Reckoning of the North

Chapter 1

A cold, solemn sea breeze blew across the deck of the vessel tinged with the smell of smoke and blood. Looking out from the rails, his fingers gripped his sword as the cranking of the anchor prepared the ship for sailing. They had spent much time idle, and the news of the events at Srun had reached him on bloody parchment. In spite of the news, the slave ships of the Grand Protectorate would still make their way toward the protected shores near Lokam. He would deliver news of the failure in person. The lands to the east and the Island Nation were vile and undisciplined, but somehow, they had succeeded against his mighty Legions of the Grand Protectorate.
He would retire to his room. It was his hope that what few remained of his men would be blessed as was the First Legion. But now, he wondered of his own men. What fate did they meet in the bloodshed upon the eastern shores?
The captain’s quarters were unsettling to a Legatus so out of place. He did not care for the sea and even less so now that the ship was underway. He felt sick, but it was a mix of the rocking ship and his own nerves.
Soon, I will be free of my burden.
The day faded into the deep blackness of night. He looked out the windows of his quarters. There was no moon, and it had begun to snow again. He desired deeply to be rid of the wasteland of the north. He lay down for a moment, placing his hands under his head, but tossing back and forth, he could find no rest. He went back outside.
Patchy clouds blotted out the starry sky, and the sounds of the water breaking before the bow of the ship rushing them south comforted him. There were few others on the deck. A small number of legionnaires, some deckhands managing the ship, as well as a lone centurion walking between all of them.
Fog rolled over them with the deafening squeal of a whale in the distance. Something hit the ship with repeated clanks, and the centurion drew his sword. The Legatus felt for his own and noticed two more ships coming alongside them. The fog had veiled them until this moment.
“To arms, now. Wake from rest, you fools, and to arms!”
The Legatus jumped, seeing grappling hooks along the side of the ship.
The centurion spun his sword in the air. “Defend this ground! Do not let them get a foothold on the ship!” He then looked to the Legatus. “Would you take command of us, Legatus?”
An arrow whizzed past the Legatus’ face, striking the door of his cabin. He said nothing to the centurion.
“Defend this ground, men,” the centurion shouted, “if you ever wish to see your families again!”
The enemy had crested the rails of the ship. Men bound in armor and fur cloaks. He took steps back, feeling for the door.
He knew what was coming. He had not kept his word. At the far end of the ship, two red blades appeared in the shroud of night. The figure holding them ran along the rail of the ship at a quickening pace.
The Legatus slipped into his quarters, shutting the door. He twisted the wooden lock in place. He backed away until he hit his desk and stumbled, and then took a swig from a bottle of wine. He whimpered, drawing his sword. The shouting of his men became louder. The voice of the centurion boomed before coughing and moaning.
Silence.
He struggled to slow his breathing. His palms were sweaty and made his grip on his sword slip. The door splintered at its hinges from a swift kick leveled from the other side.
“I am a Legatus of the Grand Protectorate. You will not assail this vessel in such manner. I am a Legatus.”
A gust of wind burst into the cabin, and the candles went out. Two figures appeared in the darkness.
“I am Legatus Vara—”
“We know who you are. Dey comes a time for all ends, and yours has come now.”
In the shadows, Legatus Varac spotted a figure wielding a silver blade, a slight blue glow from its hilt. But it was the other figure he feared more. The red blades of the half-elf approached.
“De day of reckoning has come. Where are the children?” asked Kealin.
“They are not here. Most of them were taken to shore well before now. We had remained only to collect additional prisoners.”
“After the fall of Srun?” the other figure said. The figure approached, reaching out to grab him. Varac went to thrust his blade, but the dagger of the figure caught the blade before another hand gripped his neck. He dropped his sword. “After you had killed most of us?”
“Sviska, do not hurt him yet,” Kealin cautioned. “Der is more he knows.” Kealin closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them. “You tell the truth, Legatus. They are not here.”
“You see? Now, I will take a single boat to shore and trouble you no more.”
