"Come on, Runa. We can all leave," he begged him.
The captain nodded. "Thank you, but my place is here. Our place is here," he said, motioning to the others. Each guard stood firm in their place.
"I owe the lord of the Estate, and we will defend this ground. Now go! We will get you what time our lives are worth against the blades of the enemy."
Sviska was reluctant but nodded to the captain. He turned, following the others. The captain saluted them and then slammed the door. Sviska heard the lock slide and watched as the captain shook the doors.
“They are in, men. To the front of the Estate!”
Going to the secret door, Sviska opened the path to the winery. The chains rattled and cranked, and the light from within shone on the cellar floor. Berie was in the lead, her bow bent as she sidestepped to get a view down the hallway.
"It is clear."
They began to jog carefully but with as much haste as they could. Sviska held his hand on his dagger, both to keep it from rattling and giving them away and in case of its sudden need.
They could hear voices and shouts. Making it to the stairwell, they dropped down on their stomachs and crawled. The shouts echoed from the dining room. Sviska and Berie looked over the steps and down the hallway to the dining room.
Brethor was sitting at the table, sipping wine. His legs crossed, he sat back in his chair, looking at someone who stood near the fireplace. There also was Cusis, just behind his lord, with a tray full of glasses. He stood proudly, his right hand behind his back in proper serving fashion.
"I only wish to offer you some food and drink. A good gesture over many years of strife now passing!" Brethor said.
A tall man with white hair that reached the ground came into view. His robes were white with a bold gold trim. He walked behind Brethor, taking a glass from Cusis.
"Perhaps you should have given up years ago and brought us what we desired," the man said.
Berie tapped Sviska and pointed to the door leading out to the promenade.
"I know a path through the gardens and into the hallway near Brethor's room," she whispered. "But we will have to climb."
Sviska turned to Garoa and Slats and put his finger to his mouth for them to be quiet. He pointed toward the door, and they nodded.
Berie was up first. Her bow still bent, she emerged, moving toward the door. Slipping outside with no more than a whisper of a sound, she slowly opened and held the door. Sviska brought his feet up, creeping up to the last stair as Brethor turned and looked. His eyes quickly shifted to the table, and he took an apple.
"Perhaps you should have come sooner," he said, averting any hint of attention away from the corridor. "I am unable to provide the book for you now."
He took a large bite from the apple and smacked incessantly. The other man began to talk louder, attempting to speak over Brethor's deliberate lack of manners. It worked as good cover as they slipped outside.
Sviska went to the doorway and took the door from Berie. She moved ahead to assure a clear path. Motioning for the others to come, they filed outside and he shut the door behind them.
Hastily running bent over, they came to a wall where Berie waited for them.
"Now we go up." She stretched her arms and then jumped, leaping onto the icy stone. She cleared the wall, and the thud of her boots told them she was on the ground on the other side.
"Come on!" she shouted in a hushed tone.
Sviska and Garoa pushed Slats up the wall and then both followed themselves. They were in the rose garden now.
The fairies of the garden came immediately to Berie, who took one on her hand.
"Go to the grove, friend. I must leave."
The fairies spun around her and then rushed into the night sky, fading from view before Sviska could see which way they went.
They were now against the glass, looking into the dining room. Cloaked Dark Ones and men like the ones who held Kel spread out across the room.
"There is your Order," said Berie, her eyes scanning his face.
Sviska had never seen the ones in whom his tasks were set by. Only the delivery of a letter by a bird served as his contact and representation of his previous masters. Their faces were long and worn. Like sheets of an old book, their skin sagged off their arms. Age had clearly overtaken them, and it seemed as if death was due many lifetimes ago.
"It is sad you are so late, Elder," said Brethor, now tossing the fruit into the air and catching it. "Wura I'm sure would've just given you the book. But no, you sent assassins to kill me. And then my own blood to poison the wine. You could not even wait for your own curse to run its course. Quite deplorable."
The man slapped the apple from Brethor's hand.
