The man stood with the mangled dishes and turned. It was Ruir.
“Well, I brought your food but the drinks required a careful hand not just a strong one.”
Slats went to him, “Ruir, it is good to see you again. Still healing up?”
Ruir looked at his scabbed-over cuts and areas still bandaged. “I am conditioning my skin for more cuts! Soon we will all be ready. I had come to pick up my order from the blacksmiths. When you tend to toss your ax at the enemy you need to be assured you have another one for when their necks beg for a bleeding!” He shook his head deep and slow. “I do like a good bleeding.” He looked towards the food, “I saw this food and inquired of why such a good meal had been made. I was told of the half-elf bringing guests and knew it had to be you four. I insisted on bringing it to you but I was not as careful as needed. Servant work is not my specialty!”
“Aye, you just need to do it more,” The dwarf jeered. “I was not so good myself, but after a few, well fifty or so years, I was better at it, not to mention the other kitchen work.”
“Except for baking,” said Berie.
Sviska laughed, “I remember my first meeting with you, Slats, there were some issues with baking.”
“His ax work is good, though,” said Ruir,“and that is enough for me! Eat, eat! I will find some more drinks and send a person more capable of carrying them. I will speak to you all later.”
Ruir headed out, careful not to spill the remaining intact cups from the tray. As soon as they had finished eating, a trio of drinks arrived and, gathering their items as they swallowed them down, they exited the room and went towards the forge as instructed the night before.
Down the stairwell they found a long walkway with crenelated walls. Over the sides they spotted steaming water rushing back into the deeper part of the mountain and out to sea. The building ahead was alive with clanging and smashing. Upon walkways above them walked men with arms freshly cooled and ready for shipment to the Island Nation.
Ahead on a raised platform up a flight of stairs, stood both Gwyur and Kealin looking over a forged blade. Nearby, handling an ax and twirling a second in his other hand, was Ruir.
“A good night’s sleep and a decent meal?” Gwyur asked as they began up the steps.
The heat from the burning fires in the building was scorching. The dwarven forge was made up of not only a large fire in which to heat the ore before smiting it into different objects, but many anvils, twice the size of what would be expected in the rest of the world. As one man held the yellow orb of metal, just pulled from the fires, another two would rhythmically smite it as sparks littered the ground. In total, around thirty men worked the forge.
“It was good,” said Slats, “but it is even better to see such a place as this.”
“Yes, I can see, dwarf. This place means much to you. I am honored to be a smith within it.”
“As it did to us when I found it, though not so friendly and warm then, but we got the inner hearth lit. It took many men and several days for the system to work as designed,” said Kealin.
“Most of the city itself is underwater, but the passages to ore that could be still mined, as well as the shell provided by Kealin, made production even faster than expected. The marvel behind such a place. Even the cold-water vats we use to cool the metal can easily be emptied towards the sea and fresh water from the heart of the mountain is funneled into them. But enough of this matter; I wish to show you what I have worked on for you.”
He led them around the forge and to a doorway in a column of rock. Following up a narrow stairwell that required all except Slats to duck down, they came to an area where the forge fires shot up through a column and the cool winds from atop the island met with the smoke, turning it into a hazy cloud.
“The deep fogs of this region help hide the signs of fires but still we must be careful as of late.”
From the level they stood, they spotted the sea stretching towards the horizon from the north side of the island through an opening in the mountain. The ruins of two towers which sat to either side of the opening fell in rubble down the slope leading towards a slapping waterline below.
Around this level of the forge were stone tables now used as workbenches in a circle around the fires. Gwyur went to a chest that sat before one of the nearest benches and unlocked it with a key he pulled from under his shirt.
“When Kealin requested I craft armor for the Chieftains, I took extra time to refine the materials to a hardness that even Slatnichor would be proud of! But when I finished their armor, he told me that he had a special request and that the weapons of the old races were wielded again. I made special armor for each, following a rough estimate of sizes from the half-elf.”
