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

by Gary F. Vanucci

  As the wagon descended to the very bottom of the hill, the path changed course in a westerly direction, just as the fog from the Lake of Souls rolled in abundantly across the valley floor.

  “Perhaps you might take the turns more slowly?!” called a voice from atop the roof. Pendus recognized it as Geth’s voice, his son-in-law. Both he and their elven guest, Elidyr, who had journeyed with them for more than a month now, attempting to return to his home in Amrel Forest, rode on top of the wagon. The pair claimed to use the vantage point as a lookout, though Pendus suspected it was just their preference to be outside—especially the elf.

  “Legend has it that there was a mining village that was both rich in coin and mineral somewhere near here. It is rumored to have been buried beneath the onslaught of the mighty dragon, Ashenclaw,” Pendus explained to his daughter with excitement in his voice. This was a tale told to him by his own father, as they had travelled this road numerous times in the past.

  “Really!?” asked Jasmine, having not been schooled much in the way of Wothlondia’s rich history. “Perhaps they refer to the brittle ore known to reside in the Blackstone Mountains?”

  “No, my dear. It is a well-known fact that the mineral found within the Blackstone Mountains is worthless,” Pendus added. “There is a dwarven colony that lived there…and may yet live there to this day, I suppose,” he said as he rubbed his chin. “Anyway, they claim that particular ore is useless.”

  “Somewhere else then?” Jasmine asked, wonder filling her sparkling blue orbs. “I find it hard to believe, Father.”

  “Yes,” continued Pendus. “But remember, these are merely rumors and no one has confirmed the existence of the mines. But…my inclination is to believe that they are real.”

  Before the woman could ask another question, there was a muffled scream from atop the wagon, followed by a thud.

  “Dryden! What’s happening?” cried Jasmine in a panic.

  “We are under attack!” he shouted back, trying to steady the frightened horses. “But I cannot see from where the attacks originate in this damnable mist!”

  “Elidyr! Geth!” Dryden called from the front of the wagon as he continued to spur the horses on.

  “Geth has fallen!” called the voice of the elf from the roof above. Dryden turned to see the wide-eyed look of the elf. “We are under fire!” Elidyr called to the passengers. “Archers attack from the hills above!”

  “No! Geth has fallen!?” Jasmine echoed with sheer panic and dread stamped upon her features. “We must tend to him, father!”

  “Stop the wagon!” Pendus shouted to his son before turning his attention back to his daughter. “Of course, Jasmine; Geth is as much my son-in-law as he is your husband.”

  Pendus threw open the leather door to the wagon and peered out, looking high and low. It was not long before he perceived several archers perched on the hillside, high above the mist, and realized that they were trapped in the open with nowhere to run or hide.

  “Dryden! We must take cover!” Pendus yelled. Just then, he observed several arrows heading toward the assailants on the hillside, obviously fired from Elidyr, who was still perched on the wagon’s roof, and who was fearlessly fighting for the safety of his family. Then he peered back and saw in the mist the body of his fallen son-in-law, lying helpless in a heap on the path behind them.

  Poor Geth, he thought, wishing he had his broad-shouldered son-in-law’s sword arm—for he was a former mercenary—ready and able to defend them all.

  “It is no good!” cried Elidyr from above. “They have me pinned down!”

  Crossbow bolts riddled the caravan, sticking in the exterior walls and roof, just missing the elf as he took cover hanging from the side of the caravan’s roof, his bow strapped to his back.

  “Throw down your weapons and no one else need be harmed!” called a voice from above.

  Pendus emerged from the caravan and made out a grey-skinned figure of orcish descent who was speaking far above them.

  “Your goods or your lives! Don’t be fools!”

  This was a common warning from highwaymen, Pendus recognized. His heart sunk as he realized the cold promise of hopelessness for the first time in his life.