Sviska released him and began to walk away. “You are no trouble to us.”
Kealin smiled. “No trouble anymore.”
The Legatus went to put his hand up, but the dual blades sliced across his neck, parting his flesh into a gurgling mass. Kealin’s promise was kept.
Sviska walked back outside, hearing the sound of the Legatus slumping to the ground.
“We did good,” one of the men outside said. “Our numbers were untouched, and we have secured another vessel.”
“Dis is good,” commented Kealin, “but the slaves were removed. They have been taken to Lokam, his mind said.”
“What use are all of our people to them?” another man asked.
Kealin looked to Sviska and then to the questioning man. “The question should be, how long until we take them back? Come, Sviska. To my boat.”
Sviska looked to the man and nodded, though the man looked lost in confusion and sadness. Sviska took his seat in Kealin’s boat and felt the tug of the narwhal force him to shift his weight as they began to move back toward the mainland.
“Sviska, I do thank you for your service this night. I know you desire sleep. But I asked you because you are like me in many ways.”
“Well, I’m not an elf, so that’s one way we are not alike, friend.”
“That you are not, but you are a brother in blade work. If I had to guess, I would guess that you prefer a longer blade than that dagger you carry. You would not wish to have two blades as I?”
“A blade and a knife work well. A dagger is preferred to bare hands. But two swords wielded such as you wield them, that is a skill beyond a mere man.”
Kealin laughed. “If only to my people it was considered a skill. My older brother was a good swordsman, as well, but he detested my blade work. Our master taught with one blade, but I still preferred two. My brother could not stand my distaste for traditions.”
“To contest with you, he must’ve been quite skilled.”
“He was.”
The journey became silent, with the topic of Kealin’s family lingering in the air between them. Sviska felt a dread come upon them, and it seemed to him that the memories still saddened Kealin.
“My land was to the north,” Kealin began again. “A protected woods, safe from many horrors of the world.”
“I know not whereof you speak, but I do not know much of the far northern lands.”
“Few do, and fewer know of what I speak.”
“But still you come to help those of the South? What of your people and their fates?”
“I care little of my people. The only souls I claimed were my siblings, and of them, I had one who remained for a shadow of a day. But in my time, I met many who still needed my skill; good Brethor was one. There were others. I have spent much time traveling the lands, dear Sviska, even to the west and south. The deserts and those lands were not the best place for a person such as myself. I was in the arenas even, for a time.”
“A gladiator? A slave? There is much we do not know of each other, it seems.”
“Wrong, friend, there is much you do not know of me, but in time, you will learn more of your powers yourself. They will be needed, I know.”
The tone of the conversation had once again turned somber. The outline of Srun was ahead, and the colors of a predawn sky were upon the waters. He still had not slept, and what drive he had to stay awake was wavering. They reached the shore, and he stood, disembarking. Kealin remained.
“Do you not need rest, as well?”
The half-elf shook his head. “Not yet. I have plans for all of the Island Nation. I will join you back at the island of Chieftain Knasgriff. You will see.”
Kealin departed, leaving Sviska on the shore. Sleepy, Sviska found a spot upon the sand and laid his head back. He didn’t even care to go into Srun itself. An hour of sleep would not be a bad thing.


The morning sun crept up over the mountains and shone down upon a field still smoldering after the carnage from the siege of Srun. As most of the defenders slept, more men from the islands had arrived overnight and had begun the task of clearing out the bodies and wreckage. Knasgriff paced at the doorway. With him stood Berie and Garoa, who watched as more ships arrived on the beach, bringing fresh supplies.
“We will not give up this ground again,” stated Knasgriff. “It has been well fought for, held against our enemy, and good men fell before the gates and the inner halls.”
“It is good that we held out as long as we did. I fear Sviska and Garoa would have found nothing but bodies had the will of the gods not been with us,” Berie stated.
“Did you find what you sought, Garoa?” Knasgriff asked, turning Garoa from his trance of thought as he stared outward.
