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

  "Well then, boys, I reckon I’ll be off to the woods again. It’s been a good time meeting you. As short as our conversation was, I enjoyed it."

  He turned toward the innkeeper and gave a deep nod, bending at the waist. He said, "Thank you, Leurka! I will see you next time."

  Leurka brought up two fingers as he passed by, keeping his gaze down at his book.

  Upon finishing their food, Sviska and Garoa exited the inn and began down one of the ramps leading into the inner portion of the city.

  Looming before them, the stony monolith of the city, lit by the bright morning sun, was not as shadowy as the night before. The stonework adorning it ran to alcoves and balconies that jutted off the structure in even ascent, an unexpected quality to the architecture.

  As they drew near the lowest portion of the city, they looked up at the causeway running from the island in the river to the monolith. Lines of guards stood motionless along it, leading up to a sharp curve and what looked like the entrance of the tower high above.

  While difficult for Sviska to see clearly, it seemed the men that guarded the causeway were of a different sort than men of the Legions. Sviska had never seen any like them in all of his travels.

  Where the Legionnaires normally had layered metal chest and shoulder pieces, these men wore black robes, and silver armor rose high in points along their shoulders. Their circular helmets featured curved, multiple blades, fashioned as horns, that curved just as the scythe-topped staves each held in their hands.

  Passing under the causeway, they turned their attention to the great bridge of the city that spanned the river, dividing the east and west of the town into seperate districts. The larger and more ornately adorned bridge was unlike the one to the north of the city. The river was a grand expanse, slowed into a great lake within the city itself. The river rushed under them, slowly descending from a great gate on the northern portion of the city before stilling into the lake portion. It turned into a larger waterfall further south of the bridge and then ran out the opposite side through an opening in the walls. Small boats went to and from the islands in the sort-of lake that formed between the massive tower and the tiered structure in the center island.

  “In my time here, many more ships made their way through the gate bringing supplies from upper Taria and other regions of the northern seas,” Garoa said.

  Walking along the bridges, Sviska noticed statues of prominent Grand Protectorate figures along the rails every few paces, their names and titles on plaques at their feet.

  Near the center of the bridge, the river was white with water spray from a waterfall near an open courtyard of larger statues that showed men of the Legions conquering over their enemies in triumphal glamor.

  The forms of an elf and dwarf, trampled under the men of the Legions, lay opposite a spell caster of sorts, obvious by the open hand to the heavens and stony image of fire. A larger statue of a spear wielding old man and an angry face opposed others also using magic, who reached for the skies as they fell.

  A plaque, encased in a crystalline covering on the ground, read, “In honor of those that fought against the evils of the realms for all, may their deeds be honored here and always.”

  Garoa scoffed as he cleaned his boot over the plaque leaving dirty scrapes across the lettering.

  "Bastards," he whispered.

  Sviska noticed the fortress walls of the center island. Garoa nudged him.

  "You would do well to avert your eyes from that place,” he advised. “It is home to the Legatus Grand Commander of the Protectorate. Also, a good place to hold a large dungeon away from the city. Back in my younger days, I spent some time in there. Aside from being a captive criminal, Lokam law forbids any citizen to even walk near the bridge that leads to the main island.”

  "Well, we will avoid that place, but where are we going?" Sviska asked.

  "The home of Lucia; or more, her parents. I hope they can tell me of her."

  "That is, if they remember you."

  They made it across the bridge and then took a ramp leading toward a darker eastern portion, where shambled houses and even more shady people lined the streets. Beggars reached with dirty hands and from tattered hoods begged for a single piece of change.

  “This was a more prominent region of the city at one time. I see it is no longer.”

  They came to an alleyway and walked further into the slum of Lokam, until at last they came to a walled yard and a rather large home set near an old tree. Looking further down this section of pathways, Sviska noticed other homes of similar size that ran just across the street from the dank structures they had passed by.

  The rusty gate creaked as Sviska passed through it, following an antsy Garoa toward the door.

  "Do you think she will be here?" Sviska asked, staring up at the dark windows and rotting timbers.

  He knocked on the door and then looked to Sviska. "No, I don't,” he said, “but I pray they might be still and can tell me of her."

  Moments of silence passed, and then Sviska heard slow approaching footsteps from the other side. There was a pause and the door slowly opened, and two eyes stared out from behind a covering of gray hair that straggled down its face.

  "May I help you two?" the voice said. It was cracked and soft, and it would have been difficult to hear if a strong wind had come. The eyes scanned them both repeatedly.

  "I am searching for the parents of Lucia."

  The door opened and the person stepped away. They both lowered their hoods and stepped through the dark doorway.

  The bleak and chilly room contained fallen debris from years of neglect and untouched belongings horded for some unknown time. They followed the woman’s path through rows of junk on either side of them, from the door to a large red-cloth chair near a small table no bigger than for one person and a small fireplace near a window.

  The dank and musty air accompanied a thick layer of dust, now hanging about almost as though the mere presence of more people excited it.

  Signs of what was once a grand home lay all around, although the area lit by the fire illuminated stacked furniture thick with cobwebs. A stairwell led to a second level, but the steps were broken and had not been used in some time.

