Sviska stared at it without moving. Garoa tore a piece off and held it between two fingers.
"It really is good," he said. "Eat!"
Sviska took a bite and could not figure out what it tasted more like. It was greasy but had the flavor of venison with roasted chicken. However, he agreed with Garoa. It was good.
"I have to tell you, and ask . . . I am sorry for nearly cooking your face off, and I hope you will forgive me. You see, my dragon was a new hatchling, just getting used to people and all, but other than some scratching, really was harmless."
"I forgive you and I am sorry myself. I didn't know creatures like that still existed."
"Barmaid, another beer!" Garoa said.
The lady brought another beer for him, although his was full. He pushed it to Sviska.
"Drink, you need it. We all need it. Being that the demon and all wrecked the town, we all need a little happiness, you see."
Sviska took the drink and another morsel of meat.
"So, a dragon?"
"Um, yes. I raise them from eggs. I have about eight at home. I sell them as pets and whatnot. I have one that can breathe fire, but that is only good for starting a fireplace and such. These little guys can never do what their larger cousins could."
"A dragon breeder, then?" Sviska asked.
"Yes, I breed them. I have a hand with magic, too, you could say, but the lord Brethor doesn't approve, so I keep it to myself. Normally, I just use it for their training, but self-defense can be necessary sometimes. Or perhaps it just happens when I'm drinking. It’s hard to tell most of the time!"
"What are you, of some mage race or what?" asked Sviska, his head feeling somewhat light from the beer now.
"You mean, like gnomish, elfish?"
"Yes. How can you do magic with just your hands?" he asked him, showing both his hands like an example. "I had understood that you had to have some device to channel the magic."
"Have you ever heard of the rock dwellers of long ago?"
Sviska nodded. "I remember a child's story, the man who would turn invisible near rocky outcroppings and rob the wealthy of their money."
"He was what I am."
"A thief?" joked Sviska.
"No, of the race of our own, although we really have no remembrance to civilizations. My people were the Rusis. We were blessed with our magic long ago, and though we didn't expand vastly as the elves or dwarves, there came a time when we did watch out for travelers. We did have a city too, Rinagres, but that was very long ago. Anyway, most stones in the old country that lined roads were our hiding spots, and due to our ability to disappear when needed, we were some of the last to fall to the Grand Protectorate."
"Are your people extinct?" Sviska asked, thinking of both Slats and Berie.
"We are . . . misplaced, I guess you can say. Even among magical beings, we have the unfortunate rap as being thieves and murderers alike. Most of my kind can recognize each other, but instead, avoid one another. You see, the chance of one of us doing something rash is high enough without putting us in close proximity of another like ourselves. But with the curse, I really don't know."
Suddenly behind them, a brawl broke out over a drink being served, and the entire place began to fall into an uproar, with both food and mugs flying.
Garoa motioned toward the exit. "Let’s go. The Brotherhood will be here soon. I really don't like being stunned when I've got a good drinking fuzz in my head.”
Sviska stood, and with his mug of beer finished, he leaped out of the way of the two brawlers as they knocked over some bar stools. As they made it to the outside path, they fled right just as the Brotherhood of Wura guards began into the tavern.
They made their way up a steep hill and at last to a row of stables and a small stone house against the mountain.
Sviska was following Garoa when he noticed something strange on the mountainside. The sheer face of rock before him had what looked to be two large doors, taller than ten men each, just visible in the snow-covered mountain.
"What are those?" Sviska asked him.
"Oh, those things?" Garoa said, turning around quickly, "Those there you'd be good to steer clear of. They open with a clang, I hear. The Dwarven Tunnels were a path through the mountain to the other side of the range."
Sviska stared at the massive size of the Dwarven Tunnels, marveling at how such large objects were hewed from the stone.
"But," he continued, "they do not open. I read a book once about them. They've been shut longer than double the years I've been alive."
Garoa beckoned Sviska toward the door of the stone house.
