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

  “Do you hear that, on the wind?” asked Berie.

  “Yes.”

  Sviska scanned the surroundings, hearing the sound again.

  A grove of trees and large rocks were ahead and he made out the sound of strained breathing.

  “Over here,” he said, leading Berie to the grove.

  Walking past a tree, he looked down to find an Iolas. He drew his blade from his waist, but the creature did not attempt to stop him.

  Berie had an arrow set to her bow but did not draw it back.

  Sviska grabbed the Iolas by the wing. She had been struck multiple times, her feathers were tattered and bloody with splintered bone, like a broken branch, sticking up at the apex of her wings. As he released her wing, she winced in pain.

  “Please, I do you no harm,” she begged.

  “Tell me where Sediya is. Now!”

  She did not speak.

  He placed his dagger against her neck, “I have not time for this, harpy. Tell me.”

  “Dead,” she whispered.

  Sviska stood up as the teary-eyed face of the woman looked to the ground.

  “The Man of Fogs came with the men that wear black hoods. The Cursed Legions were here, too. We had no chance to defeat all of them but she knew how to defeat him only, yet he knew her mind. He knew her intent. She could not stop him. The moment you go to speak it against him, he knows.

  “Speak what?” asked Berie, “Is it some incantation?”

  “The Man of Fog is made from an incantation, what the Itsu call him holds both the power of birth and death. My Priestess knew that name.”

  “What is the Itsu Priest’s name?” Sviska demanded.

  She shook her head, “I do not know it. Only she did. They took your book. I know that is why you came, not to take care of one such as me.”

  Berie whistled and the horses came to their side. Upon seeing the Iolas they stomped the ground and seemed to growl.

  The elf stood, rubbing both of their snouts and speaking in her tongue words that Sviska did not know. Their nervousness quelled.

  “They will take you back to Lokam,” said Berie, “If any question you, tell them that Berie the elf has sent you to Euso to be healed.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of your master, you were doomed to die but perhaps in your confession, you will have life again.”

  Sviska looked around at the bodies of the Iolas around them. None of the others seemed to be breathing.

  “You may be the last of the Iolas, what is your name?”

  “I am Lewya.”

  “Then, Lewya,” Sviska said, lifting her onto the horse, “Go, and be safe.”

  The Falacar horses, with the Iolas woman, began back towards the northern road and were out of sight within moments.

  Berie looked to Sviska, the ax still in her hand.

  “Take it,” she said, “My bow is enough for me.”

  He took it and pulled her to him. For this moment, his mind was not on the task but on her.

  “These days could be our last,” he whispered to her.

  She looked up at him and behind her brown hair that hung over her face, she exhaled as she felt his warmth drawing her in. With the sea beside them, they kissed and then looked upon one another, him holding one hand on the middle of her back and the other on the amulet of Brethor.

  “Hold on,” he said.

  She closed her eyes, as did he, thinking of the orphanage and of his childhood long ago. The fluttering of bats rushed around them and they lifted into the sky.

  Beneath them, the lands passed as the sun began to shine. They were flying further south than Finar, down a strip of land that was the growing region for the fine wines he remembered from his childhood. The sea was beneath them.

  It was sometime later, as the sun rose higher, they began to slow before descending down to the ground. A lone set of ruins sat upon a hill. Dropped on the green grasses, Sviska looked up at the charred remains of the structure. His childhood home.

  An empty feeling fell upon him for his memories were strong and had returned to him months ago at Elinathrond. He thought of his helping the winemaker nearby and glancing further south, he could see the rolling hills where the grapes were grown.

  “Is this the place where you lived as a boy?” asked Berie.

  “What time I had as a child, yes,” he replied. He looked north towards a dim smoke that rose into the sky.

  “Finar is further north,” he told her. “I have never looked upon it but from here it will take us many hours. Night may well be upon us by then and I cannot guess of the happenings of the Legions but I feel we will arrive well into the battle.”

