They followed a path near the woods for a while, the red and orange of the sunrise passed above and, as they came to edge of the cliffs, they followed a rode that twisted back and forth down the rocky-faced wall. Though an established road, it was not used near the amount of the other roads maintained by the Grand Protectorate.
The pathways along the southern reach of the Tikens mountains was used much more in the old days. Now, the occasional cottage in the trees or an abandoned mine snaking into the cliffs, were the only signs of civilization. Pine forests along the mountains were crowned in fog, the dense darkness giving no hint to what was within.
Behind them, the high tundra and rocky ground gave way to the green grasses of the valleys. To the east, the river from Lokam flowing from the city broke into the Vutsra river, feeding into the southern realm and the Rinnska River, that flowed to the east. An estuary cut their path and they halted the horses. The wolves and the horses drank next to each other. A strange sight to any except the company that was present. The Falacar horses were unmoved by the wolves, even as they were sniffed and patted by them.
“Horses unlike ones native to these regions,” said Rincew, “Impressive.”
“They are beyond simple horses,” Sviska told him. “They fight. Rider and horse can split and both continue to fight as well as if together.”
“I prefer to trust myself,” the wolf-mage said.
He stood with his paws together; a green glow began to form. The other wolves stepped back from him and he fell down to all fours, the green orb striking the ground in front of him. The ground erupted in snake-like vines and bushes.
“Interesting,” Garoa said.
“I was a mage of the woods in my time. Stone and plants are my elemental powers. I am happy to see I can still cast, though it is different now as a wolf creature.”
“You will need me nearby to cast,” said Garoa, “This staff is an anchor for magic. We will need to unleash the western magic for your powers to be used everywhere.”
They mounted again. Until midday they rode; the wolf then stopped at a break in the mountains. He sniffed the ground.
“Someone went this way recently, I still smell their stink in the grass.”
“Of the Order?” asked Garoa.
“No, I smell feces and milk.”
“A strange combination,” said Berie.
“Not if it was what I think,” Rincew replied.
He ran ahead, sniffing the ground and then ascended a hill, lowering his body to the ground. The wolf sniffed the air again. The scent was in front of him.
The others dismounted, following the path the wolf took.
“How many?” asked Garoa, just as he crested the top.
“It is a village, not a place of war,” Rincew growled, “It was a very small child that passed this way, I see many children here.”
“It is an orphanage,” Brethor said, “Not unlike others in the years before.”
Brethor looked to Sviska.
“Are you sure you were summoned to this place?” asked Slats.
“I know it. I still sense it. It is beyond this village, further into the valley.”
“These cliffs are steep,” said Sviska, “I see no path but to pass through the village.”
“These people will not expect us,” Brethor said, “We will need to take care to not frighten them.”
Garoa nodded, “The wolves must stay then.”
“Yes. It is better for now. We will send word, Rincew.”
“We will wait here.”
“Priors,” Garoa said, “Remain here for now.”
The Priors nodded.
“Send word for us if you need us and we will be there,” one added.
The Saints of Wura and Brethor began down the hill. A wooden fence ran near a stream. It was no more than waist height and a small latch was unhinged and a gate was open. A man who had been sitting in the field near four goats stood and shouted.
“Hello, travelers. What business do you have here?”
As they approached, they noticed the man was garbed in gray robes. In his right hand, he had a curved staff but in his face was a warm smile and he waved with his other hand.
“Good day,” said Brethor, “We look for a path through the mountains.”
“No path here is good,” the man told them.
The village behind him was bleak. They could not see anyone. Berie looked further than the others could see. In the windows, she could see faces looking from behind pulled drapes. It seemed that in almost every house, there was a person peering out. Brethor also glanced where Berie looked.
“You seem to have some people looking out to us. Tell me on this fine day,” Brethor said looking up at the sky from his veil, “Why is no one out? A child went this way recently. I am surprised they are not enjoying the sunshine.”
“You may go to the village if you want but none wish to speak to you,” the man told them. “Head further south. There you will find a way around to western Taria. There is no need to go further this way.”
“Thank you for your advice,” said Brethor. He began to walk with the others trailing, “We will visit the village, then.”
The man stared with a slight smile, “Very well.”
Sviska watched as the man began back towards the goats, looking back as he did. Sviska placed his hand on Sishan and followed the others.
The village was indeed empty, though from the obvious evidence it was only recently emptied. Outdoor fires where half-banked, teas were left still steaming and tools for animal skinning, with a few fresh hides, were left out in the open.
“There is something aloof in this place,” Brethor said.
“Your wording is strange,” Slats said, “Something is wrong here, that is what should be said.”
Garoa went to one of the doors where they all noticed a shuffling drape. He knocked with his staff three times.
What movement was going on inside stopped.
“These people are afraid. More so than warranted if strange travelers arrived.”
“Perhaps they fear what befell Lokam?” Slats suggested.
“Maybe.”
They continued into the village. A blacksmith house was on the far edge, as well as a large two-storied building. From the windows, round and small faces looked out; a larger figure moved behind them and attempted to pull the children from the windows.
