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

  There was a scratch on the door and a small peephole opened. It then closed and there was silence for a moment.

  “Let them in,” a voice said.

  There were two clanks and the door opened. The innkeeper from before, Leurka, stood before them.

  “Your friend is here,” he said to Sviska.

  They entered and the door shut behind them. Entering the main hall, they found the table clear and Garoa sitting with his staff across his arms, staring into the fire.

  “She is doing well. If anyone has been wondering,” he said as they entered the room.

  Garoa set his staff on the table and turned to them, “Thank you, and thank you all for dealing with me in my worries. I am much more relaxed, as much as can be. Do not worry of the locked door. Leurka did so in the attack and I suggested he keep it so, given the state of things.”

  He smiled at them, “I know I have been less than hospitable at times. But I feel much calmer now.”

  “As keeper of that staff,” said Brethor, “You must be.”

  “What of the people here, the Chieftains of the Island Nation, and of Taria, what is to become of this place?” said Slats.

  “We will need to meet with the others,” Brethor said, “I, however, will not be Lord of this place. In case you all had thought it perhaps should be, my last stewardship ended rather well.”

  “Successful for its purpose,” said Sviska.

  “Indeed,” said Brethor, “It has been a long while since such a deciding was needed but it would be best if we all convened and discussed it. These Poluti will need to be accounted for, as well.”

  “What is their purpose?” asked Slats.

  “A form of government for the Grand Protectorate’s citizens, though they have little actual say, at least in the southern regions,” Garoa said.

  “I am sure that is true here, but the people of the city will trust them more than us.”

  A knock came at the door, Leurka went to it and without coming to ask Garoa, opened it.

  “Thanks, Leurka,” a raspy voice said.

  With stomping feet, Nupps came in. His ax out, he threw a trio of rabbits on the floor inside near where Leurka stood and walked into the main hall.

  “Well, look here, we’ve got everyone together now! Pesky Legion are gone. A good day. I got some rabbits for a good meal.”

  “How have you been?”

  “Well. Less legion around here, it seems the little attack worked.”

  “If you call the battle little, I would not like to see what a large one is,” said Slats.

  “I do not know you. Dwarf, I am guessing?”

  “Yes, Slatnichor, or Slats as most know me.”

  Nupp closed his right eye, “I am Nupp, known by all as Nupp. I helped out your friends here before.”

  He took a seat near Garoa, kicking off his boots. “So the city is a bit different.”

  “I told you it would work,” said Brethor.

  “But those island dwellers sail and fish, I didn’t know they had such a fightin’ spirit. A few of the Legion fled the gates after y’all went in but I fixed them up nice and good. Bears will like their parts for food, I bet!”

  Another knock came to the door. This time, instead of opening it as before, Leurka paused, voices spoke and he shut the door. Leurka came to Garoa.

  “They want you all,” he said to them.

  They all stood, except for Nupp, and filed towards the door. Two Taria guards awaited, “You have been sought to enter the palace of Lokam with the others.”

  Leading them beside the waterway and to the great bridge on the southern stretch of the city, a escort of guards awaited down a rocky path barely visible beside the cliffs leading down near the falls above them.

  They passed into a tunnel where the waterfall rushed above. A cavern opened up and windows above the falls let sunlight from above shine down. Torches lined a pathway along the walls leading to two massive doors. One of Brethor’s wolves lay in the opening, panting.

  “Hello, friend,” Brethor said.

  The wolf looked at them as they passed.

  “I still need to recover the body, if the others have not, of the wolf that died on the causeway,” he commented.

  Knasgriff approached them from the doors, “The wolf would not leave. It seems the other wolves are also taking up guard around Lokam.”

  “You will find no better watchers of the paths than my wolves,” Brethor stated. “That, I can assure you.”

  “Saints of Wura,” Knasgriff said, “Legatus Arsus has opened this place to us. It is the Palace of Lokam and had been gathering place of Lokam, we figured you would like to come and be a part of our proceedings. The people of Lokam are have had their lives usurped and we feel we must right that wrong.”

  “Have we found the prisoners?” asked Sviska.

  Knasgriff shook his head, “We have not, and we do not know where they could be held other than here.”

  Following Knasgriff, they came into a grand area, lit from fires along the walls that burned with no known source of fuel. A fountain in the center of the room was the centerpiece of a grand working of many halls that descended down into the earth.

  “Is this of Dwarven design?” asked Garoa.

  “No,” replied Slats, “But is similar. Men, taught by dwarves, built this place.”

  Arsus spotted them from afar, as he emerged from a dark corridor, “Welcome to the Old Palace of Lokam. Not many have seen these halls for some time, other than the Order. Not even the Poluti have been within this place. Come, this way.”

  They followed him down the corridor, finding a large room, dark, and made of stone. Many seats rose upwards in all directions and a single throne, made of stacked stones and curved metal that reached into the rocks around it, loomed in the center of the room.

  “What is this place?” asked Sviska.

  “It was the heart of the Order, at least in rumor to those of the Legions, and was the most secure of places. But even this door was left sprung open when I led the first of the Island Nation and Taria down here. I have done some searching of the room and can say it was left in shambles.”