"I figured since we talked about it, you could have a look at my dragon hatchlings. Just had two little ones birth from their eggs last night. They’re with Momma now, though."
Passing through a wooden door, they entered a very bleak and cold room with minimum decorations of any kind. Garoa led him to a fenced yard on the opposite side of the house. A wooden ladder went up to a small room on top of the house. There was a fire burning in a stone fireplace and hay strewn about. A simple pallet was on the floor that Garoa picked up and set against the wall.
"Pardon the mess here. When they are born, I like staying with them through the night the first few days, especially when it’s dark most of the time."
He lifted up a sackcloth in the corner of the room, and Sviska noticed a small dragon, green, curled up and surrounded by hay, its wings folded over its side.
Garoa reached down, petted the dragon, and offered it some food from a pouch on his belt. The dragon gave a small growl and ate it. It then nudged his hands.
"There's a good girl," he said. "Going to check on the wee ones, all right, Momma?"
He lifted her wing, and she moved it the rest of the way to where they could see two infant dragons. Both looked like small balls of fluff.
"They're hairy?" asked Sviska.
"At first, yes. Keeps them warmer in the cool airs of the mountains. They normally are born in the mountains, but long ago, the larger dragons would fetch food for them and whatnot. When the last of the great dragons were lost, they began wandering down and were killed and eaten. At some point, they developed this ability to grow hair and stay warm, and in turn, they can stay high in the mountains much longer. I keep them and try to care for them because of the curse. It weakens them, and most fall from high places due to confusion. Lost a few myself that way."
Garoa picked up one of the dragons. Its tiny frame barely filled the palm of his hand. Blindly it searched for its mother, its nose sniffing up and down. He held it to Sviska, who rubbed its head. It began to scream out. The mother dragon, aroused and now alert, stood and nudged Garoa's knee.
"All right, Momma, here's your baby," he said, sitting the dragon next to its sibling. The mother coddled the baby dragon, and Garoa covered them both back up with hay.
"When they are fully grown, their hair hardens and becomes scaly."
"So you raise dragons for money?"
"And for pleasure. The most difficult time is when they’re adolescents—that was the age of the one you killed. They tend to be faster to snap at people, but I have to get them used to others if they are to make good pets."
They took a seat, and Garoa stuck some small logs into the fire. "It is a decent enough life, I guess." He stirred the embers with a fresh log and then tossed it in, lying backward on the cold ground.
"You say that as if you aren't happy with it," Sviska said. "I would think in a city like this you could find additional work if you wished."
"Well, my kind are not exactly the most trusted. My magical abilities deem me dangerous, and so I am outlawed from any work where magic is directly involved."
"Those in the Priory of Kel use magic all the time."
Garoa’s eye twitched, and he took a deep breath. "But, the Priory of Kel cannot use magic without their staves. The potential for my power to grow as I learn is much larger than those within the Priory of Kel. Ustavis could use magic like myself, a
nd given his recent actions, I will be looked at with even more distrust."
“Was Ustavis a Rusis?”
“No, mages like he have grown their power beyond what is normal, in my opinion. It is good Brethor instills some rules for the city for just a person such as he.”
"Brethor is trying to keep the city safe. Without limits on people, he could not do so. That includes keeping the peace and monitoring individual power."
"But that wasn't how it was before. It wasn't until the curse enveloped the lower levels that he became so strict. I feel like he doesn't wish to come to terms with the fact that the underground talk of the city is full of despair. People do what they wish throughout the day but always with a careful bit of suspicion. Had I been with the Priory, I would have faced that demon like all of them. I know my power is restrained here, and Brethor has told me before that I will find my place. However, I think that was just further happy words to keep me going."
Garoa shook his head side to side and then sat back up. "I am sorry, friend, and I did not wish to drag you into my lonesome thoughts. Your purpose is greater than my worries, and perhaps you will be able to hold the curse back."
Sviska patted his shoulder and stood. "Do not worry. Everyone needs to talk from time to time, and I'm happy you trust me after how we met. I am also happy to see your dragons. Your work means a lot to them, if you do not see the worth in it yourself."
