The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga)

by Gary F. Vanucci

  “I am not sure if she knows what exactly she has done,” Ganthorpe reasoned, directing his anger toward Rose, standing and pushing his chair back in one motion.

  “She leaves you no choice, sir,” shrugged Zeke, removing his hat and running a hand through his dark, red hair. He removed a sharp dagger from his sleeve and played with it, spinning it around in his hands and fingers, doing tricks absently, displaying an obvious familiarity with the weapon.

  “Do you sleep with that thing?” Aidan asked him, chuckling briefly, and then becoming stone-faced again as Ganthorpe looked disapprovingly at him yet again.

  “Who or what I sleep with is none of your—“

  “Focus!” Ganthorpe interrupted, raising his voice slightly. “Or a dagger might find you in your sleep.” he continued, somewhat agitated.

  He quickly regained his composure and took his seat once again and kicked a foot up onto his desk. He almost never lost control of his calm demeanor as he thought it was a sign of weakness.

  “I will have to bring in the help of the most dangerous assassin in all of Wothlondia,” Ganthorpe stated flatly, drawing startled looks from the two lieutenants. They looked back and forth between themselves and Ganthorpe as Zeke suddenly stopped twirling his dagger.

  “Are you…sure you want to do that?” Zeke asked, clearly frightened. “Rumors are that he…enjoys it.” Zeke dropped his dagger to the floor. Aidan watched in shock, knowing that Zeke must really be concerned—he never dropped his dagger. Then Aidan spoke again as Zeke recovered his weapon.

  “Have you ever—”

  “No. And I don’t want to. I need this mess to go away efficiently and without incident, though,” Ganthorpe stated flatly. “And for that, I need the best. He is the best,” Ganthorpe continued. “Besides, the Scarlet Web owes the Shadowhands a few more favors before we draw even.” A confident grin crossed his face. “Rose must understand the folly of her ways and I need to make an example of her in case others are thinking that I take this sort of thing lightly,” Ganthorpe continued. “I must reestablish my grip on this operation and make sure that no one thinks to test me…especially those from the outside looking in.”

  The two lieutenants again looked at one another, knowing that one of them would be the person to make contact with the Guild of Assassins, known by a very select few as The Scarlet Web. Ganthorpe recognized their concerns and stood once more.

  “You two will speak to Lady Saphirra and inform her of my plans,” Ganthorpe instructed. “That way, you can watch each other’s backs.” The two men leveled a worried look upon Ganthorpe simultaneously.

  “I jest, of course,” Ganthorpe smiled. “She would not want open war with us. We both serve one another’s needs here and their operation is small, while I have hundreds under my employ.” This relaxed the two lieutenants a little.

  “Besides, you two are my best…what are you worried about?” Ganthorpe stated that last question in a way that made them act like he might be considering a possible replacement plan. “You are my best, right?”

  “Aye,” Zeke confirmed as he once more spun his dagger confidently in his hand. Aidan merely gestured toward his eye patch. “These scars are proof enough that I am willing to do anything for you,” he said, as a deadly serious demeanor replaced the look of worry he had only seconds before.

  “Good…I was just making sure,” Ganthorpe nodded in a convincing way as he stroked his goatee confidently. “Now go and purchase for me the contract of the most deadly assassin in the realm.” Ganthorpe smiled, pointing at the door and watching his lieutenants leave his quarters.

  It would be very satisfying to have Rose Thorne out of his city and out of his life. She had been nothing but trouble from the first day he had laid eyes upon her as a prostitute, many years ago. Little did he know it then.

  He also thought it might be time to help the good Lady Saphirra get her most prized set of daggers back. Ganthorpe again grinned widely at that thought, wanting to see the look of shock on the woman’s face when he told her that story.

  He was almost certain that Rose had not told the High Council who he was but he did not mean to give her another opportunity to do so. She was smart, but overconfident. He had always known that he would probably have to silence that wise-cracking tongue of hers one day.

  And that day was soon coming.