“You could say I did and didn’t. The enemy took my daughter. I must get her back.”
He gripped his hands and then cracked his knuckles before conjuring a small flame that hovered above the palm of his right hand.
“Magic will make it easier.”
Garoa turned and went back into the fortress just as Slats appeared at the gateway. The Rusis pushed him aside in his hasty stride. The dwarf stumbled a bit from Garoa and then rubbed his eyes, looking toward the sun. “I feel I must’ve slept for ages. Dare I ask, where is Sviska?”
At that moment, Sviska walked up the Ocean Path, joining them. Still with the look of sleep in his eyes, he smiled at them.
“Didn’t you say you were going to lie down after our meal last night?” asked Garoa.
“I did, and I planned to. I have news of the slave ships and the prisoners taken by Varac.”
Those in the immediate vicinity turned at his words, and Knasgriff looked around at the many awaiting ears.
“Well, don’t pause,” he said to him. “Tell us.”
“Kealin and I led a raid in the dark hours of the night. Legatus Varac has been slain!”
There was a joyous cheer and clapping.
“What of our families?”
“What of my son?”
“Where is my daughter? She has been gone too long.”
What smile Knasgriff had began to turn.
“Silence, everyone. Let him speak, and you will learn their fates.”
Sviska looked around at the many who stared at him. Eyes of fear, yearning, and sadness made the words more difficult to say to them.
“Those taken are at Lokam. I do not know where or in what state, but the slaves were moved well before our raid. The ships we found were awaiting prisoners from this place.”
Before the people began to shout, Knasgriff nodded his head and turned to them. “I know you have feelings of hate, rage, and desire for blood, but we must wait until the appropriate time to strike. I will be there, as will the Saints of the god Wura. We will make them pay; we will kill every one of them!”
Cheers erupted.
“Now, people of the Island Nation, you would do well to lay to rest our fallen and prepare. The chieftains will require much of you in the days to come.”
The crowd began to disperse, and Sviska went to Berie. He pointed to the bloodied bandage wrapped around her arm. “Does it still bleed?”
“No, it is healing well,” she said. “Did you not wish to tell me of the raid?”
“I didn’t know of it. Kealin grabbed me and said he needed help. I had no idea it was to raid a ship and kill a Legatus.”
“A dead Legatus . . . Death is a profound promotion that we will give to many of them,” jeered Knasgriff, interrupting their conversation. “And of late, I have heard the whispers in the halls talking of Berie the elf, defender of Srun and descendant of the great elf Truesong. Your deeds will inspire the poets of our new world; they will write well of you, all of you. But I say we shall prepare to withdraw soon to the islands. Much work is needed to prepare for the coming days, and in time, we will convene back here for final talks.”
“Defending against two Legions was good,” a voice stated, “but assaulting the city of Lokam will be not such a straightforward task. We cannot just bang on the doors.”
Ruir emerged, followed by Tvila, joining the others on the causeway.
Tvila nodded. “We have many ships already constructed, and now more of the Legion’s ships have been captured.”
Sviska smiled at them both. “My friend Brethor will bring allies from the West. I do not know what numbers he will bring, but his Wolves of Taria will be a terrifying addition to the attack.”
Those present seemed pleased by his words.
“War wolves, a sight to see, I am sure. Tvila and I will soon leave,” Ruir continued. “She has to prepare the newest ships, and the dwarven forge will be working to craft many new weapons for the ‘fishing trip.’”
“We wait only for the word from Bloodhawk and Legatus Arsus now,” said Knasgriff.
In the distance, a group of horses galloped through the field and up to the causeway. They slowed their horses to a trot and then a hasty stop. Bloodhawk and two other men dismounted and came before them.
“Greetings, my friends,” Bloodhawk said. “The Falacar have convened, and we see honor in the path you take. Our tribes are with you. In further tidings, I present to you the chiefs of the North and South Falacar tribes. They wished to meet you.”
