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

"I was bid by Ustavis to find out further information of the person who burned the winery."

  Runa began toward a side door at the back of the temple. Sviska followed.

  "Well," he replied, "there isn't too much I know. The fire was not accidental, and I believe it came from a staff, so it was someone from within the Priory of Kel, or at least someone who stole a staff and was using it. That in itself is a punishable crime."

  Runa led into a small room, simple in furnishings, with a desk and papers strewn about both the desk and floor. The captain sat, resting his head in his hands.

  "The people are getting restless. With the curse spreading, it is getting difficult to isolate those affected and keep the others calm as we do it." He rubbed his eyes and looked up with exhausted blinking. "I've spoken with Brethor, and he assures the wine will begin production soon."

  "As soon as I can. I am meeting with him tonight to discuss it further."

  "Very well. I am sure it will be done as soon as you are able."

  The captain began turning through a book on his desk. "So many since the fire, so many have begun to be lost to us. Although it's a sad thing, I am happy I cannot get such a horrible curse." He gave a quaint laugh. "It is an advantage to us of the white guard."

  Sviska smiled only to give some comfort to Runa. The captain seemed not only tired but also stressed and troubled.

  "You say this place is a temporary refuge? I thought you were always here, being the Brotherhood of Wura."

  "Well, to speak of our history, we as the Brotherhood have been here for very little time indeed. We were pilgrims to Wura a generation ago. I came as a young child with my father. Most of the men were deserters to the Legion of the Grand Protectorate. We pledged to uphold order here. The times before the curse became as it is. In the older part of the city, we had an actual fortress. High walls, a proper training ground, a place more suitable to an armed guard. But when the curse spread through the lower level, we were directed to abandon it. This temple is a sanctuary to the god Wura. Members of the Priory of Kel protected it until suddenly Brethor ordered them out and us in. He said that we alone were to protect the temple, and he did not trust anyone else. It must be something with the Priory and the murder of the last winemaker. But it is with the Priory that real power lies."

  "Has he said anything else in regard to them no longer being allowed to protect this place?"

  "No. And we only have staves. Enhanced with some magic to glow and allow us to subdue, but no more. I do not know why Brethor did what he did considering, in my very own personal opinion, the Priory of Kel is more fit to guard the temple."

  Runa reached under his desk and pulled out a large brown bottle. "We of the white guard will occasionally make our way to the village by the lake and make off with such rarities as southern-made ale. Can I offer you some?"

  He poured it into two glasses before Sviska could even answer. Sviska took a small sip as Runa chugged the entire cup and slammed the mug back onto the desk.

  "Tasty! And helps with this stress." He placed the bottle back under the desk. "As far as information, I am carefully following one person who we think may be responsible, but it is too early to say. I am afraid I have nothing else to offer you but a warning, and that is to be careful. This city is not as safe as it used to be. If you choose to continue to investigate the cause of the fire, I am afraid you may find yourself at odds with more than you plan." He stood. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Turmin?"

  Sviska stood, taking a last sip of the ale. "No. If I learn anything, I will come to you."

  "I expect it."

  Runa opened the door from his office, and they both made their way to the door of the temple.

  "Beware of Ustavis. I do not trust him. Twice he came to me, and I felt, although I did not know for sure, he only wished to get close to this temple. Brethor has forbidden all of magic near these premises, and Ustavis knows this. Between the two of them, there has always been a strange relationship. If I were you, I would not get too close to the mage."

  "Is he who you think is responsible?"

  The captain tightened his lips and took a deep breath. Sviska knew his question was direct, but he perceived from Runa that he was not prepared to say.

  "Thank you, Runa. I will be careful," he told him.

  Runa nodded and closed the door behind Sviska.

  Sviska began out of the temple area. He now had met another person who did not trust Ustavis.

  He turned, looking at the temple, before heading toward the gates. Passing the void of the archway, he gasped, feeling a sharp pinch in his side.