  Secrets of the Ebonite Mines

  Beginnings Saga

  Book 3

  By

  Gary F. Vanucci

  PROLOGUE

  Phaera Sine lay down comfortably and bare-skinned beneath sheets of silken fabric on her luxurious bed within her private quarters. Her thoughts turned to the lich, Sadreth, and she wondered just how much untapped power lay dormant within the creature. Zabalas certainly believed those capacities to be vast as he had gone to great trouble and had set many events into motion to regain the artifact that would restore the lich to his once-powerful self. The artifact itself had been affixed to a link of chain to be worn around the neck and she was told that it contained not only the vast potency of the undead creature, but also his mortal soul.

  Pertinent to that plan was the insertion of the doppelganger, Solagh. He was one of the few hand-picked agents Zabalas had entrusted, along with Megnus, Prishnack and herself, to those ranks. She recalled the last night she had seen him—the night that they had infiltrated the temple of the sun god. It was the month of Winter’s Veil and a new year was about to begin. She let her thoughts go, remembering the events of that eve, recalling them as if they had happened yesterday.

  “Enough, Solagh!” called a hushed voice. The doppelganger stood over the deceased body of Niomir, the high elf apprentice of Tiyarnon. A dagger clutched firmly in his hand dripped with the blood of the innocent and inexperienced priest. Solagh turned to regard the succubus with his inhuman eyes. She could never tell his demeanor or what he was feeling behind those white orbs that were void of pupils, only that he enjoyed killing. His face displayed a mask of emotionless uniformity.

  Phaera was wrapped in drab robes, revealing only her amber eyes and hiding beneath the garments her albino skin and long white hair from any onlookers. The djinni Prishnack was a misty vapor lurking in the shadows; only his red eyes could be seen blinking in and out of the darkness occasionally. Phaera had used her pheromones to enslave another priest temporarily to gain them access into the temple of The Shimmering One. Most of the priests were out preparing for the Days of Holy Enlightenment festival coming to Oakhaven as the year began anew in the next month of Winter’s Bite, leaving the grounds mostly vacant.

  Their plan had worked perfectly to this point. Only this one cleric, whose name was unknown to Phaera, had discovered them and he was now her thrall, through and through. He was a dark-haired and bearded gentleman, not very much to look at, she thought, with no real distinguishing features. He had led them to where the young priest Niomir had been studying his divine rites. There, the doppelganger was able to steal the high elf’s most recent memories with the slightest touch. Solagh absorbed what he could from the elven priest who stood with a look of helpless fright upon his face during the procedure. Moments passed as the priest’s face twisted and contorted. All the while, Solagh watched with an evil smile planted on his face.

  Once this was completed, Phaera saw Solagh’s eyes glow and then stop intermittently for several moments. The doppelganger seemed to experience some kind of pain himself now, as if Niomir’s thoughts and memories were assaulting him. As he recovered from the mental attack, Solagh withdrew a knife, showed it to Phaera and she watched him expertly insert the blade through the base of the priest’s skull and into the brain, killing him instantly.

  Phaera sat with her arms folded across her soft bosom as she watched her priestly thrall take the deceased body and wrap it in the sacramental robes to prepare it for incineration. He acted in this regard almost passively, without enthusiasm and showing no emotion.

  She turned to regard the doppelganger and watched the incredib
le metamorphosis take place. Solagh’s pink and rubbery hand with its three fingers transformed slowly into that of the elf’s, displaying the more commonly seen version with four fingers and a thumb. She followed the transformation as it progressed along his arm, the skin reshaping itself from that rubbery pink to the fleshier and lighter colored skin of the high elf.

  Her gaze continued following hypnotically until it stopped upon his face and she stared in amazement as his pink face and white eyes were replaced by the high elf’s beige skin and green eyes. She watched as an aquiline nose jutted from the center of his face above his mouth, where seconds before there was nothing but a cavity. Blonde hair sprouted from his bald head and covered his scalp until she could no longer recognize the creature as Solagh anymore.