  Short and sunken in stature, the figure went back to the red chair. She was elderly woman, and stream of tears rolled down her face as she sat.

  "You ask me of Lucia," she whimpered, "but I have not seen my dear child in almost the same amount of time my lovely husband died."

  Sviska stayed near the entrance to the room, but Garoa went around to the woman’s feet, kneeling. She looked up at him and grasped his hands kissing them.

  "You have come for her, yes?"

  Garoa nodded, "Yes, I have. I search for Lucia."

  She smiled and said, "So did my lovely husband! But he was never found."

  She clinched closed her eyes, "I miss him."

  The woman began to wail. Garoa look up at Sviska, who knew not what to do. Sviska joined Garoa at her feet when the woman stopped crying and worked to catch her breath.

  "I can tell you something of her,” the woman continued. “She was shamed many years ago. She would not say what, but only that her heart had been broken, for her love had left, and she had heard he found another."

  She paused and lifted her finger pointing at Garoa. "But I told her it was not true, that her love would not do such a thing, but she would not have it. She told me she wished to not make me a shame to our friends, and I know not even now what she meant, but I gave her what I could, and she went to the woods to the west to start anew."

  She shook her head and closed her eyes, "Please, my tea, dear sir."

  She pointed toward the table.

  Sviska went to the table and found the cup empty. Looking around he spotted a kettle of water that he found was cold. He went to the fire and sat it on the cooking hook to warm it.

  "We received a letter sometime later from our dear Lucia. She said she was doing well and said she had a surprise
for us. She insisted we come to her, but only my lovely husband went to her to bring her home. He didn't make it back."

  The woman paused again. Sviska took the time to add tea to the pot, stirring it into the now tepid water.

  "I do wish he would've," she continued. "It has been some time I have been alone in this grand house. It was left to me by my family and has been worn down just like this ol' body of mine. I do wish I was younger, you know?"

  It became clear to them that the woman's age had affected her thoughts and mind. As the teapot began to rattle and sing, Sviska removed it and poured the woman a cup of tea, careful to let very little of the tea leaves into the cup. He handed it to her, and she took the cup with a smile,

  "Thank you, young man!"

  He nodded and then looked to Garoa, who shook his head, unsure himself what to say next.

  "We seek Lucia, and any help you may have in getting us to her would be wonderful," Sviska stated.

  He felt any direction that her mother knew would be helpful to them, even if it lead them to a dead end. As harsh as that was, perhaps that would propel Garoa to give up, and they could go back toward Berie and Slats. The woman drank her tea and did not respond.

  For a while they stood in silence. Garoa looked around and redness flushed his face as he wiped away a tear. Sviska looked at his friend, but remained silent.

  The woman finished the cup and sat it down on the table, folding her hands in her lap as she stared outward.

  "You said your husband did not come back?" Garoa asked.

  "No, he did not. Attacked by animals in the woods. They found his body mangled like, oh . . . it was so horrible.” She began to tear again. “I have not heard from my daughter since."

  "How did he know where to go?"

  The woman looked to her side and picked up a wooden box. Sliding a lock, she opened it. Her fingers filed through papers until at last she came to one that she removed and opened.

  "The letter she sent us."

  She offered it to Garoa, who took the aged parchment and began to study it.

  "It is her handwriting, Sviska!" he said.

  He took further time, muttering to himself as he read. A smile grew on his face.

  “Does it say anything?” Sviska asked.

  "Northwest of here. Near the border of Taria."

  The old woman smiled and said, "I wish you luck to find Lucia and please, if you find her, tell her that her mother wants to see her."

  The woman began to tear again, but Garoa was already walking toward the door. Sviska bowed to the woman, filling her tea cup once more.

  "Thank you, kind mam."

  She grabbed at his arm and kissed it. "Thank you, for visiting an old woman alone at the end of her life."

  Smiling, she patted his arm before she said, "I miss her, but I know in my heart she is gone. That is a true gift and curse of a mother’s heart. Be there and take care of your friend."

  Sviska nodded with a sorrowful smile before following after Garoa.

  Exiting the house, he closed the door and passed through the iron gate, shutting it behind him. Garoa stood on the road.

  "We need to get going. I know the woods of that place. We may be able to reach it by nightfall."

  Sviska stood staring at him.

  "What are we standing for? We can get to her."

  "Garoa," he said quietly as he shook his head, "she is dead."

  Garoa turned and punched him in the mouth, then threw Sviska to the ground.

  Sviska exhaled and pushed himself back up, tasting blood.

  "You do not know what you speak of!” Garoa shouted. “I told you to go back; I will find her and in finding her, find my child."

  For a few moments they stared at one another. Sviska could not think of further words to say, and Garoa did not back down.

  "Fine. I did follow you, so let’s go."

  Garoa turned and Sviska followed behind him. His friend was angry, but it would take more than a single punch to dissuade Sviska.

  They went back the way they had come, past the dilapidated houses, as well as the beggars and other low lives of Lokam. Walking back on to the main road, a large crowd had gathered along the road, blocking the view.

