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

  "Thank you for your kindness to us, as well as your guardianship over the eastern lands," Berie replied. "Although my father told me much of my people, I knew not of the east. But I hope we all can repay you for your guarding of our sacred places within the mountains."

  "In time," she replied. "The east was at one time a place where many magic peoples dwelt. But the gods separated them from the rest of us, even before the time when the war against magic happened. Go well, with blessings on the rest of your journey."

  Berie followed the others and left the priestess alone on the terrace. Upon reaching the lower level of the hall, she found Arsus was already talking to his men, who seemed to stare her down as she passed. Slats did not avoid their glares, either.

  After a few moments, Sediya came down and talked with her assistants. The women went into the back room and brought bedding for the three of them. Slats joined Berie leaving the Legionnaires to talk among themselves.

  "It seemed quick for us to tell them all our tasks," Slats said.

  "Yes, but if we are to do what we need, I feel though hasty, it is the answer. I have never wished to do something with haste, but I feel every second that passes we draw deeper into the enemy's plan."

  Slats nodded. "Never thought we would be working with someone of the Legion."

  "Are we adding that to the many tasks we could not have guessed to be doing that we've done. You’re a bit out of place, not serving Brethor and burning pies, are you not?" she teased.

  "Funny! Real funny there, elf! Although, that reminds me of Sviska. I hope they are well."

  "We can hope. I know you, too, hope that he and Garoa will join us soon."

  "I can hope, but I do not know. It seems as we get farther away that becomes a more distant hope. I do not know about you, elf, but it has not been the happiest seeing ruins of my people, as I am sure seeing your own ruins will be less than joyful for you."

  She nodded and said, "As long as we can complete our tasks, I shall be happy."

  The two said little more and settled down for the night. The hour grew late and their tired bodies, though partially restored by the hot springs, still needed further rest.

  Chapter 15 Narisond

  The morning was upon them, and they awoke ahead of most everyone else in Swunock. Arsus had gathered his items, including his helm, but planned not to take it. He threw a cloak over his shoulders, but his armor was still partially visible.

  "A Legatus riding through the countryside is not normal occurrence without a Legion at his back!" he told them as they walked outside.

  Just visible in the darkness of the valley were four horses. Euso snickered, seeing that one horse was smaller than the rest.

  "It seems the priestess accounts for the dwarf among us," he said.

  "I am not the only one of small stature here, Euso!"

  "That is true," Euso confirmed, "but since that is true, I will give you first attempt at riding a large horse."

  The dwarf snarled a bit and spat, "I can do it!"

  He took hold of the reins, but could not pull himself up.

  The others looked on smiling, but struggled not to laugh.

  He tried again, gripping the saddle and trying not to let the leather strap slip through his hands. He grunted and pulled, sweat forming on his brow. Then with a shout, he gave a hard pull and his feet were up. Kicking, he tried to scale the height but slipped, rolling away from the horse. The horse neighed and kicked, and Arsus grabbed its rein, calming it.

  "Fine!" Slats said, "I will take the pony!"

  They each laughed, not to the approval of the dwarf, and mounted.

  Berie patted her horse. "This makes me miss my old friends in the woods south of Elinathrond," she said, referencing the unicorns.

  "I do not know what horses they have in the far north," Euso said, "but these are larger than anything I have seen. It really isn't sensible to have a large horse on the island."

  Arsus mounted the horse obviously suited for him. Armor affixed to its breast ran up the horse’s neck. Just before the saddle was a place for his sword, and a large spear sat in a holder to the side of the saddle. He draped coverings over these as settled into the mount.

  "What kind of horses do you speak of, Berie?" he asked.

  "Unicorns," she replied. "But I fear that they may not be anymore." Her voice softened as a sadness was upon her and evident once again.

  He smiled. "I had wished to see one, as a boy, I mean. I hope they are not all gone."

  "Perhaps not," she replied.

  In a careful trot, they exited the vail of the village and passed again the bleating goat that had greeted them when they first arrived.

  "Goodbye, friend!" Euso called.

  Down the narrow pathway and to the open plains they caught sight of a pale sunrise shrouded in clouds. Their path turned them south and, going into a gallop, they went down a dirt path made through large bushes that ran the length of the mountain. As the sun rose higher, the rocky grounds and occasional boulders gave way to tall, green grasses and sporadic trees.

  They soon passed a series of waterfalls that came from the mountains and fed the lower plains. The river was crisp and clear, and the horses stopped at its bank for a drink. The four riders dismounted to stretch.

  "We are beyond the range of most patrols of the Legions," Arsus said. "As well it is known that not many reside this way, as well as further south into the red rock regions. There is a fishing village some ways southwest of here, but those people keep to the water."

  "Good to hear," Euso commented.

  Berie pulled a piece of dried meat from her pack and offered it to those standing. Slats gladly took a piece and smacked it as if he had not had food in many days.

  "Have you not ever journeyed to the elvish homes?" Berie asked Arsus.

