Garoa nodded, a smile creasing his lips. “My dear friend, it seems you missed your life’s work of being a barkeep!”
The laughing continued throughout the night as the jokes became even less witty and more ale was spilled on the ground than drunk.
The two weeks prior to the feast had been a halt in the struggles that had befallen all of them. A breath of air from the mountains while the stench of the wastelands of the south grew stronger and ever closer.
The night turned over to day and those within the tavern stirred awake. Slats sat up first, the light peering into the tavern hurting the front of his head.
Outside, those of the Island Nation had arrived and docked their ships along the waterway. With them came also the King of the Drean, Youna.
Along the banks of the eastern city, the feast had been prepared with seating for those of leadership within the center island. As midday came, so also did the Lord of Taria, as well as the others, such as Brethor and Nusian, just shaping up after his night of drinking with the others. The last to arrive were the Falacar and Iolas; Bloodhawk and Sediya sat across from one another and said nothing.
Though much food had been prepared and as many people that could be served were, not all within the city could possibly be served, so individual districts held their own parties with cooking and drinking abounding.
As the sun began to set, more barrels of ale were brought from the ships. Evurius announced a toast.
“People of the Northern lands, of the seas of the South, and of the lands to the Far East, we unite together in an impromptu feast that I hope has satisfied all at least some.”
“Some indeed, we might need more ale!” shouted Ruir, his normal outfit of armor exchanged for a black cape and simple leather adornments.
“We are sure to have enough!” Evurius continued, “But I do announce the obvious, I am afraid. We are not done. We will move forward in the days to come and many more will be lost before the end. But I say to all of you, strap your armor to your chests, pull your boots up, form lines so vast that none may assail us.
“There has been word received by our General Arsus that more of the Legions join us. Two Legions from the southeast have made for Lokam bearing flags of mercy, more of our brothers have returned. We only must wait for the time to strike but now I say to you all, drink, my friends, drink!”
There was shouting from those present and glasses were brought to lip. Sviska looked over to spot a man in the garb of the Legion but missing a foot. He made good use of a cane as he put his hand on Slats’ shoulder.
“Good dwarf, it is good to see you.”
Slats and Berie both turned. “Centurion Nrath,” Slats said.
“You remember me, good. I still haven’t found my leg.” He made a motion to his missing leg, “But I can still fight from the mount if needed. The General has said it is so and I will serve him. I am happy to be within Lokam again. I believed the General’s call on the day we rebelled but I never believed we could do what has been done so quick. It is an honor to return this city to the glory it had before the coming of the Man of Fog. I am thankful for what has transpired, if it not of bad taste to say.”
“There are many that have worked for this victory,” said Berie.
“Indeed, you are right.”
Suddenly the Iolas Sediya spread her wings, knocking over those near her and took to the sky in a hurried flutter of feathers.
Bloodhawk was to his feet, his bow drawn but they could no longer see the sky above them. Garoa stood with the others and hurried to the top of the tower. The wings of other harpies flapped and swarmed above. In sudden flashes in the sky, two of the winged creatures fell lifeless to the city, one landing upon Knasgriff’s ship.
“Are we under attack?” someone shouted.
Garoa raised his staff, as Berie drew her bow beside him.
“Fire,” he told her.
Her bow twanged, sending the bolt towards the dark mass above and then the arrow stopped before turning and striking near her, propelled with purpose from the blackness.
“We are under attack!” Ruir shouted, “To arms!”
A scuffle below ensued but still Garoa’s eyes scanned above, as did Berie’s.
“What do you see?” asked Sviska.
“An old, foul friend,” Garoa replied.
A gloom befell the city as winds blew down upon them and the sky was completely blotted out.
“You have no place here!” shouted Garoa.
Around them, tentacles of shadow dropped along the roofs and walls of the city. Men scampered to the lower levels from the walls, screaming and abandoning their positions. Throughout the city, there was more screaming and the causeway and tower of Kel was cast in a shield of light as the Priors protected the Galhedriss Arcana and themselves.
“That is a new skill,”said Brethor.
“He taught them new things,” stated Slats.
Garoa climbed onto the edge of the keep walls, his staff in his right hand, with his tunic furled in the wind and gauntlets glowing.
“Go now, beast, do not tempt the wielder of the Staff of Kel.”
A rumbling shook the city and a weight fell upon the chest of all within, a dread unlike any other as a voice spoke deeply into the city.
I am not so easily waned.
The sight of the sky above was no longer seen, as the blackness began to drop down and a stench of corpses filled their noses, making many vomit around them. Garoa stood fast.
The Staff of Kel began to glow bright, a white light growing into a massive orb as bolts of light came from the staves of the priors. The magic whipped around the city, wrapping around the blackness and with a shout and scream, Garoa let loose the blast.
Brethor dropped and covered himself, the light as a radiant as the sun but many times more powerful than the spell Berie had used atop the mountain at Elinathrond. Thunder erupted and the blackness of the form fled. The night sky came within sight again.
Garoa turned with his staff in hand and his breath heavy. Those around him, and witnesses among the city, looked at him in awe.
