Garoa laid her down, “Rest. We will return. Kealin, please stay with her.”
The half-elf nodded but seemed to do so slightly annoyed, as she lay back down.
They scurried out the opening and to the ramp leading to the pinnacle of the tower.
The people of the Island Nation were falling back. The First Legion had been held by continued charges of the Falacar but even they were faltering. Their men were now fighting with those of the Island Nation as other horseman rode along the flanks but had lost the edge of mass force they had before.
Another rank of Falacar rode into the fray, led by Shadowhawk. He fired his bow but found himself out of arrows. He drove his horse into a phalanx near Slats and crashed atop the shields, collapsing the shield wall. Slats was among them and cut into their forms. His ax never swung without splashing embers and the burn of a cold fire. Another large force of legionnaires moved along the bay. They were headed for their ships and the Island Nation’s only point of retreat.
“All lines, fall back to the ships, push back to the ships!”
None could hear his words. He looked to the shoreline and could see that they could not hope to make it back. The Legion was curving along the shore and into their flank.
In the deeper waters, the Drean could see the overwhelming forces. King Youna had planned to just support from the deeper waters against sea based threats, but the land forces were faltering.
He ordered two ships forward and into the narrow cove in which the army had landed. The Drean ships ran aground, the splintering of wood and rushing of water into the lower portions of the ship but a small price, as they fired their magic onto the shore.
An eruption of lightning buzzed from their ships and into the ranks of legionnaires, throwing them backwards. Snapping and popping electrical surges killed swaths of the enemy at once in a brilliant but horrid shine.
From the waters, the two fisher brothers, the half-bloods of the sea, emerged with an army of crabs at their fore. The two brothers danced with their shell blades in a whirlwind of water and sharpened shells, striking down the legionnaires. The many crabs swarmed and devoured those nearest to the beaches.
Slats could see the devastation done by the Drean but the way to them was lost. Bloodhawk rode near him, pulling him to mount. Many Falacar horses fled east. A large outcropping of rocks that led up a gentle hill had become the last defensible ground for the Island Nation. He could not tell how many remained but from what he could see, this was the last. Bloodhawk jumped over a line of men just for a well-thrown spear to strike his horse. Slats suddenly watched as his face flew into the ground.
Men of the Island Nation rushed forward. Ruir was among them and pulled Slats to his feet. The dwarf tasted his own blood. His back was against the rocks and above him those of the Island Nation fell one by one as spears rained down upon them. Silverhawk rode another rank into the encroaching Legion but then was dismounted as his horse was impaled by many jagged points. The Legion moved in vast numbers, encircling them even as Falacar riders shouting in the distance told Slats that there were still many of the alliance fighting.
It was then, upon the southern fields, horns called out. A line of men could be seen coming from the mountains and the road alike.
“We are done. No aid will come this day! We have failed!” a man near Slats cried out. “More Legions approach!”
It was then the lines of the attacking Legions furthest out turned. For no aid did they expect either. In a hurried march, the Legion formed a second line facing the south as a line of arrows pummeled into them from high above. Slats looked above them and could see what seemed to be birds flying high. As he watched, they circled above them. The Blessed Legions around them began to fall, struck with flaming embers of white fire. They jerked their glances up, confused and hiding behind their shields.
The line of legionnaires facing south struggled to turn their lines, for just as they recovered from another barrage of arrows from Falacar riders, more horns sounded behind them.
A falcon flew near Slatnichor and he smiled. Legatus Arsus had come once again.
In a shroud of rising dust, the cavalry of the Second Legion struck the enemy flanks, sending them into disarray. The combined forces of Lokam worked to face this new contender. In a controlled retreat, the Legions of the Grand Protectorate fell back to the west even as Falacar riders fighting their way back east fired arrows into their exposed backs.
The Second Legion moved quickly to secure those remaining of the Island Nation and formed shield walls around the faltering lines around the hilltop.