Kealin laughed, “I have seen many pieces of armor protecting both woman and man, not to mention the occasional beast in the old days. I think I did well by my sizing.”
The blacksmith pulled the first of the sets of armor out.
It was silver, but hues of red and bluish shells made up the sides and the creases of the chest. With it he pulled out a pair of leather pants; the hardened metals from the forge had been made into plates that ran the length of the leg but were stacked like scales.
“This is for Berie, the elf and wielder of the Bow of Truesong.”
He handed it to her and smiled.
Going back to the chest, he took out a second set of armor; this too was silver and of similar design but smaller. A spiked helmet adorned with the horns of a sea animal in a line from the forehead and back were split by a single spike of metal. The emblem of crossed axes were set upon the breastplate and dwarvish ruins decorated the sides.
“This one if for Slatnichor. We are not perfect in our understanding of Dwarvish but we were told from Kealin, in detail, of the Hammersongs.”
“I see,” said Slats, “This reads well in the language of dwarves and I am honored to be noted as such. Now I must earn such a title.”
Gwyur smirked, “We honor all dwarves with such a description.” He turned to the others, “The inscription means, “Son of Hammer, Bane of the New World.”
Kealin laughed, “The meaning perhaps not as significant to many now, but the hammer is the most important of all dwarven relics. If not for the hammer, not one thing here nor of many places of old, would be. In time, Slats shall prove to be the bane of this world made by the Grand Protectorate.”
Gwyur pulled another set of armor out. It was a simple silver, with two brooches permanently fastened to the front. The image of the stars engraved across the chest in a line and a downward-facing crescent moon made up the lower portion of the armor.
“I know not of the Rusis language or I would of made mention of your people, but you are secretive as the night and have powers in shadows. I took extra care to carve in the stars you will wear as a homage to the night.”
Garoa took the armor, looking down at it, “Thank you, Master Blacksmith. It is long since I hid in the shadows. Perhaps, there will not be need for it again.”
“And now for Sviska,” said Kealin.
Gwyur returned to the chest, lifting out the armor. He held it before Sviska.
The image before him was one carved with conch shells around the shoulders. A simplistic fish ran from the breastplate down towards the abdomen on the left side and along the right were etchings that Sviska could not understand.
“As the wielder of Sishan, Kealin had asked that, aside from the metals of blended shell and ore harvested from the mountain, that his own inscription be placed on this armor and markings of the mer-people and the ocean be included.”
Kealin walked before Sviska and pushed the armor from Gwyur towards him, “You will find the power of Sishan will flow well through you with this armor. The inscription is one of secret from the sea but trust it holds power.”
“I am grateful, Kealin.”
He took the armor and looked down at it. His time with the Order had never given him armor such as this; though he had sliced the flesh aro
und finely crafted metals, he was happy to have some of his own. The others each placed their armor on the stone table as Gwyur pointed for them to do so.
It was then a loud sound echoed through the island ruins. The sounds of the clanging of the forge faltered as another loud call split the island.
“No, dis is not happening,” the half-elf whispered.
Another horn called and shouting began below.
“Your armor, get it on!” he commanded.
The horn called again, deep and long, as the four worked to affix their armor before donning their cloaks given to them by Brethor.
Upon finishing, Kealin and Gwyur immediately began downward, followed by the others.
“If they are sounding the horn, the perimeter is breached and the point ships are overrun,” Gwyur said.
“We must hurry. Dey will be upon us soon.”
“We will need to launch the Island fleet to stop them, we need to get all to the ships.”
“Yes to the first but I have need of the dwarf elsewhere.”
They made it to the second level and Slats heard his name called.
“Slats, this place had a great tower once. I had hoped to take you there, as well as the others, but it will have to do that you go now. In the times before, a beacon of light shone atop it.”
“A lighthouse?” simplified Sviska.
