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

  As the man that had brought message was laid on a cot to be taken to a ship with Euso, the Captains had assembled near Slats.

  “Make it known to the warriors, the Legions march against us.”

  “Prepare for battle but rest for now,” added Ruir, “I do not want tired warriors.”

  The Captains dispersed and Ruir looked to Slats.

  “They do not write like the Legions. What are the disciples of the Itsu?”

  “Sviska spoke of the changed form of the First Legion in Elinathrond, as did Arsus of the ‘Blessed Legions.’ It will not be mere men we fight. Not, at least, like before.”

  Ruir looked out into the darkness. It seemed to Slats that even the Chieftain of the Ukka was fearful but he would taste death before admitting it.

  Chapter 5 Fishing Trip

  It had just turned night as the host of ships awaited word from the shore. Knasgriff had sent scouts and Kealin had returned from the edge of the bay where the river began.

  He brought his boat alongside Knasgriff’s.

  “De way is clear and I see the First Legion and others have departed Lokam headed east,” He gripped his daggers and looked at Sviska, “Your armor, it is time.”

  The others had already taken the time to get their armor on as the doldrums of time passed and they awaited night.

  It was heavy on his chest, not as heavy as pure plate armor, but not near as light as the leather he was accustomed to wearing. As he tightened the two straps holding it on his side, Kealin smiled.

  “It is a good fit for the wielder of Sishan to have an armor of the sea.”

  Another long ship came alongside Knasgriff’s.

  “We counted a full three banners leaving Lokam. They were well on their way at dusk.”

  “Then Ruir and the dwarf were successful. Fond blessings must go to him and the warriors,” Knasgriff said. Looking behind him, he took one of two torches near the rear aft of the ship and doused it. Behind him in a long line, the other longships did the same.

  Tvila directed her ship near Knasgriff’s.

  “A chant of old?” she questioned, shouting over the sounds of the water lapping the boats.

  “We should, a strong wind from the north to the south would be well for us but first I must have words with those upon the sea. I have distressing news.”

  Those on the others ships became still and in the rolling waves of the sea, Knasgriff spoke.

  “We know that our people have been stolen from us and taken to accursed places in chains. We all worry of such horrors but upon the road from our lands to Lokam, a travesty has taken place. I do not know the numbers, but upon crosses of wood with iron nails pierced into the arms and legs, some of our people have been crucified for our acts of rebellion.”

  Knasgriff spoke with affirmation but Sviska had not heard of such news before. Whether it was true or not did not matter. The hints of fear among those warriors of the Island Nation was gone. Grumbling of anger spread among them.

  Tvila stood on the rail of her ship, “Take heart, men and women, and raise your voices in praise to our gods. May we deliver vengeance for our lost ones.”

  Kealin went back to his boat, motioning Sviska to follow.

  The nearby warriors began a chant that spread out through the other longships:

  Seas so cold and frigid winds

  Upon the waters of ocean friends

  Sailing proud into the storm

  Island Nation battle-born.

  Bless’d be Wura of polar lights,

  Bless’d be Dimn of windy heights,

  Bless’d be Throka mountain lord,

  Bless’d be Kel master of war.

  But of all the gods so strong and proud,

  From deep dark depths and foggy shroud,

  We pray now to the god of fish,

  Meredaas, Meredaas here our wish:

  Bring waters swift along our bows,

  Storms clouds soften so we stand proud.

  Veil our ships from our foes’ eyes,

  Let our Island Nation rise!

  The winds began to blow strong from the north, whistling under the clear night sky. Thick fogs began to roll over the ocean, veiling the ships except for the first three.

  “The path will be veiled to the watchful eyes of the Legion. We go with the blessings of the god of the north winds.”

  The water beneath Sviska’s feet was disturbed as a great force shook from underneath; at the fore of Knasgriff’s ship, a fin emerged, large and emblazoned and with a silver mask and a gold crown. The sea god, the Great Fish, Meredaas, not seen so far south in many years, had come. Sviska expected him to speak but he said nothing. A cheer erupted among those of the Island Nation.