"You know not what we have endured waiting for your death, for the weakening of this city!" The man stomped and looked toward the window. "I am speaker of the Order, The Order Hand."
The four ducked down; afraid that he might have seen them.
"You're all the same to me. Pompous and arrogant, ignoring truth and proliferating lies. I apologize we haven't failed in our stand against you. Let me take a small guess that my friend Kealin has caused you trouble?"
"Do not bring the half-elf into this!" the Order Hand growled. "He is of no issue to us. Do not you know he has died? He caused us issues unrelated to this icy wasteland, but now all of our attention is on Elinathrond."
Brethor picked up another apple. "And yet," he continued, taking another large bite, "You are still too late. Are you unable to control your pet Kel? I guess you are losing your grip on the old war god!"
The Order Hand turned back to him and pointed a large white finger at him. "Do not dare—"
"Do not start with me, you arrogant and insolent enslaver of gods! Enough of forcing the curse that has stricken my kind! Wura is not pleased. He will not allow his brother to be held as so." He laughed as he continued to chomp the apple. The peel on his lip he spat at the man's feet.
"You mock me?"
"I mock everyone. Don't take it that I give you special regard."
"It is no matter of Kel. He will destroy this city and we will have what we came for. The Itsu are regaining power, and your foul gods shall be no more. No longer will their magic harm men."
"I'm sure the Itsu will love that the Order has kept the god of war, one of their strongest adversaries, tied up and now use him as a mere pet. You should have destroyed him. I suggest you hold tightly to those chains because hell will erupt for your peaceful little world if he is freed. He has had more than a few days to build his anger toward men, and this time he knows which race and which men in particular are responsible."
Berie had left the others crouched at the window and was moving stones near the wall. A single large grate was now visible. She pulled the covering free and threw it on the snow.
"This way."
They followed her in. The passage was dark but dry. The icy chill was not as pronounced, but they had very little space other than to crawl through the narrow way.
They came to another grate, and Berie pressed it open, careful to keep it from clanging on the Estate floor. They were in the kitchen now.
The shouting continued.
"Brethor, lord of this wretched Estate and city, your time has come. You will pay for your transgressions against the Order, and we will have the Galhedriss Arcana!"
As the four made their way to a far wall of the kitchen, the elf pushed a block and another passage appeared. The stone wall slid down with very little sound, and a narrow passage went all the way to the front of the Estate. Sviska could see the windows of the northern wing.
Following it through, they were now at the opposite side of the dining room. As Slats and Garoa went right to check the path to Brethor's room, Sviska peered around the corner and looked in. The Order and the Dark Ones surrounded Brethor. He could just see the lord of the Estate through the furling cloaks of the Dark Ones.
The Estate quaked. The Legion was ramming the door of the Estate,
its frame splintering and creaking with each blow.
Brethor laughed. "And you forgot to unlock the door? Elder, you amaze me at your lack of kindness to your own kind. Not that you have much respect, showing up as you did on the grounds of the rose garden. Be kind from now on, old man."
"I will show you kindness, Brethor!" the Order Hand shouted. He rushed at Brethor and took him by the neck with a single hand. Although frail in appearance, he ran Brethor along the table and across the room, smashing him into the door near where Sviska and the others were.
From the corridor, Sviska could see only Brethor's arm and leg as the man of the Order held him against the wood. The chokes and gasps of his friend filled the air.
Berie tapped Sviska on the shoulder as Slats looked down the far corridor, motioning for them to come.
"I do not want to be idly here, but Brethor commanded us!" she told him.
But Sviska could not just leave.
His slid his dagger from its sheath. Taking two steps along the wall, he began to hear Brethor choke and his legs shake. In a jump, Sviska went toward the Elder holding Brethor. He grabbed at the Elder's robes and pulled him into the doorway, thrusting his blade deep into his chest. He ripped the blade back out before slashing at his neck, catching his face in the attack. The man dropped Brethor, falling backward onto the table as his blood ran out onto the floor. Brethor quickly stood, still choking and gasping as he spit blood.