“Of a sort. From there you can see well the approach towards the island and it was made so that not many could see it from the water. You and Berie go there, the rest of us have blade work to do.” He pointed towards a causeway leading upwards that they could just see wrapping up the mountain. “Go there, you will find the way to awake the guardian. Don’t wait for us all to be dead.”
“What guardian?” asked Berie.
“Come on, elf, should be a good perch for arrow shooting!” shouted Slats, in a full sprint towards the causeway.
Berie pulled her bow from her back as Slats began up towards the causeway. The others ran towards the door of the sheer cliff and to the waterway where Kealin had docked with them the night before. As they opened the doors, the masts of at least ten ships were rushing by. Many had less than full crews but not one man hid in fear. Ruir had already made it to the helm of his High ship an was holding two axes. He lifted both up in unison.
“To arms, those of the island forge! The Legions have come to test our skill in metals! Throw them to the sea!”
“How many ships?” asked Gwyur.
“They know something, I counted twelve. The large ones. The perimeter guard did not stand a chance.”
Kealin tapped his silver hammer on the dock and Tulasiro and his black boat came from the depths in an eruption of frigid water. The ship came to rest near the dock and Kealin turned and looked at Sviska and Garoa.
“We shall move behind the main group. It is fear that will win this battle, that, and the work of our elf and dwarf friends!”
Sviska and Garoa boarded as Kealin clicked his tongue, “Tulasiro, take us out and around the ships of the Island Nation.”
Sviska had no more than settled in his seat when the narwhal propelled them away from the dock.
The half-elf laughed, “The time for evasion and hiding has ended. My blades thirst.”
Chapter 3 Torch of Throka
The sailing winds were swift and filled the ships’ sails. A few ships had mustered enough men to row ahead of the rest, breaking away from the main group. Ahead of them, the Grand Protectorate ships merged into a line. Navigating through the rocks required tact and control of vessels so large. Two had already passed through the rocky gateway and were on a collision course with the Island Nation counterattack.
The narwhal pulled them towards the right, Ruir shouted a loud battle cry over the sounds of the breaking water. His vocals seemed to energize those around him. Tulasiro changed course again and pulled the ship through another low-hanging stone archway.
The attack was underway. Surrounded by the splintered ships of the perimeter guards, the Legion Armada had slowed and were now three in line. Boarding them would be difficult. They were at least four ships taller than that of the Island Nation. Between the two large circular masts, the front of the ships had two large crossbows. The men aboard cranked the handles, aiming for one of the center ships of the many that rowed at a quickening speed for an attack.
Ruir spun his axes, standing at the fore of his High ship. He smiled as the crossbows slapped the air with the release of the iron bolts. Though powerful, the Armada found it difficult to aim in the rough water. The bolts flew over them, landing among the slower ships behind. A moment later, another volley flew into the Island Nation ships and in a splintering of wood and splashing water, two ships were now sinking. The crews feverishly worked to empty water and keep themselves above the sea at all costs.
The Legion Armada was confident in their actions, as the fourth ship into the ring of stone cruised forward; men atop it looked down at Ruir as his ship passed through the first three and began along the fourth ship’s bow. The men began tossing spears, the clang and clamor bouncing along the ship as the crew responded, returning fire. Ruir shouted loud, throwing two of his three axes. Each found their marks in the face of his foes but as soon as the men fell, another two stepped in to fill the gap.
Ruir had more surprises. He went to the helm of his ship. They were midway down the length of the fourth ship when he began pulling iron rods from the floor to an upward position. Dwarven mechanics switched and clanked and from the sides of his ship curved spikes sprung out, crashing into the wooden bow of their adversary, ripping and tearing at the planks that made up the frame.
The men of the Legion looked down shouting, their ship damaged and falling to one side, as Ruir directed his ship behind and along the sides of the other ships, lining up another barrage on the already-weakened vessels. The other two rowing ships were nearing range for their grappling hooks and Ruir shouted again, his men working to speed towards the bow of another ship.