Brethor led them to near the blacksmith’s fire and they circled around it.
“I do not trust that man,” said Berie, glancing back to the front of the village.
“And no, you shouldn’t!” a voice said behind them.
They jumped and Sviska drew his dagger. At first, they didn’t see him but Garoa’s staff was alight as a man emerged from a closed closet.
“Do you want to bleed me?” the man asked.
“No, of course not, said Sviska.
“What is going on here?” asked Garoa.
“They came, and we have been in hiding since. We were told they were here to help us. They said people were coming that would want to just kill us. But I had no reason to believe ‘em. But I see you do have weapons, what do you need with us here?”
“We seek to go to a valley north of here,” Sviska told him. “Do you know of such a place?”
“That’s where they are. All manner of strange happenings over there. We were told not to approach, that anyone that did would be dealt with. A few didn’t listen and they haven’t come back. We have to be inside by night, some have whispered that beasts have been moving through as we cower inside but they watch the houses. We are told if we play our part, we will not be harmed.”
“Are they of Legion?”
“No,” the man shook his head quickly, “I have not seen Legion in some time; even when we did, they never harmed us. I had heard from family further south that people had been taken in the night but none of that has happened here.”
“What of the man at the front of the village?” asked Berie. “He does
not seem afraid to be out.”
“I used to know him but I think now he is one of them.”
Chapter 14 The Cleansing
“Stay here,” Sviska said, “Go to everyone you can in a few moments, explain we do not seek to harm them but to keep quiet. Slats, remain with him.”
The dwarf nodded.
Garoa pointed, “I would like to avoid a fight but the moment we go further north, they will try to stop us. I will go around to his right.”
“And I will go left,” Berie stated.
“Then we will go directly to him. He will not cause us any problem and if he does, he will be destroyed,” said Brethor.
Sviska and Brethor turned towards the man who could be seen in the distance, leaning against his staff.
Brethor’s blades slid down to his hands, Sviska’s hand gripped his dagger in a reversed grip but held out of view under his coat. They walked back through the village and towards the goats and the lone man.
“Make it true what I said to them, then,” he told them, “I knew you sought blood.”
Sviska and Brethor circled around him
Sviska pointed at him, “On your knees, man. What lies have you told these people?”
“Only lies to prepare them, which are truths if I am right.”
The man fell to his knees, his staff in hand. “Why is this necessary? We cannot harm you of Elinathrond.”
Brethor slapped the man, “Talk not of the city of Elinathrond, it is your kind that played into its destruction. Where is the Order?”
“A question worth asking but an answer not known.”
He slapped him again. The man collapsed on the ground.
“Why do you beat an old man? Can I not tend my goats?”
Berie remained hidden near a rocky outcropping, her bow bent. Across from her was Garoa who was close enough to hear the man weeping. Rincew was atop the distant hill, hiding in the grass and staring down.
“Go north, if you want! Just leave me!”
“That is what you want,” said Sviska.
“You will come with us then,” said Brethor.
The man began to smile and then closed his mouth tightly, “I just wanted to tend my goats and without tending, they get upset.”
Sviska looked back to Rincew who was now standing and pointing.
“We have been tricked!” shouted Berie, her bow twanged and an arrow flew towards one of the goats.
Unseen from the others, a goat had begun to stand, its form transitioning to that of a man. The arrow struck him and he fell, only partly transformed. The other three goats stood; the man that Sviska and Brethor held was staring at them.
“What are they?” the man cried, “Why are my goats changing?”
The staff he held flew to one of the men that before appeared as goats. His face was darkened with mud and on top of his head was the skull of a goat.
“That beggar worked well as a puppet! We knew we might get one of you Lokam rats, but now seeing all of you, I am happy. You feeble people will not stand against our power!”
“I thought the man was one of them?” said Sviska.
“Get him out of here!” Brethor shouted back, “He is not our enemy.”
He grabbed the old man and dragged him into the village towards one of the houses. He hammered the door with his fist.
“Open the door!” he shouted.
He banged it again. The two other men that were also goats went to the fallen man and began to bite into him.
“His flesh will be renewed in us!” the man wearing the goat head said. He then pointed to Brethor, “You will be devoured this day.”
Another arrow flew towards them, this one striking the goat skull.
The eyes of the skull glowed and then from the sockets came a gray smoke, rising into the sky. From the earth erupted rocks, spiked and tall. Brethor evaded them and ran for the man with the skull as the Wolves of Taria howled and ran to help them. Garoa lifted his staff and a dome of light appeared above them, encircling the village.
The door Sviska banged on cracked open. A young woman looked out, her eyes widened by the spectacle taking place.
“Take him, keep him safe,” Sviska demanded.
The woman did not move.
He took the old man in his arms and forced his way in. He set the man down and then bowed, “We do not bring ill will towards any of you. Go to others and tell them. Do you know of any others we should worry of?”
The woman shook her head no, but did not speak and only looked at the old man placed in her house.
