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

  The forces moved quicker, those of the Island Nation falling behind those of the Legion as the drilled army pulled ahead.

  It was midday when the Legions began to fan out, their cohorts formed along a line of high hills looking down south towards Finar. The city itself was about the size of Lokam but laid out horizontally on the cliffs above a great sea that reached into the far south.

  The buildings were dark and, like a jagged crown, the walls surrounding had many tall towers with fires burning atop each of them. A shroud sat over the walls, like a thin veil of fog. Fires burned at the bottom of the walls at random spots and the ground shook as the catapults released another volley of stones.

  Slats, Asnea, and Berie rode ahead, leaving the Island Nation forces behind them. They found Arsus in a tent along the top of the hill. Slats glanced down the hillside to see the engines reloading for another barrage. Looking further out, he saw an ominous sight. No one was on the walls and not a single sound came from within Finar. Bitter northern winds blew the smoke from the fires over the sea.

  Around a large wooden table, Arsus and the new forces met with those of the Second Legion and Brethor, who arrived well before them with a host of cavalry from Taria.

  “We repelled two attacks just in this hour from the city,” a centurion told them. “The Legate fell within the second one and the enemy took two engines of our ten but they have kept their main forces within the walls.”

  “Have we been able to do damage?” Arsus asked.

  “Not as much as I had hoped, but some. The walls are hard. Harder than any stone walls I have seen,” the centurion took a drink from a nearby mug, the water running down the sides of his face as he slammed the mug back down and took his helmet in hand.

  “We will reinforce the siege line,” said Arsus, “We have this high ground but our flanks are exposed. I will hold a Legion in reserve along the hilltop. Place two Legions along the main line and when they arrive, I will send the Island Nation to the east flank. Deploy barrier mines along the eastern way and if we have any to spare, along the western one also.”

  Brethor laughed, “Arsus, my friend Rincew has already set up traps along the eastern flank with vines of the earth. Any attacking force will be hindered greatly in their approach. My friend is quite tired but, if time permits, we will reinforce your mines also.”

  “Then good,” said Arsus, “We will form and began the second phase of the assault. We cannot risk taking longer so once our lines are set, we will shift forces towards Finar and use the Hammer of Lokam to take the gateway and secure the inner temple.”

  Arsus scanned over Slats and Asnea.

  “Where is Garoa?”

  Slats looked behind him. He was unaware of where he had gone. Asnea touched his shoulder, turning him back to the others.

  “He sought further allies and will arrive soon. The priors will remain with us and support the main lines.”

  “I wish he would’ve told me but it seems all the saints are leaving. Slats, what is your calling today?”

  “Put me with the men, on the front, of course. I led those of the Island Nation once and I will do so again.”

  About that time, Ruir and Knasgriff arrived.

  Knasgriff removed his helm but Ruir stood in the doorway, looking behind the slanted eyes of his silver helm.

  “The Island Nation is formed. We are ready to march when ordered.”

  Arsus nodded, “You will take the east flank with reinforcements held to the rear of your position. You will then support the Legions advancing to the gate, Slats will join you. An important note is the sounding of horns. A long blast followed by two short ones and a second long signals advance. Repeated long blasts signal retreat.”

  “What is this retreat you speak of? All I can hear as that if I hear long blasts, our allies will fall back,” said Ruir. “The Lokam legions may be our allies but I can tell it will be Slatnichor and I that throw back these cursed ones! Let us go, dear dwarf.”

  Slats left with Ruir.

  “Asnea, the Leechers have taken positions along all the lines. You will do well to stay with the command here and when the gates are down, we will move forward..”

  “I will move along the lines then, my father will arrive. I will work with him when it comes time. For now, I will seek my master.”

  “As you wish. I do not have command over you. Keep yourself well,” he looked to the others, “We have a plan but we cannot foresee all events. Our goal is to first breach the city and then to get to this temple within.”