As Sviska and Garoa, with the narwhal and Kealin, sped around the two disabled ships, they looked to see the rest of the fleet bearing down on Ruir. However, it was not that which caught Kealin’s attention. A second attack was coming, and it seemed those of the Red Trident were not all gone.
From a foggy area between two large crags, untouched yet by the sun’s rays and awaiting for word from the Legion Armada, at least twenty ships awaited. Their captains took no offense in the Grand Protectorate’s desire to handle the Island Nation first; they would preserve their ships and crews. These were not their native waters and they cared little beyond the money they were paid to support the Grand Protectorate.
Kealin raised his hand and Tulasiro stopped. Garoa and Sviska turned and noticed the quandary.
“Ruir has stopped one ship,” Sviska pointed out, “We can support him and then regroup. I do not know much of ship battles but we cannot take two fleets on at once.”
“I say attack,” said Garoa, “attack the ships waiting. If the Legion morale is low they will look for their allies. We can at least burn their masts; it will make them slow and vulnerable.”
Two balls of flames materialized in his hands.
Kealin quirked his head, “Der is more to the second fleet than mere blades and bolts, but I agree with you, Garoa. Keep your head down and your fire handy.”
Tulasiro pulled them around and the boat sliced through the water in a direct path towards the ships awaiting their calls to action. The boat began to cut through rougher waves, the white spray of ocean splashed the ship and Kealin smiled.
Garoa stood, balancing on the ship as it sped towards the fleet. Placing his hands together, blood began to pump towards his fingertips, a slight warming sensation as a tingling began. He formed the flames in his mind, envisioning them in his hands. In a mere second, a large red burning orb formed and he reared back before throwing his hands forward, the flaming ball speeding ahead of them.
He chose the ship closest to him as a target. As the
flames struck the front mast of the ship, the cloth of the sales ignited and the fog around the ship dissipated. The men aboard shouted, jumping out of the way of burning ropes and wood falling to the deck.
The response from the ship was quick. From the bow of the ship, what looked like simple statues adorning the wood came to life, the eyes of the humanoid creatures alight with a blue fire. Like a thunderstorm birthing bolts of lightning in the sky, an arc of electrified energy bounced along the water and struck near Tulasiro and Kealin’s ship.
Tulasiro turned right forcefully, the boat sliding along the top of the water and jerking as she pounded her tail. Kealin’s boat sped towards the enemy fleet.
Garoa summoned more fire, tossing it at another ship and alighting it in flames although other ships began to erupt with lightning, causing the hairs on his arms to rise with static as explosions rocked the ship from the bolts striking the water. A sizzling sound filled the air.
Sviska’s ears were ringing. As the narwhal pulled them in an arc to circle around the fleet, an arm of ships move forward, seeking to cut them off. The narwhal banked left, a surge in its pace shifting the winds crossing over the boat. Kealin drew his blades before tapping Sviska on the shoulder.
“Prepare to disembark as Tulasiro delivers us to the ship. Garoa, you should hold on.”
The Rusis looked at him and then sat down, holding onto the side of the boat.
“And us?” asked Sviska.
Kealin knelt, “Prepare to jump!”
As they neared the ship, they saw the faces of their enemies were blackened and red with the trident markings and they had tattoos along their arms. Sviska took a quick look, unable to see a ledge or rope to grab. The distance was too high to jump. Kealin remained kneeling down and Sviska followed his form. Tulasiro seemed to dive down and then in a jerking motion, the sea creature broke the surface of the water, the ship trailing behind her; they flew into the air and over the bow of the ship. Kealin flipped backwards as they passed over the crew and Sviska followed, but not expecting the sudden action, his balance was not as good as the half-elf. He struck the ship, rolling along the planks. He drew Sishan and pushed himself up to his feet. Kealin was already deep into the enemy, spinning and slashing his blades. Four gushing corpses collapsed to the deck, with more to soon join them.
Saints of Wura: Winemaker of the North, Arcane Awakening, Reckoning in the Void (Saints of Wura Books 1-3 with bonus content) Page 58