  Sviska approached the ruins. It was little more than broken stone walls now. Through the remnants of a doorframe overgrown with weeds, he noticed the crumbling stack of the center fireplace. He recalled Elinathrond, sitting with Brethor as he showed him the image from his childhood in the Annuals of Eclipses. He smiled, knowing that he had someone watching over him even then.

  There was a great gust in the air and the clouds began to surge above them, swirling and twisting along the sky. Sviska shaded his eyes as the sun began to swing across the sky and was set low upon the horizon. The sky had shifted from a deep blue to red, and black clouds rolled over the western mountains towards Finar.

  In the grayish clouds appearing above them, a ribbon of the polar lights flashing red stretched from the north and rested above them.

  “Saints of Wura, my brother has stepped towards the ending of times. Twilight has been cast and all motions of the world have been halted. The Itsu Priest has returned with the Galhedriss Arcana.”

  The voice thundered against them as a clawed hand wrapped in white armor reached down, “The time has come, I will take you to Finar.”

  Sviska looked over to the sea. The waves that had been crashing upon the shore were halted, and still. The world had been halted in the stillness of twilight.

  He looked to Berie who had one hand on that of the god Wura’s and the other out towards him.

  “Let us finish our task,” she said.

  He took her hand and then closed his eyes. He felt his body pulled to the north with speed that did not allow his eyes to open until a stench struck his nose and he felt his feet on the ground.

  The smoke was thick from the city and the cries of battle filled the air around them. Sishan was in his hand, as was the ax of the Falacar. Berie had her bow taut and surveyed where Wura had dropped them. It was then a voice called to them.

  “Sviska! Berie! Over here!”

  He turned to see Asnea behind a pillar with her finger pressed against her lips.

  “This way, come now.”

  Berie and Sviska joined Asnea kneeling by a lone pillar.

  “They have taken the city.”

  “Who?” Sviska asked.

  “The Forces of Lokam. Brethor, Slats, and—” she paused.

  “What?”

  “Kealin.”

  “He is not to be trusted.” Sviska reminded her.

  “He led the assault on the gate and helped them advance into the city. We need any allies we may find this hour.”

  The Itsu Priest and Garoa fought in the skies back and forth in explosions of light and fire. Flying high above the city, the dragons of Garoa circled but could not approach without finding themselves caught again by the hexes placed on Finar. At some point, the Priest had descended beneath the hexes, forcing the Rusis from his mount. Garoa used the powers of the staff to stay in the air alongside the Priest.

  As the clouds above began to cover them and loom low with rumbling thunder, the fogs began to drift over them. Black masses dropped into the courtyard of the temple and the fogs plumed around them. The Dark Ones appeared.

  Sviska walked forward and the others followed around him.

  “Your stench is unwanted and you defile our grounds,” one of the Dark Ones said.

  There were many of them and moving into a large encircling formation
, it was obvious they outnumbered the Saints of Wura.

  “Kasis will come soon but he does not care for any except you, our brother. You will join us today in glory.”

  The circle of Dark Ones had formed. Asnea and Berie pulled their bows back.

  “There are too many,” Berie said.

  It was then there came a flurry of knives flying into the side of the circle. Many Dark Ones fell, pierced by the blades. From the western portion of the temple, the old Keepers of the Order, those of Dran, had scaled the wall and now sprinted at a hasty pace, sending another barrage of knives.

  “Weak ones, afraid to commit to the Itsu!” a Dark one yelled in a harsh tone.

  Dran threw back his hood and drew his sword, “For Sviska and those of Lokam. We fight for all men.”

  They clashed and a battle between the old and new world ensued. Sviska ran to Dran’s side as multiple blasts of magic forced the Keeper to roll and hide near a stone terrace.

  “Thank you,” Sviska told him.

  Dran nodded, “We followed the army. I told you we would be by your side in these moments.”

  They both leapt up and worked to take down as many Dark Ones as they could.

  Another plume of blackness dropped into the courtyard. Sviska squinted, seeing as the figure reached down and lifted the Galhedriss Arcana from the ground.

  The man looked around at the battle of his brethren and then began a quick-paced walk up a stairwell that lined the temple. Sviska knew who it was. Kasis.