  The caravan finally came to a halt, fifty paces from Geth’s prone body. Dryden joined the others inside as Elidyr dropped from the side of the wagon and peered around, looking for cover. They had wandered into a barren section of Heartwood Valley, with some brush lying on the outskirts of the road, but otherwise void of cover, aside from the mist that was still rolling in. He cursed their luck as they had just passed several rows of trees not a half a mile back, and quickly realized that this ambush was all very well planned.

  The hills and Oakcrest Mountains were behind them, a massive body of water was to their north, which he knew continued in a southwest direction toward the Amrel Forest. It was an ideal place for an ambush, as braving the Lake of Souls’ waters was not a conceivable option. The cold waters would kill them quickly if they made it there safely, not to mention that the waters of the lake were rumored to harbor dreadful creatures.

  Massive, rolling hills were to the south, which was where the archers were positioned, together with the orc—no, half-orc, most likely—who clearly led them. To the west and directly before them was uneven terrain where a rather large ground force lay in wait for them, Elidyr witnessed ever-so-briefly, as the mist gave way just enough so that he caught a glimpse of what was to come. He squinted through the sunlight and the mist and focused his elven vision, counting two orcs, two dwarves, a gnome, three humans and two elves—ten highwaymen in total.

  Elidyr figured those last two to be wood elves, judging by their solid build and darker skin, when compared to the high elves.

  Ten then, he thought. Ten plus the four or so that he could see above them on the ridge. Quite a trap we’ve wandered into, he mused.

  He went to Pendus and spoke. “We must give them the caravan, my friend.”

  Pendus looked at him with pleading eyes. “But they…may have killed my son-in-law!”

  “They will add to that number if we do not surrender the caravan and its contents, I fear,” Elidyr reasoned simply to the desperate and emotionally scarred man as he dropped his bow to the ground. “I could take out a few of the archers from above, but this ground force,” he gestured ahead of them, “will surely be our deaths.”

  “What ground force?” Pendus asked.

  “There are ten of them at least that I could count roughly a hundred paces to the west, and directly in the caravan’s path,” Elidyr explained thoroughly.

  Jasmine was in tears now, obviously distraught at the fact that she her husband was wounded, or worse. She reached for Elidyr’s dagger as her visage resembled a hint of fear that was quickly turning to rage, but Elidyr, realizing the futility of that action, put a hand on hers to hold it steady.

  “Do not!”

  “I must! He can’t have died for nothing!” she shrieked in protest. Elidyr simply looked deep into the woman’s eyes. An understanding that she wanted to strike out; to avenge her husband’s apparent demise, was evident to the elf as he steadied her trembling hand. He spoke to her softly, choosing his words carefully.

  “I understand what you feel, Jasmine,” he said as she shot him a cold stare. ”I too have felt the sting of pain as someone was taken from me.” He held her gaze for a long time until her eyes softened ever so slightly. “If you choose to fight, know that my bow is yours,” he said, turning to face her father. “You must make the decision, Pendus. I will follow your lead, regardless of the outcome.”

  Pendus looked skyward as if seeking an answer from the gods on the matter. A mask of confusion, fear and frustration faded and resurfaced over and again. Elidyr wanted him to understand that making a rash decision now might mean he would lose his entire family.

  “Again, I am warning you! Step away from your wagon and no one else has to die,” called the callous voice of the half-orc above. “You must choose: your
goods or your lives?”

  Elidyr turned to the east, glancing back in the direction that they had come. He squinted again through the fog as his keen eyes detected a figure coming down the hill in the distance, though he could not be sure. A few heartbeats later, and he could see clearly that it was someone indeed—a female!—and a rather large and muscular one at that. She was followed by a huge hulk of a figure, who seemed to be running with a limp, yet was running at the same pace as the woman ahead of him.

  Not sure what was happening, Elidyr grabbed Pendus’s by the arm as he was withdrawing a rather pathetic looking sword from his scabbard.

  “Stay your hand, Pendus,” he advised. “Either we have aid coming to us or we will certainly be cut down quickly.”