Chapter 13 Disruption
He leapt from atop the wall and looked to the other Saints.
“The Demon of Ustavis has increased his power,” he said to them.
Sediya returned to the center island, “Was that entity the same as the one at my mountain?”
“Yes,” Berie said, “We saw two of your people fall, are any others injured?”
“No, but thank you for concerning yourself with the Iolas. Our sisters died in combat, as they should.”
A wolf howl sounded from the western side of the city. The shrieking sound tore through the city. Brethor jumped from the tower and ran to the west side in mere seconds.
“Follow him!” said Sviska.
Those with weapons handy made their way in haste towards the southern bridge but stopped as soon as they began across. Ahead, the Wolves of Taria walked backwards, growling. Brethor came next, but paused abruptly. A single wolf standing on two legs clawed at its head and rolled on the ground as it tried to swipe at Brethor.
Sviska’s mind thought of what Brethor had told them of the curse and Garoa, too, had thought the same. Already he walked towards them, his staff alight in rolling flames.
Brethor turned, “Back,Wolves!” He pointed to Garoa, “It is not the curse, Rusis, stay back!”
The host near the bridge fell back as the wolves hovered, their jaws just above the ground, growling. Berie was beside Sviska, her bow drawn, as Slats held his ax.
The wolf rolled onto its back, shaking, and then became still. Brethor felt its chest and then jumped back as the wolf rolled back to all four paws and then stood, sniffing the air and looking around.
“What are you doing?” asked Brethor.
The wolf looked down at him, its eyes widened.
“I am… again ,” it said, in a raspy barking voice.
“What are you?” asked Brethor.
“A mage of ol
d. We have been called, something calls out to us. I did not think we would be called especially so loudly, but we have been. I have been pulled from my form, as the others, but my mind and ability to speak are all I feel intact. My body is gone.”
Sviska stepped forward, as did Garoa.
“You are a mage?”
“One of the wandering ones of old. I chose this form to live out my days. I cared not to go to Elinathrond. I do not care for such cold places.”
“He is like Ustavis,” said Garoa.
The wolf snarled, snapping his teeth, “No! Not like that wretched man! Where is he? I will tear him apart.”
“I took care of that,” said Brethor, “Come, you have wounds that need cleaning, let us go to the gypsies and speak further.”
The lumbering wolf walked beside Brethor and towards the northern gate.
“We are well,” Sviska told the others that were with them before he, Garoa, Berie, and Slats hurried to catch up with Brethor. The Wolves of Taria following them.
As they exited the northern gate, they passed beside two guards baffled by the sight of a walking and talking wolf. The wolves took a watch along the perimeter except for Runka, who set next to a gypsy cart as healing salves were placed on the face of the other wolf.
“What may we call you?” Brethor asked.
“I was known as Rincew in my old home, but I dare say I do not remember where that was. My mind is not as it was many years ago.”
The gypsy women worked to clean his paws put he pushed them away.
“I am well.”
Even with such a harmless sentence, the raspy growling voice he had was enough to give chills to those in earshot.
“You could not have picked a worse time to come barreling into the city. A demon, brought to life by the late Ustavis, had attacked us.”
“We sensed it coming, I and the other wolves. A strong mage you must have in your midst.”
“A Rusis, actually,” Garoa said.
“One that bears the staff of the war god, too,” Rincew noticed. “You were well to retrieve it as you did though our young one died attacking the causeway.”
“We have all lost many in the days of late,” said Brethor.
“You must take care to not lose more. That calling I heard was loud and many sleeping still within the world would’ve heard it too. I know not what its purpose but I have reason to believe it ill.”
“Perhaps the demon and calling were related, one came with the other?”
“I would count nothing of that wisdom out. However, I may tell you from where I was summoned. It is far south, a place in the mountains. A place of power of old and though I cannot remember its name, we should leave soon to stop the summoning there.”
“How can you be sure?” said Slats, “How might you know what is even happening there?”
“The language was that not spoken in these lands now, it was that of the Southern gods, and of that tongue none live in this realm that know it. The Itsu Priest has not yet returned here, so you must know it has other paths it may choose to access, other less known roads.”
“Speak with the others,” said Brethor, “We need to leave soon, as Rincew has said. Faltering now could cost us greatly in the days to come. We have little more than ten days before the new moon.”
“I will go,” said Garoa, “Though we all have drunk, I feel quite sober after the events so far.”
Slats was the only one that did not leave the gypsy area. He found the condition of Rincew of particular interest and sought to talk to him more. While Brethor and Sviska went to the inn to gather supplies, Berie went with Garoa to the middle Island. Walking into the hall where dinner had been interrupted, they found Ruir finishing off another ale and looking rather relaxed, slouched back against the wall.
“What was the racket with the wolf?” he asked, his speech well slurred.
“The men said it talked, just like you and me,” said Evurius.
“And the men were stirred up about it,” Tvila added, “A very strange occurrence in timing with the creature in the sky.”
“It is well now,” said Berie, “The threat to our safety is no more. He is with Brethor and Slats having his wounds tended to.”
“No normal occurrence,” said Lord Utros, “I have been around the Wolves of Taria much the last bit, and I have never witnessed behavior like that.”