  Before her now stood an exact replica of the recently-deceased high elf priest, Niomir!

  Her attention switched next to the dark-haired priest holding the dead body of the real Niomir in his arms and she bade him to proceed. Down the hall they strode, following the priest to his destination. The incineration chamber was a common thing, Phaera knew, where priests could dispose of the remains of the deceased who requested this method. It also served as a kindly way to get rid of bodies that had passed away from an irreversible disease or an incurable illness. The chamber was a narrow shaft that ran through the center of the structure and could only be accessed on the lower floors.

  “Clean that—” she began to call back with regard to the gore and blood that was on the floor, but stopped as she looked to the now corporeal form of Prishnack who had somehow managed to make it all…disappear. The only thing she could see was the tail end of what looked like a miniature windstorm in the room that vanished into nothingness. Prishnack stared back at her with his red eyes from deep within the dark cloak draped loosely about his head and then silently melted into vapor once more.

  Odd, but extremely useful, Phaera thought as she turned from the incorporeal djinni and followed the priest down several flights of marble steps, passing ornately carved sculptures and icons of The Shimmering One as they proceeded. She scoffed at them silently as she knew there to be only one true deity—Lilith!

  Into the ceremonial rooms they proceeded and she watched as the priest tossed the limp body of Niomir onto the slab and pushed it into the incineration chamber.

  “What are you doing?!” called a voice from behind them. Phaera turned to see another priest, a younger man with short, curly blonde hair and green eyes, regarding them in disbelief.

  “No one is supposed to be here,” he exclaimed in protest. “Who was that? And who—or what—are you?!”

  The young, blonde man did not even take notice of the older priest who stood to the side of the succubus as he was completely fixated on this newest threat. The thrall-priest could not help but stare deeply into her amber eyes that, to him, pulsated and radiated with a magnificent glow.

  “I am the thing that visits you in your sleep, young man,” purred the succubus with a tease, answering his question. “I am the thing that makes you writhe with both pain and pleasure in your dreams, while sweat drips from your face and numbness fills your mind,” she continued, moving toward him. She lowered her hood to reveal her beautiful face and silky, long hair.

  “You are pure malevolence,” the young man stated defiantly, able only to remove his eyes from hers with some effort. He withdrew a symbol of the sun god from beneath his robes and held it boldly before him.

  “I fear no one with The Shimmering One in my heart, demon.”

  The cambion laughed in a mocking tone, understanding his position as being an apprentice at best, and released her pheromones in an attempt to ensnare him. They began to overwhelm the young priest who fully resisted them at first, making Phaera’s left eyebrow rise in anticipation and expectation. That expression turned sour as she waited for almost a full minute. She had not encountered many who weren’t immediately seduced by her powers from their onset—she could recall only one, as a matter of fact.

  Her visage changed from confusion to disbelief to outright appreciation as she silently respected this young priest’s willpower. Many more minutes passed as he continued fighting and struggling against her compulsions, until finally he succumbed to them. His face was covered in sweat and his eyes still seemed to convey a semblance of conviction behind them, as if he continued the battle within against her wicked charms.

  “Now, young priest,” Phaera began, shaking the emotion from her voice. “Be gone from here. Talk to no one and answer no one…you will forget that I was even here before your journey ends.”

  With that, the young priest began to walk powerlessly away from her and toward the stairwell. He looked like a construct, methodically placing one foot in front of the other.

  “Shouldn’t you have taken his life?” Solagh asked her.

  “We can’t take the life of every priest in the temple. We have already killed more than I had hoped—they will start to ask questions,” Phaera responded curtly. “This way is…better,” she finished with a smile.

  And more satisfying, she thought.

  “Although, Solagh…I am feeling…hungry,” she added with a grin to the doppelganger, who understood fully its implication.

  “Niomir,” corrected Solagh insistently, staring back at the succubus and tilting his head at an odd angle, as if he were testing his new suit of flesh. “Not Solagh.”

  “What?” she asked, not understanding his meaning.

