated to the coming legion forces.

  Berie smirked. She was but one, yet they assumed she was many. She looked down and saw many forms not girded as the rest of the Legions, but wearing dark robes and holding long brown bows in their hands. They were cautious, watching for sight of her, and she did not disappoint.

  She stood tall and fired arrows in succession once again. Berie knew few words of magic for arrows, but as the battering ram pounded the doorway her mind thought of one that would work well for them below. She drew an arrow and loosed it toward the battering ram and a rush of ice overtook the men, freezing them in place still holding the ram.

  Berie saw a staggering of the remaining ranks, and a pause came where no one moved. But the centurion shouted, "They have magic! Curse them! Forward men and save your loved ones! Kill these wretches."

  The archers had spotted Berie, and a volley of bolts came flying over the wall. She knelt just as a barb sliced the side of her arm. As she crawled for cover back toward the wall and peered over, another volley flew over, and now almost a constant barrage forced her to hide.

  The battering of the door below began again. A crack formed in the stone beneath her feet. Berie felt for an arrow, but she was now out, and her quiver needed more time to replenish its supply. The legionnaires threw hooked ropes toward the top the stone crenellation. They approached her position, and she was without aid.

  At the gateway, the stone seal began to crack. From the many attacks it had repelled over the ages, the weakened seal could not for long hold back the tides placed against it. The legionnaires under the shield wall stood at the walkway leading to the hall.

  Colui, though of many years and less strength than many others, insisted of standing near the door as it was pounded over and over, a host of his own men around him.

  Slats, Knasgriff, and Tvila stood behind a line of pointed swords that awaited the Legions and above them, having climbed up a broken pillar, men, including the servant of the late Maerin, waited to leap from above.

  Slats gripped a smaller ax in one hand, holding a shield in his other. His own ax rested upon his back, but the smaller weapon was of more use for him to defend the shield wall, and time would come for fighting alone.

  He breathed heavy and deep, and as the stone cracked further he became restless. An anxious sweat formed on his nose and his pulse quickened, and his heart thundered under his armor. The armor was, of coarse, leather with a piece of metal of low quality. But Ruir happily gave it, and he was thankful to have it, particularly when he thought of the fighting to come.
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  A chunk of rock fell from the door, and a cheer from outside followed. Although Slats felt well and ready, there was uneasiness among the men before the gates. Some looked at one another — their fear-stricken faces smelled the sweat of those outside, and the dust falling from above burned their eyes as the trunk slammed again into the stone. Their resolve was about to be tested.

  Another large portion of the gates gave way as the stone cracked further. The two opposing forces could see each other. Before the legionnaires could react, a thrown knife made its way through the rubble to the outside, taking one of them by surprise.

  "The moles have tricks," a voice shouted from the outside. "Break down that door so we can blot out their eyes, men!"

  A final strike and the gates gave way. The ancient stone hinges cracked and crumbled in a cloud of dust. The way opened, and the legionnaires rushed to form into a line of shields.

  The men of Srun slammed forward and broke upon the Legions' lines, slicing and pommeling as the greater tide tried to push forward into the fortress. From above dropped men, their swords and knives finding the enemies' necks and soft tissue, cutting and scraping at bone, and the smell of blood filled the room.

  “Forward!” a voice bellowed. The legionnaires locked their shields tighter.

  “Hold these dogs from the scraps they seek,” Ruir shouted.

  Tvila ran forward, and her blade made quick work of two men. Her slender build allowed her to leap atop another before driving a small knife into his neck. But another wall of shields began forcing its way in. The line of the Island Nation began to falter.

  The centurion who shout from before appeared. He pointed at Knasgriff and the chieftain growled, his sword held high. He parried the man’s blade and kneed him. The centurion stumbled and let down his guard. Knasgriff smashed into the officer, bashing in his helmet. He growled and kicked the man down to the ground.

  Another centurion was already inside Srun as well. Soon he and Knasgriff engaged in a duel and broke away from the others within the atrium.

  The shield wall was no more. Slats dropped his shield and tossed his small ax, and its head buried into the face of a charging legionnaire.

  He drew the ax of his kind before charging forward into lines of shields. Raising the ax above his head, he brought down its force on the line of shields and then forced himself into the mass.

  Shorter than the rest of them, he more easily went among the legionnaires. Smelling the putrid odor of a forced march and a hasty attack, he struck at their bodies. The dwarf’s attack left a wake of collapsing men, as many lost footing and ran upon each other attempting to stop the dwarf, who they could barely see until his ax was upon them.

  He emerged from the line and turned to find himself well out of the fortress, with a mass of disordered men looking at him.

  "Do you wish to taste that of the dwarven forges of old?"

  The men laughed and one said, "What dwarf do you mean? We just see a little man. Put down the large ax before someone gets hurt!"

  Slats cared not of further talk, and in a rush he plowed into them, his ax hewing a soldier’s head easier than the hardwood that he sliced in Elinathrond. As he spun about, he caught the arms and legs of his attackers, striking each in turn as a mound of bodies formed around him. He felt his arms tremble, and the power of his ax surged in him. He jumped up and into the further mass of the Legion, sending legionnaires flying back, a shock wave of force vibrating the ground.

  It was then a horn called in the distance. But it was no horn of the Legions or some other ally of the Grand Protectorate. Even the stalwart discipline of the Legions failed, and many not directly fighting at the gateway of Srun turned to look behind them.