Garoa hopped up onto his feet. "Indeed, friend! They are the happiness of my life. That, and—if you can believe me—a few lines of poetry, which I like to do when I am not busy with these friends. It helps. I am tired and my drinks are heavy on my stomach. I thank you for coming with me."
Garoa led him back out of the house, and they parted ways. "Take care, winemaker."
Sviska began back to the Estate, happy that he had made amends with Garoa. The Rusis was an interesting man, and the dragons were a creature he had never seen, not to mention something he never expected to see for himself.
He hoped that Brethor had returned and they could talk of the day's events. He entered and wondered of where Brethor might be. Searching the dining hall, he went to the window and noticed Brethor’s somber figure in the rose garden.
As he approached, careful to close the door so as not to make too much noise, Brethor looked up from a flower he was gazing into.
"Such simple things, fairies. They craft beauty where otherwise no beauty would grow."
"There is much beauty to be found in the city," commented Sviska.
Brethor spun around. "Or perhaps," he said, raising his finger, "perhaps you have found beauty in the Estate. She is a beautiful woman, although quite a few hundred years older than yourself!"
Sviska laughed. "So you, too, find her beautiful?"
"Indeed, but who could not? But not in the way as you do. She is like a daughter to me. Now even more, with the loss of her father. I had a son myself, many, many years ago. But he was lost. He did not agree with my ways."
"I did not know my parents. They both died in a fire before I was old enough to remember them. The orphanage was not a pleasant place."
"No, it was not," said Brethor.
Sviska's eyes widened and his stomach tinged at Brethor’s words. But before he could say anything, Brethor began walking toward the roses.
"Such beautiful flowers. It’s hard to believe that in this very garden someone attempted to take my life."
Sviska cringed, knowing of the Order's attempt on his life after the demon in the well. His guilty conscience drew a further sickness inside of him as he thought of what he was sent for.
"I was attacked in the city, also. Another night walk turned bloody with the taste of terror. I tore him apart, too. However, I was foolish to trust Ustavis to dispose of the bodies." He paused and shook his head. "Now, Master Nelkor has paid for my folly."
He tore a rose from its stem and walked toward Sviska. "This flower is aware of me, aware of my power, but cannot do anything."
He crushed the flower, its petals falling from his open fist and floating to the ground.
"That is the difference between the Order of men and this flower. The Order fears me and knows not what I am capable of and in return tries to do something. I should have known that my own laziness and perhaps lack of forethought would result in ill happenings."
"The well?" questioned Sviska.
"Yes, the well!" he yelled, throwing the remains of the flower on the ground. He kicked at the bush and turned sharply, his tunic brushing the other roses. "I had thoughts of Ustavis betraying me, but never had I thought he was delving into necromancy. Then the demon, attracted to the cistern by the gathered bodies. I know with no doubt it was an incantation by Ustavis.”
He paced back and forth in the garden. Sviska stayed where he was.
"The curse has weakened the city defenses to near collapse. The master of the Priory of Kel—dead. His staff now formed into a new staff that waits to be earned once again. I know the people doubt, but I do have you here. The one thing that has worked to my advantage thus far. Do not think you are here by accident, Turmin. You have indeed been watched. Your parents did not die in a fire but died with much greater deeds upon them. I was at that orphanage. That fire was no accident, but I could not step in, and you were hidden from me!"
Brethor paced the length of the garden, staring at the ground.
"What do you mean?" asked Sviska.
"I have been alive longer than most in this city, except maybe the elf. I have seen many things, and my eyes have not been blinded by the Order. I saw children all over the lands ripped from their homes, their families murdered. Why do you think the Order did this? They wished control of the people. You can teach a child anything, how to love, how to have compassion, but you can also teach them blind obedience, to hate, and even to kill."
He paused, staring upward.