Arsus rode to the base of the hill near Slats, “Second Legion, form to the front. Prepare for counter attack!”
“Legatus, you arrived!” Slats said smiling.
“No message came to me but we were ready and only waiting for a sign. When the Legion forces along the road moved forward, we followed. The sounds of the battle could be heard from the mountains.”
“And of the Priestess Sediya?”
He seemed to get a baffled look and then looked above them.
The circling birds descended but, as they drew closer, Slats noticed he had not taken a good look at them.
In a rush of wind, the flapping of large wings came as a figure landed before Slats.
“Slats, of the dwarves, we have come to assist you.”
It was Sediya but not as he remembered her. The beauty in her face was untouched but behind her arms and hands which held a large staff, were wings of long white feathers.
He stared at her unblinking. Harpies, creatures of old, known for both their amazement and malice.
“You now see I and the others as we were before the halting of magic.”
“I did not believe either,” said Arsus. He looked at her. “I still have trouble with it. But we are here. Where are the others? This cannot be all that have come to fight.”
“They attacked Lokam,” Slats said to him, his voice was saddened. “I hope they have done better than us.”
The line of the Second Legion was in place around them. The women of the bird flew above but the initial impact of their sight had fallen to nothing more than an annoyance. The Blessed Legions did not fear them.
The centurions of the Second Legion pushed their men forwards and against the shield walls of the enveloping enemy. There was no shortage of men to kill this day.
Leaving Asnea behind, they traversed a great open-air stairwell to a large platform atop the tower. Beneath them, the sounds of battle, the fires and the city, and the howls of the wolves in the lower level was haunting and only edged out by the thundering of the clouds directly above them.
Those of the Order present stared at the brewing clouds above with hands held aloft. The Itsu Priest was there, his hands, bony underneath his cloak of black. From a blotch of glowing white surrounded by fog, he shrieked a deep moan.
Behind him, the Staff of Kel sat in its prison of rock, the tip of it surging with bolts of lightning reaching into the clouds.
From the darkness above, the chained form of the war god appeared, summoned by the Order priests.
“It is true folly that brings you here, Saints of Wura, the weak and beaten. Already some of the Order have fled but some remain true to the old ways.”
Garoa’s hands were alight in fire, his gauntlets surging with a glowing brilliance as he sought to scorch the Itsu Priest.
The Priest raised his hands, “Rusis! Strike me if you wish, you can do no harm to me but you may try!”
The fog wrapped around him, the fire blunted and turned to ash. Garoa summoned flames and ice, growing magic beyond any amount Sviska had seen before. In an explosion of light, he struck the Priest. The fog receded and still the Priest was untouched.
“Garoa!” a voice shouted. They turned to find Asnea had appeared behind with Kealin.
“Asnea! I told you to stay with Kealin down below!”
“I will fight with you, we must stop this evil.”
Kealin’s dag
gers were out. He circled around to the left of Sviska.
“Foolish girl! You should have listened to your father! I will teach him to not put faith in things that can be so easily taken. I will soon complete my sacrifices and have the staff of the wretched Kel. It was folly for you to come here tonight.”
The Itsu priest shrieked again, from its form came a spear held by a tail of blackened bone, it whipped from behind the Priest and went for Asnea.
Garoa leapt. He pushed Asnea into Brethor, taking the blunt tip of the spear into his shoulder. He cried in pain grabbing hold of the tail as the Itsu Priest flipped and rolled him into the air, the spear still within his body.
Sviska ran forward, plunging his dagger into the form of the Itsu. A shimmering light poured forth and a wisp of fog formed a fist and knocked him back.
The Rusis dangled above them; from his hands he cast flames all over the Priest. He looked to Kel, the enslaved god and prisoner of the Order. They locked eyes.
“God of war, may I have your staff?”
The clouds above seemed to tremble and the chains binding Kel rattled and shook as fire erupted in the clouds and out over the city. The Itsu Priest paused and looked up.
