“Perhaps we do need Arsus’ men,” suggested Sviska.
“There are many, yes, but no,” said Garoa. “I will cleanse the valley with the priors, we have no need for senseless bloodshed.”
“Master,” one of them whispered, “We are with you.”
Upon his saying this, the priors gathered along his sides.
“Stay behind us,” Garoa warned, “Had Master Nelkor been alive at Elinathrond and performed this, we might not have lost the city.”
Lifting his staff, he cried out loud, “Essence of Kel, war-god of the mountains, enable me to vanquish those that defile these lands.”
His staff began to hum, as did those of the Priory of Kel. A greenish glow began to form like a weaving spider’s web in front of them reaching up into the sky. The ground trembled and the ground beneath the line of staves turned black as the plants died and curled.
Those behind the line hid their faces. Sviska tried to watch but saw only the robes furling about in the whirlwind that had taken the valley. The burning he felt in his eyes was not worth it.
The web of green surged forward as Garoa marched with the others. The valley seemed to moan and quake. The life forces of everything living between the two walls of rock ceased. When at last the trembling stopped, Sviska looked up, as did the others.
Blackened land greeted them. What camps had been there were now charred frames. Those that walked around before were lifeless; even the goat-skulled warriors that they had struggled to defeat before, were no more.
“The power he wields is beyond understanding,” Rincew said.
They followed after Garoa who now stood before the stairwell. A stone altar was there with a tablet and inscribed runes.
Garoa turned to them as they approached.
“We were good to come here.”
“What is it, what does it say?”
“Those that had gathered here sought the path to the Itsu. I know not the language of the south but I see one rune that stands out.”
Rincew stood on two legs, looking at the tablet. “They seek the Void of Ages, as written here. But this tablet came from elsewhere.”
“Where is the Itsu Priest?” asked Slats.
Thunder above them shook the ground, the smokes above swirled down and a figure of blackness now stood before them. Its feet and hands solid black, its face was that of fire but yet did not burn. It opened its mouth and words came forth.
“Welcome to this place, those of Wura, and the other forsaken gods. Your dealings here have nothing to do nor will have any thought towards the Itsu Priest, for I, Diea, proclaimed Lord of Demons, have been awoken.”
“You are the same wretched being that inhabited my sewers!” Brethor shouted. “Damn you, creature of Ustavis!”
Brethor tossed his blade, which went through the demon unscathed. It clanged against the rocks behind him.
The demon laughed, “If you want me dead, my masters are above. To defeat me, you must defeat them.”
The being vanished from sight.
“They are cornered,” said Garoa, “The Order is here.”
“The Order cannot be its master, Ustavis was its master,” said Sviska.
Slats suddenly laughed, “I understand now why the creatures struck this wall. It is not just stone but a door, like the one in Elinathrond.”
“Then how could the Order, or anyone else, open it?” Slats questioned.
Garoa turned and began up the stairs.
Brethor looked to one of the wolves, “The elf, go get her,” he said.
The wolf turned and ran back towards the other valley.
Garoa made it to the door and his hand began to glow. As Sviska, and Slats stood near it, the door began to glimmer in a red outline on the sheer rocks.
Atop the mountain, a white light began to glow and a vibrating sensation ran down the cliffs. Brethor and went and retrieved his thrown blade.
Within a few minutes, Berie arrived and, in shock, she looked around at the valley. However, seeing the others, she joined them.
Sviska approached the door and placed his hand on it. The images of the anvil and stars on the back of his hand glowed. The door appeared in the rocks and cracked open, a black line now visible in the rocks as the two massive doors folded in. Before they had opened up completely, Garoa and the Priors were inside. Sviska followed, as did the others. The wolves and Rincew were the only ones that remained outside.
The lights from the staves were the only light in the structure. It was open and hollow and little could tell them what this place had been in times long ago. Above them, they could see white light emanating through the ceiling.
A stairwell in the center of the room spiraled to the top, and in a careful climb, they began up. Within the heart of this mountain, there was no other light. Drawing closer to the top of the stairwell, they began to feel vibrations from the white light. It was a spell of some kind and one that, though strong, Garoa spit at upon seeing the thin veil of fog upon it.
“Is it the Priest?” asked Slats.
“No. It is a type of barrier spell but a poor one, from the look of it. It should be gold. Someone of weak magic has made this. It is enough to deter any of old magic from approaching from above. Not even the Itsu Priest, I believe, could get past this. It devours magic, especially the kind of the southern gods or of death, like the demon. This spell was made by the northern gods. If you cannot tell, I have learned much of the Galhedriss Arcana. Perhaps the Order has learned it.”
“Can you break through?” asked Slats.
“The Staff of Kel will deal with this spell.”
He touched his staff against the light; like a clearing haze, it became no more. No longer veiled, they spotted not only the sky but the horrified face of one of the Order, fleeing from the stairwell.
They ran up the rest of the stairwell and a bloodbath ensued. As the Saints of Wura emerged, those of the Order fell to the arrows of Berie and the blades and magic of the others. Sviska ran along a boulder, leaping down to slice two more of the old men. Their staves held out, they did not resist as he had thought they would. He sliced one and then paused, before kicking him to the ground. The man worked to breathe.