"This world has become such a tormented shell of what it once was that I am ashamed of the essence of life that remains. Now a curse is killing what hoped I had left. You do not live my lifetime and be free of shame, let me tell you, but you at least wish to smile at some glimmer of hope."
Brethor was sweating now, his breathing heavy and deep and his eyes shifty and cold.
"Was any wine found at Ustavis'?" Sviska asked.
"Bottles, yes. But they were all empty. The residue was enough only to grow anger toward him.”
Brethor went to the steps near the door and collapsed down, rubbing his eyes. "I cannot believe he was hiding it for so long. He knew well that we needed it. He could have come to me in private if he was worried of others knowing. He could have done it for at least the children!"
"He used it himself."
"What else would he use it for? In the end, he sought a way under the Temple of Wura. That demon was nothing but him trying to break into the vault. I ordered those of Kel out when the first thoughts were that one of them killed Loria. However, he could not break in by force alone. It is useless to try. Even a lowly mage should have known that, and he was much more than a lowly mage. We must hope that the demon of Ustavis is gone."
"I do not understand," Sviska said, his eyebrows rising in confusion.
"You are a wise man, Turmin. I sense a goodness in you, but I also feel being from the other lands and shielded from our kind that you cannot know much of what you need to. Ustavis smuggled the mask I destroyed with you in the Foundry into Elinathrond. He has been trying to manipulate his way into every nook of my city. I just wish I’d seen it sooner. If only I . . ." He paused.
Sviska was surprised to see Brethor in this state. He desired to help him but did not know what to do.
"What?"
Brethor shook his head. "The books, the annuals that were recorded. They were all lost in the fires. The one time we tried to reach out to the village by the lake, the people betrayed us and burned our temple. If only we had that book."
"What book?"
"The Annuals of Eclipses is the only translation I know i
n our tongue. It was a gift and part of my decree to protect these peoples. When the god Wura blessed this place, he did not only give people a refuge but also sacred items a home to rest. The weapons that you saw are but a small piece of a much larger secret here." He coughed and pursed his lips. "But with the loss of the book long ago, I was partially blinded to the workings of the world."
"There is a book, an old book, in the tavern of the village. It has strange symbols and is written in a language I do not understand."
"The tavern?" asked Brethor. "I know of that place."
"The keeper of the tavern has a library. An old altar is there also. He says he keeps it in remembrance of old times. There is an old man there also."
"The Priest of Wura lives?" gasped Brethor. "When they burned the temple, I could find no sign of him. I thought he was dead."
"He did not say who he was. But he did know of the book and explained some of what I saw."
"You must go there!" The lord pointed down the mountain and stood.
"It will be many days’ walk."
Brethor shook his head. "No, I have a way. You may have given me new hope if the book I seek remains. Otherwise, I am unsure what will happen here. Please, go to the tavern. Speak with the priest and tell him that the lord of the Estate seeks the writings of Wura. He will know of what I seek."
Brethor pushed him into the Estate. Sviska followed him as with haste he went to his room. Across the balcony and to the stone door, Sviska was barely able to keep up as they entered the Foundry and went to the portal that had taken him to the grove.
"Wait!" Sviska said. "How will I return?"
Brethor took a necklace from around his neck and placed it on Sviska.
"When you are ready, blow air through the charm in the center. It works, as does the Doorway. You will be returned to the Estate. Now, imagine the tavern."
He took a step back. "And Sviska, bring the Priest of Wura back with you. He will give the people hope."
"I will."
Sviska exhaled.
Brethor stared at him, blinking. "Be careful, winemaker."
Sviska nodded to him and thought of the tavern. His eyes went white, and he was floating. Then, suddenly, it was dark again, and he was standing in the snow. The tavern was before him. He began to walk but stumbled, catching himself before he slipped on a spot of thick ice. He looked down to watch his next step and was shocked. Blood covered the snow.
Saints of Wura: Winemaker of the North, Arcane Awakening, Reckoning in the Void (Saints of Wura Books 1-3 with bonus content) Page 17