"Damn, Sviska, time is near. Go!"
His body grew as his size doubled and his muscles surged with increased blood flow. His hair grew long down his back. The lord of the Estate had taken a form as Sviska had never seen. Brethor lunged toward the large table and flipped it over. Dishes and foods shattered around the room.
Affixed to the bottom of the table were the weapons Sviska had seen many days before in the Foundry. Brethor thrust his arms into them, the curved blades augmented in lethality by his enraged form, curved up from the side of his hands toward his forearms, gleaming in the pale light of the room. Cusis dropped his serving tray, brandishing a silver spear he had hidden behind his back and had been careful to keep out of sight.
Brethor was upon the Dark Ones with his blades, their blood painting the room red like a fresh rainstorm to a dry path. Surprise had been unleashed on the Dark Ones and the Order fighting the enraged lord of the Estate beside his servant in a fury of blood and tears.
In the commotion, Berie pulled Sviska back to the corridor. They began down the hall toward Slats just as the Legion breeched the main door. The paneling and the large stone entryway crumbled and shattered all over the floor.
There was a shout, and Berie turned, her bow bent, and an arrow flew past Sviska, striking the first of the Legion through the door. He was the first of many who crawled in through the rubble and began their pursuit.
Berie ran backward, firing her bow as she did. She slid to a stop, kneeling at the door, and held a shot in place as Sviska opened the passage to Brethor's room.
Slats went upward first, followed by Sviska. Garoa pointed for Berie to follow them, and she loosed her final arrow, taking down another two men as they came around the corner. Garoa pushed her.
"Go!" he shouted.
The Rusis stood firm as the others fled. Berie opened the sealed door at the top of the steps.
The Legion was in a mad fury, coming toward him. With his hands outstretched, a crackle ripped through the air and a bolt of lightning lashed out, striking multiple men. He took a breath and then let fly two fireballs, each finding their targets. The winds of magic around him, he was enraged, summoning his power augmented by the Rusis weapon. He gripped each of his gauntlets between his hands, and a white, bluish glow began to grow in size before him.
He threw the orb to the ground between him and the Legion, and the corridor floor turned to ice. The men who were running hit the slippery surface and fell, sliding toward him.
Garoa scurried into the passage, pointing his hands toward the ground just outside the entrance. The fire from his hands grew bright as he spewed a continuous stream of flames to melt the stones and the first few steps of the passage. The heat made it hard for him to breathe, and he fell backward from the melting stones. The force of magic used to cast the spell tired him further as he tried to stand. The flames devoured the men who were sliding, and the fires worked to hold off the Legion.
Berie dragged him to his feet. Sviska braced him and forced him forward. Garoa was not used to using his magic as much as he had. He struggled to walk, but with help, he joined the others on Brethor's balcony without the strength to cast another spell.
The dark woods were burning now. As they made their way to the doorway of the Foundry, the symbols of the door flickered.
"What is wrong?" asked Garoa, breathing heavily.
Sviska pointed to the door. "The door won't remain lit long enough for me to open it."
"The magic of the city is spent," said Berie.
"We have to get in there!"
As Sviska yelled in plight, the dark clouds billowed from around the side of the Estate and a clawed hand crumbled a section of the roof. The dark being of the clouds, its mouth agape, emerged, looking down at them.
Berie felt for an arrow, but her quiver was empty now. Garoa attempted to cast a spell, but he could not.
The sounds of shattering glass came, and they spotted Brethor flying backward from the Estate. The Dark Ones were in pursuit as he fell into the shrouded and icy shadow of the mountain.
Berie wept and pounded her hand on the door of the Foundry. They were trapped.
Then from the clouds above, a whimsical green pattern began to dance all around the blackness of the enslaved god Kel. There was a fresh rush of snow and even brighter polar lights. Like waves in the sky, they formed around the black being. The beast in the clouds lifted its hands off the Estate and met the hands of another monstrous form that stood upon the great polar lights.