Sviska turned and ran back out the door. Berie could no longer get clear shots from afar. Garoa still held his staff shielding them as he walked to the side. Looking up, he feared the return of the dark presence of the demon. One of the two men with the goat-head helmeted man turned towards him. He lifted his free hand and struck the man with a ball of fire. The man collapsed but only for a moment. He burst into white flames and then stood back up, renewed.
Garoa fired another ball of flames, sending two more in quick succession. Once again, the same happened.
“Magic is no good against them,” he shouted.
Brethor leapt and sliced at the man with the goat head. His blades cut into the body but the man did not bleed. White fire filled the gashes and they were healed. Another arrow, landed by Berie who had moved to a better position, struck the man but did not stick.
The wolves arrived, tackling and throwing him down as they bit at his arms and legs. He shouted and the wolves flew off him. Rincew arrived and tackled the man before he, too, was thrown off.
Sviska ran into the fray, slashing both of the other two men that Garoa had yet to dispatch. His blade slid along the neck of one; the neck split and blood splattered the ground. The second one he caught in the rib before punching him in the face. The man fell and shouted as Sviska cracked his neck with his boot.
“It is good you are here then,” shouted Garoa. “Perhaps Arsus was right about the need for blades.”
The man with the goat skull was now on his feet again, the eyes glowing. Brethor looked at the goat and then to Rincew.
Rincew howled and the man turned. The wolf pounded the ground and vines shot up, grabbing the man. Brethor then went for the skull, punching it with his blade. It flew upwards, blood poured from the man’s back as bones that had embedded themselves from the body of the goat shattered from Brethor’s strike.
The man was dazed. The goat head still glowed and hung off the man by way of a length of bones that intertwined into the man’s skin. An arrow struck the goat head in the eye and a fire erupted from the socket. Sviska slashed the bones with his dagger as Brethor struck the skull and Rincew tackled the man again. At last, separated from the goat head, the man fell lifeless.
Rincew pushed himself off the corpse.
“A strong entity. Let us hope that not many more of those exist.”
“Strange magic,” said Brethor. “The channeling device was the skull but how did they have magic?”
The Priors arrived and looked at what had transpired.
“Could it have been Garoa’s staff?” Rincew asked.
“No,” Garoa said, still holding his staff up, the dome of light above them. “They must have a source of magic nearby, like in Tuonia but something else. We must go north now, before others come. I doubt we have any surprise now.”
At that moment, a horn called to the north. The tall pines shook and shifted and roars followed the thunder of approaching footsteps. From the crevice of the valley came creatures, tall and brown, their mouths agape as their muscular bodies ran towards the village.
“Trolls!” Slats shouted.
They were three times the height of even the tallest men. A duo of monsters from the caves of the mountains. Awoken by the same summoning Rincew heard, their task in the valley was stopped in response to the arrival of Sviska and the others.
Garoa let down the shield above and he and the priors rushed forward. The Wolves of Taria were sti
ll tired and not able to attack as readily as they liked but began to walk in the directions of the beasts.
The trolls ran past the large building where the children had been looking out and came to the blacksmith’s shop. Slats was waiting in hiding. With a wide swing he cut into the leg of the nearest one, toppling it. Berie’s arrow, fired from the other side of the village, caught another in the arm, as a ball of fire and orbs of light pounded it. Brethor, well ahead of Sviska, tackled the beast at its head, the stench of its snapping mouth rank as he rolled over, driving his blades across its skull. Next to him, Slats cracked into the other leg of the first beast and it bellowed in pain. Brethor went to this one, too, cutting apart its skull.
“What folly is this? They wait for us. If I did not know my enemy, I do have a guess now. It is every foul creature imaginable. We must be careful,” Brethor said.
Garoa was still running, “Forward, all. Let us take the battle forward. Berie, I think it best you watch our backs.”
She nodded.
The Wolves of Taria, recovered now, were beginning to catch up. Sviska ran with Garoa, and Slats joined them. They ran into the trees that lined the top of the area where the village was and passed into a narrowing path between the mountains.
Ahead, lights sprang from the trees. They went towards another valley that opened up before them as they descended again. A sheer mountain stood at the center of the valley. Fallen pillars of ornate design and taller than even the trees if they had been standing, were scattered and thrown down.
A large stairwell went up towards the face of the mountain, alight with large torches and a bonfire near the rock face. Two trolls smashed tree trunks against it. In the skies above, a dark smoke obscured the summit of the mountain. It was unnatural in appearance only surrounding the one peak.
Garoa held his hands up, “Stop, everyone.”
“What is it?” Sviska asked.
As they began to scan the recesses of the valley, many more trolls and other smaller and similar creatures walked around. Small camps of tents with fires in front of them and figures with antlers on their heads, and even more of the goat skull people, were assembling around the base of the mountain.
Saints of Wura: Winemaker of the North, Arcane Awakening, Reckoning in the Void (Saints of Wura Books 1-3 with bonus content) Page 72