Arsus rode from behind the Falacar and nodded to Knasgriff. Beside him, the first of the two men nodded, bringing his hand in a fist to his chest. “I am Silverhawk, Chief of the Northern Tribes.”
The man was shorter than Bloodhawk. He had a large quiver on his back and a curved bow along his chest. Bones lined his chest, and stones in the form of birds decorated it. His hair was long and fell freely down his back.
The second man approached, making the same gesture as the first. He was taller than the first, but not the height of Bloodhawk. His demeanor was less approachable, his body scarred from his eyes to his knees, deep gnashes and cuts. He said nothing.
“This,” said Bloodhawk, “is the Northern Falacar chief, Shadowhawk. He has begun a vow of silence in honor of the warriors he slew. It is our custom to honor those we fight and kill.”
Garoa spoke up from the back. “Very well. It seems since we are all well acquainted, we can talk of moving toward assaulting Lokam.”
Sviska turned to see Garoa raise his brow.
“What did I say? Too soon for more war? We must attack prior to the next dark moon, but a month is too long. It should be sooner.”
Arsus leaned down from his horse. “The Second Legion is prepared to march now, but the fields of battle could change in a month’s time. We will remain in Swunock for the time being.”
“We took time to send scouts further west,” Bloodhawk said. “We have learned that the Legions still retreat. We do have time to prepare, as is custom to you here in these lands. I will say that a frontal assault by horsemen is not wise; we are better used to support an attack. I will not demand you fight as we do, but we will raid their training areas and send smaller roving scouts as we prepare.”
“That is good, but be careful not to garner too much attention too soon,” said Tvila. “We will need time to birth the ships from hiding.”
Ruir snuffed. “I agree with Garoa; we must attack soon. The Legions we fought are licking their wounds, and they will not expect an attack by us, and we do not know what knowledge survived those who fled the rebellion within the Island Nation.”
“Five days,” said Knasgriff. “In five days, we will return here and lay final plans. The fleets will assemble, and we will finally have our revenge.”
“Very well, we will annoy and prick the enemy in that time. More of our brothers are coming from the East, and we have made safe the lands south of this place you call Srun. The Legion will not encroach this ground again.”
“Thank you,” Knasgriff said.
The Falacar departed, leaving only the Legatus.
“Legatus Arsus, return in five days? Agreed?”
“I will be here, Chieftain, and we will stand with you.”
With that, the Legatus rode away as well.
Sviska went to Garoa. “Patience,” he told him. “It will be no easy task attacking that city, but I swear to you we will find your daughter.”
“I know,” he replied, shaking his head, “but I will not rest until I have thrown down the gates of that place and burned the Itsu Priest into the earth.”
A silence befell them as Slats and Berie approached.
“I must prepare, just as I must find my daughter and take back the Staff of Kel.”
“It will be done,” said Slats.
“The Galhedriss Arcana is in the hands of the enemy,” said Berie. “We will be hard-pressed to find it.”
“It is in Lokam. Everything is about taking that forsaken city,” Garoa said.
“As important as it is to take the city, we must all have patience,” Sviska reiterated. “We cannot have victory in any battle if we rush into it.”
As noontime came and a host of ships descended on the beaches, the chieftains said their farewells and boarded. The Saints joined Knasgriff, but each of them was still tired from the events of the last few days.
The journey back to Kersa was a solemn one without much conversation. The winds were strong, and the ship made it back to the lower level of Kersa in good time. As they walked onto the dock and began toward the upper levels, a cheering village greeted them.
Reaching the second level, men busy repairing the houses and shops stopped and looked as the group of greeters accompanied the chieftain and the Saints along the way.
They shouted in loud voices, “Bless the victorious warriors!”
To the third level, they went, and upon reaching the hall, the doors opened for them.
An assembly of servants awaited. The table had been set, and fresh fish, oysters, and an assortment of vegetables had been prepared. Kealin stood near the fireplace, staring into it. His armor was now clean and polished. His hair was also clean and braided, showing no sign of the battles from before.