  He shook his head no and said, "It is forbidden. Many forbidden places exist, but especially going near any site of ruins of any of the magic people. The catching of memory sickness is still thought real by most, even if some of the younger do not care and try to go on their own. The Grand Protectorate has had hands in the deaths of some of them that came back speaking of what they saw."

  "So you cannot even visit a place of history?" Slats asked.

  "The Order is too scared that someone would learn something that differs from that of the commonly told knowledge. When you are trying to continue a lie, it does no good if people wander into the truth on their own."

  Berie stared around at the trees and the river. She closed her eyes and remembered a starry night and a hastened walk. She was with her mother picking berries. It was not this place, but further downstream. Coming out of a grove of trees, the beasts gave pursuit.

  Near a side path into the city, the beasts caught up to them. She still felt the arrow points passing just over her skin as a host of their brethren came to their aid. Her father took her by the hand and pulled her to safety. Her mother had been good with a bow, too, and had remained there to fight off the rest of the beasts.

  A tear formed in her eye and she shook her head, rubbing her eye quickly to avoid others seeing. For a moment, a glimmer of light seemed to appear in the trees and then fade. She questioned what her eyes saw.

  "What do you think?" Slats asked her. He had not noticed her tearing, and thought she simply stared out.

  "It is further from here, of course. By night, we should be near the place. I will need the stars to know for sure."

  Arsus stretched his arms upwards and said, "So around sundown will place us just on the edge of these woods, and the start of the red rock regions. Are the elves not of a place in the trees?"

  "Yes, we were. But I fear that much has changed there," she said, mounting her horse again.

  As they began again and the horse crossed the river, Berie whispered a song to herself.

  Clear springs flow freely from the mountains high,

  Arcane torches burn, bright flames to the sky.

  The trees grow tall and to the clouds t
hey rise,

  In Narisond, the elves do meet.

  Starfire upon leaves under moonlight shine,

  Elf paths hidden trodden by those divine,

  Harps plucked in wondrous song and rhyme,

  In Narisond, happiness is life.

  Darks days fell as elf bows did sing,

  Swords held high in sunlight gleamed,

  But a curse of fate coming unseen,

  In Narisond, we were doomed.

  A home of many for years so long,

  And of life, birth, and fairy song.

  My soul weeps to see my home,

  In Narisond, I am now alone.

  The sun trekked further west, and their horses carried them into a deep borough of trees that made traversing further difficult. They dismounted, choosing instead to lead the horses nearing a mire that stank of a rancid odor. In the distance, they could see a large pond, surrounded by a thick overgrowth of dark green weeds that extended as far as they could see without climbing up a tree.

  "We are nearing my home," Berie said, "but no mire was here long ago. It was a lake with soft stones. I remember playing here as a small child."

  Slats spotted what seemed to be a path of fallen timbers and tiny islands in the water. He stepped to the bank of the swamp, but stepped back quickly — the log he had used as footing sank into the mud.

  "I wouldn't risk it," Arsus advised. "We would do well to find a way around."

  They began walking south. Berie knew the path north would lead them to just more of the mud, and the bank of the river could be crossed once again and they could turn back into the woods once clear of the mud. Although she remembered the lake, it was still a great distance to her home, and the way was lost to her.

  The path around the thick mud was long and any hope of using a bridge was lost as stone posts that showed where one had been. The river came to life in the woods, and they crossed over it, and, coming again to an open area, they were able to remount and walk a ways along the woods.

  Night approached, and their change in path had delayed them. Quickening their pace, the gallop of their horses proceeded the chirps and buzzes of night bugs. Lightning bugs flashed in the bushes near them, reminiscent of fairies to the saddened elf.

  The sun finally set. The green ground turned dusty as they came to area of bare trees, skeletons of what they once were, going on for some time east from where their horses slowed to a trot and then stopped.

  Berie dismounted, but signaled for the others to stay on their horses.

  She went to a tree and felt its trunk. Closing her eyes, she sensed the roots of the tree were frayed and dry. The ground below her feet was dead, and not even worms burrowed below. The air was rancid, and not from the swamps of the old lake; all life was gone from this land.

  Staring upwards, she looked to the stars. Her eyes closed again, and she imagined laying in the trees as a child and what stars she had seen then.

  They have drifted some.

  But she knew the way. The large star that once set over the Chief of the Trees led to the grand city. In the old tongue, the elves called it Narisond, Fortress of Wood.

  The star was high above, faithfully shining ever bright, the mountain peaks below it, like two fangs. Upon their bleak summits were two great towers long dormant and dark. They had once been shining beacons to elves everywhere. Now they were cold and without life, like all save the last elf.

  She remembered the way. Their path was east through the edge of this now-dead woodland region. Turning to the others, a steady wind blew upon her. She lowered her head.

  "My home is this way," she said in a hushed tone.

  The others looked ahead at the bleak surroundings, the dead shrubs, cracked ground, and blackened trees. Berie mounted her horse, and they began down a fractured pathway at a trot.

  As they went, the ground itself began to show signs of brickwork, and further ruins showed tattered bridges overgrown and leading over nothing more than a small trench that was as dry as the dirt on which they rode.