  “Do you see, people of the Island Nation? We have not one, but two gods with us today!” Tvila shouted.

  “Be wary of our approach, men, a single guard seeing us could destroy these plans. Berie will be at the fore of the ship, her elven sight is beyond our own and she will deal with any guards that remain and any eyes that may spot us.”

  “Dey will be no eyes watching, Chieftain, at least, after we go through,” Kealin told them.

  “Go well, Kealin Half-elf and Sviska of Elinathrond, you are the key that unlocks our victory.”

  Sviska stood in the boat, looking back towards Garoa and Berie. A concerned glare from her was relaxed by Sviska smiling at her. Garoa stared, a nervousness upon him also, but he gave a firm nod to Sviska.

  “Take us forward, Tulasiro,” Kealin said.

  Sviska took a seat and Kealin began to hum a song to himself.

  The boat rushed forward. Tulasiro was quickening in pace, a crest of water at the bow of the ship began to splash over the sides as the armada of longships faded from sight.

  The sea was dark and the wind howled from the north. Sviska knew that upon raising the sails of the longships, the Island Nation would advance with great speed.

  Behind them, the fleet became nothing but a memory, the open sea began to narrow and the dim outline of the Tiken mountains began to blot out the starry night above. The hazy fogs along the water were like pillars blocking their sight but with the rush of waves they passed through them, the misting catching the hairs of his arm.

  Kealin leaned forward to him, “De path ahead will be quick and we must be subvert. I will take them on the bridge above the river and then Tulasiro will clear the docks as we exit onto the land. Feel the center of your chest.”

  He did so, the shells lining it were rigid.

  “You see how your fingertips can grip them well?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dey are knives.”

  He pulled at the shells and found that hidden in the plate of armor were small throwing knives.

  “You see?” Kealin asked. “Use them well for those on the walls. And then climb up. I will take the left tower, you take the right. Once we take them both, return to the gateway. We will raise the gates.”

  “What of the fleet?”

  “Tulasiro will go to them with speed as soon as we began, she will lead them in and we will jump onto my boat as it enters behind the flag ships. We only need to hold the gate for the ships to arrive. Was their any word from Brethor and the allies of Taria?”

  “No.”

  “Then we will assume they will not come. It is up to us, Saint of Wura.”

  They were entering shallower water. Tulasiro’s horn was visible, a glistening sight with water splashing over it. The bridge was ahead and two lone guards stood near the center with torches behind them.

  Sviska did not know if it was the sliding of Kealin’s blades from their sheaths or the sound of the narwhal, but the two men turned to see the form of the half-elf flying between them, his daggers cutting each of their throats. The bodies fell from the bridge, spilling their blood in the water.

  Kealin landed back in the boat, his daggers held reversed against his forearms. He knelt down, “Prepare for our blade work.”

  Sviska slid Sishan from his s
heath and held it ready. Tulasiro had hit deeper water again and thundered underneath them picking up speed even as they began to see the torches along the walls of Lokam. Sviska spotted the river gate and a dock to the right of it. The dock was not very big, enough for one or two ships, but it was obvious it was no port. There were four legionnaires and none of them looked towards them. Any other night than this it would not have been such a folly.

  The boat banked to the left of the river, skidding the riverbank before Tulasiro surged forward again. She seemed to aim her horn towards those on the dock. She turned to the right, leaving the mouthpiece she used to pull the ship behind. She dove underneath the water just before she exploded back out, striking the men on the dock, crushing two of them. Two others fell into the water. The narwhal rolled into the water crushing one before throwing the other away and then driving her horn into his side. Flapping her tail, she propelled herself back away from the gateway.