He turned as they approached. “A meal for you all. I applaud you for your task against the Grand Protectorate. My daggers grew tired of spilling all the blood.”
“You did this?” asked Knasgriff.
He nodded. “I did this and more. The people ate well at many of the Island Nation. If many are to die soon, they should have a good meal before.” He turned and stared back into the fire. “Go. Eat.”
They each took a spot and enjoyed the meal prepared for them by Kealin. After their meal, a round of smoking began, partaken by Slats, Knasgriff, and Sviska. Kealin soon joined them with a rolled leaf.
“Well, now that we are relaxed,” Kealin said, “the dwarven forge is a sight to see at night.”
“Are we needed there?” Sviska asked, puffing the tobacco.
“I believe so. The blacksmiths have wrought you armor in time for the battle. I ordered such things for each of you, for mere tunics will not stop well-placed blades.” He smiled. “You must stay alive.”
Knasgriff tapped the end of his pipe against his chair, clearing it out. “It is good that you need to go. I have matters here to deal with. If Kealin needs you, you should all go. The blacksmiths of the dwarven forge have worked hard for the end we seek. If they have taken time to forge your personal items, it would be appreciated if you visited.”
Slats got to his feet. “I would be happy to see another place of my people. I have not seen a true forge since I was a young boy!”
Finishing their pipes, they followed Kealin toward the doors. The air off the sea caused Sviska to shiver. He pulled his tunic around him.
The sun was setting beyond the horizon, and the sky filled with reds, oranges, and faint purples. They descended as a group, Garoa behind them and silent, to the lowest level. As they entered his black boat, Kealin stopped Garoa.
“You should be happy, I suspect, having magic now?”
Garoa stared back at him. “I will be happy when they are all dead and I have back what is mine.”
“Soon you will have your desires. I sense your mind, Rusis. Beware such thoughts.”
Garoa seemed more annoyed after Kealin’s words. He shook his head as the half-elf walked away.
Berie looked to Sviska. “He is angry, and maybe too angry. I think you should talk to him and try to calm him. I sense he is barely in control of his own thoughts.”
“His daughter was taken saving me. I feel that even I walk between angering him and helping with simple words. I hope his emotions will turn to a wise zeal when the time for fighting comes.”
Garoa walked past the two of them, continually shaking his head. He took a seat in the boat and picked up a paddle; turning, he shouted back to the others. “This boat isn’t going to row itself into the bay.”
The others took their position, and Kealin laughed. “I should keep you four around more. Makes less work for me when it comes to getting dis boat out.”
“Don’t expect a dwarf to be at home in water, though!” said Slats. “Although the salty air is nice, I prefer my feet on earth rather than floating above it.”
Sviska stuck his paddle into the water, pushing the water back in semi-unison with the others; they floated near the gate and the two guards watching outward atop the wall.
“Good friends of Kersa!” Kealin shouted.
The two guards above turned to see them and nodded. With clanking gears and rattling chains, the portcullis lifted out of the water.
The boat passed through and into open water.
“No toll now?” asked Slats.
“The Island Nation is free of the Grand Protectorate and, if dey fight well, will be free of them forever. At least for the times that pass now, no gold for the risk of opening the gate for the half-elf is needed.”
They came to the stone border of the village and stopped paddling. As before, Kealin reached into his pocket and took out his silver hammer. He reached over the side of the boat and began tapping.
The waters bubbled, and the narwhal of Kealin, Tulasiro, emerged from the cold depths. Sviska noticed immediately that a red gash was on her back. The narwhal came alongside the boat, and Kealin patted her back. From a bag in the boat, he pulled out a small jar and stuck his fingers in a prepared salve before rubbing them along the gash.
“My good friend, de Legion will pay for de pain you have now.”
“What happened?” Sviska asked. He had not noticed Tulasiro injured when they’d attacked the Legatus’ ship before; however, it had been very dark.