“What are you waiting for, we cannot resist any longer!” the man yelled.
Sviska stopped, “What do you mean, man?”
“It is not as you think! The demon works with the Priest of the Itsu. We guard this last place to protect it from you, yes, but we are no longer of power like before. You must listen to me!”
The others were in a rage, the many that had gathered atop the mountain were indeed the last and it was with that realization that the others sought to kill every single one of them.
Brethor, too, had noticed the lack of fight, the tiredness, the almost careless trance they seemed to be in. As each of the others began to notice the same, they stopped. Even the priors paused in their actions. Garoa struck the remaining few. Looking up a stone staircase, he pointed and shouted, “The last seal! I see it, the granite altar is there!”
Slats looked to where Garoa pointed and saw the seal of Etha.
He shouted towards Berie whom just released another arrow, “The necklace!”
Berie tossed it to him and turned back to her task. He ran forward, joining Garoa as they went up the steps.
Sviska looked down at the old man.
“The seal is what they want,” the man told him, “They must have magic. We had sought to stop you, but with one unsealed they gained allies unlike any we could face, even with some magic in our control.”
Slats and Garoa stood above the seal, the Dwarven key in hand. In a jab, he inserted it and twisted the seal open.
Light splashed the mountaintop and the temple of the mountain turned bronze. Flowers sprang along the rocks around them and swirls of light spun from around the Dwarven Hand.
“It is too late now,” the man told Sviska. “The Itsu were a foe we defeated in part long ago. We held Kel as a weapon against them; we soug
ht the Galhedriss Arcana for ourselves to protect the rest of the world. We sought to protect others. But none can resist the Itsu or their Priest.”
“But you attacked Elinathrond, you sought to kill all of magic. At Tuonia, I dealt with the Order Hand. He had no fear of the Dark Ones or the Itsu Priest.”
“And a small price if we were to kill you all and stop this, if we could prevent the return of the Itsu? I do not expect you to understand, Sviska of the Keepers, but know that though there are some that are inherently bad, not all of the Order sought an ill end for those of magic but we saw no other end to the wars of long ago.
“The Order Hand has vanished. I fear what he may become but I will not see that day. I wish you to know, there were others like you, others that went against the Order. They are hidden now. They guard the children we sought to kill. They hide them from the Dark Ones.”
“I know of no other children but only the child I was sent to murder. How do you know me?”
“Who does not know you among those of the Order, especially now? I am he who penned the letter to you after your failure in Taria. You were the closest to Elinathrond but then Kel was not to be held down much longer. With the emergence of the Itsu Priest, many poor decisions were made.
“I guess one of them was sending you, Saint of Wura. It was too late when we determined who the Man of Fog, as I have heard him deemed, truly was. Perhaps, it was meant to be with you being who you have become. The world could be overdue to begin a time of eternal rest.”
Brethor and Berie both were with Sviska now. Slats and Garoa had made their way back down the steps, somewhat confused as to the gathering around the man.
“What lies does he speak?” Garoa shouted, “You should have used that blade quicker, Sviska.”
Brethor held his hand to Garoa.
“Man of the Order,” Brethor shouted, “I hear your words but know I believe you little by the standard you wear. I do feel you tell us some truth but we need more. Where is the Itsu Priest?”
“Finar, it is an old place of the Itsu. Everything has became the Itsus. Our beloved Legions have been turned to the will of darkness and fog. There is desolation to come like never before.”
It was clear that the man of the Order had began to talk almost unceasingly. He paused for a moment and Brethor interjected a question.
“Why did your forces below pound on the door, why not let them in to protect you?”
“They were not ours. We came before them and hid. They were sent after us. I do not know why the Itsu Priest did not come but we are not its allies to know such things.”
The man began to cough and spit up blood.
“Where is he injured, Sviska?” Brethor asked.
“Nowhere vital to life, I didn’t strike him in a place to kill yet.”
The man shook his head, “We did this, an effect of the spell that protected us. We are not as good at magic as we should be but a sacrificial spell bound to our lives is one that not even the Itsu can break. But it was created in the north and so your staff of the war god did away with it. I will die soon and with that, I hope to find peace, as I worry about the rest of our kind until my last breath.”
“We will work to preserve them,” Sviska told him, “Our strife is with the Itsu and those who stand with them. Men are uniting with those of magic against the Itsu Priest.”
“Then I do not regret sending you to Elinathrond to fulfill the need of The Order. Though it was thought a failure by the rest, I see now our goal fulfilled in the ones we were against.”
The man’s head relaxed and his eyes closed. Sviska stood and looked to the others.
Brethor nodded, “It is with these last words the Order fades, as it is in my mind. That is, if I have a pen in the histories of these days.”
Slats nodded, looking at the others. “What now?” he asked.
“We scour what we can find here and then return to Lokam,” Garoa said.
Sviska poured water across his blade, noticing the man whom he had spoken to moments before was now stilled. His breathing had ceased.