The rocky hold on the Staff of Kel turned to dust and the staff flew into the hand of the Rusis. The pearl atop it began to glow bright and the spear in Garoa’s shoulder shattered. He swung the staff at the tail and it broke into pieces, releasing its grip.
He looked to Brethor, who still held Asnea, “Get her out of here!”
Brethor nodded. Picking her up, he leapt from the tower, catching himself on random overhangs and lips in the stone work as they descended from the summit in a series of leaps. He dropped her on a lower level. The Wolves of Taria came to him.
“Protect her.”
The wolves acknowledged him and he began a hurried climb back up.
Garoa used the staff to heal his shoulder as the Itsu Priest stared down him, Kealin, and Sviska.
Garoa went forward. Twisting the staff, he evaded the Priest, striking the chains holding Kel and shattering the bindings, each in turn, as those of the Order began to wail.
The Priest of the Itsu walked towards Garoa, pushing aside those of the Order as though they were nothing.
“I will take that Staff, Garoa of the Rusis!”
Sviska sprinted forward with Sishan, lifting his blade, the open back of the Priest his target. But a hand caught him by his foot and he stumbled to the ground. Pushing himself up, Kealin stared at him with a straight-faced grimace and then smiled.
“You will not understand dis but dis is not the way for such ends.”
He struck Sviska in the chest with his hands. The half-elf’s eyes flashed white. Sviska felt himself fall limp, unable to move or speak. His mind became cloudy, like multiple voices shrieking.
Garoa moved around to the last chain and now the Itsu Priest was upon him. The Staff of Kel struck the chain and a dazzling light shot in all directions from the tower. The Itsu Priest wailed and fell to the ground. Garoa spun the staff again, leaping towards his opponent. He went to strike the Priest when the red blades of Kealin stopped him, crossed over the head of the Priest.
In a wisp of fog and light, the winds shot out from the tower, blowing Garoa backwards and to the ground. Kealin bowed his head to the Priest of the Itsu. The Priest looked up at the spiraling fires and smoke as Kel finally obtained freedom. He then looked back down to Kealin and then both vanished in a flash of white fire.
Brethor made it back to the top of the tower and saw Sviska on the ground. He went to him just as whatever Kealin had done to him wore off.
Sviska set up. Garoa stood near the chasm from where Kel had emerged. The war-god looked out of the mass of blackness at those of the Order that cowered before him. His mouth opened a burning white furnace. From the clouds came the god’s hands, long and slender. He grasped all of the Order that were upon the tower top with a single hand and devoured them.
“Mighty Kel!” Brethor cried. “The Saints have arrived. We have released you. Bless our struggles with your power. Your brother has sought your release and now it is so! Rejoice but let not our enemy assail us this day!”
Kel’s face turned to Garoa, who looked up into the sky, and placed both hands on the staff. From the clouds to his staff came a bright fire wrapped in lightning. He then turned, the swirl of fiery magic twisting around the top of the tower, as he pointed his staff east.
A dark fire with lighting shot out from it, surging first from the god Kel, then to Garoa. The Rusis’ hair furled in the wind and his eyes glowed. After a few moments, he lowered the staff. The clouds above them had dissipated and in a radiant glow, the massive form of Kel hovered before them.
Brethor took a knee and the others followed suit, “God of war, Kel, we give thanks for your aid.”
The triangular face of the entity looked down at them and then to the sky. There was a rumble of thunder and the sound of rock and glass crashing down below the tower. The Galhedriss Arcana appeared floating in the air and then dropped, open, upon the tower.
Kel lifted into the sky, his form becoming a cloud bank, and he headed north over the sea. The Polar lights above, followed and dissipated with him.
A bright sun had crested the horizon, as fires forced smoke up into the air and the bodies of Order lay strewn about. Garoa picked up the Galhedriss Arcana. It was the first time he had actually touched it.
“I know not these runes, but I must learn. He spoke to me,” he told them. “There is knowledge here that we need.”