“We think the ordeal with the dark presence over the city and the activity of the wolf are related,” said Garoa.
“Do you think the wolf did it?” Tvila stood, alarmed at the thought.
“Of course not, but the wolf has regained the thoughts it had before. The Wolves of Taria were all once men, but this one specifically was a mage of power, one of the wandering mages.”
“I had thought they surely were all killed,” said Evurius, “I know the Grand Protectorate sought them with hefty bounties.”
“They are powerful,” said Garoa, “We dealt with one at Elinathrond, and he not only was killed once but returned as a lich.”
Ruir coughed and sat up, his eyes glazed, “Lich? Where?” He then collapsed over, having had too many drinks.
Garoa shook his head, “He said there has been a calling. A signal sent out to all creatures and people of magic power, but of particular regard, to mages. I am immune to such things as a Rusis, but if there were any mages that survived other than the wolf, they will have heard it, also. Creatures of all kinds may be gathering that have long slept with the dissipation of magic.”
“I sense a hurried voice and tone, what must be done?” asked Evurius.
“We do not know what the Itsu Priest is up to. At a minimum, the other Saints and I will go with the wolves and we will deal with this issue in the south.”
“We should send a Legion,” said Arsus, joining the conversation. He circled around the group and took a seat at the far end of the table, “There is no reason any should go with so small a group. I can make it so quickly.”
“Too many,” said Berie, “We do not want a strong presence that might attract further enemies.”
“Agreed,” Garoa began, “But keep guard here. We go on a hint to the south and we still have to restore magic in the land. We hope maybe one task will lead to another but for now we must meet any threat with wise but quick reaction.”
“Still, we need a presence in the south. A legion supported by the Falacar would do well to maintain security. It would also give you a place to retreat to if you had the need. There is no magic to the west, and you may find that sword and armor are of great use against your enemy.”
“My staff will hold power for me and the Priors,” said Garoa, “But movement south by the Legion would do well to support a foothold I guess, if that is what you wish to do. The Falacar will surely send horsemen with you. Get with Bloodhawk at first light, I will send word. Tvila, shut the doors to the tower.”
“Very well, but your guards? The Priors, what of them?”
“Most will come with us. If other mages are there, I will need their power, too. No one is to enter the tower.”
“We will ensure it so,” Evurius told them. “Go now, and secure what you must. Lokam will remain a beacon to the cause of all.”
Within only a few minutes, those of the Priors were assembled on the causeway and the tower locked, the Galhedriss Arcana and Annuals of Eclipses sealed within. Four priors were left in the upper portion near the books, two more than normal. With them were left supplies and the strict orders that none were allowed to open the door from the causeway.
Garoa and Berie then went to the inn. Asnea was to join them, her bow across her back and a quiver of arrows near her side. She went with Brethor and Sviska, who followed the others out of the north gate. It was a few hours from daybreak now.
The Wolves of Taria had divided themselves. Runka and half of the pack was to remain with the gypsies, Rincew and the others would go south. Rincew had actually begun to change more than just in voice; having found a large garment, a cowl
was over his head and he walked around on two legs.
Sviska stopped and stared, not realizing he was doing so.
“Do you want to kiss me?” Rincew growled.
Sviska laughed, “No, thanks. I am well.”
The Wolf-mage dropped to all fours and walked towards Brethor.
Falacar riders appeared from over the northern bridge, a haste in their ride as they rode up to Sviska.
“We send word from Bloodhawk. The winds blow south, and a good ride you need. He himself will be coming to the city.”
“Did he get the message of need by Arsus?” asked Garoa.
“Yes, our Chief will be sending many men to assist the Legion, but of you, I speak. He wishes to give you horses to speed you south.”
The Falacar began to dismount, leading their horses to those that had assembled. The priors were the first to mount, their staves at their sides glowing slightly. Sviska took the reins from one of the Falacar.
“He is a good horse and will fight for you, as I and my brothers have commanded them. Bring our friends back to us well though.”
Sviska nodded and mounted, as Garoa, Slats and Berie did the same. Asnea stared at the horse offered to her.
“I prefer not to ride,” she said.
“Foolish girl,” Rincew hissed, “We have not the time.”
“Why?” asked Garoa.
“Well, I prefer the ground or the trees.”
“Come on,” said Slats, “If I can get up here, you can.”
He rode up to Asnea, sliding down the horse and grabbing her arm before pulling her up with him.
She jumped; being on the horse, she was tense.
“First time?” Garoa asked.
“Well, yes,” she replied, looking around at the ground now below her. The muscular body of the Falacar horse, even beyond those of the northern regions, moved underneath her.
“I, at least, get to see your first horse ride,” Garoa continued. He then looked at Rincew, “Are you well to lead?”
“Finally, we get to leave,” the wolf howled and then began to run . The others followed behind. Forming a line of horses, the host of thirty rode south into the unknown with the uncertain wisdom of a wolf-mage to guide them
Saints of Wura: Winemaker of the North, Arcane Awakening, Reckoning in the Void (Saints of Wura Books 1-3 with bonus content) Page 71