  “My name is Niomir now,” he affirmed, staring back at her through the eyes of the priest, though those eyes reflected a malicious quality that was palpable.

  “Do you have your warding trinket with you…Niomir?”

  “Of course,” said the doppelganger, removing a spherical bauble from his belt. “This will guard me against any who would attempt to invade my thoughts—magically or otherwise.”

  He smiled using the skin of Niomir—it was undeniably evil, she noted. Perhaps too evil, she mused, as he stared down to the lower level after the blonde priest who continued on his way down the stairs and out into the courtyard. She thought to make mention of that smile to him before she departed, to remind him of the importance of this mission and that his failure would mean his death.

  “You know him, I take it?” Phaera asked, nodding after the now departed acolyte. “Or, should I say, Niomir knew him?”

  “Aye,” answered Solagh, using the vocal equivalent of the high elf whose body he now wore. “He is my friend,” laughed the doppelganger, a twisted smile planted on his face. “His name is Thaurion and I believe that I will get to know him very well over the next month.”

  “I am sure that you will,” Phaera responded. “Remember not to allow your smile or your behavior to betray your guise.”

  Solagh frowned at that criticism and then observed the other priest standing idly by, a few paces from Phaera.

  “What of him?” asked Solagh as he gestured toward the blankly staring priest.

  With that, Phaera walked lithely over to the priest and gave him a lengthy kiss, stealing a good deal of the man’s life force from him and then whispered something to him. As she walked away, she observed the doppelganger stare after the man as he climbed into the incineration chamber without the slightest hesitation and dove unquestionably toward his own fiery death.

  “I thought you said—”

  “He had to die so that I might live! It was a necessary sacrifice on his part,” Phaera barked at him defensively. Her face shifted slightly just then; wrinkles on her albino skin faded as it smoothed and tightened. Even her tone seemed fairer. “It was necessary. Any more questions, Solagh?” she asked with a clear threat behind her words.

  The doppelganger shook his head and looked away.

  “We must go now, before we are discovered,” Phaera instructed, looking about the room and detecting the glowing red eyes of Prishnack hovering in the far shadows. “I am sure the priests will be returning soon.”

  They all made their way quick
ly to the rooftop of the temple and Phaera began to change form. She dropped her concealing robes to the floor as her body began to reshape itself into that of the demonic form of the succubi. Her amber eyes lost their pupils while a pair of curved, ivory horns jutted out from the tips of her forehead and escaped from beneath her white hair. Her ears lengthened and ended in points while a tail shot forth from her backside. Two wings sprouted from the top of her back, looking like those of a bat.

  She soared into the night air with glee and looked down, waving to Solagh mockingly before flying down again to hover above the rooftop.

  “You may begin when you are ready, Prishnack,” Phaera called to the open air. She saw the hooded and robed form of the djinni materialize in front of her.

  “Very…well..,” she heard within the shadows of the hood, his voice seeming to somehow drift on the open wind as it faded and grew in volume, then faded again. Before she could ponder that peculiarity, a breeze began to pick up around them and she was hoisted off the ground by it. Propelled by something more than the natural wind, the two sped off toward the Bastion of Skulls for a rendezvous with the mighty Zabalas Dimonia.

  He will be pleased, thought Phaera as she glided along on the winds of the djinni.

  Solagh guided the three priests along the River Divide in a southerly direction. The river was located just to the west of the Amrel Forest, home to the accursed elves that Solagh despised. He continued to lead them across the bridge called Nature’s Pass, which was made from several fallen trees, presumably by those very same elves that inhabited Amrel. He did not like the elves at all, but had no real choice. The south was full of wild beasts and this bridge would get him to the meeting point much faster.

  Solagh was silently congratulating himself on his role as infiltrator under the guise of Niomir, the acolyte. He had deceived the blonde male priest, the human female named Alana and yet another priest—a human named Rolf, who happened to be spending a bit too much time with Alana—into helping him steal the phylactery of Sadreth.