  At the far end of the courtyard, a wolf howled and leaping from other side of the walls appeared Runka, Brethor, and Slats. Brethor slid off the wolf and began to sprint, pointing his blades towards the temple.

  “He takes the book the altar!”

  Chapter 19 Sacrifices

  Slats held tight to the mane of the wolf as it thundered across the courtyard. Brethor’s blades flashed in front of them as he sprinted, taking the lead.

  Kasis turned and looked their way before disappearing into the inner sanctum of the temple.

  Runka and Brethor jumped a reflection pool and the scratches of the wolf’s claws on the temple came just before the sounds of shouting to their side. Slats looked down to see Sviska, Asnea, and Berie fighting their way through the Dark Ones to reach them.

  As Slats entered the doorway, he saw a long hallway with pale torches lining either side. Brethor was ahead of them and, reaching the end of the hallway, he turned left and shouted before the sounds of clanging metal filled the air.

  The wolf growled and ran faster. Another shout from Brethor and the wolf seemed to be panicking to get to the end of the hallway. Sliding and scraping, the wolf made the turn. Slats slid off the back of the wolf and struck the wall.

  Sviska and the others had broken from the battle outside and were hastily approaching but Slats’ head was spinning. He was unable to stand and was now bleeding from his head.

  Sviska reached Slats and then turned to see Brethor and the wolf fighting Kasis. The wolf had done well to hurry to his master’s aid. Brethor was on the ground and was struggling to stand back up. His right arm had been gashed and he was now limping, blood pouring from his leg.

  The inner sanctum had another hallway across two large rectangular pools of water. In the center of the room was an altar with arches that extended from either side of it up to the roof of the building. The center of the room spiraled up to a glass steeple. A glowing fog hung above them.

  Kasis clutched the book in his hand as he spun a large spiked whip from his robes, knocking the wolf down. Brethor lunged at him but was pushed aside as the Dark One dropped the Galhedriss Arcana and drew his curved sword. He turned his hand to the wolf and in two slashes cut into the pelt of the animal, spilling its blood on the ground.

  Sviska ran towards Kasis but it would be Brethor who would reach him first. The once-Lord of the Estate and Master of the Wolves of Taria struck the man’s face, following through with the blade along his forearm but found the back edge of Kasis’ scimitar forced against his neck. He looked to Sviska for a moment, before blood sprayed upwards and he collapsed with Kasis smiling above him.

  “No!” Sviska shouted.

  Kasis attempted to speak but was cut off by the dagger and ax of Sviska. In a dance of blades they fought; the blade of the sea was alight in a radiant light. The whip swung near his leg and he took to the air, grabbing hold of Kasis’ armpit with his ax, he spun, driving his dagger towards his opponent’s torso but missed.

  Berie had her bow drawn and watched for an opening between the two of them. But in their spinning and fighting, she could not get a clear shot.

  Asnea now had Slats sitting up and her own bow was bent but she knew she lacked the skill to hit Kasis.

  Berie waited, but it was then that to her left, up a walkway that led to a balcony outside, Garoa appeared. In his hands he gripped the Staff of Kel, white light pouring from his body; his gauntlets were green with flames. The Itsu Priest was above him, casting bolts of lightning down towards the Staff of Kel. Garoa seemed to stretch out his staff. A blast of fire knocked the priest back out, and the Rusis flew back into air, rejoining the fight.

  “Berie!” shouted Slats.

  She looked to the dwarf with wide eyes. He was now on his feet and, with ax in hand, he stood at the end of the hallway at the entrance of the temple.

  “They are coming from the outside,” Asnea said.

  Berie heard the dwarf shout and a clang of metal and Asnea nodded for her to go as she fired her bow. The elf ran towards the balcony above. As Garoa and the Priest continued their explosive fight, an entire host of entities, of light and fog and no larger than a child, poured from a portal of light on the temple grounds.

  From above her, the Itsu Priest spoke loudly, “I summon thee, come angels of the Itsu, know your time for retribution is nigh!”