  The boat slowed and Kealin and Sviska leapt from it and ran along the docks towards the wall. Above them, two guards pointed but Sviska threw his knives in quick succession, silencing them. Kealin jumped for the gate, climbing straight up before leaping off the metal and grasping two parts of the wall just below the level of the crenelation. In a few more moments, Sviska saw him disappear over the top, metallic clanging followed and a legionnaire flew off the wall.

  Sviska went for an area where stacked barrels provided him a boost up. He sheathed his dagger and ran, jumping for an ornate border in the stonework, his fingertips barely holding him as he scurried upwards. It had been a while since he had climbed like this; normally he would have a grappling hook and rope for such an action. He made it towards the top when Kealin looked down with an outstretched hand.

  “I have you, friend. You must learn to climb quicker!”

  Sviska grasped his hand. Kealin pulled him up. The half-elf spun his daggers and pointed to tower to the left.

  “I will go,” said Kealin before sprinting away.

  Sviska turned, his own task ahead lit up by a torch near the top and the lone archer that noticed him, took aim. Sviska threw two knives at great distance with at least one of them finding its mark. The archer collapsed.

  He did not wait. Running towards the wooden door ahead, he was met by a spear-wielding guard swinging the door open. Sviska sidestepped right, leaping onto the edge of the rampart. The spear point missed him as he grabbed the shaft in a mid-air spin, his dagger slicing the man’s tissues in his neck from the side.

  Another guard was in the gap Sviska took hold of the spear, running it into him and, with a shout, forced him into the wall on the far side of the inner tower. Another door led out further down the wall and a simple wooden lock was all Sviska had to turn in order to seal the tower from outside reinforcements. A defensive working, no doubt, but one that served a purpose for the Island Nation attack.

  He ascended the stairs, hearing a moan come from above. The injured archer from before held a sword out but was slumped on the ground with the knife buried in the left upper portion of his chest. Sviska passively parried the blade and smacked the man in the face with his fist. As the man tethered on the edge of unconsciousness, he slashed his throat open, leaving the gurgling man where he lay.

  Looking over the crenelation towards the other tower, he saw that Kealin had slain the last men that he found atop it, and now he took hold of a torch, before disappearing from sight.

  Sviska did the same, rushing down the stairwell and back out to the wall. He met Kealin atop the gatehouse and each planted the torches on the wall. Two large wheels, normally manned by two men each, were the mechanisms that controlled the gate.

  Looking down near the bridge, the masts of the longships were passing underneath it. The fogs rolled with them, further veiling them.

  They each took hold of a wheel. Planting their feet, they tightened the muscles of their hips and backs, sweat beading from their foreheads as each gritted their teeth and the sound of clanking chains rumbled below them.

  Two men began shouting somewhere on the walls to their left, but an arrow from the waters below flew towards the wall, silencing them. Berie’s accuracy was unmatched.

  The iron portcullis was almost up, with a sound of water coming from the sea splashing against the walls, an increase in wind and tide caused the ships to rock forward below them. Just as the gate reached its pinnacle, the long-prepared ships of the Island Nation passed the void of the gate and passed towards the center of the city.

  “Der it is” said Kealin, referencing his boat below. They climbed down over the side of the wall and then both jumped, landing on the boat.

  Ahead of them, Berie stood on the bow of the ship, her arrow ready, with Garoa to her side, his face halfway behind one of the shields. The men no longer rowed and now worked to lower the sails with haste. The momentum of the ships was great and, at this time, they only needed to steer the ships towards their planned landing. The tower of Lokam loomed to their right and fogs began to overtake the causeway.

  Torches along the line of the waterway began to show shadows moving along the banks. There were shouts and yells. Arrow fire, shrouded in darkness, began to bounce and splinter the wooden shields of the Island Nation. Ahead, on the towers surrounding the center island, flaming bolts flew over their heads, splashing in the waters around the fleet.

  Berie loosed her arrows, in quick handiwork; she fired repeated shots at the towers. She pulled back another arrow; pausing, she said the elven word of splitting points and silvery darts split in flight, striking multiple targets around the base of the corner tower closest to their approach.