  As he spoke the words, he was nodding toward the hill where Pendus squinted to make out some kind of movement in the thickening fog. Then Elidyr added, “Either way, that course of action seems rather pointless.”

  He also noted that there was a second woman descending the hill, following far behind the large figure, which he recognized as having ogreish blood running through its veins. Then another figure passed the latest female on the hill and headed toward them, too. He decided waiting for this to unfold might just be the best option. The half-orc and the archers on the hill hadn’t noticed them yet as they were still hidden by the fog. However, their reaction to these newcomers would be telling.

  Elidyr strained to see details of these newest players in the game. His elven born eyes confirmed the huge one as half-ogre, following the first woman closely, and he recognized the symbols on their arms, indicating to him that they were both from barbarian tribes. He certainly did not know what to make of the situation, but was certainly intrigued as to what would happen next, to say the least.

  Barbarians?! Here?! Amtusk thought as he too recognized the flashes of tattooed limbs fading in and out of the mist below. Where did they come from?

  “Ready your crossbows, men,” the huge half-orc ordered. There were three archers there with him on the ridgeline and they all leveled their crossbows in the direction where Amtusk was pointing.

  “More incoming,” said one of the archers as he pointed off in the distance at two more figures bobbing in and out of the fog.

  “Hold until they get closer so that we can determine their motives. And be sure to get a good shot in, if necessary,” Amtusk ordered. ”Level those weapons on ‘em good,” he added as he withdrew a crossbow of his own.

  “Xorgram doesn’t like surprises, sir,” mentioned one of the men.

  “Meaning?”

  “I’m saying these newcomers are an unknown is all, sir.” Amtusk thought hard about those surprisingly insightful words, and moved back a few steps as he surveyed the area for more intruders, and then lowered his crossbow.

  “If things go bad, take the news to Xorgram for me,” he said tapping the shoulder of the closest archer. “I’m not leaving my post, so make sure that one of you does. Understand?”

  The men nodded an affirmation as they waited to discover the purpose of the newest pawns in the game that was developing below them.

  Amtusk peered through the mist and thought this to be quite intriguing. These new arrivals were an unknown factor that he did not account for and, one way or the other, he figured their initial task had just gotten a bit more complicated.

  “I’ll be back,” Amtusk said to the grim-faced man who held his crossbow at the caravan. Then the half-orc stowed his own crossbow, removed his shadowsteel axe and began to make his way down the hill and into the fog, intending to gain the rear flank of the outsiders.

  Maybe I’ll be getting’ a chance to use this axe sooner than later after all, eh, Xorgram? He thought as he made his way quickly through the brush.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Your satisfaction is my greatest desire, of course, my master,” called a seductive female voice from deep within the shadows from where a heavily armored, and rather large figure, emerged. Zabalas ignored the comment of the shadowy figure as she receded into the darkness and closed a door behind her in the distance.

  Zabalas walked further into his spacious quarters, fully content with his current plans, and hoping to hear good news from his latest ‘guest’. He continued along his path, heading directly toward a creature that sat motionless at his desk, hood thrown over its head. Zabalas’s footsteps, the only sound in the vast room, echoed on the hard floor as he approached the once powerful figure known as Sadreth.

  “Has there been any progress?” Zabalas asked as the creature turned to regard him.

  “Nothing…yet,” Sadreth managed through rotted teeth and tongue.

  “Your phylactery remains distant still?” Zabalas asked rhetorically, not receiving the news he’d hoped. “The militia I sent to recover it was a sizable one. What could have happened to so large a force?” Zabalas mused aloud as he spun on his guest and strode over to a second wretched creature standing unsteadily in a corner of his bedchambers. It wavered slightly, unsure of its footing and recovered to lean against a post at the foot of his bed.

  “And what shall I do, Father?” Zabalas addressed the creature in a mocking tone. “The amulet still eludes me. Do I have to take matters into my own hands already? Are the orcs of Kelgarek not competent enough to finish this simple, yet important task? So many questions,” he added, stopping to stare at the creature before him. “I seek your counsel, Father. Do you not find it ironic that your tongue remains silent now, when I ask for your guidance?”