  Brethor nodded, “The Itsu Priest will no doubt arrive, it is just a question of at what moment. The Cursed Legions are in much greater number than our own. We also must not forget of the creatures summoned by the demon. Have we had word of their movements?”

  “Only that they are to our west and are moving towards us. I sent additional scouts on arrival but have not heard back as of yet.”

  “We must be watchful then. Though I know we have had deserters join our ranks from across the lands, we have no other allies this day.”

  King Youna of the Drean came into the tent.

  “We have few men but, with the whispers of stakes we are rallied to your cause to secure ours.”

  “I am happy to have you among us,” Arsus told him, “I understand you have weaponry of a different kind.”

  “Yes, our crystals are from islands to the far south. A combination of alchemy and nature but one that can be used well to equalize numbers. I only wish we had more.”

  “Your presence here, I understand, is for your own reasons and although you were enemy of the Island Nation. I do thank you for your service today.”

  “The Drean will help you to scour these evils from the lands.”

  Those within the tent then dispersed.

  Slats and Ruir moved along the far east of the hill line to a grassy valley where horse-drawn carts rode along the east flank, dropping different-sized metal spikes, forming a line of dangerous points and obstacles an attacking force would need to navigate.

  As they formed up along the furthest line along the flatlands reaching to Finar, the ground shook as a repeated volley of burning rocks turned the inner part of city into a firestorm .

  Small horns sounded as the Legions of Lokam emerged pushing a large tree on wheels with a massive cap of metal. The battering ram was the largest Slats had ever seen and required a great host to push.

  Someone shouted from within the nearing Legion, “The Hammer of Lokam will bring down the gate!”

  Slats could now see the gates of Finar were not a single gateway but a series of three gates. There was not one that was smaller or less strong than the other was. However, the central one and one to the west, had pillars and debris lying around them. The one on the eastern edge of the city still had a clear road leading to it and the ground was more forgiving for the men pushing the ram.

  As the siege engine progressed, the rest of the Legions poured down from the hills and formed behind them. Slats looked as two priors came to their side.

  “Garoa will return soon. Do not worry,” he told them.

  Ruir sneered, “Magic? We have Island steel! If only Kealin was here to join us.”

  Chapter 17 Twilight Skies Burning

  Along the western side, Asnea stood with Brethor atop the hill, looking towards the patrolling wolves on the far edge of the western flank. Brethor hoped they would catch scent of the approaching army of the demon’s creatures.

  The Legions of Lokam moved forward on the east flank. In the center, the engines of war fired without pause Finar. With a horn call and pounding of drums came the forces of Taria. After a quick check with Arsus who greeted Lord Utros, they began to line up along the western flank to protect the siege lines. Taria had made good time and would be the first to face those coming to relieve the siege.

  It was then the trees in the distance began to shake and rumble. Like drums, the ground trembled. Those of the Legion near them pointed. There was a shuffling of shi
elds along the line of legionnaires down below them. A loud animal-like roar echoed from the trees as creatures of all kinds emerged. It seemed that those that the demon had called had arrived with no intent to parley. At their lead, the magic casters with the goats skulls were in command.

  Brethor’s wolves hurried behind the main lines and surrounded Brethor, awaiting his lead.

  “I do not know all of these evil creatures we face but I am tired of seeing the goathead ones,” Brethor shouted.

  The Wolves of Taria began to howl and then growl towards the approaching enemy. Shadowhawk swung a sword in a circle near his men and then pointed. Along the line, flags signaled their movement and the orders.

  The Falacar riders rode along a stretch of dark green plants growing in the field. They then turned, riding forward, their people yelling as their bows twanged and bolts flew towards the creatures. Shadowhawk led the attack.

  The creatures they faced varied greatly. Some were like stone, tall and massive, slower than the others who were more like bushes than trees. The arrows had no effect. As the horses passed the strange creatures, their arms were as heavy branches and they tripped and threw down the horsemen. The large trolls like from before lumbered about, smashing at riders and nearly hitting their own, as small dog-like animals bolted beneath the feet of the horses. The steeds of the Falacar fell under attack at every turn.