  He took a torch from a nearby guard and walked around the room.

  “I still do not understand what transpired here but I gather it was beyond the will of the Order. The practices and ordained ways and rituals, if I may say, were not a blind panic but their fleeing from here was.”

  He reached down, lifting up a book with torn pages. He showed the cover to them and revealed the book was charred.

  “Their books were precious. More has transpired here than what we know.”

  Arsus then lifted a metal box from the ground. It was similar to the one used at Kersa by the legionnaires of Varac.

  “A communication device, of much more use in the ages past but widely used by our forces before the “blessing” by the Man of Fog. Thrown down like trash.”

  He tossed the box and it clanged on the ground.

  Sviska walked along the edge of the room, noticing a sword laying on the ground next to the wall. He picked it up and, for a moment, returned to Taria, to the bedroom of Lord Utros’ daughter. This blade was one of a Keeper but he had been told by Kasis that all Keepers were as him, Dark Ones. Perhaps the Dark Ones had attacked the Order. He laid the blade back down and joined the others.

  As more of the individual leaders arrived in the palace of Lokam, more torches were lit around the chamber. The rubble of broken glass and shattered dishes was swept together and disposed of. Chairs and tables were turned upright, and as the Poluti arrived bound in chains, heated discussions began in individual corners of the room.

  Arsus stood and approached the Poluti; Knasgriff and Ruir both stood with him as he spoke.

  “Poluti of Lokam, you know my actions and deeds against the Grand Protectorate, but I say to you that I have secured you respect in these halls. We will take off your chains. It has been decided among the Island Nation, the realms of Taria, and myself t
hat you are to be allowed to be free so as long as none of you show ill will.”

  The Poluti seemed surprised but were happy to be free of their bindings. They went into the room with the single throne and ascending seats. Weapons were kept close by, even though a grumble of words from the Poluti said that Lokam was a place of peace and no weapons should be allowed around them. Ruir heard such whispers, and laughed quite openly about it.

  The assembly took their seats, each sitting next to their respective people. The Island Nation was represented by their Chieftains. Those of Taria, including the Lord Utros, and their Captains were next to them. Brethor sat next to the Saints of Wura and the Falacar Chiefs.

  The Iolas arrived late. Sediya came with two others whom landed just before the throne. Sediya deliberately walked over the throne, stepping into the seat before jumping and gliding with her wings to a spot not too far from the Falacar. The two other harpies followed.

  The Poluti sat in a group of ten, opposite the rest.

  No one spoke at first. Glances around the room and rapid jerks of eyes ensued when, at last, Knasgriff stood.

  “Lokam has been taken,” he began. “We sought to dispose of the Grand Protectorate and it was so. Our people have been taken against their will by the Legions and our rights were taken by the Legions. Their power in this part of the lands has been removed.”

  Ruir laughed, “We should head south, there are more of them and they have more places there.”

  The Poluti began to talk between themselves and finally one stood, looking at Knasgriff.

  “We want no part of your war-mongering. The Grand Protectorate had all but barred our speaking to anyone of power. We had been disconnected from their deeds and have lost our basic rights as representatives within the city. We thank you all of your kindness to us, even in capture but do not understand why you stand near those of magic. We saw the one cast a spell of fire, we do not wish for that sickness to spread again. Laws have their place.”

  Garoa stood, “People of Lokam, I assure you no sickness exists; it was a folly and a lie from the Order, the ones who command the Grand Protectorate and did away with those of magic. Their deeds are why we stand as conquerors and you now seek our approval.”

  “Said by one who casts it,” the man replied.

  “I do not cast magic,” said Knasgriff, “But I believe that no sickness exists nor did it ever. People of magic were cursed. The Order played us, then, against them when we of the Island Nation were the last to stand against them, once the armies of the Dwarves and Elves had fallen. We were the last blades that were rattled against the evils of other men. We had none of magic with us and we had no other allies. Even then, the whispers of a created curse were spread.”

  “He speaks the truth,” said Brethor, standing up.

  “Who are you?” the Poluti questioned.

  “My name is Brethor. I am with the Wolves of Taria, my friends. But before I was Lord of the City of Elinathrond, haven for those of magic and a safe place against the curse of the Order.”

  “You were Lord of a city we have not heard of.”

  “You see, there is this thing about secret cities and that being a good attribute of them. However your First Legion marched against us many weeks ago. Did you not see the host head north?”

  “They were practicing, as a good army does” another Poluti said, “an exercise in preparation for the destruction of the very Island Nation that sit beside you.”

  One of the other Poluti turned and pointed to the first, “Yes, because that is why my son became a mindless form of blue fire.”

  “Quiet you!”

  “I will not be quiet! You will not go against them!”

  The man trying to silence the other grabbed at him, tearing at his face with his fingers. The host of Poluti began shouting at one another when an arrow flew from Berie’s bow, striking the man that was trying to stop the other from speaking. His body slid off the frightened man, falling on the floor of the room.

  “Now, we can talk again,” said Berie.

  Those of the Poluti worked to calm themselves. The one that told of his son, spoke again.

