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

  “Perhaps the enemy will remain and my hand will be needed!” said Ruir.

  The Falacar Chiefs stopped Slats. Bloodhawk lifted his head high, “The Falacar will ride the southern fields, we wish not to stay near Sediya and her people any longer.”

  Slats looked over to Sediya. She turned away from them with a curved smile.

  Bloodhawk shook his head, “Slatnichor, I and a few of my men will come with you while the rest go to the south.”

  “Very well. Thank you.”

  “The Falacar remain loyal to the Saints of Wura.”

  A host of horsemen of the Legion mounted and began towards Lokam. The main host of the Second Legion and those able of the Island Nation were giving marching orders for immediate march to the west but the horsemen would arrive well ahead. Above them, Sediya and her kind had taken flight and soared following the path west.

  “Sediya and Bloodhawk seem to be working together, a truce between them perhaps?” Arsus questioned.

  Slats shook his head, “I am not sure but it seems they have been able to avoid taking off each other’s head for now. I am happy for that.”

  Lokam was held. At least from the western side around to the south east corner. The fighting had slowed to more of a clear-out of a tavern scuffle as men were searched for, house by house, and dragged into the streets. One area of the east side, though, was gated and had large homes with tall towers. The gates were sealed and Legion warriors, privately paid for by the tenants of the houses, were not keen on giving up their ground.

  The people of Taria had set up a barricade line that offered protection from the random arrow fire that seemed to strike at any who approached the gate. The Lord of Tar Mena was there. His men carried their battering ram from the gates on the west side of the city to the sealed gateway.

  Back at the center island, the Island Chieftains had begun to tend to their wounded as the Saints of Wura returned from the tower. Garoa walked ahead of them, the staff in hand and his daughter at his side.

  “It is done?” asked Knasgriff.

  Tvila smiled but did not approach them as they stopped. Garoa glared at Knasgriff.

  “Kealin betrayed us.”

  He started walking again towards the sealed gates.

  “What happened?” Knasgriff said to Sviska.

  “The Itsu Priest was atop the tower. If you are asking of Kealin, then I will say he stopped Garoa from attacking the Priest, and then he and the Priest left. I do not understand it, but we have the staff and Garoa rescued his daughter.”

  Garoa stood before the gates; lifting his staff up he caused the welds he had made to soften and the gates to fall in.

  Brethor followed now, his body completely garbed and covered. Sunlight was not his friend and the dark woods and caves he had lived in before with the wolves were far from the open pathways of the city. He missed the dark winters of Elinathrond and the freedom he had there. His appearance seemed to baffle Knasgriff, who raised his brow at the sight.

  “I have a lack of enjoyment for the sunlight,” Brethor told him.

  Knasgriff nodded but still was confused.

  The second set of gates fell before Garoa. Tvila joined him.

  “We still have enemies to the east?” he asked her.

  “Yes, but we received word that the forces of Taria have them cornered. I had thought the god had destroyed all of the legions but it does not seem so.”

  “I will deal with them.”

  Voices came from the road near the bridges, “Hail Garoa, Rusis, our new master.”

  He looked to his right to see a host of red robes coming towards him. It was the Priors of Kel.

  Master Nusian reached him first and knelt, “The staff is wielded once again, bless your path, Rusis.”

  The others knelt also and Brethor stood near them.

  “The Priors were held up, supporting my wolves in the western area of the city, but they were here.”

  “We saw the great one above, and know he is free,” Nusian said, “This day was one that Master Nelkor would have been honored to see.”

  A loud pounding shook the ground, repeated slowly as shouting grew.

  “Those of Taria may need our aid,” said Ruir.

  The host of warriors followed the sounds, finding Lord Utros directing his men as a battering ram shattered the stone pillars holding the gate.

  “Brethor,” he said, turning, “We have progressed well and, even now, we seek the last of the defenders that holed up here.”

  He looked past Brethor and to the Island Chieftains.