He looked up, a concerned look as he closed his eyes. “My friend was attacked as I worked to break the siege of the Island Nation. Two bolts missed, but a third grazed her.” He paused, petting Tulasiro. His lips curved, and he smiled. “I removed the eyes of the two behind the cruel bolt. I then killed all on the ship except them. I tied one to the mast of the ship, his neck noosed with a rope I attached to the other man’s neck, whom I left unbound but without hands or feet. I then pointed their bolt-casting device toward the horizon, and after securing the rope to the bolt, I punished them for their sins against my friend.”
Sviska was oddly comfortable with the punishment Kealin had enacted.
Kealin crawled to the front of the boat and let the ropes for Tulasiro out. The narwhal circled and took its place at the bow of the boat. The others said nothing to Kealin, for after his description, there was nothing left to say.
He tucked himself into position and laughed. “You do not hurt my friends. Is that not the truth, Tulasiro?”
The narwhal blew up a spray of air. Sviska smiled. The bond between Kealin and his narwhal was evident.
“To the island of the Dwarven forge, my friend!” Kealin shouted.
As the sun sank and the sky became dark, the boat made a sharp eastern turn and pushed into the darkness. It went for a long while, the moon floating up above them. Its light was pale but comforting as the occasional splash of water alongside them caught shimmers of light.
Slats and Berie both had drifted to sleep, the rhythmic rocking and the toil of the previous week’s stress heavy on their bodies. Sviska was awake. Garoa was also, but he was staring outward and not looking around as Sviska looked back to Kealin.
Kealin was staring at the sky but then looked down. Sviska turned forward and then felt the half-elf lean near his ear.
“You can ask me a question; I am a friend to you all.”
Sviska didn’t actually have a question in his mind, but given his company, the wisdom of the half-elf was not as well-known as perhaps it should have been.
Kealin whispered, “I have traveled by many roads, just as you have; however, my blades have not been aligned with the Order. There was a trouble about Garoa that I can feel, but I sense a deeper one in you.”
Sviska thought of his time in southern Taria, the curse placed on him by the Order as an almost-punishment. Surely the half-elf did not know of it.
The half-elf was still at his ear, his warm breath blowing on his shoulder. Sviska would not mention the curse, but given what he did not know of the half-elf, he conjured a question.
“Do you know of the Itsu Priest, or of the Itsu?”
Kealin sighed and sat back away from Sviska.
He looked down at his feet and then back up. Garoa had taken interest in the conversation and was now looking his way.
“I know some of those called Itsu. I know not of what you call a priest, but there were some at one time who tried to assail the Northern gods in secret. There was a man, then. My siblings and I faced him in battle. By the might of the Northern gods, we chased him from the winds of the North, but I am bound not to speak of further things involving them.”
The half-elf closed his eyes again and lay back. The boat still split the water, and the narwhal turned them further north, an icy crosswind shuffling the boat to the side as the powerful tail of the sea creature pounded the water underneath them.
It was nearing midnight when the narwhal slowed its pace. Sviska sat up, noticing the lack of wind, and peered out from the boat. He spotted a tiny crag that appeared as not much more than a black shadow against the horizon. There were no lights or torches marking its location.
“A tiny dagger in the sea to make the tools so others will bleed,” Kealin said with his own tune to his voice. “The dwarves had long left this place, but its furnace and tools were of great use when they were found.”
The others awoke at this time with a sharp kick from Garoa, who had sat up just as Kealin finished speaking. Slats and Berie both looked around.
“We are almost there,” Sviska said, pointing toward the island.
The boat slowed, passing through a stone archway lined on either side with spiked crags running off as far as they could see in the dark water. As the boat pulled through the archway and toward a forest of stony structures in the water, Kealin leaped to his feet, a small shell in his hand.
With a loud blow, he caused a deep sound to burst from the shell three times. A single torch lit up on the island in the distance, and calls went out along the water. From one of the larger ruins emerged a black mass, low to the waterline and moving fast toward them.
Berie went for her bow, an arrow just passing the rim of her quiver when Kealin put his hand on her back. “Do not worry, elf.”