  More of the men from before, those with goat bones atop their heads, appeared. They ran just behind the dog-like creatures and were the first to reach the line of vines.

  The ground erupted. The large green forms of the enchanted earth slapped and grabbed, tearing and throwing, though still some of the enemy made it through. The shields of Taria held strong against the first wave. Stones pelted them, the dog-like creatures slammed them. The Falacar retreated behind the lines of Taria, rallying again in the open space between Finar and the Legions as more of their tribes began to assail the attacking army from the west.

  Asnea rushed behind the lines of Taria. Master Nusian stood beside Lord Utros who sat atop his horse with more of his knights. Leechers were forming along the lines of Taria, their shots hitting those along the vines which, one by one, were ripped up by the enemy.

  “Knights of Taria!” shouted Lord Utros, “When the vines fail, we charge!”

  The horsemen were few in number but behind them the Falacar shouted in their own tongues, pointing at him.

  “We can hope they mean to go with you,” Master Nusian said.

  Utros nodded, “Keep your arrows flying, Leechers.”

  Along the eastern front, the Hammer of Lokam was nearing the walls of Finar. Oil and flames dripped from the walls now as the catapults fired at a greater arc, sending the flaming stones further into the city.

  From the distant hilltop, the horns sounded, signaling for advance.

  With shields held up, the Island Nation moved forward, watching for archers on the walls. The legionnaires, holding their shields above their heads forming an even more enclosing phalanx, moved much slower that the rest.

  They began to hear the pings and tangs of arrows hitting them. As the battering ram reached the door, volleys of green spikes and fire began to fling out from the tiny holes in the walls.

  “These are not arrows of wood but some magic.” Ruir growled.

  From the towers along the walls, tiny crystals lit and glowed. Bolts flew from them, hitting the shields like tiny bolts of lightning.

  Men began to fall and more rushed to take their place. From the base of the walls, a line of fire erupted and in a squeal of air, a blast of fire ripped into the shield lines.

  The front ranks of both legionnaires and the islanders were engulfed, melting the armor upon the victims. Screams filled the air.

  The centurions shouted commands, as did those of the Island Nation.

  “Hold the line, shields up. Hold.”

  “Legionnaires, to the battering ram. Let not your brothers fall in vain, bring down this gate!”

  The encroaching forces stood firm as men took to the ram. The fire attack from beneath the walls seemed to be rekindling but it was to the plains to the far east that Slats and Knasgriff turned their attention. A line of banners had formed.

  There was a glow upon the battlefield and a darkness in the air; the Cursed Legions had come and their line took the entire length of the field. There was a roar from within the mass. Their forms had once again changed. Now appearing flaming bodies of white fire where before the skin of men had been and wearing silver armor, the forces of the Itsu Priest rushed towards the eastern flank.

  “Centurions, our enemy approaches!” Slats shouted.

  One of the Centurions looked to him and then whistled to a standard bearer nearby. He made a fist and then a finger point to the east. The standard holder twisted the pole in his hands and a material with a bright sheen flashed with each twist. The legionnaires began to file closer behind them, turning their center from the city to the flank.

  “The legionnaires will reinforce our lines. Stand firm, dwarf!” Ruir then shouted down the Island Nation line, “Now is the time, men and women. Now is the time!”

  Slats looked as those of the Island Nation stood together. From the hills to the north, he could see the glimmer of sunlight on the armor of the reserve Legion coming to augment their forces. Falacar riders rode up along the battle lines as more of their kind went to their flanks, rallying together.

  Slats lowered his ax. He dropped to his knee and gripped a stone in the earth, bowing his head.

  “May the power of my people not falter this day.”

  His ax began to glow like a red fire. The runic inscriptions on it shining as tiny flames.