  Zabalas laughed for a long time after the clear insult to the mockery of what had once been his own flesh and blood, his king, and his patriarch. “You are always the surprise, aren’t’ you, Father? And yet, I am always disappointed at your actions.” The thing that was once his father gurgled a sound not meant for this world before shuffling away in silence.

  “Perhaps my most trusted emissaries would like a chance to prove their loyalty to me instead?” he added. “Maybe they can bring me the phylactery, if the mighty goblinoid tribe cannot.”

  The undead wretch that was Kaldar swayed back and forth, staring blankly toward the dark warlord as if it understood him, before looking away slowly once more.

  “Father, you are an even greater disappointment in death…” Zabalas turned from the creature and headed back to stand before Sadreth.

  “I will be seeing to it that your power is restored soon, mighty Sadreth, so that you too can begin your reign of terror and destroy those who have betrayed you!” Zabalas said this forcefully, eyeing first the walking corpse that was once his father and then looking back to Sadreth, noting that there was not much difference in their outward appearance.

  “It seems that I must give this task to Phaera as I cannot trust the orcs and goblins with something of this import,” he said after a pause, rubbing his chin in a contemplative manner. “How sad it is. I had such faith in them. But, I will give them something else to do…something less…momentous.”

  “Must…have…artifact…,” moaned Sadreth as he reached a withered hand out toward Zabalas. His sunken red eyes that were dimly lit only a heartbeat ago, suddenly flashed brightly, registering a palpable anticipation concerning the return of his power source.

  “Yes,” Zabalas cooed. “We will secure the artifact you desire, no matter what it takes.”

  As he finished the sentence, the presence of a male orc filled the frame of his doorway.

  “I assume you have news?” Zabalas asked the green-skinned creature, clearly bothered by the interruption.

  “Message, my lord,” called the gruff voice of the orc. “Chieftain Kelgarek requires your presence.”

  “Requires?!” barked Zabalas incredulously.

  “Desires, my lord! Apologies!” he answered, dropping to one knee and bowing his head.

  “Of course,” Zabalas said calmly as he walked toward the orc. “I will oblige him.”

  The orc began to back out of the room and into the corridor, not perceiving the beautiful albino c
reature that stood behind him. He seemed irritated that his progress had been impeded and twisted his face in a frown at the succubus. She looked pleadingly to Zabalas who stood in the entryway before nodding his consent to her. That affirmation caused a cruel grin to creep across her face.

  “Where are you going?” called the soft voice of Phaera to the orc.

  He spun and immediately reacted as if he’d seen a ghost, shrinking back at the sight of the succubus. Zabalas watched with delight then as Phaera’s appearance altered. He and the orc were the only ones able to see the transformation as she had willed it as such, knowing that Zabalas would indeed enjoy the demonstration.

  The image of her distorted and immediately reformed into an orc female—one that was appealing to the orc as he stepped forward a few paces, reluctantly at first. She bade him to come to her, arms open in a welcoming way. Her shapely leg came forth from beneath her tunic, egging him on and he complied with her proposal, moving closer to her and eventually taking her in his arms.

  Her eyes pleaded with him seductively for a kiss. He obliged her.

  The orc kissed her deeply and his eyes widened at that initial contact as his lips touched her own, a clear twinge of pain appearing on his face. Nevertheless, he continued anyway, unable to stop himself. She kissed him deeply and held him firm with the vigor of demonic strength as he tried unsuccessfully to wriggle out of her threatening embrace, but to no avail. She held the kiss until he stopped fighting her, either from weakness or indifference, and eventually she dropped him to the hard, stone floor.

  “Impressive,” Zabalas acknowledged with a nod, drawing a sinister smirk of conceit from the succubus, who shifted into her demonic form in response.