  He reached with a forceful grabbing motion and caught a hand on his side. He shouted, pushing it away. In the momentum of the assault, he began to stumble as he heard shouting by the Brotherhood of Wura.

  The glow of the Brotherhood’s staves shone around him. He rolled, gripping for his weapon that he no longer carried. Through the glint of sunlight, a masked figure in gray robes was upon him, attempting again to lunge at him with the jagged blade.

  The Brotherhood rushed in, blocking his path. Their staves shone upon the man. His skin burned with a white fire, but he did not falter.

  His curved blade cut into the two guards nearest to him. He spun and cast a strange dust at the others, disorienting them.

  Sviska stood, his side aching. He grasped at the wound, glancing toward his side and bloodied fingertips. It seemed the attack had just got past the coat given to him by Brethor.

  He looked up at the approaching figure. He jumped to the side, evading the repeated slashes that followed, and grabbed the staff of one of the fallen guards.

  With a series of knocks to the staff, he parried the blade multiple times and then struck the attacker on his side. At that time, Captain Runa was upon him with a rapid strike to the person's head. The masked figure collapsed to the ground.

  Outside the gateway of the temple, there was a crowd of people. A large contingent of the Brotherhood of Wura had arrived after hearing the commotion. With them, after seeing the threat absolved, two Priors began to tend to the wounded.

  Sviska looked again at his side. The blade had just nicked him. The coat had done its job in deflecting the first strike.

  "Are you okay, Turmin?" asked the captain, placing his hand on his shoulder.

  "I'm fine, nothing serious."

  They both approached the masked attacker and pulled at the corner of the mask. It was a man. A man, that by the shocked expression on the captain's face, he knew.

  "Is that one of ours?" asked one of the white guards.

  "Yes," said the captain. "It is Lakl. He had just been promoted and given further access to the city. But I have no thought why he would have an issue with you."

  Captain Runa shook his head and gave a sigh of frustration.

  "Perhaps he is not the problem?" suggested Sviska. "What is this mask? Is it magic?"

  Strange runic inscriptions lined the forehead of the mask.

  The captain nodded. "It is a good chance. The only way a good man would attempt to commit such a random attack would be if he were not in control. Take it." He pushed the mask toward Sviska. "Perhaps Brethor will know more. I must tend to the wounded here. Oh, and good fighting. I did not expect a winemaker to have such skill."

  “In the southern lands, we take winemaking very seriously.”

  The captain smiled at his joke. “I can tell.”

  Sviska nodded, taking the mask. Tucking it away in his tunic, he looked around as those of the Priory tended to the wounds, and felt his own wound. He was not badly injured, and he would go to the Temple of Kel regardless. He wondered if he could find any sources of further information there. Besides, it would be a few more hours before he was to meet with Brethor, and he doubted he could find him before then.

  The shadows cast by the buildings were getting longer now. It seemed as if the sun had just risen and now, as it hovered just at the horizon, was sinking again.

  Crossing through th
e crowds of people doing daily chores, he noticed an abundance of fresh herbs growing in raised troughs along the walkways. For the first time in his life, he saw little men, not much larger than a mug, digging with shovels along a trove of white flowers.

  Gnomes?

  He laughed a bit as he went, noticing more vendors and such near this area of town. This must have been where he came through his first night. Now instead of empty stalls, he saw many fruits, vegetables, and dried goods ready for use.

  Up ahead, he noticed large trees growing in an almost secluded grove at the furthest point west in the city. Had he not seen the red robes he was now unfortunately familiar with, he may have missed the archway leading into the Priory of Kel Temple grounds.

  As he made his way under that arch, following the group of red-robed men, he noticed the vast plants all over the courtyard of the temple. There was sage, mint, lily dust, and numerous others that were too many for him to count. He remembered them from his training with the Order, although many of them he had not seen in some time. To the right of the archway was a small cart. Many Priors were around it, grinding down herbs and boiling them in iron cauldrons.