  There were large hollowed trees lining the road. Once great trunks were now home to emptiness and shadows, their life force no more than any thing that once thrived here.

  A large stonewall lay ahead. Straggled vines, frayed and tattered, covered what was once the outer border to the chief city of the elves. The stalwart gateway had been battered inward and thrown down, broken, and blackened pieces littered the path. Crumbled pillars were all that remained, and such had been after the fall of Narisond.

  Passing into the gateway, they came upon the ruins of the city. Berie led the group, and her horse was well ahead of the others. Although a darkness was upon what could be seen, Berie's eyes looked upon her homeland with a welling of tears and quick jerking motions. The moon above splashed upon the rubble, on which only occasional frames of intricate woodworking and jeweled stones were visible through a blackened ash that covered nearly everything.

  "Strange the jewels remain," Slats said.

  Arsus shook his head. "People do not come here. Just as it was at the dwarven caves, we were the first to go there after it was abandoned. There are many stories among men of such places being haunted, riddled with horrid curses and magics. We do not dare step upon these grounds. If I was not with you and Berie, I would not even be here."

  "Seems a good ploy to prevent people from going places you don't want them to. How clever of the Grand Protectorate," Euso laughed.

  Berie turned her horse as they walked and took up a spot beside the others as they continued.

  "Long ago, the kingdoms of men sent visitors here and our Lords would meet under the stars,” she said. “There was a sharing of cultures then and even the dwarves, when you could drag them into the trees that is, would come here. This was not a place of war; although, in later days it became as such. I have long-desired to return, but this is not the place that it was.”

  There then came a sound in the wind. A ringing, almost a melody, and Berie looked around to find its source. Slats, Euso, and Arsus looked around, also, although they did not hear what the elf did.

  "Berie, what is it? What is wrong?" Slats asked.

  The dwarf had his hand on his ax, and Arsus slid off his horse, drawing his blade.

  She stopped looking around and set her eyes to the right. Dismounting, she began into the ruins, following a pathway that led toward the sound she heard.

  Slats dismounted, his ax now in hand. He chased after her, followed by Arsus and Euso, who ran to catch up as well.

  She heard the sound again, which grew louder as she began to run, much to the disdain of her companions, who barely could guess why she was running, much less keep up with her nimble pace.

  The lack of lighting made it even more difficult, though they could see the elf ahead of them, their eyes could not see as well as hers. If it were not for Arsus being able to see above the rubble toward Berie, she would had left them far behind.

  Berie had heard this tune before. It had been a very long time, indeed. It was one only she would know, for her mother used to sing it to her as a child.

  She came to a large circular fountain. A tree trunk had made its edge a resting place as it fell well before this night, but it was here the sound again stopped.

  Berie stood looking at the fountain as the others made it to her side.

  The dwarf bent over, his hands on his knees, and he struggled to breathe next to Euso, also out of breath.

  "Next time we can find a path for the horses, I am sure. My legs can't take much more of this!"

  She did not reply to him, nor even look up.

  "My mother used to bring me to the fountain when I was young. It was a place of fairies then. They would come from the trees above on nights when the sky was cloudy and the moon glow hidden. They liked to play in the water. She used to tell me to mind my hands when I touched them. Their wings were fragile. I use to walk along the edge of the fountain, but that was something she disliked rather much. She would say I would trip and
keep falling if I fell into this fount!"

  Slats stood back up. Walking to Berie's side, he patted her on her back. "I know you miss your family, but why is it we have come to this place? I do not mean to be rude, but we must find the Dwarven Hand."

  Berie shook her head, "It is well known among elves that when a spirit dies, there are forces in nature that will determine how it might remain for a time. My mother said I would return, and I followed her song to here."

  Arsus walked toward the fountain. As he came to the edge, he looked over and noticed that it was no dried-out basin or collection of rain water, but a passageway opening into the ground.

  "Um, dear elf? Might I ask why there is a no bottom to this fountain?"

  Berie, her interest piqued, went to the fountain.

  "It is a secret way to the tunnels," she said, “left open in the final days of the city.”

  "How is there a passage where water should pool? How did it not run out?" Arsus asked.

  "Clearly, it was enchanted," Euso said, raising an eyebrow.

  Berie looked in and to the side of the circular hole in the fountain.

  "I see some source of light down there,” she said.

  "Well, I for one will not be going first," Arsus said. "I found myself a bit overwhelmed with the first ancient place I visited. Lead on, dear elf and dwarf!"

  Slats and Berie looked at one another before Slats shrugged.

  "I will go," he told them. "Dwarves like tunnels."

  He climbed into the fountain and looked into the hole. There were steps that led down, which thankfully for the dwarf, were not slippery and actually quite dry, which was not what he had expected.

  Berie followed him, and Arsus and Euso came after her. It was a few paces to solid ground again, but Slats looked around, assured his footing was firm, and then ran toward a large tree trunk of stone with a burning flame atop it.

  He went to the stone and noticed dwarvish writing next to the elvish. Though Elvish was not something a dwarf of the time would have known, he read the dwarvish one.