  The elf knew not what the Itsu Priest spoke of but her bow was bent. Her arrows, alight in with fiery points, did well to disintegrate the attackers. The Keepers and Dark Ones still fought in the deepening fog that gripped the temple.

  The bout between Kasis and Sviska continued. Sviska had cut the whip from his hands and now Kasis was bleeding profusely from his arm.

  “Why do you fight me, brother? Are we not alike in our ways? You have your power with your blade; I have mine, as was given to me. I assure you will not regret such happenings as the Itsu bring.”

  Sviska continued to fight. He gave no heed to Kasis’ words.

  “Why do you ignore me, brother? I ask only a place in your mind, a bit of your heart, so you will know you make the best choices.”

  The clang of Sviska’s dagger against the scimitar of his once-friend helped to drown out the drilling his inner mind was taking. He concentrated his thoughts as the peering eyes of Kasis attempted to draw out the curse placed on him.

  “Release,” Kasis said aloud, “The Itsu Priest knows even what the Dwemhar do. I can get to you. I have been taught.”

  Release. Let me in.

  Kasis’ lips did not move but his voice was in Sviska’s mind. His thoughts were bent on him like careful hands wishing to snatch control. The fighting seemed to slow between. Sviska exhaled and brought his blade towards Kasis’ head. He missed.

  I know much, Sviska. I just wish to tell you.

  Sviska was tiring. His hands sore from the blocks of the curved blade. His ax was not as balanced as was his dagger, its head seemed heavier and clumsy. His heart was thudding in his chest.

  I just want to help you. I want to end your suffering.

  Sviska felt the pounding in his head. His chest burned and he remembered the placing of the curse.

  There, I can see it is going to be soon. The powers of the Dwemhar are known by the Itsu. You must know you cannot stop me.

  Sviska closed his eyes. Their fighting had stopped. Kasis was now deep into the mind of Sviska but like a dark room, he could not find his way to the curse in Sviska.

  There was a laugh and Kasis shudder
ed now, unable to return to his own body. Sviska opened his eyes. The Gypsy Mother had said that no one could learn the Dwemhar powers. The rudimentary mind game Kasis used had trapped him out of body. It was clear Kasis did not expect this but, not being of the Dwemhar, his powers granted by the Itsu were not enough. Sviska did not understand what he had done but it did not matter.

  The man Kasis remained but the Dark One, the one of magic and power, had been drawn out, led like a hungry animal, leaving Kasis vulnerable. Sviska paused for a moment, thinking of his once friend. He then took the blade of Meredaas and, in an arching slice, slashed it across his neck. Blood ran down his chest pooling on the floor and Kasis was no more.

  Sviska turned to Brethor and found that no life was in him. His eyes teared. The fighting around him was growing in clamor and a thunderous sound rocked the floor.

  Berie ran back towards Sviska, pointing at the Galhedriss Arcana.

  Sviska bent down, taking it in his hands.

  “The Priest comes!” Slats said.

  Asnea, with him, stood upon the altar, her bow bent towards the hallway that flowed with a thick fog.

  “Sviska, run! Garoa is overwhelmed in the courtyard with the angels of the Itsu and we cannot stop the Priest,” Berie said, “Get the book away from here! The necklace, go!”

  The Itsu Priest emerged. Slats rushed forward, his ax held high but the bony tail of the priest swept him aside and he was thrown against the far side of the room.

  Berie fired her bow, as did Asnea, but the Priest rushed forward, the arrows not fazing him as he grabbed the neck of the elf. He stood tall, growing in height as he squeezed her neck.

  Sviska dropped the book. Rushing forward, he slammed his ax into the Priest and followed with his dagger. Unlike before, neither his blade nor the ax hurt the ethereal being.

  Berie was thrown at him and both of them rolled to the side.

  “You are the seed of Garoa,” the Priest said to Asnea, “Do you wish to falter as he does?”

  Asnea drew her knife, “I am no different that he and my fate was set before this day.”

  “Very well,” he replied.