  A stampede of more men filed behind the three long-stretched lines of the Island Nation as the Legions nearest to the walls sent men to reinforce behind them.

  Harsh horns sounded to the east and arches of lighting and fire leapt from behind the Cursed Legions, high into the sky and into the clouds. The clouds turned as flames and fires from the heavens began to strike the grounds near Slats. The priors of Kel lifted their staves. Domes of bright light bounded out from the ground, before linking with the other staves and spreading out in a shield over the entire line. The raining fire and lighting came down even harder, battering but not breaking the shield above.

  The Hammer of Lokam still pounded the gates, its stone, though strong, beginning to break. The Cursed Legions passed through the shield and there was a shout along the lines. The Island Nation rushed forward. Slatnichor of the Dwarves, with Ruir to his side, smashed into the enemy.

  Garoa waited long after the stones were set in the river. The forces of Lokam were likely nearing the siege line outside of Finar but time was fleeting to him.

  He sat on a rock just outside the flow of the river, his gauntlets alight, the Staff of Kel loosely over his lap. He had read of a spell to call his dragons and laid it out now as the constructed stones begin to spin just above the surface of the water. A large river stone began to rise and spin in the center of the smaller ones. It was a beacon spell, one for calling those of the arcane, for the use of the caster. It had been used in the past to call creatures of terror down upon the enemies of his kind but now it was used to call friends of his, for much the same reason.

  The center rock spun faster and faster and the ground began to tremble before the stone, paused in motion, rocketed into the sky with a fiery tail. The spot where he arranged the stones turned to a white fire, exploding upwards and casting steam away from the river.

  Garoa was on his feet at once. His staff pointed forward, a voice echoed from the fire.

  “Come forth, Garoa, wielder of the staff. Step into the flames.”

  “This is not the spell I cast,” he replied, “Who are you? What do you want with me? I command the power of Kel and that of the elements. I fear not any Itsu trick!”

  The fire erupted higher and then outward. Garoa pressed his staff forward. From within, an arching hue of blue grew u
pward, surrounding him. The fires wrapped around him and darkened.

  The voice from before spoke all around him, “I am not of the Itsu.”

  He held his staff tight but something pulled it from his fingertips. He held tight to it, his fingers burning as one by one each became as fire and he released it. The staff flew from his grip and he pushed his hands up, using the gauntlets of the Rusis to hold the shield around him.

  “Garoa, Rusis of Elinathrond, wielder of the staff. Do not fear me, the one you released.”

  Garoa peered from the dwindling shield of magic and witnessed a blue fiery face of three points. His shield faltered and he fell to the ground, coughing blood. The earth beneath him was coarse and hard. Volcanic rock with the smell of brimstone from pools in the distance. He looked up to a blackened sky and then to the face he had seen.

  A man stood just out of his reach. He wore black armor with a clear sheen as fires erupted behind him. A black cape furled around his legs and in his right hand, he held the Staff of Kel. In the left, a large spiked blade.

  Garoa pushed himself to his feet. Reaching for his sword, he looked up again.

  “I know you do not wish to duel the god of War on his own ground with no more than a blade of iron.”

  Garoa knelt, “I did not recognize you in such form.”

  “I understand. This is my form as it was when I took such form a millennium ago. Much has changed but the time of the gods wanes still. My release from the prison at Lokam was an act I did not feel would come in time but I thank you for it.”

  “You are welcome, great god. Your staff has added to my power and that of the forces of the Island Nation and Lokam. We move now to secure Finar and end this battle against the Itsu Priest. I will face our enemy and I will defeat him.”

  Kel looked downward and then back up to Garoa, “You cannot kill the Priest. His power is beyond you or I, that is not as it will be.”

  “Do you say we will lose this battle?”

  “I say only that you cannot kill the Priest, and the Itsu are too numerous and powerful in the Void to allow us of the north to do much. Still, the Saints of Wura will make a glorious stand in the end and I will take the field in support of the many brave.”