  “You have done well, warriors. The victory of Lokam is nearly done.”

  “Is all well here?” asked Brethor.

  “Some pesky troops are held up inside this gated area, nothing a good tree trunk can’t fix.”

  Lord Utros laughed with Brethor.

  Sviska stood near the rear of the group. His last dealings with the Lord of Tar Mena were not great ones but his evasion was no good, Utros saw him.

  “Sviska,” he said, “I would’ve liked to further your punishments had Brethor not spoken to me as he did. Still I find it hard to believe such things but it is becoming more believable. A proper greeting, I am Lord Utros, commander of the Taria forces.”

  Sviska nodded to him, “Seeing as you know my name, I will express that I am a Saint of Wura, a god of the north, and am against the Order.”

  The gateway had began to crumble just past midday. Those inside began to form a shield wall, as those on the outside prepared for attack as soon as the gateway fell.

  Garoa had taken a seat near a charred building with his staff across his legs. Asnea was near him and was silent.

  Lord Utros, who had before been clapping and dancing with the pounding of the battering ram, looked over.

  “Wait, you can just take down the gate, can you not?”

  Garoa looked up through his hair, not caring to look up completely. He turned to Asnea.

  “I will be back.”

  The Rusis went to the battering ram and the men striking with it stopped. His staff glowed and hummed as he lifted it.

  Inside, the defenders that remained held their shields together but a nervousness came over them. Garoa stood before the gate. From a building behind the walls a lone arrow was loosed and Garoa spotted the shooter. A flaming ball struck the spot and the man fell to his death from the third story of one of the houses.

  His staff buzzed as the gate’s hinges shook and broke, the gate falling inward.

  The men at his sides did not move as he walked in.

  “Defenders, I am Garoa, Rusis and wielder of the staff of the Northern god, Kel. We have taken this city from the Grand Protectorate. I wish no further bloodshed this day. Tell me, why do you still fight when outnumbered as you are.”

  Silence was all that answered.

  “I wish not to kill you but we have injured that need tending to and I am quite hungry at the moment. Casting magic does tend to tire you. I will not risk the lives of my friends to kill you, so I will offer you the option of fire or ice in your deaths, that is, if you do not wish to speak.”

  From one of the houses, a door opened, two hands appeared held aloft.

  “I am unarmed!” the voice said.

  “Come forward,” Garoa said.

  By now those of the Island Nation, Taria, Brethor, Sviska, and Berie had taken spots behind him.

  A man in a brown robe appeared, older with grayish hair and partial balding. He scampered with his feet, his knees shaking and his breathing fast, as he walked towards Garoa with his hands up.

  “You must leave our place of peace, you are diseased!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You, some of the others, you are of magic and we do not wish you here.”

  “There is no disease!” said Brethor. “It was a curse meant to turn the people of the world against magic.”

  “You say so, do you?” asked the man.

  “He speaks the truth,” Lord Utros said, �
�I was as you but I believe it to be true.”

  “Who are you?” asked Garoa.

  “I am Sevus, a speaker of the people, Poluti we are called. We have taken refuge here. These guards are our paid bodyguards and are not of the Blessed Legion, do not harm them. Many you have killed today were the last of the old legions, that last of our kind. The Blessed Legions are of magic and we are not. Do not harm us.”

  “You are not to make demands to us,” Knasgriff stated, “You will do as we command.”

  “We do not hold you here, nor will we hold any of the people here,” Garoa told them, “If you wish to leave, take nothing and do so.”

  “We wish to remain with the people. The Grand Protectorate was rumored to have left before, we will not abandon them.”

  “Fine,” said Garoa.

  There was grumbling behind him, he turned looking at the Lord of Taria and the Island Nation Chieftains.

  “If any of you have something to say, speak. I am tired and wish for rest, as do all of your warriors.”

  None said anything but Tvila approached him, “We need to bind them and take them for holding. We cannot have people just running around with weapons. The people of Lokam are afraid. We will need familiar faces for them.”