"Wura! Wura has come!" shouted Berie.
In a rush of blue, green, and reddish hues dancing around them, the door was now alight and Berie pushed it open. They ran for the Doorway. As the two gods clashed above the Estate, Garoa stopped and went back outside.
"What are you doing?" shouted Sviska.
"My friends! I must tell them to flee or they will remain at my house waiting for me!"
He pulled a small pipe from his robe and blew into it. Sviska could hear no sound, but Garoa continued blowing. Nothing seemed to happen.
Garoa then ran toward Sviska. "Now we can go.”
Berie and Slats already stood in the archway. Sviska and Garoa joined them, and they held hands. There was a rush of wind in the room, and Sviska turned to see Kasis appear in a black shroud.
Sviska closed his eyes and imagined the grove. In a rush, they were gone.
Blackness was all they could see. Sviska reached for the flute and played a melody. The forest came alight, but there was turmoil within. The trees bent turbulently, and the fairies flew about without a roost to stand on.
"This way!" shouted Sviska.
Sviska led the others out of the woods and to the shore of the sea. The sea around them was angry, and the waves struck the shore, casting foam into the air.
In the distance, waterspouts twisted and wrapped over the waves. The clouds above them swirled, and the polar lights stretched to well beyond the skies of the grove.
As they approached the shore, a rush of water and air met them as Meredaas emerged. The surf struck their knees but receded.
Slats and Garoa both screamed. Slats held his axe in front of him, shaking.
"What is that!" he cried.
"That is Meredaas," the elf said. "An old god."
"Good to see you, last of the elves, Berie," it said. "Your father is indeed missed by myself."
"Great sea god, the city is lost. Brethor is lost."
Meredaas’ expression did not change. "Many happenings are changing the seas and lands now. The gods’ battle above the city of magi
c as well as the Galhedriss Arcana taken from its resting place after so long. The days will not be calm for some time, but I see the Saints of Wura have escaped. Welcome to the grove, if welcome can be given."
"Thank you, fish!" said Garoa. "But we must get going."
Meredaas ignored the blasphemy. From beside him, the waters swirled and the white ship Sviska had ridden on before emerged, though this time it looked somewhat different. It was larger, with a great white sail and an actual helm for steering.
"You are in the far northern seas. You should head east for two days and then, as the full moon rises to its highest point, turn south. There is a village there, and from there, you shall learn of your next step."
"Thank you, Meredaas," said Berie.
"Guard the book. There will be many who search for you now. You must do many things, but above all else, do not allow that book to be taken."
"Where do you go now?" Sviska asked.
"I return to the sea. It is ever here and shall ever be, as will I."
With a rush of water, Meredaas descended again, leaving the boat resting on the shore. The waters of the grove and of the ocean around them became as glass.
The four boarded the ship, and Sviska took the helm. It had been many years since he had piloted a ship, but no one else had shown interest. He felt for the Galhedriss Arcana and closed his eyes, thinking of the sacrifices of Brethor, Cusis, and the many others who had fallen in Elinathrond.
With a gust of wind and perhaps Meredaas’ current, the boat lurched away from the shore and began cutting across the waters. Sviska, Berie, Garoa, and Slats left the beaches of the grove, heading east. With the moon as their guide and the polar lights happily dancing above them in a whimsical farewell, they departed over the crisp icy seas, not sure of what lay next in their path.
Arcane Awakening
Saints of Wura Book Two
©2015 J.T. Williams
Updated 2nd Edition
Chapter 1 Adrift
The ship lurched and tossed in the waves as hastening wind blew upon the bow. Sviska was at the helm, only somewhat familiar with it from his time with Meredaas, but given the present passengers, he was the most confident in sailing.
Saints of Wura: Winemaker of the North, Arcane Awakening, Reckoning in the Void (Saints of Wura Books 1-3 with bonus content) Page 26