  Other Priors stood around a section of wall. A small window on their side looked out to where a line of people from the city awaited assistance from the Priors. As best as he could tell, each person would come for healing of their own complaint and leave with a fresh potion for whatever particular ailment they suffered from.

  Aside from being powerful mages, many among the city knew the Priors as apothecaries and healers. Their daily use as the curse took more and more in its grasp was evident.

  In a group of four, a procession of Priors left. As he watched them, a bald man approached, solemnly bowing, and Sviska did so in return, caught off guard by his sudden appearance.

  "Winemaker. I have heard of you before you came here. It is good to see you." The man was smiling as Sviska rose from his bow.

  "I know the Priory of Kel has a difficult task as of now, the curse being as strong as it is," Sviska said.

  "The curse has not gotten stronger, only our defenses to it weaker. I look forward to your new batch of wine. In fact, I am happy you came by." The man had yet to introduce himself; instead, he went toward a wooden barn behind a row of growing vegetables. He returned with a large knapsack that he dusted the snow off. The entire bag seemed as if it was a block of ice.

  "These are frost berries." He sat the bag before Sviska, patting them. "You will need them for your wine."

  Sviska nodded, somewhat confused, but he took the bag anyway.

  "I am the leader of the Priory of Kel. You can address me as Master Nelkor. I forgot introductions being so happy to see you. Perhaps you will be able to end the suffering that has plagued these walls."

  Sviska noticed a family bringing in a small child through the archway, toward a large tree situated at the center of the courtyard. But it was not a tree at all. The bark he thought he saw was carved stone. Windows lined the structure; branches grew, as giant trees set atop it and reached out over the courtyard. It was the Priory. He had missed it at first glance, expecting instead the bleak outside as the Temple of Wura.

  Nelkor began to slowly walk away. "Excuse me, Turmin." His face was stricken with sorrow. Sviska noticed that tears were beginning to form.

  "What has happened?" Nelkor yelled, now running toward them.

  A young child had collapsed on the steps of the Priory. A man with her, whom Sviska assumed was her father, scooped her body in his arms as he ran into the temple.

  The child's mother, distraught and crying, trailed behind. As the doors to the temple shut, she fell to her knees. Nelkor went to her, wrapping his arms around her.

  "What has happened, child?"

  She stuttered through a rush of tears. "She . . . she . . . hadn't stopped mumbling about the night sky, like . . . before, but then she began trying to attack me. She wouldn't come out of the corner. She wouldn't let us do anything! Then she began crying and ran to us. Please, please, Father, help her!"

  Nelkor looked at Sviska. "Please, stay with her, stay with my daughter. I must go assist them."

  Sviska nodded and took his place by her side. Nelkor sprinted quickly up the steps of the temple and disappeared through the doors.

  The woman's face was red. She shook and drew in a breath loudly. She cowered into Sviska's chest. Gripping his hands, she whimpered.

  "She is my baby," she said to him.

  Sviska wrapped his hand around hers and closed his eyes. He jumped as the doors to the Priory shook open, and a Prior, bleeding from the head, shouted for more Priors to come. There was a clamor in the courtyard, as from every direction, the Priors ran toward the doorway. A shaking sound within the Priory rocked the ground and caused the woman to look up quickly. Then there was silence.

  Sviska noticed stillness in the air. The birds that had been chirping in the upper boughs of the Priory were quiet. The noise of the city seemed dimmed now. There was a rush of wind, and the doors of the temple swung open. Three Priors came flying out backward, their bodies striking the wall behind Sviska and the woman.

  He looked at them. Their faces were burned and lifeless. There was a bright flash from inside the temple, and then a shattering sound as a window at the back of the church shattered, and a gust of wind broke the stillness of the trees. An unnatural roar was in the wind. An uneasy sickness came upon him, and his stomach felt sour.

  The woman broke from his grasp and ran into the temple. Sviska followed, passing through the doors just behind her.