  “We had received death threats. We were told our people should not speak of events outside of Lokam and of the Legion, or harsh punishments would come. The Grand Protectorate, the Order, has used assassins before.”

  “No doubt,” said Lord Utros, “One was sent for my own daughter.”

  “The Order is a myth,” another Poluti said.

  “They are not. But many of their lies have been thought true and are not,” stated Arsus, “We must all keep an open mind to new ideas and beliefs.”

  “We mean the people of Lokam no further harm,” said Knasgriff, “But you will no longer have power here. You may return to your homes but your personal guard will be chosen by the Legatus Arsus.”

  “He does not have the right.”

  “He is given that right by us, the conquerors of this city.”

  “So this is a conquest by the northern nations. You seek our land?”

  “There is no such plan,” said Lord Utros, “We and the Island Nation stated before that we seek not this land as our own. It is the Saints of Wura we have decided to honor this city with, they, and Brethor.”

  Brethor as well as Garoa, Sviska, Slats, and Berie looked to him and those of the Island Nation.

  “We seek not a city,” said Berie, “We wish to restore magic now in the west.”

  “Brethor,” Utros said, ”Your city was destroyed, correct?”

  “It was. But I say our city was destroyed, I was only steward to it for a time.”

  “As it is, those of magic lost their places in the world. It is fitting for them to have a place, even if not their own, to reside.”

  Bloodhawk did not stand, but spoke above the volume of the others.

  “The people of Elinathrond, some, they found their way to our lands in the east. They live under the stars, as we do, but they wish to return to these lands.”

  “And I have found some that have hid in the woods of Taria,” said Brethor. “They showed themselves as I marched with those of Taria and the Priors of Kel. They do desire a place to live.”

  “You have no army, but we will help you to keep Lokam secure. However, what has started cannot be stopped.” said Knasgriff, “This is one step that we of the Islands thought only a hope, but now we see that this is not the end.”

  “War is to return,” said Tvila, “And still we question of our people taken in the night by the Fourth Legions, the slave ships, and the atrocities of those murdered and placed on crosses along the road towards Srun. Where are our people?”

  The Poluti shook their heads, looking at one another.

  “We know not. Those crucified were done so in the middle of the night. Such punishments were not of common occurrence anymore, but the Order must’ve been at work. No prisoners were brought here that we knew of. We know not where such people would be kept.”

  “The tower that housed the war god?” suggested Sviska.

  “No human could dwell within that place in the realm of Kel,” Brethor said.

  “I would think the Priest of the Itsu took them when he fled, or moved them as we were preparing. I cannot guess. It was not the right time for the incantation and he will keep them for whatever his thoughts are now. The approaching hour to the dark moon will likely reveal much.”

  “We will continue to search for our people,” stated Knasgriff, “Further action is needed for war that has fled us now.”

  “It has not yet left,” Ruir grumbled, “Those in the south remain, as do their Legions.”

  “What of the Legions that departed within the last days?” asked one of the Poluti.

  “They are dead. Destroyed by Kel,” said Garoa.

  “Those of the Blessed were no longer our friends. Of the south, I can think of little that will have the power to help us. The city of Finar has long been devoid of Grand Protectorate influence, at least, since the arrival
of the Man of Fog.”

  “Will Kel destroy the other Legions?” asked Ruir.

  “Likely not,” said Brethor. “But we cannot tell. The ways of the gods are beyond us.”

  “In the spirit of concern I will say, as a Legion commander, that it is doubtful but I pray that other Legions will join our cause,” said Arsus, “I will hope to garner their support. Those who fought in the east were all of the Blessed Legions but not all men were blinded to what happened in our ranks. I know that some of the other Legions fled before their own blessing.”

  “Will they not march to retake the city?” asked Tvila.

  “They fear the war god,” said Sviska, “The Itsu Priest will not risk his own destruction by him before the Itsu return to power. That is the other reason we took this city. The staff wielded by my friend is a weapon of the war-god. The people of the nations before you that were taken are part of a mass sacrifice and somehow will bring the return of the southern gods. It is by the next dark moon we have to fully stop this plot.”

  “The Grand Protectorate abandoned this city,” said Knasgriff, “and of the Order, not one of them has been found.”

  “And the ones that were atop the tower were loyal to the Itsu Priest,” added Garoa.

  “We know not of this Priest,” one of the Poluti began, “but only that he was here. The people of Lokam have acted in support of the Grand Protectorate for many moons without a true love of them. A hastiness in their actions and a lack of empathy in their ways had lost them any respect among many of the city, though the many of the people are still without desire to support any but them.”

  “One leader taking over will not be accepted,” another said.

  “Then we must not have one leader. You are representatives of the people?” asked Brethor.

  “Yes.”

  “Then go to your people, speak, and speak openly. Let them know we mean them no harm and wish to cooperate with them. Tell them our quarrel is with the Grand Protectorate and the evils of the Itsu Priest. Return here, and then we will decide of further purposes for all involved We will select those that will represent the city, and of those that will govern, and a council will be held to further discuss our plans. We may have war upon us soon and those of Lokam must be ready.”