  The High Ships turned hard to port. The ships drifted around the main island and began stacking in a jam of wooden oars as arrow fire began to fall on them at random.

  Luckily for Ruir’s men, his ship was nearest the fortified walls of the island. The ships were pushed up against the walls and with hammers they fastened hooks that they tied to the mechanical arms of Ruir’s ship. It was a plan hastily enacted but one of a few discussed before to destroy the walls. The men aboard the ships were struggling to hold back their rage. Ropes and chains flew from their ship and were tied as extra holds to tear down the battlements. As the helmsman sprung the arms of the High Ship out, the force partially broke the walls down. There was a sudden thundering of weapons on shields and the wall fell further apart as the stonework shattered and fell providing a ramp from the ship to that of the stone ground of the island. A column of legion shields formed hastily in the jagged gap and the men of Ukka charged forward, hurling their axes before smashing into the defender’s line.

  Horns sounded and the city became even more alive as shouting filled the streets and the legionnaires rushed to defend their ground. The remaining longships began to disembark along the banks of the waterway, filling the city streets with lines of men and women holding shields as a counterattack began against the invaders. Pockets of fighting were breaking out within the city.

  Knasgriff drew his sword, “Warriors of the Island Nation, your time for revenge is here. For the honor of all of the Island and the northern lands!”

  He leapt with Garoa over to Ruir’s ship and up to where the men of Ukka fought. In a rush of men augmenting the battle line, the shield wall faltered and they took ground on the center island.

  Arrows sliced into the men as they continued to disembark the ships. Berie turned her bow towards the southern walkway, aiming for the source of the arrow fire. She began taking down many of the archers before, at last, they fled for cover into a different part of the city.

  Kealin and Sviska had made it to the opposite bank of the center island. Sviska noticed that the ships that had stacked up near the broken wall were being linked by workers hastily laying planks as the forces of the Island Nation moved into the center island. There were also other men with hammers working to widen the gap in the wall so that the disembarking forces could move quicker.

  As they joined the others just on the othe
r side of the gap, Kealin charged into another attempt of a shield wall by the disheveled legionnaires. From the lower portion of the island, more men came up to fight but, man-to-man, the Island Nation was stronger. The one bridge linking the island to the eastern portion of the city had swelled with men gathering to take back the fortress that was nearing complete collapse as the Island Nation moved feverishly to secure it.

  A group of warriors turned their attention to this approaching force. Garoa went with them; as the legionnaires began forward, he ran at them. Fire and ice flew from his hands, halting their advance and causing them to halt just before the first gate. The Island Nation ran forward to secure the gates, locking each of them. Garoa went to the gateway nearest the island, melting the joints of the gates and sealing them. The legion could not reach the center island without much more than mere men.

  Sviska and Kealin had moved into the keep, the main doors kicked open and left to be nothing but decorations as Kealin and Sviska led a bloody harvest in their wake.

  Garoa came back to the opening of the wall. Berie stood in the breach her bow bent and released every few seconds. Tvila was there too, pulling the few remaining warriors at the initial landing area up into the the keep. He looked up to the tower and the causeway leading up to it.

  “Prepare to attack the tower!” he shouted.

  Tvila instructed nearby warriors to assemble near the causeway and Berie continued to find targets, even as the numbers of archers her eyes spotted dwindled.

  Ruir’s men had made their way to the top of the keep; their Chieftain would have been proud as they hacked away at the last of the defenders.

  Kealin followed next, joined by Knasgriff and Sviska who had been held up, his blade having caught itself in the ribs of a man who refused to die without grabbing at Sviska’s hair as he passed.

  The keep had fallen in little time but the pockets of Island Nation warriors on either side of the river that had drifted away from the main attack were cut off from other kinsmen to help them. The sound of howling wolves split over the cries and commotion of battle. The leaders looked towards the western part of the city and to the main gates. The Wolves of Brethor were atop the walls and a figure stood with them, two large blades running down his arms caught in the moonlight.