  The temple was dark and lit only by candles on the wall. It looked as if he was in the center of a great tree. Similar to the Temple of Wura in many ways, except without a large circular stone at the far end of the church. Spread around the interior, the Priors held their staves , shaking. The sweat dripped off their faces, and they all struggled to catch their breath.

  The child sat upon an altar at the front of the church. Nelkor was there, bleeding from the mouth, but otherwise he appeared okay. The woman ran up to her child and shook her.

  "Wake up! Mommy is here. Wake up! Why won't she wake up!" she screamed.

  Nelkor touched her on her shoulder. "She is sleeping. The spirit that haunted her is gone."

  The woman smiled, embracing him. She wiped her eyes. "Thank you!" She then looked around warily, her eyes shifting about, searching.

  "Where is my husband?" she asked in a somber tone. Her smile faded away.

  Nelkor bowed his head and pointed up to the large portal where a massive stained glass window had been. Among the large shards, like a piece of meat caught on a knife, the lifeless body of her husband bled, staining the walls of the temple.

  The woman screamed in agony, falling to the floor, beating her fists on the stone. Nelkor signaled for Priors to stay with his daughter, and then stormed toward Sviska.

  "Come on," he sternly said.

  Sviska followed Nelkor outside and over to where he had left the sack of frost berries.

  "That was no curse!" he yelled, angered and shaking his hand. "That was a beast. A beast unlike any I have ever seen. The dark powers that gripped my granddaughter were not of this curse and not of this city. Something had to have drawn that beast here."

  "What was it?" Sviska asked.

  "The only reference I know of a beast inhabiting another was in the old annuals of the kingdom of the elves. They make mention of a dark creature, seen on the battle plains after a great many dead were left to rot. It was then they began to have elaborate ceremonies to lay the bodies to rest. We have no dead here. The only dead we have are from the curse, and even if not, if someone dies, a prayer is said and their bodies returned to the dust of the earth."

  He placed both of his hands on Sviska's shoulders. "I must attend to my family now. I bid you deliver my words to Brethor, and I bid you be careful. The power of the Priory of Kel may be of no match to this evil, and it will not have abandoned its hold on the city so easily."


  Chapter 11 Winemaking

  Sviska took the bag of frost berries and slung it over his shoulder. Nelkor went back into the temple, and Sviska noticed a few birds had returned, their chirping and flapping wings a somber sign that whatever had been in the child was gone, for now.

  He began toward the Estate. The Priory of Kel and the Temple of Wura behind him, he made his way up the stairs and to the closed doors. Pausing, he turned to look at the city. There was darkness about it, darker than the sliver of sun that now danced a last glow above the horizon. Still standing their guard, the unmoving figures that stood at the door of the Estate remained stalwart. He began to walk in and, somehow, felt comforted by their presence.

  As he made his way to the winery, he thought of his purpose, though still hidden to him. His desire to fulfill his guise of winemaker was becoming stronger than the desire of the Order's task, whatever it may be. Never in his life had he met peoples that looked to him in such need. Never had he felt he was cared for by anyone, and yet Brethor, among others, spoke to him as a friend.

  He went into the winery, set the bag of frost berries near the winemaking equipment, and then looked down at them. He wondered if he should place the bag in the snow outside but noticed that even in the warm winery, the ice of the berries was unchanged. He checked on his hiding place of the vial. It was untouched.

  He breathed a nervous sigh of relief and then noticed the bottles of wine seemed different. He counted them and noticed one was missing. He went over to the table and noticed a scribbled note.

  Turmin,

  I am holding a bottle of wine in turn for you to drink it with me in the library. Go past the dining room and turn right at the corridor. You will see the circular staircase. Join me . . .

  Slats

  Sviska shook his head. That drunken dwarf.

  He left the note and began on his way to the library. As he made it to the corridor, he turned right and immediately saw the circular stone stairwell. Off to the right, large chairs and torchlights accented a large room with a roaring fire. A panoramic window stretched around the room, showing a pale blue landscape spanning away from the Estate.