  “Bind them!” said Knasgriff.

  There was an instant struggle and many of the other Poluti began to file out of the houses and were forced to their knees.

  “Why are we being taken like this?”

  “You are prisoners of war,” said Knasgriff, “For now, it will be like this. Once we have settled our defenses, we will address the people of this city and decide what to do with you.”

  Garoa went to Sviska and Berie.

  “My daughter needs a good meal and rest. I will take her to the inn. If you have need of me, I will be there.”

  Berie looked to Tvila who had run over to help Garoa. At first, he seemed shocked, but when he saw that Asnea struggled to stand, he took her help.

  “We won,” Berie said to Sviska, “For now.”

  The prisoners were walked pass them. Their hands had been bound behind their backs and their faces were covered. People in nearby buildings were peering out, afraid to do anything other than hide.

  Sviska noticed a tiny face peering out from a window above him, he gave a small wave and the child disappeared, another face looked down at him with a frightened stare and he looked away.

  Brethor went to Berie, “I am glad you are well, my child. I see the bow of Truesong has indeed served you well.”

  “It has.”

  He nodded, “My wolves are headed towards the east. We need news of the battle and of Slats.”

  Around Lokam, the combined forces that had taken the city worked to further secure it. Guards and lookouts were placed above the gateways and in the towers that lined the walls. At numerous areas of the city were checkpoints and the occupants of the city were given planks of wood marked with a branding iron denoting their area of the city. People were not allowed in areas other than their home areas; any refusal to comply was treated as a crime, and the person was taken to a detention area in one of the corners of the city.

  The Poluti prisoners were held in the keep on the center island. Heavy guards were placed around the Island and ships patrolled the waterway. Many of the longships were damaged in some way but were towed outside the walls of Lokam for repairs.

  With Kealin gone, they also saw no sign of Tulasiro. The Narwhal had fled, as well, and as Sviska walked along the northern wall, he watched the sea.

  Rubbing the adornments of his armor, he unstrapped it, dropping it on the wall. The weight off his shoulder released, he rubbed his neck and the stiff muscles in his right arm.

  “Be careful,” he heard beside him, “You never know whom may come upon you.”

  Sviska jumped, drawing his dagger but then sighed and laughed as Brethor approached, still garbed as before, holding two cups that he set on the wall looking towards the sea.

  “You will never hear me complain of my old estate and the far north, the sun is bright here,” he laughed, taking a drink from his cup, a red dribble of blood coming from his lip. He wiped it with his hand.

  “At least with the wolves, raw flesh was a normal occurrence. People tend to frown when you do that in a civilized place such as this.” He motioned the other cup, “Wine, of course, for you. I found it in the city.”

  Sviska nodded and took the cup to lip, “Yes, they do. Have there been any issues in the city?”

  “As many as you can expect when you take a city as we did, but it could be worse. There is a general disdain for the Order here. I am surprised that the Order left prior to our attack. I do not think it was we that propelled them away. The city seemed remarkably easy to take, even given the battle we had. It was strange to me.”

  “No, there was some other issue. Perhaps Asnea knows more, or more can be found in the tower.”

  “Yes. But we will need to search the tower soon. Kel put a beating into its foundation and I worry it may not stand too much longer.”

  Brethor took a drink from his chalice, “I wish to ask you of Kealin. He took a liking to you, I’m guessing.”

  “And betrayed us. I worry what else is upon my armor. He touched it and I was stunned.”

  “It was not your armor. Kealin has a touch of power, he does not use it much. When I was younger, I spent a time with the half-elf and I can say he is honorable, though his ways can be dark. It is his brother you can thank for your training by the Order. His older brother founded a dark school of magic and blade many, many years ago.”

  A howl split the air and echoed across the fields. They looked to the northwest and caught sight of the Wolves of Taria with Falacar riders and those of the Second Legion.