  In a fog from the sea emerged shadowy figures that could not be described by those who witnessed their arrival, save darkness with a line of white teeth and red fangs. In the early light of a new day came the glint of swords. Slats noticed two red blades at their center. The Island Nations’ warriors had come.

  As the fogs receded and the forces closed in, Kealin the Half-Elf appeared, leaping upon the lines. His two blades spun, cracking the faces of two victims, who offered a crimson offering to his blood lust. He looked up and smiled, and those legionnaires before him fled.

  Slats went to him and said, “You are late to the battle, friend."

  Kealin nodded, and with a good-natured tone said, "Der is more than enough for us here!"

  They turned toward Srun, and the mass of legionnaires still encroaching on the door turned to them, and a horn called from the Legions still approaching Srun. Those Legions that had yet to engage an enemy dropped to the ground, their shields on their heads.

  "Dis is no good, get down!" Kealin shouted.

  A line of spears tossed from the cohorts below peppered the area, striking both Legionnaires and Kealin’s men.

  As shields fell from stricken Legions dropping dead, Slats and Kealin grabbed at them, taking cover themselves, as did others in the host from the Island Nation.

  Slats looked from behind his shield and spotted the two ferry brothers running into the fray. They both held large fishing nets that glowed blue in the morning fog.

  “The brothers came with you?” Slats asked in amazement.

  They took spots in different areas, spinning their nets above their heads. Another horn called in the distance just as the brothers threw their nets into the sky.

  In two enveloping orbs, the nets grew in size, dropping over Kealin’s men, as well as the ferrymen who threw them. The spears of the enemy rained down, but not one made it through the shielding spells of the nets. The barrage ceased and the brothers tucked away their nets. They now each held double-ended spears.

  “Indeed they did and I tell you, those of the sea are best,” Kealin said with a smile.

  The brothers came to Slats’ side.

  “We join you dwarf, as the Legions messed up our fishing. We can’t help to repay the help you and your friend gave us in the days ago.”

  Kealin and Slats stood as did the others. The Legions, ironically, had taken the brunt of the first barrage, but it was clear now that lost men were not an issue for the Grand Protectorate. A well-formed line of additional legionnaires approached. As the last of the first waves of Legion disappeared into Srun, and Slats could see the many men who had not attacked the doorway had made it up the wall.

  “Thank you,” Slats said, “but we must continue the fight. It is not over.”

  There was a familiar shout, and both Kealin and Slats looked upwards as Berie and several legionnaires locked in battle.

  "We must get to her!" Slats yelled.

  As they ran toward the keep, the second wave of cohorts followed just behind with a great clamor. Reaching the doorway, they found many more attackers still awaited them inside. Though the wished to go to her aid, both blades and bodies hindered their path. They could not make it.

  Chapter 20 The Gathering of Hawk and Falcon

  Sviska and Garoa noticed the sun had just came up above the level of the horizon, and the waves below them undulated in a gold shine. They could see land ahead, a thin ribbon coming closer as they soared across the sky.

  But as they looked down, they could see the mass of Legions encroaching upon Srun. Brethor had commanded them to be taken to Berie and Slats, and as they passed over the Ocean Path and to the top of Srun, they could see Berie kicking at her attackers, her bow atop the battlements and out of reach.

  As they descended toward the structure, the bats released their grip, and Garoa learned that their friends had indeed returned magic to the land. With outstretched hands, he summoned flame and ice, tossing a ball of each at Berie's attackers.

  Sviska drew Sishan and landed atop the crenelation. Leaping down he sliced the neck of one of the men and grabbed Berie by the arm to drag her away.

  Garoa fought the remainder, killing them one by one with a mix of blade and spell. His gauntlets were alight as back in Elinathrond. He smiled, feeling the magic
surge through his body once again. In a flurry of flames, he set fire to the ladders, shooting flames so bright that even Legatus Varac would be able to see them. He turned and joined Sviska and Berie.

  "Sviska!" she said, her nose bleeding and her arms weeping from wounds.

  "We are here. Where is Slats?"

  "Below, but I fear they are overwhelmed by now."

  Garoa went to the edge of the wall and looked over. A sea of legionnaires filled any open space below them.

  "I'd say so," he told them.

  Sviska looked to Berie and said, "Stay here. You have done enough."

  "No," she said. "My bow."

  Garoa picked up her bow and took it to her as she forced herself to stand. Her quiver had grown more arrows, and she affixed one to her string.

  "Follow me," she said, somewhat woozy and her eyes blinking many times.

  She turned toward the great hall and followed the path as Knasgriff had told her, leading above the open-air walkway. There was fighting below that could be heard, as well as an occasional scream as someone was tossed to the waters below.

  They found the stairwell and descended to the great hall.

  Knasgriff and Tvila were now atop the table, encircled by legionnaires. Trails of bodies led in all directions as isolated groups struggled to survive.

  Berie saw the captain of the Kersa guard, Esua, fall to a blade as he defended his chieftain.

  Garoa ran forward toward Knasgriff and Tvila, his array of fire searing into the legionnaires as he came to their aid.

  “Thank you, Garoa,” Tvila smiled.

  Sviska looked for Slats, but did not see him. He turned to the right, looked down the walkway, and could see bodies flying from the entryway of Srun.

  Legionnaires began stacking up, seeing his approach at the opposite end of the hallway. Men lay dead and dying between them.