  They pushed their way through the crowd to the second row of onlookers. Looking across the sea of heads, they spotted banners of the Legions and the tall helms of the citadel guards coming across the bridge. In front of the main group, another man walked, jumping from side to side of the road yelling, "Make way for the High Council of the Grand Protectorate! Make way, people of Lokam!"

  The man was jubilant and audacious, his voice shrill and an almost forced cheer spilled from the spectators like a wrung rag. A discontent obedience was in the air.

  Cohorts of legionnaires paraded by, with a horse drawn carriage following after. The eight large white horses’ snouts hovered above the heads of even the tallest people in the crowd. The carriage itself was black, with curved edges as if adorned with downward-facing horns. The carriage had no driver that Sviska could see. This was a carriage meant to be protected, and even the driver was covered in the case of attack. A set of reins came out of what looked to be a mouth in the carriage and guided the horses down the road.

  The carriage passed where Sviska and Garoa stood watching. Their hoods now over their faces, they each took care to look down slightly when it stopped and the side door swung open. From within the carriage, a black staff emerged. At its end, a white ball, glowing with a brilliance unseen in Lokam for many ages.

  The crowd gasped, pointing at such a sight before them.

  "What is it?" one said.

  "The Protectorate is dealing with strange happenings of late," another commented.

  There was a series of discussions from all over the crowd, but then they silenced. The lighted staff began to glow brighter. The glowing orb danced around from whomever held the staff and then it drifted in the direction of Garoa and Sviska, and then stopped.

  Garoa tugged at Sviska and whispered, "We should go now."

  Sviska nodded. There was something of magic upon them, and running into an adversary in a city of the enemy was not a good situation.

  They ducked away, walking within the crowd as the staff stayed centered. As they walked past the carriage, they spotted a grayish figure within, veiled in black and with an almost smoky presence about it. A burning feeling came upon their necks. Their faces both cringed, their heads shook, forcing them to look away and take steps sideways away from the crowd.

  One of the Legion centurions went to the carriage and exchanged words with someone within. The door of the carriage closed, and they began walking again.

  Sviska and Garoa were now at the back of the crowd, behind stacked crates near a supply shop.

  "Who do you believe that was?" Garoa asked.

  "I do not know. I have never felt what I felt as I did then. There is something at work in the shadows of this city. Something works against us, and I feel it will become evident."

  From the again-growing noise of the crowd, there was discussion again, another sign that unrest lay upon them.

  They looked toward the road, and Sviska felt tearing in his stomach. Veiled in all black, their faces covered save one, a group of ten Dark Ones walked behind the last group of Legionnaires. With each stomp of their feet, the people nearest to the road stepped backwards; the very presence of them made most look away. A shadow was upon the host. Sviska felt cold. The Keepers of The Order, to whom he had sworn fealty, would never have paraded as that.

  At the forefront of the Dark Ones, Sviska saw Kasis, whose eyes looked from side to side to the crowd and his hand was on a large sword at his side. Sviska had seen the power Kasis now possessed, back in the woods near the unicorns, and now it was clear that the task of killing Brethor had been complete, seeing as Kasis had returned.

  The procession turned toward the river and the island gates, passing out of view of Sviska and Garoa.

  "Those men were at Elinathron
d," Garoa said.

  "And now they are here. We must tread carefully to have no further run-ins with any of their sort."

  "Agreed." He motioned with his head toward the bridge. "Back that way."

  They made their way back over the bridge. Garoa walked toward the statues in the center of the bridge and spit on the effigy of the Legions overwhelming the elf and dwarf.

  He scoffed and then continued walking. Sviska looked over the bridge as the river rushed down below. His mind went foggy for a moment and he shook his head to clear his vision.

  “Sviska.”

  He heard a voice; it was low, less than even a whisper.

  “Sviska.”

  Again, but louder this time. The hairs on his arms stood, and he felt himself very weak. He fell to one knee.

  Garoa went to him, kneeling.

  "What is wrong?"

  Sviska did not reply.

  “Sviska, Lokam is not a place for you, but nor is the company of such you have held as of late. I see you survived Elinathrond. I may not have seen you, but I felt you, as did my master. I will find you.”

  Garoa placed his hand on Sviska's head. He had not the magic for much, but drawing upon what magic still lingered on the dust of stones, the dew of flowers, and the mists of the river, his hands warmed and he cut the tie between Sviska and what ever was weakening him.

  Sviska blinked his eyes multiple times and then jumped, feeling a burn on his body. "What did you do?!?"

  "What was necessary, I’m just happy that it worked. Elemental magic has been known to mind powers of dark magic before and my assumption of your ailment was right. What happened?"

  "I do not know, but my old friend from my time before Elinathrond knows we are here. He walked with that procession from before."

  Garoa looked back to the other side of the river. There was no one watching them on either side as witness to what transpired.

  "Do you feel you can walk?"

  He shook his head again, and his vision began to clear; he stood and placed his hands on the rail of the bridge and looked toward the river. The weakness in his arms and legs started to flee, and he felt himself returning to normal.

  "Let us go, now," he told Garoa.