“What happened to Kealin?” Brethor asked to Sviska.
“He has betrayed us.”
Chapter 7 Sweeping
From the west, the sky became alight as if the sun had broken through black clouds. The ground rumbled and a great earthquake shook the land. In all four directions, a red fire wrapped in a black bolt of lightning surged across the sky and down upon the field of battle.
The lights of Wura began to shine above as flame-laden whirlwinds began to twist and rip at the Legions. The screams and wails of agony were unlike any heard by those that fought that day, a blend of squealing fires and that of the men they once were. In a sudden silence, the flames dissipated and the Island Nation, the Falacar, and those of the Second Legion were left without an enemy to face.
The only sound upon the hills was that of the coastal winds from the sea. As Slats looked around, he began to see their own injured but none of the enemy remained living. Whatever had killed them, had reduced them to ash.
“We have victory!” shouted Ruir, “Victory!”
A cheer erupted from many but still others were halted in their actions and the sudden destruction of their enemy.
Arsus went to Slats and to Shadowhawk. The Falacar struck his chest and closed his eyes bowing to Arsus.
“I had heard no word of an attack from the Island Nation. But we came upon swift wings,” he sheathed his sword, “Upon hearing word of troops amassing along the sea, we prepared and were ready to march to aid you.”
Slats embraced Arsus.
“Thank you, my friend. You came at the best moment. The Island Nation Chieftains have a certain reserve for those of the Legion, they found such an alliance hard to believe.”
He looked around at the warriors of the Island Nation working to aid the injured and to check for life in those that did not move. From down the road, a series of horse-drawn carts came with additional supplies and aid. Those of the Islands met with those of the Legion and were thankful. They immediately began treating the injured.
“I hope we have changed their opinions. The rest of my legion is making its way to the southern region of the battlefield to check for wounded.”
“I will send some of my men, also,” said Bloodhawk.
Slats went with Euso back towards the ships of the Island Nation and found a Drean host coming to shore. Their two ships that had been beached were under repair. Several small boats were near the shoreline.
&nb
sp; A robed man shouted from the small rowing boat, “What news can the King of the Drean be told? Tell us what aid we can offer?”
Slats stepped over the charred bodies that were strewn across the beach and looked over the rubble of the ships. “We need medical supplies and those skilled in healing.”
“We have some and will send them. We also have sent ships west to watch the channel going into Lokam, however, we have received no word of victory or defeat. The King also questions the aid and the numbers remaining of the Legions from Lokam.”
“The Legions of Lokam were annihilated. The aid came from those of the Second Legion under Legatus Arsus, a rebel force within the Grand Protectorate as well as some type of divine magic from the west.”
The man raised his hands to the skies, “Blessed be, people of the North. The Drean see our hope of returning south coming to pass now. I will pass your message on.”
As midmorning sun began to shine, tents were sprouting up all over the plains as injured men and women were tended to and messengers of the victory on the fields gave a brighter air as the bodies of the charred Legion were dragged by horsemen to a quarry found further west. Those of the Island Nation that had fallen were laid one beside another and the names of the known dead were recorded. Out of custom for those of the Islands, the bodies were burned on the land, their ashes to be taken to the Island Nation when they could to be disposed of.
The Falacar Chiefs, Ruir, Arsus, and Slats gathered together under a small tent.
“The enemy has been defeated,” confirmed Ruir.
“But we know not of Lokam,” Slats stated, “We must go to them quickly, in case they are in need of aid.”
“Then we ride,” said Arsus, “If they have not all been killed, perhaps we can save some of our brothers, and I doubt the Island Nation knows of the lower levels of the city underground. Slats, Ruir, come with us.”
“You could not keep me here if you wished to. We will send word when others can come to the city, for now the injured should remain here.”
Saints of Wura: Winemaker of the North, Arcane Awakening, Reckoning in the Void (Saints of Wura Books 1-3 with bonus content) Page 64