Brethor patted Sviska on the shoulder, “It is well it ended this way.
Chapter 15 Further Shadows
Sviska glanced at him and then to the dead around him.
“This world changes faster than I can get used to my understanding of it.”
Brethor nodded, “Such are our days in this world.”
A sharp wind blew upon the temple. From the sides of the mountain came sudden growing shadows and the demon from before stood upon the granite altar.
“Saints of Wura, I am happy to find you gathered here today! You have defeated the vile ones that sought to preserve this place as a seal and you even released magic to the world. Now your time is done and I will take charge of your destruction.”
Garoa, who had already began to scour through a pile of books glanced up at the specter who had arrived. Some of the priors lifted their staves, but their lights darkened. The demon raised his hands and their lights went out, their staves became as stone and they dropped them.
“Even now,” the demon continued, “the forces of magic are pooling together under my banner in the far west. The creatures of the woods, the mountains, and the waters, will be under my command, in honor of the Itsu.”
“Honor!” shouted Slats. “I remember, at the eastern seal, a certain stone guardian that did not have such happy things to say of you, beast.”
“Quiet, dwarf.”
“You are not welcome here, demon,” Garoa stated, not looking at the demon but stepping between it and the others, his staff held horizontally at his side, its strength unaffected by whatever had befallen those of the Priors.
“My name is Diea, Lord of Demons. Address me as such. I have toiled much to establish my place in the lands. The Itsu will not destroy me as a lesser being. They will see my power at last when I overrun Lokam with my forces. I will stand beside them in honor.”
“I need not know your name, you said that before,” Garoa commented. “You are disillusioned and perhaps you need rest. Perhaps the souls of your form seek solace?”
“Do you wish to anger me, Garoa, of the weak and wretched Rusis?”
“I am done with your words.”
The Staff of Kel surged with light and Garoa turned, splashing the creature in white fire. A screech echoed from the mountain, down into the valley, causing Rincew and the wolves to begin howling. They became higher and louder, the screams now causing the others around the shrine to cover their ears and bow their heads.
“Priors, take up your staves!” Garoa shouted.
The staves of the Priors were now wood again and one by one, they picked up their staves, joining Garoa.
“Demon of the Lich,” said Garoa, “May your works be undone, may you not harm another, may the memory of Master Nelkor and his death be on your mind. I, Garoa, Saint of Wura and wielder of the Staff of the War God, banish you to your death.”
The fire began to flicker on the being, its form that of a shriveled meat, its eyes blackened and its body became leathery and frail. It then split into multiple corpses that flopped around on the ground.
A quivering whisper spoke out in several different voices, “Again… death.”
An orange glow began to appear in the cracks in the skins of the bodies and they turned to ash. At last, the demon of Ustavis had been defeated for good.
“For Nelkor,” Garoa said.
“Garoa’s power has grown,” Sviska said to Brethor, “But when is too much?”
“As long as he uses it to good will, I see not a limit,” Brethor replied.
Under wishes from Brethor, they took time to stack the bodies of the Order and without further mentioning a fire was lit, the smoke rising into the sky.
Sviska stood watching the bodies of the Order burned. A strange emptiness overtook him as he thought of the vileness he had known but also the closure at seeing the final moments of those he once served. His mind then went to the curse upon him a
nd then he remembered the words of the Gypsy Mother. He must resist his mind being worn down, his resilience should stay strong. Those who had been the Order still lived among those that now served the Itsu. Kasis still lived, as well as did others, trained as he. The Keeper he had seen the other night had said some of the Order escaped. It was too late for them now. Sviska wondered now of the children mentioned by the man before. He had many questions but they would have to wait.
As they emerged from the lower level, Rincew looked at them as they passed.
“The Order is no more,” said Brethor, “The demon, too, is defeated.”
“I heard the scream of death, as well as felt the return of the magic to the land.” Rincew said, “Many happenings today in such a short passing of time.”
They proceeded out of the valley and back towards the village. As they approached the town, the villagers had gathered and pointed as they walked between the buildings.
The blacksmith stopped them from passing, “Are they gone? The ones that were in the valley?”
“Yes,” said Sviska. “You may rest now and know that evil is gone.”
There was a sigh of relief and those surrounding began to bow and shake the hands of the saints and priors of Kel.
“Blessed are you.”
“Rejoice, for we are delivered,” the villagers would say.
When the small crowd had finished, they told them farewell and began out of the valley, through the gateway they had come. They began to ascend the hill when the sound of approaching hooves pounded the ground.
Berie lifted her bow, just as the feathers of the Falacar and the shining armor of the Legion on horseback came over the top of the hill. They slowed their horses and one of the Legion spoke.
“We are of the Lokam Second Legion, we heard a clamor from the mountains. Cohorts march this way. We were to support you in need. Tell us where the enemy is.”
“No enemy now,” said Garoa, “But the people within the village need protection and a company of guards may be acceptable to them.”
“How many men were sent?” asked Slats.
Saints of Wura: Winemaker of the North, Arcane Awakening, Reckoning in the Void (Saints of Wura Books 1-3 with bonus content) Page 73