  As the convoy approached, a growing presence took to the wall, bows were drawn back and guards formed at the gate, stopping the riders as they arrived. Sviska and Brethor ran down to join them.

  Chapter 8 In the Order’s Shadow

  The forces from the eastern battle were met with many wary glances.

  “We are friends,” Bloodhawk said, dismounting.

  From behind him, Slats emerged and caught sight of Sviska and Brethor emerging through the gates.

  “It seems we are both in fair order!” shouted Slats.

  “Friends,” Arsus said, dismounting and beginning towards them, “Forgive my lateness to the battles, but we did still come when the path was made.”

  “Thank you,” said Sviska.

  “You are welcome. When I arrived to the field of battle, the Legion had enveloped your friends and had them against the rocks. But they fought well, and among the men of the Island Nation and the Falacar, Slats has been well spoken of. Against impossible odds, I’d say.”

  Ruir laughed surveying the smoky city of Lokam from outside the walls, “Indeed, I missed a sight here. My men did well. All the men and women did well! You all did it, as Arsus said, against impossible odds, it seems.”

  “It is possible, for here we stand. Come into the city, all of you,” said Brethor.

  Arsus walked beside them, the others following behind. Those of the city that had drawn weapons sheathed them and looked on with a peculiar glare at those of the Falacar. Considering most of those that had spotted them were of Taria, they were not aware of the Island Nation’s ally.

  “Are there survivors? Are the people of the city well?”

  “It is a hastened peace,” said Sviska, “The people have been well considering the conditions. We have some of the Poluti also captured but none of the Order remained. They fled sometime before.”

  “Strange they would leave. But less to deal with, I guess.”

  Arsus stopped and went back to the horse, unstrapping his sword, throwing it over his shoulder.

  “I am sure this place is no longer as safe as I remember.”

  Sviska laughed, “Safer than it was when you left, or so you said.”

  “That is sure true!”

 
Above them, the sounds of flapping wings and a single screech preceded Sediya and some of her people landing atop the castle walls. The men around them gasped, scrambling to hold their spears and bows ready.

  “They are friends,” said Arsus.

  “Who are they?” Sviska asked.

  “The Iolas, harpies of old,” Brethor said in a less than favoring tone, “I had thought they were destroyed.”

  “You cannot have foreseen such a tragedy that they were not,” said Bloodhawk.

  “Watch yourself well,” Brethor whispered to Sviska, “These feathery types are not to be trusted.”

  “Warriors of Lokam!” Sediya shouted. “My brethren and I congratulate you on your victory here and offer our services as scouts around the land. We will assure that none come near Lokam in its, well, vulnerable state.”

  Sviska acknowledged her with a hand motion of thanks, “Take heart then, Sediya, and know Lokam is well-secured against all threats. Still, I thank you for your offer. Please come to us if you spot anything of worry.”

  “We will do so.”

  With massive flaps, stirring the dirt around them, they went into the air.

  “Sviska,” said Bloodhawk, “Can the Falacar alert you of our worries?”

  “Yes.”

  “They fly away now,” he pointed, “We should and will help guard Lokam.”

  “Thank you. I know little of either of you but you came from the will of the Gypsy Mother. Slats, do you and Ruir seek to move the army to Lokam?”

  “Yes, those able will be ordered to march here now. But we are taking care to assure our ships in the bay and that the road between Lokam and Srun are guarded. There is also the matter of the crucified. A horrid sight.”

  Bloodhawk nodded, “Our warriors weep for those lost of the Island Nation, both in battle and the innocent upon the roads. We will make sure of safe passage in these lands, as long as the sun and moon cross the sky, Saint of Wura.”

  The Falacar rode off, leaving two of their riders to watch the area, as the others followed Bloodhawk who would dispatch them as needed.

  Sviska, Slats, and Brethor turned back to the gateway and entered. They made their way to the tavern where Garoa had taken Asnea but found the door locked. They knocked.